Another favorite family story:
In some ways Blondie was to me what Hobbs was for Calvin. Only my tiger was alive. Those who hate cats don't know how cool cats really are. Just like dogs, cats are quite different from one another. I was a latchkey kid before the term was invented, and Blondie was my companion. She sought me out and liked to be stroked by her friend. Or she might feel the necessity of grooming me with her rough and tireless tongue.
This episode begins with my bachelor uncle Walter. His sisters (my mother and aunties) were convinced that he would remain a bachelor all his life, but he surprised everyone and proposed to Mary Smiley. Yes, that was her name, and it seemed to be descriptively appropriate for her. She was a little older than he, and for several reasons, theirs was the wedding of the year for this family. Everyone made a big fuss over it. Everyone wanted to have a part in it.
Since grandpa Saumert was a professional baker, he was asked to make the cake. Those were post-depression days, and our stove was the only one in the family that would accommodate the large pans needed for the lower levels of the cake. Consequently grandpa did the baking at our house. A couple days before the wedding our home was filled with the lovely odors of cake baking. Grandpa carefully laid out the layers on our dining room table to cool overnight. Newsprint contained sanitary ink and so were spread over the cake layers. Well, it turns out that although newsprint may discourage germs and vermin, it was not enough to discourage Blondie. She was a house cat, and she did not sleep in my bed every night. This night the attractive smell of wedding cake cooling in the night was too much for her to ignore. In the morning it was discovered that she had tasted each of the layers, and for good measure was found comfortably curled up on one of them. My parents went berserk. The cat was banished, but the damage had been done. And tonight was the wedding!
Dad took the assignment of picking up grandpa and explaining the tragedy to him so he could plan a repair--and calm down a bit before he arrived. Grandpa was an emotional artist, and there was some fear of his reaction. But first of all, he was a professional. He rose to the occasion and immediately mixed a large batch of marzipan. He deftly filled the bitten holes in each layer, fitted the cake together, and viola! We saw nothing but a beautiful wedding cake.
Mom and I made a few knowing remarks about the delicious cake at the reception, but it was a closely guarded family secret for many years. I don't know if my aunt Mary and uncle Walt ever knew about this. If any guests were allergic to cats, it was not evident by the voracious consumption of this pastry.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Monday, August 9, 2010
Beware of dog names
While we are away for a respite at the resort in Sedona, I thought I would post a few repeats of old posts of mine. Here is one of my favorite family stories.
This is a story about uncle Speed. He told me that I should tell people that he was my "uncle Pud, my drinking uncle." I never remember him being sloppy drunk, but he liked to think he could hold more than most men who are still standing.
I remember Aunt Jean in a condition incapable of pronouncing her words clearly. So when they got a pair of yappy lap dogs it was inevitable that they named them "Whisky" and "Soda". By and by Soda met her demise, and only Whisky was left.
Well, my Aunt Jean told me this story about herself. One Sunday morning she walked down to the local liquor store to get the Sunday edition of the paper. She took the dog with her, of course. But she had mistakenly gone on this errand a little earlier than the opening of the booze emporium.
When she arrived at the door of the establishment, several other people had come early too. Soon the proprietor arrived with the key, and opened the door. Dogs can be impetuous, you know, and so as soon as the door was open just a little, the dog raced into the store like a bullet. My aunt Jean, instinctively called out his name, "Whisky!" she yelled. To which the store manager replied, "Now there's a thirsty woman!"
This is a story about uncle Speed. He told me that I should tell people that he was my "uncle Pud, my drinking uncle." I never remember him being sloppy drunk, but he liked to think he could hold more than most men who are still standing.
I remember Aunt Jean in a condition incapable of pronouncing her words clearly. So when they got a pair of yappy lap dogs it was inevitable that they named them "Whisky" and "Soda". By and by Soda met her demise, and only Whisky was left.
Well, my Aunt Jean told me this story about herself. One Sunday morning she walked down to the local liquor store to get the Sunday edition of the paper. She took the dog with her, of course. But she had mistakenly gone on this errand a little earlier than the opening of the booze emporium.
When she arrived at the door of the establishment, several other people had come early too. Soon the proprietor arrived with the key, and opened the door. Dogs can be impetuous, you know, and so as soon as the door was open just a little, the dog raced into the store like a bullet. My aunt Jean, instinctively called out his name, "Whisky!" she yelled. To which the store manager replied, "Now there's a thirsty woman!"
Monday, August 2, 2010
Stupid Dodgers
They may have moved from Brooklyn, but they are still "Dem Bums"! They are now inventing new ways to lose every day or two. When the hitters are raising their statistics, the pitching throws batting practice to the opposition. But when the pitchers mow 'em down, the offense becomes little league. Someone needs to tell them that they can't win if they don't score any runs. Do you think they might know that? When Honeycutt, the pitching coach comes to the mound to talk to the generous starter who may have just walked two in a row, I'm sure I have read his lips, "Throw strikes!" Okay, so I can't read lips, but what else is there to say?
Don't you hate it when your wife spouts off about baseball even though she has never played the game? Well it's twice as bad when she is right! The first day following the All star Game break, the Dodgers lost. Barbara said, "Here we go again. They always fall apart after the All star Game." I said, "C'mon, Barbara. It's not fair to say that after just one game." But she was right. I hate when that happens. Tonight the Dodgers had 7 hits before the fourth inning. The Padres only had one hit. That's more like it. The only problem is that there were no runs scored. When San Diego got a couple of hits, they followed with a three run home run. I got disgusted and changed the channel. After viewing a cute crime drama, I went back to the game only to find the Dodgers losing 10 to 2. I think I should give up on the Dodgers and start following the Cubs. Okay, it's only a game. Right?
Don't you hate it when your wife spouts off about baseball even though she has never played the game? Well it's twice as bad when she is right! The first day following the All star Game break, the Dodgers lost. Barbara said, "Here we go again. They always fall apart after the All star Game." I said, "C'mon, Barbara. It's not fair to say that after just one game." But she was right. I hate when that happens. Tonight the Dodgers had 7 hits before the fourth inning. The Padres only had one hit. That's more like it. The only problem is that there were no runs scored. When San Diego got a couple of hits, they followed with a three run home run. I got disgusted and changed the channel. After viewing a cute crime drama, I went back to the game only to find the Dodgers losing 10 to 2. I think I should give up on the Dodgers and start following the Cubs. Okay, it's only a game. Right?
My Star
That's what I call little Daniel, a nine year old piano pupil of Barbara's who plays with feeling. He comes to lessons with wild enthusiasm. When she told Daniel that next week she would begin to show him how to read music from the Trinity Hymnal, and she would give him an assignment, he showed up at the next lesson with the announcement, "I have learned 'Jesus Loves Me'." Then he proceeds to play it through with all four moving parts! She can't give him too much. After his 30 minute lesson has expanded to 55 minutes, she tries to dismiss him, but he objects, "But I haven't played another new piece I've learned." "No, Daniel, that will have to wait til next time. I have more students who are coming."
He is such a likable little kid that I knew I had to make up a nickname for him. I frequently label little friends of mine with a special nickname. For Daniel, the first thing that came to my mind (for some reason) was Elton John's old number about Daniel. The line I sing when I greet Daniel is: "Daniel you're a star..." He seems to get a kick out of that, and even reminds me if I don't sing it right away when he comes. "Here's your star."
Barbara says he is ready for Bach, and he is beginning to play Bach (not simplified versions). He seems to have what it takes to be a concert performer some day. Barbara does not wish that for Daniel. Too many very good musicians just don't make it. But she does have the hope of contributing to the musician pool for church music. She takes special delight in helping young people to play for worship services. Yesterday was special for Barbara because we were able to worship with the folks at Branch of Hope OPC during their 8:30 a.m. service in which another of her pupils is the pianist.
Last night at the evening worship hour, the pastor had scheduled Daniel to play the prelude and the first hymn, "Great is Thy Faithfulness". This little kid plays with feeling and good timing. Few people seem to appreciate just how difficult it is to play for congregational singing. If you make a mistake you can't afford to try to go back and correct it because the congregation sings on. And the parts all must be played correctly or else it confuses anyone who is trying to sing parts. And the timing must be a natural flow for singing. Besides all that stuff, it has to be a bit nerve wracking to accompany 30 or 40 people who are actually following you. Daniel is up to it. My little star impressed me again. I had to hug him and tell him he was great. He brushed me off, but I know he was glad to please me.
Daniel is half Korean, and he looks it. When you get to know him, he is an all American and a dynamo of energy--a very real boy. I love this kid, and still consider him my star.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Playing in a minefield
In war torn areas of the world there have always been horror stories, especially grievous when we hear of little children, playing in minefields. Then there are the ugly news articles about children finding supposedly hidden weapons of their parents and killing themselves or their friends.
I was thinking recently of the analogy of our teen age children who distain the curfews and restraints and limitations imposed by their parents. "I'm old enough to make my own decisions." "I'm gonna do what I want to do, and you're not going to stop me!" Maybe the words were not actually said, but the actions clearly declared that that is what they were thinking.
Now if you saw a four year old playing with his dad's revolver, would you try to stop him? If you slapped it out of his hand and yelled at him, could that be described as an over reaction?
When a 16 year old hangs out with bullies, druggies and foul-mouthed young adults who curse their parents and laugh at the pain and distress of others, would you try to stop them? If you are 30 years older than this kid, isn't it possible that you have collected enough knowledge about the "mine field" to direct him out of it before disaster occurs?
I've seen a young, sweet, teen girl leave home to hang out with a south-central gang, and give herself to the leader because "he loves me". I've tried to get her to see how her parents have loved her all the way from changing messy diapers to staying up all night at her bedside when she was sick. And what kind of love does she expect to get from this gang leader? She's just another "Ho" in his harem, and as soon as she is no pleasure to him she will be discarded like a used bandage. She listened to me, but nothing registered.
It is really painful when you see young people you care about heading for disaster or destruction, only they are now too old to slap the gun out of their hands. You can lock them in their room, but they are big enough that they are able to open the window and run. You can talk sense to them, and they only hear, "blah, blah, blah".
The only hope I know of is that somehow they get soundly saved before these special danger years. Young people who have genuinely come to love Jesus, may make mistakes, but they will come through in the long run. Unfortunately, our kids often say all the right words, convincing us and the elders of the church that they are ready to make public declaration of their faith in Jesus Christ. But they do it only because it is expected of them, and they don't want to make any waves. Then, somewhere in those teen years, lustful hormones and a rebellious mindset decieve them and blind them completely to the dangers of their foolishness. Only if Jesus is really living in them are they able to listen to reason and tiptoe out of the minefield.
I've seen many young people that I have loved go in each direction. It hurts. I need to pray more feverently. Shame on me.
I was thinking recently of the analogy of our teen age children who distain the curfews and restraints and limitations imposed by their parents. "I'm old enough to make my own decisions." "I'm gonna do what I want to do, and you're not going to stop me!" Maybe the words were not actually said, but the actions clearly declared that that is what they were thinking.
Now if you saw a four year old playing with his dad's revolver, would you try to stop him? If you slapped it out of his hand and yelled at him, could that be described as an over reaction?
When a 16 year old hangs out with bullies, druggies and foul-mouthed young adults who curse their parents and laugh at the pain and distress of others, would you try to stop them? If you are 30 years older than this kid, isn't it possible that you have collected enough knowledge about the "mine field" to direct him out of it before disaster occurs?
I've seen a young, sweet, teen girl leave home to hang out with a south-central gang, and give herself to the leader because "he loves me". I've tried to get her to see how her parents have loved her all the way from changing messy diapers to staying up all night at her bedside when she was sick. And what kind of love does she expect to get from this gang leader? She's just another "Ho" in his harem, and as soon as she is no pleasure to him she will be discarded like a used bandage. She listened to me, but nothing registered.
It is really painful when you see young people you care about heading for disaster or destruction, only they are now too old to slap the gun out of their hands. You can lock them in their room, but they are big enough that they are able to open the window and run. You can talk sense to them, and they only hear, "blah, blah, blah".
The only hope I know of is that somehow they get soundly saved before these special danger years. Young people who have genuinely come to love Jesus, may make mistakes, but they will come through in the long run. Unfortunately, our kids often say all the right words, convincing us and the elders of the church that they are ready to make public declaration of their faith in Jesus Christ. But they do it only because it is expected of them, and they don't want to make any waves. Then, somewhere in those teen years, lustful hormones and a rebellious mindset decieve them and blind them completely to the dangers of their foolishness. Only if Jesus is really living in them are they able to listen to reason and tiptoe out of the minefield.
I've seen many young people that I have loved go in each direction. It hurts. I need to pray more feverently. Shame on me.
Friday, July 16, 2010
Adequate Etiquette
You've heard the story of the guy who is traveling the interstate and stops to use the restroom. In the next stall he hears a guy say, "Where are you from?" He answers, "LA".
"How long have you lived there?"
"All my life. Where are you from?"
"Can you hold for a minute? The jerk in the next stall thinks I'm talking to him."
I was that guy in the next stall! Well...almost. I came very close to jumping into one of those cell phone conversations. Just yesterday when I pulled into the driveway and got out of the car, there's a guy pacing back and forth in front of my house on the sidewalk, talking a blue streak.
Now I'm old enough to remember when people were friendly enough to open conversation with complete strangers. So when, in the supermarket, I hear a voice behind me, "Hey, the melons are on sale!" I turn around to respond to this friendly stranger only to find he has this black plastic roach stuck in his ear, and he's talking out loud right next to me, but he's talking to someone else as though I didn't even exist.
When I notice people walking along babbling out loud, my first impression is, "Oh, isn't that sad. I wonder if he hears voices. I wonder if he is dangerous, or just another registered idiot. Then I realize that he has another sophisticated electronic application somewhere on his head, and I'm the only idiot here.
Maybe that's what I dislike the most about cell phone etiquette--or lack thereof. And it is twice as bad when you are with family members and friends. It is so natural to answer, or to try to understand what that last comment meant in our conversation, only to realize that he is no longer talking to me but on the phone to someone else. I thought I was saying something important, but present company is always put on hold in deference to the incoming call. Now if he has his phone set to vibrate I really have no clue when he's on the phone or talking to me. If I am not left feeling foolish, I am at least left feeling very unimportant. Here I am telling an interesting story of what happened the other day, and suddenly I'm talking to nobody.
Have you been in a room where stories are being swapped? Have you experienced the extreme dis of having others interrupt you and redirect the conversation in another direction? Well now they do it in high tec with cell phones.
"How long have you lived there?"
"All my life. Where are you from?"
"Can you hold for a minute? The jerk in the next stall thinks I'm talking to him."
I was that guy in the next stall! Well...almost. I came very close to jumping into one of those cell phone conversations. Just yesterday when I pulled into the driveway and got out of the car, there's a guy pacing back and forth in front of my house on the sidewalk, talking a blue streak.
Now I'm old enough to remember when people were friendly enough to open conversation with complete strangers. So when, in the supermarket, I hear a voice behind me, "Hey, the melons are on sale!" I turn around to respond to this friendly stranger only to find he has this black plastic roach stuck in his ear, and he's talking out loud right next to me, but he's talking to someone else as though I didn't even exist.
When I notice people walking along babbling out loud, my first impression is, "Oh, isn't that sad. I wonder if he hears voices. I wonder if he is dangerous, or just another registered idiot. Then I realize that he has another sophisticated electronic application somewhere on his head, and I'm the only idiot here.
Maybe that's what I dislike the most about cell phone etiquette--or lack thereof. And it is twice as bad when you are with family members and friends. It is so natural to answer, or to try to understand what that last comment meant in our conversation, only to realize that he is no longer talking to me but on the phone to someone else. I thought I was saying something important, but present company is always put on hold in deference to the incoming call. Now if he has his phone set to vibrate I really have no clue when he's on the phone or talking to me. If I am not left feeling foolish, I am at least left feeling very unimportant. Here I am telling an interesting story of what happened the other day, and suddenly I'm talking to nobody.
Have you been in a room where stories are being swapped? Have you experienced the extreme dis of having others interrupt you and redirect the conversation in another direction? Well now they do it in high tec with cell phones.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Lake Arrowhead memories
We won a weekend at Arrowhead from a radio show. I think we were listening to the radio morning talk show on KABC in those days. The hosts were Ken Minyard and Roger Barkley. We liked Roger better because he was more of a gentleman and he was more conservative. Barbara called in to answer three questions (don't ask me to remember the questions) and she succeeded to get the phone call through, and to answer the questions correctly. She won!
We enjoyed a beautiful cabin with a clear view of the lake. Others in the units near us seemed to be the rich and famous who obviously took things in stride, while we were wide eyed in wonder at the luxurious surroundings. Our old car had to stop to cool down during our ascent, and we wondered if we would make it. I tell you these details so that you may understand the references I made in the following lines of dogerel composed on the occassion.
Arrowhead Resort – 1996
There stands a handsome Cadillac
In someone else’s drive
Our faded and decrepit hack
Barely did arrive.
Among the rich and famous ones,
A place that’s not our style,
Kicked back and sat upon our buns
Adjusted with a smile.
The view was just spectacular
We saw across the lake.
And tourist shops were not too far
A walk we had to take.
Pines whisper and willows quiver
In brisk refreshing breeze
A beauty that makes me shiver.
O’r sky and lake and trees.
Rich people come here all the time
They see what we have seen
The evidence of God is prime
In beauty blue and green
But do they stop to worship Him
Whose handiwork is there?
More wealthy than those rich and grim
God made me be aware.
We enjoyed a beautiful cabin with a clear view of the lake. Others in the units near us seemed to be the rich and famous who obviously took things in stride, while we were wide eyed in wonder at the luxurious surroundings. Our old car had to stop to cool down during our ascent, and we wondered if we would make it. I tell you these details so that you may understand the references I made in the following lines of dogerel composed on the occassion.
Arrowhead Resort – 1996
There stands a handsome Cadillac
In someone else’s drive
Our faded and decrepit hack
Barely did arrive.
Among the rich and famous ones,
A place that’s not our style,
Kicked back and sat upon our buns
Adjusted with a smile.
The view was just spectacular
We saw across the lake.
And tourist shops were not too far
A walk we had to take.
Pines whisper and willows quiver
In brisk refreshing breeze
A beauty that makes me shiver.
O’r sky and lake and trees.
Rich people come here all the time
They see what we have seen
The evidence of God is prime
In beauty blue and green
But do they stop to worship Him
Whose handiwork is there?
More wealthy than those rich and grim
God made me be aware.
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