Celebrating 80 Years

It was a party.  Indeed it was.  My Beloved Beautiful Better Half planned and hosted a celebration for my 80th birthday on Saturday.  There were more than fifty guests present.  Imagine that.

 BBBH designed and ordered the cake.  She very thoughtfully, and in consideration of the guests, chose  to put no candles on it.  She could well imagine any inept effort I might have made at blowing them out.

 One-time coworkers and long-time friends enjoying the swing.  Fortunately, the S-hook did not give way until later in the afternoon.  My son was the recipient of that jolt.  No permanent injury, thankfully.

 I asked these two ladies to pose together, for they are two people who saved me from untold grief over the years.  Dee, on the left, was my secretary for 12 years, Elsa filled that position for six years.

 Good friends and faithful.

 Martha and her husband, Joe, with whom I have a lot in common.  Like me, he is son of a preacher.  Like me, he was a career educator, and like me, he taught mathematics.  Joe was born in July of 1934, as was I.  But I am older than he by a very few days.

 Son Delbert and wife, Denise.  Daughter Ann and her husband, Mike in th background, and almost hidden, my son Kenneth.

 My sister, Vee (left) and her husband, Elvin, came all the way from Kansas to help me celebrate!  She is talking with Martha, my first wife's sister.  She and her hubby, Loren, came from Ft. Wayne.

The hostess and the honoree.

Gene (left) brought Sherry (center) on his Harley, a round trip of a hundred miles.  Cyndy came all the way from Bloomington, Illinois.  These guests are special because Sherry was a student in my sixth grade class the first year I taught, and Cyndy was a student teacher under my supervision when I taught math.  She recently retired from a career as a university mathematics professor.

Here's a better picture of son Kenny posing with BBBH.

There were many, many more callers whom I have not pictured here, though I am pleased that I have pictures of most of them.  I am abundantly blessed, and can in no way adequately express my appreciation to the people who have stood beside me over the years, and who still stand with me!

(Or should I say, "Who can still stand me"?)

Works for Me

One-third hundred thoughts on having lived eighty years.

1.  “All things in moderation” is bad counsel; some things should not be done.  (See Exodus, chapter 20)

2.  Use real butter and drink whole milk.

3.  “All things come to him who waits.”  Torpor, poverty, want. . .

4.  Common sense is often nonsense.  What we need is uncommon sense.

5.  Sugar, if you must sweeten.  Salt sparingly.

6.  Coffee.  Lots of coffee.  Decaf is not coffee.

7.  Nap.  A daily nap may not make you younger or prettier, but you will be easier to live with.  At least while you are napping.

8.  Be punctual.  Late is a waste of others time and disrespectful.  Early is a waste of your own time and frivolous.

9.  You cannot get back a minute of time.  Spend your minutes wisely.

10. Spend your money carefully.  If you gratify every whim, you will find yourself in need. 

11. When you sell your time to an employer, give him his money’s worth.  When you are on his clock, your time is his time.

12. Technology is a marvelous servant.  Don’t let it become your master.

13. Go to church, not to see or to be seen, but to reflect there and worship with fellow-believers.  I’ve done it both ways, and going to church is better.

14. Whine not; neither carp nor complain.  All it will get you is a bad reputation.

15. It is true that you are judged by the company you keep.  Choose your companions carefully.

16.  Eat your spinach.  It is not only good for you, it is good.  And Popeye would approve.

17.  You are not Clark Kent, and there are no phone booths any more.  Leave heroics to the super heroes, but in any situation, do what is right.

18.  If you don’t know what is right, ask for directions or assistance, but do something.

19.  Most people are ordinary; love them, but love the oddballs, too.

20.  Most people are ordinary-looking.  But the people at both ends of the bell curve need love, too.

21.  If you would have friends, show yourself friendly.  Dad drilled this one into me, and he got it from the Bible.

22.  Speaking of the Bible, many people misquote or attribute things to the Bible that are not in there.  Read it for yourself.  Often.

23. Ice cream!  Year 'round, and often.

24.  When looking for wisdom, or “how to live” counsel, you will find unlimited sources.

25.  A very small percentage of the counselors you find in this endeavor will be wise or worthy.

26.  Be nice to them  anyway.

27.  Many are free with unsolicited advice.  Be kind to them, too.

28.  It is easy to be a cranky old person.  Just live a long time and run counter to a lot of this stuff.

29.  It is not so easy to be a kind old person.  But you still have to live a long time, and you have to work at it.

30.  And on that topic, “You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.”  What?  The fewer flies the better, and what a waste of honey.  And vinegar.

31.  Which reminds me, many clichéd sayings are simply silly if not ridiculous.  Think for yourself. However, because something is a cliché does not mean that it is wrong.  Again, think for yourself.

32. Sarcasm as humor tends to wear thin rather quickly.

33. If you can’t be kind, be quiet.

33-1/3. Eat your broccoli, too.  It’s not as good as spinach, but eat it anyway.

July 5

Today I am years old.

Can you imagine how long I have waited to be able to say that truthfully?

I had my spot for the birthday picture all picked out along US 80 in Montgomery.  But we didn't go anywhere.







Okay, then.  I'll just take my little whistle and blow.

And Barzillai the Gileadite came down from Rogelim, and went over Jordan with the king, to conduct him over Jordan.  Now Barzillai was a very aged man, even fourscore years old: and he had provided the king of sustenance while he lay at Mahanaim; for he was a very great man.  And the king said unto Barzillai, Come thou over with me, and I will feed thee with me in Jerusalem.  And Barzillai said unto the king, How long have I to live, that I should go up with the king unto Jerusalem?  I am this day fourscore years old: and can I discern between good and evil? can thy servant taste what I eat or what I drink? can I hear any more the voice of singing men and singing women? wherefore then should thy servant be yet a burden unto my lord the king?  Thy servant will go a little way over Jordan with the king: and why should the king recompense it me with such a reward?  Let thy servant, I pray thee, turn back again, that I may die in mine own city, and be buried by the grave of my father and of my mother. -II Samuel 19:31-37a

Celebrate!

HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY!

Aaron Gets Home #T

Did I ever tell you how Aaron Moss make his trip to Virginia after I tell him "no"?  Waal, I bleeve I tell you Moss was some mad when he left here.  I tell him check for trains, 'n I learn much later thet he drive on in to Lamar to do jest thet.  He park his Ford by the depot, 'n is walkin' over to the agent when he run inta Estel Estep.  Then I get the story from Estel when I take Grace over to town to get some yard goods, 'n "notions," as she call 'em.

"Hidy, Uncle Jep!" say Estel as I was astandin' afront th' Mercantile.  I am surely glad to run into you, on account I been needin' to see you.  Not on'y do I have a tale to tell, I have a package for you under the back seat the car.  Can we walk on over and get hit?  There, the Reo, just yonder."  He points.

"Sure, Estel, I'll walk with ya.  Needin' sump'n ta pass the time.  How you?  Marcy?"

"Oh, just swell, Uncle.  We come in from McClave this mornin', Marcy doin' some shoppin'.  You know how it is with the ladies.  Now see, it was the middle July when I run inta Aaron.  He tell me his daddy die, 'n he wantin' to get home.  "Wouldn' be a chance you could drive me over to Clinchport, would there?"  he says.  "I'd pay fer the gas and th' eats on the road."

Well, now.  Marcy had jes' been on me about she wantin' to see her mama, an' I been a draggin' my feet.  Opportunity often knock on'y one time.  I say, "Why, Aaron, I am glad you ask.  Marcy 'n me would be glad to carry you over to Clinchport.  What say we leave, five of a mornin'?"

"I spare you the details, but we got our campin' gear together, tie four spare tires to the top, 'n take off for the hills.  It warn't twel we were on the road thet Aaron start in on you.  'Dod busted, dad blasted, ding blamed. . . 'n on and on. . .  cheapskate, miserable ol' Coot."  Man, you musta really rub his fur the wrong way!"

"Waal." says I, "if you spend long enough time to get him to Virginny and back, then there is nothin' I could tell you thet you don't already know."  Estel roared with laughter.

Estel continue with his report.  "So we get to the hills, Aaron look up his sister, 'n she's no spring chicken.  Did Aaron tell you his pa was over a hunnert when he die?  Yep, had ta be, too, on account Mavis gotta be more'n eighty.  Well, they two 'n 'm gonna take care they pa's bidness, 'n we will pick the old man up on Monday-- four days down the road.

"Then as we are standin' aside the car sayin' our farewells to Mavis, she hand a package to Aaron and say, 'Please to take this to Jep Miller, Brother.  There are some little things there for him, and for Grace, too.'  'Har!' snort Aaron.  'Take it with ya when ya die, 'n give it to him in Hell!'  He drop the package on the ground, scoot around and get in the car.

Long story short, I pick up the package an' sneak it into a spare tire, then later when we a campin' the night, I hid hit under the back seat.  Here, I'll get it for ya."

"Waal, I thank ya most kindly, Estel.  I'll let Mavis know we got hit.  Most likely Grace is done shoppin' by now, 'n here come Marcy, too."  Tip my hat.  "Howdy, Ma'am.  Fine day, idn't hit?

"Oh, by the by, Estel, did Aaron ever thank you fer the trip?"

"He did, Uncle.  Paid all the expenses, too, and give me a exter five dollar bill when I drop him ta home."

© 2014 David W. Lacy 37

Double Trouble

Over the course of my career I have encountered several sets of identical twins.  In most cases a few days of acquaintanceship with a pair of twins would give me sufficient time to observe them closely enough to find some distinguishing characteristic.  They may have been born identical, but exposure to their worlds made its marks.

Calling a person by his or her correct name is quite important, especially if they are students in one's class.  I mastered this ability.

In one case though, and this case occurred during my bus driving days, I would never have sorted two little girls into the correct nomenclature bins, had I not had some help from one of them.  At my Wallingford stop there awaited the bus seven-year old second graders, Corrina and Katrina by name.  Recall that this was the Fifties, and mothers were still in the dress-my-identical-twins-alike fad.  These girls were always dressed alike, same shoes, same hairdo, even to the ribbon in the hair, should they be wearing one.  After watching them for a week, I realized that I was never going to be able to tell them apart, their mannerisms were so like one another.

One day while we were waiting the mandatory two minutes at the Lake City stop, I said to the girls who were seated in the front seat, "How am I ever going to tell you apart?"

"Oh," replied one of them, "you're not.  No one can tell us apart except Mama and Nana.  Even Daddy gets us confused sometimes."  How encouraging.  And how challenging.

Two days later at the same stop, one of the girls slipped over to me and whispered in my ear, "I'm Corrina, and I'll help you tell us apart."

"How do I know you are not Katrina trying to pull my leg?"

The girl got an offended look on her face and said, "I'm a Christian girl.  I would never lie to you."

"Would your sister lie to me?"

"Oh, my, yes.  She is a big fibber."

So I called over to the girl who was still seated and said, "You wouldn't lie to me, would you?"

Tinkling laughter, like the first notes from a music box.  "I might.  Or I might not.  You will never know will you?"

"Your sister says you would."

"How do you know she's not lying?"

When I dropped them off that afternoon, the second girl out the door said, "Goodnight, Mr. Lacy.  Remember, I'm Corrina and I will help you."  The mother was standing at the door, so I ventured to ask her if this girl was, indeed, Corinna.  She affirmed that she was.

When the girls boarded the bus the next morning, one of them gave me an exaggerated wink as she passed me.  I noticed a mark above her right eye which looked like this:  ).  She had used her mother's eyebrow pencil to brand herself with what she imagined was a "C" I think.  Each morning the rest of the week, when the girls boarded, the mark was visible, and I got a big wink.

Monday, though, was different.  Mondays are somehow always different.  I drove up to the bus stop at Wallingford, opened the door, and two little girls, primly dressed in sailor outfits, even to the hat, stepped aboard.  There was a ) over the right eye of each girl.

But only one of them gave me a big ol' wink!

From our front step, July 1, 2014.  9:16 p.m. EDT

Michelle Howard,

US Navy's first female four-star Admiral.

Zip a Dee Doo Dah

Can you believe it?  It is July again.  Seems only, oh, a year ago that it was July.

And what is it with Zippy?  Well, and I know you will want to celebrate this major advancement in communications, the Zip Code system was introduced by the United States Postal Service on July 1, 1963.

I can remember a day in which the Post Office would deliver your mail if it was addressed to the right town (okay, if the town were not really big).  Now they will not deliver your mail if the street number is one digit off the correct one.  I can also remember when the carrier walked his route twice a day to see that your mail was delivered in a timely manner.

The Service makes rules even they cannot follow.  I have a post office box, by choice-- I also have a valid street address.  One of the rules, posted prominently, is that the clerk is prohibited from handing mail across the counter, "don't forget your key."  Now stick with me.  If you were to address a package to me, the size of which would preclude its being stuffed into my p.o box, the mail clerk will put a little orange note into my box, which I am to take to the clerk, who in turn will hand me the package over the counter.  See what I am saying here?

Well, I guess I see the world through jaundiced eyes, and I am easily amused.  I am so fortunate.

Oh, yes.  I can also remember when a first-class letter could be mailed for three cents, and a postcard cost a penny.  But then, you did know that I am pretty old.

(Also, I know the guy's name is Mr. Zip, but you will excuse me if I continue to refer to him as "Zippy.")