For those who wanted to know:
Mom’s surgery went fine and she is in her hospital room resting. Now for the healing.
All posts by djones
Great Uncle Scott
Being part of a large extended family means that I met a number of odd relatives in my childhood. Last night as Mom was cleaning out some papers from her genealogy trove, the topic of great uncle Scott rose to the fore. It was actually funny, because for a while Mom and I carried on a conversation wherein I was talking about the interaction of great uncle Scott with my grandpa P (her dad) and she was talking about the interaction with her grandpa P (my great grandfather P). As it turned out, the reactions were similar in both cases.
My great grandpa P had a brother named Scott who I seem to remember had originally hailed from around Chicago. In any case, my great grandfather P died when I was in the early part of grade school and I have no real memories of great grandpa and great uncle Scott together. When I was somewhat older, great uncle Scott would come to visit grandma and grandpa while I was staying at the farm with them. He was a missionary in, as he put it, “Deepest Darkest Africa”, and only came back on his annual leave. Before finding God and religion, he had been a character of sorts (with rumors of “ill repute”) and a mortician. One of his boasts that really stuck in my mind was his claim that he could embalm someone with one hand and eat a sandwich with the other. That kind of a character.
I remember my grandpa looking a bit pained when it became clear that great uncle Scott’s arrival was eminent. I can also remember my uncle J hinting “here it goes again.” I suspect that the causes were many and varied, but at least part of was that great uncle Scott had the zeal of the late saved and was highly judgmental as well. A bit like a lot of the fundamentalists are today.
The normal routine on the farm in the summer was pretty regular. Up at sunrise, breakfast at 6am, discussion of who was going to do what work that morning by 7am, and then off to work. Everyone would return to the homestead shortly before noon, eat lunch, and then relax and read and talk until about 1:15 and then head back out to the fields. Sometime around 6 or 7pm it was back to the homestead for supper and then any remaining chores, followed by baths and maybe the TV news at 10pm and bed. If it was plowing or planting season or it was during harvest, work would continue on into the night. If there was a head of water being run, someone had to get up two or three times in the night to go out and change the water setting and reset the tubes.
But when great uncle Scott came to stay, the routine got bollixed quickly. He insisted on prayer before all meals. Not the normal short prayer either, but a hell and damnation full-bore sermon that often ran 50 minutes or more. In fact I can remember one time it actually ran on to 90 minutes when he was really fired up. You can  imagine how losing 50 minutes morning, noon, and evening was looked upon by all those that had work that *had* to be done on this day. And of course grandma would have already had all the food set on the table when Scott began his prayer, so she was going crazy watching everything turn cold in from of her. I can remember being out in the field with grandpa and him saying it was time to head back to the homestead for lunch, and then in his understated way, remarking that it was probably going to be yet another waste of warm food, valuable time, and hot air.
It was ironic, but the only times we ever ate in the fields were harvest and great uncle Scott’s visit. I suspect grandpa just couldn’t stand to burn that much more time while all that work was waiting. It was also funny that the only time grandpa took us kids to the Proctor filling station for a bottle of pop was during the visit of great uncle Scott. Other times, if we were irrigating and waiting to change water settings, our uncle J would head to Proctor with us to get a pop. But never grandpa – unless great uncle Scott was at hand.
The most important thing about the whole great uncle Scott experience was that it was the first time I saw how my grandfather treated with respect someone who he didn’t agree with or like in general. Even though I know it bothered him immensely, he never tried to hurry great uncle Scott, never tried to argue with him, never treated him with anything but respect. That was a hint to all who knew grandpa well. If he wasn’t willing to debate and argue a topic with you, you could be pretty sure he thought you were as worthless as teats on a bull and not worth the trouble. Great uncle Scott never seems to caught the hint.
Time to get back to work. Think good thoughts for Mom and her surgery tomorrow.
 (Proctor is now considered a ghost town, but if you click the link, you can see a picture of the filling station where we got bottles of pop from a big chest filled with ice, water, and pop sitting out in front under that awning.)
Sometimes You’re Just ….
Sometimes you’re just so happy that you aren’t at a certain stage in your life any longer. I was reminded of that tonight as Mom, Mom’s friend R (who is 93 or more) and I ate supper at a local restaurant. The place was relatively deserted for a Saturday night since this is state basketball finals season. (The local school district has two high schools in its ~1,500 sq. mi. area. One is in one of the smaller athletic classifications and the other is a couple of rungs from the top classification. Both schools’ teams are in their respective championship brackets.)
As we were visiting and waiting for our food to arrive, an extended family that had been at one of the playoff games came in and were seated a ways from us. The group consisted of grandpa and grandma, mom and dad, and three young boys all of whom appeared to be under the age of five. It had obviously been a long day and, from the fan paraphernalia they were wearing, they were from the school that is about 20 miles from here. That meant they probably had another 45 minutes of travel to get home. Thus they had stopped to eat since it was already past 7pm; the boys had obviously had a long day of cheering and excitement, etc. They were laying their heads on the table and trying to curl up into mom and dad and grandma’s laps from the time they sat down.
When their food arrived, the boys perked up and dug in, but they were done eating in five minutes. After a few minutes for the food to sink in, it was clear they all desperately wanted to be home and in bed. That’s when I spotted that haunted look of fear on mom and dad’s faces. They knew that total melt-down was only a stray glance away. Mom and dad started eating fast, trying to get their food down before Armageddon broke out before their very eyes. I remember that feeling from when the Son was a little guy. And I was so happy that phase had come and gone. It was evident that Mom was having similar thoughts as well. We looked at each other and just grinned as we realized what that mom and dad were feeling.
You know that feeling. The one that comes over you when you know that despite your best efforts and well laid plans, your are going to have a screaming and utterly disconsolate piece of humanity on your hands with no possible solution in a few moments. Yes that one, the one where you have fantasies of the earth swallowing you whole just so you don’t have to go through it again.
At the same time, grandpa and grandma are oblivious to the impending disaster. They are beaming with pride at the three little angels as they s-l-o-w-l-y eat their meals and try to engage mom and dad in conversation. Mom and dad are frantically exchanging looks with each other and then the tops of the boys heads. Dad has even taken to rolling his pancakes up like a burrito in order to get them down faster. Mom has her purse on her shoulder ready to bolt out the door at the first sign of friendly fire in the upcoming battle.
Then it happens. One of the boys slides to the floor from his chair, causing one of his brothers to knock over a water glass, and the wailing is on. Dad grabs one boy, mom the other, but nothing they can do quiets the banshee wails coming from the two. The third brother has decided to burnish his angel status a little and is calmly telling grandma that see, he is a good boy and should get to go home with grandma and grandpa, unlike his brothers. Which of course is designed to set the brothers off even more.
They all get up to leave, the two banshees still wailing. The restaurant owner comes up to the cash register with a big bucket of Tootsie Pops for the boys to pick one. Angel boy does so and says thanks, but the other two just wail louder at seeing the brother with a Tootsie Pop. When last seen, the whole group was wailing its way out the door.
I commented to Mom and R how that was not one of the things I suffered nostalgia about. There are many things from when the Son was young that I remember with great fondness and miss dearly. But the tiredness melt down is not one of them. So when I saw that mom and dad tonight, my heart went out to them. I knew what was going to happen, they knew what was going to happen. They were concerned about disturbing me. And me? I was trying really hard not to laugh since it was someone else’s problem now.
So do you have anything in your life that you are happy you aren’t at that stage anymore?
Five Hints You Are …
Time once more for Friday High Five hosted by Angela. Â
Five Hints You Are No Longer a Teenager
- Spending hours discussing who is sweet on whom or who is sleeping with whom does not inspire that tittering interest it once did.
- You prefer music that doesn’t sound like a bull moose playing the accordion while a herd of elk are being strangled in the background. Dead and dying rabbits, OK, but the tortured elk are just a bit too much.
- Your friends say “Huh? What’d you say?” a lot unless you speak up. Which leads to the classic faux pas of screaming loudly into sudden silence: “So how’s the rash on that certain part of your male anatomy doing?” Suddenly everyone has perfect hearing (or so it seems).
- You think longingly of bed after only 18 hours of hard labor. Getting off work, hitting the party and then just going straight to work for another day without sleep seems more than a bit like visiting Hades.
- You have lost all fear of public speaking, no matter how small, large, friendly, or angry the audience. (You figure that by now you have already embarrassed yourself in every way possible. The challenge now is finding creative new ways of attaining embarrassment. After the time you drunkenly recited the Beer Prayer, nude, from the second story balcony, to an audience of thousands, everything else is simply anti-climatic.)
For those who don’t know the Beer Prayer:
The Beer Prayer
Our lager,
Which art in barrels,
Hallowed be thy drink.
Thy will be drunk,
At home as it is in the tavern.
Give us this day our foamy head,
And forgive us our spillage,
As we forgive those who spill against us.
And lead us not to incarceration,
But deliver us from hangovers.
For thine is the beer, the bitter, and the lager.
Barmen.
Which art in barrels,
Hallowed be thy drink.
Thy will be drunk,
At home as it is in the tavern.
Give us this day our foamy head,
And forgive us our spillage,
As we forgive those who spill against us.
And lead us not to incarceration,
But deliver us from hangovers.
For thine is the beer, the bitter, and the lager.
Barmen.
(This version from Ted Guhl)
Now head on over linky at Angela‘s and read on.
Thursday for the Odd
Today was an odd day out here on the plains. The wind was blowing and the temperature rose early and then began to drop in anticipation of possible snow on Saturday. The wind was especially noticeable at the museum as it drove the old windmills and wind powered farm equipment to clatter like demons. Made one heck of a lot of noise. I was at the museum for a meeting with a donor.The city owns and operates a very highly rated western museum, concentrating on the history of the area and the Overland Trail which passes along the edge of town. That makes us a bit unusual for a city of our size as not many cities own and operate a museum, and ours has a collection of the original buildings of many types and farm equipment and a one room school plus a lot of lore, artifacts, and history from the area. All spread out on a several acre campus by the river.
The meeting at 2pm was at the request of the donor who wanted the mayor to accept his gift of the final issue of the Rocky Mountain News to go with the archive first issue of the Rocky Mountain News from 150 years ago. The museum also has one of the early news printing presses, so this adds a bit to the collection, putting a capstone on it in a sense. If you are really unlucky, you will see a picture of me with the donor, me sitting on an old printers stool (about 1 foot tall) with my knees about my ears in front of the early printing press, looking like we are examining the paper hot off the press. I say that because the reporter/photographer from one of the local papers was there covering the event. The donor spent many years with the Rocky, and I think this  also allowed him to cap off his association with the Rocky.
After finishing up at the museum, I went home and changed and headed over to Mom’s house. Mom is undergoing surgery next week that will confine her to a wheel chair for at least the next 6 weeks, so it was time to remove some doors and get the handicap accessories in place. Mom has been spending most of the week getting things arranged so that she can do everything she needs from a wheelchair. Along the way she has been creating a list of things for me to do when I came over today. It is interesting all the things you take for granted when you are up and about versus sitting in a wheelchair. So a bit later I had the list for today done and the doors stored away. Of course, I also had to get my plant watering lesson for the day since I will be watering Mom’s virtual forest of indoor plants. I think Mom’s afraid I will kill them – probably a reasonable worry!
Once we got that done, we headed to a local diner to eat. A number of our relatives seemingly had the same idea. Some background: Mom’s younger sister G died some years ago due to cancer. G’s kids are somewhat younger than me (I was the oldest grandkid) and I used to babysit them from time to time as we were growing up and G was still here. Mom is the honorary grandmother to G’s kids’ kids. (Parse that Emily Post.) G’s three kids all have names that begin with M and one of them follows this blog and all three live here. The one who reads the blog requested to be known herein as M, so I’ll call her brothers M1 and M2 just to avoid any claims of originality. M and her two kids and M1 and his wife and two kids all showed up at various times while we were eating. I am known as Uncle Dan to M and M1’s kids. Mom and I got to see and talk to them as they waited for their food to come out. They’d come over and sit and talk with us and then return to their tables to eat.
It was nice to see the kids. M’s oldest and M1’s oldest are both 7th graders and seem to be shooting up like the proverbial weeds. There are all the signs of emergent teenager making an appearance. M1 described it as the 12 going on 16 age. I have read to some of the kids’ school classes at various times for Reading Across America and other programs. You haven’t seen excited until you get to their classroom and they get to introduce the mayor as their “Uncle” Dan. As everyone got ready to leave, Mom and I got hugs from the kids. It’s been a while since L and I had a pre-teen threatening to turn into an teenager at any moment, so it’s always good to be reminded of what they are like. Especially when one can then go home and not worry about it. (Just kidding!)
Time to get ready for tomorrow. Someday I’ll have to write about babysitting M, M1, and M2. M threatened to kill me if I wrote about it tonight, so I’ll have to wait until later. {*grin*} Of course she also claimed it exposed how old I am too. I thought the white hair already did that.