Well, let’s see now…

     When little Edna was (almost) five years old she was such a true believer in Santa Clause that it was inconceivable that there could be any doubt he existed.    By then, of course, she could remember what had happened the year before and she could hardly wait for it to happen again.

     Edna’s older siblings worked hard during December to fill her to the brim with stories and activities so that by Christmas Eve her excitement level was bubbling over the top.    As her father would say, “She was as jumpy as a fart on a hot skillet.”    Her only sister was twelve years older than Edna, and her brothers were ages eight and ten years older; it was the perfect time to work on Edna’s imagination.    She seriously soaked in everything she was told about Santa, his elves, the North Pole, and Santa’s Toy Shoppe … and it was all vividly painted in her imagination.

      Her brothers told her tales of Santa’s elves and how they jumped from snowy fence post to snowy fence post; how they were so fast that you rarely ever saw more than a blur from the corner of your eye as they ran around gathering notes for Santa’s list.   The brothers knew everything about the elves from the tips of their pointed little hats right down to the bells on their curly little shoes.   They knew where they slept when they were on “duty” and how they would sneak in at night to get warm by the coal-burning upright heater in our living room and sneak little nibbles from our bread.    Bill swears to this day that he saw one leap the high fences that corralled the farm animals who lived down the dirt lane from our home to the barns at the back of our three acre lot.    They would take Edna to the windows of the house and watch for elves, occasionally screaming, “Did you see it?   Did you see it?”   At first, she didn’t … but by the time Christmas came around, she was pretty sure she was seeing them too.    Both of her brothers made sure she understood the seriously worrisome details of how easy it was to get on Santa’s “Naughty” list, particularly if you disobeyed your older parents, your sister, or your brothers.   (This story teller knows it was their way of expressing their love).   

     Ann, was in high school, and Edna thought she was the prettiest, nicest big sister you could have ever, ever … ever wish for and she always seemed to make sure every holiday there was plenty of “sister time”.    She would show her pictures of the North Pole and tell her stories of Santa’s workshop, how the toys are made, and how easy it is to stay on Santa’s “Nice” list.   

      On Christmas Eve, after visiting some neighbors, singing carols together with the family and reading the story of Christmas from the Bible, it was time to hang up the Christmas stockings.    Edna was trying to find the biggest stocking she could among the ones in her drawer but her foot was much smaller than the ones everyone else had found.   Her mother found her sitting on the sofa, arms folded across her chest and a big frown on her face. 

     “What are you doing sitting here like that?   You better hang up your stocking and get to sleep before Santa comes or he will see us still up.   He has to visit every house in the world, and you know, he never comes unless we are asleep,” Mother told the pouting little girl.

     “My stockings are too little.   Santa won’t even be able to give me a big orange and apple in its toe,” she grumbled, holding up her longest stocking, which compared to the others was, indeed, very small.    “That’s what he puts in the toe, because I know.”

     Daddy, who overheard this exchange winked at her and motioned secretly with his finger for her to follow him.   They went around the corner, through the kitchen, down the hall, and into her parents bedroom, which was filled with mysterious shopping bags and lumpy things that were covered with Mother’s table cloths.    Finally, inside the closet, Daddy opened the drawer that held his neatly rolled socks and told her she could pick any one of them.

     “I can?” Edna asked excitedly.   “Won’t Santa care if it isn’t my own stocking?”

     Daddy laughed and said, “No, I absolutely know for sure that Santa won’t care if you choose one of mine.” 

     And so she did.    She chose the longest stocking in Daddy’s drawer and went running happily back to hang it in the living room where five other stockings were already hanging in a row.  (This memory was three years before Reed was born.)

     “Now Santa can fill it clear full,” she thought to herself as she sat once more on the sofa to look at the Christmas room; the decorations, the lights on the beautiful tree in the corner, and the odd shaped stockings hanging on the wall.    She felt safe and happy as she looked at mother’s Christmas Crèche and thought about Mary and Joseph, the singing angels, the shepherds sleeping on the hills with their sheep, the wise men who followed the star all the way to where baby Jesus lay sleeping on the hay.  Her mother told her the story when they would rock in the big, leather rocking chair and Edna knew that Christmas was the birthday of Jesus.

     “I love Jesus,” she thought as her eyes got heavier and heavier until she was sound asleep.     Her Daddy quietly picked her up and carried her up the narrow stairs to the bedrooms that were built in the attic above the kitchen and living room.    The ceilings of the rooms were higher in the middle so everyone, even Daddy, could stand up straight but then they sloped at an angle out to meet the walls on two of the walls before they angled down about four feet to the floor.     To get to the room Ann shared with Edna, Daddy walked through Bill and Chick’s shared room and then he gently laid her down in-between the nice, clean sheets and pulled the covers up and tucked them around her chin.

     “Good night, Babe (He always called her Babe),” he whispered.    “I love you.”

      “I love you, too, Daddy”, Edna whispered back, even though she was already dreaming of elves, and candy and dollies who really drank from teensie, little baby bottles. 

     Morning took forever to arrive for the children in the attic.   There was a firm family rule that no one … and that means NO ONE … was to go into the living room without first waking up their parents.   The tradition was that Daddy would get up and sneak in first in to make sure Santa had come and gone, so he wasn’t disturbed before he was through filling the stockings and putting presents beneath the tree, and then he would turn on the bright, flood lights so he could take pictures of the children who would come down the hall, shortest to tallest, to see what awaited just around the corner.

    The first four or five times that one of the children quietly snuck down to the side of their parents bed to ask what time it was, they were told that it was still the middle of the night and to go back to bed.    The last time, when the boys talked Edna into sneaking down to check on the time, Mommy sat up in bed and said, “Oh come on, Lewy, (that was what she called Daddy) let’s get up and see what Santa brought.

     “It’s 5:00 in the morning,” Daddy loudly whispered as he sleepily sat up and stretched his arms wide as he yawned.     “We don’t even know if Santa has been here yet.”

     “Well, you could quietly sneak down and see,” Mommy whispered  back as she winked and smiled at the now wide awake Edna.    “You go back up the stairs very, very quietly and  tell everyone they can sneak down to our room and Daddy will go see if Santa has come.”

     Edna whispered back, “Okay, Mommy,” and she quietly did just as she had been told.

     The children quietly huddled at the back wall of the hall, shivering in the morning chill, already lining up so they would be ready when Daddy gave the word they could march into the living room.   Shortest to tallest; Edna first, then Chick, then Bill, and then Ann lined up very quietly in the hall and whispered excitedly as Daddy tip toed with a highly exaggerated steps, down the hall where he stood pressed against the wall as he peaked his head around the corner.

     Quickly he pulled his head back and gave a panicked look at the children down the hall, motioning for them to be very still.   Slowly, he flattened his back along the edge of the wall of the kitchen and began to inch his way very carefully and quietly back down the hall to where they stood.  All motion and whispering had stopped and they were dead still as they watched Daddy make his way back to the family, where he quietly patted his chest and breathed in some big gulps of air.

     “Don’t anyone move or sneeze or make any kind of noise.   Santa and the elves are in there right now.    You know what that means.”  Daddy whispered seriously.

     Yes, indeed, they did know what that meant, and Edna tried to stand still, but Ann, and Bill, and Chick kept whispering to each other and getting the giggles.    The coal heater, you will recall, was in the living room and the hall was so chilly that cold Christmas morning that their teeth began to chatter, which made them giggle even more.  Daddy hushed them and said he could hear movement in the living room and suddenly, so could they!   They really could, it wasn’t their imagination!   They could hear faint talking and bumping sounds, and the jingle of bells, and then, just as suddenly, everything was quiet.    They waited quietly for another long minute before Daddy once again crept down the hall alone, just to make sure.

     “It’s clear,” he called as he flipped on flood lights, played soft Christmas music on his new recording machine, and stirred up the fire in the furnace.    “Oh boy, you aren’t going to believe the things that are in here,” he would call out every few seconds.

      “Hurry, Daddy,” we called back as we took our turns in the single bathroom that everyone shared.  Mommy and Ann decided to take their hair out of the pin-curls they slept in and comb it and put on lipstick for the pictures.    It seemed to Edna that it was taking everyone FOREVER!.

      When the excitement was literally bouncing from the walls and ceiling, Mommy and Daddy went into the living room and called, “Okay, you can come now!”

      The first thing Edna saw when she turned the corner to the room of surprises was a row of stockings hanging on the wall … with round, full heels and toes and mysterious bumps with a banana and candy cane peeking from the top.    What a relief she felt!    Santa had really, really come!   

****** 

And that’s where this memory ends because even though our gifts to each other were carefully chosen and deeply appreciated, and Santa had given us wonderful presents, those things are not what I remember most.   I remember the things we did as a family in the days leading up to Christmas; whispering secrets, telling stories, singing carols, hanging our stockings, reading from about the first Christmas from the Bible, and faking sleep so I could be carried to bed.  How fun it was when my father caught Santa in the act, and that we heard he and his elves in living room as we all stood quietly shivering in the hall.   

On the 2nd Memory of Christmas …

“Hey, my name is Alice and my boyfriend’s name is Andy”, Marie Osmond’s voice rang out from the small tape player that sat on the kitchen table. My daughter Angi and her friends Annette and Jenny Hancey had been singing and dancing for hours without a break. Their faces were red and sweaty from their exhaustive dance moves, but they were preparing for a show for the two families and it was do or die.

The boys had given up tormenting the girls and had gathered every blanket and chair they could find in the house to make a huge tent in the living room. It was impressive but I couldn’t help but think about the work involved in getting all those blankets on the beds and back where they belonged. “Whew,” I thought to myself as I eased down on the edge of the sofa, trying not to disturb the heavy pile of books that were holding down the corner of their house.

It was our first Christmas in Ivins and I was doing my best to combat homesickness from the thought of not being able to get up to Draper, Utah, and attend the family parties. The closing costs on our house had been considerably higher than we’d been told and pennies were pinching at our house. Fortunately we had a little bit of a stash put away to get the children their Christmas gifts, but there was no money left for enough gas to get up to Salt Lake City, Utah, and back. We were fairly new in a small town that of people who seemed to be all related and I wasn’t feeling much of the Christmas spirit.

On the first day that the children were out of school for the holidays I decided to let the children have their friends over for the entire day. Well, actually there was a reason for this mad gesture of kindness and that was that my friend, Phyllis, needed to finish up four beautiful Christmas dresses, four Christmas nightgowns, and one nice warm pair of flannel pajama without curious children around. It was the day I’d set aside for baking … so I was willing to put up with just about anything as long as it wasn’t continually right under my nose.

The day before I had gathered ingredients and favorite family recipes and early that morning, in the tradition of my grandmothers, mother, and sister, I began baking up batches of cookies, brownies, and banana bread. I had many fingers in the batter when they thought my eyes were turned, but I figured the heat of the oven would kill any germs that were being passed around. I have to admit, I had my shares of samples as well. I may not have been with them in their kitchens, laughing, talking and stirring while beautiful Christmas music played softly in the background, but my house definitely smelled as good as theirs and I had eleven young children to keep me entertained … with the music of Donny and Marie Osmond blaring loudly in the background. As each mouthwatering treat was carefully set aside to set up or cool down, I found myself singing along with Marie’s, “Paper RoooZes, Paper RoooZes …” as I realized that I didn’t have to physically be with my family to feel the Christmas spirit. Carrying on family traditions and breathing in the familiar aromas of nutmeg, cinnamon, vanilla, and chocolate would fill more than our tummies.

So it was time for Lynn to get the turkey in the oven. One by one the children’s eyes lit up and they quickly began to gather around … not because they loved turkey, mind you, but because our turkeys had personality. Well, at first they didn’t. At first they were just a dead old, naked, inanimate bird but as soon as Lynn picked them up and put them in the water to get washed, they magically came to life. This one was from France and his name was Jon Pierre, and he definitely didn’t like to be bathed in a kitchen full of people! He kicked, and tried to get away, and tried hard to fly with his featherless wings, all the while splashing water on the countertops and the kitchen floor. Lynn was able to calm him down with a nice massage but when he was thoroughly dried and ready for his tasty herbs and spices, Jon Pierre burst up once again in a last giant effort for freedom, chasing a screaming Brett and Ryan through the house and almost making it out the front door before Lynn was able to wrestle him back to the kitchen. He may have been one of the feistiest birds we’ve ever met. The children giggled and screamed as Lynn continued to try to reason with our turkey to no avail. Finally, in a last attempt to plead for his life, Jon Pierre sang out in a high pitched, falsetto voice, “Ta Ra Ra Boom-dee-ay, Ta Ra Ra Boom-dee-ay,” while doing the Can Can on the kitchen counter top, but everyone still gave him a merciless thumbs down and our spirited Christmas turkey was placed in the oven to roast. Satisfied with the results, the giggling children went back to their activities and Lynn and I began to mop the kitchen floor.

While the turkey sizzled in the oven I stirred up batches of delicious home-made fudge, English toffee, and peanut brittle. That night after dinner we were to be favored by a program featuring the children and Donnie and Marie Osmond … not exactly your traditional Christmas program but, hey, they’d practiced it. After Christmas caroling we would exchange gifts and read together about the birth of Jesus Christ, surrounded by our new (to be loved for many years to follow) friends and neighbors, the Hanceys.

Oh, and there is something I almost forgot to tell! When Lynn went to lift our beautifully roasted John Pierre from the oven he slid right out of the pan and onto the floor.

Technorati Tags: 12 Days of Christmas Memories,Edna Henke

Yesterday for a little while there were eight beautiful, funny grand daughters here at once.   The five older girls are fun to talk to.   They fill me in on their activities at school and we laugh at silly things that happened in their day.  It’s fun to hear them laugh and talk together as they catch up on their news.   

Listening to the three little ones chatter and giggle as they dressed my magnetic paper-type dolls was highly entertaining .    Abigail has just turned 5, Ande is 3 1/2, and Olivia is 2 1/2.   Here’s how that conversation went.                   

Ande:   “Oh, this one doesn’t have any pants on!   Now that’s gross!   (looks at me in disgust as if it was me who put her away without seeing that she was properly covered).

Abigail:  “But it would really be gross if she didn’t have underwear on.”

Me:   (Laughing with the giggling girls)  “I have to agree, Abby.    That would be pretty gross.”

Ande:   “I have underwear on and I’m not gross.”

Abigail:   “So do I.   I have underwear on.   I’m not gross.”

Olivia:  (Shrugs her shoulders and looks at me with concern)  “Well, I not even potty trained yet.  Soooo …?”

Me:    “B-u-u-t, Do you have a diaper on?”

Olivia:   (Sighs in relief) “Oh … I have my diaper on, so I not gross too!”

Me:    Laughing and hugging my three entertaining little girls … “Thank goodness none of you are gross!”

*****

You know … I might not be on the right “pill” yet, but I do believe in the old adage that “LAUGHTER IS THE BEST MEDICINE”!

We took the old brown van today because the purpose of this Costco adventure was to buy two new toilets …  shiny new, white, and HIGHER.    Our old toities had to have been made for small children’s bendable bodies instead of the unbendable bodies of senior citizens.   

It’s been a while since I’ve been out of the house, so we added another level to our excitement and decided we would really splurge today and eat out.   Mmmmm we love those Costo hot dogs.

Well, we made it over half way there before the van died.    We were sitting at a red light in the middle of fairly busy traffic when it turned itself off and refused any and all attempts Lynn made to start it back up.    Here we sit in a line up of traffic … one old, white haired man with artificial knees and one old, beautified woman on oxygen.     What do you do?

Apparently all you have to do is sit directly in front of a few green   lights until all of a sudden a tall dark stranger appears, like a genie coming up out of an old lamp.     Thank goodness he was a “take charge” kind of genie and before we knew it he’d flagged down some help and stopped traffic so they could push us around the corner and into a business parking lot.    It makes me feel warm and fuzzy just to think about it!     I almost fell in love with that tall dark stranger before “poof” he was gone.

The problem was somewhere in the fuel line and Lynn figured it would start back up after things cooled off (I presume he meant the car) and we could limp our way home with it by cooling in other parking lots along the way.   To myself I’m thinking “we’re in for a really lllloooonnnngggg day”, so I suggest we call a tow truck.    Honey’s not sure that we have that kind of insurance on the old van so we just sit and wait; thinking about those hotdogs at Costco while our stomachs grumble.  

About 45 minutes later it did start up and we made it about three minutes down the road before it happened again.     This time, however, we were out of the busy traffic and coasted off onto the dirt where there was nothing but us and the tumble weeds.    I suggested we call a tow truck.    Honey decided to call USAA instead to ask if we have that kind of coverage.   Not only are we covered … the wonderful lady who answered the phone zero’d in on our location, called the tow company herself, and sent them straight to us by using the GPS tracker in our Iphones!    Wallah!!! It was like “Your wish is my command”.   We had us a another genie!   I could almost picture her with her sparkly turban as she rolled her hand several times before her face and granted our wish.

A half an hour later our little, very old, brown van was being loaded onto the back of a gigantic red, white, and blue … humongous truck from Freedom Towing.    Cameron, the driver of the tow truck, (otherwise known as the third genie) was friendly, helpful, and efficient … exactly what you would hope for at the end of a long afternoon.    The final lucky straw, was that he lives just three or four blocks down the road from us in Ivins, so after dropping our van off at the repair shop in St. George, we ended this long, adventurous afternoon by being deposited right at our front door.   How great is that?   The only thing we really missed was the hot dogs.

We didn’t make it to Costco, but thank you Heavenly Father for helping us to meet up with so many kind, helpful people today.   It was quite an adventure!   

      So today is my sixty-fourth birthday and Lynn has been singing this old Beatle’s song under his breath all day:

The song was written by Paul McCartney of the Beatles when he was just sixteen years old and it apparently was inspired by his “lover”. I can’t imagine having a lover at sixteen, nor can I imagine that Paul McCartney or anyone else at that age has a clue about getting old but amazingly, it is pretty apropos.   

I was tempted to write a poem about it … “There’s an awful lot of learning on the way to getting old” … but it sounded too much like “A Heap o’ Living” written by Edgar A. Guest.   When I thought about it, his poem pretty much sums up what I wanted to say, anyway.  

      I guess I’ve just been caught up in lots of memories today.   It’s a funny thing about memories because the farther away you get from them, the more they become like treasurers.  The hard times lose their sharp edges from a distance and you begin to recognize them as stepping stones along life’s path.  Each stone and hurdle moves you toward the next stone and the next set of hurdles, and hopefully helps you gain the confidence and encouragement you need to make you better prepared to handle them.     We may start out with baby steps, but right now I’m most grateful for the giant steps in my life.    I’m going to fall back on those experience to help me through the challenges that lie ahead with my health.

      So … Happy Birthday to me from Edgar A. Guest …

It Takes A Heap O’Livin” by Edgar A. Guest

It takes a heap o’ livin’ in a house t’ make it home,
A heap o’ sun an’ shadder, an’ ye sometimes have t’ roam
Afore ye really ‘preciate the things ye lef’ behind,
An’ hunger fer ‘em somehow, with ‘em allus on yer mind.
It don’t make any differunce how rich ye get t’ be,
How much yer chairs an’ tables cost, how great yer luxury;
It ain’t home t’ ye, though it be the palace of a king,
Until somehow yer soul is sort o’ wrapped round everything.

Home ain’t a place that gold can buy or get up in a minute;
Afore it’s home there’s got t’ be a heap o’ livin’ in it;
Within the walls there’s got t’ be some babies born, and then
Right there ye’ve got t’ bring ‘em up t’ women good, an’ men;
And gradjerly as time goes on, ye find ye wouldn’t part
With anything they ever used—they’ve grown into yer heart:
The old high chairs, the playthings, too, the little shoes they wore
Ye hoard; an’ if ye could ye’d keep the thumb-marks on the door.

Ye’ve got t’ weep t’ make it home, ye’ve got t’ sit an’ sigh
An’ watch beside a loved one’s bed, an’ know that Death is nigh;
An’ in the stillness o’ the night t’ see Death’s angel come,
An’ close the eyes o’ her that smiled, an’ leave her sweet voice dumb.
Fer these are scenes that grip the heart, an’when yer tears are dried,
Ye find the home is dearer than it was, an’ sanctified;
An’ tuggin’ at ye always are the pleasant memories
O’ her that was an’ is no more—ye can’t escape from these.

Ye’ve got t’ sing an’ dance fer years, ye’ve got t’ romp an’ play,
An’ learn t’ love the things ye have by usin’ ‘em each day;
Even the roses ’round the porch must blossom year by year
Afore they ‘come a part o’ ye, suggestin’ someone dear
Who used t’ love ‘em long ago, an’ trained ‘em jes t’ run
The way they do, so’s they would get the early mornin’ sun;
Ye’ve got t’ love each brick an’ stone from cellar up t’ dome:
It takes a heap o’ livin’ in a house t’ make it home.

Technorati Tags: Edgar A Guest,A Heap O’ Livin’,When I’m 64,Paul McCartney

I’ll tell you what is the best medicine … grandchildren!     This is our “off” year  for Thanksgiving with most of our kids …  I mean, they DO have other sides of their families, after all.    Lynn and I considered having a fake Thanksgiving dinner out our house the Saturday or Sunday before Thanksgiving but we are in the middle of some remodeling.   That, and the not feeling up to par factor, prompted Lynn and I to have our alternative (better word than fake since we are, indeed, all sincerely grateful) Thanksgiving Dinner at the Pizza Factory.      Tonight was the night, and it was oh so fun!   Soooooo fun!    It definitely deserves five stars!  

At the beginning of our meal it was agreed upon by everyone that if this was to be a true substitute Thanksgiving dinner we needed to be stuffed when we were done!    Three Family sized pizza’s, 12 salads, 12 bread sticks later, and 17 drinks later … we were stuffed and we filled 3 boxes with pizza and bread sticks to take home.  

The grandkids and I started swapping fun cousin stories and before long we were really wishing the families who live in Washington were there with us.   So, the kids and I decided it’s time to start a cousin’s newsletter.   We appointed a reporter from each family who will send information to me and I will compile it and see that it gets distributed to everyone.   (Mikayla, do you accept your assignment?)   We want to do a calendar of events even though we are widespread and can’t possibly attend everyone’s recitals and school programs because it will still be fun to know what is happening in each other’s lives on any given day.     I’m so grateful the cousins feel so close to each other in spite of the miles of separation.

We all know that laughter is the best medicine … and I have to reinforce that by saying how good I felt when we got home tonight.    There is scientific proof that laughing reduces pain, ups our tolerance levels, reduces blood sugar levels, and helps your blood vessels carry needed oxygen throughout your body!   (Sign me up for some Tim Conway/Don Knotts movies).    I don’t need scientific proof.    I’ve known that for as long as I have known anything … because of how it worked in our home as I was growing up.     Oh the blessings of coming from a long line of laughers!

One poor little grandson was sick tonight.     He tried to tough it out because he wanted to be there so much, but it was obvious that he was not doing so well.     Grandpa and I owe him a new dinner (since he eventually lost tonight’s dinner in an untimely manner outside of the restaurant, triggering on onset of  gags  and moans from his “gagger” relatives.    This seems to be a weakness from the Matheson (my mother’s maiden name) line because I don’t recall my dad had the problem … nor does Lynn.    Gagging can’t be avoided if you have the gene.   We can gag at the drop of a hat, the sound of a retch, the whiff of you know what (don’t want to really say the word since just reading it could be a trigger).    We can gag at the thought of someone else gagging but if you have enough time passes we can laugh about it.      Some of our funniest family stories are about gagging if you can stand to listen to them.      (Repeating those funny stories has to come from the Henke side of the family.)  

The most thankful aspect of our alternative Thanksgiving meal was when we all stood up, put our napkins down, and left 17 people’s worth of dirty dishes on the table to be cleaned up by someone else!  

And now … pardon my gush as I share some of the things I am so thankful for on this alternate Thanksgiving Day: Jesus Christ and his restored gospel, an A+++ husband and our eternal love, five children and their families who are the light and love of my life),  parents who raised me in a home filled with love, laughter, and safety and who taught me to love by their good example, siblings who have always loved and supported me unconditionally, nieces and nephews and their families, wonderful fun grandparents, aunts and uncles and cousins, faithful friends throughout my entire life,  good ward families over the years, dedicated teachers, sturdy homes over the years, child friendly neighborhoods where I could raise my children, educational opportunities, a vehicle we can count on, the opportunity to travel the last two summers and visit our families who live in Washington, health that is good enough to allow me to do those things I love most, computers, Internet (and the new friendships I’ve made there), talents, living in a country I love.   This list is just a start; I have been very blessed.

Ryan, remember the coke in the face story?    Well, this is me sitting on the ground yesterday after I hit a pot hole and twisted my ankle.  I had a mug full of diet coke and the lid flew off and all the diet coke went into my own face just before I did a full body slam face first into the stickers.   For your information, after the lid came off my mug I made a hole in one with one of the girls.   You will note my first thought was to have Dad take a picture of it all for my blog.    Well, not quite “all”.   He offered to take a “mug shot” of my spectacular bruise today but I think not.        The rest of my body isn’t quite used to doing a triple gainer into the stickers either and today I am moving so slow I decided to take a sick day and lounge in my pj’s.     And then, according to the Allsop way of looking at misfortune … I began to chuckle.

       Bob is the “handyman” of the RV park.    He lives in a trailer next to where we are parked and was the first neighbor to greet us when we pulled in about 5:00.  

       Bob is 72 but he looks older because he doesn’t have teeth.   Our dogs sniff at each other and Bob and I make small talk until a 3rd little dog, Charlie, shows up shortly before his owner, Jack.   Jack is a retired lumberjack.  Then he worked as a mechanic for a bunch of years.   He looks older than Bob.  

      Lynn:   “Does it rain much here?   Is the water going to puddle there in front of the door?)   He is pointing to a definite dip in the ground.  

       Jack:    “Hey Bob, how come you haven’t filled in those holes and leveled the ground here.   You need to do your job.   (Jack points to the ground in front of the door where the last resident used to have a large deck.   Bob informed me earlier that the last resident lived here three years and recently moved without notice.)

       Bob:    (Ignoring Jack and Lynn talks to me)    “Would you like to have a little porch there under the steps?   It would fix the bumpy ground.   I think I have one that would work good there for you.   Or I guess I could find some dirt to bring in … if I can find a place to dig.”

      Me:    “Ohhh!   A porch would be awesome!   Sure!”

      Bob:    (Talking to Lynn)   “Come over to the junk pile there and help me pull it out.”    There is a large pile of limbs and debris at the back of the RV park.

      Me:     Thinks of rolling eyes and sighing but doesn’t.

      Jack:    “Dammit you aren’t going to make them a porch out of that pile of crap are you?    Why don’t you hitch your truck up to that big porch by my house and pull it over here.   You could have it here in five minutes.”

      Bob:    “Jack, that porch is too too big.   I’m not about to use my truck to pull anything.   That’s my truck and it doesn’t pull things.    Just mind your own business there.”

      Jack:    “Oh come on, Bob.   It’s your job to fix things up.   Just hook up your truck and pull it over here.”

      Bob:   (Speaking slowly to Jack)    That PORCH is attached permanently to a SHED.      (Talking to Lynn)    “Get in my truck and we’ll go get you a little porch.”

      Jack:    (Talking to me)  “He’s an imbecile.   I don’t know why he doesn’t pull that other porch on over here like I told him to.    They pull things around here all the time.   I’ve seen them do it for 15 years.”

      Lynn and Bob drive across the road to the junk pile, rummage around, and come back with some boards nailed to some other boards and wrestle it out of the truck.   They put it in front of our front steps while Jack berates Bob about not doing his job.

      Jack:    “You better hammer those nails in.    Somebody will get hurt on those nails.   You’re going to have to put some blocks under the corner or it will wobble.   I don’t know why you didn’t just pull that good one over here.   This one is a piece of junk.”

      Bob looks around and comes up with two very small pieces of block and puts them under the wood to level it.   He hands Lynn the hammer and then hops on the  “porch” to show it no longer wobbles.

   About this time Guenver, who owns the RV park with her husband Egiil,  shows up with a narrow piece of carpet that she said we could put on our porch.     “It’s the least I could do”.   (?)  What more could a person want?   Perhaps the scrap of floor mat Bob found and set in front of the “porch” to catch the dirt.

I am overwhelmed with gratitude and excuse myself to go inside to put things away.  My new acquaintances go home.     A few minutes later I hear a knock on the door.   It is Bob.

Bob:    “Not that I want to be a busy body but Jack likes to sit home and suck on Vodka all day.   Then he likes to come around and argue with me.   I try to avoid him every day.    He drives me nuts.”

Me:    “Thanks, Bob, I’ll remember that.

Bob:    “Just thought you’d want to know.”

Me:     “Thanks.”

So, I will just say one word “deadbolt”.   That’s innocent enough, isn’t it?   I don’t see how just saying deadbolt would hurt anyone’s feelings.

I would also like to say “Lock Smith”.       Can I just say that?    I mean shoot, anyone who wanted to could call one up any time they wanted … if they wanted … and who would be the wiser?    Sometimes I suppose someone would be the wiser but that is not for me to say.

“Do it yourself” is a catchy phrase as is “Save Money”.    They generally are said together but they don’t necessarily go together.     There are a variety of variables to consider.

“Defective Part”   What are the odds?

Three trips to Home Depot might not sound innocent at first, but I bet lots of people make three trips to Home Depot in one day.   Heck, I personally know people who have done that!

“All Day” is innocent enough, too, so I feel okay saying that.    A lot of things could happen in an entire day if one wanted to be doing a lot of different things.    Quite a variety of things, I would suppose.

I’m dying to tell the story of today but out of respect for someone whose identity I will not reveal … my lips are sealed.     I may laugh and make fun in the privacy of my own home, but some things are just better left unsaid.    I guess.    At least that’s what I’ve been told.

By the way, Lynn has promised me a new front door!    Can you believe that?     A new front door!    I shall paint it red to match the roof!

He is definitely the one and only Fix It Man.

     The other day I was talking about losing my “marbles” a little at a time.   That may be very true … but today I had a a magnificent brain epiphany!  (Or as a good old friend of mine from The Arc once said, “a wild hair up my brain storm”). 

     I’ve still been thinking a lot about how hard it is to remember everything these days.    Suddenly I realized it is because the rules have been changing my entire life!   I just get something learned and it all changes.    Electric typewriters were the tip of the iceberg of changes that would bombard us boomers from every side for the rest of our lives.      

     When we were in school we did math strictly by the use of our brains, a pencil, and sheets of paper that had to be turned in with our problems.    Our diplomas were barely in our hands when owning a calculator became a requirement of entering junior high school.     We were just getting the electric typewriter under our belts and word processors took over, leaving our archaic methods of using carbon paper to make multiple copies out to dry.    Get the picture?     We didn’t get the benefit of being taught to use the new equipment with peers in a school setting.   We learned when we made a purchase, took it home, got the directions out, and spent the next few years mastering it; usually not before it was outdated again.

     In the old days, once you learned reading and writing and arithmetic you were always in the know.    If you wanted to help your grand toddler with his math problems you were qualified.    Now days there is nothing that  brings the generation gap glaringly to the surface as quickly as trying to help grandchildren with their homework.    Heck, their own parents can’t even help them half the time, how would you expect a parent once removed to keep up?

    Pioneer women learned their chores when they were young girls.   They learned to sew, cook, clean, milk the cows, gather the eggs, bottle fruit, make soap … all hard stuff, I admit, but once they learned it they had the rest of their lives to perfect it so by the time they were grandparents their families sat around talking about how smart they were.    They could almost do it in their sleep.     They were the ones their children and grandchildren went to when they needed to learn the “ropes”.    Talk about backasswords!   Now it is me who has to go to the grandchildren to learn the “ropes”.   See what I’m talking about?   

    We haven’t been comparing apples to apples here!    The reason we feel like we are losing our marbles sooner than our ancestors did is because we have more marbles to lose.    Every five or so years of our adult lives the rules and equipment have been changed.      We have the same sized brains as our forefathers and mothers did but we have had to put a lot more stuff in them.    It stands to reason that eventually they’re going to start springing leaks.     

    We boomers are pretty smart!     We’ve adapted our entire lives.   We are the over achievers of adaptation.    If you can reach your arm far enough back, pat yourself on the shoulder, and then we can all sit together in front of our computer screens and rock back and forth while we chat about the good ole days.