Old(er) Folks

[Tom]

I never had a relationship with my father.  We didn't even know each other until just before he died.

There was one sobering instance in his life that makes me want to live mine to the fullest and acknowledge those I love.

Going into his last surgery he asked the doctor to "please get me out of this, I have a lot of unfinished business to take care of".

He didn't make it and its a shame because I think he realized what he was missing in the families he had created.

That's something to think about the next time you go fishing and leave your kid standing in the door.

[Gordon]

Tom I'm sorry to hear that story. My father has also passed on as well. But I can say this about him he did live life to the fullest. It was fun growing up because there always were trips.

His first love was sailing, he had a 36' Choy Lee ketch. I sailed through the Bahamas' one winter. One spring we sailed to Bermuda seven days of sailing one way. A few of the great lakes as well. Not all five though.

He died from what he worked with in his earlier years asbestos. Mom and I often talk about some of the tight spots he got us in, but always managed to get us out.

Here is one story when we were leaving Grand Bahama Island heading toward Bimini. It was a beautiful day for sailing. The dolphins came up and were playing around the boat. Jumping , swimming under the boat and jumping up in front of the boat. It was really neat a day I will always remember. Just as quick as they came they were gone.

I went up front and went to sleep. Then all of the sudden very loud BAM sounded. Dad and mom said my feet never hit the floor from the v berth to the cockpit. What happened was a side stay broke and it dismasted the boat. So we pulled the mast back on board and fold the sails. Then motered back to Grand Bahama Island.

No sooner than we got back dad headed to town on the bike. Came back with some bolts and plated steel to fix the mast. We made some saw horses and went to drilling and plating the mast. One of the dock hands walking down the dock said "you ain't never gunna fix that mun.

A couple of days later the mast was fixed and we were ready to leave again. The same dockhand walked by and said I didn't think you would ever fix tat thin mun. That fix done in the boonies lasted the rest of the season. Didn't look so spiffy buy it worked.

Then there was the time Dad got the station wagon stuck on the logging road. Man was mom mad that day.

Then there was the time dad got the car stuck in the snow taking an unplowed short cut. Hitchhiked back to the farm got the backhoe started plowing us out and the backhoe ran out of gas.

I could go on and on and on But I can say he loved live and lived each day at the fullest. After writing this the memories start flowing. Sure do miss that man.

Gordon

[Tom]

I can understand why Gordon.

That was great story.  I'll bet the others are too.  Hope you let us enjoy them sometime as well.
It's funny how accurate our minds eye is after so many years.  Beats any computer made.

[L. Wakefield]

   Tom, it's beyond accuracy. A picture perfect memory of the occurances without the memory of the feelings would be technically 'accurate', but it would be so empty. We have the benefit of the factual and emotional memories, plus the mellowing effect of reminiscences over the years. These may blur the sharpness of the facts a bit, but add deeper significance. Like your favorite hunting stories. The facts may be more than a BIT blurred (embroidery? poetic license?), but the embellishments and re-telling are part of the experience.   lw

[Tom]

I am really bummed out.

Charlie left me a note that Chet Atkins died today.

He has been my Guitar Idol since the middle 1950's.

In 1969 I was working as a newspaper photographer in Ft. Pierce, Florida and Chet along with other popular singers and much of the Hee Haw gang came to the relatively new Golf Club in the relatively new Port St. Lucie.  I had the opportunity to photograph and visit with Chet, Boots Randolph, Floyd Cramer and a young unknown I later found out was Jerry Reed.

I followed them around the golf course and back to their villas.  Chet invited me in to visit in the living room and have something to drink. It was awfully hot.  I had a friend with me who was a legally blind piano tuner.  We sat in the living room and visited for the better part of two hours and Chet got his flat top out and picked off and on most of the time.  He just sat in his chair, picked and smoked a big cigar and I tried to permanently imprint the occasion on my mind.  I just knew I would never be in this position again.

The next time Chet came to Port St. Lucie, the newspaper got a phone call and low and behold I was in his shadow again.  I guess he just liked me because pictures, stories and advertising never came up.  We just visited like old friends.

I think that was just how Chet was.  He was never above anybody and had a way of making you feel at ease as if you had known each other all your life.

I will certainly miss him.

[Jeff]

Chet Atkins was also one of my heros. I was given an electric guitar at the age of 10 and the guitar has always been a part of me since. Chet was the master.

I think I will try to find a version of "Frog Kissen" One of the few vocals that Chet did that gets air play around here still on our old country station.

If you never been a frog kissen...
you don't know what you've been missen
there's an opportunity under every log

You can be a charm breaker...
You can be a handsome prince maker...
just turn around
bend down
and kiss you a frog.

[Tom]

I like that song too.

Chet said that he never had too much money until he finally made it big with his first recording.  He and his wife tried to think of something to do that would show that they were in the money

His wife finally came up with the idea of carpeting the bathroom.  That would definitely show they had money.

So they did.

Chet said they liked it so much  "we run it on into the house."

[Tom]

                          

My old buddy Ben called me tonight.  He was proud as a hound with puppies.  Seems he has bought some Tilapia to put in his farm pond.  He has bought an aquarium, pump and all the fixin's to give them a head start.

Now Ben is a fine fellow, 76 years old and strong as an ox.  Only about 5 feet tall but goes like he was 30.   I have had him show up at a job and off load the sawmill just because he was bored.

Ben's mouth never stops.  He can talk the paint off of the side of a barn.  I just prop the phone to my ear so I can say "uh-huh" everytime he stops for a breath.

Well the story tonight was about the fish.  He checks the pond out regularly to run off any duck that appears,. "Ducks cause disease",  and snakes,  "Snakes eat my fish" and turtles..........
"yep, I been sittin' at the pond all day long with my shotgun.  One of them turtles, he was just a little one, stuck his head up and I shot at him.  He went down but I don't know if I got him or not.  They'll eat all the fish you know.   Ain't going to eat my fish.   I got to get that pond cleaned out of turtles before my fish get here..  Sat there all day lookin' for'em.  That one little one is the onliest one I saw an I don't know if I got him or not; Those pellets bounce right off of the water and he's just under it.  He went down though...................................................."

I think I went to sleep.  He got a call-waiting beep on his phone and the interruption  woke me up.  He had to go answer that call, thank goodness.  They have a friend who calls a bunch of them on conference at about 7pm every night and they have a prayer meeting.  His wife wouldn't miss it, so he had to go.............would talk to me tomorrow.

My ears are still ringing.  Gael said I almost missed supper......... can't believe he's going to try to shoot all the turtles in the pond.  It's about a half acre.

....sure love these guys.

[Tom]

I stopped by one of my Older friends house yesterday on the way back from town.  His wife wouldn't have it any other way but that we sit down and have a slice of watermelon.  

While we were talking she and I got on the subject of War and she decided that she could shoot somebody if she had to do it.

Her Husband, who had been sitting quietly at the head of the table, said "I killed three men once".

Things got real quiet.  

I had never seen him look so serious before.

He sat there for a minute, studying, and then said. "I ran one of them to death....I was in the lead, the other two died laughing."

 

[Tom]

An 88 year old widow of one of our local successful dairymen looked from her porch, out across the field and said, "I used to watch A_ _ _  milk cows out there and now I just milk them warehouses".      (Before her husband died he created an industrial park.....that dumb ole' farmer.)

[L. Wakefield]

   I was just reading up on the old(er) folks- and it occurred to me- 'now I are one'. Turned 50 on 9/5/01. Still no clue why they always tell me I'm old enough to know better

[Tom]

LW,

I got told that too, but I've found that things have really been great since I was "over the hill".  It first happened at 30 and I was really worried......things just got better.  Then at 40 my office was decorated with black ribbons and .......things just got better.  At 50 I wasn't even aware anything had happen.....probably out in the canoe or something.  Now I'm waiting for 60 and still can't find time to do much work because I'm to busy having fun playing at what others complain about having to "work" at.  (not supposed to end a sentence like that....I know.)

My idol was old Mr. Miley who at some past 80 year told me he was having the time of his life hugging and kissing all the girls in the office.  They would chase him down to give him a hug and he would just beam.  "I couldn't get away with this when I was a young man", he would say.  

HAPPY BIRTHDAY  

[CHARLIE]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY LW!!]
You ain't old 'til ya get up to Tom's age, then your mind will start going as is evident in Tom's note. Nothing to worry about though. You won't notice a difference........but others will. Life will get blissful and carefree.

[Tom]

One of my older friends' brother-in-law died last week from old age and a bad heart.  He was well known in N. Jacksonville for riding his bicycle and carrying his fishing poles.  He loved to fish and spent most of every day at one or two of several fishing holes within an hour of his house.  His health failed and his daughter took him to the west coast of Fla. where he spent his last days happily visiting with new friends in an "assisted living" facility.

In WWII, Tommy, that was his name, was a carpenter and was stationed aboard a maintenance ship, which was a converted LST.  

When the USS Missouri, The Mighty Mo', was appointed as the location for the acceptance of Japan's surrender, Tommy was one of the carpenters who built the platforms and stages on the deck of the ship for the ceremony.  He then returned to his ship and watched McArthur preside over Japan's humility from a distance.

Those moments move further and further away with the loss of each and every serviceman, regardless of his job or celebrity.

When you look across the sea of markers at the VA Cemetery you realize how fragile the memories of those individuals are as we pursuit our goals in life.

Tommy was a smart man who did his job, protecting our country, by driving nails and sawing wood.  He loved his God, his country, his family, his fishing and now he's gone.

I heard once that a person is only important as long as he is remembered.  Do you suppose that is true, or do we all carry a little bit of the faceless and nameless with us throughout our lives because of their selfless deeds?

[L. Wakefield]

   Well- I do know this. On our place is a graveyard of parents and children dating back through the 1800s and maybe further (it's dark right now and I'm not going down there to shine a light and get total accuracy)- but they are dead and gone, and those who knew them are gone. So- no specific memories. But- the gravestones tell a touching story of the parents buried side by side, and then the little gravestones of babies and young children all dying within a short period- evidently one of the diphtheria epidemics or like that.

  As I stood there one year reading the stones and trying to figure it out, I suddenly realized that they were my neighbors. Whether dead for 100 or 200 years- it didn't matter. I grieved for the loss and felt for the parents as if they were living and standing beside me. I had never before felt that kind of a connection.
 
  I feel that memorials help. Truly my spiritual sensory abilities are not acute enough to pick up this information in the absence of the gravestones 'telling' me. But once I realized- the connection was real.
 
  Some people believe that the only reality is what we perceive- that it doesn't exist unless there is someone there. (solipsism) I don't buy that. Some people believe that collectively we shape reality with our perception. I think that's a slippery one- cuz if you share a delusion, you all go off into the dark together- like at Jonestown in Guyana.

  I think we do best when we each try to discern truthfully, and then work together to understand.

  There is a lot of that going on right now- and it's important.

  As we get older our memories get richer. Share them with others, because you are a treasure trove (OK, so your kids don't buy that- they will, later).

  These newsgroups give an extraordinary opportunity to share perceptions. I love it!        (I need an icon of the rabbit rolling over in the grass, laughing and kicking up its heels. of course it's clover, donchaknow..)  lw

[CHARLIE]

At my workplace, I've seen people put more than 30 or 40 years of hard work, long hours, worry, stress, etc, etc. Then they retire and within 2 years, maybe less, only a few knew they existed. So, if you think you are not expendable, think again. Story telling is extremely important to keep the memory of the young men and women that gave their lives for our liberty ongoing. Otherwise, we are going to have graveyards full of crosses that have no meaning. It is important for us to educate ourselves and to pass that education onto others so they will know. It is important that we stress the importance of the message so our children will continue telling the stories so they won't be lost. It is so important for the younger generations to listen to the older generations. There is a lot to be learned. Lessons abound. But when we are young, we're too busy and too smart to listen. Once we realize how important it is to listen.....sometimes it is too late.  

[Bibbyman]

Some 25 years ago I had delivered some logs to my Uncle Chick’s sawmill up the dirt road for my place.  I stopped in one Friday evening after work to see if he had them sawn up yet.  He said “Be here at 7:00 in the morning and we’ll get started on’em.”  O.K.  I hadn’t figured it that way but I could do that - not exactly being a stranger around logs or sawmills.

Drove up in the driveway/front yard/log yard at the appointed time.  Stepped out of the pickup right into a swarm of beagles.  It was already about 90 degrees and the sun was just burning the heavy dew off the grass. Promised to be a scorcher.

Uncle Chick steps out on the porch dressed in his khaki pants, tank-top style undershirt and house slippers.  The pack of beagles stops barking and rushed to him for attention.  He had a big porcelain coffee mug in his fist - heavy enough to pound in posts.  Even though he was well in his 60’s he was a big and powerful man – well over 6’ tall.  

He greeted me by saying: “The Homelite is down at the engine,  cut us up some dry slabs and build a fire in the engine.  I’ll get my shoes on and be out directly.”  

I went down and proceeded to cut up about a half pickup load of slabs about 3 foot long and built a fire in the Case 16 steam engine.  He got out there and started working some levers and turning valves on the old engine.  Kind of reminded me of the Wizard behind the curtain in OZ.  

While the fire was heating the water,  he got the old Allis WD 45 with a home-made loader – single action cylinders on the lift,  manual trip on the manure bucket – manual steering.  He picked up a black oak butt cut log and put it on the skid blocks.  Then cant hooked it onto the carriage and dogged it down – using a combination of blocks at hand to toe the little end out from the knee.

Said: “Check the gage and see if she’s got 80 pounds yet.”  Did that and declared it did.  He made a pull on the long stick hinged to the frame on the mill.  At the top was hooked to a length of clothesline connected to the throttle on the engine. “PaChunk” came form the engine and nothing happened.  He grumbles and goes back to the big four-foot drive wheel on the side of the engine and puts his knee against it and pulls on the top with both hands.  The wheel turns and the engine goes ‘”Chunka, Chunka, Chunka”.  I’m standing at my “slab technician position” next to 80 foot long by 8” wide belt - inline with the blade that starting to turn.  The blade wobbles about an inch as it slowly turns.  “How in the hell is this going to work.”  I’m thinking.  

Uncle Chick returns to the command position and pulls the stick again.  The engine goes “Bang, Bang, Bang – Chunka, Chunka, Chunka”,  behind me.  The belt and blade start to pick up speed.  The blade continues to wobble until it reaches some point where it straightens right up and ran true. Uncle later explained that the blade “stood up” when it got to 540 RPMs.

A pull on another lever and the carriage with the log on it lurched about a foot – then started its chattering and jerky way down the track.  It reminded me of an empty Radio Flyer wagon being pulled across a gravel driveway.

To be continued...

[Bibbyman]

The log hit the blade and nothing exploded as I was expecting.  The chips started to fly off the bottom of the log and the slab fell clear in front of me.  The carriage chatters back and drags  past the blade as it wobbled and clawed at the face of the log – thus changing it’s rough complexion from nested arcs going one way to a crisscross set of arcs going both ways.

Uncle Chick pulls on the lever that indexes the log out the proper amount.  Just to make sure,  he checked the section of rusty carpenter’s square bolted to the block with stove bolts and his pointer made from heavy wire.

Another pull on the stick and the “Bang, Bang, Bang – Chucka, Chucha, Chucka” process is repeated.  Followed by the scream of the teeth ripping away at the log.  About halfway down the log something else happens:  The blade looses RPMs – ran out of steam “literally”.  The carriage is stopped until the blade catches up RPMs.  Then the carriage pushes forward again.

I expected to catch the flitch (even though I didn’t know it was called a flitch then),  but Uncle Chick stopped the carriage with just the last top corner of the flitch hanging. He reversed the carriage, dragging the flitch back with the log.  He grabbed the flitch at the bottom edge and gave a great pull,  breaking it free from the log and stacking it behind him for later edgeing.

Another flitch or two was produced the same way then the log was tuned 180 degrees and the other side flattened.  And so on it went.

It’s past 9:00 o’clock now and we got our first log done.  Uncle shuts things down and picks up his coffee mug and tells me to put some more wood in the engine to get the pressure back up.  He goes to the house to return in about 10 minutes with a full cup of steaming hot, black coffee.  It’s up to about 98 now – degrees and humidity. (good thing they hadn’t invented the heat index back then)

He says to get on the WD and put another log on the skid blocks.   I’d driven a number of tractors but not this one but I finally got it started.  “The steering is broke!”  I thought.  I had to be..  I couldn’t turn the wheel and I hadn’t even pickup a log yet!  How did he do it?  I gave it all I had and finally the wheel rims moved a few degrees but the tires where they met the ground staid where they were.  When the tractor started to move,  they came along and I was able to direct the beast to the log and managed to get it on the skid blocks.

We get this log sawn and the edging done and most of the morning was done.  Is I lived just on down the road,  I went home for a bite to eat.  Uncle Chick said to be back up about 1:00 to build up the fire again.

I got back and he was sharpening and swedgeing the teeth.  Gave me directions on firing the engine.  By the time he was done sharpening, the pressure was up again.

In the heat of the day we got the last of the 4-5 logs sawn and quit.  We’d probably sawn 3-400 board feet that day.

Have a great weekend everyone!  

[Tom]

Yesterday I had lunch with two of my old timers again.  The one  that I have described before here who was a farmer/sheet metal worker/roofer/air conditioner technician/bulk oil company owner/bee keeper/bowl turner/electric motor rewinder/marathon runner has just purchased a metal lathe.  He is so proud of it.  It wasn't working when he bought it, the cross feed didn't work. He dismantled it and fixed it. He says.......

"only cost me $100.  The man said it was called a gunsmiths lathe......I never made a gun before"

What do you reckon is in this old codgers mind now.  Lord knows, he's not afraid to try anything and anything he tries he has to study.  He has already used the lathe to turn shafts on electric motors he is working on but I can see the glint in his eye when he says "gun lathe".

[Tom]

Oh, I forgot..........

The other one who is a retired AC technician/machinest/cabinet maker who suffers from the initial symptoms of Alzheimer, has just gotten a new set of hearing aids.  They don't work the way he says they should because he can hear but can't understand. We told him that may not have anything to do with the hearing aid.  It took him a few minutes to understand the joke but he laughed a few munutes later when we were in another conversation. We went through a long rig-a-marole to figure out what he was laughing about...........anyway..

His aids don't work so good and when he talks he yells.  What he says has nothing to do with what is going on.

"TOM, EVER HEARD THE ONE ABOUT THE GUY THAT JUMPED OUT OF THE PLANE"

"No, I don't think you ever told me that one."  I say knowing I've heard it at least several times."

His name is John and so is the other friend.  He'll look across the table and say "TELL HIM JOHN, THAT'S A GOOD ONE".

"John, you tell him, it's your joke".

"WELL I CAN'T SAY AS I CAN RIGHTLY REMEMBER HOW IT GOES"...............WHEN DO YOU RECKON THEY CHANGED COOKS..........THEY FORGOT TO PUT ANY SEASONING IN THESE BEANS WHEN THEY DUMPED THEM OUT OF THE CAN"

"Yeah John, sometimes its better and sometimes its not....try the squash, they're good.

..............................................WELL THE COPS MUST LIKE IT.........THERE'S ENOUGH OF'EM IN HERE TODAY...........THE DONUT SHOP MUST BE CLOSED........I'LL BET THEY COME IN FOR A FREE MEAL..........DID YOU GO TO CHURCH SUNDAY, JOHN?...

"No, we didn't make it this Sunday John.....did you?"

"...........................................WELL I DON'T REMEMBER.....I THINK I DID......."

"Well what did the preacher say?"

"OH.........SAME OL STUFF, I'M SURE..... ........UH......UH.....DID YOU SEE THEY'RE TAMPERING WITH THE MARKET AGAIN.....GOING TO MESS UP THE INTEREST AGAIN.........ETC...ETC.....

I just have to sit back and listen.  It is really interesting listening to all this disjointed conversation.  One a man who, in his old age is sharp as a tack and his friend who is losing it and knows it.  It makes my emotions surface when I think of these two fellows being friends for all these years and caring for one another as if it were a marriage.