Seventh Grade, and Eighth

I had thought that I would conclude my school experiences with the sixth grade experience. But upon further reflection, the passage of some time, and a dearth of ideas for blog posts, I thought to move on to seventh grade.

As I had completed the elementary program and with fall approaching, the subject of school once again (ugh!) arose in the household. I would be moving on to junior high school, a facility a couple of miles away, and housing seventh, eighth and ninth grades. My best friend would be a student there and in the same grade as I. My parents, though, ever clever parents, thought that it would be the better part of wisdom for me to attend parochial school. But they knew me much too well to demand that I do so. Hence, they gave me a choice. Go ahead and go to PJHS, or ride my shiny new bicycle which could be obtained by agreeing to the parochial school. They knew me well.

Thus began a five-year relationship with the other educational choice. My beautiful JCHiggins bicycle was soon to accumulate many more miles than any of us had imagined likely. The school in which I enrolled for seventh grade was a small, two room church sponsored school. Grades one through four were housed in one room with Mrs. Ogden, and grades five through eight were in the other room with Miss Stetson. I spent two years in Miss Stetson's class, thus completing eighth grade. I graduated second in my class. I was beat out for first place by Mrs. Ogden's daughter. There was no third place.

Bicycle shown is correct, even to color, except that I had a custom-made seat post eighteen inches long with a seven-inch goose neck, so that I could achieve full extension. Oh, and the handlebars were inverted and turned full upward. The mileage was largely achieved through a three-year stint as a bicycle messenger for Western Union.

Dachshund Redux

That JJ is back again. He is spending two weeks with us. Although I am sure Cookie feels like he's outnumbered seven to one, he is in reality still the ruler of the roost. "I'll tolerate him, 'cause I love you, but please make him go away."

Truth: They really do get along quite well. A little jealousy over the lap-sharing, but overall, quite well.

Lovin' them some lap time.

LV 17 = I'm Still Hungry, #T

or what to do now that Mrs. Laine has turned you away?

Besides Laine's, there are two other places in Loonville to obtain a bite to eat. One is Rosie's Coffee Shop across from the post office. But Rosie is open for breakfast and lunch only, five to one-thirty, Monday through Friday. Rosie takes off two days a week because, "Why should I work six or seven days when you galoots only work five?"
So Rosie's is not an option on this dismal Saturday evening.

The other establishment that serves food is located at the intersection of the state highway and County Line Road, the other side of the street and you'd be out of town. This is Jerry's Soft-Surv. It is an ice cream/hamburger shop. There are no tables inside, but there are half dozen of them around the exterior of the building. There are parking spaces for twenty cars, and the space is needed after school and on weekends. There are no carhops. You get out and go to the window to place and pick up your order.

Mrs. Laine has rejected you at her establishment, but she will be happy enough to count the coin you drop here at Jerry's, for she owns this store, too. It is managed by her son, Jerry, and he is good at what he does. Which, quite simply, is making the best hamburgers you will ever sink you teeth into. Plus, you can have it with a shake, a malt, a sundae, or a plain ice cream cone. You may have water, ice tea or coffee, but no "soft drinks" for this is not a "soda shoppe". Neither is Laine's, and if you want "pop" in this town, there is a machine at the gas station; or you can buy a six-pack at the general store.

Jerry is a hale-fellow-well met, not a physically impressive speciman of the human race, but his glowing smile and raucus banter more than makes up for any lack he may have in the beef-cake realm. Besides, he's flippin' burgers, not pumping iron.

After just one of his "100% beef" burgers (no indication as to where on the cow the cuts came from, nor what percentage of fat is contained therein) with golden french fries, or better yet, in my opinion, with the nonpareil deep-fried onion rings, polished off with a vanilla double malted, you will have forgotten all about the slight you suffered at Laine's.

Have a safe drive home!

Next week's Loonville will appear on Thursday. Special posts on Tuesday and Wednesday.Except for images, © 2010 David W. Lacy

Time Out

I looked and behold, time was no more. The much-needed restoration of the courthouse clock is now underway. Thank you, county commissioners. This is no small undertaking, but oh, how we love our old courthouse. The clock is such an important part of our downtown, whether or not you wear a watch.

When the trumpet of the Lord shall sound, and time shall be no more,
And the morning breaks, eternal, bright and fair;
When the saved of earth shall gather over on the other shore,
And the roll is called up yonder, I’ll be there. --James M. Black

Yes, clock or no clock, there is still time. So, again as Black said, "Let us labor for the Master from the dawn to setting sun."

Procedurally Speaking

One day this past week I showed up at hospital for a procedure. "Procedure" is a euphemism for any number of things that might be done to you. After a noneventful check-in with a pleasant lady on the other side of the computer, I presented myself to the surgical area. Here I was turned over to a nurse who either a) does not like men, or 2) does not like her job.

Among other things, the above tag was affixed to my arm. My first thought was, "What the..." then it occured to me that perhaps they fastened this on all elderly people just on general principle. But that can't be right. Because a bat in broad daylight could look at me and tell that I am a geezer.

There will be no further detail, except that when I arrived in the OR, the doctor said, "There is a risk of..."

And I am going, "Lalalalalalala... I can't hear you... lalala." And she said, "Knock him out."

The next thing I knew, I was awake and back in my room where BBBH said, "You can get dressed; you're ready to go." An attendant wheeled in a chair, got me seated therein and took me to the front entryway, where spouse had driven up in the car. I swung into the passenger seat and she drove us home. Now, I opened the door, stepped out, stood more or less erect and took a step; and I was teetering, and reeling, and wobbling, and slowly grasping the meaning of "fall risk."

But I didn't fall.

Forty-eight hours later, doctor called. She said biopsy negative, and I am dancing around, well, like an old geezer. But I didn't fall.

Mr. Toad

I stepped out the front door to be greeted by a gorgeous, beautiful fall day, and by a lovely toad sitting in the middle of the sidewalk, a mere six feet from the door. He allowed me to photograph him; he let me walk past him to get him from another angle. He never so much as flinched.

The world has held great heroes
As history books have showed
But never a name has gone down to fame
Compared with that of Toad! --from Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame

The Parsley is a Bare Tree

These butterflies really like parsley. They've just about left me with no garnish for my entree.

Another Fall Begins

Today is the anniversary of the hanging of Nathan Hale. This was mentioned here last year; and it may well be mentioned in the future. Our true heroes should never be forgotten.














Nathan Hale (June 6, 1755 – September 22, 1776) RIP

Statue Manhattan City Hall Park

Autumn begins at 11:09 P.M., EDT.

LV 16 = Eating Out

Decades before America was introduced to the "Soup Nazi," there was Mrs. Laine. The old 1897 brick building on the southwest corner of Main and Water was home to Laine's Cafeteria. It was a cafeteria only one day a week-- Sunday from 10:30 to 2:30. The restaurant was also open on Friday evening and Saturday evening, but service then was not cafeteria-style.

Mrs. Laine during the week is the drama and literature and Latin teacher at the local high school. We have no idea how old she is, for most people under fifty remember her as their teacher; and yes, plastic surgery was practiced in that day and time. Also, we know that she has a son who is forty-six years of age, about whom more later. Let's meet her in her establishment on this beautiful Friday evening.

There are no gaudy lights, no signs visible from the street. There is a small bronze plaque, about six inches by twelve, affixed to the brickwork beside the front door on which is inscribed

Laine's

As we pass through the vestibule, noting that the lights are becoming dimmer as we walk along the hallway, we soon come to the podium at which sits Mrs. Laine on a high stool. On the podium itself is a leather-bound menu, and the one is more than enough, for the menu is exactly whatsoever has been created in the kitchen on this day. That is what you will have, no more, no less, if indeed you have anything. Mrs. Laine inherited the recipe collection from her great grandmother who was an immigrant from Eastern Europe. The food is worth the trip, as numerous souls from as far away as four neighboring states would testify.

Mrs. Laine raises her perfectly-coiffed head. With neither smile nor frown, she peers imperiously toward you through her lorgnette. "Yes?" You tell her how many in your party, and she looks down at her desktop as you note the triple strand of high-quality pearls that encircle her neck. This is where the "rubber meets the road." Even though a quick glance around the dining area reveals several empty tables, and you know as well that Laine's does not take reservations, you may or may not be admitted for dinner! Some have driven eighty or a hundred miles only to be rejected at the door. No one knows what system or set of standards the hostess uses to make her determination; but her decision is final. A few unlucky and unwise souls have attempted the ploy of sliding a folded twenty-dollar bill across the desktop. It is unfolded, daintily held now between thumb and forefinger, and thrust back toward the offending soul. Here the proprietor speaks, "You may be admitted at a later date; but if you make this mistake again, you will be banned forever." Here she taps with her lorgnette on an eight x twelve poster on the wall to her left. You look at it. It is headed "Persona non grata." Below, though in your haste to retreat you do not read all the names, you note a few that are immediately outstanding.

• Fidel Castro


• Lyndon B. Johnson


• Matt Welsh


• John Frederick


• Anna Lighthouse

and so on. We would probably all ban Castro. Mrs. Laine has voided Mr. Johnson's privileges because, though she was a huge JFK fan, her suspicions regarding LBJ's ascension to the presidency are quite strong. Matt Welsh is the governor of the state, an all-round nice guy, but he had the misfortune of running against and defeating Mrs. Laine's brother in a heated election for state representative many years ago. Roger Branigin succeeded Welsh as governor in 1965, and shortly thereafter, his name was added to the list. I don't know why. John Frederick is the local "mayor," the title being an honorific since there is no such official position. The community can only speculate as to Mrs. Laine's dislike of him, but it is well-known. Anna Lighthouse, and this is really ancient history, was a rival for Mr. Laine's attentions when the three of them were students at Indiana University. Though Mrs. Laine prevailed in the contest for the man's heart, she has never forgiven Anna. Just for existing, we suspect.

Oh, dear. And having ourselves passed muster, we have yet to be seated. The Empress hostess lifts her right index finger slightly. A tuxedoed lad immediately appears at her shoulder, and she says, "Four for seventeen." We are escorted at once to our candlelit table and the feast begins.

The tureen is set on the table, the waiter takes the ladle and...

Thus begins a dining experience to which I am unable to do justice, so you will complete the story by simply imagining the most delightfully unimaginable dining experience you have ever had.

© 2010 David W. Lacy

Marvelous Economics

There is no question that our country is experiencing difficult economic times. People are out of work; salaries and wages are frozen, or they are being cut. Yet in the face of these difficulties, it is business as usual for the creators of consumer products. Sticking it to the booboisie seems to be that usual business.
I eat half-dozen graham crackers every morning. Here they are. The amazing shrinking dollar value at your local store. This package contains ten percent less product by weight than did the previous package. In addition, the price at the checkout has increased by twenty percent. Arithmetic problem for you and the kiddies: What is the actual percentage increase in the price of these graham crackers? Hint: the answer is not thirty percent.

Be assured that any time you see new packaging or a new menu at your favorite restaurant that you will be paying higher prices than you were before.

The ice cream container shown here is the astounding three-pint half-gallon. In other words, it contains only 75% of the product contained in the previous packaging, even though it 'looks like' a half-gallon. Yet the cost to you is the same.

If I'm not mistaken, and I might be, this trend started years ago with the introduction of the thirteen ounce pound of coffee. Now everybody's doin' it.

Bon appetit.

The Winds of Change are Here

...by Pastor Mark

Scripture reading, I Timothy 1:3-11.
Text: I Timothy 1:4, Neither give heed to fables and endless genealogies, which minister questions, rather than godly edifying which is in faith: so do.

We approach the Bible with the assurance that it is the Word of God. The key is faith. We believe and approach the scripture by faith.
Your best teacher is the Holy Spirit.

1. The faith approach is an historical position. The Book is your Guide.
2. The faith approach is a biblical position.
3. The faith approach is a practical position. It leads to godly edifying. It can be applied you your life.
4. The faith approach is a powerful position. I John 5:1-4, For whatsoever is born of God overcometh the world: and this is the victory that overcometh the world, even our faith. (v.4) Faith is the victory!

Conclusion.

How do we practice Bible doctrine in our lives?

1. We must put obligation above the multitudes; that is, we should be obligated to the Book regardless of what people say about it. (Today, there is a lot of "preaching to the crowd," tickling the ears with sayings the people want to hear. Prosperity gospel, personal material blessings increase. Building the crowd instead of building the spiritual life.)
2. We must trust God rather than our own message.
3. We must keep our focus on doctrine, not on popular men. About false teachers, Isaiah 8:20b, If they speak not according to this word, it is because there is no light in them.

So shall my word be that goeth forth out of my mouth: it shall not return unto me void, but it shall accomplish that which I please, and it shall prosper in the thing whereto I sent it. Isaiah 55:11 God's Word will accomplish His ends, and will prosper.

Photo: Abbey Church, Stift Melk, 1984, D.W.Lacy

Senior Fall Fest

at Salamonie Reservoir took place this week. We had a great time. We arrived home Thursday afternoon, tired but happy!








The Feet were kept occupied. If not moving around the area, they were parked while the derriere was on a bench someplace.











Some cooking action. The camp Dutch ovens were pressed into service. Yum.















Some blacksmithing, just for the nostalgia.














A little alpaca action.

















Some jammin' by firelight!









Great week.

LV 15 = Amicable Divorce #T

One mile south of town, and half mile east, lived the Deutch family. Chester Deutch and Donna Devore had been high school sweethearts. Sort of inevitable in some ways, as the alphabetic propinquity of their surnames dictated that they were often seated one behind the other in class. The development of their relationship may or may not have had anything to do with an incident that occured during their sophomore year. It was a hot, September afternoon and fifth period English class needed livening up, or so Donna thought. She therefore dropped just a pinch, a tiny pinch, of itching powder down Chet's shirt collar. The poor lad had a miserable afternoon. Donna and her best buddy, Jolene, had a near-uncontrollable snickering fit. The lad eventually discovered the antagonist who had provided the misery, and he more or less demanded a sit-down over cokes at the local soda fountain. Which he got, and the rest led to the altar, as they were married seventeen days after the high school commencement program, 1952. In May, 1953, Charles Donald Deutch was born to the loving young couple. Time passes. In the summer of 1959 the now not-so-happy couple decided that marriage was not for them. They opted for divorce, but they determined to keep things on an amicable basis "for the sake of the child." Their home place was eighty acres where they practiced part-time farming, as both had decent jobs at a not-far away GM factory. At the time of the filing, they started remodelling the two-car detached garage to make a small house suitable for human occupancy. At the time I came to know this "family" Chester had lived in these small quarters for seven years and Donna had continued to live in the main house with the boy. Each member of the family had some benefits: she no longer had to put up with the foibles of a husband; he no longer had to listen to a nattering wife; and the boy had the benefit of two parents in spite of the divorce. Every Sunday Donna prepared and served a family dinner for the three of them in her home. Every Saturday Chester took the three of them to some nearby attraction or entertainment, or they all went fishing together. Worked for them. So they said. © 2010 David W. Lacy

Happy Birthday, Ken

Today is Kenneth's birthday. Ken, Kenny, Kenneth, KD, is my youngest child. He had the misfortune of having three older siblings. He had the good fortune of having three older siblings.















Dawn and Ken





Ken is father to two adult children, and grandfather to their five kids. He and Dawn have four children at home, the eldest being thirteen.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, KENNY

We love you.

Loonville continues tomorrow.

Mr. Nice Guy

When I poke fun at the foibles of my fellow man, I hope to do it in a spirit of fun. Yes, I may laugh at you. The jibes will be gentle. I hope you will laugh, too, or at the least, forgive me. Should I happen to inadvertantly stick a finger in your eye, I hope the sting will not last long.

It is ridiculously easy to make fun of each other, because we so set ourselves up for it. Often. And regularly. Thus, since it is so easy, I attempt to avoid it for the most part. But sometimes I just can't help myself. Hence, I find myself once again looking at the utilization of "social networking" via Computerland Express. The last time I wrote about Facebook, I was not in an amused state of mind. In fact I was a bit sore. This will be gentler.

Funny (amusing, odd, weird, what-the-heck?) stuff I've seen on Facebook.

1. Facebook games. How you use your time is your prerogative, and I don't fault you. Seriously. But when I play solitaire, I have no need for an announcement of my "score" to appear for all to see. "Farmville" seems to be some sort of let's-pretend-we-are-doing-something-productive thing, wherein weird and unexpected creatures wander in and out of the domain. One "builds" something, begging his friends for parts and pieces, boards, wire and what-not, with which to complete the project. If games are your thing, enjoy. Better yet, come on over! BBBH and I have a board game, Scrabble, Rummikub, or a deck of cards laid out on the dining room table all the time. We can play. We'll visit. It'll be fun!

2. It seems to be a "game" for some participants to see how many "friends" they can get. There are two acquaintances of mine whose "wall" I check each week or so just to see how they are doing. At last count, one led the other 2392 to 1672. Come on, Nellie. I don't even know sixteen hundred people and I had a thirty-plus year career in the public arena.

3. This one really knocks me for a loop. People seem to write whatever pops into their heads, posting their notions unfiltered and unthought. We have developed such a penchant for the protection of our "privacy" that we will receive pages and pages of privacy policy from the organizations with whom we do business, if not on a daily basis, certainly frequently. Then we will post the most intimate details of our day-to-day lives on Facebook? Surely, I will awaken from this nightmare. The ones who are most flagrant about it are the same ones who take umbrage if a "friend" suggests that they might reconsider the sort of thing they post. "It's my page. 'I'll say what I want to say." Pick up the phone, Sweetie. Call your mother.

4. This one is the champion, earning points for categories 1, 2, and 3. This character posts as many as 30 times in a 24-hour period. When does s/he sleep? Oh, wait: "3:12 a. m. I just woke up and hadda go pee." Here's the championship part: the posts are delivered from the subject's HHD. (HHD. I made that up. I think. It means 'hand-held device'. We can't call it a phone, because it is much more, nor can we call it a pda, which is passe; nor can we refer to it as a Blackberry or I-device, for those are brand names. Gooseberry, maybe, since the user is a goose, but I will kindly stick to HHD.) So, anyway, we know where and what s/he eats, how many gallons of fuel went into the tank, blah, blah, blah. No, we don't. We tuned out long ago.

I've got more, but the time/word limit has expired.

Yes, I am aware that I don't have to look at Facebook.
Posted from my Gooseberry.

The Steadfastness of Jesus

Sermon by Pastor Mark
Scripture The Gospel According to Luke

9:51 And it came to pass, when the time was come that he should be received up, he steadfastly set his face to go to Jerusalem,

Jesus Christ is the Son of God; He is the only Way to heaven; He never sinned; His blood sacrifice atoned for our sin; He is seated at the right hand of the Father.

Christ's will was to fulfill the will of the Father.
Challenge: As a Christian, be steadfast in what God has called you to do.

1. In his steadfastness, Jesus carried the message of His divine love to all men. (Luke 4:43, John 10:15,16) I must tell others.



2. He was steadfast in His suffering. Can we suffer with and for Him?



3. We must be steadfast among ourselves as saints of God.

Therefore, my beloved brethren, be ye steadfast, unmovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, forasmuch as ye know that your labour is not in vain in the Lord. --I Corinthians 15:58


Puzzler: Why do we have such difficulty finding workers within the church? 80% of the work is done by 20% of the people.

The harvest truly is plenteous, but the labourers are few. --Jesus Christ

Image, historylink.net

fall 2

Following the completion of yesterday's post and a bit of rest, I took Canon to the yard again to see what we could see.

The petunias greet you at the front door, just after you pass the baby roses beside the walk.

The catalpa is losing its leaves. Fortunately, with their sail area and the prevailing SW breeze most of them wind up in the neighbor's yard. [chuckle]

The butterflies were playing around the clematis. Notwithstanding that I am showing no open-wing shots, I discovered that they are much more colorful in this pose!

Captured two of them together in a couple of instances.

fall 1

Notwithstanding that it is yet several days before the autumnal equinox, the weather and the condition of the yard tell me that it is fall. I went out to do a few chores, such as cutting back the foliage of the lilies and hostas, camera on belt loop, of course.
The first picture shows the present "look" of the hidden garden at the back of the property. If you see any flowers (there are some!) you have a good eye.
The second picture gives you a pretty good idea of what the lawn looks like. Yes, that is the lawn, not a gravel driveway.

Several cute little butterflies looking for a treat. I tried numerous shots, attempting to catch one with its wings open. This is as good as it got.

Above is a picture of a pile of "hay" that I created by swinging my little sickle through the day lilies, all of which had to go, except for stella d'oro which is still faithfully, if feebly, offering blooms on a daily basis. She was the first of the lilies to bloom, and yet the last to give it up.

Oh, Lily, little Golden Star

May I live my life as you are.

You blossom where you're planted

And yet you are quite unda'nted

Through wet of flood

And you've now withstood

The long heat and dry of drought.

Your gaudier sisters have had their day.

They no longer bloom, their foliage hay.

And yet you soldier on.

May I keep at it 'til I'm gone.

May of me, as of you, it be stated

He started early and finished late and

Through it all, he kept the faith.

Consider the lilies of the field-- Jesus

© 2010 David W. Lacy

Award Redux

Back in February, the very beautiful Sitka over at All God's Creatures granted this lovely award. Now I discover that my friend, Chuck, over at Secondary Roads has also bestowed this award on me. It must be true. In spite of my best efforts to cut down on blogging, I continue to do it. Compulsively, it has been suggested. My BBBH concurs.

To whom should I pass this lovely badge of honor? These prolific bloggers whom I read and enjoy come to mind.

1) Pearl, Why You Little, regaling us with the hilarity of life in Minneapolis.

2) 100th Lamb, meditations on the Christian life.

3) Off the Sanctuary Wall, exploring Christian faith.

Thank you, Chuck. All y'all go on over to these sites and get a laugh or have your faith lifted.

LV 14 = Toronado's Military Turns #T

Wilbur was the local auctioneer and real estate agent. One might say he had his finger on the pulse of the community. Well, except that he was using his fingers to count the money that flowed into his coffers. In short, he engaged in many enterprises.

Wilbur, known by all as "WT" always wore a white felt Stetson, always, winter and summer, spring and fall. Notwithstanding that he might be described as "portly" he dressed meticulously, was never wrinkled or spotted, and the wide ties he chose were first-cousin to the ascot.

In 1966, Oldsmobile Division of General Motors introduced a huge, heavy but sporty vehicle called "Toronado". This 5000 pound behemoth was powered by a 425 ci quadrijet carbed V-8. It was the first American-built front-wheel drive automobile produced since the demise of the Cord in 1937. WT was one of the first proud owners of a Toronado.

One sultry evening, humidity-laden air hanging heavily over the village as WT and I were standing at the curb following a Lions' meeting, I remarked that that was a beautiful wheel he was tooling around in these days. As he lovingly caressed a front fender, he went into a rhapsody of superlatives, praising his machine to the heavens. "Oh, man!" he said, "Get in; you gotta feel it." I got into the passenger seat, not really expecting to get the ride of my life. But I did. We had a seldom-used airport a mile west of town, fully equipped with a thousand-yard concrete runway. We were there in a minute and I was already semi-terrified. WT wheeled onto the runway and ripped off about a quarter mile, hit the brakes and spun a 180, hitting the accelerator again, we were seven seconds later in dead decelerating mode as he stood on the brake pedal to avoid flying through the fence onto the highway. Back down the runway at about 40, he spun the wheel to the left and shot onto the access apron. As he stopped he enthused, "Oh, man. How d'ya like that military turn?" Not so much, but I didn't say so.

© 2010 David W. Lacy

1937 Cord 810

Note: Next week's "Loonville" will run on Wednesday. Special post on Tuesday.