Out On A Limb's Repost OC: A Memory (101 Words)

I wrote this for an Open Call a couple of years ago in my first life on OS. The idea was you had to write a story in 101 words. I put it up when I came back to OS and started blogging again. However, no one saw it, so I thought I would try it again. :)

************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************* A Memory (101 Words)

Running barefoot across the scorching grass to my grandfather's shop. The July sun beating down on me. Stopping just inside the shadowed doorway, my eyes adjusting, the soles of my feet absorbing the blessed coolness of the cement.

While I wait for the whine of the saw to stop, I breathe in sawdust, turpentine and varnish. As it slows I call, "Hey, Pop!" I run to hug him. My ten year old head just the right height to smell the Red Man in his shirt pocket. I hop on the counter, content to be in the presence of my favorite person.

Cruisin' Me Down The Highway

I am not a good driver. I am a lucky driver. I know this and appreciate it. When I took my driver's test several things went wrong. For example, speeding in a school zone. My tester's response, "The car doesn't know school is out today." Or forgetting to check the rearview mirror before changing lanes, "You were lucky. That's how accidents happen." Or the final task of parallel parking where I finally gave up three feet away from the curb, "Well, you didn't hit anything." Driving back to the church I was completely sure I had failed. When I parked the car he said, "Well, you passed. You might want to work on parallel parking and checking your mirrors." Woo Hoo! See? Lucky.

Off I went into the world of lucky driving, speeding all the way. Blowing past highway patrolmen I didn't see, narrowly missing other cars and driving down the center of bridges because I was more afraid of hitting the bridge than oncoming traffic. Traffic can move. The bridge? Not so much.

Then came the day I got my first speeding ticket. I was 40 years old. I had to drive 30 miles down the highway from home to work. I was going in late because I was the Mystery Reader for my son's first grade class that day. Ferdinand, in case you're interested. The highway is all farm land and fairly flat with a few trees. I was going a little fast and listening to Death Cab For Cutie, Soul Meets Body. Then I heard the siren. The State Trooper was right behind me! Why does no one ever tell you what to do when a cop pulls you over? It was a little nerve wracking.

I pulled onto the shoulder, turned off DCFC and turned on my hazards. I find my license and insurance and wait. The trooper gets out of the car and walks up to the window.
"Ma'am, do you know how fast you were going?"

Conundrum.
Choice 1 - Admit that I know I was willfully breaking the law or;
Choice 2 - Lie and look like a distracted moron.

I go with Choice 3 - "Was I going too fast?"
"You were 92 in a 70 mile per hour zone." (Ok, I still think I was only going 90, but, whatever.)
"I'm going to have to ticket you."

Awesome. Let's try to talk him out of it.
"So. I've never gotten a ticket. This would be the first."
"Really. The law of averages is working against you."

Ok. Fine. No talking him out of it. Then he walks around my car, looking at the hood and grill.
"So, you park under a tree?"
"Yes."
"I can tell. You need to wash your car or you'll ruin your finish."

Dad? Is that you? Did your spirit really need to come to this trooper and harass me about washing my car? Is this really the time? Come to me in a dream and harass me. Geez.

"I'll just go run your license."
"Ok. Thanks."
Did I just thank him? What a moron!

So I sit. And wait. I hang my head out the car window like a dog on a road trip. I watch as a tractor moves down the gravel road in the fields next to me. I decide the trooper is using Morse code or smoke signals to run my license. I watch the tractor turn on the access road. I watch the tractor turn onto the shoulder of the highway and chug up behind me and the trooper. I hang my head out the window to see the picture of a black Elantra, a state car, and a John Deere tractor making a stationary parade on the side of the highway. The trooper motions the tractor around us, but traffic on the highway boxes him in. The trooper stomps out of his car, plants himself in the middle of the highway lane and forces traffic over so that the tractor can chug-a-chug-a around us. Then he stomps back to his car. My kingdom for a camera phone.

Three minutes later I get my license, my insurance, and my ticket. He admonishes me to slow down and I am on my way again.

My daughter took her driver's test last week. It sounds like her tester was a lot like mine. Only she isn't a lucky driver. He failed her. So, we practice some more and hopefully next time she passes. But I hope that this means she'll be a good driver, not just a lucky one.

The Boys of Summer

Summer means baseball. National League, never American League. Atlanta Braves all the way, baby. I love baseball because Pop loved baseball, and I love the Braves thanks to Pop and Ted Turner.

Pop was a farm kid who grew up listening to Cardinal baseball. He and his dad were close enough in age that they played on the same local team in Keytesville. At one of the games a Cardinals' scout saw Pop play and was impressed. He found Pop's aunt in the stands and gave her his information. He told her he wanted Pop to try out for the Cardinals. She never told Pop. Not until years later. She didn't think that baseball was an appropriate vocation for a young man. A fine past time, but never a career. When I asked him about it, he claimed it didn't make him angry or upset. Maybe that was true by the time we were talking about it, I had to take him at his word. Still, it seems a shame that he was denied the opportunity to do something he loved due to someone else's idea of what was appropriate.

In the summer I would stay with Nanny and Pop and he would listen to Cardinal baseball. Later when they moved to town and got cable, he watched them on TV. On afternoons when Nanny was out, and therefore baseball wouldn't interfere with her "stories", Pop would flip around the channels until he found a game. The Cardinals and the Royals were his favorites and finally the Braves too. I would lay on the rough, cabbage rose floral upholstered couch with my nose in a book and listen.

Ted Turner is a genius for many reasons, but the one that sticks out in my mind is putting the Braves on TBS. Ted owned an awesome, popular Superstation and a less awesome, not-so-popular baseball team. He put them together like chocolate and peanut butter and made something great. With 162 games to be televised, you either had to give into Stockholm Syndrome or become a football fan. Baseball Stockholm Syndrome isn't as bad as it sounds.

Pop would turn on the game and I would lay on the couch with Louisa May Alcott or a Harlequin romance. If reading times were really tough, there was the Rural Missourian magazine or the Moberly Monitor-Index available. We would split a Coke and listen to Skip Carey give the play-by-play. I freely admit I still get bored during pitcher's duels.

Oh man, the Braves were rotten. And those robin's egg blue uniforms?! Ugh. When Skip Carey would announce the attendance (usually a little over 5,000 people) the camera wouldn't pan the stadium like at Cardinals' games, but stayed in tight behind home plate where the people were clustered together. None of that mattered when the Braves won. It just made the wins that much sweeter.

I've seen the Braves play at Fulton County Stadium and twice at Busch. Once on my birthday! And someday I'll see them at Turner Field. My hope is to go to Cooperstown when Greg Maddox, Tom Glavine and John Smoltz get inducted. However, since I doubt they'll all go in the same year I'll have to pick just one. Here's looking at you Tommy Glavine.

Lobster Tales

On Foodie Tuesday Ande Bliss wrote an essay on the joys of lobster. Lobster bisque, lobster rolls and, of course, boiled lobster.

I must confess that not one bite of lobster has ever passed my lips, nor shall it. I was scarred at a young age and shall never recover. Here follows my Tales Of Lobster (cue organ music and lightning).

I grew up in the center of a state that is in the center of the country. "Fresh fish" include catfish and trout. "Seafood" is tunafish, from a can, mixed with relish and Miracle Whip. Sorry Charlie.
Our house was small with five rooms. My aunts went to college in town and we were pretty close as they were only 11 and 12 years older than me. One evening my Aunt Deb was to bring her current beau to our house for dinner and she stated that she would bring the main course. In classic Deb fashion, she and the beau were approximately an hour late, hadn't stated what the "main course" was, and didn't own a pot, pan or dish in which to cook it. So, an hour late they arrive with "dinner". Two live lobsters.

I'm sure you're thinking, "Wow. Impressive." Eight year old Sam was thinking, "Gigantic, miracle-gro fed crawdads struggling to get away so they can eat me!"
You say, ""No! Fresh seafood. Thoughtful." Sam says, "Landlocked state in city two hours from the nearest airport. Do we need to go over the definition of "fresh"?"
You thoughts include, "Excellent chance to challenge young Sam's developing taste buds." Sam says, "They are screaming when you put them in the boiling water! Look!! They are trying to escape!" Then she runs crying from the kitchen.

Tears and chicken noodle soup at the piano bench in the living room were my fine dining experience that night. But since the house was so small there was no way to get away from the screaming food in the kitchen.

As I got a little older, lobster continued to gain in popularity along with 8-track tapes and feathered bangs. The 'premier' grocery store in town, Nowell's (with two locations to serve you), had a lobster tank. Those poor bastards probably thought they were in a living hell and would welcome death by boiling water. Plucked from their sea home, thrown in a crate and flown to the Midwest, then driven two hours to be tossed into a 1-1/2 x 3 foot glass box. You could smell them from two aisles away. If you had wanted to pick a lobster, the water and tank were so filthy, you could barely see them lethargically swimming in the murk. Mmm, lobster. Yummy.

My final lobster tale involves actual lobster tails. The date: Prom Night 1983. The place: Bobby Buford's Restaurant. The crime: Cluelessness at fine-ish dining. The scene: Eight teenagers vs. One long-suffering waiter who must have totally pissed off the restaurant hostess earlier in the day. We sit, we finally order: Steak, Steak, Steak, Steak, Lobster Tails, Steak, Steak, Nothing, thank you. I am sitting by Lobster Tails, of course.

We dilly, we dally, we drive the poor waiter nuts and then the bill arrives. Lobster Tails wants to split the bill evenly four ways. Even though I am not paying, I turn and look at him and announce, "Why should C (my date will remain nameless to protect the mortally embarrassed) pay for your lobster tails? Or D, when his date didn't even eat anything? Especially since your stupid lobster cost twice as much as everyone else's dinner." As B and I sat arguing, C looked like he wanted to sink into the floor and the waiter appeared to want to strangle all eight of us and then enjoy an uninterrupted evening with a bottle of Jack.

A week later I read in Ann Landers that when something like this happens you pay and then fix it later. Thanks, Ann! Would it have killed you to publish that little bit of information two weeks earlier? (Sorry again, C.)

There you go lobster. Three strikes and you're out.

I'm Stuck On You

I love magnets. Do you ever look at people's refrigerators? Magnets are casual snapshots of your life stuck on your fridge. And as souvenirs they can't be beat, small portable and usually economically priced. Example: True/False hoodie = $50. True/False magnet = $4. Magnet for the win! I have the usual boring, but necessary magnets: doctor, appliance repairman, but I also have NOUN magnets.

Persons: 9 seasons of photo magnets from baseball, one season of softball and one of the boy and the girl at the zoo. I have Sirius Black on a "Wanted" poster, and Elvis.

Places: I've been everywhere man, I've been everywhere: Santa Monica, Washington DC, Graceland, US Senate, Portland, Seattle and Forks Washington (gift from my sister, hey, much better than the spoon she was promising).

And Things: Oakland Eagles, Cedar Ridge Cardinals, a Hershey bar, Blue Hawaii poster, a magnet of the eight planets (Air and Science Museum), the Smithsonian Castle, the I Didn't Speak Poem from the Holocaust Museum (another gift) and finally Beast and Wolverine. X-Men Rule! I wish I had Ironman and Magneto. Those would be cool and funny.

One of my favorite magnets is from my trip to Las Vegas. It is from the Debbie Reynolds Hollywood Casino and Hotel. Yes, Debbie had a casino and hotel in the 1990s. I went with three friends for another friend's wedding. Before we ever left Missouri I was talking up the Debbie Reynolds Costume Museum and being shot down repeatedly. The first night there, we were shaken down in the lobby of the Luxor so the bride could keep the limousine longer. The next day we ditched the bridal party.

We went to the Gold Coast Hotel and Casino. Awesomely tacky chandeliers, carpet and uniforms. Everything Vegas is supposed to be. I played the dollar slots and turned my $1 into a big 46 smackeroos! I was ecstatic! Taxi rides and Costume Museum tickets all around! And since I was paying the other three were in.

IT WAS FANTASTIC! We sat in a theatre and watched a revolving stage of costumes and sets from all types of movies through the years. The sides of the theatre lit up at different times to showcase even more costumes and a narrative explained the items' origins. It lasted at least an hour. Some of my favorites were the green and white checkered suits that Gene Kelly and Donald O'Connor wore in Singin' In The Rain and the ape suits from Planet of the Apes. It was awesome and my friends loved it (of course) and told me I was right to "make" them go (of course). We exited the theatre and went to the gift shop where I got my magnet.

Poor Debbie. She is so wonderful, but the men in her life do her wrong. A while after we went to the museum Debbie Reynolds had a bit of financial difficulty and all of those fabulous costumes are now in storage. But, I got to see them and I have the magnet to prove it.

One of My Favorite Things

I went to an estate sale this weekend and saw some of the ugliest, most expensive pink French Provincial futurniture to ever exist on this planet.

I started thinking about our furniture. The first time I was in a furniture store, I was 27 years old and buying a mattress. In my family, if you needed furniture, you called my grandmother, Nanny. Beds, dressers, desks, portable dishwashers, whatever. You asked there first. I've written about my grandfather, Pop, before and this is another story.

In college, I needed a bookcase. I called Nanny and she had me tell Pop what I needed. He said he would think on it. About two months later he had me come to his basement workshop. He showed me their old console television. It was about 4-1/2 feet wide and about 2 feet deep on 6 inch legs with a decorative scallop on the bottom.

Hmm. Nice. Then he said, "Sam, this is your new bookcase."
Oh-kay. "How's that gonna work, Pop?"
"Well, I'll...blah, blah, Ginger, blah, blah..."

Oh-kay. But, I had to wait my turn. He was finishing something for Nanny and then had to finish a chest of drawers for my cousin and then it would be my turn.

Pop started in bits and pieces. First, all the wiring, tubes, screen etc., were removed. Then after a bit, the decorative piece and the legs. Then, he sawed the console in half, lengthwise. He stacked the front on top of the back, glued, nailed and clamped it. Finally, he cut paneling and white board to fit the back of the "new" frame.

With that part done, he started to work on the doors. He had some trim pieces that he had salvaged from Nanny's childhood home and he always tried to incorporate them into things he did for the grandkids, if it made sense. So, the doors were made out of the trim and varnished to match the television. He made each door two panel and each panel was a pane of glass. He did this so that the doors would have a trim piece that went across the length of the front of the cabinet to hide where the two parts of the television were put together. That way, no one looking at it with the doors closed would see that thick shelf.

Next, he sanded and varnished walnut shelves that were left over from some other project and put in some adjustable holders so that I could make the shelves the size I needed. He attached the legs to the bottom, took the decorative scallop, flipped it so the scalloping went up rather than down and attached it to back of the top of the bookcase. He put on the doors, put in the shelves and Voila! from 1972 console television to glass fronted bookcase.

I have the cabinet in my living room. I make people guess what it started out life as, but no one has ever gotten it right. Now, it is full of dishes and knick knacks rather than books. I see it everyday and marvel that this man could look at an old television and envision my beautiful bookcase. I know how much work and love Pop put into for me and that makes it even more special. I love to share this story about my bookcase and my Pop.

Same-Sex Marriage and Universal Healthcare

Here's a little something for you to think about.

There are 10 countries in the world which have legalized same-sex marriage.

Argentina, Norway, Iceland, Canada, Sweden, South Africa, The Netherlands, Belgium, Spain, and Portugal.

The Netherlands were a leader once again by legalizing same-sex marriage in 2000. Twelve years now and people are still buying tulips. I would have thought it would be hard to grow tulips once you to go to hell, but apparently not.

Four of these ten countries are predominantly Catholic. One of these countries is on a continent where homosexuality is frequently illegal and/or condemned.

Of these 10 countries, eight (8) have universal healthcare.

80% of the countries that have realized that all people should be able to marry the person they love, regardless of sex, have also realized that healthcare should be made available to everyone.

Happy and Healthy. What a novel concept America.







Information from Foreignpolicy.com and researchmaniacs.com