...and Supersize that, Please.

, and Pip

Call me whatever you like, but don't call me late for supper.
Thanks,

Sticky Sticky Stombo Noso Rombo Hoidy Boidy Bosco Nicky Non Newel Non Nokoma Roma Tombo.

(Pip is my brother. )

My wife has known the story since she was a child sixty years ago, and she says this is the correct name.

In God We Trust

July 30, 1956, President Dwight D. Eisenhower signed congressional joint resolution making "In God We Trust" our national motto.

Oh, that we would, in fact, place our trust in God.

Scrub-a-dub

The remaining eighteen panels are scrubbed and awaiting a "painting day".

This isn't it. Too hot; too tired.

Dance, Ladies!

For years, I have said that the naked ladies would dance on July 28. I remembered this afternoon that today is the 28th of July. Camera in hand, I went to the secret garden. Breeze was gently wafting through the trees and flowers; and the Naked Ladies were dancing!

Ambition

What does the old guy do when he is hit by a spurt of ambition?

The house is twelve years old now. It was sporting some seriously faded shutters. The other day Kent came by and took them down for us. Thus when finally the days cooled down a half-dozen degrees, I scrubbed. The following day I painted. As of this writing, I have painted about half a third of the shutters and reinstalled four.

Twelve down, fourteen eighteen to go. (Edit thanks to recount.)

There is a moral in here somewhere about the ravages of time, faded glory and maintenance. But I'll forego that in favor of your building your own legend in that regard.

Loonville Vingette 8 = Banking

I had been in town but briefly when I deemed that establishing a line of credit with the local bank would enhance my reputation as a responsible citizen. So I entered the bank one sunny summer day and told the cashier that I would like to take out a loan. She ushered me to the front corner office where Banker Harley sat behind his mahogany desk. I introduced myself, he laid his seegar in the ashtray on his desk and waved me preemptorily to a chair. "What can I do for you?" I would like to borrow 150 dollars, a number that I only partly drew out of thin air, for I wanted to do a few things. Well, he asked me all the usual: why I wanted the money, how was I going to repay it, how many children did I have, and where did I obtain my livelihood. I don't recall that he asked where I went to church, but I have been asked that in interview settings.

I told him I was a teacher and was employed by the neighboring community. He picked up the stogie, took a long draw, then laid it back down. "Waaal," he drawled, "I can't say that being a teacher is a helluva recommendation." He then related to me about four stories illustrating his thesis that teachers weren't necessarily reliable. Then he picked up his pen, scrawled a note on a yellow pad, ripped it off and handed it to me. "Give this to the girl. She'll fill in when you're going to repay this and you can sign it." I walked out with $150.00, American.

Just outside Banker Harley's office was the desk of the bank veep. Unbeknownst to me, VP Warren had come back from his lunch hour and sat listening to the business being conducted between me and his boss.

Two days later, Saturday morning, I was filling the auto with petrol at the local station when Warren drove up on the other side of the pump. He introduced himself and said that he had heard that I was a teacher at Podunk Elementary School. Yes, indeed. "I", he said, "am vice-president and general flunky over at the bank. Why don't you stop by my house in a few and we'll chew some fat." Since he lived just around the corner and one block off the main drag, I thought, Why not? And thus began a life-long friendship. Warren was two years older than I, but his children were the same ages and in the same number as mine. Later, when our wives were introduced to each other, the foundation for a rewarding friendship was completed.

© 2010 David W. Lacy

High School Revisited

General William Palmer stands guard in front of Colorado Springs High School. (Now Palmer High School.)

I introduced you to Eaglebeak on this blog sometime ago. Thursday I received my monthly alumni newsletter which included the images shown on this page. These were old cuts that were used in various school publications many years ago, and which the alumni association recently acquired. These will be housed in the museum which the organization maintains at the school.

From Despair to Delight

Pastor Mark's message on sustaining grace is based on the Book of Ruth.

1. Naomi was burdened by tragedy. Having removed to a far country with her family, she subsequently lost her husband and both sons to death. (1:1-5)

2. Naomi was bitter against God. (1:13) "Call me Mara." (1:20) Tragedy comes to everyone. Naomi had life, opportunity, Ruth, and Jehovah.

3. Naomi was blinded to future hope. She was back home in the Promised Land when she expressed her bitterness.

[Christians have a responsibility to give hope of the gospel to those who seem to be without hope.]

• We must live by faith. Ruth asked to go into the field, saying, I shall find grace; and Naomi said, Go. (2:1-3)
  
• We must live by the grace of God, as Ruth bowed before the kinsman-redeemer, saying, Why have I found grace, seeing I am a stranger? (2:10)
  
• We must live in hope. Naomi said, Boaz is our near kinsman. It is good that you work with his servants. (2: 19 - 22)

Summary:

Naomi placed her hope in who Boaz was: kinsman-redeemer;

in what Boaz did: he provided;

in what Boaz said: eat, glean, let my people watch over you.

There is hope today. By placing our hope in Christ the redeemer, we are saved.

We must live in hope!

Image: coolnotions.com [public domain]

Tick-Tock

This old clock graces our dining room wall. It was made by Ingraham about 1915. It is a "Nyanza". It is 39 inches tall and ten inches wide.

This gem, when it is allowed to run, keeps very accurate time. Sometimes during a scrabble game, BBBH will say, "That ticking's enough to drive you to drink." There have been occasions when overnight guests have gotten up in the night and stopped my clock. Such nerve.

In this shot, you can see that the clock is running. I need a faster camera; but this is sorta cool.

A wee bit more Ingraham info over at Retrotechnocracy.

Thesis

Fun and games. Forty-two years ago this month, I was engaged in completing this little document. I typed this myself, error-free requirement, because I could not afford to hire a professional. I checked it out. I had to have this done prior to the "orals" scheduled for the end of July. Also, I was living with my family, wife and four children who ranged in age from nine months to eleven years, in a chicken-house which had been converted into a two-room apartment. I am not making this up. The "house" was situated toward the front of a very large garden which was kept by the landlord from whom we rented. The front yard between the house and the street was in grass which was infested with snakes. They were friendly little garter snakes, and they lived under the protection of the gardener, whose name, ironically was "Gardener". Again, IANMTU. Mommy was not too thrilled with having them share the yard with her kids; and, in truth, neither was I.

Long story made longer, I completed the task and passed the orals. My adviser, Thomas P. Dennehey, now deceased, was a real prince of a guy who on a point or two guided me into safe waters when the committee seemed most threatening.

The coup de grace, almost, was this. On my way to the college one morning the car caught fire. This resulted in a thirty-one day stay in the shop for the auto, and put me on public transportation until completion of the term. And we had to overstay our plan, and just barely got home in time for the start of the new school year.

I do not include the entire thirty-six page document. It's a real snoozer.

Got Ants?

Loonville Vingette 7 = Engineering

I am in the driveway behind the house cleaning the car. I have washed it and now I am vacuuming the inside. Delbert and his friend, Will, who lives next door to the east, are just the other side of the fence in our backyard. I stop the machine, as I have finished that chore, just in time to hear Will say, "Let's go over to my Grandfarter's. He'll give us a dime to leave him alone." Delbert said, "Don't you mean 'grandfather'?" Will replies, "Yeah, that, too. But I meant what I said. C'mon, you'll see. Just don't pull his finger!

Mrs. Lewis is a widow. She has two children, Will, seven and Pamela, nine. Like the neighbors on the other side of us, these are pleasant children, and our children have developed good rapport with them.

Mrs. Lewis, Carol to her friends, is a hard-working woman, clerking at the local general store by day, and taking in ironing which keeps her busy at all hours. She has her admirers; and has on numerous occasions, she confided to my wife, been asked "out." She has declined all these invitations, saying she is much too busy trying to raise her kids to get herself involved with a man who, "for crying out loud might need even more raisin' than they do."

On the other side of Mrs. Lewis live Mr. and Mrs. Adams. No one ever sees Mrs. Adams, except once a month when he guides her solicitously to the car. They always return in exactly four hours. I sort of got acquainted with Mr. Adams when I discovered that he played chess. We would meet in the little park behind the fire station perhaps three or four times each summer for a game. I never learned much about him from the "horse's mouth." We were so evenly matched at chess that virtually all our games ended in a draw.

But talk is not an expensive commodity in Loonville, and many people over the years were quite willing to fill me in. Not all the stories would fit appropriately into a family newspaper such as this one, but one of the best followed along these lines.

Mr. Adams is a genius. I can believe it. Mr. and Mrs. Adams are reclusive. No kidding. In his youth, Mr. Adams studied engineering at Purdue and was employed throughout his career by a leading construction company, where he rose to the level of High Mucky-muck. They bought the little house on Water Street when he retired and moved into the community. (This datum in itself leads me to suspect that much of what I was told was created from whole cloth, inasmuch as they were not "local." Neither were we, and heaven knows what was said about us.)

Mrs. Adams liked her little house very much, and Mr. Adams found much pleasure in tending the flowers and dressing the yard. But there was one flaw. The house had no basement, and the Missus very much wanted one, for whatever reason no one could fathom. So the Mister devised a plan to create the desired unit. Having sources (from his past career, you know) he obtained an unspecified amount of dynamite. But then we don't need to know how much. Only he needed to know, and he did. He labored over his drawings and the mathematical calculations into the wee hours of many a morning, until one day the time had come. He went into the crawl space with his blasting equipment, wires and such paraphernalia and set his charges, oh, so carefully, in just the right places.

Shortly after eight the following morning, that is after all the neighbors had gone to work and the kids were in school, there was heard a dull "Ka-whump!" in the neighborhood. It was said that the chinaware in the cabinets nor the vases on the tables never so much as jiggled. Mr. Adams then hired a group of transient laborers to remove the loosened earth from beneath his house. Then he proceeded to construct a finished basement under his domicile!
© 2010 David W. Lacy

Whut?

Has anyone noticed that barely a month after averring that I was engaging in a slow-down on the bloggy bit that I am, in fact, pretty much right back where I was before I made that declaration?

Sunday Sermon

This commercial shows on most channels and at all hours of the day and night. This image was captured at 9:27 a.m. Sunday on the CBS outlet during "Sunday Morning" program.

This is wrong on so many levels that I cannot even begin.

Sewing at Home

Machine is marked "Patent November 30, 1866". A bit more about the machine over at Retrotechnocracy.

This old sewing machine occupies space on our landing/hallway on the second floor.

BBBH is quite adept at sewing, and in fact in her younger day, she taught sewing and worked as demo artisan for Singer. She uses a rather elderly Singer to this day. This piece of decor pictured here was an antique shop find several years ago, and it serves its function as decor quite nicely.

The spouse and I took a jaunt to a machine outlet a few years ago to evaluate the new equipment, with an eye to updating the home sewing room. After studying the offerings, she concluded that had she wanted a computer, she would have gone to the computer store. What I want to do, she said, is sew. I don't want to have to master computer technology in order to do what I already know how to do quite well, thank you.

She still uses the old Singer 401 Slant Needle DeLuxe.

Fourth Grade

Somewhere back in May or June, we were following the Boy through school, a grade at a time.. I believe we got through third grade. Moving on, here are some reflections on fourth grade.

The little guy was still attending Washington School in Canon City. He still enjoyed recess time, with the marbles as the high point of the school day. And as we observed about his third grade teacher, the name of the fourth grade teacher is completely lost in the mists of flawed memory.

There were, though, some memorable events in the life of this nine-year old boy. It was during this year that the Boy began to take notice of girls as something other than just kids. There was one young thing in particular whom he noticed to an extreme. He sat mesmerized, mooning, one might say, over the very sight of this vision of loveliness. Her name was Betty. The conclusion of fourth grade was the end of any contact or knowledge of her whereabouts that the Boy had.

But, alas, Betty had eyes only for Jerry. Little flirt. Always... Anyway, Jerry was the son of the city's Firechief. Early training in rejection and dealing with the pain thereof.

Every Tuesday, each child brought to school a dime or dimes. Mid-morning, they all walked together in a rigid little line, two-by-two, the two blocks to the post office. There each one walked up to the counter in his turn and purchased a "war stamp." This, in its turn, was pasted into a booklet, which when filled, was turned in for a war bond. The Boy doesn't remember whether he ever completed a booklet or not. Bonds could be purchased in denominations as low as ten dollars which cost $7.50 and would be worth ten dollars at maturity.



Economic note: $7.50 in 1943 would be equivalent to about $95.00 in today's money. Which is to say, it would cost you more than a buck and a quarter to buy a '43 dime's worth of merchandise. It was, I think, in late '42 or early '43 that the price of a loaf of Wonder Bread at the corner grocery went from eight to nine cents. When I was sent to the store with a dime to fetch that loaf of bread, I would ask Mama if I could "spend the pennies." Often the answer was "No".

Treasure Island

I have a much-too large collection of old books. (Nah, one can't have too many books) Occasionally I pick one from its shelf and peruse it for old-times' sake. I decided a few days ago to re-read Treasure Island.

This gem was published between 1901 and 1904. I know this because the company that printed it was in business only during those years. The book is intact, except for bits and pieces of paper that have flaked off in handling; and a lot more of these bits fell to the lap and the floor during my recent handling of the book. But the text is all there, undamaged.

I have come to suspect that when some people say, "I am re-reading..." followed by the name of a classic, they in truth are reading it for the first time. I know that that is true for me in this case. As were you, if you are "of a certain age," I was introduced to Stevenson and this story in high school Freshman English class. And though I have been, since toddler stage, a voracious reader, guess what would "kill" the desire to read a selection quicker than anything? Give up? To have it assigned in class to be read. Thus I probably learned that RLS was a seminal novelist, that this particular story is a morality tale and a "coming of age" tour de force, blah, blah blah, and yet I never read it until last week! Shame on me? Indeed. But I was fourteen, what do you expect?

I quite enjoyed this story; and I think I would have done when I was fourteen. What's the difference between a fourteen year-old boy and a seventy-six year old man? About 62 years.

Here you go, Miss Long. I've completed that assignment.

Yard Art

Duck and Wheel with String discovered Goose with Frock and Bonnet on her front step. Lin is so not into kitsch. I get that. But this has prodded me into making this terrible confession. We have concrete statuettes in our yard. This SWaSD tableau is in our back yard, not visible from the street. Nor can the next-door neighbors see them unless they are looking for them. Is there an excuse for this? Yes. Yes, there is. They make BBBH happy! So it is likely that each spring I will place them somewhere in the backyard. Each fall I'll lug them back into the barn to protect them from the ravages of winter. And Snow White weighs ninety pounds. [groan]

(Scroll down for today's bonus post.)

July's Funniest Commercial

Chuck asked "What's your favorite commercial?" Well, right now it's this Travelers spot.

Ben Lacy

Ben B. Lacy was born September 25, 1919 in Wiley, Colorado. Uncle Ben passed away July 12, 2010 in Pueblo, Colorado.

I posted this tribute to Uncle Ben on his 90th Birthday.

http://vanilla-ststt.blogspot.com/2009/09/my-uncle-ben.html

I will miss this wonderful strong and righteous man.

Loonville Vingette 6 = Independent Elderly

Directly across the street from us lived Mrs. Smith. She was ninety-two years old, and as the cliche says, spry as a spring chicken. I had cultivated a friendship with her since she was a very interesting lady and seemed to have very few visitors. She would sit on her porch of an evening, gently rocking in the swing. I would saunter across the street and sit on the step and visit with her. But our relationship had gotten off to a rocky start.

This occured when, one Saturday as I watched her pushing her old reel-type mower across the front yard, I thought to do the Boy Scout thing, you know, the good deed. I walked over. She stopped. I reached for the machine handle, saying, "Let me give you a hand with that." Mrs. Smith jerked the handle away from me and snarled, "Look, Sonny. I'm perfectly able to take care of myself and my yard. I'm old, but I ain't dead yet." I allowed that I was sorry, only trying to be a good neighbor. She apologetically said, "I'm sorry, too. But if I stop moving, I'll lock up and maybe never get started again."

One evening, I confided in her that Dr. Malton seemed to me to be even more arrogant than the average sawbones. "Don't you give him no nevermind. I recollect that whippersnapper when he was nothin' mor'n a snot-nosed ragamuffin, runnin' 'round annoying all the neighbors. He ain't no better'n he oughta be."

Sadly, several years later, Mrs. Smith, now well past 95, said to me one day, "I just wish I could die." "Oh," I retorted, "you don't mean that." "Yes," she assured me. " I most certainly do. I've lived way too long. If you ever get to be this old, you'll understand."

It was not long before her wish came true.

© 2010 David W. Lacy

Where Do You Live?

Today's post is in response to Chuck's offering of the same title a few days ago. The above map, thanks to Mapquest, shows our location. The red arrow points to the foot of our drive. See the RV parked there between the street and the house? The tree line at the rear is our property boundary, and coincidentally it is the city limit line. Note that both neighbors to the south have pools. We don't. Cal to the north has a barn on the property line. Ours is identical to his, but is in the middle of the back yard, tree between it and the house. I didn't want to walk clear to the back of the place to get a pair of pliers.

To the east is "downtown". It is 0.7 mi. to the courthouse and the post office. Many businesses operate in this downtown area. There is a commercial area half-mile farther to the east and on the edge of town. So, did you follow this? Our place: west edge of town. Barely over a mile away: east edge of town. Just about right for doing errands on the old bicycle. Given: Dry, warm weather.

I have lived in large cities (Seattle; Portland, Oregon). I have lived in mid-size and small cities (Colorado Springs; Lebanon, Indiana). If you have been following the "Loonville Vignette" series, you know that I have spent time in a really small town, and I once lived in a town even smaller than Loonville (Wilkinson, Indiana). I guess this place qualifies as a small city, or maybe town. But it is the county seat!

I think this is just about the perfect place in which to reside.

Silent Saturday

Hydrangeas for Lin

Lin at Duck and Wheel professes a love of hydrangeas. She shared some of hers with us a few days ago, and I indicated that I might reciprocate. She seemed to like the idea.

These show the "atomic pink" quite well developed, though there are still some white spots in the centers, which will soon disappear.










This photo is entitled "Hydrangea with Hosta."

This blue one is not as vivid as some I've seen in the area, but it is the bluest of the ones I can walk around the yard and enjoy. (It is my next-door neighbor's.)










I particularly like the white ones just before they are white. The subtle pastel green just appeals to me. The larger one is a bit past the true green stage, but not yet white.

Hydrangea with Echinacea. These are in Dick's garden.

What We Did on the Fourth

Our little community answered the call. We had fireworks!

A good time was had by all!

Loonville Vingette 5 = Doctor is Out

I mentioned in an earlier chapter that our local doctor seemed always to be away when we most needed him. Two other cases in point were these.

Delbert had received a new bicycle for his sixth birthday. He was well past the training wheel stage, and in fact though his birthday was in June, the new school year was well underway. Saturday morning he rode down the alley and into the street, clearly without watching what he was doing, and was hit by the oncoming car. This might help draw the picture. The Heton's house was the last house in town, and the street, so far as traffic was concerned, more nearly resembled a country road than a city street. The young lady driving the car may not have been speeding, but she was moving. Witnesses stated that the boy "flew 15 feet in the air." I didn't see it, but it was obvious that he suffered a broken leg, and we could but rejoice that he was alive and conscious.

But the doctor was out of town.

Fortunately, there was a pretty decent hospital a dozen miles to the east, and the very competent ER team treated the boy, called an orthopedic surgeon, and I'm happy to report that forty-two years later, Delbert is just fine.

Our local GP had seen the wife through her pregnancy with our fourth child, but, you guessed it. When she went into labor, he was out of town. So she was delivered of child by a doctor whom she had never seen before.

I did get in to see Dr. Malton when my ribs were broken. "What's your problem?" "I think my ribs are broken." "Look, I'm the doctor; I'll do the diagnosing."

Yes, after a brief examination, you have two broken ribs. Keep an aspirin bottle handy and take a couple when the pain gets too severe. Pay the girl on your way out.

© 2010 David W. Lacy

Another Birthday

Birthplace in the heart of the Dust Bowl.







Seventy-six trombones caught the morning sun...