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Introduction. the dog days of summer is dedicated to the buzzy primitive, “BuzzClik,†who mentioned recently that he enjoyed my “diaries†of daily life way out here in the middle of nowhere, on the eastern slope of the formidable Sandhills of Nebraska.
Of course, I’ve been long aware that these attract primitives as if bees to honey (especially the stories of the hippywife primitive‘s family, the Packer clan from northeastern Oklahoma), although admittedly they don’t seem to appeal much to decent and civilized people.
And so there’s an ulterior--ulterior, but not malicious--motive involved here. For reasons inexplicable, franksolich has a reputation of being some sort of superman with magic powers, able to wrought damage upon primitives. I have no idea where I got this reputation, and why, but there it is.
These threads are purely a public-relations effort, to convince the primitives that franksolich is a rather ordinary, average person, and sometimes even a boring one, so as to ameliorate their rabid fear and paranoia.
The people and events as depicted are from real life, but the elements of the primitives from Skins’s island are of course fictitious.
- - - - - - - - - - -
The last diary had stopped in early May, after a certain event flung me into the throes of melancholy and despair, but never mind. As that thread ended, the property caretaker had been injured in an automobile accident, and given his old age and that he already owns a comfortable pension earned by the sweat of his brow, he decided it was time to quit.
And so a new property caretaker, a guy in his early thirties, was hired. It’s a full-time job and pays very well, because he’s in charge of seventeen properties (although this one the only residential one) throughout the county (which isn’t a small one) that at times can keep one going seven days a week.
The reason he’s out here a lot is simply because it’s a convenient place for him to keep his stuff.
Unfortunately, the old property caretaker spent an afternoon with the new one, “explaining†franksolich to him, describing the experiences and observations of the preceding eight years, in which I allegedly “almost†got into some sort of fix or another because I’m deaf. Never mind that nothing bad ever happened; he’s always been adamant about, “Well, it almost happened or could’ve happened, and usually came to a razor’s edge of happening, but apparently God likes you--remember that Swede at the bar in town says you’re the damned luckiest son-of-a-bitch he’s ever seen in his life, and Swede’s been around…..â€
The new property caretaker, who hadn’t known me before, became concerned. On the surface, I suppose the situation looks dangerous--a deaf person living way out in the middle of nowhere (the nearest neighbor lives six miles away, town is eight miles away, and the big city forty-two miles away), all alone, and with no effective means of communication if he’s in some sort of trouble.
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Add to that that there’s a semi-major highway two miles north of here, and if a motorist has a problem, this is the only within-walking-distance place that he can seek assistance. And add further to that that this property is located on the banks of a semi-major river, which attracts campers, usually of the primitive sort.
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So there’s always been strange people showing up here, some of them really weird.
The new caretaker then made a rule--while admitting that I had the power of the Royal Veto to override him--that, for my own safety and security, no one would be allowed to camp and frolic on this property.
I wasn’t fond of this, but didn’t protest at the time because I was preoccupied with other matters, and because my stay here is rather tenuous (the aged owners want to “convert†the real-estate into a series of lots for lakeside cabins for their descendants, as it’s an ideal place for such a thing because of its isolation and “natural wonders,†along with hunting and fishing); it could either end this mid-winter, or go on indefinitely.
It’s been a boring summer, no excitement, and so this past week I exercised the Royal Veto.
to be continued, as soon as anything happens
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The neighbor’s wife came over in mid-afternoon on Sunday; it was the hottest part of a very hot day, and my guest and I were going to go swimming, so I groused at her, despite that the neighbor’s wife is one of my closest friends.
Actually, she was here to see my guest, who she’s known almost as long as I have, when she first came here years ago to study the William Rivers Pitt for her Ph.D. thesis in soil science.
My guest, in her early thirties, who’s married to a veterinarian, was born and raised on the affluent country-clubbed shores of Chesapeake Bay in Maryland. I’d at first been leery of allowing strangers, especially from blue states, to poke around this property, but upon learning she’s a very distant relative of the late Clare Boothe Luce, I acceded, after which we became very good friends.
She’d spent the past eleven days here, because this might, or might not, be my last summer here, and she has fond memories of this place. She also had academic business in Vermillion, South Dakota, but when she wasn’t up there, she hung around here, snapping photographs of birds and trees and other junk.
- - - - - - - - - -
I informed the neighbor’s wife that the ban on campers here was rescinded.
Despite my insistence that it’s been a very boring summer with nobody around, she was appalled.
“No,†she gasped; “you don’t know anything about people who show up here.â€
Yeah, yeah, yeah, I said; “but notice please--a fine point everybody else seems to forget--that while there’s been some bad ones around, nothing bad’s ever happened.â€
She and my guest began talking about the time the hippywife primitive Mrs. Alfred Packer showed up here to camp over Labor Day three years ago, bringing along the whole Packer clan, including hippyhubby Wild Bill. I’d found them harmless, but the two women sitting at the dining room table with me vehemently disagreed.
“You didn’t see Wild Bill with that murderous gleam in his eyes as he sharpened his cadaver-carvers while talking with you, as if sizing you up?†the neighbor’s wife asked.
No, I said; I’d found him okay; rather taciturn, and at times a little grouchy, but that’s hardly a sin.
“And what about Mrs. Alfred Packer herself,†my guest brought up; “the way she always stared at you with those doe-eyes. She looked so innocent and all that, but for some reason I got the impression she wanted to hop around in the sack with you.â€
Yeah, that did bother me somewhat, I admitted; “I dunno why she was that way, because it was pretty obvious I wasn’t interested in any carnality with her.
“Besides being grey and drab--among other things--she was the cuddly type, and I don’t cuddle.
“I have no idea why she was that way.â€
“Well, there’s a lot of things you don’t know about because you can’t hear,†the neighbor’s wife said; “you’re not the only person who gets up early in the morning.â€
Not knowing what to make of that last comment, I let it go.
to be continued, whenever something else happens
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My guest left this morning, as she has an all-day drive to the far corner of Nebraska, where she lives, from here. She assured me she had a good time, as she always says. She’s been a guest here before--in fact, the first time, she stayed here a whole month (when she undertook study of the William Rivers Pitt).
Those other times, however, the summer was somewhat cooler than this one’s been, and so it’d been easy to be the perfect host, breezy and cool. This summer’s been a bitch, hotter than Algiers in July.
I told her to use the air-conditioned bedroom, while I slept on the couch in the living room. The bedroom’s pretty big, but she’s a married woman and I’m a spoken-for male, and didn’t want things to look as if my guest and I were shacking up with each other.
I’d offered to get her a five-star air-conditioned room in the big city so she’d be more comfortable, but no, she insisted upon staying here, despite the heat. “I like it out here,†she said; “there’s nobody for miles and miles around, it’s so quiet and peaceful, just you and me.â€
Oh.
The first evening she was here, I made a jocular remark about the weather was so hot, I was going to have trouble sleeping in the heat, being bundled up in clothes and all that. It’s an old joke--and really, I was only joking--and I was startled when she replied, “Oh now, I wouldn’t want anybody to be uncomfortable in his own home. Do what you want to do; it won’t bother me.â€
Oh.
In the past, she was always so proper that I was nervous being seen by her in anything less than what one might wear to church on Easter, but as she’s been a friend for a very long time, despite that she’s somewhat, uh, uptight, I decided it was safe to teas--er, test--her sincerity on that.
I’m an early riser, about an hour before getting-dressed time. I got up at my usual time the next morning, and went into the kitchen to make coffee. The noise woke her up, and she came out of the bedroom, wearing her customary nightwear, some sort of long cotton shift.
Casually glancing at me, she merely commented that I was still “too†thin, not having regained any of that weight lost during an emaciating bout with mononucleosis last winter.
On the second day, she remarked in some sort of faux southern Maryland country-club drawl, “Oh honey, that’s a really nice backside you got there.â€
On the third day, when passing by me, she playfully tried grabbing me there, but I ducked.
Nothing ever happened; her husband, with whom she’s very much in love, and the femme, whose company I find pleasant, need not lose any sleep.
- - - - - - - - - - -
Most of the time, if I wasn’t at work and she wasn’t in Vermillion, South Dakota, on other business--things which happily coincided with each other--I hiked or drove around with her, as she snapped photographs of birds and trees and other junk, and then as the day got hotter, we’d go swimming in the river.
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She’s a svelte person--obviously her Boothe legacy--but perfectly proportioned. Being of a modest nature, she wears one of those one-piece swimming suits popular during the 1950s, but she’d look really good in a bikini, despite that she doesn’t have all that surplus blubbery watery jiggling that seems to excite most men, but not franksolich. She’s just perfectly proportioned, and firm.
I don’t own any swimwear myself, but it was very hot, and nobody but her and I were around anyway.
Nothing ever happened; her husband, with whom she’s very much in love, and the femme, whose company I find pleasant, need not lose any sleep.
to be continued, when something happens
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The new property caretaker and the old one came by about noon today; the second insisted it was just a casual spur-of-the-moment social call, but I suspect he’d come along to relieve the ennui of sitting around at home twiddling his thumbs.
“There was some romancing going on here last week,†he said, upon sitting down.
My eyebrows arched and my lips turned dry.
“I swear,†I said in indignant exasperation, “hearing people don’t pick up information by actually hearing things; they just have some magical means of pulling information out of the thin air.
“There wasn’t anybody here but her and me all that time; it’s not possible anybody would know what went on here.
“And besides, nothing happened; there was some playing going on, but nothing more than that.â€
“Whatever,†the old caretaker snorted, grinning.
- - - - - - - - - -
The new caretaker pulled out a bunch of little yellow post-it notes, with information scrawled on them.
“There’s been a lot of calls the past three days, about camping here,†he said.
“That was quick. What do you have?†I asked the new caretaker.
He skimmed through the stack of yellow post-it notes, assorting them.
“There’s twenty-seven of them, for all the way through mid-October.â€
“It’s hot, I’m tired and miserable,†I said; “let’s just do this weekend, and we can figure out the rest next week, when I’ll probably be in a better mood.â€
“There’s two of them,†he said, “but of course only one can be here. There’s a group of twenty-two from Ohio, headed to Oregon--â€
“No way,†I said; “Ohio’s a blue state, and only primitives emigrate to Oregon, and so those are probably primitives.
“I want a quiet weekend, so no primitives. Who’s the other group?â€
“Seventeen adults and children, six vehicles, from Indiana, on their way to attend a conference in Montana.â€
“What kind of conference?†I asked.
“I didn’t write it down, but I remember they said something about a Baptist camp-meeting.â€
“Good,†I said; “Baptists are good. Call them back and tell them they’re welcome this weekend. Despite doctrinal differences, I get along perfectly fine with Baptists. The salt of the earth, the Baptists. Admirable people, the Baptists. Honest, straightforward, hard-working, sturdy, modest people, the Baptists.
“Never met a bad Baptist. Tell them that whatever they need, they got.â€
- - - - - - - - - -
“Well, all the others, do you have some ‘system’ of priority, when it comes to deciding who to take?†the new caretaker inquired.
I was beginning to feel as if the reservations manager for the Waldorf-Astoria hotel; the old caretaker used to field the calls, decide, and then tell me after it was a done deal.
“Sort of,†I said. “Save mid-August for the carnies, who’ll be here for the county fair. I get along fine with carnies--â€
“But the carnies camp at the fairgrounds,†the old caretaker reminded me.
“Until this year,†I replied. “While the fairgrounds are more convenient for them, last year a whole lot of them got into trouble--you remember--for having booze, and the law doesn’t allow booze on governmental property. They were really pissed, the fines they had to pay; it nearly wiped out their whole take from the fair.â€
“Yeah,†the old caretaker said; “the sheriff does have ways of keeping our money here in this county; it paid for those new tennis-courts this year. A financial wizard, the sheriff.â€
I agreed, and continued. “Out here, while they may lack the other necessities and conveniences, they can have all the booze they want, no problem at all. I’m sure that this year, they’ll want to be here, rather than there.
“I get along fine with carnies, some of the most fascinating people one can ever hope to meet.
“And then,†I remarked to the new caretaker, “save the Labor Day weekend specifically for the first primitives who call and ask for it, so that we all can get some entertainment to celebrate the end of summer.â€
- - - - - - - - - - -
And then later in the afternoon, the femme came by, waxing wroth.
It’s been a very hot day, making me short-tempered.
“I heard,†she said--
“I know what you heard,†I interrupted, sharply, “and it’s not true.
“Nothing happened.â€
“I can’t believe it,†she insisted; “I mean, I can believe what happened, and I can’t believe nothing happened.â€
I looked at her, my eyes crossing.
“Look,†I said; “a woman can lie to a man and get away with it, but I’ve never in my life known of a man to lie to a woman and get away with it.
“Nothing happened.â€
to be continued when, or if, something happens
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The minute I saw a new tale from the wilds of the Elkhorn, I smiled.
Good to see a new one. Been awful dry this summer.
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“Do you suppose there’s any way to find out if my place is bugged?†I asked when I walked into the business partner’s office this morning.
Lighting a cigarette, he looked up at me asking, “Now why would you suppose your place is bugged?â€
Well no, really I don’t suppose that, I mentioned; “but I’m trying to find out how all you hearing people pick up so much information without actually being somewhere to see something.
“It drives me nuts, how you people do that; I’m sure you people just yank it out of the thin air.â€
The business partner, whose other business is horses (never mind what our business is); he raises, buys, sells, and trades them, is a few years younger than myself, and lives at the top of the Sandhills of Nebraska, about half the distance between franksolich’s campground and dutch508’s cattle empire.
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Even though we’ve known each other only nine years, he’s undeniably my closest friend and confidante. We were at first just business partners, but after spending hundreds of hours and driving thousands of miles all over the Upper Great Plains states, well, it’s inevitable two people get to know each other pretty well
It is troubling, personally to me however, that the business partner and the femme loathe each other, which complicates this already-complicated life further.
Offering me a cigarette, he said, “So…..what’s the puzzle now?â€
“How the Hell do you people know what goes on at my place, without actually being there to see it?†I asked.
“There’s nobody, nobody at all, around for miles and miles and miles, but yet for all that you hearing people know about me, I might as well live in a glass house in the middle of Times Square during rush hour.
"How the Hell do you people know this stuff? And without actually seeing it?â€
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In my exasperation, I’d swallowed the cigarette, and after I was done coughing it out, he extended me a new one.
“How do you know ‘you people’ aren’t actually seeing it?†he asked.
“No way,†I said; “you people know about stuff when nobody, but nobody’s, around.â€
“How do you know ‘you people’ aren’t actually seeing it?†he repeated.
“BECAUSE THERE’S NOBODY AROUND TO SEE IT,†I replied.
He sat back. “I think you’re wrong. There’s always people around your place, but you’re just not aware of it because you don’t hear them.
“You know, you’ve been told so many times by ‘you people’ about strangers they’ve seen hanging around your place that looked dangerous or at least undesirable, and you’ve always denied seeing them.
“It’s not a case of ‘you people’ seeing things; it’s a case of you not seeing things.
“I don’t mean to come down hard on you dude, but you just don’t pay attention. You can’t hear, and so even if they make a lot of noise, they’re not going to draw your attention.
“And since they don’t attract your attention, ergo, they don’t exist.
“Dude. Try to understand; it’s for your own good.â€
- - - - - - - - - -
There wasn’t going to be any reconciliation to this, so I dropped it, and talked instead about an upcoming trip to my boyhood home in the heart of the Sandhills.
“What I don’t understand is why it’s a big deal for you,†he said. “We’ve been through there several times, both of us together, and so it’s not like you’re going back there for the first time after a few decades.â€
I snuffed out the cigarette and lit another. “’Through there,’†I repeated; “we’ve been through there, but remember, we never stopped--we just drove right through--other than those times you insisted we detour to the abandoned cemetery out in the middle of nowhere, where the bodies of so many of my own are buried.
“I could never understand that,†I confessed; “and sort of resented it at the time. Both you and I were raised knowing that a person, and his physical remains, are two wholly different things, and so what happens to the body after death doesn’t matter.
“But no, you thought it would be good and decent of me, to ride over rough rutted country with grass and weeds as high as one’s neck, rabbits and prairie dogs and deer and snakes running around all over the place--I always had to borrow your spare pair of cowboy boots, remember, because I don’t have any of my own--battling the sun and the heat, to pay my respects.
“And because of the thick underbrush obstructing the view, one had to find the graves looking up to the sky, using celestial navigation.â€
“I’m sorry,†he said, lighting his own cigarette.
“No problem,†I replied; “it doesn’t bother me any more. Your intentions were good.â€
I sat back. “So you see, while we’ve been through there, remember we never stopped at any place or to see anybody. We just went through there.
“’Going through’ isn’t the same thing as ‘going back’.â€
“This time, I’m going there and stopping for a few days, for the first time since that cold rainy October night three months after my mother died. I was the last of family to leave the house in which I’d grown up, finally getting all of my stuff out of there.
“That was a long time ago, when I was eighteen years old. I’ve never been back since.â€
- - - - - - - - - - -
“I’m not getting something, though,†he said.
“Here on one hand when we’ve gone through, you balked at going to one cemetery to remember the dead, but here on the other hand, you’re going back someplace you ignored for thirty years, to go to another cemetery to remember somebody.â€
“This is different,†I said.
to be continued whenever something new happens
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“You know, you really have to get serious about all this,†the business partner said. We’d concluded our conversation of the morning, and gone out to get some dinner.
“I’ll never forget the time we were running around, and I noticed somebody was following us.
“A great big fat guy, his belly hanging out and down, as if an apron; obviously near-sighted and asthmatic.
“Usually, but not all the time, wearing a t-shirt with a picture of Che Guevera on it. It was like an XXXXL size, almost a tent, but still it was w-a-a-a-a-y too small for him, and stretched in such a way it took a while to figure out who Che was.
“The second time I saw him, I took care to notice his car was from Illinois.
“I didn’t see him for a while, until one day I went to meet you at a restaurant. You were already there, waiting for me…..and in the next booth was this same guy.
“He always averted his eyes when he saw me looking at him.
“One time when I drove out to your place, I saw him--you weren’t home yet--and he was peeking through your windows. A second time--and again, you weren’t home--I drove up finding him looking in the glove-compartment of your car [I was using someone else’s vehicle at the time].
“But for a big fat guy with such tiny little feet, and such short breath, he could move fast; those two times, I yelled at him and started chasing him, but he rolled away too fast for me.
“When we were up in Bismarck, I’ll be damned if he wasn’t there too.
“And [the neighbor’s wife] told me she’d seen him one time too, when you and she were at the grocery store in [the big city], he was right behind you, eavesdropping.
“And [the old caretaker] said that one morning as he was driving up to your front porch--you were asleep inside--he saw him, walking around the side of the house wielding a big axe.
“But damn, he was fleet of foot; he got away every time, from everybody.
“Somebody notified the sheriff--I think it was one of those guys who was working across the road from your place, who’d seen him hanging around there--and pretty soon your whole town was on the lookout for a fat guy driving a car with Illinois license-plates. But he must’ve heard something, because he disappeared after that, and wasn’t seen any more.
"And only God knows how many times he was there, and you were there, and there wasn't anybody else to see he was there. I'll bet lots and lots of times."
Hmmmm, I said. “That sounds like Fat Che, the ‘benburch’ primitive once prominent on Skins’s island.
“But it couldn’t have been him, because as far as I know, Fat Che never got within 500 miles of franksolich.â€
“As far as [you] knowâ€--that’s the problem here.
“Don’t take it hard, dude, but there’s a lot going on around you that you don’t know; that you aren‘t aware of, because you can‘t hear.â€
Nonsense, I said; “I never saw Fat Che, or some fat guy resembling him, hanging around me.
“And besides, if you saw all this, how come you didn’t say anything to me?â€
“This was years and years ago, shortly after we’d first met, about the time you killed that roly-poly red-headed scammer--the autumn of 2005 or something--and I wasn’t used to you yet.
“I just assumed you knew what was going on, and were looking out for yourself already.
“You know, at times you do give others the impression you’re more competent, more perceptive, than you really are.â€
Nonsense, I repeated. “I refuse to be paranoid.â€
to be continued as soon as something, anything, happens
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After dinner, the partner and I went golfing.
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I don’t really mean “golfing,†of course; I just aimlessly hit a ball around while others engage in a serious sport. I dunno excresence about golf, even though I’ve been hitting a ball around golf courses since I was a freshman in high school.
And that happened purely by chance; students in our local high school were always offered a membership at the country club at a substantially-reduced rate. But one had to be old enough to get one.
My younger brother, when in the seventh grade, pointed out I was now eligible, and if I became a member, he could golf as my “guest.†As I owed him for favors he’d done me, I said yeah, sure, whatever, no problem.
I’d said that under the assumption that as soon as he was in the ninth grade, he’d get his own membership, and if he needed me to come along, I could go as his guest. Not all the time, but most of the time, he was unsuccessful in finding someone else (it was a problem with the time, not with him; he was a popular kid), and so I had to go along.
Much to my disgust, they wouldn’t let me play as his guest, because they thought the student membership fee was so absurdly low as it was (at the time, $10 a year) it couldn‘t possibly trouble a teenager, paying it. So I had to remain a member two more years, through my junior and senior years in high school.
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Sometimes I was successful in finding a friend of mine willing to play serious golf with him, while I just merely tagged along two holes behind, hitting the ball around in random ways, to see what’d happen. If some more serious golfers came up behind me, I let them play through and waited until they too were two holes ahead, and resumed aimlessly hitting the ball.
It was one of those first times when I had to play serious golf with my younger brother, that for the first time in my life, I actually uttered the “F†word. I was fourteen years old that first time I said it. My younger brother and I were raised well, and it was quite a shock to him, his eyes growing as big as saucers watching me curse and kick and jump up-and-down on a golf club.
Come to think of it, I don’t recall my younger brother ever doing such a thing himself. He was always mellow.
The partner made a couple of telephone calls, and found a partner for serious golfing, relieving me of that obligation. I just followed them around, two holes behind (I can hit a ball pretty hard, and far), aimlessly hitting a ball every which way, to see what’d happen.
Then we all had supper, and I headed back home.
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Even though I’d picked up a nice check, in the non-pecuniary senses, it’d been a loser of a day.
to be continued once something happens
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The neighbor came over for breakfast; he had more information on the Baptists coming here to camp this weekend (he‘d spoken with the caretaker the preceding evening). They’ll show up sometime on Saturday, and stay Sunday until sun-down, after which they’ll hit the road again, headed to that old-time-religion camp-meeting in Montana.
And there’ll be nineteen of them, five cars, because a few others back in Indiana decided to join them.
And they be black.
No big deal, I said; Baptists are Baptists, good people, the salt of the earth.
“No way am I going to have any problems with Baptists,†I told him.
- - - - - - - - - -
About noon, I had a visitor, a woman who used to live in town but doesn’t any more. She was here visiting her parents, and simply by bad luck, missed out on seeing my guest (apparently my guest hadn’t told her she was coming up here) by a couple of days.
To explain something as shortly as possible; this woman was from here when I first met her. She’d been a sorority sister of my guest at the University of Nebraska circa, oh, ten years ago. She introduced me to my guest. My guest, studying soil science, learned of the William Rivers Pitt. I on my part learned she was a distant relative of the late Clare Boothe Luce, and the rest is history.
As the sun was overhead, we sat on the front porch instead of the back, so as to avoid the heat, and chit-chatted.
“I’m so sorry you have to go through this,†she remarked; “you can’t believe what they’re saying in town.â€
Oh yes I could, I replied ruefully.
“When I first started hearing the rumors--they were pretty credible at first, but then got more and more outrageous--I called her, to find out what was going on.
“’Nothing happened,’ she told me; ‘but we had so much fun.’â€
I heaved a sigh of relief. If somebody didn’t believe me, maybe they’d believe her.
- - - - - - - - - -
Later, for supper, because it was too hot to do anything else, I went to the bar in town to order my usual.
Swede, the husband of the owner, he of Norwegian derivation but whose specialty is Italianate cuisine, groused as he burned a hamburger and fried dry some potatoes.
It didn’t help his attitude that I stood by, watching him.
He was about ready to take the hamburger and put it on the bun when I interrupted him.
“Uh, you didn’t press it down on the grill hard enough. I see there’s still some grease in there.â€
He glared at me, but was smiling when he was done.
“I heard something happened last week, at your place--â€
“Nothing happened,†I interrupted, before he could go any further.
He grinned. “Well, I suppose it depends on what your definition of ‘nothing’ is.
“I heard you got guests this weekend. Kindly remind them that Saturday night, the special’s fried chicken.â€
to be continued as things happen
-
“Why Bridgeport and Chimney Rock, of all places?†the business partner asked me.
We’d gone up to the capital city of South Dakota on business, and were now returning.
“That I’d once lived there was just a coincidence,†I said, “and of course I wouldn’t have any memories of it.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/bridgeport1960_zpsf2b269a8.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/bridgeport1960_zpsf2b269a8.jpg.html)
“It was the furthest west and south we could go from home, giving us enough time to turn around and get home in time for our ten o’clock curfew.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/452_zpse59f15e0.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/452_zpse59f15e0.jpg.html)
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/0020_zpsbbf89079.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/0020_zpsbbf89079.jpg.html)
- - - - - - - - - -
“We had to be home by ten o’clock, but our parents neglected to be exactly specific, and so while of course they meant 10:00 p.m., and we knew they meant 10:00 p.m., because we were kids 15, 16, 17 years old, we whined that we thought they meant 10:00 a.m.
“It happened about every other Friday night, for a little more than three years, right after he and I’d gotten our learner’s permits to drive. One was supposed to have a licensed driver accompany one if one just had a learner’s permit, unless one was going to or from school, but in the vast emptiness of the Sandhills, with so few people around, one could get away with doing a lot of things one couldn’t get away with doing in crowded, congested areas.
“About half the time, we never got home even by ten the next morning, and that doubled the Hell we had to pay. He had a ten-year-old pick-up truck, and I had an eight-year-old sedan in high school, but both were in, uh, decrepit shape, and we couldn’t trust them to make the trip without problems.
“And if one had car problems in the Sandhills in the middle of the night, one really had problems.
“From home, the next all-night gas station was 225 miles west; not a thing in between.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/0003_zpsc8ab01fd.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/0003_zpsc8ab01fd.jpg.html)
“And traffic was such that one met another vehicle maybe once every hour and a half.
“So we instead ’borrowed’ one of the parents’ cars, usually a late-model Pontiac or Buick sedan.â€
- - - - - - - - - - -
I was describing to the business partner how my best friend and I “cruised†around when teenagers.
“He’d been born with a withered right arm, and I’d been born without ears, so we made a perfect pair; if something needed two arms, I did it, and if something needed listening to, he did it.
“We were liked--nobody ever shunned us--and all that, but still, we were sort of apart from everybody else. He was a farm kid, and I wasn’t originally from the area. Since I was singular, ’status’ meant nothing to me because no matter what, I was going to always be different.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/1977sr_zpsf51403b9.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/1977sr_zpsf51403b9.jpg.html)
“He went out for football for a couple of years, but because of that weak arm, he wasn’t very good, and so gave it up.
“So both of us had chips on our shoulders. As I said, we made a perfect pair.
“In high school, ‘cruising’ usually meant driving up-and-down Broadway, from the east end of town to the west end, doing that over and over and over all evening long until curfew, yakking and playing loud music as the tires rumbled over the bricks that were the pavement.
“It wasn’t uncommon to put a hundred miles on a car in a single evening, without leaving town.
“But being who we were, we dared to be different. Our cruising always involved a 600-mile round-trip all through the night. As I said earlier, that was about every other Friday night; the opposite Fridays, we were grounded, not at home, but chained to within the city limits and the distance to his place out in the country.
“Those Fridays, we were utterly scrupulous about observing the limits imposed on us, because we knew if we violated them, our trips through the Sandhills would be done forever, or at least until we were out of high school.
- - - - - - - - - -
“This was before we were doing this, maybe when we were 13, 14 years old, but one time my mother had a ‘talk’ with me--at the same time his mother was having a ‘talk’ with him--reminding me it was all well-and-good that one had a ‘best friend.’
“’But don’t you think you spend too much time with him? The world’s like a tossed salad, so many different people in it, and it’s good to try them too, at least once in a while. Why don’t you at least occasionally try doing something different, with different people?’â€
I lit a cigarette. “Looking at it as an adult, some decades later, and the way the world is today, I suppose it’d be a concern of mine, too, if I were a parent, but given the time and place, the parents needn’t worried; nothing ever happened.
- - - - - - - - - -
“The Sandhills at night were awesome. Because the land was so vast and so empty, and hence no artificial light to obscure the sky, if the moon wasn’t out, and there wasn’t any higher-atmosphere fog and mist up there, one could see millions upon millions of stars with the naked eye.â€
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/0016_zpse32200ae.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/0016_zpse32200ae.jpg.html)
The business partner already knew that; he too had been raised in the Sandhills, but like dutch508, only on the outer edge of them, not in the heart of them. An important difference, here.
“But if there was fog thousands of feet up there, or clouds lower down, one couldn’t see a thing.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/0019_zpsf7efeb2c.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/0019_zpsf7efeb2c.jpg.html)
- - - - - - - - - -
“We left right after supper, about 6:00 p.m. This being the Sandhills, in early evening, most of the time it was overcast and even raining, although by the middle of the night, it’d usually cleared away.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/14-109_zpsc85bbcb7.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/14-109_zpsc85bbcb7.jpg.html)
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/14-107_zpsa1d96a1f.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/14-107_zpsa1d96a1f.jpg.html)
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/044_zpseb255ac0.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/044_zpseb255ac0.jpg.html)
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“Even in winter, we went.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/0023_zps7d662edd.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/0023_zps7d662edd.jpg.html)
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/050_zps2b0165cf.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/050_zps2b0165cf.jpg.html)
“Going through a blizzard was bad, but it was equally bad after that, when the snow was done falling and just blowing around, usually in the morning on our way back home.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/0021_zps65cb150d.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/0021_zps65cb150d.jpg.html)
- - - - - - - - - -
“One time, we got stuck near Hyannis--as you know, there’s no more remote place than on the moon, near Hyannis--but by sheer luck, we found a ranch-house. It’s a very good thing we found it, too, because it’d be miles and miles and miles before we’d come across the next one.
“It was weird, really weird. Despite the paucity of people around there, they were all very rich.
“This was a single-level white-stone house with twenty-one rooms, an elongated dining room stretching about half the length of a football field (or so it seemed), and a waterfall cascading down one wall of the living room.
“That freaked me; apparently it was electrically-driven, but it was real water and real rocks, and the ceiling went up pretty high.
“He was rather more awed by all the taxidermized animals around; deer-heads, full-bodied mountain sheep, birds, snakes mounted frozen in position, dead fish nailed to boards, a bison head, and even a whole bear in the den. And lots of lots of antlers. I forget what else; it was like a zoo.
“There was an old man and an old woman there at the time; the rest of the family that lived there had gone away for the holiday--this was the week between Christmas and New Year’s--but they were robust and healthy, and had spent long lives being marooned in winter.
“She was a good cook, and he was a good talker.
“The telephone lines were down (so too was the county electricity, but they weren’t connected to that, being too isolated, and hence had their own garage-sized generator, or whatever it was), but the man, using a ham radio, got a hold of someone way down in New Orleans, who then called both of our sets of parents back up here, to tell them where we were at, and that all was okay.â€
I lit another cigarette. “It was all okay at least as far as we were concerned. We were stuck there three days, and had Hell to pay with our parents when we finally got home.
“Ah,†I exhaled, blasting out a cloud of smoke as big as my head.
“There’s something special about being boys in the Sandhills, a gift from God, and so rarely bestowed.â€
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/0027_zps9567ee81.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/0027_zps9567ee81.jpg.html)
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- - - - - - - - - -
“You were pretty young, and that’s big country, and in the middle of the night,†the business partner said. “Anything dangerous ever almost happen?â€
Just once, I said, “and that was on our very first trip.
“We reached to where we were supposed to turn south, the all-night gas station 225 miles west of home, which had a café attached. We were still only 15, remember, and went inside it.
“It’d be considered tame, passe, these days, I guess, but it was jampacked full of big burly truck-drivers and their molls, painted women with elephantine busts and asses and too-small clothing.
“Indecency wasn’t allowed in those days, so there was none of that, but still, we felt as if we’d talked into a bordello or something.
“As we walked to the counter, a heavily-mascara’ed woman wearing a too-small sweater, drunk, and smoking a cigarette, swung around to look at us. Even though she was standing about four feet away, the upper pair of hers almost smacked us in our faces.
“’Oh, lookee here,’ she squealed. ‘A couple of little ‘uns. Two root beers for the Innocents, please.’
“I still shudder when seeing a woman with big bloated jugs, it was so grotesque.
“But other than that, no nothing bad happened, or even nearly happened.â€
- - - - - - - - - -
“The biggest problem we ever had was usually just a matter of being only 110 miles or something from home, and the needle on the gasoline-gauge skipping near EMPTY.
“A hundred and ten miles to home, the nearest all-night gasoline station, or 115 miles west, to the next-nearest.
“It always held us up for a long time, as we had to wait for someone else to come along.
“Usually, the person got us to somebody’s ranch-house, and in those days, ranches had 55-gallon barrels filled with different sorts of fuel for emergencies, and the owner’d supply us.
“One of the very first times this happened, an old guy stopped, and insisted upon taking us straight home, even though it was a 92-mile detour for him. When we were 15, we looked, I dunno, maybe only 13 or so, and he thought young boys shouldn’t be out in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night.
“Again, we had to pay Hell with our parents when we were delivered home--not only weren’t they used to this sort of thing yet, but the stranger had gone so far out of his way, and as we’d been using a family car, someone had to drive way out there the next day with gasoline, and bring it back.
“I remember that well; he sat in the front seat with the old guy driving, while I slumbered in the back seat. The old guy was a good talker, and he had to respectfully listen, for about two hours, learning all the virtues and versatilities of some sort of house-cleaning product, Watkins, I think.
“I had to hear none of it.â€
- - - - - - - - - -
When we stopped to change drivers--the business partner and I do that about every two hours--he said, “You guys got off easy. If I’d done something like that one single time, my old man would’ve come down hard on me.
“I would’ve never been allowed outside my bedroom until graduation.â€
“It was a complicated situation,†I explained as I turned on the ignition. “Other than this one thing, we were perfect angels as teenagers, never a problem.
“He did all his chores, and did them right, and did them without being told to, and I was liked in my part-time as a grocery carry-out boy. We both dutifully went to church every Sunday, and I to confession (he wasn’t Catholic, but from an obscure German evangelical sect) once a week. We were very kind to all those around us, and respectful of our parents. We held doors open for even just girls, and escorted little old ladies across the street. We did okay--not great, but okay--in school.
“Of the four parents, the wrath of his father (wielded on me, too) was the hardest to bear.
“But even his father understood that his oldest son had been doing a man’s job since he was 10, and done it thoroughly and cheerfully without asking, becoming somewhat more mature than his real age, and so had to relent at least a little.
“My father was old, tired, and I wasn’t aware of it, already dying.
“My mother was the “talk,†rather than the “hit†sort of disciplinarian, but this son of hers being deaf, well--
“And also, she was far more preoccupied about my father, and about the futures of my younger brother and myself (the older brothers and sisters, being considerably older than us, had already gone away to college, into careers, married, had kids, all that).
“In the end, it was his mother who decided the issue, out of sheer exhaustion more than anything else.
“As she once told my mother, ’Well, at least we know they’re not out drinking or using drugs or getting girls pregnant, so we have to trust them….whatever it is they’re doing out there.’â€
to be continued, when something gets around to happening
-
The wife of the retired banker stopped here this morning, to dig up some of the William Rivers Pitt. She’s an avid gardener, and has six of them, all of which have been featured in colorful photographic displays in magazines. Usually she and her husband, Grumpy, who wears his polyester pants hiked halfway up his midriff, take away a dozen or so of those galvanized-steel “bushel baskets,†but this time, she brought some guy with a pick-up truck, who shoveled the antique fertilizer into the bed, taking a great deal more.
In case one doesn’t know, this is a large mound of swine excrement dating from 1875 until 1950, when award-winning pigs were raised here. It looks like ordinary dirt, although a tad bit darker than the dirt surrounding it. And of course it hasn’t emanated any particular odor since Ike and Mamie were in the White House.
It’s always covered with dense foliage, and the cats like to romp and play on it.
The William Rivers Pitt, an Alpine-looking miniature Jungfrau, is pretty big, and even if semi-truck trailers were used to take it away, it’d be a long time before it’s all gone.
She brought her 10-year-old grandson with her, a kid who’s never said much, instead always staring at me open-mouthed and his eyes as big as saucers. I suppose it’s because he’s heard that I was born without ears, and is curious about what franksolich looks like under the hair that covers up the absence.
Good luck with that, kid, I always think; I’ve been here a long time, and so far the barber and medical professionals are the only ones who’ve ever seen it.
The wife of the retired banker is of course affluent, and of the “one can’t be too rich or too thin†sort; she’s in her early 80s but doesn’t look or act a day over her early 60s. When complimented on her youthful looks, she always laughs, “Oh, but [franksolich] and I are two peas in a pod that way…..â€
This morning, she was wearing a light cotton dress, old tennis shoes, a big floppy hat with fake roses on it, and the usual pearls around her neck and jangling bracelets on her wrists. She didn’t have gloves this time, because the guy with her of course was doing the dirty work.
- - - - - - - - - -
I’ve always appreciated her because she’s the only one around who tells me what people are talking about but are too embarrassed to admit it. Stuff that never appears in the newspapers; who’s hopping around in the sack with who, who’s having money problems, who’s drinking too much, who’s expecting an infant, who’s in trouble for being the wrong person in the wrong place at the wrong time, who’s being cuckolded, who got yelled at by his boss, who passed a bad check, who’s flirting with his secretary, who’s acquired sexual tastes of an interesting nature, &c., &c., &c.--those sort of things.
In other words, the ordinary standard mundane run-of-the-mill local gossip.
Being deaf, I’m not privy to whispered chitchattery, and know about other people only what I read in the newspapers…..and the newspapers leave out a lot.
She’s always been sympathetic to my plight; gossip is the lubricant of sociality, and I’ve always been as if cylinders running without oil to ease their operation. In the absence of such knowledge, it puts me into the position, when encountering another person, of assuming the other person’s nice and noble and high-minded and principled and honest and virtuous.
Which of course is not always true, but what can one do, not knowing otherwise?
- - - - - - - - - -
When out of earshot of the curious lad, I gently inquired what was new; what’s being said around town.
“Oh dear,†she said; “there’s been a lot of talk going around this week, but as none of it’s true, none of it really happened, I won’t waste your time repeating it.â€
to be continued any time something happens
-
Damn.
Devout Catholics Have Better Sex, Study Says
Group presents data showing those who go to church weekly have most frequent, enjoyable sex
http://www.usnews.com/news/articles/2013/07/17/devout-catholics-have-better-sex
-
Damn.
http://www.usnews.com/news/articles/2013/07/17/devout-catholics-have-better-sex
-
I find that regardless of a hearing problem, many people hear but refuse to believe what they hear.
Better to be unable to hear then to hear and disregard what we hear.
-
Don't interrupt my narrative, vesta, dear; it's rude to interrupt.
-
“So that’s my problem,†I told the neighbor’s wife when she got done reading something I’d found in U.S. News & World Report; apparently I’m not devout enough.
“But God, I try, I try…..â€
As mentioned earlier, the neighbor’s wife and the business partner are my closest confidantes, two people with whom I’m eminently comfortable discussing anything, no matter how intimate or how embarrassing.
With the neighbor and the femme, for example, I’ll discuss 75% of things, but not 100%.
The neighbor’s wife is a few years younger than me, and like me, she’s not originally from this area, having been born and raised in suburban Kansas City, Missouri. She went to college, where she got a degree in dental hygiene, and where she met her husband [the neighbor].
She’s the mother of five children, three girls and two boys, aged 11 years down to circa 6 months.
She doesn’t work any more, excepting on the farm (located six miles north of here; they’re my nearest neighbors). She’s in admirable shape for a woman her age--as trim as Nancy Reagan or longview--because she’s an avid horsewoman, an interest she never developed until she got married and moved up here.
It’s a joy to watch her--and I’ve watched her for hours and hours, in all sorts of weather, sitting inside the cab of a pick-up truck as she’s ridden up-and-down the long meadow by the river up by their place. I go along because her husband insists upon it, as he’s always worried she might fall and break her neck or something, and so needs watched.
Especially on a cool grey rainy afternoon in October, when she reminds me of nothing more than the young Elizabeth I chasing after foxes, or rushing to meet Lord Darnley, or something, her long hair flowing behind her.
- - - - - - - - - - -
I thought of something else, relating it with the topic at hand.
“You know,†I told her, “that’s why I never first had sex until I was 19 years old.
“Because I couldn’t hear gossip and rumors, I never knew who the girls were, who were ‘easy.’â€
She looked at me.
“If you think people know such things just by looking, you’re nuts,†I said. “They know such things because they hear about such things, they share information about such things.
“Well, that left me out of the loop.
“I ended up going all the way through high school treating all the girls as if they were virginal princesses. In fact, I treated the biggest trollop in our class as if she were Ste. Genevieve, because I didn’t know, I hadn’t ever heard a single word of censure against her.
“They were said, but remember, I had no means of overhearing them--and not knowing anything else, it was always best to err on the side of caution, assuming the best of her.â€
The neighbor’s wife tried to say something, but as she’s said it before, I brushed it off.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,†I said; “I already know, some people think it’s ‘nice’ that one thinks highly of someone nobody else does. But then on the other hand, behind our backs they laugh at us for being so innocent, so naïve, about that person.â€
“You know,†I concluded, “if one has a friend who’s deaf, who’s kept out of the loop of things, and one spent at least an hour a week with that non-hearing person, filling him in on what’s going on with other people--who’s hopping around in the sack with who, who’s been seen with who, who’s loose and who’s not, who’s straight and who’s not, those sorts of things--it would be a magnanimous act of charity and compassion.
“In fact, it’d probably expiate many sins one’s done, because one‘s lifting a suffering human being out of the unrealistic and phantastical depths of Pollyannaism in which he‘s mired, always thinking better of people than he should.â€
to be continued whenever one’s uplifted
-
In mid-afternoon, because it’s still like Mauretania in July here and I didn’t want to cook anything, I went to town to get a late dinner. Swede, the husband of the owner and of Norwegian derivation, whose specialty is Italianate food, was cooking, which surprised me. Usually he’s not in the kitchen until supper-time.
He flung a hamburger on the grill and put a brick on top of it, so as to ensure it’d get done to my satisfaction, thoroughly cooked all the way through, every drop of grease squeezed out of it.
When he was done, he packaged it up and told me, “Here, I have something for you.â€
He gave me a piece of a paper with notes on it.
“You’re having all those people out there this weekend, and I thought they’d be interested in our special on Saturday. I’m even willing to give them a discounted price, if they buy enough.
“And more than that, since these aren’t the sorts of people likely to come into a bar, if they telephone, I’ll have somebody here deliver it out to your place for them, no problem.â€
I looked over the notes; it was a hand-written menu of fried chicken, fixed various ways; and Swede was offering them a pretty good discount.
“But this is just fried chicken,†I said; “how do you know they’ll like fried chicken instead of something else?â€
Swede looked at me as if I were Bozo from Outer Space.
“Trust me,†he said; “they’ll like it. Those people always do.â€
to be continued later, after anything happens
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Don't interrupt my narrative, vesta, dear; it's rude to interrupt.
By the way, this wasn't directed at comments; it was directed at off-topic comments.
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Just as I returned back from town, the femme was coming down the highway from the opposite direction. Being a gentleman, I kindly stopped on the highway in front of where one turns off to this place and waited for her to go first, after which I followed her in on the long private drive.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/franksolichdrivewayentry_zps5434eff9.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/franksolichdrivewayentry_zps5434eff9.jpg.html)
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She was just coming by to drop something off, nothing important.
But then I remembered something, and told her, “You know, there’s people camping here this weekend, Baptists, and I imagine they’re going to have some sort of small camp-meeting while here, Gospel and that old time religion music.
“And it’s likely to be the real thing.â€
Now, I wasn’t telling her this because she’s a Baptist (she’s not, but of another Protestant denomination much like it), or because I wanted her to see a show, much as what the cultists of the obese Bagwam Maharishi Rawalpindi Thiruvananthapura Yogi from Oregon put on last year--no way--but simply because “the arts†are her professional interest, and here, she might be able to see some authentic stuff, a real part of what is good and decent about America and Americans.
And, I was right.
But as it turned out, she was planning on it anyway, having heard all the details of the upcoming company elsewhere--probably through those magic means hearing people use to pick up information out of thin air.
Damn. I can never surprise anybody with news they haven’t already heard.
- - - - - - - - - -
She noticed some photograph albums on the dining room table, that she hadn’t seen before.
My family archives, identified, sorted, and catalogued, are in professional storage down in Omaha. My family archives, just dumped into boxes (for later assortment), are in professional storage in town, and as I get the latter things done, they go down to Omaha. This was the latest batch that I’d done, and was now getting ready to send to Omaha.
She picked up one book, so as to see what was inside it.
“No, no, no,†I hastily said; “you don’t want to see that; it’s all junk.â€
“What’s ‘junk’ about it; it says it’s from your first two years in college.â€
“After high school, I gained weight,†I said; “I was as tall as I am now, but fat, really fat.
“The Lincoln Leviathan, bending the scales at…..a whooping 214 pounds, at my fattest.
“Damn, I was fat, and hated it.â€
I showed her one photograph of franksolich with one of his roommates.
“Look how fat I was; I was a blimp, a great…..big…..blimp.
“I think my waist was half a mile around, thirty-eight inches.
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“And those stupid eyeglasses didn’t help either.
“Ew. I was s-o-o-o-o fat, I could‘ve hired myself out to a freak show in a carnival.â€
She looked. “Well, you’re certainly smaller now, and better-looking, too.
“Only your hair’s still the same, worn the same way, and the same color.
“But I wouldn’t call you ‘fat’ back then.â€
“You need to have your vision checked; if you saw me back then, you would‘ve immediately rejected me as a suitor, thinking I‘d be a better match for the Lynne Sin primitive,†I said. “But very fortunately, two years after that photograph was taken, I got a hold of myself, and melted down to a normal 162 pounds at 6’3†with a 32†waistline.
"And I resumed wearing contact lenses.
“In the intervening decades, I alas put on twelve pounds, but I’m still the same altitude and thickness.
“It makes me break out into a cold sweat, that I could’ve been fat all my life, instead of for just a mere two years.â€
to be continued, when something else happens
-
In the early evening, although when it was still very bright and very hot outside, a couple of visitors came over while I was in the south meadow, playing “fetch†with the cats. I toss them a frisbee, they run and catch it, bring it back to me, and I pat their head. And then we do it again and again.
It was the first time these people had been here, and I’m not sure the impression I gave, especially the way I was dressed, as if Lord Kitchener of Khartuom; the khaki shorts, the tan shirt, the tan bush-helmet, attire which I find more suitable for myself, personally, out in the Sandhills than I do “cowboy†wear.
In case one’s not aware of this, the clime and terrain out here--excepting in winter--is exactly the same as what is to be found in former British East Africa.
The guy looks like an older-and-greyer Jimmy Stewart; his wife, like the late Nina Khruscheva.
I don’t know them hardly at all, but they’re very nice people, the salt of the earth. He’s a truck-driver, and she’s a nurse’s aide at the nursing home in town. He’s also the local Baptist preacher.
I invited them to come with me into the house, although with some trepidation, because I wasn’t sure if it’d offend. The walls of the dining room, the living room, and the bedroom are covered with custom-framed copies of portraits, most by Hans Holbein, which by themselves could hardly offend anybody.
I’ve been accused of living in a portrait gallery, but whatever.
But here-and-there, there’s something betraying my own religious affiliation; the crucifix hung above the furnace thermostat, the “Sacred Heart of Jesus†which was a classic in American Catholic homes for decades (I’m sure this, with its frame and glass, is an antique by now), and three icons of the Virgin and Child.
(There’s also a framed photograph of Bela Pelosi hanging on the wall behind the commode in the bathroom, but never mind--)
However, they didn’t seem to notice.
- - - - - - - - - -
They did however notice the telephone.
“Oh, we’re sorry,†the wife said; “we thought you didn’t have a telephone; if we’d known that, we would’ve called rather than bothering you with a visit.â€
I preferred that people come out here, rather than telephoning me, I assured them; “this thing was contrived by a hearing person who thought he understood what deaf people needed……and consequently, it’s a pain, a hassle, a nuisance, a trial, for deaf people to use.
“In fact, hearing people use it more than I do--but if one does, always best to turn off the blinking red light before picking up the receiver, lest one’s ear-drums are blasted out.â€
- - - - - - - - - - -
“We heard some of our brethren are coming here this weekend,†the man said; “and were wondering if it’d be okay with you if some of us came out here to visit.â€
I saw no problem with it; in fact, I thought it a great idea.
“And we were wondering,†the wife added, “if our local church could have a cook-out with them--â€
“No problem,†I interrupted; “in fact, you may feel free to borrow that army-sized charcoal grill in the front yard. I can haul it down to the river in the back of a truck here.
“It’d be great,†I rhapsodized; “hamburgers and french fries done on the grill.â€
“Well, we weren’t quite thinking of that,†the man said, hesitantly.
“Most of our members would like to donate ham-hocks and spare-ribs from their freezer lockers.â€
That sounded okay, I said, “but what if they don’t like ham-hocks and spare-ribs?â€
The couple looked at me as if I were Bozo from Outer Space.
“I’m very sure they’ll like ham-hocks and spare-ribs,†the wife said; “they’ll eat it right up.â€
to be continued…..whenever
-
Better to be unable to hear [rumors, gossip, back-stabbery, &c.] then to hear and [have to] disregard what we hear.
vesta, dear, during the middle of the night, like Saul on the road to Damascus, it came to me, as if a great blinding light. You hit the nail on the head, sort of, although opposite the way you appear to think it is.
But I'm compelled to do some deep thinking about this; it might take a couple of days. You're wrong, but the brain was suddenly congested, overfilled, traffic-jammed, with s-o-o-o-o-o-o many reasons "why" you're wrong, that one has to spend some time sorting them all out.
Nothing wrong with being wrong, vesta, dear; all of us are human, and we've each all been wrong before.
-
When I got up about 4:45 this morning, as I was walking through the kitchen to empty my bladder in the bathroom, I remembered something, and suddenly got very nervous.
Before making coffee, I wrapped a towel around my mid-section and cautiously approached the window there, to look to see if anybody was peering inside.
Then, with none of the lights yet turned on, I sidled into the dining room and slowly looking around the corner, I surveyed the large picture-window that’s on the south side of the room. Nothing there.
I quickly skipped over to the far corner, and from there glanced around to see out the large picture-window that’s on the east side of the house.
Then I tip-toed to the front door; nothing there, and nothing out in the front yard looked out of order.
Still clinging to the wall, I made my way into the living-room, where I looked out the large picture-window there, but all I saw was the silhouette of the alpine Jungfrau-looking William Rivers Pitt in front of the rising sun.
I then slowly eased my way to that place where, if I were vulnerable, I’d be most vulnerable, the large picture-window in the living-room that looks out to the north.
- - - - - - - - - -
One of the most attractive features of this place are the windows, on all four sides through which one can see the awesome panorama of the Sandhills of Nebraska. When I first moved here, there were window-shades, which I immediately took down and trashed, because since early childhood, I’ve always associated window-shades with poverty; only poor people had them.
Better-off people had curtains, draperies, Venetian blinds, whatever, and at the time I made a mental note to get some of those while in the big city. But due to the press of other preoccupations, I’d never gotten around to it the past eight years.
But no matter; the Sandhills are so awesome one wants to see them twenty-four hours a day anyway.
(In case the obvious question arises, the 8’ x 3’ window in the bathroom is obscured--no one need fear loss of privacy in the bathroom--there being some sort of milky-white frosted plastic laminate glued on the glass.)
(And in case another obvious question arises, when my guest was here last week using the bedroom, before she arrived, I’d carefully and neatly placed newly-laundered bed-sheets over the three windows of that room.)
I walked around the door leading from the living room into the bedroom (I’d originally gone out from the bedroom through the door leading into the kitchen), and stopped in my tracks.
- - - - - - - - - -
Oh fu…dge, I thought; what am I doing, acting so damned paranoid? Paranoia’s not part of my nature.
I flung the towel onto the bed and brazenly walked into the kitchen to make coffee.
That made, I grabbed a package of cigarettes and walked out to the back porch.
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The panorama from there was epic; the sun in front of the house hadn’t risen enough to lighten up the back yard, but it was already shining over the meadow and the side of the river 500 yards distant.
There’s an amateur-grade telescope bolted to the porch-railing, pointed towards the river, and I did look through that--but I was doing that even before I was paranoid. I swung it from the walnut grove on the south, up the riverside, to the meadow on the north. Nothing to be seen but birds.
As I smoked a cigarette and drank some coffee, I got more and more irked at myself, for having been so paranoid.
There was an old high-school cheerleader bullhorn on the back porch. Someone had brought it to a party here last summer, and had forgotten all about it.
I grabbed it, and jumping onto the railing, stood there and boomed out to the horizon, “COME OUT, COME OUT, WHEREVER YOU ARE! PRIMITIVES! STALKERS! DUmmies! COME OUT, COME OUT, WHEREVER YOU ARE! I DARE YOU! COME OUT, COME OUT, TAKE ME ON, FREAKS!
“COME ON OUT AND TAKE ME ON, YOU PISSANTS! YOU LOSERS! RACISTS! BIGOTS! COME AND TAKE ME ON, FREAKS!
“I KNOW YOU’RE OUT THERE, WATCHING ME, EVEN THOUGH I DON’T SEE YOU AND CAN’T HEAR YOU! YOU’RE OUT THERE, AND COME ON, TAKE ME ON, YOU CLOWNS!â€
- - - - - - - - - -
Suddenly someone came walking around the corner, interrupting my bombasts.
From atop the railing, I glanced over at the sun-dial in the back yard; it showed sometime between 6:15 and 6:30 a.m.
Oops, I was late getting dressed.
But it was only Horacio, from the big city. He’s from Texas, and I’ve known him for years. His real name is “Juan,†but the first time I met him, I didn’t “get†it, supposing it to be “Horacio,“ and even though I learned later his real name, old habits die hard. And besides, he’s used to it, and me.
Juan is in his late 60s, and a grandfather. He has lots of family down in Texas, but lives up here because it’s quieter. After having worked in meat-packing plants for almost fifty years, he’s retired now, and as an American citizen since some time when Dean Rusk was Secretary of State, he collects social security.
In his spare time, he does “’farmers’ marketing.â€
No, it’s not like with the primitives in New England and their “farmers’†markets, where produce from Florida and Georgia is sold as “locally-grown;†one can’t fool people around here like that.
Whenever Juan feels the need to visit his descendants down in Texas, he takes along a big pick-up truck and a hand-made trailer, and brings back up here produce they’ve grown down there, to sell around here. He doesn’t sell from any set place; he usually goes from small-town to small-town for a day, parking in front of a bank (the best spot, he says, and it doesn’t cause trouble with the local grocer), and sells.
Being an honest man and not a New England primitive, he uses no deceptive advertising. His watermelons are plainly marked “Texas watermelons,†his cantaloupes “Texas cantaloupes,†and so on.
Everybody knows Juan, and he’s waxing fat and prosperous in his old age.
I live on his way to this town, and he always stops by, to see if I want anything, which of course I do.
- - - - - - - - - -
“Let me get dressed, and then let’s go and see what you have,†I said.
What he had was mostly watermelons, and I commented, “Oh good; I definitely need some of these, lots of these.
“I’ve got a bunch of guests coming this weekend, Baptists from some inner-city Abyssinian church in Indianapolis, and given that the weather’s going to be hot, these’ll go over good.â€
Juan looked at me. “How do you know; they might, uh, be offended--those people are sensitive about being thought of that way.â€
Uh, no way, I said; “I dunno anything about that; all I know is everybody likes watermelon in hot weather.â€
to be continued once something happens
-
“Great job, as usual,†the business partner said as he got into the driver’s seat.
“You know, dude, you’re s-o-o-o-o-o good that sometimes I even forget my part, as I’m so wrapped up in watching you--â€
“I know,†I interrupted; “and since you’ve ignored your cues, you leave me at sea, all alone.
“Talk about feeling like a pig sliding on ice.â€
“Oh, but that’s when you’re at your best.â€
- - - - - - - - - -
He and I had just concluded some business with someone in a county nearby--never mind what, other than that the business partner and franksolich are the “good guys†in such things--and since we weren’t going anywhere else, he was just taking me home, I’d already gotten rid of my jacket, tie, socks, and shoes, sitting in the passenger-seat with just the brown pin-striped pants and a wholly natural cotton white shirt.
I don’t see how it’s possible to get any hotter than this, out in the Sandhills.
“You know,†I reminded him; “that’s eventually what’s going to kill me--although I hope for not a very long time yet--all this ulcerous erosion inside of me, caused by the life-long stress of masquerading as a hearing person when in fact I’m not hearing at all.â€
Yeah, he knows; he was after all present that one Sunday evening in August four years ago when, without warning, I’d quickly expelled [what was later medically estimated as] three and a half pints of blood; blood all over the place.
The business partner, being in the highest ranking of emergency medical technicians--a paramedic--had saved the day; it ended well.
“It’ a very strenuous way to live, but I’ve never known any other way of living.â€
- - - - - - - - - - -
“Tell me how that all happened again,†he said, “because I’m still trying to figure out the ‘why’ of it; why you’ve always felt compelled to act as a hearing person.â€
I’m sure everybody on conservativecave knows the story by heart now; franksolich was the next-to-the-last child in a large family, born when my parents were older-than-usual; in fact, I have no memories of either of them without grey hair.
All the other children, including the one that followed, had been born with nothing wrong, and so it was a rude surprise when I’d emerged from the womb absent ears. There’d been nothing during the course of the pregnancy to indicate anything was wrong, but ooops, here I was, a healthy robust bouncing vigorous infant, but missing two of the most important parts of one’s body.
(It was decades later determined to have been caused by the chemical Accutane, but that’s another story.)
franksolich was a phenomenon few had seen before. (One is a decidedly miniature “ear,†but malformed and no ear-canal; the other is simply a “tab,†which usually evolves into an ear-lobe on most infants. Neither has ever grown; they both remain the same size today, that they were when I was born.)
- - - - - - - - - -
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When I was 3, 4, 5 years old, the parents had to make a decision about my education.
At the time, the only option available for such children in Nebraska was that of being boarded-and-schooled in a very large multi-storied sinister-looking building in downtown Omaha. It was freely available to all deaf children; if one was from a poor family (which wasn’t the case here), the taxpayers of the state paid the bills.
If that was the only option, my parents decided “doing nothing†was better than that.
There were actually many factors favoring doing nothing, at least in my case. Both parents were medical professionals, my father a CRNA (registered nurse-anesthetist) and my mother an RN (registered nurse), and my father besides that a hospital administrator. And along with those credentials naturally came “connections†with hordes of other medical professionals, all the way east to New York City.
There were lots and lots of older brothers and sisters in the family available to watch and teach (this actually ended up being the weakest part of the “chainâ€); we lived in a small town alongside the pastoral Platte River, where everybody knew everybody else and their circumstances, and watched out for each other; and the pace of life was so slow, so peaceful, so quiet that even the most-troubled child should have no problem absorbing the world at a leisurely pace, instead of having it all at once stuffed down his throat.
(A significant factor, not known at the time, was the absence of television; everybody else had television, but there was never one in our house. I have no idea why--I mean, it wasn’t as if we weren’t up-to-date [when we later moved into the heart of the Sandhills, for example, our house was the first there, ever, with central air-conditioning]; I grew up with plenty of modern conveniences.
(But we never had a television, nor do I recall anyone in the family expressing a desire to have one.)
- - - - - - - - - - -
“So…..one fine September morning the year I was five years old, I was without warning thrown into the ‘mainstream’ of school.
“Yeah, sure, the teachers had been told all about me and were ready for me, but I hadn’t been told a thing.
“Man,†I groaned. “Talk about throwing baby from the bath-water into the boiling water.â€
- - - - - - - - - -
I lit another cigarette. “I was still pretty young; I have no idea what I thought.
“I do recall, though, that sometime during the first or second grade, when I was 6, 7, years old, I consciously decided that if I were going to survive, I had to be just like everybody else.
“Well, I couldn’t be just like everybody else; I couldn’t hear.
“However, I could act just like everybody else; provided I camouflaged the absence of ears, I could do that.
“And the rest of course is history; John Barrymore had nothing on franksolich.â€
- - - - - - - - - - -
The business partner laughed, sort of.
“I’ll never forget it,†he said. “The first two or three times we got together [this would be the autumn of 2005, shortly after franksolich had disposed of the late red round one], before we decided to work together, I had no idea. You looked and acted perfectly normal, and didn’t give the slightest clue.
“Then somebody told me you were deaf, and I said ‘no way;’ it wasn’t possible.
“The next time we met, I directly asked you, and you said ‘yes.’
“’Oh man,’ I thought; ‘this guy’s a blatant liar, a poseur; I don’t want to work with him.’
“Finally, you got exasperated and lifted the hair off both sides of your head, and I saw.
“Dude, you are awesome.â€
I thanked him.
the Baptists are coming, and so something might finally happen
-
Upon getting home, I went to sleep in the bedroom, even though it was still only the afternoon. It’s likely to be very hot for a few days, and as the femme was going to be here using the bedroom this night, the only room in the house with air-conditioning, I decided to take advantage of it while I can, which won’t be for long.
In the depth of the afternoon, about three, I got up and went out to the back porch. I was still wearing the brown pin-striped pants from the suit, and the pure cotton white shirt, but was barefooted and all that.
Looking to the south, I saw a group of people wandering near the grove of walnut trees. I swung my eyes over to look at the side of the river, where I saw a bunch of cars and some half-set-up tents.
The Baptists from Indiana had arrived.
I rang a hand-held antique school-bell that had been left on the back porch--the sort of bell used to summon students back in from recess--to attract the attention of the group walking by the trees, hoping their leader was among them. I also “hallo’ed†and waved, but I’ve never been sure my voice carries that far.
They saw me and waved back, and one of them began walking towards the house.
- - - - - - - - - - -
He was far enough away that I had time to collect my thoughts.
Now, I know it’s passe these days, honor and respect for men of the cloth, but I stubbornly retain my reverence for these selfless men who’ve given up all else to serve God. They get not only courtesy from me, but awe and wonder.
However, it’s all very complicated.
Among my own, it’s the most natural thing in the world, to automatically bow one’s head in respect to such a person, but the upcoming visitor was Protestant, not Catholic, and it’s my understanding Protestants don’t care much for such formality.
However, being what I am, I’m greatly uncomfortable with this “oh, just call me Joe; we’re human, just like everybody else†bit. There is no way in Hell franksolich can treat a man of God as if he’s only just like everybody else, because he’s not.
Also, Protestants tend to get huggy-huggy and cuddly-cuddly when meeting each other, which makes me cringe. I’m not a hugging or cuddling sort of person; such intimacy repels me, turns me ice-cold.
In the past, I’ve tried getting away with just a quick hand-shake, but I’ve never succeeded.
It’s always been a quandary, and never ends well.
- - - - - - - - - -
As he got closer, I noticed the preacher bore a striking resemblance to Congressman John Lewis of Georgia, although not as fat or decadent-looking. And certainly more cheerful. Also, he was wearing what were obviously thrift-store clothes, in which no self-important politician would dare appear.
I “read†“Praise the Lord!†on his mouth as he got closer, smiling and lifting his arms.
I was taken aback; that’s too much exuberance for my Catholic tastes.
For lack of any other idea, I slightly bowed my head to him, and as if solemnly speaking from a crypt, said, “Welcome, in the Name of our Lord Jesus Christ, through Whom our Salvation is assured.â€
Well, it was the best I could think of at the moment.
He bounded up the steps, and we shook hands. I took one of his elbows and gently steered him to a chair at a table in the shade of the porch. After all, this was not a young man. Then I said, “I’ll sit down in a minute, too, but first, it’s very hot, and you’re hot…..and thirsty.
“Coffee or milk or tea or orange juice?â€
“Water,†he said; “I’d sure like some water.â€
I walked into the kitchen. Water was too common for a man of God, so putting ice into two large tumblers, in his I poured three-quarters of a quart of pure orange juice, and in mine, three-quarters of a quart of whole milk. Then I went back outside, with napkins too.
- - - - - - - - - -
He gave me the statistics of the group; there were now twenty-two of them, aged 77 years down to nine months, eight motor vehicles, five tents. They were going to stay here this night, and Saturday night, and then sometime near sun-down on Sunday, get going west again, driving through the night, to the camp-meeting up in Montana.
They didn’t need anything; God had provided.
I arched my eyebrows at that; from various clues, I suspected God had some unfinished business.
I inquired as to how they’d heard of this place; I mean, it’s not on maps or anything.
He told me that some weeks before, a white guy had passed through their church in Indianapolis, and mentioned this place. “He was tired, run-down, destitute, and maybe running away from something. He stayed for our services, but obviously wasn’t ready for God yet. He mentioned this place, and that it was run [sic] by ‘a nice guy, one of the nicest guys one can ever hope to meet.’â€
I thought a while, and then remembered.
“Oh yeah,†I replied; “that must’ve been Italianate Jesus, who was running away from that weird cult of the fat greasy Bagwam Maharishi Rawalpindi Thiruvananthapura Yogi in Oregon; they were chasing him because they were afraid he’d reveal all their secrets.
“They were here last year, and I’m still living it down.â€
- - - - - - - - - -
I mentioned that their friends from around here were going to show up about supper-time, hoping to treat the visitors with a cook-out after it cooled down in mid-evening.
“We already know about it,†he replied, not aware that such words sting.
How is it possible, that hearing people--
I mean, neither group knew the other, and had no way of contacting each other.
Damn.
“We’re appreciative of the hospitality of our brothers and sisters, and’ve been looking forward to it.â€
- - - - - - - - - -
We talked of a few things of general interest, but I was getting itchy. I was hot and miserable, my head aching from all this communication. And I hadn’t had a cigarette since returning home, suspecting it not good manners to smoke in front of a man of God.
About five o’clock, the femme showed up, bringing with her two of her students in one of her dance classes in the big city. All three of them were going to spend the night, in my bedroom.
Okay, I figured; I’d opened the door, paved the way. The rest was up to her, all the socializing.
“I have to go to town to get some cigarettes,†I announced, giving the impression that I’d be right back, but actually meaning I’d be away for a while, to rest up from all this social interaction. Not that I have anything against people, but simply that I “burn out†quickly, and it had after all been a trying day.
to be continued when the next thing happens
-
“Well, I think that’s terrible--why would you do such a thing?†the neighbor’s wife asked me in early evening, when I found her out in the long meadow, exercising her horses.
I’d gone up there, six miles north of my place, after leaving the party down there in the hands of the femme, although she probably wasn’t yet aware she was now in charge.
The neighbor had taken their five children to supper at their grandparents’, but I knew she was still at home. She wasn’t around the house or thereabouts, and so I took one of their pick-up trucks to drive around looking for her. I have a free pass to use their vehicles (and those of others, throughout the county), and as my car’s low-slung (my preference; they’re easier to handle in the relentless winds of Nebraska), it doesn’t take deep ruts very well, if at all.
She let the horses go, and we walked to the pick-up truck and sat in the air-conditioned cab.
About this time of the day, it always looks like rain, but it never does.
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“Well, she’s used to it,†I smiled, weakly; “it’s hardly the first or the twentieth time I’ve done it.
“She likes to socialize, and finds everybody interesting--and they, her. She’s a very chatty, effervescent, curious person. I look at it as if I’m doing her a favor, giving her the gift of people to socialize with.â€
“I wonder if she sees it that way,†the neighbor’s wife offered.
“Well, she’s never complained, and besides, it makes sense. We’re a pair, and in a pair, the person most temperamentally-suited for doing something, does it, so that the other person, who might be badly-skilled or inept at it, doesn’t have to deal with it.
“And,†as I reminded the neighbor’s wife, “it works the other way, too. For example, when there’s primitives camping out there, because they’re a threat to respectable women, I deal with them, won’t let them get near her.
“So I carry my weight too.
“Tonight, we got a case of decent and civilized people, no problems, so they’re all hers.
“Besides, I’ll be the perfect host tomorrow night, when you’re there too.â€
to be continued, whenever I find out what happened
-
“How’d it go last night?†I asked the femme in the morning.
I’d come back about 10 o’clock the previous evening, and gone to sleep on the couch in the living room. Nobody else was in the house, they all being down by the river with the guests. It was now early morning, and she was making coffee in the kitchen while I sat at the table there.
“Oh, we had fun,†she said; “the ones from town came out here about six, and you hadn’t moved the grill down there, so they did it. While everybody got acquainted, a few of them did up the spare-ribs, and then after we ate and it got dark, they had a raucous prayer-meeting, lots and lots of old songs and hand-clapping.
“You were right; this was the real thing, no made-for-television put-on, no sanitized play-acting, no inhibited performance for the public. Their enthusiasm’s real, and everybody got caught up in it.â€
“How many came out?†I asked; “there’s twenty-two of them from Indiana, and so did they get enough company?â€
“Oh, easily twice that number,†she said, pouring the coffee.
I hadn’t expected it anyway, but I was gratified to see she didn’t seem upset I’d left.
- - - - - - - - - - -
Curious, I straightforwardly asked, “Did anybody miss me?â€
“Don’t be silly,†she said. “They hadn’t met you, other than the elderly gentleman. And most of those from town don’t know you that well, and didn’t expect you to be there anyway.
“He did ask where you were, and for lack of anything else to say, as I didn’t know, I said I thought you might be dispensing alms to the poor and visiting the shut-ins in town, as you’re known to do, even though you don’t want such things known.
“Of course you weren’t,“ she reminded me; “you do that, but not on Friday nights.
“’A good man,’ he said about you.
“But I think he suspects your secret,†she added, referring to the deafness.
“How could he possibly guess that?†I asked.
“Well, you’re not as good an actor as you think you are,†she replied; “and some people are better at picking up on things.
“When they had the prayers for intercession, he looked over here at the house, and mentioned ‘a troubled soul heavily burdened,’ and I knew he was talking about you.â€
- - - - - - - - - - -
“As soon as the bedroom’s available, you’d probably better change your clothes,†she suggested. “You ‘re still wearing what you put on yesterday morning,†referring to the pants and shirt.
Yeah, I would, I said; “I’ll have to send the pants to the dry-cleaner’s.â€
“Why don’t you ever get some new suits?†she asked. “You’ve had these since forever.â€
Uh, only since 1986, I reminded her. I was young then, and had some money, and had spent a great deal of it at a men’s clothier in New York City, having five of them tailored for me; two pants, one jacket, one vest in each set, this light-brown pin-stripe, and a dark-brown pin-stripe, a light blue pin-stripe, a grey pin-stripe, and a black pin-stripe.
The bill was phenomenal (but not a surprise; I’d planned on it).
“And they were made to last a life-time,†I reminded her. “They still suit me just fine.â€
to be continued
-
After the two women students with the femme woke up in the bedroom, I finally got around to changing clothes. The jungle-like humidity seemed to have evaporated in the Sandhills over the night, and so even though the temperatures are likely to remain high, with dry air, the world seems inhabitable again.
I put on a pair of white gym-shorts and a plain white sleeveless t-shirt, and rejoined the femme for breakfast, this time out on the back porch. The two young chicks with her came out too, but I ignored them.
Many people don’t get upset at being shunned, if they know I can’t hear. They assume, well, he’s not being impolite or anything, he just can’t hear. Sometimes that’s true, but not always. Sometimes they’re being ignored because they strike me as shallow, with no depth.
But it’s nice that they think of it as merely being that I can’t hear.
- - - - - - - - - -
“Well, what are the plans for today?†I asked the femme; “I’ve got none, so you’re the boss.â€
“Some people from town are bringing out their ATVs [all-terrain vehicles; they look like snowmobiles with big wheels], and we’re all taking everybody for rides through the country.â€
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/8828_zps7b3c1769.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/8828_zps7b3c1769.jpg.html)
“I’ll skip on that,†I said. “The country bores me.â€
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/11-477_zps5c97265c.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/11-477_zps5c97265c.jpg.html)
“Apparently it didn’t bore you last week,†she reminded me, “when you had [the guest I had] here; you were all over the great outdoors with her--â€
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/052_zps035860a6.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/052_zps035860a6.jpg.html)
“That was different,†I said; “nobody else was around, and so I had to play the good host, doing things she wanted to do.
“Just because I did it, doesn’t mean I enjoyed it. I did it because I had to.â€
Her eyebrows arched.
“Nothing happened,†I assured her.
- - - - - - - - - -
“It’s so pretty out here,†one of the young chicks said. “If I lived out here, I’d be outdoors all the time.â€
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/12-112-1_zps16faec68.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/12-112-1_zps16faec68.jpg.html)
“It’s just all nature and junk,†I said, irritated that I’d been interrupted. “Nature all over the place--â€
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/20XL_12_zps5e0c0457.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/20XL_12_zps5e0c0457.jpg.html)
“You sound like you don’t like nature,†she said.
“Uh, I’m the best friend nature ever had,†I countered; “I leave nature alone, unmolested, don’t disturb it.â€
“He was actually attacked by a deer once,†the femme told the other two; “caught him by surprise, knocked him over, tried to bite him.
“It was the third day he lived out here, and he wasn’t used to it yet.â€
“The worst is when the bald eagles come around,†I pointed out; “I have to collect the cats and put them in the house.
“I don’t know anything about bald eagles, excepting that up close, they’re really big with malevolent eyes, and dirty and smelly too. And I assume they’re like vultures, likely to snatch up one of the cats and carry it away for dinner.
“But because they’re ‘protected,’ all I can do is yell at them, and toss a frisbee their way, to get them out of here.
“This stack of frisbees on the edge of the porch here isn‘t really for playing ‘fetch‘ with the cats; it‘s my stockpile of ammunition to deter undesirable birds. I get them from garage sales and thrift stores, usually for a quarter apiece.
“And during certain times of the year, there’s hordes of pheasants and herds of wild turkeys.
“The wild turkeys are weird; they flock in big blobs while wandering over the terrain…..but then when they get to the road, they insist upon crossing single-file, meaning I have to sit in the car and wait and wait and wait until the last one’s crossed, joining the rest of the blob that’s formed on the other side.â€
- - - - - - - - - -
“Yes, he’s really had a few bad experiences,†the femme admitted; “for example, he’s actually acquired an immunity to insect-bites, but he got that long before he moved here--â€
“Uh-huh, as a little kid on the Platte River; I was always being eaten alive by insects.â€
“He’s immune to the venom of black widow and brown recluse spiders,†the femme said, “which usually sends the rest of us in hysterics to the emergency room, and for good reason.
“I’ve seen it; it’s not a pretty sight. One bites him, he notices it, says ‘oh, fu….dge,’ swats it dead, and then carries on as if nothing’s happened. A little bit later, some pus starts to form, but he squeezes it out, and that’s that. No harm done.â€
to be continued w…h…e…n…e…v…e…r something happens; I know it’s been boring so far, but life’s more full of boredom than excitement anyway
-
I was out in the garage in early afternoon, tinkering around until the neighbor and his older brother came by, as promised. There’s nothing in the garage at the moment, but it has large overhead fans--no such thing in the house itself--and faces east, the sun already passed over.
The doors were wide open, and I watched as two unexpected people drove up in a pick-up truck.
The village idiot and the town bully.
They “hallo-ing†and waving at me as if just making a social call, I resignedly told them to come on in…..
I wondered why they’d showed up, but if they were going to be a problem, I supposed I could “hold†them until the neighbor and his older brother showed up.
The femme, the young chicks, the Baptists from town, and the Baptists from Indiana, were out in the remote country somewhere, gawking at the wildlife, tearing up the terrain, and otherwise bothering nature, so the two weren‘t going to trouble anybody but franksolich.
- - - - - - - - - -
The village idiot is about 40 years old, and round as a beach-ball. I guess he has balls the size of peas, given that I’ve been told he has a high-pitched whining squeal for a voice, and no facial hair.
The town bully is a little bit younger, sullen and hot-tempered, his mind corroded by his sporadic use of mood-altering pharmaceuticals and his daily intake of alcohol.
“We’re going over the river,†the village idiot said, “and were wondering if any of your guests would like to come along, for a little bit of fun.â€
By “going over the river,†he meant of course they were going to a topless bar over in squalid, sordid, dirty, filthy, congested Iowa. There aren’t any such establishments around here.
“Sorry,†I said; “they’re all out in the country. I’m the only one around.â€
“Well, maybe then you’d like to come along,†the town bully said.
“Uh, no way,†I said. “Not my piece of cake, watching big jugs swinging around.
“It’s grotesque.â€
“There’s something wrong with you,†the village idiot commented; “not liking women and all that--â€
- - - - - - - - - -
When I first moved up to this area twelve years ago (and out to this property eight years ago), I was an unknown quality to the general population (other than to the neighbor, who’d been a friend of mine when we both lived in Lincoln years and years before), and puzzled many people about where franksolich stood, on the scale of manhood.
I was male, well into the marriageable age, and…..single. There didn’t seem to be anything to preclude matrimony, being that I looked average and had, I guess, a pleasing personality.
Too, I wasn’t into hunting and fishing.
And despite that there wasn’t ever any limp-wristing, fluttering eye-lashes, and mincing prance, nor the jingle-jangle of jewelry anywhere on my body, I was supposed by some to be “one of those.â€
However, random good luck shortly intervened to erase that impression among most around here.
This was years ago, but one time while at the self-service gasoline pumps at a station in the big city, I suddenly found myself at the wrong end of a hand-gun. It was caught on camera, and the guy’s now in the state penitentiary. People of course heard about that, and some had even seen the film.
And then a few weeks later, I was a customer inside a convenience store in the big city, and abruptly found myself at the wrong end of a sawed-off shot-gun. The two guys were never caught--it’s assumed they’re not from around here, and probably from one of the blue states--but that incident too was caught on camera.
And widely televised; I’m sure the whole of northeastern Nebraska saw it.
The impression gotten from those watching one, or both, films was that I’d stared the guy down, given how I’d kept looking at him, eye-to-eye, and how he suddenly got scared, and ran away (in both instances).
Actually, what’d happened was that I was startled, and wondering why a gun was pointed at me.
But I know when to not bother setting the record straight, and so the impression persists today, that franksolich has balls of steel, staring down a loaded firearm not once, but twice.
My credentials for machissimo are sterling, excepting among the few cretins who live around here.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
“Yeah, right,†I said, to the pea-sized balls one; “you want to see it?â€
Just then, the neighbor and his older brother drove up, and the other two took off.
to be continued when something finally happens
-
You've got the wild turkeys down pat. :lmao:
That's them.
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You've got the wild turkeys down pat. :lmao:
That's them.
You know, really, I'm such a slipshod writer, because I'm always in too big of a hurry to get things down, and leave things out.
In the last part, I omitted to remember two important details.
The town bully looks like no one more so than the Taverner primitive, with his egglant of a head.
When I made my last, smart-ass, comment, I was standing there with one of my 17" S/K adjustable wrenches in my hand, and so nothing was going to happen.
-
You know, really, I'm such a slipshod writer, because I'm always in too big of a hurry to get things down, and leave things out.
You are very good at describing the things around you, though. For me, some of the best parts in your narratives don't even have anything to do with the main theme.
-
You are very good at describing the things around you, though. For me, some of the best parts in your narratives don't even have anything to do with the main theme.
I have to make a confession here (I made it once to Big Dog, a couple of months ago).
On the true parts, there's oftentimes intentional omissions because I'm a nice guy.
With the femme for example, I never never never put her in a bad light. The femme's human, and like everybody else has flaws, but I don't dare describe any of hers.
And the business partner whines about things just as much as I do, but because I don't think it's anybody else's business the nature of his whines, I describe only my whines, making it seem as if franksolich is the only one of us who whines.
<<<takes care of one's own.
As for photographs of real people, they're posted only with prior permission, which is why there's not a whole lot of photographs of people other than myself. It gives the impression that franksolich is narcisstic, which of course is preposterous; it's the case only because I have to insert pictures once in a while to spark interest.
-
Whoa. A question from a fan.
<<rarely gets fan mail.
How do you decide what to impart into a story, outside of "just the facts"? How do you figure out what words to use for those descriptive details? How do you make your stories seem so alive?
My fan--may Allah bless him, shower him with riches, soothe him with many harems, etc., etc., etc.--offered this as an example. It's from one of the first stories I ever wrote for conservativecave, so long ago I'd forgotten I'd written it.
It was the details of the time I hired a Greek plumber to pull out my four wisdom teeth because I thought the dentist too expensive. I was young, and had already seen the x-rays; the roots on all four went straight down, and hence were likely to slip right out.
The first two came out quickly and easily. But the third one was stubborn, didn't want to leave, and so the plumber, who was short and rotund, had to kneel on my lap to yank it out. It was a very hot summer evening in Allentown, Pennsylvania, and this took place on his back porch.
.....I was not aware of human veinous anatomy at the time, but it seemed to me that there must be some sort of major nerve, running from the big toe of one foot up through the body to the top of the skull. It felt as if the plumber was trying to pull a 6'3" rope out from inside of me, rather than just a tooth.
The plumber continued pulling.
.....and pulling.....
.....and pulling.
This time, it felt as if he were trying to yank out my right eyeball, from the inside.
Just as vomit was scrambling up the windpipe, the tooth spurted out. The plumber fell backward on my lap, and I grabbed his waist, to keep him from falling onto the floor.
I was dragged, sore, worn out. I do not remember extraction of the fourth tooth, the lower right wisdom tooth, other than that it seemed to pop out as easily and quickly as the first two had.
The plumber, profusely perspiring, jammed more cotton and bichloride of mercury into my mouth, and indicated he was done now, but I should sit there and "rest."
The plumber's wife brought me a glass of some sort of Greek liqeuer, which I downed instantly, and later learned it was fermented poppyseeds......
My fan's--may he have a thousand lives as a rich man--commentary on that:
I just feel tired from reading that. :lmao:
- - - - - - - - - - -
In answer to the first question, I deviate from the facts when the true stuff needs jazzing up.
Now, I don't want to mislead decent and civilized people, so I make the deviation from the truth obvious, by inserting a primitive, or some conduct of a primitive into it.
An example of this is near the beginning of this diary, where the business partner talks about franksolich being stalked by primitives. It's true that I've been stalked, and it's true that the business partner himself saw a couple of instances of it. This was years ago; nothing's happened recently.
But that's pretty boring, so I put Fat Che into it, to spice it up, to garner reader interest.
Now, this example's complicated, because the business partner, although never a member of our old home, knows all about poor stupid Beth's scam, and in fact besides myself is the only person in real life who knows what franksolich really did to the late red round one. But as to the primitives, and Skins's island in general, he's never seen them, never been there.
The opposite example of this, 100% of the unalloyed truth, is the most-recent part of this journal of life out here in the Sandhills, the encounter in the garage. That all really happened, and exactly in that order. Notice, please, primitives are not part of it.
- - - - - - - - - - -
In answer to the second question, about which words to use in descriptions, I dunno. And in a personal aside to the sparkling old dude, who's made a certain foul nasty unwarranted allegation about me, franksolich has never in his life owned a thesaurus; I wouldn't know how to use a thesaurus any more than I'd know how to use a gyroscope.
- - - - - - - - - - -
In answer to the third question, about making the stories seem "alive," I have no idea.
This flattery actually shocks me; I have the impression they're pretty flat, pretty comatose. This one's a good example; I've been slugging away at telling it for six days now, and nothing's happened yet. In fact, as I confided in the buzzy one just hours ago, I'm thinking about giving it up, because it's not going anywhere, nothing's happening.....which of course is the exact same situation out here in real life.
-
The neighbor’s wife came over about 5:00 in the afternoon, along with their five children, who were hoping to meet, and play with, about the same number of children among the visiting Baptists, but nobody was back yet.
“They’re probably still out ruining nature,†I said, “disturbing the wildlife and tearing up the terrain.â€
The three older kids--the twin daughters and the oldest son--went out to explore the back yard, while the two younger ones--the younger son and the six-month-old infant daughter--stayed with us.
The younger son bothers me; he became unduly attached to his mother when he was the youngest, and now that there’s a new one, he’s gotten jealous and prone to temper tantrums.
But whatever; I’m not a parent, so I don’t know anything.
- - - - - - - - - - -
“Well, I’m sure they’ll show up soon,†the neighbor’s wife said.
“You know, I went down there,†I said, “and there’s two of those wheeled Chic Sale things there; I wonder where they came from.
“I’d kind of wondered how they were managing it, because number one, nobody was coming up to the house to use the bathroom, and number two, the convenience store in town’s six miles away.
“And they’re not primitives, who unload wherever they feel like unloading.â€
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/020262_zps99dc2284.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/020262_zps99dc2284.jpg.html)
“Maybe the Baptists from town brought them out,†she said.
“Well, it’s a relief, though,†I said, “because they strike me as the sort of people who’d be bothered if they had to leave a mess, not being able to do anything about it..â€
- - - - - - - - - - -
“I got something to do while we’re waiting,†I said, pointing to two 48-quart thermos chests I’d been given for Christmas and birthday presents the past year.
“But first, I have to ask you, because I never paid attention to chicken, other than when it’s in a sandwich.
“I won’t touch chicken soaked in grease with a ten-foot pole; never have.
“How well does fried chicken keep? You know Swede at the bar in town has this ‘special’ this evening, fried chicken, and as these people’ll be on their way west about twenty-four hours from now, and as they don’t have a whole lot of money, I was thinking of taking these down and having Swede fill them up, keeping them in the beer cooler until my guests take off.
“And they can of course have the chests too, because I got no need for them. And maybe this way, they can have chicken clear to Montana.
“Would that work?â€
She thought it might, and so I headed to town.
- - - - - - - - - -
When I got to the bar in town, there was a ruckus going on, between Swede and a couple of customers.
“I told him that special price is for his guests,†the temperamental cook of Norwegian derivation pointed out. “Everybody else, they got to pay the regular special price.â€
The two with whom he was arguing were Baptists from town; I was taken aback, as the bar’s circa 90 years old, and there’s probably never been a Baptist darkening its doorway before.
Oh now, I intervened; “they’re in fact buying it for my guests; we’re all having chicken down on the river this evening.â€
Swede looked at me as if I were Bozo from Outer Space.
“How many guests do you have down there? The whole population of Constantinople?â€
No, I said, but quite obviously, they’re buying some for tomorrow and the day after too.
For my guests.
And then I parked the two thermos chests on the counter.
“They want theirs right away, but this can wait. When you’re not busy later tonight, I’d appreciate it if you’d fill these with chicken, and in a way that it’ll keep. Then park them in the cooler, and I’ll pick them up and pay sometime mid-afternoon tomorrow.
“And no junk pieces, no organs, no necks, no dark meat. Or big bones.â€
After which I thanked him, and drove back home.
to be continued because maybe something’ll happen now
-
Since it was going to be chicken drenched in grease, I excused myself from attending the Saturday evening picnic, assuring the man of God that I’d show up down there in the morning, for their services.
He seemed somewhat bothered, hinting he thought maybe they might be being a nuisance for me, but I interrupted that thought telling him they were no problem at all. I was just absent so much simply because I have so many things to do, and as I wished them to be comfortable, the femme was in charge, being more sensitive to their needs than I could possibly be.
I went to sleep on the couch, and in the morning, I re-learned something I’d forgotten a very long time ago.
When there’s three women in one’s place, it’s going to take forever to get to the bathroom in the morning.
- - - - - - - - - - -
While waiting, and having coffee with the femme out on the back porch, she found fault with my old clothes again; the five three-piece pin-striped suits I’ve worn since 1986.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/051998_zps2229aadd.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/051998_zps2229aadd.jpg.html)
“What is it about men, that they cling to old clothes like a toddler to his baby-blanket?â€
"Look," I said; “You’ve changed my life, and in so many ways, good ways.
“But I have my limits. You’re not going to change my clothes.â€
- - - - - - - - - - -
After those three were done, and gone down to the river, I took a bath and shaved (I do both at once; it saves time), perfumed myself up with Preferred Stock cologne, and put on a new pair of tan khaki shorts, a light-brown all-cotton shirt I hadn’t worn before, and my white pith helmet.
Before going out the door, however, I thought the white one didn’t become me well, and switched to an older tan bush helmet.
It’s unusual attire for the Sandhills of Nebraska--in fact, it’s damned unique--but again, excepting in winter, the climate and terrain of the Sandhills is exactly the same as that in former British East Africa.
When I got there, in an attempt to be inobstrusive, I sat on the ground near the back, but it didn’t work; everybody saw me. They of course were very friendly, smiling and talking, but because I can’t hear, all I could do was smile back and “uh-huh.â€
The service opened up with the usual old-time-religion songs, about the walls of Jericho, the river Jordan, what a friend one has in Jesus, peace in the valley, dove’s wings, happy days, Moses going down, &c., &c., &c.
Now, such music is authentic Americana, and gets its due honor and respect from me; after all, God is multi-talented and revealed to us in so many different ways, according to our temperaments and cultures, and if something works for somebody, great; I’m all for it.
But I, personally, prefer hymns with solemnity and dignity, such as A Mighty Fortress Is Our God or Oh God, Our Help In Ages Past or Thou Art Peter or Uphold Us Lord, In Your Word (despite its second line, “…..and bring death to the Pope and the Turks…..â€).
I can’t hear them, but when they’re played, they’re powerful enough that they reverberate through this skeletal structure. They’re awesomely powerful and penetrative.
- - - - - - - - - -
The man of God, attired in thrift-store clothes, but different ones this day, gave a rousing, rip-roaring speech that inspired the audience, both the black Baptists from Indiana and the white Baptists from the Sandhills. I dunno what he talked about, but “heard†the cheers and “hallelujahs†and “praise the Lordâ€s, which were boisterous and frequent.
Then a collection was taken, and I being in the back row was in a position to see how well it went.
Damn. I wasn’t aware people still put dimes and quarter-dollars into church offerings.
As I’d planned all along, I put in two twenties and a ten, boosting it considerably.
- - - - - - - - - -
At the end, the man of God mentioned that he wished to thank the host of all this, and motioned for me to stand up. I was embarrassed, but I couldn’t very well stay sitting down, so I got up.
Then he came over and asked if he could pray for me.
Yeah, sure, I said; the way I live, I always need prayers.
He put his right hand on my shoulder, and shutting his eyes and bowing his head, began to pray.
“Oh God, we thank you this day for he who has provided us, through You, the warmth and fruits and hospitality of this land…..â€
I thought he’d stop there, but no, he went on.
“…..Oh God, before You stands a troubled soul, weighed down by the burden of sin and ignorance, a soul lost in the wilderness of hopelessness and despair, a soul tormented by his greed, sloth, avarice, lust, anger, arrogance, jealousy, a frightened soul standing on the precipice of destruction and death, a soul unworthy of Your Grace and peace…..
“But give it to him anyway, God…..â€
to be continued until something happens
-
About mid-afternoon, I went to town, to pick up the chicken at the bar, as the guests were leaving in a couple of hours.
When I went in, Swede was nowhere to be found, but his wife, the owner of the place, was there.
She got me the two thermos chests from the beer cooler, and I examined the contents. They were exactly as ordered, packed neatly, and the temperamental cook of Norwegian derivation had kindly padded some dry ice in with all of it.
Then I got the bill, which Swede had handwritten.
The items on the bill, and the contents of the chests, exactly coincided, and Swede had charged me the “special†rate on top of his already-special rate (fried chicken had been the special the previous night).
However, in between that and the total was another line, “spec. hdlg., incl. mlg.â€
The charge for that was…..a hundred bucks, which brought the total up to his regular price.
For a second, I was about ready to protest, but bit my tongue. I’d been rather bossy and preemptory to Swede the previous night when ordering the stuff, and naturally he’d get back at me.
Now, I could whine and bawl and rage, and they’d knock it off--but that’d give Swede another notch over me, and we couldn’t have that.
So I paid the extra hundred bucks without comment, figuring I could borrow from the femme to see me through until later in the coming week.
Swede’s wife took the money, betraying some surprise in her body-language that I didn’t yell-and-scream.
- - - - - - - - - -
“By the way,†I asked, “what’s ‘spec. hdlng., incl. mlg.’?â€
“’Special handling, including mileage,†she said.
“Swede ran out of chicken to fill the order, and as it was late Saturday night and more couldn’t be gotten in [the big city], so he had to drive way out to the Johansen place, where he and Old Man Johansen spent some hours during the night beheading, defeathering, and cleaning chickens.
“That’s pretty fresh chicken there.â€
I thanked her, and left.
- - - - - - - - - -
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/7806_zpsc84c7382.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/7806_zpsc84c7382.jpg.html)
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/0721-5_zpsd12f9e15.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/0721-5_zpsd12f9e15.jpg.html)
The group took off into the setting sun--I dunno if they plan to get to Montana tomorrow or not; it’s a pretty long drive--and the neighbor and I were standing around, examining the immaculately-clean campsite--one wouldn’t even know Baptists had been there--when the property caretaker came by.
The new caretaker, not the retired one.
“Well, they’re gone,†I said; “so now I’ll have a few days of solitude, to get caught up on work.
“All play and no work makes [franksolich] a poor boy.â€
Then I inquired who was on tap for the next weekend.
“I haven’t made up my mind yet,†he said; “I’m still fielding calls--this place is more popular than Mahoney State Park--and’ll decide tomorrow, and let you know.
“But also, the carnies called, and they do want to be here the middle of August--â€
“Right,†I said; “I thought they would. Camping at the county fairgrounds, they can’t have booze. On this property, they can have booze. It was a no-brainer.â€
“They said, though,†he replied, “this past year, they added a freak show to their bill of fare, and so there’ll be some freaks camping with them, too.â€
to be continued I guess, in case anything happens
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“You’re going to get into trouble,†the femme warned me; “you’re going to try to cause some trouble, and end up in trouble yourself.â€
I’d just told her that carnies are bringing freaks with them.
“No way,†I said. “I have nothing but the utmost respect and admiration for freaks.
“After all, I’m a freak myself, the ‘Earless Wonder.’
“However,†I went on, “that goes only for naturally-born freaks; it doesn’t apply to self-made freaks, such as the much-tattooed-and-pierced subway cat, the shaven-head Bostonian Drunkard, or :jugs: :yahoo:; because they purposely uglify themselves, they deserve all the scorn and contempt other people can dish out to them.
“Look, for example, at :jugs: :yahoo:; those aren’t real. Every morning, she takes a bicycle-tire pump and pumps air into them. It’s obvious, but why the Hell she does it escapes me.
“Self-made freaks are asking for it; naturally-born freaks aren’t.
“So keep that distinction clear, please, madam.â€
- - - - - - - - - -
We drove up to her place in the big city; I was going to drop her off there and go back home, but I had something else to say, and so kept her in the car. And besides, the inside was air-conditioned, while the outside today was an oven.
“You know, I of course saw freaks in the socialist paradises of the workers and peasants, enough freaks to have a string of carnivals stretching from Moscow to Vladivostok and back, but generally, these were pretty minor-league freaks.
“The freakiest freak I ever saw in my life was in Lincoln, Nebraska; I’ll never forget it.
“It was the summer before I was a senior in college, and a couple of friends of mine and I were at Sandy’s Bar, on 10th & O Streets. This was the old Sandy’s, as this was a long time ago; the front part was as narrow and long as a dining-car on a railway train, and there was a larger room adjacent.
“But most customers hung around the front part, so as to see who was coming in.
“Now, this was a week-day in summer, a Tuesday or Wednesday, and it was only about two o’clock in the afternoon. The three of us were there, a lone bartender, and some guy sitting in the dark corner on the south side.
“The two guys were yakking about something, and as I couldn’t keep up with it, I instead amused myself looking around, surveying the scene.
“The guy sitting in the dark corner attracted my attention, as there seemed something peculiar about him. In fact, there seemed a lot of things peculiar about him.
“He was a blond, and obviously tall, but one couldn’t discern his age--it could’ve been 20, it could’ve been 60--because it looked as if his face were melting. And he had incredibly bad manners; after taking a glug from his glass of beer, some of it would dribble out of the corners of his mouth, and some would spurt out of his nostrils.
“His eyes were really deep-set; I got the impression he might be blind.
“His hands were enormous, and grotesquely gnarled. As far as I could see, he did have five fingers on each hand, but his knuckles looked like small violently-red cantaloupes.
“Once in a while, he seemed to look at something far away, and snorted, emitting a short laugh, which attracted the attention of the bartender, but nothing more. The two guys I was with were so preoccupied yik-yakking away they didn’t pay attention.
Unbeknownst to me, I was looking at the famous Hunchback of Lincoln--he had a beautiful, a magnificent, hump on his back, Hollywood couldn’t have created better--who was a two- or three-day phenomenon in the city; he wasn’t from there, and he shortly thereafter evaporated.
Everybody talked about him, but few had actually seen him. And I was one of them.
- - - - - - - - - -
“Apparently he decided he needed to take a piss, and got up. I was right about guessing he was tall; if he’d been stretched out straight, he would’ve been damned near seven feet. But he was bent, and so couldn’t get higher than, say, five feet, a little more than foot shorter than myself.
“The men’s room was in the back part of the bar, meaning he had to walk right by us.
“He couldn’t walk very well; in fact, he barely crept, hobbled, and sidled, holding onto the backs of chairs at the bar (there weren’t bar-stools at the bar; there were chairs). As he made his way past us, I detected he was emitting some sort of donkey-like ‘eee-haw, eee-haw, eee-haw.’
“As he got closer, my utter fascination turned into awestruck admiration.
“It was now apparent that he was severely arthritic, and possibly even paralyzed in some limbs, and that this shuffling-along caused him a great deal of pain and agony.
“But still, he was managing to do it on his own.
“I was open-mouthed, my eyes as big as saucers.
“He was still in the men’s room, though, when the two guys I was with decided it was time to go somewhere else, as there wasn’t anything at Sandy’s, and so we left.â€
to be continued, because maybe something might happen tomorrow
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No more pictures.
I'm seriously getting home sick.
Can I bloke them from view, while reading?
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No more pictures.
I'm seriously getting home sick.
“You know, how long’s it been since you’ve seen a hunchback?†I asked this business partner this morning.
We were just going somewhere nearby to pick up some horses, no need to dress up or anything. He looked like casual Wyatt Earp and I looked like casual Lord Kitchener of Khartuom, as casual as Lord Kitchener could ever look. It’s hotter than blazes out here in the Sandhills on the roof of Nebraska.
“Oh, I dunno, maybe back when I was in the service, and in some third-world place,†he said.
The business partner had been in the U.S. Navy during the early 1990s, where he picked up his paramedic skills. He was born and raised in the Sandhills, and I dunno why this is; Nebraska’s 1500 miles away from any substantial body of water (other than the vast subterranean Lake Ogalalla underneath most of the state), but the majority who join the military, join the seaborne branch.
Hmmmm, I said. “I just now remembered; I was still pretty young the last time I ever saw a cross-eyed kid.
“We don’t have a whole lot of deformities around here.
“It must be our healthy, rigorous life-style, because blue places sure seem to have a lot of them.â€
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/10-147_zpsa16078df.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/10-147_zpsa16078df.jpg.html)
When we were driving back, I mentioned, “You know, hunchbackery runs in my family, part of it; my mother’s mother’s mother’s side, the side I share in common with my cousin Vlada Mitty of Skins’s island; apparently it was pretty common among those of Judaic derivation in eastern Europe a long time ago.
“My mother’s mother, born of two dwarves, was very tall (as were all her other brothers and sisters excepting one); when she was a participant in Austro-Hungarian weddings in northeastern Pennsylvania a hundred years ago and so, when the picture was taken, she had to be stood with the men, because standing with the much-shorter women, it would’ve looked awkward.
“But by the time I knew her, in her very old age, she was slanted and short.â€
Then I thought of something else.
“You know, one of the common consequences of this thing I have, that caused the absence of ears, is hunchbackery. It’s in the medical textbooks. I’ve always wondered why that is, but thus far I’m ramrod straight, long past the time I should’ve started bending, and of course I’m grateful.â€
nothing’s happened yet, so to be continued until something does
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The neighbor’s wife, their twin daughters, and older son were here in mid-afternoon, they and I having attended a funeral in town. The two younger children, the jealous three-year-old son and the infant daughter, had been left with their grandparents.
The funeral had been that of the husband of my host for Thanksgiving dinner last year; the woman who for Christmas gave me an 1866 Samuel Troll music-box that resides in the safe-deposit box at the bank; the woman who’d been stuck with the nephew exactly my own age, who’d turned into a primitive before she got him, and currently resides in a nuthouse up in South Dakota, all bloated and watery and out of it.
The woman who’d been born the exact same month and year as my own mother (although of course they were born 1200 miles apart).
She looked very old today, and my heart bled for her. Since my mother had died in middle-age, and a very long time ago, I’d always used her as my “gauge†to measure what, approximately, my mother’d be like, if she were still alive. My mother, I guess she’d look very old and tired.
- - - - - - - - - - -
The daughters and son went down to the river-side, to “fish.â€
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/fishing_zps2c89f4e8.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/fishing_zps2c89f4e8.jpg.html)
The neighbor’s wife, seeing the neat stack of photograph albums on the dining-room table--stuff from the unassorted family archives I’d gotten around to sorting, and was shipping off to storage in Omaha. By ill random chance, rather than being other people, other things, from the past, this bunch had been of myself.
I just go to town, pick up a box and bring it out here for identification and assorting, not having the slightest idea what’s in it until I get it here. I wished I’d grabbed a different box.
She was fascinated, and took some out on the front porch to read. This was in the afternoon, the torrid hot blazing sun now beating down on the back yard, not the front yard.
As she was looking at the photographs--and she was looking, not merely skimming--she kept on flipping back to previous pages to look at something, and so I finally asked her what was up with that.
“It’s really odd,†she said; “two things about pictures taken of you--those when you were small, you were always barefooted or at least missing one shoe. I haven’t yet seen a picture of you with both shoes on.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/01-01_zps3c2053ef.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/01-01_zps3c2053ef.jpg.html)
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/01-02_zps8a250d5c.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/01-02_zps8a250d5c.jpg.html)
“And then those after college, I haven’t seen one without a cigarette in your hand, somewhere; not a single one, there’s always a cigarette there.â€
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/boston-08-90_zpsa4136e09.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/boston-08-90_zpsa4136e09.jpg.html)
To forestall a lecture, I interrupted.
“Yeah, I never thought about it, but when one thinks of it, and counts all the hours of my life thus far, I’ve spend far more hours of life unshod, than shod.â€
As I was then at that moment, a light blue all-cotton shirt, light blue pin-striped pants, and…..barefooted.
“I’m not sure why; it’s always just seemed as natural as strawberries-and-cream, to be barefooted, or at least no more than socks on the feet.
“Around here, and when I was growing up, it never seemed to bother anybody; it fact, it doesn’t seem to have bothered anybody excepting when I lived in Pennsylvania and then New Jersey, where people thought it was bad taste, gauche, gross.
“As you can see, there’s nothing wrong with these feet. They’re exactly as feet are supposed to be, no distortions, no deformities, no malformations, no calluses, no warts, no blemishes, and a healthy color.
“I used to get irritated when I lived back there, thinking to myself--being a nice guy, I was too polite to actually say it--â€Whoa, there. Here all you are living in cramped quarters, in filth and grime and congestion and decrepitude, and my bare feet are offensive?
“Geezuz.â€
to be continued, in hopes that something might happen
-
“You know, even though the news wasn’t great, it was still fascinating,†I told the business partner.
“I’d never been looked at by a cardiologist before; in my state of existence, all I’ve ever been looked at, when it came to specialists, were otorhinolaryntologists.
“Scores, if not more of those, in my life-time. I think they kind of freak when they meet me, but I’m not sure why.â€
It’s another hot day out here in the Sandhills of Nebraska.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/10-150_zps4ba9e19f.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/10-150_zps4ba9e19f.jpg.html)
“And to think I was seeing this guy today because an osteopathic physician had sent me there.
“I’m beginning to really like osteopaths; if we had more of them, we’d have less of a prescription-drug-abuse problem in this country, because there wouldn‘t be so many doctors around willing to prescribe them.â€
The business partner visibly braced himself, figuring my usual anti-drug jihad was upcoming, and he’s heard it hundreds of times before.
But I surprised him.
“Of course, you know, this cardiologist, all those otorhinolaryntologists, and that osteopath, are graduates of regular medical schools, M.D.s, but I’ve always thought there’s plenty of room for non-M.D.s in the medical profession too.
“I’d like to find a homeopath, for example, just to see what it’s like being treated by one.
“The only non-M.D.s in the medical profession I wouldn’t trust would be chiropractors; they’re quacks.â€
The business partner arched his eyebrows; I was assaulting a sacred cow here.
“When I was growing up, because the parents were who they were, we went only to the run-of-the-mill M.D.s, even for vision care. There were a couple of optometrists in town, but the parents always insisted we had to be seen by an opthamologist in the city where I was born, an hour and a half’s drive away.
“And once a week, there was a chiropractor in town. He came from the big city south and east of us, an hour and a half away the opposite direction. He rented a room in the hotel, set up some portable equipment there, and had lots of regular customers, keeping him busy all day long.
“My parents however distrusted him, because one time when hearing about me, he offered that chiropractric treatment would cure my deafness.
“Of course my parents’d been skeptical of back-quacks even before then, so it never happened.
“A bunch of chiropractors used to come to the county fair, and while the county fair was going on, my best friend and I hung around a lot, looking at things.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/countyfairgrounds_zps6f0c26e5.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/countyfairgrounds_zps6f0c26e5.jpg.html)
“The chiropractors offered free examinations, but I disdained it until the summer I was 18 years old, and consented to have one.
“The guy, after fiddling around with me all over, told me I had a bad back, and should seek treatment.
“Now, I hadn’t had any back problems in my life before then, but I got nervous, being aware that many others in my family had them. Back problems are a bitch, and I didn’t want to have anything to do with them.
“I really worried, lost a lot of sleep over it, scrupulously watched for the slightest pinch of pain, but nothing ever happened. For years, decades. I’m still nervously waiting for something to happen.
“I think the guy was just trying to drum up some business.â€
to be continued, but not continuously, if nothing happens
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You know I'm laughing, because you know, I've heard many stories of "the chiropractors", from my older relatives.
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You know I'm laughing, because you know, I've heard many stories of "the chiropractors", from my older relatives.
Well, of course they've cleaned up their act since the 1970s, and probably have gotten better-trained and more professional, and hence do some real good, at least insofar as the spinal column's concerned.
But back then, every Tuesday morning, there appeared a large plywood sign near the entrance of the local hotel--the largest and tallest building in town, announcing CHIROPRACTIC EXAMINATIONS/ADJUSTMENTS, 8 A.M.- 5 P.M., ROOM 202, APPTS. AVAILABLE IN GRAND ISLAND.
When my best friend and I were still in our bicycle-riding stage, before we graduated to motor vehicles, after school we'd go down to the hotel to look, for a while. I dunno why the guy bothered putting out that sign, as he was always traffic-jammed with customers, who ran the whole gamut of humanity as we knew it.
In those days, and it's probably still somewhat common, because the area didn't have a population large enough to justify a full-time professional in some expertise, but as there was some demand for their services, professionals in this thing or that thing would come up once a week, and work out of a room at the hotel.
Hearing-aid dealers, Christian Science practitioners, the state job service, agencies dispensing veterans' benefits, astrologers, those sorts of things.
-
I didn't mean to derail your narrative.
The ones I recall were the "spit doctors".
There were others equally odd.
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I didn't mean to derail your narrative.
The ones I recall were the "spit doctors".
There were others equally odd.
You're not derailing anything; nothing's happening.
I don't even know who's camping here this weekend, because the caretaker and I haven't touched base.
But probably nothing big'll happen until the week of August 11-17, when the carnies and the freaks are here.
And then nothing again until the Labor Day weekend, when there's likely to be primitives, but I hope it's not the Packer clan from northeastern Oklahoma, as they've become stale.
But essentially, I hope to drag this thread along until September 21, after which I head for the old home-town, and as that's all very personal, poignant, bittersweet, the plans are to do a thread on that in the Sandhills forum, away from lurking primitive eyes and noses.
<<<doesn't like to give out too much information to primitives, who stalk.
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I love all the pictures. I don't see much green any more here in the desert.
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I love all the pictures. I don't see much green any more here in the desert.
Well, you and Skul are probably going to see a lot more.
I hadn't realized September 21 is so far away; just didn't think about it.
So until then, more greenery.
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Eat your heart out, dude; you shudda never left here.
Texas ain't nuthin', compared with the Sandhills of Nebraska.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/forskul_zpsf2bc6c92.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/forskul_zpsf2bc6c92.jpg.html)
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Where franksolich'll be in a couple, three, hours:
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/6thhole_zpse9d4df3d.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/6thhole_zpse9d4df3d.jpg.html)
It's the same course as shown earlier in this thread, but a different picture, one not posted until now.
Of course, I'm just going to smack a ball around, while the rest of the party plays serious golf, but it's all good.
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“Are you nervous about it?†the business partner asked me when we were out on the road today.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/072413road_zpsa5351d6e.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/072413road_zpsa5351d6e.jpg.html)
“Sort of, but not really,†I said; “one just accepts what comes, and deals with it.â€
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/birds2_zps972c8aee.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/birds2_zps972c8aee.jpg.html)
We were talking about an “echocardiogram†I’m scheduled to take at the hospital in the big city on Friday morning.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/072413-5_zpse79764c8.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/072413-5_zpse79764c8.jpg.html)
“Of course, it can’t possibly be good news, but life rarely has good news. It’d hardly be the first time I’ve gotten bad news. One just takes what comes, and deals with it. I’ll deal with it.â€
to be continued
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“Well, you have a weekend free of strangers,†the caretaker told me; “I’d given a family from Lincoln the okay to camp here this weekend--they were going to be headed to the Black Hills--but they had to cancel.â€
“That’s fine, I said; “I can do with some peace and quiet this weekend anyway.â€
He and I were walking along the river, about five football-field lengths away from the back porch, a big unused meadow in between. He wanted to point out some things, saying he had a couple of suggestions to make.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/shallowpart_zpse937669e.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/shallowpart_zpse937669e.jpg.html)
“What I could do, is take one of those 55-gallon drums, and put it over there,†he first offered.
“Why would I want such a thing on the river?†I asked.
“Well, people who camp here, they have no way of getting rid of their trash. You’ve always made them bring plastic trash bags to cart their garbage away.
“This would make it more handy for them.â€
I arched my eyebrows.
“Now, why would I want to make it ‘more handy’ for them; they come out here to ‘enjoy nature,’ and they’re damned well going to enjoy nature without any of these modern conveniences.
“And a metal drum permanently placed here, would ruin the pristine panorama of the place.
“This isn’t meant to be Yellowstone National Park, with carefully manicured lawns, trimmed hedges, and carefully-spaced trees.
“And besides, in seven and a half summers, this has never been a problem. I think three times, I or somebody else, had to pick up trash around here, and the total of all that wouldn’t fill one of those grocery-store shopping bags.
“[the now-retired caretaker] used to select guests with care and caution; even that caravan of sorry losers from northeastern Oklahoma two years ago, left everything in its natural condition.â€
Well, he lost that one, so he went on to his second suggestion.
“You know, I could put together an outhouse from some of the old lumber up there by the house, and tuck it in a place where it can’t be seen.â€
Uh, no, I said.
“I realize the lack of sanitary facilities here causes campers some, uh, problems, but even before they show up, they’ve already been made well aware there’s no such things out here, and so they have to bring their own sanitary facilities, and when leaving, haul all of their own shit out of here.
“I dunno why they don’t do what those old weak-bladdered beatniks did a while back, bringing those things that look like backless camp-stools that fold up; aluminum legs and canvas seat, but which were really commodes with a plastic bag underneath.
“To me, that always seemed the ideal solution, but most people who camp here, since they have to go to town every few hours or so anyway, stop off and use the restrooms in the convenience store there. That’s what I’d do myself; it’s not like six miles is all the way to Baltimore or something.
“And besides, if I’m around, and because I’m a nice guy, in case of emergency, they can always come and use the bathroom in the house, no problem.â€
We quit pacing around, stopping to smoke.
“Now,†I explained, “the next thing that might be suggested is a pipeline with running water, picnic tables, and a permanent barbeque grill down here.
“That’s not going to happen; people before they come to camp here understand they have to bring their own water. And in case of emergency, they can always come up to the house for some; there’s lawn-faucets on all four sides, and hoses all over near there.
“If they want to have picnic tables, they’re aware they can borrow some of those from the front yard of the house. They’re a hundred years old and weigh a ton, but they can be taken down here.
“Ditto for that army-sized barbeque grill in the front yard.
“These are temporary eyesores on nature, removed when the fun’s all over.
“Remember, this isn’t a real campground--nobody’s charged to camp here, for example--it’s just a good place on the river to set up tents and all that other stuff.
“I have no intention of turning it into the Waldorf-Astoria, especially for primitives.â€
to be continued
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“Hey, boss, this is pretty funny,†the retired caretaker said as I walked into the dining room tonight.
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I’d been gone, and he’d come out then, and waited for me.
It’s good to see him, because I haven’t seen much of him since he was in that automobile accident some months ago, and given his age (67 years) it’s been taking a long time for him to recover. The way he’s going, I figure though that by the time pheasant-hunting season opens in autumn, he’ll be out here as much as he used to be, even if he is retired.
He’s always called me “young man†when he’s sober, and “boss†when he’s had a few.
While waiting for me, he’d been preoccupied going through the stack of photograph albums on the dining room table.
“You know, boss, you were one of those damned hippies back then…..and you still are.â€
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Yeah, I said. He wasn’t putting me down; he was just jealous because I still have the same hair while his own began thinning and evaporating, like Atman’s, back in his younger days.
He was impressed, however, by four big albums entitled FAMILY GROUPS.
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“You have some real antiquities here, you come from some really fine people, but on the newer ones, I don’t see any of your family.â€
I was confused. “They’re there, in the fourth book.â€
I had to show him; he hadn’t recognized them because I wasn’t in them, and of course he’d never met any other members of my family.
“Isn’t there any of the whole family?†he asked; “in those days, everybody was taking pictures of the whole family.
No, I said, after he’d looked at the groups of children; the oldest three, the second three, and the last two.
“That’s the way it always worked out, the oldest three, the second three, and the last two.
“There were those gaps, a small one between the oldest three and the second three, and a really big one between them, and my younger brother and myself, and that’s the way the parents arranged it.
“There’s one single snapshot of both parents and all eight children, but I don’t have it here; it’s down in Omaha, in professional storage. It’s the only one, and it’s a poorly-shot one, taken on the front porch of our house alongside the Platte River.
“I was only three and a half years old, but I in fact remember when it was snapped, as I was very hostile about being in it. I remember raising a ruckus and trying to run away, but an aunt grabbed me and forcibly planted me next to my mother. If you saw the picture, you could see I was desperately trying to get out of it, I didn’t want to have anything to do with it.â€
“You haven’t changed a bit, boss,†he said, "always trying to get out of being sociable."
to be continued
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“To me, that always seemed the ideal solution, but most people who camp here, since they have to go to town every few hours or so anyway, stop off and use the restrooms in the convenience store there. That’s what I’d do myself; it’s not like six miles is all the way to Baltimore or something.
It's almost funny as to how true that is. :-)
-
It's almost funny as to how true that is. :-)
Yeah, even though I mentioned those folding camp-seat things with a plastic bag underneath as an option, I myself wouldn’t use one; I’d just drive to the convenience store.
This particular place on the river is not accessible by those great big hulking recreational vehicles (RVs), unless one drives here, and then across the meadow. I’m not going to put up with that. About the largest vehicles that can go the route I mandate (from the highway north along the river to here) are pick-up trucks with campers on the back.
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I know RVs have sanitary facilities inside (but really, I’ve never been in one, never paid attention to them), but I don’t know whether or not a camper mounted in the bed of a truck ever has such things.
Most of the vehicles that show up at the side of the river here, as you can guess, are beat-up old Volkswagen vans, vans of other makes from the 1980s, vehicles looking like Jeep Cherokees from the 1990s, banged-up station wagons dating clear back to the “woodies,†sedans as big as aircraft carriers and with considerable rust, and little tiny jerky things such as 1970s Honda Civics and Chevrolet Chevettes, again more rust than metal.
The largest vehicle that’s been down there was an ancient Snap-On Tools van, converted into a funeral hearse by hippyhubby Wild Bill, hippywife Mrs. Afred Packer’s husband. It had three platforms inside of it, and on the outside was painted WILD BILL & BROS. WHOLESALE UNDERTAKERS DISCOUNT FOR QUANTITY.
- - - - - - - - - -
I remember being shocked--and I was already an adult at the time--when I first learned that sometimes civilized people resort to primitive means when having to empty their bowels.
A college roommate of mine once mentioned that as a kid, when the family was vacationing in Mexico, he got the “runs†and had to be sent out into the bushes.
Of course, such sights were ubiquitous to me years later, when I was wandering around the socialist paradises of the workers and peasants, but I scarcely considered the former Soviet Union part of the civilized world, and so it hardly shocked me.
Now, I will admit I was born with a robust and healthy digestive system, and so rarely have I ever had the unanticipated suddenly arise.
But I suspect most such problems arise simply because people don’t think.
What goes in, must come out.
I grasped that as early as the age of 4 or 5 years, and as I wasn’t a particularly bright kid, it flummoxes me that there’s many fully-grown adults who still don’t get it. What goes in, must come out.
When on alien terrain, and uncertain about the availability of sanitary facilities, one should dine accordingly. I suspect my distrust of eastern European cooking--there were days when I lived on just weak tea and mahorka--spared me a lot of “accidents,†spared me from ever having to use one of those abominations the natives use for elimination.
What goes in, must come out; I dunno why that’s so hard to understand.
to be continued
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“The river sure looks pretty this morning,†the business partner said. I was driving; he was looking out the window of the passenger side, contemplating something, as the word “pretty†isn’t usually any part of our vocabulary.
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“Yeah,†I said; “the North Loup, the best of the three Loup Rivers.
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“Everybody in my family used to have fond memories of the Platte River, but we’d moved away from there when I was 10 years old, and so to me, the Platte’s just another river, nothing special.
“The Loup Rivers rock, though.
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“The South Loup River was furthest away, and was ruined by the presence of a state park, and was too deep and too fast-flowing to comfortably swim, so I didn’t go there often, but still, it was pretty good.
- - - - - - - - - -
“From the time I was about 13 years old, in the summer I worked at the local drive-in movie theatre during the afternoons, picking up trash. This was at the very tail-end of the drive-in movie phenomenon; the fad was already visibly fading away by then.
“The drive-in was on the side of a high hill, and my parents didn’t like me being there, because during the hottest part of the summer, rattlesnakes would crawl down to lower, cooler regions. When he started working there, they didn’t mind my younger brother doing it, because he could hear.
“I worked there until I was out of high school. During those years, one of my friends killed three of them, another two of them, a third a whooping four of them, and my younger brother two of them--but as he kept working there a couple of years after I left, he might’ve netted more.
“But me, I never once saw one.
“While the others mowed the grass and weeds, upkept the fences, repaired the busted radio-boxes one hung onto the window of one’s car, I just picked up trash.
“There were lots and lots of legends about what went on at the drive-in, but I know first hand nothing much really ever happened. It was kind of rare that I had to spear a used condom laying on the ground; yeah, it happened, but not nearly as much as it was said to happen.
“Every time, though, that I found one, I’d holler and everybody’d come over. We’d all worked there the previous night, and tried to remember who it was, who’d parked there.
- - - - - - - - - - -
“Well, summers in the heart of the Sandhills were hot, and so after we got done circa early afternoon, we’d all pile into somebody’s car and head north, to the Middle Loup River.
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“We’d still be doing this on Saturday and Sunday afternoons, as late as after school started, going clear into October.
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“Sometimes though, I’d go with just my best friend. He lived on a farm, and needed at times to get away from his younger brothers and sisters, and as he didn’t care much for these other friends, we’d go over to the Dismal River to swim.â€
In case one’s not aware, the sodbusters in Nebraska had a great sense of irony, and used it, including when they named places.
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“There was a big huge modern swimming pool in town alongside the main highway--it’s been since moved, expanded, and modernized more, northeast of town--but only nerds and little kids went there.â€
to be continued
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“Are you really going to have hippies here?†the neighbor’s oldest son asked me this afternoon.
The neighbor’s son, eight years old, is the third of their five children, twin daughters ahead of him, and a younger brother and infant sister behind him. He’s kind of a loner in his own family, given that out of seven people, he’s the only one with brown hair…..which he wears in the manner of franksolich, long enough to cover his ears.
“Probably,†I told him, but not until the Labor Day weekend.
“Are you going to let people come and look at them?†he further inquired.
He was of course referring to Labor Day two years ago, when hippywife Mrs. Alfred Packer and her family were here. Three boys, rafting down the river, spotted the hippyencampment, and floated up to the highway two miles north, where they erected a booth and a big sign, SEE THE HIPPYS REAL HIPPYS $1 FOR DIRECTIONS AND RULES.
They did a land-office business, clouds of dust from the traffic reaching as far as the William Rivers Pitt here, as people rumbled by to gawk, and snap photographs.
The county sheriff put a stop to it, though, after the television station in Sioux City sent over a pick-up truck with a camera mounted in the bed. The truck circled the hippyencampment over and over again, the camera capturing an enraged hippyhubby Wild Bill’s pony-tailed face in it, cursing and trying to swat it away.
“I dunno,†I told the young lad; “why do you ask?â€
“I was wondering if I could make any money this time,†he said.
- - - - - - - - - -
The three boys, who were from town, might be expecting to do the same this year--they’d been disappointed when the occasion hadn’t happened last year--but they’d made a good haul two years ago, and so perhaps it was time for a new entrepreneur to get in on it.
“I tell you what,†I said. “I’m going to do two things.
“I’d told the caretaker to just take the first primitives who asked for the place for Labor Day.
“Now, I’m going to tell him to be selective, to spend some time mulling the requests over, and pick what he suspects’ll be the best of the lot, the prime primitives, the best primitives, world-class primitives, so that there’ll be a good show.
“And then you’re going to get the exclusive rights to everything--the admission, the concessions.
“But it’s a lot of work; probably you’d better get some of your friends in on it, too.
“And I’ll even let people park on the meadow, in between here and the river, so that if they want to stay and watch a while, instead of just having to drive by like last time, they can.
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“And you can even charge a parking fee, if you want.â€
to be continued
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My, my, what a busy afternoon‘s it‘s been.
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The neighbor’s wife came by, sort of--please notice the “sort ofâ€--upset because I’d given her son the exclusive rights to the Labor Day weekend.
“You know, really, I don’t think he’s old enough to see what he’s likely to see,†she said.
“But [the neighbor; her husband] said as long as you’re superintending it, it’s okay.
“Well, I guess, but--â€
Hold on, I said. “What’s he going to see, other than a bunch of old hippies?â€
“They run around and stuff without any--â€
Ha, I laughed, interrupting. “If you’d seen Ugly, the defrocked warped primitive, she with the face like Hindenberg’s, two years ago, you’d know there ain’t no way Ugly was going to run around in the buff.
‘She’d be shot on sight, for being a threat to good taste.
“Or Mrs. Alfred Packer herself, the hippywife primitive, with all her drab grey-haired barrel-like stoutness.
“Or so help me God, hippyhubby Wild Bill himself, his belly flipping-and-flopping in the wind.
“About the most one could’ve seen was Grandma Judy, the addled pie-and-jam primitive, modestly applying ice to her jugs, so as to keep cool in the hot weather, but no one even came close to seeing that.
“And besides, the carnies’ll be here with their freaks three weeks before then, and so he’ll get accustomed to strange sights.â€
- - - - - - - - - -
Then the caretaker came by, to drop off some of his things he’d used on other properties earlier in the day.
“Hey, how am I supposed to tell the difference between an ordinary old hippie and a primitive?†he asked; “remember, I haven’t been around here long, and don’t know yet what the primitives are like, when compared with run-of-the-mill old washed-up hippies.â€
“You’ll have to learn it by instinct,†I said, “from just talking to them over the telephone.
“I’m gambling that you’ll pick the right ones, but even if you don’t, well, I was the one who asked you to select, and so it’s my fault, not yours.
“But broadly, generally, on the whole, old hippies are just spaced out and stupid.
“But if you sense malice and evil in their voice, well, you’ve got a primitive.
“You hearing people can pick up on things like that; I can’t.â€
- - - - - - - - - -
About this time, the neighbor showed up with their five children, as we were going to have a cook-out this evening.
“How many cars can be parked in the meadow?†their oldest son asked me.
- - - - - - - - - - -
But then, without warning, a storm arose.
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Just as the femme showed up, obviously, uh, bent out of shape.
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franksolich was in trouble. Like, really big trouble.
“What is this, what is this,†she almost--almost, but not quite--shrieked.
“How come you never tell me anything?â€
I looked at her, startled.
“How come you didn’t tell me you’re going into the hospital tomorrow? How come I had to find it out from somebody else? Why don’t you ever tell me anything?â€
Oh that, I said. “Because it’s not important enough to bother you about yet.â€
She glared at me with those penetrating eyes. Ouch.
“Look,†I said, “there’s nothing to tell you until it’s all over with, and we know what happened.
“If I told you before it happened, you’d be on pins-and-needles, all worried and concerned.
“I’m a nice guy; the last thing I want you to be is all worried and concerned…..and besides, maybe it’s nothing, in which case you would’ve been drained by all that worry and concern for nothing.
“It’s all taken care of--†and then in an act of folly, I lost my senses and continued.
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“--[the business partner] knows all about it; he’s taking me in tomorrow--â€
Oooopsy-dooopsy.
I have lots and lots of friends, and they all get along famously with each other excepting two, the femme and the business partner, who heartily loathe each other.
I’m really tired of it.
I looked over to the neighbor’s wife, my eyes pleading for mercy.
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The neighbor’s wife is a good friend of the femme, and so they went off for some girl-talk, until the femme was reasonable again.
- - - - - - - - - - -
After which the rain pummeled down, but it hardly put a damper on the cook-out, we having moved the army-sized charcoal grill up to the front porch, and everybody dining on the back porch, it being an easy matter to go from one part to another, through the dining-room and kitchen.
to be continued
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Ah Frank...as I've told you before, even without the real pictures, your words "paint" pictures in the reader's mind.
I just found this and read from the beginning this evening... and it's been wonderful.
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Okay, the business partner just arrived; we're going to the big city for the night because he thinks it's best.
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to be continued when I get back
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franksolich, you and your Sandhills country are real American treasures !
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The business partner and I spent the night in the big city, in two adjoining rooms at the five-star hotel there. It’s a rather impressive place, more modern and with more things than one might find in New Haven or Baltimore, but of course all I did was sleep until he came in and woke me up circa 4:30 a.m.
(I can’t hear alarm clocks and wake-up telephone calls, remember.)
All my life, I’ve associated “going to the hospital†with the very early morning and going out for breakfast beforehand if it’s not anything involving surgery. It was still pretty dark, and all I had was orange juice anyway.
Because I can’t hear, and medical examinations are too important for one to miss things, I always have either the neighbor’s wife or the business partner come along with me so as to talk-and-listen for me. If I had to, of course I could do such things on my own, but at times I’m lazy. It saves me a great deal of time and energy, having someone else give and get the information for me.
The cardiological examination was done, and showed the predicted results.
It's hard to believe that one week ago, there was no indication, no clue at all, that something was wrong; it was all strawberries-and-cream. And then oooooops.....
I’m pretty fragile, but stable. I’ll deal with it next week.
On the drive back home, I mentioned to him, “You know, when I say I’m the luckiest person I know, it’s not hyperbole. It’s true.
“I’ve never overcome anything, but I’ve outlasted a great many things that’ve felled people much better and stronger than me. For whatever reasons, I’m still standing; maybe battered and beaten up, but still standing.â€
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to be continued when something happens
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“You know, I just temporarily forgot I was my father’s son,†I told the femme when we went out for supper tonight.
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We went to the bar in town. Swede, the husband of the owner, and of Norwegian derivation even though his specialty’s Italianate cuisine, greeted me as if someone he hadn‘t expected to see again.
The femme ordered parma prosciutto, pork tortellini, spiced chicken under a brick [sic] [!], peperonata, and honey panna cotta; I ordered my usual, a hamburger well-done, pressed down hard on the grill so as to squeeze out every drop of grease, after which Swede was less nice to me.
“Of course,†I explained, “I always knew I was half my father, but over the years, I seemed to trend towards those ailments and afflictions of my mother’s side, and nothing of my father’s side.
“And so this totally blindsided me, out of thin air suddenly struck down with what’d killed my father--but of course my reaction was different, minimizing the effects.
“It’s very odd; I’d also omitted to remember that out of our whole family, only my father and I were chain-smokers; nobody else smoked cigarettes, wouldn’t touch them.â€
to be continued
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The neighbor’s older brother stopped here late at night. While driving home from the big city, he was having some trouble with his 2013 Ford pick-up truck, and as he and his family live way over on the other side (i.e., the populated side) of the county, this place was both close, and convenient, for taking care of the problem.
He’s the same age as I am--well, three months older--but thinks I’m odd, and so treats me as if I’m much younger. This has always gotten my goat, because we are after all peers, other than that he’s slightly better-educated than I am (B.S. in agriculture, University of Nebraska, M.S. in mathematics, University of Minnesota).
Also, he considers me a “city boy,†unused to the vicissitudes of rural life.
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But other than that, we get along okay.
- - - - - - - - - -
While we were working on his truck (he needed my help), for about the dozenth time today, I got The Lecture.
I long ago gave up explaining why deaf people smoke (or more commonly, chew tobacco), because hearing people have no concept of what “emptiness†or “void†or “mind-numbing vacancy†really is, and one can’t bridge that which is unbridgeable.
This time, I described instead the usefulness of smoking.
“Of course, as you know, smoking pastes a not-pleasant aroma on smokers, which turns people off.
“It’s better than a lot of other body odors, but still, it’s not pleasant.
“One of the greatest plagues the Age of Aquarius inflicted on us was this notion that everybody has to be intimate with each other, all touchy-feely, huggy, and cuddly, bodies mashed together so tightly that would’ve scandalized even the most libertine of past societies and cultures.
“We need to have personal boundaries, personal space; mine’s circa six feet; any closer than that, and I feel as if the other person’s about to crawl all over me, smother me, consume me.
- - - - - - - - - - -
“Now, I have to digress for a minute here; given my personal circumstances, it’s necessary for people to touch, grasp, and fondle me, in order to communicate with me.
“I don’t much care for it, but God has something against me.
“So certain people are allowed to violate my personal space, but only people whose family antecedents, credit record, medical history, and reputation among their fellow townspeople is known to me.
“There’s nothing that fills me more with dread and trepidation more so than some stranger who wants to get all lovey-lovey with me.
“For whatever reasons, God gave me the appearance and manners of an eminently approachable person, and so this happens a lot. I found it most frequently happened to me when I lived in New Jersey; I was always getting hugged, and even slobbered on, in New Jersey. I dunno why, but that’s what happened; maybe it‘s a cultural thing, where New Jerseyans have a compulsion, feel a “need,†to love everybody coming their way.
“If the other person’s decent and civilized, I tolerate it, but that means only that I put up with it, not that I care much for it.
- - - - - - - - - - -
“Now, there’s another reason for this keeping my distance; I’m a nice guy, and don’t like to discombobulate other people.
“From my mother’s side of the family, I inherited a really poor, really lousy, really crummy, blood circulatory system, that makes me as cold as ice. If my heart doesn’t demise me first, this will.
“It’s a shock to people when touching me for the first time, I’m so cold.
“Well, I don’t like to shock people, and so best to gently discourage them.
“And so cigarette-smoking had its uses for me; the odor kept people out of my personal space, and it kept them from a rude surprise.
“I dunno what I’m going to do now.
- - - - - - - - - - -
“You know,†I wrapped it up; “:jugs: :yahoo: over there on Skins’s island has it easy, being a woman.
“All :jugs: :yahoo: has to do is inflate them every morning, until they’re like pointed like cannons with four-feet-long barrels, and nobody can get too close to her.â€
to be continued
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I noticed the makings of another William Rivers Pitt, in the photo background. :o
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I noticed the makings of another William Rivers Pitt, in the photo background. :o
I should warn you though that that was taken in southeastern Nebraska, somewhat directly south of where the big guy in Bellevue lives, and pretty close to where the bitch the TwilightGardener primitive lives.
A wholly different sort of country from the Sandhills, that part of Nebraska.
Congested, not as aesthetic, one might as well be in Connecticut or Maryland, if one's down over there.
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I refuse to believe franksolich was ever one of those annoying louts who wear ballcaps backward.
It must have been done temporarily, to allow better lighting for the snapshot.
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I refuse to believe franksolich was ever one of those annoying louts who wear ballcaps backward.
It must have been done temporarily, to allow better lighting for the snapshot.
That was a while, years, back. I don't remember why I did that, but I assure you, a baseball cap, worn frontwards or backwards, is not part of the regular wardrobe.
It could've been I was wearing it as a gag.
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That was a while, years, back. I don't remember why I did that, but I assure you, a baseball cap, worn frontwards or backwards, is not part of the regular wardrobe.
It could've been I was wearing it as a gag.
Your neck, sunburns easily......stick to that. :whatever: :rotf:
Now, I would think, a William Rivers Pitt in any part of the country, would reek as bad as any other.
I've had the unfortunate experience of sniffing a few Pitts in my time, and found no difference. :old:
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As it’s been one of those rare pleasant days in July--sunny, but temperatures only in the 60s and 70s--it was decided by someone--I dunno who--to have an afternoon cookout, including beer, here.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/countrywalk_zpsf004ff72.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/countrywalk_zpsf004ff72.jpg.html)
Such things are usually already half-planned by the time I catch wind of them, but I never mind, because I’m usually not doing anything anyway, and it negates this erroneous perception that franksolich is anti-social. This is a great place for such gatherings--as it was circa 1880-1950--better than anybody else’s place, and easy to set up and clean up.
First arrived the neighbor, the neighbor’s wife, and their five children, and he and I were setting up the army-sized barbeque grill in the front yard when the neighbor’s older brother--I suspect he was the one who had the idea--and his family, wife and four children drove in. There was also the femme and a friend of hers from the big city, the new property caretaker and his wife, and one of the younger brothers of the owner of this property and his family, four children.
Provided nobody gave The Lecture, there’d be no problem.
- - - - - - - - - - -
The oldest son of the neighbor, to whom I’ve given the exclusive rights to profit from the appearance of primitives the Labor Day weekend five weeks hence, asked the caretaker if he’d decided yet which primitives would be allowed to camp here.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/elkhornlookingnorth_zps37f4a2d8.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/elkhornlookingnorth_zps37f4a2d8.jpg.html)
The caretaker said no, but assured the young lad there was still plenty of time, with which I agreed.
“The carnies and their freaks are coming in three weeks, and you’ll get a better idea what you’ll have to do then,†I told him.
The young lad informed me that thus far he’d enlisted two of his cousins (near his own age; two sons of the neighbor’s older brother) and one of his older sisters (the other twin wasn’t interested), and he hoped that’d be enough, because he didn’t want to have to split the take too many ways.
“Just how much do you think you’ll bring in?†the neighbor’s older brother asked; “you may be disappointed, so don‘t get big ideas yet.â€
“A gazillion bazillion dollars,†he chirped.
Yeah, enough to pay off the Big Zero’s opulent life-style for a week, the adults agreed.
- - - - - - - - - -
“The first thing you have to do,†I advised him, “is decide how many others you need involved here. You’ve got four; that might, or might not, be enough.
“You have two points where you’ll have to charge admission, the two ways in which people can get down here to see the hippies romp and play.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/byhighway_zps68a6f9d6.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/byhighway_zps68a6f9d6.jpg.html)
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/roadto_zps6fbba482.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/roadto_zps6fbba482.jpg.html)
“Where the boys did it two years ago, on the highway where one turns onto the dirt road and drives along the river, and the driveway to the front yard here, for those who want to park in the meadow and stay a while, watching, rather than just driving by.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/franksolichdrivewaymain_zps9580001f.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/franksolichdrivewaymain_zps9580001f.jpg.html)
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/meadowwestofhouse_zpsfa91d231.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/meadowwestofhouse_zpsfa91d231.jpg.html)
“And you might wish to charge two admission fees; one for those just driving by to gape, and another for those who want to park, pull out some lawn chairs, have a few beers, and watch.
“I think you’re looking at maybe six or seven other partners in this,†I counseled, “but wait until after you’ve seen the carnies and their freaks, to see how it goes.â€
The young lad informed me that his two cousins and the one sister were going to camp here the week the carnies and the freaks are here, to observe. They’d bring some pup-tents, and of course use the facilities of the house.
“Oh no,†the neighbor’s wife started.
“It’ll be okay,†I assured her; “they can camp in the front yard, which is safer.â€
She looked at me dubiously, but assented.
“And besides, I’ll be around at all times; I wouldn’t miss this for anything.â€
- - - - - - - - - -
“I wonder what sort of freaks there’ll be,†the new caretaker said.
“Probably the usual fat lady, elephant man, dwarf, giant, the run-of-the-mill freaks,†the neighbor’s older brother speculated. “After all, this is just a small county fair, and a small carnival, so they can’t possibly have anything exceptional.â€
Uh-huh, I agreed, making sure the neighbor’s wife had heard it so as to get solace from it.
“You know, it’s too bad it couldn’t be that group from northeastern Oklahoma that was here on Labor Day two years ago,†the neighbor said. “They weren’t a freak show, but just primitives, but they were a freak show anyway--the world’s ugliest woman, the warped one, that sort of thing.
“Her, more of a horror show than a freak show.â€
Yeah, I said; “and hippywife Mrs. Alfred Packer and hippyhubby Wild Bill, sheer comedy.
“Don’t forget when that group from Oregon was here last year,†the younger brother of the owner of this property offered; “they weren’t really freaks, but they were odd.â€
Yeah, the adherents of the fat greasy Great and Glorious One, the Bagwam Maharishi Rawalpindi Thiruvananthapura Yogi, a motley lot, I agreed. “Out of the ordinary, but not really freaks though.â€
We reminisced for a while about Rhinestone Santa, the leader of the group, who’d looked like Father Christmas dressed as the original rhinestone cowboy, and his wife, Mrs. Claus, who’d looked like an even stouter Mrs. Alfred Packer.
“But really, again, those weren’t bona fide freaks,†I pointed out.
“I hope one of them’s at least as good as hippyhubby Wild Bill’s younger brother, the guy with both eyes on the same size of his nose.â€
to be continued
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Now, I would think, a William Rivers Pitt in any part of the country, would reek as bad as any other.
But the William Rivers Pitt is antique swine excrement, though, dating from 1875-1950, when the barn burned down, after which the family then here switched to raising cattle.
It last "reeked" when Ike and Mamie were in the White House.
A non-Sandhillsian would see it as just another mound and suppose it natural; you having lived hereabouts might recognize it was man-made, dirt that's maybe been shifted around for one reason or another.
You've been away too long, dude; you forget how summers here bake, and winters freeze, always changing the appearance and nature of things.
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I've had the unfortunate experience of sniffing a few Pitts in my time, and found no difference. :old:
Oh, but the worst is llama droppings.
When I was a young child alongside the pastoral Platte River of Nebraska--outside of the Sandhills--our front porch was a couple of miles north of it--there were some people who raised llamas.
I have no idea why.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/nearcozad.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/nearcozad.jpg.html)
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/Dscn4583sm3.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/Dscn4583sm3.jpg.html)
<<<was never fond of llamas.
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"So.....who's going to be out here this next weekend?" I asked the caretaker.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/048_zps7687b7e9.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/048_zps7687b7e9.jpg.html)
"I don't care who it is, but keep in mind I got a rough week ahead for me."
"Well, this weekend should be easy for you," he answered; "because you didn't want anybody exciting until the carnies and freaks come, I gave the okay to a bunch of old folks, the kind that tow around those silver trailers and even have a club, the Wally Bryant or Byram or whatever Caravan Club.
"There'll only be three trailers, so it shouldn't be a problem."
to be continued
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“What was the attraction of those silver trailers old people used to drag around in groups, when I was a kid?†I asked the guy working on his truck here this afternoon.
I don’t know him real well; he’s a truck driver and a Seventh-Day Adventist, and has been around here before. This place has certain automotive and agricultural-equipment repair tools and machines that the usual garage mechanic doesn’t have.
I thought I’d ask him because he’s older than I am.
“They used to go up-and-down U.S. Highway 30, and then later, Interstate 80, along the Platte River, and I’m sure people at various times explained them to me, but I didn’t pay attention.â€
“Airstream trailers, and the groups were probably from the Wally Byam Caravan Club,†he told me.
I didn’t bother asking who Wally was; I just assumed he’d been one of these old guys wearing polyester plaid pants going halfway up his chest.
“You know,†I went on, “they always struck me as pretty affluent people, the owners of these trailers; why didn’t they just stay in motels and stuff?
“Some of them were pretty ancient, with aches and pains, too. I think a motel would’ve been better for them, and even lengthened their life-spans, not subjecting them to the rigors of outdoor life.â€
- - - - - - - - - -
“Well, some people like the outdoor life,†the mild-mannered truck mechanic mentioned.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,†I said; “the wonderful outdoor life, the glorious outdoors life the nephews are always preaching to me--the same people who won’t dare go to the city park without their Cabelas, REI, Land’s End, and Ben & Jerry’s gear.
“They’re just playing; I know the real outdoor life, having spent almost two years ‘outdooring’ it in the socialist paradises of the workers and peasants…..and in climes worse than any to be found in this country.
“There isn’t anything about real ‘outdoor life,’ or ‘roughing it,’ that anybody can tell me, that I don’t already know. It sucks.â€
- - - - - - - - - - -
“Did you always feel this way, or only after that experience?†he asked.
“All my life,†I illuminated him; “ever since I was a squalling infant parked atop a blanket in the front yard, and a bottle jammed into my mouth.
“You see, it wasn’t that it was outside, or the weather, or what was going on around me.
“It was simply that I have a body chemistry--and medical verification of that fact--that attracts insects, bugs of any sort, to me, as free marijuana attracts primitives. And there’s not a damned thing that can be done about it.
“When I was a kid, I used to jump into the water, in a desperate attempt to wash away whatever it was on me, that attracted insects. It never worked.
“The parents were sure I’d grow out of it, as the body chemistry changes over time, but I never did.
“It was always a trial for three weeks in summer, when I was growing up, and we took family vacations.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/IowaIguess_zpsa8ab0faf.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/IowaIguess_zpsa8ab0faf.jpg.html)
“They were always camping trips to New York and Pennsylvania.
“My parents, God rest their souls, were pretty old by then, and I figured they’d prefer staying in motels, but nooooooo, they wanted to be out in the great outdoors, enjoying nature.
“Screw that.â€
to be continued
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I'm really enjoying this!
Don't mean to interrupt, but some of those Airstream trailers were pretty luxurious. They were absolute top of the line. We were a travel-trailer camping family for most of my childhood, but the Aistreams were way out of our league. It was indeed for the older, childless set who liked the camping experience mixed with a touch of the "finer things."
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I'm really enjoying this!
Don't mean to interrupt, but some of those Airstream trailers were pretty luxurious. They were absolute top of the line. We were a travel-trailer camping family for most of my childhood, but the Aistreams were way out of our league. It was indeed for the older, childless set who liked the camping experience mixed with a touch of the "finer things."
I've got to agree with you on this, Splash. Airstreams were the top of the trailer food chain. Hell, even someone who did what little camping he did in tents (as I did, and may yet do) knew this.
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"You are something else," the business partner said to me yesterday afternoon.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/birds5_zpsa0e72525.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/birds5_zpsa0e72525.jpg.html)
"At least four 'silent heart attacks' the past ten years, and you never even noticed?
"There's at least some pain associated with these things, and usually there's a lot of pain."
This had been the lecture de jour all day long, and I was tired of it.
"Well," I finally pointed out, "there's sorts of pain that give one much more agony and anguish than mere physical pain, and so if it was there, it was overshadowed by one of these other sorts."
to be continued, one hopes on a happier note, later
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Wow. My exes brother had this happen. I worry for you knowing this frank. Prayers that any damage can be treated and is manageable and even better is minimal. :( please take care of yourself.
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Posted by: franksolich
“For whatever reasons, God gave me the appearance and manners of an eminently approachable person, and so this happens a lot. I found it most frequently happened to me when I lived in New Jersey; I was always getting hugged, and even slobbered on, in New Jersey. I dunno why, but that’s what happened; maybe it‘s a cultural thing, where New Jerseyans have a compulsion, feel a “need,†to love everybody coming their way.
I don't know, Frank, maybe you met up with a group of Michael Corleone types and you escaped the kiss of death just in the nick of time!
Prayers continuing for your recovery.
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well, crap....read the other thread before this one... :thatsright:
FOUR...? Really Frank.. and you didn't feel any of them?!? :hammer:
sending even more prayers....
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At least[/i] four 'silent heart attacks' the past ten years, and you never even noticed?
"There's at least some pain associated with these things, and usually there's a lot of pain."
This had been the lecture de jour all day long, and I was tired of it.
Four?!?!?!?!?!????
You really are indestructable! :whistling: O-)
Seriously, though--you need some serious help, Heavenly or otherwise. Prayers from us--including The Heiress.
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well, crap....read the other thread before this one... :thatsright:
FOUR...? Really Frank.. and you didn't feel any of them?!? :hammer:
Uh, over a very long period of time, it looks.
<<<not a superman, just one who's lived long enough to go through "a very long period of time".
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“No way,†I said. “No fu….dging way.â€
My eyes were as big as saucers.
"No way," I repeated; "no fu.....dging way."
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/sideyard_zps1db0c3bd.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/sideyard_zps1db0c3bd.jpg.html)
The neighbor was here early in the morning, and while we were having coffee, he mentioned he’d run into a truck driver in the big city, who'd been up in North Dakota. In one place, he had to be eight hours “off†the road, and being bored, he’d gone to a county fair there.
While looking around the carnival, he’d noticed on one of their advertising flyers that they were going to be down here in mid-August, and swiped it, but not for that reason.
The flyer also advertised the freak show, the star attraction being someone “BABS BAIN, also known as the MINNESOTA MAMMARIES,†accompanied with a grotesque cartoon character, wielding a machine-gun, ostensibly measuring 84â€-38â€-41â€.
“No way,†I repeated a third time. “No fu…..dging way.â€
Uh-huh, the neighbor said. “And I’m sure you’ll recognize some other freaks too--the world’s ugliest woman, the world’s biggest drunkard, the world’s biggest drug addict, the world’s fattest woman, the world’s tiniest brain, the world’s oddest couple, the world’s worst poetess, and so on--â€
“But those freaks are real,†I said; “but there’s no way they should get away with displaying a faux freak, this--this--these made-up jugs.
“If they put her on display, the whole hoax needs exposed. It’s a sham; they’re fake.â€
“But how can we prove it?†the neighbor asked.
“I tell you what,†I said. “I’ll keep this flyer, and when the carnival comes to the county fair here, you and I’ll go to the freak show.
“If we agree she looks a millimeter less than 84†around at the top, I’ll call the sheriff and make a complaint about false advertising.
“And the sheriff’ll have to come and measure her himself, and at the same time he can do a touchy-feely job to determine if they’re real or not.â€
to be continued
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You know it is a wise person that counts their Penney's. After years of buying travel trailers or sleeping in tents, I finally came up with a very cheap way to camp out that was safe, high and dry.
We headed to NC. in our car for a 3 day music fiddlers convention. we did spend one night in a cheap motel but when 10 miles from the campgrounds stopped at a U Haul place and rented a truck with a good size back end We drove the truck to the site, unrolled our sleeping bags in the body of the truck, unloaded our BBQ and food and for $30.00 a day enjoyed the festival.
We got there early and parked back end to the stage so when it became really hot we could just sit in the back in lawn chairs and watch the fun, hook up a fan to the electoral outlets in the park drink a cold beer and cook bacon and eggs , coffee and toast the next morning.
We did carry a Portie potty with us, No way was I going to go into those horrid over flowing cess pools of disease.
Plus the younger woman that have periods disposing blood filled napkins just draw in the bears. I hate bears and this area is full of them and they do kill people. So we would close the back doors leaving a 12 inch gap attached to a big chain at night, kept out bears and the two legged varmints away.
We figured out the savings on carting a travel trailer all that way, the gas, the expense to buy a trailer , the insurance etc. for just a few months of the year. We may have camped out 4 times a year.
And at one site some kind of storm came in, blew away most of the tents, at another one the bears came out at night scaring the shit out of everyone. I will no longer buy expensive campers for just a 15 night stay. We as Yankees Can get a 3 night stay with U Haul for $90.00+ the cost of bear spray.
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(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/fog_zps5aa7ca21.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/fog_zps5aa7ca21.jpg.html)
This afternoon, there came to the front door a small gentleman, obviously of Italianate derivation and looking very much like the late Vincenzo Impellitteri; remembering the wrath of the wife-abandoning sparkling old dude, I thought about ducking underneath the table so he couldn’t see me through the glass of the front door, but then I noticed the old property caretaker was with him.
“Boss, this is the advance man for the carnival that’s coming to the county fair,†the caretaker informed me.
“Louie, meet franksolich; boss, meet Louie ‘the Nose’ Macellaio; you two should get along fine.
“He’s here to check out the county fairgrounds, to be sure it’s ready to take his people and gear starting on the ninth; it’s actually a conglomerate of several smaller carnivals, and as this is the last of the season for them, they’ll all be converging here, a few trucks and trailers at a time, each day.
“All that stuff’ll be at the fairgrounds, but there’s going to be some pick-up campers and tents and trailers out here too, so those who want to, can tipple in peace and quiet without being bothered by the county sheriff, who’s hoping to collect enough in alcohol-offense fines from outsiders to put up a press-box and luxury suites on the west side of the high school football field this year.
“He may yet do that, but of course he can’t do it out here.â€
Louie nodded.
The caretaker continued, “You’re going to be gone tomorrow, boss, seeing that heart guy in the big city, and I thought Louie should see you today, so the two of you get acquainted and on good terms.â€
I looked lillliputian hook-nosed Louie over. “I think we’ll get along just fine,†I said.
- - - - - - - - - - -
“By the way,†I began, “about the freak show--â€
“Oh, yes, the freak show, one of our stellar draws,†Louie grinned.
“We have a new freak this year, who’s been more popular than bananas in Honduras.
“She came to us as la senora gorda, but now she’s la esferoide achatada; the phenomenal bowling-ball with arms and legs.
“She rolls out on the stage, seemingly in the nude, does hand-springs, flip-flops, and somersaults, and in her finale, dances around, and then whirls into, a brush-fire, smothering out the flames with her body, all to the accompaniment of Rita Hayworth‘s Down Mexico Way.â€
Uh, I interrupted; “about that one part, indecency’s illegal in this county.â€
“She’s not really nude,†Louie explained; “we’re a class act, a family show, here. It’s just that she’s wholly attired in tight-fitting tan-colored spandex.â€
to be continued
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The three silver trailers showed up in mid-evening yesterday, right during the middle of a rainstorm, but it appears they just got there, and then sat there, riding it out until it was over, and then set things up.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/rainstorm_zpsc8d5a31b.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/rainstorm_zpsc8d5a31b.jpg.html)
I haven’t been down to meet them yet, being slightly out of sorts after reading a medical report (reprinted in another forum here); it wasn’t nearly as bad as it could’ve been, but it does point out, very rudely, that franksolich isn’t getting any younger.
For those unfamiliar with the phenomenon, an Airstream, grabbed from google images:
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/outside_zps02236ed3.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/outside_zps02236ed3.jpg.html)
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/inside_zps4c9243c7.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/inside_zps4c9243c7.jpg.html)
to be continued
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(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/morningglory_zps43664411.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/morningglory_zps43664411.jpg.html)
This morning, I was out in the back yard, checking on the progress of the Brussels sprouts that grow here--the friend who was here w-a-a-a-a-y at the beginning of this current journal is coming next week, but alas so too is her husband, and she makes great Brussels sprouts and cheese for breakfast.
When I turned around, I saw I had a visitor, one of the campers from the silver trailers.
I was floored. Usually, stereotypes are kind of jocular in nature, everyone knowing they’re just good-natured humor, and that there’s exceptions, but this guy fit my stereotype of Airstream aficiandos to a tee; older, about 70, gruff, and with plaid polyester pants hiked halfway up his chest.
“Do you have any dogs here?†he asked; “my wife is afraid of dogs.â€
No, there’s no dogs here, I assured him, “although inevitably there will be.
“There’s just cats, and I’m waiting for them to die of old age, after which I’ll go get dogs.â€
“This is a nice place; now, why would you want to ruin it with dogs?â€
Since he was an old guy, and hence incapable of taking advantage of a vulnerability of mine to do me harm, I breezily brushed aside the hair on the sides of the head, to show him why.
He saw, winced, and understood, but then suggested, “there’s all sorts of security devices to protect people like you.â€
Yeah, yeah, I said; big bright blinking red lights that one never notices unless one’s looking directly at them, things like that. “I can’t spend my life sitting in front of some sort of control panel watching for lights to blink.â€
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/67christmas_zpsd4f6e0bb.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/67christmas_zpsd4f6e0bb.jpg.html)
I’m a dog person anyway, I added. The cats just came with the territory when I moved here. They’d been feral cats which I caught, and took to the veterinary to have neutralized and shot, after which I trained them to look out for me.
“But cats have their limits; they can warn that someone’s around, they can tip one off that something’s amiss, and they’re happy to play ‘fetch’ with frisbees, but as for scaring stalking primitives away, they’re no good.â€
- - - - - - - - - - -
Given the way the guy was, those hiked-up plaid polyester pants looking very much like Grumpy, the retired banker’s wife’s husband, I had an inspiration.
“You know, sometime this weekend, if the weather’s good, how about all you and me and the retired banker’s wife and the neighbor’s wife and a friend of mine from town who’s an insurance man, play some lawn croquet?
“We always make a genteel party of it, as if this is Newport, Rhode Island in the Sandhills, and everybody has a good time. If they and I had enough time, we’d be doing this sort of thing once a week, but alas it’s something we can do only occasionally.
“People who’ve seen it swear it’s like something out of The Great Gatsby.â€
He told me thanks, but none of them knew how to play croquet.
to be continued
-
“Oh man,†I whined to the neighbor’s wife while we were driving to the big city.
I had to go give substantial blood for a blood test, and she had to pick up some groceries, so we went together, with her three-year-old son and infant daughter strapped in the kiddie seats in the back.
“These people are grouches, sour-asses.
“I met all of them by mid-morning, apparently after they’d all had their daily dosage of prune juice, vinegar cocktails, and sour milk.
“This is the first group that’s ever camped there, that hasn’t invited me to join them in a cook-out sometime while they’re at my place. Of course, nearly all the time I gently say ‘no,’ but still, it’s nice to be asked.
“I mean, even when hippywife Mrs. Alfred Packer and hippyhubby Wild Bill were up here from Oklahoma two years ago, they invited me--and you, too--but of course I had to politely turn them down.
“But these old folks, n-o-o-o-o-o-o.
“I did notice that two of the vehicles and trailers had license plates from Connecticut, and the third, from Vermont--they’re probably uppity retired public employees who made fortunes off the sorely-pressed taxpayers of those states.
“While they’re uppity, what with their hoity-toity stainless-steel trailers, they’re sure as Hell not upper-crust people, though, because they don‘t play croquet. Just a bunch of crumbs held together by a lot of dough, nothing more.â€
- - - - - - - - - -
“You know,†I said while we were on our way back, “when we camped, my folks were as social as Hell.
“I wasn’t, but they sure were. They gabbed with everybody, and it wasn’t that they went around looking for people to chew the fat with. They both seemed to have some sort of ‘aura’ about them, that attracted perfect strangers to them.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/0007_zpse4b4ee23.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/0007_zpse4b4ee23.jpg.html)
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/0008_zpsb49fdece.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/0008_zpsb49fdece.jpg.html)
“Going from Nebraska to New York, each time I’m sure they gabbed with at least a couple of people from each of the fifty states and all the Canadian provinces.
“And they were usually running into people who knew the brother-in-law from Alabama of the second cousin from Oregon of a former neighbor from Maine of an Army buddy from Arizona of a dentist who they knew here in Nebraska.
“It was kind of sad, though; all of those trips, and only one single time did we ever encounter a license plate from Nebraska, on the Pennsylvania turnpike. My father wanted to flag them down, but he was pulling a trailer, and couldn’t do it with ease. However, they seeing our license plates, followed us to the next rest-stop, and the four adults spent all afternoon gabbing.
“They were from Omaha; a podiatrist and his wife and four kids.
“I was pretty small then, and used to wonder why we never saw anybody else from Nebraska while in foreign parts. It wasn’t until the fifth grade, when I started studying the population of places, that it struck me--we’re a rare breed, rarely seen.
“At least in those days, before the advent of the Great Reagan-Bush-Gingrich-Bush Prosperity, east of Iowa, one was more likely to run into a Tosk or Gheg from Albania, than someone from Nebraska."
to be continued
-
“Well, what did you find out yesterday [Thursday]?†the neighbor asked me, concerning a visit to my physician.
Instead of answering him, I handed him a sheaf of papers, copies of a cardiological examination.
The neighbor’s an emergency medical technician (EMT); he knows some of this stuff.
Then I said, “I’m not sure; I’m going to have to find somebody who can interpret this for me.
“I donated substantial blood today, for testing, and then late next week I go off to see a cardiologist. That’s no problem; at least I know what I’m supposed to do, although I still don’t know why yet.â€
“Why didn’t you take somebody with you?†he asked.
“The only ones I ever take with me are either [the business partner] or [the neighbor’s wife], and this was on short notice, and they were busy, so I didn’t even bother asking.â€
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/2004_zpsdf9b7eeb.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/2004_zpsdf9b7eeb.jpg.html)
Since I’m deaf, it can be risky if I go to a medical appointment alone, as I might miss out on something important. All my adult life, I’ve always taken another adult with me, an adult with ears and some rudimentary knowledge of medicine, to do my talking-and-listening for me.
I don’t mean to insinuate that I take these things lightly or am lazy; it’s just that communication is woefully tenuous, if at all, with me. I’ve never had a case--excepting with two pill-pushers--where a physician or other medical professional has sent me away without being confident I understand what’s been told me.
However, the true situation is that I have the acting skills of John Barrymore, and can give even medical professionals the impression that I’m “getting†something, when in sorry fact I’m getting barely anything at all.
In this instance, on Thursday, my regular physician, upon pulling out the report, began making sketches on the paper padding that covers the examination table--not only is his handwriting eminently legible, but he’s good at sketching--and we both walked around the table as he explained the details, and sketched more. Such paper on examination tables comes in rolls, and he had to tear off what was there, and continue on a second stretch of paper, sketching and explaining.
It was almost as if we were two military strategists discussing a battle-plan.
But despite that he was so good at this, I was tired and didn’t get it all, or even a quarter of it.
Well, nothing can be done about it, and so I eagerly take any and all papers extended to me, to pass on to someone who can explain them to me. One does what one can.
- - - - - - - - - - -
“Well, why do you just have two people to go with you?†the neighbor further queried; “I’m sure if you asked, half the county would be willing to help, to go along and listen for you, and then later explain it all to you.â€
“Well, since it’s medical stuff it has to be people I know and trust really well, and who are familiar with my history…..and people whom I can understand when they’re saying things to me,†I said.
“I can’t just take any Tom, Dick, or Harry with me.
“I did that one time, taking with me [a city councilman] because he’s an EMT and all that, and it turned out a disaster.
“Nothing against him personally--no way; he‘s really a nice guy--but before that appointment, he’d already accepted the utterly erroneous version told him by people he knew better than he knew me (rather than my version)…..and to top it off, he’s well-known for ‘taking charge’ of things before he understands what those things are.
“And to add insult to injury, this was one of those two encounters with a pill-pusher.
“It was a mess. The pill-pusher of course didn’t like me from the start, and besides was a friend of the city councilman, and so I was totally ignored while the two discussed a problem I didn’t have, instead of discussing the real problem. I was treated as if a six-year-old, by both.
“So I got ‘treated’ for ‘high’ blood pressure when the real problem was a bleeding ulcer.
“It was a wretched, miserable mess, so best to go alone, even if one risks missing important information.â€
to be continued
-
“You know, these are interesting pictures,†the femme said, when she was here this morning.
“May I borrow those albums before you send them to Omaha?â€
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/1923-1_zps2da4bb0a.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/1923-1_zps2da4bb0a.jpg.html)
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/1923_zps4e42aaa5.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/1923_zps4e42aaa5.jpg.html)
Yeah, sure, fine, whatever, I said, go ahead.
She’d been looking through three large photograph albums, all of them marked COUSINS, 1920s, and now in good order and properly identified. They aren’t photographs of my cousins, but rather from my father’s side of the family in northwestern Pennsylvania during that decade. Everybody was doing well during that time, and so I guess if one’s into “fashions,†the three albums are good assortment.
- - -
And the femme of course being an instructor of dance and theater arts, is avidly into fashions, especially those of bygone eras. Add to that, she sews, and she likes to.
Two Christmases ago she’d made an Elizabethan riding-cape for the neighbor’s wife, an avid horsewoman, yours truly being the expert consultant on what was needed and how it was done, to exactly match the era.
<<<a stickler, in fact neurotic about it, for historical accuracy.
“By the way,†I mentioned, “I never paid much attention to the proper attire for playing croquet, instead just assuming we were doing it right, vaguely. But then after my twin Atman on Skins’s island started talking about how people in Connecticut let chickens run rampant in their front yards, I happened to google images of Connecticutians playing croquet.
“It appears that yes, we’ve always been doing it right…..generally.
“But really, we need to be doing it right all the way, dressing exactly properly for croquet.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/senior/justright_zps4f037a5c.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/senior/justright_zps4f037a5c.jpg.html)
“I think there’s six of us who’re going to be asking you to remodel some of our croquet-playing apparel so that it’s right, and you may even get some orders for wholly new outfits.â€
- - - - - - - - - - -
“You know, I wonder what‘s up with this,†I said to the neighbor later in the morning.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/072413-3_zpse2c4183b.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/072413-3_zpse2c4183b.jpg.html)
I showed him handbills Louie “the Nose†Macellaio, the advance-man for the carnival coming here for the county fair, advertising their “new and improved†freak show, had given me.
“Here, they’ve got two exhibits in the freak show, some guy with a head shaped an eggplant, dubbed ‘the Biggest Drug Addict in the World,’ and another guy with a head shaped like a pineapple, dubbed ‘the Biggest Dork in the World.’
“Okay, those are freak show exhibits, nothing more.
“But then look at this bill of fare for other things about the carnival.
“There’s apparently one of those games where one gets three baseballs for a dollar and throws them towards the back of the tent. There’s a guy standing outside, back of the tent, who’s got his head shoved through a slit in the canvas, and if one hits his face with a baseball, one gets a teddy bear.
“Oddly, it appears that eggplant-head and pineapple-head are the heads poking through the canvas.
“They must be multi-skilled or something, as freaks and as targets.â€
to be continued
-
Re: Cousins pictures ---for today's people that read body language---Even when posed the faces of these girls tell a strange story.
What was going on in that family to cause those expressions ?
The oldest girl looks like one heck of a Nasty, big nasty look. Then look at the others, Only one of the girls looks like a child her age does, she is not smiling but one can see the enjoyment in her eyes.
All the other girls look blank, no personality, not fear but an exceptence of their lives.
-
Oh now, vesta, dear, don't be insulting members of my family.
The oldest one, the one you think looks nasty, was actually a kind gentle person who in her old age lovingly gave me much of the family archives from that side; she was notorious all her life for being one of the nicest people one can ever hope to meet.
These were farm girls in the big city in 1923 to have their photographs made, and so naturally they did what they thought best, to look good.
All of them married well--and permanently--and were good parents in large families.
vesta, dear, be careful about differentiating between "posed" photographs and informal photographs.
And remember, if you can't say anything nice about franksolich's relatives, then best to not say anything at all.
Copece?
-
Re: Cousins pictures ---for today's people that read body language---Even when posed the faces of these girls tell a strange story.
What was going on in that family to cause those expressions ?
The oldest girl looks like one heck of a Nasty, big nasty look. Then look at the others, Only one of the girls looks like a child her age does, she is not smiling but one can see the enjoyment in her eyes.
All the other girls look blank, no personality, not fear but an exceptence of their lives.
Here ya go, Vesta. My grand and great-grand parents. Psychoanalyse these while you're at it.
Please understand, at that time, photography was a very serious endeavor.
Do you see smiling happy woopie faces here?
These are real photos, Vesta.
-
I love the old pictures! Actually I enjoy all the pictures. Back in the old days portraits were not simply point and click snap shots, there was a lengthy process the photographer had to follow including longer exposure times.
-
Here ya go, Vesta. My grand and great-grand parents. Psychoanalyse these while you're at it.
Please understand, at that time, photography was a very serious endeavor.
Do you see smiling happy woopie faces here?
These are real photos, Vesta.
I sure do Skul, the wedding picture was my favorite.
The bride has that look of pure enjoyment and a wicked sense of humor. I will bet for a few years she was a fire cracker.
The groom has that look of, now he has her how the heck can he keep her.
The family portrate tells me The exhausted mother has a wild crew on her hands. The father looks easy going, the boys behind him fun natured too. I don't know what to think of the woman in the picture, very attractive and perhaps anxious to get the heck out of tight corsets and off to get Mom home before she falls asleep.
I was raised on family pictures going back to my great grand parents also. I knew my g- grand mother until I was 12 when she died. Often in the summertime she would get out photo albums and look at the old prints the posed ones and just before WW1 the ones taken with the first hand held ones.
It became a game of guess who this is and how they lived their lives. [ I was taught to profile people at an early age and as a people watcher to this day enjoy sitting at the mall watching interesting people and wondering what their past was or their future to be ]
I meant no disrespect to Frank or his family, I targeted the oldest girl as she reminded me of a great aunt that in all photos had the same look on her face. She became a lovely lady after 40 but before that she ruled the roost. So bossy was she that at one point in her life as a teenager one of the family members accidental tripped her causing her to fall and totally disfigure her arm. After 2 botched operations her arm was all scared and crooked. But she had a beautiful body and the face and hair of a movie star in the 1930's.
Such fun looking at the old photos and looking for a resemblance , to self or children. Knowing family history fun seeing family photos of siblings that were loving at that time and estranged in later years---Visa versa in some cases.
-
This morning, when I got up around 5:00 a.m., while it was still dark, one could see the world was shrouded in fog. The forecast for this week is thunderstorms at least once every day.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/sandhillsfog1_zps0abb479e.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/sandhillsfog1_zps0abb479e.jpg.html)
There’d been an article in the Omaha World-Herald speculating about whether or not summer’s over for the year, given that temperatures are supposed to be in “only†the 70s and 80s in the foreseeable future.
Which of course is nonsense, utter nonsense.
When God created Nebraska, God said “Thou shalt have three weeks of bitterly-cold weather rendering this place uninhabitable each year, and two months of torridly-hot weather burning the earth each year. Perhaps sometimes more, but never less.â€
And thus it’s been since the Beginning of Time, without fail.
And so far this summer, we’ve had only a single month of Sahara-like weather, and so are due at least another month yet.
It’ll come.
- - - - - - - - - -
The stand-offish New Englanders with their silver trailers had departed Saturday morning, and so I had the whole place to myself alone, the only human being for several miles around out here in the middle of nowhere.
So I didn’t bother getting dressed yet, instead grabbing a carafe of coffee and going out to the back porch to watch the fog. It was just the birds and myself.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/sandhillsfog2_zpsde7fecee.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/sandhillsfog2_zpsde7fecee.jpg.html)
As the fog began slowly lifting, I discerned something out in the meadow, between the back yard and the river; it vaguely looked like a tent. I got up, slipped my feet into a pair of flip-flops kept on the back porch, and went out to investigate.
It was in fact a tent, and there was a car beyond that, between the tent and the river.
No one had been given permission to camp here, and so I got irritated, rapping on the side of the tent.
- - - - - - - - - -
There suddenly emerged a porcine woman’s face, sleepy and confused. She looked up at me.
Remembering the importance of strong eye-contact when one doesn’t wish the other person to notice something else, I stared at her, asking, â€Who are you?â€
She ignored my question, still rudely staring at something else.
Someone else inside the tent began to stir, and she wriggled aside, pulling herself halfway out the tent. She was a heavy-set blonde, maybe forty years old, significant body-tattoos, and naked, at least from the waist up. Her jugs folded under her, dragging along the grass just outside the tent.
The face of a male suddenly popped out; some heavy-set guy with grey hair and a beard, significant body-tattoos, and naked, at least from the waist up. He had jugs too, although not as large.
I stepped away, so they could get out, but they didn’t get out, instead just laying there staring.
“Who are you?†I asked again.
Finally, the woman with the porcine face, by now wholly awake, blinked, and asked, “Why are you standing there without any clothes on?â€
“Never mind that,†I said; “this is private property, and you didn’t ask. Whenever you’re ready to go, please leave,†after which I walked back to the house.
- - - - - - - - - -
“You know, this drives me nuts,†I told the neighbor some hours later.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/sandhillsfog3_zps219da878.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/sandhillsfog3_zps219da878.jpg.html)
“Here I am, out in the middle of nowhere, no more than a microscopic speck superimposed on a road-map of Nebraska, and yet weird people manage to find their way here.â€
to be continued
-
A few of us went to the bar in town for lunch today, as it was the semi-annual festa del cucina italiano, which is so popular reservations have to be made. It’s when the Italianate restauranteurs from Omaha, Kansas City, Chicago, and Minneapolis come here, to learn from Swede, the local cook of Norwegian derivation, how to improve their art.
We’d made reservations for six, but because of last-minute happenings, it was only three of the original six who could come, and we filled in the others with whoever we could find.
I forget what else the other five had (other than that it was Italianate), but for the main dish, the neigbhor’s wife had bucatini alla sorrentina, the business partner had coda alla vaccinara, the neighbor’s older brother’s wife had risotto di seppie alla veneziana, the retired banker’s wife had cotoletta alla petroniana, and some guy I didn’t know had cozze fritte alla viareggina.
I had my usual, a hamburger well-done, pressed down hard on the grill so as to squeeze out every drop of grease, potatoes fried in just a little bit of butter, and a side-dish of sour cream.
- - - - - - - - - -
The table-side chitchattery was just idle stuff, and for obvious reasons I didn’t pick up much of it.
I was queried about an upcoming visit later this week to the cardiologist, about the now-departed snobbish New Englanders with their silver trailers, and about a proposed game of lawn croquet next Sunday, but generally I stayed out of the yik-yakkety because I wasn’t sure what was being said.
I caught fragments of discussions about the upcoming county fair, and the freaks that are going to be camping here starting this Friday night, but I myself barely know anything about them--and what I do know, I suspect their biggest attraction, the Minnesota Mammaries, is a fraud--I didn’t say much.
- - - - - - - - - -
After dining, I took the neighbor’s wife home, but as the neighbor and their five children weren’t back yet from where they’d been, she suggested we drive around and “talk.â€
As with the business partner, the neighbor’s wife and so few other people understand the best way to communicate with franksolich is in a small enclosed area (such as inside a motor vehicle). When out in the open, I might as well be at sea.
We were in my vehicle, which is a low-slung sedan not really suitable for going over rough terrain--all the cars I’ve had here, the major repair expense has been for tie-rods and axles. But it depends upon one’s priorities; most prefer high-riding vehicles to deal with the terrain, while I prefer low-slung vehicles because of the relentless winds that sweep the highways.
But I drove around the neighbor’s spread anyway.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/neighborsriver_zps6b979138.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/neighborsriver_zps6b979138.jpg.html)
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/neighborsplace_zpse221f3fa.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/neighborsplace_zpse221f3fa.jpg.html)
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/thelesserfield_zps747028b2.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/thelesserfield_zps747028b2.jpg.html)
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/themainfield_zps9735cec8.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/themainfield_zps9735cec8.jpg.html)
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/eastend_zps4c4216a5.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/eastend_zps4c4216a5.jpg.html)
“So…..you’re having a visitor next weekend,†she started.
Uh-oh. My heart stopped. I was in for it now.
- - - - - - - - - -
The neighbor’s wife and the femme are very good friends, although she never met her until I was already wooing the femme.
Gentlemen, never acquaint your beloved with other female friends of yours. Keep a wall between them. Women talk, especially to each other.
Yeah, well, what’s wrong with having a visitor next week? I asked.
“After all, it’s not as if I got people dropping in to visit all the time.â€
The neighbor’s wife paused. “But you’re going to be busy next week.
“You’re going to need eight pairs of eyes to watch things, what with the freaks being out back of the back yard, the six minor children camping in the front yard, for ‘practice,' for when they can make some money when primitives come there the weekend of Labor Day.â€
“Now you know,†I replied, “the children of course are going to be my principal concern.
“While they know the freaks are going to be around, I plan to shield them, so that they never see them, excepting at a distance, much less have to deal with them.â€
I shuddered.
“Especially from the Minnesota Mammaries; it’d been traumatic for me, being slapped in the face by a couple of big swinging jugs out of nowhere, and I don’t want the same to happen to others of impressionable ages.â€
“Well, but you’re going to have this other visitor,†she answered--
“But she’s staying in town with her college sorority sister,†I interrupted.
“Oh, but you know she’s going to be spending most of the time out at your place, with you.â€
I pointed out the femme’s going to be gone all that week, and it’d be nice to have company, especially another mature adult to protect the children from things they needn‘t see.
“Nothing happened last time, and nothing’s going to happen this time.â€
to be continued
-
The soil scientist returns! :whistling: O-)
-
The soil scientist returns! :whistling: O-)
Yeah.
I suppose it would be appropriate to itemize the main people in this journal, as there seems to be so many of them, and I don't want to use their real-life names (for obvious reasons).
-the neighbor, the one who's around the most, who's the closest neighbor, his spread being six miles north of here. He's the one who persuaded me to leave Omaha in 2001 and move up here; we'd known each other since he was a freshman at the University of Nebraska, and I was manager of the Reunion, a privately-owned student union there.
-the neighbor's wife, one of my two closest confidantes. She's originally from the suburbs of Kansas City, Missouri, and got a degree in dental hygiene at the University of Nebraska, where she met her husband. She however doesn't do that, because she rather more likes being a farm wife and mother (five children), despite that it's harder work. She's a naturally-born horsewoman. I'm sort of nervous when with her though, because she has red hair.
-the femme, the One I've been wooing since the autumn of 2005. She's an instructor in dance and theater arts, and changed my life by teaching me how to be expressive (in body language). Even though I'm rather casual and sloppy in my treatment of her, she does know franksolich'd die for her.
-the business partner, the other of my two closest confidantes, mostly because I've spent more time with him than with anybody else, in cars going all over the Great Plains states. He was cuckolded by his wife, some empty airhead (this was before we met), and still whines about it. I met him the same time I met the femme, and they really loathe and detest each other, which causes problems for this guy in the middle.
^^^^^the four main persons, the ones the reader has to keep in mind.
-the retired property caretaker has been out of commission for some months because of an automoible accident and his age, but I assume by hunting season, he'll be popping up in the journals as much as he used to.
-the current property caretaker is still new on the job, and we're still getting used to each other, but it's going good.
-the retired banker's wife, an award-winning gardener who's been featured in many gardening magazines, who loves me for the William Rivers Pitt, finding it the best possible fertilizer for flora.
-Swede, the cook of Norwegian derivation whose specialty is Italianate cuisine; he's the husband of the owner of the bar in town, and also a part-time truck driver.
-the neighbor's older brother, who farms on the other (i.e., the peopled) side of the county, married, four kids, exactly my own age; he thinks franksolich is an idiot but that's only a minor difference of opinion, nothing worth getting excited over.
-the soil scientist, who I'm going to have to re-name sometime soon, who was here to study the William Rivers Pitt five years ago; she's from the Country Club set in Maryland. At first I was hostile to her, until I learned she's a distant (very distant) relative of the late Clare Boothe Luce, after which I immediately warmed to her.
^^^^^secondary people, but still important.
Over the years, I'm sure I've described hundreds of real-life people in this area, although of course only vaguely, for internet security. There were others once prominent but now all but evaporated, due to old age or death--such as the ancient elderly gentleman who used to mow the grass here, or the big guy who shoveled grain at the local elevator five and a half days a week, or the woman the exact age my mother would be if my mother were still around, who had me over for Thanksgiving and Christmas last year.
-
Both the neighbor and the new property caretaker were here this evening.
They had some beer; I had some orange juice.
I reminded the neighbor that a week from today, next Sunday, when the kids come to set up camp, there’s three of us who’re going to teach them to play croquet, and so they need to bring along special clothes.
“For the girls, either a white dress, or if a skirt and blouse, a skirt of any pastel color but the blouse has to be white. And a big floppy hat, any color just so long as it’s a light pastel color.
“For the boys, shorts of any light pastel color, but the shirts have to be white. Knee-length socks; I’m not sure about headwear, but I’ll find out.â€
“You’re going through a lot of trouble on this,†the neighbor said.
“Well, the real purpose is to allow the kids to observe the freaks--where croquet’s played here is a good vantage-point for that part of the river-side--but at a safe distance.
“But while it’s croquet, we might as well do things right, so ignorant-but-snobbish New Englanders don’t think we’re less refined than they are.â€
- - - - - - - - - - -
The caretaker mentioned he still hasn’t found an appropriate group of primitives to camp here over the Labor Day holiday. “There’s always those old hippies from down in Oklahoma,†he reminded me, “and they’ve called, but you don’t want them here this time.
“I haven‘t told them ‘no‘ yet though, just in case.â€
Right, I said.
“I got one call Saturday morning, and while I figured it’s an automatic reject, I just said I’d call them back--some sort of cooking and baking group, about thirty of them.
“But you want primitives here, so as to give the kids a good gate take, and I can’t imagine any of these as being colorful dirty ragged stoned old hippies. Dowdy matronly frumpy old ladies won't attract."
“Hang on to that telephone number,†I said; “lemme think.â€
to be continued
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Vesta much f the photography of the time requires straight faces so as not to blur when the very slow shutter opened to capture the image. They also had to remain very still hence the posing. As frank said photography was very serious business then and a privilege to capture for memories at that time. You didn't get 50 proofs either to choose which one captures everyone's essence just right when you had 5 girls posing who we're all children to barely youths.
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“I’m still thinking about that cooking and baking group that wants to camp here over the Labor Day weekend,†I told the property caretaker early this morning.
“Usually, I’d dismiss them, but my gut instinct says ‘no, not yet, until you’re thought about it for a while.’
“I want the kids to make a bundle on admission fees, and so I’m committed to giving them the best possible old hippies, getting for them the best possible show.
“Old biddies into cooking and baking aren’t going to draw; old hippies are going to.
“But the gut instinct says--
“Do you remember anything in particular about the telephone call, like where they’re from?â€
The caretaker didn’t have his yellow stick-it note with the information, but he remembered the woman had said she was from “the Blue Ridge mountains,†also commenting she didn’t name a state or city.
“Aha,†I said, “one of the primary characteristics of primitives; their geocentrism.
“They assume everybody knows where something’s at, as long as it’s where they’re at.
“Especially the ones from New England. They’re as provincial as Hell.
“The Blue Ridge mountains are in western North Carolina and eastern Tennessee.
“And they cover a lesser land-area than the Sandhills of Nebraska; I dunno why they’re better known than the Sandhills, other than that easterners tend to be, again, provincial, thinking their little corner of the world is the only world there is.
“And to top it off, easterners have no sense of aesthetics; the Sandhills here are much more scenic than any old mountains there.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/22222_zpse90b0840.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/22222_zpse90b0840.jpg.html)
“So we may be looking at primitives, but still, the odds are pretty slim.â€
- - - - - - - - - -
“Can you remember anything else, about when she called?â€
The caretaker remembered that the cooking and baking group ostensibly consists of members from all parts of the country.
“She giggled and said, ‘oh, we’re just a bunch of girls who, when we get a wild hair up our asses, we get together and go somewhere to try out the area cuisine.’â€
I winced. “An old lady called herself and them, ‘girls’?â€
Yeah, the caretaker said.
Damn, I said. “And she giggled?
“These obviously aren’t old hippies; they’re more likely old fuddy-duddies, addled old ladies touched in the head.
“Fuddy-duddies won’t draw; we need to find some authentic old hippies for the kids to show off--but keep the telephone number just in case.â€
to be continued
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There’s a message on the telephone answering-machine from my regular physician, telling me to call him, as he has the name and appointment of a cardiologist I’m to go and see, but as I saw it too late in the afternoon to call back, I guess I’ll find out tomorrow.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/sunsetsandhills_zps3f384139.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/sunsetsandhills_zps3f384139.jpg.html)
When it comes to making important medical decisions, one shouldn’t automatically accept the solutions offered by the medical professionals, and it’s always been my experience that medical professionals in fact prefer patients who question, doubt, and amend.
The biggest factor here is the ever-diminishing circulatory system, for which nothing can be done; this overshadows and underlays any other “medical condition†I have. It is my principal condition.
I have no idea how cardiac problems are affected by this, but I guess I’ll soon find out.
- - - - - - - - - -
When I slipped on ice (coming out of a coin-and-stamp store in Lincoln) in January 1993, I shattered my right elbow. It was a peculiar sort of break (medical evaluation, not my guess), where all the big bones shattered but the small fragile ones remained intact.
At the time, I was working for an insurance company, and inevitably had excellent medical insurance; in fact, there wasn’t even the smallest token co-pay for anything. All was covered, 100%.
The surgeon proposed an artificial elbow, at the time at the cost in the high five figures.
During the initial visit, I thought that was the only alternative, and tentatively agreed.
However, I was bothered that such an elbow would require routine medical maintenance, and have to be replaced every 10-12 years. This really bothered me; for example, what if I were ever in a situation of not having the means to pay for a replacement (or even the “maintenanceâ€)?
During the second visit, I asked about other alternatives. The second one was more primitive, but still, it would require replacement every so often.
So finally, pointing to the x-ray, I asked, “How about just bolting this bone to that bone, and that bone to this bone--would that heal, and what would be the consequences of that?â€
The surgeon pointed out that I’d unwittingly described the way it used to be done, like circa 1900 or 1920, and yes, it would heal. However, it would “lock†the elbow permanently at a 90-degree angle against my midriff, making my right arm unusable (I’m right-handed).
“But it would heal,†I said; “so why not just bolt the bones together, and I can deal with an unusable arm later? I’d just as soon have a permanent solution, rather than always having to spend a fortune I might not have, on maintenance and replacement.â€
So he agreed, and the cost plummeted from the high five figures (plus unknown future expenses) down to a mere $6,000. Despite his initial pessimism about the outcome, before the operation, he finally suggested, “well, maybe some physical therapy might help.â€
After the surgery, I went back to my regular physician, who set me up with three-times-a-week physical therapy sessions; he too assumed I’d never get full use of the right arm back, but it might be possible to get circa 33% of use restored.
I diligently went to physical therapy for about a month, and then went back to my regular physician to complain. The physical therapist was located way over on the other side of Lincoln, and it bit a big chunk out of my work-day.
But my biggest complaint was, “all they’re doing is giving the joint warm baths and massages, nothing more. There’s no improvement using this wimpy treatment.â€
(What I didn’t mention was that this physician was always giving me prescriptions for controlled-substances pain-killers, which I refused to take. Every time I got one, upon exiting the building, I tossed the paper into the trash-can.)
So then I proposed something else. The objective was to get my right arm straight, and then flexible.
The physician approved what I then did (which incidentally, as it cost nothing compared with what professional physical therapy was costing, I was saving other policy-holders money). I began walking around with an empty briefcase. After I got used to that, I put half of one of these reddish bricks inside the briefcase, and went around carrying that. Then I put in a full brick, and then a brick-and-a-half, and then two bricks.
I started doing this about March 1993, two months after the breakage. By summer, I was walking around with five bricks inside the briefcase. By September, the allegedly impossible had happened; I had full use of my right arm; I could do anything I wanted to do, with it. And utterly painlessly.
And have ever since, with no expenditures for maintenance and replacement of an artificial joint.
- - - - - - - - - -
Now, the heart and the elbow are two different things.
However, the point of all this is that after being illuminated of the usual-and-standard treatment, and usually costly treatment, one should then think outside the box about possible other, less expensive, treatments, and discuss them with a medical professional. Many of the ideas of a layman aren’t really good ones, but some might be, and so it doesn’t hurt to discuss them.
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The femme and I went to bar in town for supper. Swede’s gone, and so Wanda, the cook of Polish derivation whose specialty is French cuisine, was working. The femme dined on moules à la crème Normande, while I had my usual, a well-done hamburger pressed down hard on the grill so as to squeeze out every drop of grease.
I was nervous, because I had to tell her something.
“You know, next week while you’re gone, I’ve got a visitor coming, an old friend--â€
“Oh, but I already know that,†she said, nonchalantly.
“You don’t mind?†I asked, surprised.
“Well, I’m going to be gone, and you have the carnival freaks and six children out there to watch, and so it’d be good for somebody else to be there, to help.â€
“You know who it is,†I said, cautiously, hoping she didn’t.
“Yes, it’s that old friend of yours, the sixth cousin three times removed, of the late Clare Boothe Luce.
“You should have a good time, and her help would come in handy, given what interesting things you could do on your own, mixing carnival freaks with young innocent children.â€
“I’m doing it only as a favor to her,†I pointed out. “She’s bored, and wants something new. She quit her job with the U.S. Department of Agriculture out in southwestern Nebraska, because she says, ‘you know, after a while, all dirt looks alike.’
“But as she’s very happy out there, loving her husband [a veterinarian] and the scenic wonders of the butte country, she’s now decided to become the town librarian, and’s taking remedial courses to do that.â€
For whatever reasons, I thought it important to point out she’s in love with her husband (which she is).
- - - - - - - - - -
She changed the subject. “[the neighbor’s wife] and [the wife of the neighbor’s older brother] and I are going to thrift stores in [the big city] tomorrow, to pick up some things, which I’ll clean and alter for the children.
“You’re pretty demanding, about these croquet-playing uniforms.â€
Right, I said; “and be sure it’s the right stuff--white dresses for the girls, and if a blouse and skirt, the blouse has to be white, while the skirt can be any light pastel color. Big floppy hats, of an appropriate light pastel color, too. And shorts of any light pastel color for the boys, but the shirts have to be white. And knee-length socks for them, too.
“In case there’s any Connecticutians around, we don’t want them thinking we don’t know how to play lawn croquet out here.
“Although I can’t figure it out; these are the same snobs who let chickens run around loose in their front yards, like barbarians and savages and other uncouth people.â€
- - - - - - - - - - -
She paused. “And while I’m there, I’m going to look for some flannel shirts for you, as you don’t have any.
“When looking at those pictures, I thought you looked rather good in flannel shirts, giving you a certain aura of masculinity and strength.â€
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/1993_zpsb209ec16.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/1993_zpsb209ec16.jpg.html)
Uh, there’s a good reason I don’t have flannel shirts, I reminded her. “Flannel shirts suck, pure cotton’s where it’s at. I quit wearing flannel shirts after someone told me they made me look ‘cuddly;’ threw all of them out into the trash right away.â€
She’s still trying to reform my wardrobe, but isn’t going to get away with it.
to be continued
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Clocks. :thumbs:
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“You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think this is all pretty weird,†the property caretaker said this morning.
“I mean, all the trouble you always take for people camping here, and now this big deal about uniforms for playing lawn croquet. You’re always making a really big production about things.â€
“Normally, people don’t give a [excresence] about such things.â€
Blame the femme, I said.
“Ten years ago, I would’ve never thought to carry on like this. But because [the femme] is what she is, I just got hooked on staging things.â€
In case one needs reminded, the femme is an instructor in dance and drama, and one of the things she does is put on productions at fairs and during holidays, during which time she and her students show off what they’ve learned. These productions entail festive renaissance dances, courtly dances from 19th century Europe, medieval pageants, baroque masterpieces, balls of the decadent French courts, and somesuch.
Another instructor, in music, provides the music and musicians.
The femme doesn’t only teach and direct; she also makes all the costumes for such events. She’s an excellent seamstress, and really likes to snip-and-sew.
And myself, being a lousy leader but a great follower, follows suit, making great productions out of what are usually trivial things.
- - - - - - - - - - -
“And that’s not all of it,†I continued.
“You hearing people have all these sources of amusement, diversion, and entertainment--television, radio, records, movies, concerts. And some of you hearing people spend hours and hours every single day being stimulated by all this entertainment.
“I can’t hear. There’s nothing in any of this that can possibly animate me.
“However, at the same time, I have the same ‘need,’ or ‘want,’ to be amused. So I have to find ways of being invigorated that don’t involve hearing.
“The soap operas among the primitives on Skins’s island is a great source of entertainment, better than watching sixty movies. But sometimes the primitives get stale and boring, and one needs something else.
“When I was a little lad, I discovered that secretly putting other people into ridiculous or preposterous situations, and observing their reactions to these things, was highly amusing, better than watching television 168 hours a week, like my twin Atman does.
“It may look like I’m bending over backwards to make guests here comfortable--and I truly am--but what most don’t see is I’m also bending over backwards to put these people into peculiar situations simply to see how they react, how they handle it.
"Of course, sometimes the tables turn, and I'm the one in an awkward situation, such as what happened Sunday morning, but still, it's worth it because of the usually-amusing reactions I inspire.
“It’s the same as that old game, ‘tickling the tail of the dragon,’ to see what sort of reaction something provokes. It’s nothing more than a pathetic, desperate attempt to be amused, but I can’t be blamed for trying to fulfill a certain need to be entertained.
“I’m desperate, man, to be amused.â€
- - - - - - - - - - -
I asked if anyone had telephoned about camping here over the Labor Day holiday.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/TheSandhills14_zps333393d7.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/TheSandhills14_zps333393d7.jpg.html)
“No, somebody called to reserve this place for the weekend of September 21, and I said ‘okay,’ given that you’ll be gone anyway, and so it wouldn’t matter.
“But for Labor Day, we still have only the hippywife Mrs. Alfred Packer’s clan from northeastern Oklahoma, or that cooking and baking group.â€
Damn, I said. “I wish there was a way we could find out if the old biddies dress and act like old hippies, so they’d give a good show. We pretty much know they’re primitives, but do they look like primitives?
“They have to look like old hippies, to draw crowds to come and ogle.â€
to be continued
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FYI.... Blue Ridge Parkway through the mountains is in NC and Virginia. Both states refer to the western part of the state as the Blue Ridge, more so the Virginians. However, so do Marylanders, even though the Parkway isn't up there. Hazarding a guess, the want to be visitors are from Virginia or Maryland.
TN people are more basic.. tend to just say "Smokies" or "the mountains" or "plateau" or "valley", depending on where they live. (I'm in the valley.... damn, I'm a Valley Girl :thatsright: .)
Also...you can get all cotton flannel shirts or all wool, if you don't want a poly blend. :-)
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It was a full house this evening, what with the femme, the neighbor’s wife, the wife of the neighbor’s older brother, and six kids running around. The mature women had been successful in finding stuff at thrift stores that could serve as croquet outfits, but of course all needed fitted, altered, and laundered.
The only problem was the white shirt intended for the oldest of the group, the neighbor’s older brother’s second-oldest son, 12 years old, would not do at all, and so there was much discussion about that. The neighbor’s older brother’s wife offered to return home to get another shirt, but that’s way over on the other side of the county.
And the femme was pressed for time; she needed to get these things, once fitted, home so as to begin the alterations. I graciously sacrificed one of my own best white all-cotton shirts.
- - - - - - - - - -
We four adults also finalized the plans. The kids will be camping in the front yard--out of view of where the carnies and their freaks will be camping on the river--Saturday, Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday nights. This is a “practice run,†so that they become familiar with what happens when there’s people camping here.
These are children; they’ve never been around when I’ve had, uh, guests here, and need to know what happens, in preparation for the big show they hope to give the general public when some primitives come here for Labor Day.
(One dollar admission for drive-by viewing of the old hippies, five dollars admission for parking privileges in the meadow in case one wants to sit and watch the old hippies do all the things old hippies do. Lawn-chair rental, three bucks, and picture-taking privileges free.)
They’ll camp in the front yard only through Wednesday morning, as that’s when the county fair starts, and they of course are all involved in that. And I want them out of here by then too, because that’s probably around the time the carnie-and-freak bacchanalia will start, and it’s nothing for innocent children to see.
They’re expected to sleep inside the house if the weather turns inclement, and of course can roast hot-dogs and marshmallows as they wish, in the front yard. They’re to telephone their parents every evening about supper-time, to confirm that all’s okay. They’re free to wander anywhere north, east, or south of here, but not west, towards the river. Any violation of these rules (franksolich’s rules, not their parents’ rules), and I will drive the culprit home.
The retired banker’s wife, the insurance man from town, and franksolich will be instructing all six of them in the finer points of lawn croquet on Sunday afternoon, in the grove of walnut trees. That’s down near the river, but far enough away that the freaks can’t possibly figure out we’re really down there to watch them, and close enough to satiate any curiosity the kids might have, about freaks.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/02-28_zps6f2847f8.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/02-28_zps6f2847f8.jpg.html)
to be continued
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Those are beautiful walnut trees! If you allow the cooking and baking primitives to camp there over Labor Day, will they be allowed to harvest some for their special chili recipes?
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See comment 41 on this thread, for the latest:
http://www.conservativecave.com/index.php/topic,89331.msg1114995.html#msg1114995
To console the lurking primitives who can't get into that forum, the only photograph, ever, of franksolich with a camera:
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/kiev-01-95a_zpsdc07e3c2.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/kiev-01-95a_zpsdc07e3c2.jpg.html)
<<<am always fearful of being seen with a camera, and mistaken for the cousin, given that we resemble each other so much.
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Those are beautiful walnut trees! If you allow the cooking and baking primitives to camp there over Labor Day, will they be allowed to harvest some for their special chili recipes?
It'll be a tad bit early to gather walnuts; usually people come and pick them up after the first frost, and that's happening until a long time after Labor Day.
But I'm starting to think the cooking and baking group is "out" in regards to camping here; the kids need some hippie-looking hippies here so as to put on a good show, and I have no idea if the cooking and baking primitives, in appearance, resemble dirty old hippies.
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Those are beautiful walnut trees! If you allow the cooking and baking primitives to camp there over Labor Day, will they be allowed to harvest some for their special chili recipes?
But most of the year, they look like this (not just during the winter):
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/02-281_zpsf58211ff.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/02-281_zpsf58211ff.jpg.html)
I'm not sure why the original people here (1875) planted them, because the Sandhills are inhospitable to trees, and usually settlers took care to plant only flora that would do well.
The trees always look so sad, as if they'd rather be somewhere else.
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Odd that you mention the trees. There were two walnuts in the wooded lot across the street while I lived in O'Neill.
The nuts made excellent stand-in golf balls.
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“Don’t you think you’re being overprotective of the kids?†the business partner said to me, as we drove through the Sandhills earlier today.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/10-156_zpse62d40dc.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/10-156_zpse62d40dc.jpg.html)
“Yes, yes, yes,†I said; “I’m aware of this, and bend over backwards so as to be sure it’s only a little problem, not a big problem. But it’s going to be a problem no matter what.
“It’s like with the cats; I’d never had any cats until I came out there, and I got really nervous. I can’t hear, and so wouldn’t know if one was hurt, or in some sort of trouble. And I’d feel absolutely lousy if something happened to one of them while I’d been around, and didn’t hear it call out in distress.
“So my first three years there, I took inventory of the cats at least twice a day, censused them, and if one came up missing, I’d go out looking for it, not stopping until I found it. Some days, I’d be looking for hours, to find it.
“Same thing with children; I need to know where they’re at and what they’re up to, in case one of them’s in trouble, and I can’t hear anything.
“Yes, I’m overprotective, but damn, the only other choice is to be utterly negligent. I do what I can.â€
- - - - - - - - - -
“But there’s been times you’ve taken care of all of them, for an afternoon or even overnight, ever since they were babies. You’re used to them, they’re used to you, and so surely you can ease up on your zealous guardianship once in a while.â€
“Ah,†I said; “when they were infants, they were as easy as strawberries-and-cream. One can plant an infant in some safe place, and not have a worry thereafter. The infant’s going to stay right where he’s put, and so one can go about in confidence, knowing exactly where the infant’s at, and what he’s up to.
“But when they start running around, only God knows what sorts of trouble they can get into--and trouble about which I’m not aware, because I don’t hear things.
- - - - - - - - - - -
“Now, I’m intimately acquainted with the care of children; don’t forget, when I was in junior high and high school, I made a mint babysitting young children, raked in some big bucks (“big†for the time and place).
“Our town was pretty masculine, simply because of sheer numbers. For example, in my graduating class of 101, there were 68 boys and 33 girls. So lots of males did what are usually considered “girl†jobs, and mine was babysitting, from about the time I was thirteen.
“My most regular clients were a certain cattleman and his wife--for whatever reasons, they lived in town rather than out on their spread. They had seven kids, and at the time I had them, the oldest was still in grade school.
“They liked me because they didn’t think a girl could handle that many kids, and also because being a boy, I could be out later than girls usually could. And because I didn’t do television or radio or stereo and invite friends over, they knew I’d concentrate wholly on my charges.
“The kids liked me too; in fact, they still remember me fondly.
“And they were well-behaved; they went to bed on time, after which all I had to do was sit around for about four more hours, until the parents came home, about 1:00 a.m. There was a television there, but I didn’t pay attention to that.
“Unlike most people with television, these people had books, too; lots and lots of books. So I’d just sit there and read in the semi-darkness. Most of the books were about Mormons and Mormonism, and I found them interesting. I think that by the time I graduated from high school and went away, I’d read them all.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/0721-2_zps5e7824ad.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/0721-2_zps5e7824ad.jpg.html)
- - - - - - - - - -
“There was only ever one single problem, back when the youngest one was an infant about a year old.
“It was the summer, and the kids were getting bored. So we raided a neighbor’s garden, coming away with an enormous watermelon, which I cut up and fed everybody, excepting the infant, who of course was on the usual-and-standard infant diet.
“He began to fuss and fret, because he wanted watermelon too.
“So I smashed up some watermelon and fed it to him.
“When I was cleaning up things a little bit later, he began fussing and fretting again, and there was olfactory evidence in the air that he’d done a big number two. So I changed his diapers, and all was well again.
“That is, for about ten or fifteen minutes, after which he unloaded again.
“I changed his diapers, figuring well, that was it.
“It wasn’t. He released his bowels a third time.
“And a fourth time.
“And a fifth time.
“The kid was pumping out as if a bison.
“Now, the family didn’t use disposable diapers, only renewable ones. There’d been a stack of them in the bathroom, but needless to say, there were none left after a while. I resorted to using bath-towels as diapers, not knowing what else to do. I was panic-stricken.
“I guess I could’ve contacted the parents--medical professionals, after all--to find out the maximum possible volume of solid body wastes in an infant, but I didn’t think to.
“Fortunately, he was finally diminished, and went to sleep as if nothing were wrong.
“The next time I baby-sat there, instead of a medium-sized stack of clean diapers, there was a stack reaching high up in the air.â€
to be continued
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“You know, with these freaks coming starting tomorrow, I wish I still had my father’s old medical textbooks,†I told the business partner as we were driving alongside the Missouri River.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/upoverthere_zps966958a4.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/upoverthere_zps966958a4.jpg.html)
“I knew those books like the back of my hand, and they’d be quick reference guides, the ones with pictures of anatomical disfigurements, and explaining the causes.
“I never kept them, though, because there were s-o-o-o-o-o-o-o many books in the house, thousands of books, books all over the place. I didn’t have the means to keep all that I wanted to take.
“You know, one time I made money off those books.
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“I was in the second grade, and one day I took three of them to school with me--a book with photographs of the development of women when pregnant, a book of illustrations of contagious diseases, and a really large book with transparent color plates showing the layers of the human eye.
“During recess, I set up shop. At first, I charged a dime to look at anything in the book of contagious diseases, twenty cents to look at the layers of the eye, and thirty cents to look at naked women.
“I had it all wrong, though, and quickly had to adjust my rates--I couldn’t get but five cents for a look at the naked women, and the demand for the pictures of contagious diseases was such that I could charge thirty cents, getting no complaints.
“It went so well that instead of returning the books home at dinner, I kept them at the school, and again set up shop during afternoon recess.
“There was one photograph in the contagious diseases book that was the most popular, a hapless victim of leprosy whose features were shown, over time, growing leonine-like.
“But some miscreant complained to the teacher--I wouldn’t allow him two looks for the price of one, or something--and she took the books and my gate-receipts away.
“The teacher had a meeting with the parents after school, and returned the books to them, but nothing was ever said to me, or if it was, I didn’t hear it.â€
to be continued
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The femme came by last night, to drop off the altered wardrobes for lawn croquet and to say “good-bye,†as she’s going to be away for the next ten days. Her group will perform some sort of Elizabethan show at the county fair, but it’ll be under the direction of the assistant instructor.
“You’re in a funk,†she declared.
Of course I’m in a funk, I replied; “It’s not easy, realizing one’s mortal.
“I mean, I always knew I was--oh God, yes--but it was something I’d hoped not to encounter for some, uh, decades yet. And now to save myself, for the first time in my life, I’m going to have to acquire self-discipline.
“I’m fortunate I’ve gotten this far in life, doing what I want to do, being the way I want to be, and nothing bad’s ever happened. Of course, that’s due to that the things I wanted to do, the ways I wanted to be, were exactly, precisely those things one should do, for a long life.
“Avoiding grease and processed foods and dead fish, an intense dislike of sugar and other sweet things, an avid consumer of milk and other dairy products, a preference for poultry over beef, fresh fruits and vegetables only, no canned, four times the recommended daily allowance of fiber and roughage, and of course no drinking or drugs, licit or illicit.
“And generally living life cautiously and conservatively, getting involved in no argument or dispute, staying away from people and things hazardous to one’s well-being.
“I didn’t avoid these things to stay healthy; I did these things simply because I wanted to.
“And the unintended consequence was that I’ve thus far evaded the ills that sent all other members of my family to early graves; the usual ailments and afflictions of affluenza, high blood pressure, expanding girth, diabetes, kidney and bladder problems, high cholesterol, bad teeth, loss of hair, explosive temperaments, melancholia, dementia, haemorrhoids, dependence upon pharmaceuticals, &c., &c., &c.--those things that arise out of leading a too easy, too comfortable, too secure sort of life.
“I used to be especially fearsome of diabetes, because to get that, meant I’d have to adopt rigorous self-control and discipline. It’s got to be Hell, being diabetic.
“Well, none of the problems anybody else in my family had, are my problems--but then damn it, it never occurred to me that I’d develop problems they never had.â€
- - - - - - - - - -
“You’ll feel better after next month, when you’ve been out there,†the femme said, referring to my trip to the heart of the Sandhills where I spent my childhood and adolescence. It’s going to be the first time in 35 years since I’ve been there (other than just quickly passing through)--and will be chronicled in the Sandhills forum here, perhaps even with photographs, if my hostess has a camera.
Why I hadn’t ever gone back has been explained before, and so suffice it to say when I was 17, 18, 19 years old, those were the most difficult years of my life, and in a fit of incredible folly, I threw overboard all those with whom I’d shared a childhood and adolescence in the Sandhills, severing all bonds and connections.
“But why have you been waiting for so long?†the femme asked. “You’d been talking about this as long ago as May, and you’re waiting until near the end of September, to go. Sure, it’s far away, but it’s not that far away.â€
“The Sandhills in autumn,†I replied; “when they’re at their finest, some of the most beautiful sights of all Creation. There’s nothing else as beautiful, as sublime, as glorious, as awesome, as the Sandhills in autumn.â€
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/41t_zps7cb9ce26.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/41t_zps7cb9ce26.jpg.html)
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to be continued
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I like the pics you publish that have the trees in them. I must have a mild form of agoraphobia.
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I like the pics you publish that have the trees in them. I must have a mild form of agoraphobia.
Oh now, trees have their places.
But their places aren't everywhere; they don't belong everywhere.
If one wants to see a sore thumb, one need only look at the National Forest near Halsey in the Sandhills. It's the largest man-made forest in the world, started by some effete eastern do-gooder about a hundred years ago. Its flora is totally alien to the Sandhills, and the whole damned thing burns down about every twenty-five years.
And then because "other people," outsiders, think Nebraska needs trees (never mind that we probably have more trees than Ohio), and because Nebraskans aim to please, we spend a fortune putting up a new one.
Trees don't belong everywhere. Nature has its reasons for not wanting trees in that particular spot, and so man should listen.
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This is the western slope of the Sandhills, around where dutch508 lives (I live on the eastern slope; those pretty pictures taken of where I'm going in September are in the center, the heart, of the Sandhills)--please notice there's more than enough trees there--and actually, there's places where there's tens of thousands of acres of tree so dense the sunlight never reaches the ground.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/senior/10-148_zps3b111822.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/senior/10-148_zps3b111822.jpg.html)
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I like the pics you publish that have the trees in them. I must have a mild form of agoraphobia.
Agoraphobia you named it perfectly.
Why is it I can go 20 miles out to sea, turn around 360 degrees and see the tilt of the earth and the waves and feel calm ?
Driving through NE, there were times I panicked as On land I could see the tilt of the earth. Earth to me meant trees and structures stopping my view. Coming to lands end and looking out over thousands of miles of nothing but water.
So strange and different for this Yankee to try to imagine how the first settlers felt coming west and seeing not one tree to hide behind when the Indians attacked them. No where to run, no where to hide, Here one could look as far as one could see.
That and without the salt in the air the earth smelled so different. Miles of plowed fields that had this unknown Oder. For those that visit the east coast from NE. the smell of the earth at low tide will gag them.
Then the farmers, on the coast the farmers will spread horse or cow manure on the fields. Way inland the smell is way different, ----This don't smell like cow or horse shit to me.
When we came to OMAHA it was like the Wizard of OZ, it seemed to grow from the ground up.
Franks Photos are amazing, makes me want to spend a few months touring his State. Why spend $3,000 for a cruse to the Bahamas when there are 48 states land side to visit and see amazing things??? Sorry Alaska, but I do not want to be around Polar Bears, Sorry Hawaii, today just a tourist trap.
Trying to look at this as Lewis and Clark did, can one imagine the wonder and surprise they and their group saw for the first time ? Have to remember they were all East Coast Yankees that had never been 500 miles from the sea.
YUP kind of pisses me off when family spend thousands of dollars to visit another country on a Cruse ship and have never seen more then the 10 States in their area. Jump aboard an Amtrak and get off in each state, rent a car for a day, drive about see the sights and get back aboard the next one for dinner and sleep. Be it northern or southern route, more to see then any cruse to the Bahamas.
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Driving through Nebraska, there were times I panicked as on land I could see the tilt of the earth.
Actually, you're looking into Eternity.
Two-dimensional photographs don't capture this essence of the Sandhills, and it's very real, this sense that one's looking into Eternity. It's caused not only by the landscape, but by the meteorological characteristics, the atmospheric conditions (unique to Nebraska).
Most people prefer a world defined by visual and other boundaries. Without boundaries, they feel lost and insecure......and insignificant. There are no egoists in the Sandhills; we all know how small we are, compared with nature and God. They're uncomfortable in world that reaches all the way to God.
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Okay, I told the property caretaker when he was here, bringing both of us dinner from the bar in town, in brown paper bags. I’d ordered my usual, and he’d gotten sauerbraten and schupfnudel for himself; Hop Fu Chou must’ve been cooking today, as he’s famous for his Teutonic dishes.
“Tell the cooking and baking group that, sorry, the place is already taken for Labor Day, and so they’ll have to find somewhere else. I have to be sure I get old hippies here so the kids can put on a good show, and I’m not sure about them.
“They sound like a bunch of eccentric little old ladies, not old hippies, this cooking and baking group.â€
“Am I supposed to tell hippywife Mrs. Alfred Packer that her clan can have it then?†he asked.
“No, keep them on hold for the while; we got until next Saturday to give them an answer, and I’m really hoping to find some other old hippies, rather than them.â€
“Well, it’s too bad for the cooking and baking group,†the caretaker said.
“But maybe not,†I responded. “When telling them ‘no,’ remind them about dutch508’s cattle barony over on the other side of the Sandhills. He’s got plenty of room over there, and is always asking people to come visit him.
“And dutch508 sets a good table.â€
“How big’s his spread?â€
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“It’s enormous, about the size of Connecticut or something. And right on the banks of the Niobrara River, famous for its unblemished scenery. He even has a couple of private waterfalls.â€
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/senior/dutchfalls_zps302432da.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/senior/dutchfalls_zps302432da.jpg.html)
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“Can he offer them a good place to camp?â€
“Better than that; he can offer them a whole colonial-style guest house. It’s located on the far side of his empire, and offers considerable privacy. There’s some livestock buildings surrounding it, but it’s pretty big, and the animals’ll be too far way to bother them.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/senior/dutchannex-3_zps566c8060.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/senior/dutchannex-3_zps566c8060.jpg.html)
“Of course, he has his own house too, but he’s got kids, and it might be crowded there. It’s modest for the area, but still pretty good.â€
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to be continued
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The neighbor was here, and we were sitting on the back porch when the first of the carnies and their freaks showed up, as we’d been told.
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It was an old, kind of beaten-up, white Toyota pick-up truck pulling one of those old-fashioned little trailers that are oval, rather than rectangular, in shape, with boat-sized port-holes for windows.
While we were sitting there watching, two guys got out and disconnected the truck from the trailer.
The river’s 500 yards away from the back porch, and so the two of us got up to look at things through the amateur telescope that’s mounted on one of the railings of the porch.
The first one he saw was the hunchback, and then turned the telescope over to me.
Watching for a couple of minutes, I announced the hunchback was no fake, given the way he moved around--very clumsily, almost as if blind--and that his face, although indistinct, looked as if it were melting.
“Well, there’ll be at least one honest freak at the carnival.â€
The neighbor looked again, at the other guy.
“Must be a caretaker; I don’t see anything wrong at all with him.â€
I took the telescope, and at first didn’t see anything wrong myself, but there was something about the guy that rang a bell inside my head. I couldn’t figure out, and kept watching.
Five hundred yards is pretty far away to see with an amateur telescope, and so it took me a while.
“Aha--that guy’s got both eyes on the same side of his nose.
“I’ll bet it’s the hippywife primitive Mrs. Alfred Packer’s brother-in-law, one of hippyhubby Wild Bill’s younger brothers.
“In fact, I pretty sure it’s him.
“Don’t take any ten-dollar bills this next week; tell them to give you two fives instead.â€
to be continued
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In late afternoon, I went to town with the woman who’s taking the femme’s place in the show at the county fair next week, as she wanted to sample the local cuisine. We went to the bar, where Swede was cooking. Upon seeing me, he angrily tossed a hamburger down on the grill and jammed a brick on top of it.
She, on the other hand, pleased him every much.
She started off with verdure in pinzimonio, and then moved on to sugo al pomodoro and grissini torinesi, and then as a start for the main course, had tortelloni ricotta and spinachi, and finally moscardini lessati alla genovese. For dessert, she had cassata siciliana.
I can’t figure it out, how petite women can eat like a horse, and never put on weight; the femme’s exactly the same way.
- - - - - - - - - -
When we got back here, the neighbor’s wife was here, with the five children.
I panicked, and rushed out to the back porch, hoping there were no freaks down on the river, because the children might see them. There weren’t; it was just that one trailer, nobody around.
There’d been a mix-up in communication between the neighbor and the neighbor’s wife, who’d been in the big city with the children, about what to do for supper, and they were waiting for him to come here, from the grocery store in town.
He showed up soon thereafter, with fixings for chicken salad sandwiches and potato chips. As one might suspect, there was already plenty of whole milk out here for the children, and for franksolich. The neighbor and the woman who’s taking the femme’s place in the show at the county fair next week raided one of the refrigerators in the garage for beer. The neighbor’s wife sipped on water.
The neighbor’s oldest son, eight years old and in charge of the public viewing when the old hippies come here to camp over Labor Day, informed me again that they--his two older sisters, and two sons and one daughter of the neighbor’s older brother, and he, were all set to “make a million bucks.â€
Whoa. Talk about being under pressure. I have to get some colorful old hippies so the kids can offer a good show, and thus far I’m stuck with only the Packer clan, which I don’t want, but will take if I have to.
I told him that the retired banker’s wife had been here this afternoon, along with her eight-year-old grandson, the kid who’s always staring at me, hoping the wind’ll blow some hair away from the sides of my head, exposing that I have no ears.
“I think you’ll have seven,†I told the eager young lad.
“He wants to sell popcorn to the spectators.â€
“Aw, but I don’t like him,†the eager young lad said. “He’s a doofus.â€
“You don’t have to like him,†I said, “but you can be fair to him. None of you six proposed selling concessions; this was his idea, and he deserves to profit from it.
“And besides, you six have to clean up after it’s all over. Think about how much easier it’ll be, seven people doing the work of six.â€
The eager young lad reluctantly assented.
- - - - - - - - - -
The neighbor’s wife sorted through the croquet outfits.
“You know, because it was important to you, she put a lot of work into this…..and the sad fact is, the children probably won’t even appreciate it, having to wear this stuff.â€
Uh, no, I said; “what kid doesn’t like dressing up in a costume?
“And besides, they may end up liking the game and want to play it more, in which case they’ve already got the apparel for it.â€
“And in about six months, they’ll have outgrown all of it,†she sighed.
- - - - - - - - - -
The eager young lad came back to our table, and asked me about the freaks.
“Is it okay to laugh at them?â€
The neighbor’s wife held her breath.
“Sometimes yes, sometimes no,†I said. “It depends.â€
“Depends on what?â€
“Well, if a person was naturally born a freak, born that way, no, it’s not okay, because the person wasn’t responsible for it, and probably doesn’t enjoy being a freak but can’t do anything about it.
“But if a person makes himself into a freak on purpose, it’s perfectly fine to laugh and laugh and laugh and mock and tease and ridicule and scorn and lampoon as much as one wants to--and that’s not just a rule from franksolich, but from God too. If the person did it on purpose, by all means it’s okay to laugh at him.
“Remember, not only I, but God also says this.â€
I sifted through a bunch of carnival flyers, pulling out three I wanted.
“Now, one of the freaks in the freak show is billed as ‘the world’s biggest drunk,’ and he’s going to give ‘the world’s most boring monologue on an issue of no importance at all.’
“Now, when sober and with hair, he looks, well, okay. But then he makes a freak out of himself not only by being drunk, but by shaving the hair off his head.
(http://i949.photobucket.com/albums/ad335/photoatcc/William%20Pitt/drunkpitt_zps9e1f7844.jpg) (http://s949.photobucket.com/user/photoatcc/media/William%20Pitt/drunkpitt_zps9e1f7844.jpg.html)
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“It’s contemptible, the way the idiot purposely uglifies himself, and he deserves all the laughter he attracts.
“There’s ‘iffy’ cases too; for example, there’s going to be ‘the world’s ugliest woman.’ She has a face like Paul von Hindenberg. Now, you don’t know who Hindenberg was, but if you did, you’d agree if he’d been a woman and looked that way, yeah, sure, she’s grotesquely ugly.
“Now, the world’s ugliest woman wasn't responsible for looking the way she does; she was born that way.
“And so normally, it wouldn’t be good to make fun of her.
“However.
“However.
“However.
“The world’s ugliest woman is also of a mean, bitter, hate-filled, spiteful nature, which makes her ugliness even uglier. In fact, if she weren’t so mean, bitter, hate-filled, and spiteful, probably nobody’s even notice she has a face like Hindenberg’s.
“So it’s a judgement call, but my own judgement is that yeah, it’s okay to laugh at her.â€
I began reaching for the flyer advertising ‘the world’s fattest and ugliest subway cat,’ but the neighbor’s wife’s hand stayed mine.
to be continued
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After it began getting dark, the neighbor’s wife took the five children home, but the neighbor, the woman who’s taking the place of the femme in the show at the county fair this next week, and I sat around on the back porch, hoping to see if any more carnies and freaks showed up down by the river.
Then the business partner showed up, on his way back from Iowa, and as he still had a long drive ahead back home, decided instead to spend the night here.
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About 11:00 p.m., there was light and movement down there, but even with the telescope, we couldn’t tell much what was going on. Vaguely, we could see it was a long horse-trailer, pulled by a truck.
There were two things that were rolled out of it, and parked underneath a canvas roof. It was a nice night, ideal for sleeping outdoors; no need for walls.
“Well, there’s two,†the business partner said. “Which of the freaks come in pairs?â€
I said there was the guy with the eggplant-shaped head, “the world’s biggest drug addict,†and the guy with the pineapple-shaped head, “the world’s biggest dork,†but it didn’t seem to me it’d be necessary for them to ride this way, in a horse-trailer.
Then I remembered. “Oh yeah, ‘the world’s fattest twins,’ allegedly 800 pounds apiece. ‘Ebony’ and ‘Ivory’--Ebony’s the white one, and Ivory’s the black one, but how they can be twins defies me.
“Now, they probably look fat, but I wonder.
“Not all fat people consist mostly of fat; there’s some people--the Lynne Sin primitive, for example--who because of dropsy caused by overuse of pharmaceuticals, are made up more of water, than fat. If one pays attention, one can tell the difference; authentic bona fide fat has at least some solidity to it, some firmness, while watery fat just sags.
“I guess we’ll find out in broad daylight; if they’re spilling over the sides of the gurneys they’re on, they’re fake; it’s not fat, but water.â€
- - - - - - - - - - -
We briefly debated the Minnesota Mammaries, allegedly 84â€-38â€-41†in stature.
“That’s the one I want to see,†I said. “No way in Hell can those be real.â€
- - - - - - - - - - -
The other two left, but the business partner and I sat outside for a while after that.
He asked me how the plans were going, for my trip back into the heart of the Sandhills in late September; I’ll be gone at a time inconvenient for him, but that can’t be helped.
“It’s been 30 years,†he said; “people change a lot, and I hope you won’t be disappointed.â€
Yeah, yeah, I said; I know that. “But some people have eternal qualities that never change.
“I can’t see where she’d be any different now, than she’d been before.
She wasn’t a high school girlfriend, but just my best friend who was a girl, from about the time we were ten until we were twenty-two, and I quit going back to the middle of the Sandhills.
“The most perfect woman ever. We first met in Sunday morning catechism classes when we were in the fifth grade, although in regular school, she went to the elementary school on the south side of town, while I went the one on the north side.
“I was awestruck, speechless, the first time I met her. I even bowed at the waist and addressed her as ‘madam,’ because even at the age of ten years, she oozed grace and class and elegance out of every pore.
“I never called her anything but ‘madam’ all the way through, and I guess what’d be considered odd is that none of our classmates thought it was weird at all. It just seemed the most natural thing in the world, for me to call her that. I never carried her books, but I always gently took her elbow when escorting her through crowds.
“So I never had anything to do with her--or anybody else from there--for 30 years, until last April, when my best friend during childhood and adolescence died. I immediately wrote her, “Hi, this is me. Hey, what happened to…..†Despite that I hadn’t identified myself--this was an e-mail--she right away knew who I was, and we picked up right where we’d left off.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/senior/sr10_zps569a2603.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/senior/sr10_zps569a2603.jpg.html)(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/senior/fmag_zps83fecaac.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/senior/fmag_zps83fecaac.jpg.html)(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/senior/kjkba_zpsb75acb91.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/senior/kjkba_zpsb75acb91.jpg.html)
“She never cared for him, and he never cared for her, which created all sorts of problems for this guy in the middle, but I eventually got used to it, as it seems the story of my life, always being caught in between.
“I’m sure it’s going to be very emotional for me--she’s one of only two women on whose shoulder I’ve ever cried, and I’m sure she’s the only woman who ever understood me.â€
to be continued
-
The business partner left this morning, but not before seeing that the mysterious cargo of the night before was in fact the “twin†fat ladies Ebony and Ivory. They were mounted not on gurneys, but on some sort of super-duper-sized wheelchairs, and tended to by a woman with three legs.
I was the one who discerned how they took care of, uh, certain personal needs. They wear diapers the size of bed sheets. The three-legged woman merely eases the back of the chairs down, until they’re laying flat, and does the job.
“Well, I hope they don’t have to do that during the show itself,†the business partner said.
- - - - - - - - - - -
The neighbor’s older brother later came to drop off four pup-tents and six sleeping bags, for the kids to deal with tomorrow, piling them on the front porch.
As the charcoal grill in the front yard was going, and as his wife and family were in the big city, I invited him to grill something, and have a beer from one of the four refrigerators kept for that purpose in the garage.
Then a few minutes later, the property caretaker came, to pick up some stuff, and decided to do the same.
We sat out on the back porch, watching the camp-site down by the river. There were now three rusted antique miniature house-trailers there, along with the horse-trailer. No vehicles were present, until an old Ford Econoline van pulled up, dislodging four people. They looked normal, carnies, perhaps.
The caretaker looked through the telescope; they were unloading cases of cheap beer.
Fortunately he was seated again when Louie “the Nose†Macellaio, the advance-man for the carnival, came out through the kitchen.
He looked at me.
“You’re not letting people see them, the freaks, are you? I have lots of money tied up in them, and if people see them for free here, they won’t pay admission to see them at the county fair.â€
No, I assured him; indicating with my arm I showed that they were too far away to be seen with any clarity from here. From the back porch, they were so small and indistinct they looked normal.
He seemed mollified, and told me he’d just dropped by to see how things were going, and questioned me how to keep the sheriff off the property.
“We were robbed last year, when he went around giving us tickets for drinking on governmental property. We barely had enough money left over after paying the fines to get enough gasoline to get everybody back home. And then the next week’s payroll was a bitch to gather up.â€
I assured him the sheriff won’t come onto this property unless I call him, and I have no intentions of calling him, unless bloodshed’s occurring down there.
The neighbor’s older brother asked Louie if he’d seen the new tennis courts in town, omitting of course to mention that the fines levied against the drinking carnies last year paid for the whole thing.
I glared at him. The sheriff this year is looking for creative financing for a press-box and luxury suites at the local high school football field, and best to procure the funds from outsiders, rather than from those of us who live here.
It’s always a good idea to keep the money in the county, in the county.
- - - - - - - - - - -
Louie left, and drove his car from the front yard through the meadow down to the camp.
The three of us watched, but nothing else happened.
Then a string of deer passed by, over on the property to the south of here, owned by the Italianate interests in New Jersey. Apparently it’s going to be good deer season, after the disappointing one last year, due to the Great Barack Drought of ‘12, the hottest and driest summer ever recorded in Nebraska.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/senior/neighboringwildlife_zps59144c22.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/senior/neighboringwildlife_zps59144c22.jpg.html)
to be continued
-
Just before leaving, the caretaker told me he’d gotten one more call, about using the river here for camping over the Labor Day weekend.
“An older woman with a droning monotone of a voice, from Milwaukee…..or something.
“Name’s Judy.
“She says she’s an avid flea-marketer, and wants to be in this area about that time, to replenish her inventory. She’s bringing quite a few people along with her--her children, her grandchildren, her great-grandchildren, her great-great-grandchildren.
“A big group; looks like she was pretty fertile.â€
Yeah, I said; “and at such a very young age; that’s one generation about every twelve years.
“But no, she won’t do, because this doesn’t sound like old hippies--I mean, she probably is, but she probably dresses and looks normal, not like an old hippie at all. I need to find a group that looks like old hippies, not just with the mindset of old hippies.â€
- - - - - - - - - - -
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/senior/sungoingdown_zpse1d8faed.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/senior/sungoingdown_zpse1d8faed.jpg.html)
The neighbor came by just as the sun was setting, and we sat out on the back porch, hoping to see some action among the carnies and freaks sitting on the river bank. There hadn’t been any new ones showing up, and all these were just sitting near a fire, drinking and making out.
So we just talked about things in general until it got dark, and he got up to leave.
Suddenly he saw a vehicle approaching the camp-site, a reasonably-late-model sports utility vehicle.
He dashed over to the telescope, and looked. The first to emerge was some guy who had to be at least seven feet tall in his stocking feet.
While the neighbor was still looking, he suddenly gasped, “Oh…..my…..God.
“I wonder what that is.â€
I got up to look.
“Well, whatever it is, it’s the shape of an oblate spheroid.â€
to be continued
-
Thanks Frank, anticipation will keep me up all night now.
-
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/senior/neighboringwildlife_zps59144c22.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/senior/neighboringwildlife_zps59144c22.jpg.html)
That muley in the foreground is nice. (Black tip of tail.)
-
That muley in the foreground is nice. (Black tip of tail.)
Actually, the picture's like about four years old, but it was taken on the south side here--and not by me.
I don't want anybody to get the idea franksolich runs around with a camera; I'm one of these people who maybe once or twice a year buys one of those $5 disposable cameras at the convenience store.
-
The neighbor came by this morning before heading to church, to drop off things the kids’ll need while they’re “camping†here tonight, and the next two nights.
“You know,†I said, “those kids have nice clean air-conditioned bedrooms at home; I have no idea why they want to rough it here.â€
Then lest the neighbor think I was less than enthusiastic about having them here, I quickly added, “of course, they want ‘adventure,’ and this is the first time any of them are going to ‘adventure’ without family or adult supervision, so I guess for them it’s a big deal.
“But they’ll learn; a nice clean air-conditioned bedroom trumps a hot, insect-ridden tent any time.
“The last time I went camping--other than, of course, those two years roughing it in the socialist paradises of the workers and peasants--was the summer I was seventeen, and it was my father, my younger brother, and myself.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/senior/1978_zps13efae44.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/senior/1978_zps13efae44.jpg.html)
“When looking at my father, I thought, ‘come on now--you’re an old man, all tired and worn out, and you really deserve a nice comfortable motel room instead of all of this nature stuff.’ Of course, I only thought that, I didn’t dare say it.
“After it was over, my father and younger brother alleged they’d had a ball, a great time, riding horseback through the buttes--this was west of the Sandhills--boating on the lake, hiking through the brush, cooking outdoors.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/senior/somecows_zps9c233631.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/senior/somecows_zps9c233631.jpg.html)
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/senior/someanimals_zps75554023.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/senior/someanimals_zps75554023.jpg.html)
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/senior/somerock_zpsfe5b3363.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/senior/somerock_zpsfe5b3363.jpg.html)
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/senior/erta_zpsb0fc53dc.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/senior/erta_zpsb0fc53dc.jpg.html)
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/senior/sometrees_zps47873250.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/senior/sometrees_zps47873250.jpg.html)
“But I always wondered; my father died the following spring, and I’ve always suspected he would’ve lasted at least a little bit longer if he hadn’t subjected himself to the hardships and rigors of roughing it the preceding summer. After all, this stuff does wear-and-tear on one.â€
- - - - - - - - - - -
The neighbor agreed; he like me endures the vicissitudes of outdoor life every single day--if not more so--and finds it less than exciting.
“But kids’ll be kids. By the way, when they’re done with all this stuff Wednesday morning, could we just stash it here on the front porch for them to use Labor Day weekend?â€
Sure, I said, but I didn’t think they’d be camping but one night here that weekend.
“What do you suppose is going to happen?â€
“Well,†I replied, “if--if--if--if--I can find some show-worthy old hippies to camp here, all lively and colorful in their decrepitude, it’ll probably go like it did two years ago, when hippywife Mrs. Alfred Packer and her in-laws were up here.
“Once they’re settled in, the kids’ll set up their stands, selling admission to see the hippies, and it’ll be a big, a really big, draw; there’ll be hundreds of people passing over this property to gawk at, laugh at, and take pictures of, the hippies.
“The sheriff’ll hear about it early on, and the sheriff doesn’t care much for tumult and congestion.
“However, since these are kids, he’ll let them carry on until their shoe-boxes are full of money, and then come here to courteously inquire of the old hippies if they’re being bothered, which of course they’ll say they are, and then he’ll instruct me to shut down the show.
“But he won’t do it until after the kids have made some bucks first.â€
to be continued
-
The kids got here about 11:00 a.m., all agog and excited about roughing it.
From now until Wednesday morning, they’ll be here.
There’s a 12-year-old, male; two 11-year-olds, female twins; one 11-year-old, male, one 8-year-old, male, and one 8-year-old, female. Since I’m responsible for them, I keep a mental “clipboard†and “pencil†in my head, for roll-call.
They set up the four tents in the front yard, underneath a big old tree sheltering one of the antique picnic-tables kept in the yard. They can’t have a campfire down there, but there’s an army-sized barbeque grill nearby.
(Later on, when I had a premonition, the 12-year-old and I moved the grill up on the front porch.)
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/senior/looming_zps2b6e822b.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/senior/looming_zps2b6e822b.jpg.html)
I re-explained the rules to them, stressing that they weren’t supposed to look at the carnies and freaks camping down on the river, which effectively makes the west side of the property off-limits to them, unless if they‘re with an adult.
The front yard faces east, with the Jungfrau-looking William Rivers Pitt, and then a vast pasture that stretches clear to town seven miles beyond.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/senior/lookingeast_zpsd591a4e5.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/senior/lookingeast_zpsd591a4e5.jpg.html)
One side-yard faces north, undulating with planted stuff all the way to the highway two miles up.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/senior/lookingnorth_zpsd3f4886b.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/senior/lookingnorth_zpsd3f4886b.jpg.html)
The other side yard faces south; a pasture, then woods, and because the river curves, ultimately the river.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/senior/lookingsouth_zps1e235cc2.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/senior/lookingsouth_zps1e235cc2.jpg.html)
The pasture there is the end of this property, and the woods that then began is property owned by certain Italianate interests in New Jersey. However, as Meyer and Alberto haven’t been here since they first bought it in 1948--I’m sure it’s used as just some sort of tax write-off; it certainly isn’t used for anything else--it’s generally conceded to be the responsibility of franksolich, and so if the kids want to go that way, no problem.
There’s plenty of room for these kids; no need for them to “explore†the west side.
- - - - - - - - - -
About noon, the kids started getting dressed to play lawn croquet; as I’d figured, they had no objections to wearing Connecticutian attire, thinking them as some sort of “costumes†for play. I was already suitably attired, and ready to go.
This was when the insurance man from town drove in, bringing with him the retired banker’s wife, both of them appropriately attired, and he driving his restored white-and-blue 1926 Ford with an open top. Usually such vehicles bear “antique†plates that allow them on public roadways on only special occasions, the reason being if their use isn’t limited, the insurance skyrockets.
But this guy’s an insurance salesman, and has connections to get cheap insurance, so he uses just regular motor-vehicle license-plates, which allows him to drive it anywhere, any time he wishes.
- - - - - - - - - -
Parking the vehicle in the empty garage, he joined us in picking up all the gear we needed, and we all walked down towards the grove of walnut trees. All other times when croquet’s been played out here, we’ve played in the north yard, but the walnut trees are closer to where the carnies and freaks are camping, and I wanted the kids to at least get a view of them…..under adult supervision.
When we got there, we set up the corner flags, the stake, and the wickets.
Glancing over towards the camp-site on the river, I was disappointed to see that nothing was happening; Ebony and Ivory apparently were slumbering in their Volkswagen-sized wheelchairs, and the three-legged woman was idly watching television, hooked up to the cigarette-lighter of the Toyota pick-up truck; nothing worth pointing out to the kids.
As I was teaching them how to make a triple peel at the penultimate, rain started pouring down, and heavily so.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/senior/rain_zpsf6c60094.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/senior/rain_zpsf6c60094.jpg.html)
We picked up what we could and started heading back to the house, three football-field-lengths away, but suddenly a late-model sports utility vehicle pulled up, having driven across the meadow, and the six kids and the retired banker’s wife bundled into it. It was my guest, from southwestern Nebraska.
She drove them to the house, while the insurance man from town and I walked in the rain. We got to the back porch, considerably drenched. She was standing at the top of the steps, wearing a white cotton dress and a big floppy hat, and waving a parasol at us, laughing.
“This is right out of The Great Gatsby,†she said. “The car in the garage is a riot.â€
“Well, we had to do it right,†I reminded her. “We’d been sloppy about following the rules lately, and had to get back to doing it the right way, so that chicken-keeping Connecticutians don’t think we’re uncouth.â€
- - - - - - - - - - -
After drying off, I checked up on the kids, who had the barbeque grill on the front porch going; they were later going to roast marshmallows and hot dogs, which was fine with me.
The other three adults were on the back porch, at the table. Since the afternoon was shot anyway, they’d explored the premises for something to drink. The insurance man from town was okay with any of the beer found in the four refrigerators in the garage, but the two women were hoping to find something else, and did; eleven bottles of liebfraumilch, kept in one of the upper cupboards for what reason only God now remembers.
While they sipped--the insurance man from town switching to the wine--we all casually chitchatted, watching the rain pour down, hoping something exciting would happen where the carnies and freaks were similarly avoiding the precipitation (but nothing did).
I reminded my guest that she has to be here early in the morning, as I’m going to see a cardiologist in the big city, and someone needs to be around in case the kids need something.
She said she would, and then asked if I had any plans for the afternoon.
I looked at her, appalled. “There’ll be kids and freaks around.â€
- - - - - - - - - - -
The eager young lad, the 8-year-old son of the neighbor and the neighbor’s wife, came out to complain.
“They aren’t doing it right, the older ones,†he said.
Apparently the older four were playing bridge on the floor of the front porch as the younger two watched.
“Well, but they’re the ones playing the game,†I reminded him; “and if all four of them agree on what the rules are, it’s all right.â€
But I went out to the front porch and sat on the swinging bench, watching for a while, and when my opinion was solicited, gave it.
The eager young lad asked me how much money I thought they’d make, when the hippies come.
Trying to remember how it went two years ago, when hippywife Mrs. Alfred Packer and her crowd were here, I guessed, “oh, maybe about three hundred bucks.
“Split six ways, that’d be fifty bucks apiece; remember, [the grandson of the retired banker’s wife] gets to take all that he rakes in from the popcorn sales, while the rest of you split the admission proceeds.â€
“Oh, but we’re going to make more than three hundred bucks. Lots more.â€
I grimly smiled; ah, the optimism of youth.
- - - - - - - - - - -
About an hour later, I wandered from the front porch back to the back porch.
The three out there were indulging in local gossip and chitchat; about who’s hopping around in the sack with who, about who’s having to get married, about who’s having money problems, about who’s cheating on his wife, about who’s in trouble with his boss, about whether or not the new teacher at the high school has singular sexual proclivities, about who’s going into the hospital for getting treated for a disease respectable people don’t get, those sorts of things.
I noticed they were getting sauced.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/senior/somewine_zpsf8431b72.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/senior/somewine_zpsf8431b72.jpg.html)
Like, really sloshed.
to be continued
-
The neighbor’s wife stopped by in the evening, to see how her oldest three were doing; the younger two were at home with the neighbor.
It’d been a trial, dealing with three people who’d gotten so soggy they couldn’t even walk straight.
I could’ve driven them home, but ooops, I got six kids to worry about.
Finally, I’d telephoned the wife of the insurance man in town, and she came out here with a friend, to take them back. Her friend drove my guest’s sports utility vehicle; the 1926 Ford sedan was left in the garage here, because the insurance man wants to give the kids a ride in it, maybe on Tuesday.
- - - - - - - - - - -
After the neighbor’s wife and I cleaned up the back porch, we sat around chatting, hoping to see some sort of action--any sort of action--going on down where the freaks and carnies are camping, but there wasn’t any, other than the arrival of yet another vehicle, with one person.
It was too dark to use the telescope, so I said I’d give it a look-see in the morning.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/senior/redsandhills_zps73cf1f2e.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/senior/redsandhills_zps73cf1f2e.jpg.html)
While we were sitting around, her 8-year-old son, the eager young lad, kept going back-and-forth from the front yard to the back porch, to inquire of me about one detail or another. “Are you going to make us sleep inside tonight?†“I don’t want to sleep in the same tent with my girl cousin†(there’s a 12-year-old, three 11-year-olds, and two 8-year-olds here; three belong to the neighbor’s older brother, and the other three, to the neighbor). “The inside of the tents stink; can I sleep on the front porch?†“Will you leave a light on so we can find the bathroom in the night?†“They’re arguing out there.†“If the tent falls, will I be able to get out?“ “Are you sure there’s no snakes around?†“Can we keep the fire in the grill going, so we have a night light?†And so on.
“He’s all excited because you’re giving him charge of the show when the hippies come over Labor Day,†the neighbor’s wife apologized. “He’s been lording it over the older ones, that he’s the ‘boss.’â€
Yeah, I noticed that, I said. “But that’s okay; he’ll learn soon enough.â€
“You know ever since infancy, he’s been very attached to you,†she commented.
Uh huh, I said; for example, he insists upon having his hair cut in the same manner as I wear mine so as to disguise the absence of ears, even though he himself has ears.
I speculated it’s because he feels as if the odd man out in the family; having dark brown hair, he’s the only one who’s not blond, or reddish-blond. And not only with his family; in society in general around here, brunets and brunettes are distinctly a minority.
“However, I’m the worst possible person for a child to emulate, a wretched role-model; look at all the trouble I get into, and it‘s never easy to get out of it. He really needs to find a competent adult to hero-worship.â€
to be continued
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The pictures are great and your positive influence on the children is heart warming!
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When I got back from the big city, my guest and the six kids were trying their hand at croquet, but this time, where we usually play croquet, in the north yard, rather than down by the grove of walnut trees.
I watched for a bit, and finally interrupted.
“No, no, you’re doing it all wrong,†I complained; “you’re teaching them garden croquet, and we were trying to teach them association croquet. They’re going to get confused.
“And besides, nobody’s dressed for the game.â€
“Oh,†my guest countered, “their clothes from yesterday got all soaked through and muddied, and have to be washed.
“And what difference does it make, what kind of clothes we’re wearing?â€
“Well, we don’t want Connecticutians to think we’re uncivilized, that we don’t know how to play croquet way out here in the Sandhills.â€
“Who cares about what those people think?†she asked; “after all, they’re the ones who let chickens run around free in their front yards, like yokels and hillbillies and rustics.â€
- - - - - - - - - - -
Shouldering her mallet, she walked with me to the back porch, where we sat down on the steps while I described the events of the morning at the cardiologist’s.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/senior/birds1_zpsa41b3971.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/senior/birds1_zpsa41b3971.jpg.html)
- - - - - - - - - - -
When we were done talking about that, and had moved on to other things, the eager young lad came up, and grasping me on the arm, informed me, “I saw a freak today.â€
I glared at my guest. I hadn’t wanted any of the kids to see something like that without adult supervision.
“Oh, it was okay,†she said; “he came up to the house, and it was a surprise.â€
“It was the ‘striped man,’†the eager young lad continued. “He was like a zebra, all white and blue.
“And he had a bald head. He was striped all over.â€
I heaved a sigh of relief. At least it hadn’t been the one with the eggplant-shaped head, the ‘world’s biggest drug addict.’ “And don’t forget,†I reminded my guest; “that’s the one freak I absolutely want kept away from the kids, an absolute no-no. Don’t ever let that one get within two hundred yards of them.
“The one with the pineapple-shaped head, the ‘world’s biggest dork,’ same thing, except he’s a little safer, and maybe can be trusted up to a hundred yards of them.â€
“His stripes ran up and down,†the eager young lad continued, still clutching my arm.
“And there’s one I don’t want them to even see,†I continued; “the 84â€-38â€-41†Minnesota Mammaries; I’m sure they’re fake, but the kids wouldn’t know, and I don’t want them traumatized.â€
“He had a bug-eye,†the eager young lad kept on.
My guest wondered why the main attraction hadn’t showed yet.
“She’s their main draw,†I said; “she does two fairs a week--it’s a summertime hobby of hers, as she’s really a Ph.D. in something, and uses her, uh, attributes, to excite donations for her university.
“So she’s really busy, and won’t show up here until the day the county fair starts.â€
“He gave me a quarter,†the eager young lad persisted.
Yes, there’s some really sick women out there, my guest said.
“He wanted to buy a can of beer,†the eager young lad added.
“I took him out to the garage and let him have a whole six-pack for another quarter.â€
“Fortunately, that means the kids’ll already be gone by the time she shows up here.â€
“The striped man wanted to know the ‘store hours’ for the beer.â€
Absent-mindedly, I turned to the eager young lad, “Probably some sort of naturally-occurring venous disorder, his blood-veins too close to the surface of the skin.â€
to be continued
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A lot happened today (Tuesday), but I'm ill and not up to writing. Maybe tomorrow.
In the meantime, I got this, from someone:
Had a family reunion last week, up in Minnesota.
I waved as I flew overhead.
Relatives are all pretty well off, and quite Conservative. Loved it.
I came really close to driving up there just to run through the hills.
Maybe another time.
Unlike you, I tend to drag a camera whenever I can.
Hit 500 shots, 400 are of birds..etc. :lmao:
Enjoyed the visit. Had a great time.
I'm sure the individual will recognize this, from the Elkhorn River a little up from me.
The bridge, a local landmark in his childhood town on the edge of the Sandhills, however, was washed away during the massive floods that occurred here the same year whatshisname was elected. It's since been replaced by one almost exactly same.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/senior/skul_zps9cb44dd4.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/senior/skul_zps9cb44dd4.jpg.html)
And as for cameras, I was today advised by my hostess for my upcoming trip to my childhood home in the middle of the Sandhills late this next month that, yes, she and everybody else has plenty of cameras, and so the next journal should be profusely illustrated.
But that'll be in the Sandhills forum, not here, and for an exclusive audience which in no case includes lurking primitives stalking franksolich.
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You need to remember, coach. He who has the camera, never gets photoraphed.
You don't have to take any, and everyone avoids you likethe plague. :-)
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You need to remember, coach. He who has the camera, never gets photoraphed.
You don't have to take any, and everyone avoids you likethe plague. :-)
I was thinking maybe it'd be a good idea to pick up one of those $5 disposable cameras at a convenience store on my way there, but apparently I won't have to.
<<<supposes can photograph just as well with a $5 disposable camera as nadin can with her "big rig."
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I was thinking maybe it'd be a good idea to pick up one of those $5 disposable cameras at a convenience store on my way there, but apparently I won't have to.
<<<supposes can photograph just as well with a $5 disposable camera as nadin can with her "big rig."
Do they still make film?
-
Do they still make film?
Of course, but quite obviously it's like typewriter ribbons, finding it any more.
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Well, damn, I did it again, misidentifying someone's childhood hometown.
This happens, I suppose, because I'm leery of giving out too much information leading to where I live, in case the lurking primitives figure it out. Fat Che, the "BenBurch" primitive, had me located within a 100-mile radius of where I'm actually at back during the Scamdal of 2005, and I'd just as soon that's all the primitives know, lest they come stalking.
Anyway, the photograph of the river and bridge are not in my correspondent's childhood hometown; he grew up in another town about 60 miles west of there. I forgot. The deal is, there's so many towns around there one sometimes disremembers which one is which.
My correspondent surely will be heartened, though, to learn that what was a decrepit run-down falling-apart hotel in his childhood hometown when he was growing up there, sometime during the Bush administration when money was flush, it was purchased by a retired officer from the U.S. Marines, who lived in Florida.
And--gulp--an officer of one of the.....dark minorities.
He restored it to its original 1920s glory and splendor, and it also houses a five-star restaurant now.
<<<sometimes gets careless about details.
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I got very ill beginning Monday night, and even though I was around, I have no idea what all happened; not because I was out of it or anything, but simply because I didn’t care.
The kids got on well having my guest superintend them, and packed up and left Wednesday morning, so as to get ready for their exhibits for the county fair, which started that day. She also taught them some more croquet, and it looks likely that out of the six, at least three of them will take to the game. We’ll see.
They also got a ride in the insurance man’s open-top 1926 blue-and-white Ford the preceding evening, but I dunno where they went, only that they were gone a very long time.
This morning, the neighbor’s older brother came by, and I commented that the camp-site down by the river seemed “different,†and was wondering how and why.
“The county sheriff came in [to the county fair] Wednesday afternoon and arrested all the freaks even before their first show,†he told me.
He told my why, but I didn’t catch it.
“Right now, they’re all locked up in the county jail,†he added. “It hasn’t been so full since 1931.
“In fact, it hasn’t even had anybody in it since 1977, during our last crime wave.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/senior/countyjailhouse_zps390416a8.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/senior/countyjailhouse_zps390416a8.jpg.html)
“And that guy, Louie the Nose, is fit to be tied, because he says the freak show’s his biggest ‘profit center,’ and the sheriff won’t let them out until he posts bond for them.â€
-
“Boss, you’re always missing stuff,†the retired property caretaker announced, when he dropped by unexpectedly for an early-morning visit.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/senior/counyfair_zps73feb3b3.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/senior/counyfair_zps73feb3b3.jpg.html)
“Last night, the little Italianate hawk-nosed Louie was running around, wringing his hands, because the night’s take was less than half of what it usually is, given that the freak show didn’t show up.
“They’re all in jail, and since Swede has the contract for feeding county prisoners, and as he hasn’t had one to feed for thirty years, he’s making up for lost time.
“The county’s going to go broke, feeding the freaks, especially the two fat ladies and the fat one that’s trying to look like a cat, not to mention the one that looks like a bowling-ball with arms and legs.
“They’ve been ordering braciole, pizza quattro stagioni, bagna cà uda, cannelloni ai carciofi, bruschetta, spaghetti al nero di seppia, coppia ferrarese, peperoni imbottiti, sugo al pomodoro, risotto allo zafferano con petto d'anatra, bozza pratese, verdure in pinzimonio, penne all'arrabbiata, tagliatelle alla boscaiola, risotto di seppie alla veneziana, acciughe fritte in pastella, &c., &c., &c., like there’s no tomorrow.
“The jailkeeper says it’s starting to smell pretty ripe and rank inside there, what with everybody jammed in it, and no sanitary facilities. If they have to go, a deputy has to handcuff them and escort them over to the building in the public park.â€
Yeah, I said, “and probably with the Minnesota Mammaries and her battleship-sized jugs, it’s probably even more crowded.â€
“No, boss, she hasn’t shown yet. Because she’s their biggest and best, she comes only on the last day, to draw in a repeat audience of people who’d already seen the other freaks.
“This way, your Italianate pal gets twice the gate, because it’s not advertised at first, that she doesn’t show up until later.â€
Interesting, I said; “but why did they get arrested?â€
Just then, the former caretaker’s cellular telephone rang.
“Gotta go, boss; breakfast is waiting.â€
to be continued
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Interesting, I said; “but why did they get arrested?â€
Just then, the former caretaker’s cellular telephone rang.
Aaarrrghh :banghead: :rant: :badmood: :asssmack: :angryvillagers:
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we want :50pages:
glad you are feeling better!
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“Yeah, the whole town’s talking about it, all the freaks being locked up,†the neighbor said when he was here late this afternoon.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/senior/afternoon_zps7ca98d6f.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/senior/afternoon_zps7ca98d6f.jpg.html)
“They’re jammed in there--the fat twins, the freak pretending to be a cat, and the bowling-ball with arms and legs, though, make it even more unbearable. The building’s bursting at its gills.
“People are walking from downtown through the park and over to the jail, to look at them.
“And Louie the Nose is standing, his back to the bars, trying to cover it all up, yelling at everybody, ‘Hey, don’t look! Don’t look! Save your looking for the fair! Not here! Don’t look!’
“Every time one of them has to use the sanitary facilities in the park, it’s a struggle for the jailkeeper to yank them out, because one arm or one leg looks just like another arm or leg.â€
“What were they arrested for?†I asked.
The neighbor ignored me however, continuing, “But this afternoon, the sheriff released the three-legged woman and the three-armed man, saying he couldn’t hold them.
“Louie the Nose went ballistic, because while these are freaks, they aren’t among his top draws, and he wanted those let out too. ‘I’m gonna go broke if I don’t get the freak show going,’ he said, ‘and you’re giving me two of my crummiest freaks. How the Hell am I gonna run a freak show with them?
“’The public’ll pay a quarter to see these two, but what’s a quarter? They’ll pay five bucks to look at eggplant-head and pineapple-head.’
“The sheriff told him to calm down; he’d release the others as soon as big-nosed Louie comes up with the bail money. But no bail money, no freaks.â€
“What were they arrested for?†I asked.
“It all started Wednesday afternoon, when the freak pretending to be a cat and the bowling-ball with arms and legs got into a shouting match, about which one of them was the biggest bitch, and then fisticuffs, and then rolling in the dust and the mud, grappling with each other."
“But why did the sheriff arrest all of the freaks?†I asked.
Just then, the neighbor’s cellular telephone rang.
“Ooops, gotta go; the wife says supper’s ready.â€
to be continued
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“Well, the freak show last night was a dud,†the neighbor said this morning when he was here.
“I threw in my fifty cents to see the show, but it was an act of charity, as one didn’t get anything from it.
“I’ll bet Louie’s sweating bullets, because usually he gets five-dollar admissions from standing-room-only crowds, and last night, he got fifty cents apiece from about a dozen people, tops.
“He staged a wedding between the three-legged woman and the three-armed man, but that was it. Louie himself was dressed in a pastor’s frock-coat with a clerical collar, and did it.
“The music was provided by an old record-player, and a carnie gave away the bride.
“The rest of the carnival’s pretty much okay, the rides and games, lots of people doing that.â€
I hadn’t been to the county fair yet, being too preoccupied with other matters.
“The only game that’s not pulling in bucks is the three-baseballs-for-a-dollar game, when one pitches a baseball against the back of the canvas, hoping to hit the face of someone whose head is sticking through a slit in the tent, and winning a big teddy bear.
“Usually it’s the freak with the eggplant-shaped head--’the world’s biggest drug addict’--or the freak with the pineapple-shaped head--’the world’s biggest dork’--but they’re in jail, and nobody wants to lob a baseball towards an ordinary run-of-the-mill carnie.
“Louie’s been begging and pleading to the sheriff, to let them go, but the sheriff says that of all the freaks in jail, those are the last he’ll set loose; that he’d let Charles Manson go before he’d let them go.â€
We were standing out in the garage, near the back.
“Why did the freaks get arrested in the first place?†I asked.
The neighbor pulled open the door to his refrigerator. There’s four refrigerators kept there, his, his older brother’s, the caretaker’s, and for the ranch-hands that work across the road. Each keeps his own stocked with beer. They do this so their wives back home don’t know how much they drink.
“What the fu….dge?!†the neighbor suddenly spurted. “Who’s been in my icebox, taking my beer?â€
I looked. Yeah, about half his beer was missing. And there was a lid from a jar, with a bunch of quarters in it.
to be continued
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The business partner and I had just changed drivers--myself now in the driver’s seat--when he said, “Oh, look--a train.â€
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/broken%20bow/burlington_zps511063fb.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/broken%20bow/burlington_zps511063fb.jpg.html)
As incredible as it might sound, while trains were ubiquitous, everywhere, in our childhoods, nowadays we’re lucky if we see a train maybe once every six months. And never around where either of us lives; those rails were torn up a long time ago.
The business partner grew up on the roof of Nebraska, and the roof of the Sandhills, the northernmost part of the state, through which the old Chicago & Northwestern ran, from Chicago to Casper, Wyoming. There’d been plans to construct a line clear to the western coast (during the 1880s and 1890s), but money ran out by the time they reached Casper, and so they stopped.
As such, this branch never became anything major, other than that from Theodore Roosevelt through Herbert Hoover, it was used regularly by the presidential train going to the summer White House in the Black Hills of South Dakota. But after an effete elitist eastern establishment president, who thought there couldn’t possibly be anything worthwhile way out here, was elected in 1932, everybody forgot about that summer White House.
I’d grown up underneath the Sandhills, until I was 10 years old, alongside the fertile fruitful Platte River, through which ran U.S. Highway 30 and Interstate 80, the most important highways in America, and the Union Pacific, the most important rail-line in America.
So trains had been a rather larger piece of my life, than his; especially the nearly-mile-long Union Pacific passenger trains, strings of very long yellow cars with a red stripe near the top.
- - - - - - - - - - -
“But when we moved north, up into the heart of the Sandhills, there was just the little rinky-dinky Chicago, Burlington & Quincy line that ran from Grand Island up to Billings, Montana. It’s different now, with all that coal up in Montana, and the line’s double- and triple-tracked, but this was before the energy crisis.
“Hardly anybody went between Grand Island and Billings.
“What I missed was seeing the passenger trains; there was only one of them, again, between Grand Island and Billings, and it passed through (both of them, going opposite directions) town during the middle of the night.
“Nobody I knew took the train, but surely there must’ve been those who did.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/broken%20bow/summer19691_zps712cf49d.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/broken%20bow/summer19691_zps712cf49d.jpg.html)
“Once, our first summer in town, the train was late for one reason or another, coming into town in the light of day, and sitting there for some hours.
“My best friend and I were out bicycling, and he called my house to tell my younger brother to come on down, and to bring a camera with him, because this was something big.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/broken%20bow/summer19692_zpsc1089288.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/broken%20bow/summer19692_zpsc1089288.jpg.html)
“We chitchatted with the passengers walking around, and the engineer and the conductor, but most interesting of all was the Pullman porter. He struck me as a man very conscientious about his job, and had a good manner of speaking with curious kids.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/broken%20bow/summer19693_zps64dd8bf6.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/broken%20bow/summer19693_zps64dd8bf6.jpg.html)
“A nice guy, a gentleman, one of the nicest guys one could ever hope to meet.
“A few years after that, when Amtrak came long, I suspect he retired, dismayed at the collapse of railway passenger service into governmental decrepitude. He didn’t strike me as a guy who cared for people who weren’t dedicated to their jobs, who didn’t try to do their best.â€
to be continued
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The property caretaker was here this evening, and took inventory of his refrigerator out in the garage.
“THIRTEEN six-packs gone--who the Hell--â€
I asked him to count the quarters left in the refrigerator.
“Six dollars and fifty cents.â€
“Well,†I said, “at least the striped man freak was honest, leaving fifty cents per, not a penny less.â€
The caretaker looked at me. “You know something about this.â€
Yeah, I said; “[the eager young lad]’d told the striped man that’s what he’d have to pay.
“But he’s [the neighbor’s] kid, and only a kid, so best to let it go.â€
- - - - - - - - - -
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/broken%20bow/nighttime_zpse68d1195.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/broken%20bow/nighttime_zpse68d1195.jpg.html)
Sensing an opportunity, since the caretaker didn’t have his cellular telephone on him, I commented, “I suppose the striped man’s in jail too. I wonder why all the freaks were arrested.â€
The caretaker described the fight between the freak trying to be a cat and the bowling-ball with arms and legs, and that when the sheriff had been called to break it up, he did a “name check†on them.
“He found out the one trying to be a cat had several outstanding warrants on her, in Maryland; cruelty to animals, creating a public nuisance, assault and battery, assault with a deadly weapon--apparently a boa constrictor she’d whacked against somebody--public indecency, whatnot.
“And then when he checked on the bowling-ball with arms and legs, he learned she too had warrants out on her, from California--several of them, for obstructing police officers and fire-fighters.
“He took those two in, but while he was gone, another fight broke out between the eggplant-headed freak an the pineapple-headed freak, about which was the baddest of the two, and he was called back in, to break up that fight.
“When he checked on eggplant-head--’the world’s biggest drug addict’--he found California also had warrants on him too, failure to pay child-support, wife battery, shop-lifting, purse-snatching, welfare fraud, and drug-dealing.
“And pineapple-head--’the world’s biggest dork’--well, Michigan has all these outstanding warrants on him, for all sorts of really stupid stunts he’s pulled.
“He took the second two in, but while he was gone, a third fight broke out, this one between the two fat twins, Ebony and Ivory, over a last slice of pizza.
“Upon checking them out after pulling them apart, he discovered one was from Wisconsin and the other from Louisiana, and they had warrants out on them for food-stamp fraud.
“Being six-for-six, he ordered his deputies to arrest anyone on the fairgrounds who looked like a freak, and haul them in, so he could check them out. Anybody and everybody who looked like a freak was brought in, including, alas, a couple of our own, but they were cleared right away, and let go.
“Thus far, it appears only the three-legged woman and the three-armed man are the only freaks without any record, which is why he let them go.
“So he’s holding all the others until Louie the carnival-man posts bail for them.
“But all the freaks aren’t here yet; for example, the surfer-boy freak from Connecticut or the 84â€-38“-41†Minnesota Mammaries; they’re showing themselves off somewhere else tonight, but they should be here for the big closing tomorrow night, Saturday night.
“The sheriff’s waiting for them, to get their identities, and check them out.
“Louie’s sweating bullets, about what he‘s going to find out, because Saturday night‘s freak show‘s going to make him or break him.â€
Yeah, I said, I’m planning on going to the county fair Saturday night.
The caretaker said he’d planned on going tonight, but now he was going Saturday night too, with his wife, because “with you along, it’s got to get interesting.â€
to be continued
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I was out on the back porch enjoying the early morning and otherwise minding my own business, when suddenly an apparition popped up from the ground, between the porch banisters, making my hair stand on end.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/house5.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/house5.jpg.html)
It was the freak with both eyes on the same side of his nose; hippywife Mrs. Alfred Packer’s hippyhubby Wild Bill’s younger brother, the Profile.
After my fifth-of-a-second of startlement, I got cool again. I didn’t have a shirt on, but at least I was wearing underpants. My sudden visitor on the other hand looked frightened, really frightened.
Since he wasn’t capable of doing me any harm, I gently told him to calm down, not to worry about anything, and offered him a cup of coffee and a cigarette, if he wanted one. He took my offer, and slowly walked over to a chair at the table.
“So…..Louie posted bond, and the sheriff let you out?†I asked.
No, he said; he’d never been picked up, because when the round-up of freaks started, he’d hidden underneath an upside-down wooden barrel, staying there until the middle of the night, after which he’d walked back here--four miles--hoping to stay hidden in the camp-site until the fair was over.
“Not to worry,†I assured him; “the sheriff won’t come here unless I call him, so you’re safe. But tell me this--if the sheriff were to look you up, would he find anything?â€
More confident now, he replied unfortunately yes, because he was wanted down in northeastern Oklahoma for passing counterfeit ten-dollar bills.
“But it’s my brother who made them, and forced me to use them,†he insisted.
- - - - - - - - - - -
I nodded; I’d long ago figured as much. “Wild Bill--he’s quite the dominating type, isn’t he?â€
The Profile then nodded himself, and told me what I already knew. Mrs. Alfred Packer worked at the nursing home down there, and hippyhubby Wild Bill took her weekly paycheck for himself, giving her a counterfeit $10 bill for spending money. The hippywife primitive also sells home-made jewelry on esty.com, but the proceeds go into Wild Bill’s paypal account.
“And he keeps her shoes locked up so she can’t run away. And one time when she tried to do Christmas, she was laid up in bed for a week after, recovering from sores and bruises.â€
“No question about it,†I said; “Wild Bill’s the boss, and everybody else dances to his tune.â€
“But she’s no angel herself, hippywife,†the Profile insisted. “She‘s a sucker for anybody with anything dangling between his legs.â€
Yeah, I agreed; I already knew that.
He also talked about the Federal Express deliveryman and Hop Sing, the door-to-door salesman of culinary implements, both of whom haplessly ended up as cuts and chops in the meat-freezer.
- - - - - - - - - - -
I mentioned we’d met before; he’d been up here with the Packer clan two years ago this coming Labor Day.
He remembered that; “Wild Bill was looking for franksolich.
“He was all bent out of shape and paranoid because he thought franksolich had been stalking him--tapping the telephone and internet, opening the mail, peeking through the windows, questioning the neighbors, flying overhead in a helicopter--because franksolich sure seemed to know an awful lot about him and hippywife, every detail of their lives.
“But the truth of the matter was, hippywife has a big mouth, and blabs about everything, and so it’d be easy to know everything about them.
“Anyway, the meat-locker was empty about that time, and he decided he’d fill it up with franksolich.
“Even though we were up here for a week, Wild Bill could never find him.â€
I thought about something, and since the Profile appeared to have severed all relations with the Packer clan, I felt safe in commenting, “but all of you were here, right on this property. I’m franksolich.â€
He looked at me, his eyes growing as big as saucers.
“No way,†he insisted. “Wild Bill said the other guy, the one you always hang around with, was franksolich, and he wasn’t around this time.â€
I had to pause for some minutes, trying to remember.
“But what made hippyhubby think my business partner was franksolich?â€
“Well, Wild Bill said you were pretty dumb-looking and stupid, while the other guy was good-looking and witty and articulate, and so the other guy had to be franksolich.â€
“It’s too bad all of you came up here then,†I said; “you could’ve stayed down there in northeastern Oklahoma that week, and gotten ’franksolich,’ because my business partner was attending a horse show right there in Tulsa.â€
Just then, apparently the Profile heard something, and scurried off the porch, hiding underneath it.
- - - - - - - - - - -
It was the property caretaker, coming to pick up some tools to finish a job somewhere else in the county before he, his wife, and I went to the county fair in the evening.
“You know,†I asked him, “has anyone else called about camping here over the Labor Day holiday?â€
Several, he said; “but they’re people like Boy Scout troops, old folks’ groups, religious organizations, and a bevy of professional fishermen--one has a television show, and wants to do one about the fishing here--but no old hippies, and you want old hippies so the kids’ll have a good show.â€
Right, I said; “and today’s the day you promised to call Mrs. Alfred Packer and tell her ’yes’ or ’no’ about camping here.
“When you get around to calling her, tell her I said ’yes.’â€
to be continued
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Absolutely, a "yes". Gonna be fun.
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Absolutely, a "yes". Gonna be fun.
By the way, to make sure you show up here the next time you're in the neighborhood, even if a state away--these aren't any original photographs, but swiped instead from the Nebraska Game & Parks Commission, and were all taken in bodies of water associated with the river here:
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/senior/smalldeadfish_zps9df3cbaf.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/senior/smalldeadfish_zps9df3cbaf.jpg.html)
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/senior/mediumdeadfish_zpse72c8601.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/senior/mediumdeadfish_zpse72c8601.jpg.html)
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/senior/bigdeadfish_zps389ce39e.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/senior/bigdeadfish_zps389ce39e.jpg.html)
I dunno what kinds of fish they are; to me, a fish is a fish is a fish, but of course others have different tastes than I do, and it's all good.
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Nice Northerns. Catfish is good, too.
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Oh my, what a busy morning it’s been.
First, there was the early-morning surprise appearance of the Profile, hippyhubby Wild Bill’s estranged younger brother, followed by the business partner, coming by to inquire when I’m going to the county fair.
“Now, you’re staying here over Labor Day, right?†I asked him.
He said yes.
“Good,†I said.
- - - - - - - - - - -
Then came my guest from the other corner of the state, southwestern Nebraska, who’s been staying with a friend in town.
“I’ve hardly seen you this visit,†she said; “you’ve been grouchy, and so I spent more time with the kids, than with you.â€
I pointed out she’s up here for a whole month, and there’s plenty of time, although the femme’s going to be back, and around quite a bit.
“And besides, you’re going to the fair with the rest of us tonight, remember.â€
- - - - - - - - - - -
Then the neighbor, the neighbor’s wife, and their five children showed up. They’re going to be at the fair all day, and this place is convenient for breakfasting before going there.
“Well, the sheriff let all but three of the freaks out last night,†the neighbor announced.
“He said they were scared straight now, and safe to let go.
“One would think Louie the carnival executive would be happy, but he still whined, insisting he needed the other three, to put on a good show and make up for all the money he’s lost here the past three days.â€
“Who’re the three he’s still holding?†I asked.
“The freak pretending to be a cat, the bowling-ball with arms and legs, and ‘the world’s biggest drug addict,’ the one with the eggplant-shaped head.
“The first one, he said is too damned scary to be seen out in public, although he let ‘the world’s ugliest woman,’ she with the face like Hindenberg’s, out.
“The second one, well, the sheriff doesn’t care much for people who interfere with the jobs cops and firemen are trying to do, snooping around and making a nuisance of herself. So that’s a personal thing, although she has so many warrants out for obstructing public servants and being a threat to the public safety he could probably hold her for weeks.
“The third one, he said no way in Hell; eggplant-head has w-a-a-a-a-a-y too many warrants out on him.â€
- - - - - - - - - -
As the neighbor’s wife and my guest from southwestern Nebraska fixed breakfast in the kitchen--mostly eggs, sausages, and hash browns, but mine being broccoli with cheese--the rest of us congregated on the back porch.
I announced to the eager young lad that I had his hippies for him, and that they’ll be an awesome draw.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/road%20trip/fishing_zps2c89f4e8.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/road%20trip/fishing_zps2c89f4e8.jpg.html)
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/hippie_old1.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/hippie_old1.jpg.html)
“Now, you have this all figured out, right, everybody in their place?â€
No, he didn’t, so I figured it out for him. “You’ve got seven people, but one’s an independent contractor, selling popcorn to the spectators.
“You got two roads coming here, to where the hippies’ll be camping. The first one, where one turns off from the highway to alongside the river, and the people’ll just drive by, to look and take pictures. You’ll charge a dollar for that.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/elkhorn2010.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/elkhorn2010.jpg.html)
“The second road comes to here, after which one drives around the house and parks in the meadow, to sit and watch the hippies, for as long as they want. You’ll charge five dollar for that.
“You’ll need two of your people to man the entrance to the riverside road, and two more in charge of the entry to the driveway here. And then two people to ’police’ the meadow and substitute as needed for any of the four at the admission-gates.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/scan1006.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/scan1006.jpg.html)
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“I suppose the last two could probably also rent out lawn-chairs to those who want to make it a day of looking at the hippies, and sell disposable cameras too, for those who didn’t bring cameras but wish they had.
“Now, what else do we have to plan for?†I asked.
- - - - - - - - - -
The eager young lad replied that everything seemed to be thought of.
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/scan1004.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/scan1004.jpg.html)
(http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y223/dummiedestroyer/scan1003.jpg) (http://s6.photobucket.com/user/dummiedestroyer/media/scan1003.jpg.html)
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“No,†I told him. “There’s some complications that might come up, and one needs be prepared.
“The weather, of course; Saturday might be better than Friday, or Monday better than Sunday.
“So all of you’ll have to camp out in the front yard again, beginning Thursday evening; the hippies say they’ll arrive here sometime Friday morning, and they’re leaving the following Tuesday morning.
“But you don’t know how many nights you’re going to camp here. The show’s only going to last an afternoon before the sheriff comes and kindly requests me to shut it down--but what afternoon of what day? It depends upon the weather. So you need to be prepared to camp out one night, two nights, three nights, or four nights; we just don’t know yet.â€
He replied okay, he understood that.
- - - - - - - - - - -
“Now, there’s a big big big complication, but I’ll handle it myself,†I assured him.
“These old hippies have been here before, and this sort of thing’s happened to them before, hundreds of people driving by to look, stare, gawk, and take pictures, and they didn’t like it.
“They might be on guard for it to happen this time too, and stop it before it gets started.
“So the show has to start when they least suspect it; it has to be a sudden surprise to them.â€
to be continued
-
Perhaps the youngsters could build a few observation blinds from which the locals could view the hippies.
The hippies would believe everything is good and right with the world.
For a really close look, maybe a Trojan unicorn.
-
Perhaps the youngsters could build a few observation blinds from which the locals could view the hippies.
And in the fall, deer hunters could use them! O-) :whistling: :tongue:
-
Against my better judgement, I agreed to go to the county fair this morning after breakfast, along with everybody else, rather than waiting until this evening.
The deal is, for the deaf, “motion,†“light,†and “color†are “noise,†and if there’s too much going on, it can give one a headache, just like real noise gives hearing people headaches.
But…..but…..but being a nice guy, I went along.
(http://i1100.photobucket.com/albums/g419/Eferrari/county%20fair/01_zpsa6046146.jpg) (http://s1100.photobucket.com/user/Eferrari/media/county%20fair/01_zpsa6046146.jpg.html)
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The eager young lad insisted upon showing me around (as if I hadn’t seen it all before), but was most interested in seeing the horses, as one of his 11-year-old sisters is in it, and his mother, the neighbor’s wife, of course is an avid horsewoman.
The business partner also went along, as horses are his main interest…..and his main business.
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Bored with that, I quietly left the other two and quickly skimmed over the other animals.
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What freaked me out was the array of chickens on exhibit; there were the usual standard run-of-the-mill chickens, white with red beards, the mainstay of the dinner table, but there were also some pretty odd ones.
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The business partner and the eager young lad rejoined me, and we walked around looking at various sorts of competition and shows.
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(http://i1100.photobucket.com/albums/g419/Eferrari/county%20fair/29_zps3d737d78.jpg) (http://s1100.photobucket.com/user/Eferrari/media/county%20fair/29_zps3d737d78.jpg.html)
The eager young lad wanted to do the carnival-rides-and-cotton-candy thing--by this time, we’d been joined by the neighbor with his two youngest children and the wife of the neighbor’s older brother with all four of hers--and so I graciously took my leave, reminding them I’d be back about eight this evening, for the start of the finale of the freak show.
- - - - - - - - - - -
On my way back to my car, I stopped in front of the freak show tent, where Louie “the Nose†was manning the admission booth, sweat on his forehead as he counted the receipts.
“It’s better,†he admitted to me; “I’m able to get three bucks per, now that I have most of the freaks back.â€
The freaks were inside, doing their usual stunts--the three-legged woman getting married to the three-armed man, the Profile ministering and the striped man escorting the bride; the fat twins Ebony and Ivory competing in a pie-eating contest; the giant and the dwarf wrestling; the pineapple-headed freak being a dork; the “world’s biggest drunkard†delivering a boring monologue; &c., &c. &c.
As I was passing by, the “world’s ugliest woman,†she with a face like Hindenberg’s, was doing a seductive belly-dance.
“But I wish I had those three other freaks here,†Louie said, “the ones the sheriff’s still holding.
“I could probably get four bucks per admission, if they were here.â€
But you’ll have your two star attractions tonight, “and get five bucks each, then.â€
“Do you really suppose people’ll pay five bucks tonight, with the surfer-boy from Connecticut, ‘the world’s most narcissistic person,’ and the Minnesota Mammaries, on stage?â€
“Hell, if those jugs are real,†I assured him, “you could get ten bucks a head, easy.
“But they have to be real; fake’s not going to get you a wooden nickel.â€
to be continued
-
Well, it ended up a big disappointment.
(http://i1100.photobucket.com/albums/g419/Eferrari/county%20fair/sign_zps462dff6d.jpg) (http://s1100.photobucket.com/user/Eferrari/media/county%20fair/sign_zps462dff6d.jpg.html)
I headed to the county fair about 8:00 p.m., hoping to examine the 84â€-38â€-41†Minneosta Mammaries to see if those were real, which they probably aren’t, but upon meeting everybody else in front of the freak show trailer, was advised she wasn’t going to show, because she and the surfer-boy freak from Connecticut had car problems over in Iowa while driving here.
Louie “The Nose†Macellaio had connections, though, who came through for him, and still managed to draw in standing-room-crowds-only with this:
(http://i1100.photobucket.com/albums/g419/Eferrari/county%20fair/stand-in_zps4a4dbbd2.jpg) (http://s1100.photobucket.com/user/Eferrari/media/county%20fair/stand-in_zps4a4dbbd2.jpg.html)
Ho-hum. I went back home to bed.
to be continued