the dog days of summer

[franksolich]

"You are something else," the business partner said to me yesterday afternoon.

"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

[jtyangel]

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.

[njpines]

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.

[debk]

well, crap....read the other thread before this one... 

FOUR...? Really Frank.. and you didn't feel any of them?!? 

sending even more prayers....

[BlueStateSaint]

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! 

Seriously, though--you need some serious help, Heavenly or otherwise.  Prayers from us--including The Heiress.

[franksolich]

well, crap....read the other thread before this one... 

FOUR...? Really Frank.. and you didn't feel any of them?!? 

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".

[franksolich]

“No way,” I said.  “No fu….dging way.”

My eyes were as big as saucers.

"No way," I repeated; "no fu.....dging way."

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 84”-38”-41”.

“No way,” I repeated a third time.  “No fu…..dging way.”

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--”

“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.”

“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.”

to be continued

[vesta111]

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.

[franksolich]

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.”

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.”

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--”

“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.”

Uh, I interrupted; “about that one part, indecency’s illegal in this county.”

“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.”

to be continued

[franksolich]

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.

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:

to be continued

[franksolich]

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.”

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.”

“This is a nice place; now, why would you want to ruin it with dogs?”

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.”

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.”

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.”

- - - - - - - - - - -

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.”

He told me thanks, but none of them knew how to play croquet.

to be continued

[franksolich]

“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.”

- - - - - - - - - -

“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.

“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

[franksolich]

“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.”

“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.”

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.”

“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.”

to be continued

[franksolich]

“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?”

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.

“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.”

- - - - - - - - - - -

“You know, I wonder what‘s up with this,” I said to the neighbor later in the morning.

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.”

to be continued

[vesta111]

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.  

[franksolich]

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?

[Skul]

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.

[RobJohnson]

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.

[vesta111]

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.

 

[franksolich]

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.

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.”

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.

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, ”Who are you?”

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?”

“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.

“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.”

to be continued

[franksolich]

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.”

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.

“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.”

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.”

“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.”

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.”

“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.”

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.”

to be continued

[BlueStateSaint]

The soil scientist returns!

[franksolich]

The soil scientist returns!

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.   

[franksolich]

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.”

“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.”

- - - - - - - - - - -

The caretaker mentioned he still hasn’t found an appropriate group of primitives to camp here over the Labor Day holiday.  â€œThere’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.”

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.”

to be continued

[jtyangel]

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.