Overnight Dreams

Girls

My mind raced, as usual, through the night and several stories popped into my head from when I was a kid. I'm not sure why they came to mind, but I thought I'd share them anyway. 

The first was when I was 7-8 years old and we lived in Owensville. I was rough on my clothes, particularly my pants, as a kid and often had holes and rips in the knees. Dad always got me pants (or they were used ones someone else had worn) that were baggy in the legs and I really disliked them because most of my buddies wore tight legged jeans that I thought were cool and I wanted some like them. One day after school I walked the 3-4 blocks from the school to the hardware store where dad worked. I don't recall if I asked to get some new jeans or if he looked at the jeans I was wearing and suggested that I needed new ones, but either way he told me to go down the street to the clothing store and get some. In those days, everyone in town knew dad so I could get a haircut at the barber or get something at the store and the owner knew that dad would settle up with them at a later time. Anyway, I realized this was my chance to get some tight legged jeans without dad being there to tell me NO so I headed excitedly to the store. I tried a pair on that were so tight at the waist that I could hardly button them closed and the legs were skin-tight. They were perfect! So they bagged them up for me and I headed home. I'm guessing dad stopped by the store on the way home to pay for my pants and the salesperson likely told him about my choice of jeans. Anyway, when dad got home he asked to see my new jeans and obviously wasn't pleased with my choice. The next day, my jeans were gone and dad came home that evening with a new pair...that had baggy legs...and orange thread used in the seams. I hated them...but they were my new jeans and I was stuck with them. Looking back, I thought "the clothes make the man", but dads' thought was "the man makes the man". Dad was a wise fellow. 

Story 2 was when I lived in Vincennes and went to Franklin Elementary School. In those days, teachers used chalk and black chalkboards in the classrooms. The erasers would eventually get full of chalk dust when the teacher (or the student) would erase work that was on the chalkboard. Probably once or twice a week, the erasers got so full of chalk dust they didn't clean the blackboard very well so the erasers needed to be cleaned. Some teachers probably cleaned them themselves after school but a few teachers would select a student and tell them to go outside and pound the erasers on the sidewalk to shake all the chalk dust out of them. I was one of the students that got selected on occasion to do that. I thought, at the time, that I was pretty cool because I got out of class to go outside to clean the erasers. Looking back, I'm guessing the teacher was pleased too because they got the little red-headed kid to go out and choke on the dust flying around as he slammed those erasers on the sidewalk and the teacher didn't have to do it. A win-win for both of us. 

Story 3 was about the kindness of my dad. When we moved to Vincennes, dad worked, and we lived in a small apartment, at the Restwell Motel. Dad was a jack-of-all-trades there, performing maintenance duties, running for supplies as well as manning the front desk as people would come in to rent a room. There were also several ladies that were maids who cleaned the rooms each day after the customers had left. I rode the bus to Franklin School and it would stop in front of the motel each morning to pick me up so I would wait in the front office with dad until the bus came. One morning there was a young girl, maybe 18 or 19 years old, asleep on the couch that was in the small waiting room beside the front desk. Dad had told her to sit there as she waited for Mr. Mauck, the motel owner, to arrive as she wanted to ask for a job as a maid. When Mr. Mauck came in dad woke the girl up, Mr. Mauck told her he didn't have a job for her and he went into his office. As the girl walked to the front door to leave, dad asked her if she had eaten anything and she said NO. He asked if she had any money and she said NO. Dad took out his wallet and took two dollars out and told her to walk across the street to the restaurant and get something to eat. Realize, two dollars was plenty of money to get a meal in the 1960's. More importantly, I didn't see any other bills in dads wallet besides those $2 at the time. He gave her all the money he had. That was my dad. Thinking of and caring for others. There was a powerful lesson there. I hoped I learned from it. 

REMEMBER: Before you argue with someone, ask yourself if that person is mentally mature enough to grasp the concept of a different perspective. If not, there's no point to argue.

Be talkin' to ya.

Dad

A Part of History

 
Girls

Last night I finished reading a book called Death Rides the Sky, a written account of the Tri-State Tornado of 1925. It got its’ name because it started in Missouri, moved across Illinois and finally dissipated in Indiana. Many small communities across those 3 states, including my hometown of Owensville, were involved. 

The tornado ranks among the most deadly tornadoes in United States history. Nearly 700 people died and thousands were injured. My grandmother Elsie had 4 aunts who were in a home hit by the storm, and 3 of those aunts perished.

The wind speed inside the tornado was estimated at over 300 mph. It remained on the ground for over 200 miles, lasted over 3 hours and at times grew to be a mile wide. It was so wide that many victims thought it to be a dark cloud approaching rather than a funnel cloud. Unlike today it occurred when there was no warning system and with a forward speed of 50-70 mph, it was upon communities before they could recognize its’ danger and have a chance to seek cover. 

It has been nearly 100 years since that day in 1925 and unlikely anyone old enough to have witnessed the event is alive today. My dad was 15 years old the day the tornado struck Owensville and would be 113 today. I don’t recall him ever speaking about the storm and my sister Jean agreed that she never heard any stories from him either. 

It’s another instance that I wish I had a time machine that I could go back to speak to him about that day, along with thousands of other things I’d like to talk to him about. I was only 32 years old when dad died and there were many other historical events that happened during his lifetime, (the depression, WW II to name a few), that I wish I could hear him tell what he recalled. 

I began to realize there are events in your mom and my life (the assassination of President Kennedy and the Vietnam War, to name a few) that you or your children may wonder where we were and how we felt about those events. 

And one day, your children or grandchildren will want to ask you about events, (such as 9/11), when they get older and wonder where you were and what you remember of such things. 

We are all a part of history, every day, and as we get older, some of those pieces of history become of great interest to those who weren’t there and want to speak to those who were. 

Enjoy every day.

 
REMEMBER: Before you speak, let your words pass through three gates: Is it true? Is it necessary? Is it kind?
 
Be talkin’ to ya.
Dad
 

The Walk

Girls

Mom & I and Bruno are on a camping trip to Casey, Illinois...home to the World's Largest...things. This morning we saw the World's Largest rocking chair, yardstick, wind chime, pencil, barber pole, mailbox, antlers and token coin. We missed a few but may look them up over the next few days here. 

After a rainy trip here yesterday, it is a nice fall day, sunny but very breezy. The temp is near 60 but feels like 40 with the wind chill. Bruno has had me out multiple times for walks and a chance to smell every smell the campground has to offer. 

As we were on our last walk, we did a lap around the campground and on our way to the far side, the wind was in my face. I had my hood up on my sweatshirt and enjoyed the sunshine but hated that wind. As we reached the far side we turned away from the wind and had the sun against our back while we made our way back around to the camper. The sun felt so good the walk became very enjoyable, even as Bruno stopped and smelled where every dog and squirrel had crossed our path. 

I began to think our walk was like the walk we must all make in life. There are days things don't feel good and we want to turn around and go back. But when we finally get to the end of that initial path, we receive the comfort and joy as things begin to feel better.

So, don't forget when you have those days when the wind's at your face, your turn will come when you feel the warmth of the sun again. Just keep pressing on.

REMEMBER: There are so many beautiful reasons to be happy.

Be talkin' to ya.

Dad

CHARLES!...CHARLES!...CHARLES!!!

Girls

As I shared with you a few days ago...Trudy let us know that Charles Story had passed away unexpectedly. You all mentioned that you remembered him even though it had been many years since you had last seen him...outside of an occasional photo. Jaime shared she remembered him at the Owensville Watermelon Festival years ago, when he won the watermelon eating contest. (He later shared that he may not have eaten as much as he was given credit for...but I digress).

Mom and I still giggle about a story that Brady & Tim shared with us long ago. Charles' father (and uncles too I think) were in the home construction business and Charles, and his brothers Bobby and Clyde were also a part of the business. As I recall the story, Charles was on the 2nd floor of a home they were building and Charles was using a saw to cut off some of the two-by-fours (or 2x12's...whatever). Anyway, Charles' father was reminding Charles that there were some nails in some of the boards so be careful that he didn't cut through the nails as it would ruin the sawblade. Without fail, Charles cut through one or more of the nails, ruining the sawblade, and the next commotion was Charles' dad shouting, "Charles...Charles...Charles". To add extra humor to this story, you have to remember it was being told by the wonderful story-teller, Brady, so imagine those words repeated to us in Brady's southern drawl and his body language antics. 

Now a story that we probably haven't told you, is that I went down the summer of 1972 after high school graduation and before I started college in the fall and worked on Charles' construction crew with Brady, Tim, and their friend Mike. One of our main jobs was to dig the footers for many of the houses in the addition they owned. Footers are the 2-3 foot-wide trenches that you dig around the perimeter of the house to be built. That trench is then filled with concrete and forms the support for the outer walls of the house. (Brady, years later, moved into one of those houses and of course Charles & Sylvia's beautiful home was in that addition, and we helped dig their footers.) 

I think Charles paid me $2.25 an hour (which was good wages in 1972). I saved up most of the money from that summer job and came home and mom & I went to a wholesale store and bought the engagement ring and wedding rings that we would use two years later when we got married. I can thank Charles for his willingness to hire me that summer and little did he know, his wages would contribute to a relationship that celebrated 48 years of marriage a few months ago.

Charles was a good man to mom and me and will always be remembered for his kindness, friendliness, singing and laughter. We would hope that Charles may Rest In Peace.

REMEMBER: Notice when you are happy, and think at some point, "If this isn't nice, I don't know what is. - Kurt Vonnegut

Be talkin' to ya.

Dad

A SHARP KNIFE NEEDED

 
Girls

We ran out of Kleenex in one of the bathrooms this morning, so I went to the garage to our stockpile of paper goods where I found a 4-pack of Kleenex, wrapped in plastic. I got one of dad’s old pocketknives out of the tool box to cut the plastic off...and giggled a little as I had trouble cutting through the plastic with that old knife. 

My mind flashed back 60 years to watching my dad sharpening his pocketknife almost daily. In his job at the hardware store in Owensville, he had to use that knife often…cutting open boxes, cutting string or rope for customers, digging out dirt from under his fingernails, any number of tasks. 

Dad ALWAYS carried two things in his pockets for as long as I remember…a coin purse (see blog from March 31, 2021), and his pocketknife. And he always had that knife blade...razor sharp. 

I don’t know if he had one at work too, but at home he had a grinding stone that he used to sharpen his knife blades. He would find a comfortable place to sit, hold the grindstone in one hand and knife in the other...and slowly move the blade back and forth, one side of the blade then the other, and then move it in a circular motion over that stone…every once-in-a-while even spitting on the stone and then grinding that blade some more. I recalled him doing that when I was a kid...and for the next 30 years as we both grew older.

I now wonder if that knife sharpening routine had two meanings for dad…one to sharpen the blade (obviously)…but also as a form of mental therapy for dad...a time out. He had no easy life…a hard worker 60-70 hours a week…a wife in the state hospital with her mental challenges…3 young kids at home to feed, clothe, get off to school and more things on a to-do list than most. But dad thrived at doing all those things...and I think even took pride in them...and was certainly held in high regard by those who knew him and the challenges he faced. 

But I'm thinking those few minutes...with his pocket knife and grind stone...took him away from all of that…if only for a little while. 

I sure don’t have the challenges that dad had…but I’ve got a few. Maybe I oughta get his grind stone out and sharpen his old knife.

REMEMBER: Don’t accept your dog’s admiration as conclusive evidence that you are wonderful. –Ann Landers

Be talkin’ to ya.
Dad

ANNIVERSARIES COME AND GO....QUICKLY. ENJOY THEM

 

Girls

Today is Joni & Ryan's 14th wedding anniversary. That hardly seems possible to me and likely to them as well. How does that time go by so quickly?

Mom cross-stitched a pattern that hangs on our bedroom wall, celebrating our 12th wedding anniversary in 1986. In 9 days we will be celebrating our 48th! 

Dates of celebration are looked forward to, and before we know it, they have passed. Birthdays...anniversaries...dates of significance...here and gone.

I'd urge you to look forward to and celebrate those days. But more importantly...try to find something to celebrate in every day. Even in those lousy days we sometimes have...there's something we should find and celebrate. 

REMEMBER: Your life doesn't need to make sense to other people, and other people's lives don't need to make sense to you.

Be talkin' to ya.

Dad 

WIN...WIN

 

Girls

A few weeks ago mom and I went "RV ing" with our friends Don & Susan, Susan's sister Sally and Sally's friend Cathy. We camped at a state park in eastern Indiana at Brookville Lake. We had a fun, relaxing and learning week while there.

Our campsites were at the end of one section of the campground. Don & Susan's RV was at the top of the curve, we were across the road from them and Sally & Cathy were next to us. Since it was a one-way road into the sites, all traffic in our section rounded the curve by us as they headed back to the entrance of the camp. Sally & Cathy's site had a nice shade tree next to their trailer so we all settled there when we were outside. They had a big mat on the ground and we put all our chairs, tables and fans there and with the shade and a nice breeze it was a great congregating place for the week.

Each day, folks would drive by, walk by or ride by as we waved or said hi to those passing. Every day, a group of 4 young kids came by, 3 girls and a boy. The oldest girl was probably 10, the next 9, then 8 and the boy was maybe 6. Every day the 9-year old was so outgoing, saying, "hi...how are you...what'd you do today," followed by a "see you...hope you have a good day tomorrow." The 10-year old was equally friendly as were the two younger ones, but the 9-year old was the leader. 

As I said, every day, they would ride by and wave and say something friendly. One day the 9-year old saw me near our RV and asked what we were doing tomorrow and I said we were going "Pontooning". She asked what that was and I pointed to a nearby pontoon boat and said we're taking one of those out on the lake. She oohed and ahhed and said that sounded like fun. She introduced who she was as well as her three amigos and then asked my name. I told her mine and immediately forgot who she said all their names were and they were off for fun again.

On our next-to-last day, the two older girls rode by while I was outside our RV and Miss Friendly said "tomorrow is our last day" and I told her it was ours too. We talked for a minute and then I asked her where her campsight was and she pointed to a big RV about 6 sites from ours. I walked toward their RV while the two girls took off on their bikes. When I got to their site, there were 6 or 8 adults sitting underneath their shade tent along with the youngest girl and little boy. I didn't want to say "are you guys with the two little girls on their bikes?"...because I was afraid I would scare them thinking that I was telling them they were hurt or were in trouble...so I said..."I want all of you to know, you have the sweetest kids. They are so outgoing and friendly and so sweet...whatever it is you are doing...keep doing it because they are just the greatest kids". They all thanked me for what I said and the little 8-year old girl came over and gave me a hug before I headed back to our camp.

In a few minutes the oldest girl came by on her bike and told me thanks for coming down and saying what I did. I told her she was welcome and that I meant it, they were very sweet kids. Soon, the leader of the gang rode her bike over, stopped, got off her bike and walked over to me and said thanks for what I had told her family and then handed me a bracelet as a gift...one of those that kids make with a bunch of little rubber bands. She said her name was Evelyn, and got back on her bike and headed back to her camp.

(I'm not crying...you are.) 

She had just proven what I had told her family...what a sweet little girl.

Why the title Win...Win? 

Evelyn was a winner...because she had an adult other than her family, tell her she was a good person, that kindness is recognized by people, and hopefully she will continue to stay that way. Folks appreciate happy, cheerful, kind people. I hope as she grows, she'll remember the time the man at the campground came and told her family what a nice girl she was. 

And I won...because I realized there are still families out there who teach their children to be kind to others, to enjoy life and have fun. It's not a bad world out there...unless we make it that way. So don't.

REMEMBER: Some people are no nonsense, but personally...I like a little nonsense.

Be talkin' to ya.

Dad