November 2020
Freddy's
I stopped at Freddy's for dinner after another productive day at the farm. To the unknowing I may have looked like a bedraggled geezer. I was wearing dusty farm clothes, my hair has grown wings, my last haircut being in February a week before traveling to Mardi Gras. My beard was unkempt, although partially hidden by my face mask, and I was wearing my trusty weather-worn and sweat-stained blue baseball cap with an embroidered American flag on the front.
I ordered my typical and tasty burger / chili dog combo and looked to put my credit card in the gizmo designed for such purposes, when I noticed it already had a card inserted. I pulled it out, read the name, and called out, "Anyone here named so and so?" A large young man ambled over, took his card, and said thanks. He started to walk away, but paused, turned and said, "What years were you in Southeast Asia?"
I replied, "I wasn't in Southeast Asia, although I was in the army during the Vietnam War." I failed to mention I was merely a lowly fighting dental assistant. I could have told him our unit motto was 'all we are saying is give teeth a chance', but I didn't.
He said, "Thanks for your service." And he went on to speak proudly of his own military experience in Iraq.
You meet the best people at Freddy's.
Grandkids
The grandkids spent the night recently. Finn, Charlie, and I were sitting around the kitchen while Judy was cooking a meat loaf. Finn was reading a book about Greek Gods, and we entered into the following exchange:
Papa: "Finn, why do you think it is that the Greeks had so many Gods? Mimi and I are Christians, and Christians believe there is only one God."
Finn replied, "I've not thought about that. Maybe it's because there were so many things that were unexplained.
Papa, "Perhaps it was merely a matter of hospitality. The Greeks were always invading other city/states and immersing them in 'Greek' culture. They just kept adding the Gods of the conquered peoples to keep peace.
Finn, "No. I don't think so. People need something to believe in. Lots of Gods made it easier."
***
A few weeks earlier we were at the kids' house. Before we assembled for a viewing of 'Beetlejuice', Finn and I grabbed paddles and hit a ping pong ball back and forth. Finn asked, "Do you know how to play?"
I said, "Yes, I do. In fact, I won the intramural ping pong championship my senior and junior year at Drury College, and I won a second place while at Harvard."
Finn said, "Did you go to Harvard?"
I replied, "Yes."
Without a moments hesitation, Finn said, "I thought you had to be really smart to go there."
Ouch!
***
I took Wavy to the hardware/paint store in Corinth to get the needed supplies to paint her desk, the one her Mom had as a girl and had since been stored in the barn. While there I asked the paint guy for advice regarding the grade of sandpaper to use, prime or not, high gloss/low gloss, etc.
While walking to the car with our stuff Wavy said, "Papa, you've built a fort, a cabin, a pole barn, and a bridge. I thought you'd know a lot more about this job."
Unsaid was the implication, "Or else I would have asked someone more knowledgeable for help."
Jim Sneed (1945 - 2020)
Allow me to say a word or two about my dear friend Jim Sneed, who recently completed his earthly journey. Jim loved his family, his friends, his work, his recreation, just everything. He was playful, loud, outrageous, ornery, uncommonly generous, hard-working, persistent, civic minded, not notoriously woke, and on and on. He was a true and steadfast friend, always upbeat and hugely fun. His was a life well lived. But one final coat of luster was added upon his death.
Jim loved camping in the mountains of Colorado. Each year he would select a site and travel from his home in St. Augustine, FL with a carload of equipment and one or more grandchildren. This year he found a spot located on the shore of a remote Rocky Mountain lake in the vicinity of Grand Mesa and planned to stay a month. During the first three weeks he hosted his son and stepsons and their kids over varying stays. I can attest from personal experience that he was an exquisite chef on his Coleman stove, so I'm certain his guests were well fed. They would hike, fish, and enjoy one another's company and the scenic vistas. On the return trip to Florida he planned to spend a week with me at the farm and help on my project completing Augie's Bridge. He also planned to spend his last week in CO as a solitary camper. On the Friday preceding his final week, he drove the last of his guests to the airport in Montrose. He returned to his campsite, built a fire, poured himself a glass of red wine, and took a seat in his camp chair to enjoy the majestic setting. The following day fellow campers found Jim's body slumped in his chair with a half full glass of wine at his side.
Twenty-five years earlier Jim had open heart surgery. He had numerous subsequent procedures and stents, most recently in January. He knew his ticker wasn't long for this world, and he talked often about how the game might end. His lovely wife Mary called me on the following Sunday morning to share the sad news.
I'm in no rush to join the dearly departed, but when my time comes, I would hope to be as fortunate as Jim. His exit was pretty darn sweet. I join his family and friends in declaring that I will miss him mightily. And Patti Barber, Pete Taggart, Phil Brummel, and Claudette Benson. 2020 has not been a good year.
Hearing Aid v iPhone
On a lighter note, in June I was loading our car in Sanibel for the return trip to KC. This involved carrying massive amounts of crap that Judy had accumulated over the winter from our third story condo. The short trip involved walking along an open-air walkway to an elevator and then down to our covered parking spot. On one of the many return trips, I found myself with a towel in my right hand, and I was reading something on my iPhone held in my left. I got out of the elevator on our floor, made a left turn towards our front door and inexplicably my newly acquired, Costco hearing aid popped completely out of my left ear. I'd like to tell you that I quickly did the math and thought $600 iPhone or $1,000 hearing aid, but I didn't. Instead I reacted and thought "Oh shit", threw the iPhone up in the air, and cleanly snatched the hearing aid. It was a pretty athletic move for one of my age if I do say so myself, but the iPhone flew over the railing and bounced on the brick pavers three floors below. Then I gave voice to another epithet, "Oh shit!" and down I went to retrieve my phone. Amazingly, it was unharmed. Consider this an uncompensated Apple testimonial.
The Bentley's
I was at the farm, but Judy was home and reported the following incident. A large car-hauling truck parked on the street in front of our house. The driver got out and approached Judy who was weeding in her gardens in the front yard. He was polite, said he had just driven from California, liked our neighborhood, and then asked where he should put our two new Bentleys. Judy was puzzled, but told the guy she knew nothing about the two cars. He semi argued with her and showed her the paperwork with our address. Judy testily suggested he call his dispatcher or someone to check it out. He did, and put Judy on the phone with his supervisor who argued again that they had the correct address. Eventually, it was determined that the cars were to be delivered to 3117 not 3317, an address that is more than a few million dollars to our east.
Judy told me the story when I got home that evening, and I was dismayed. That may be the closest I ever get to owning a Bentley.
Thanksgiving Memories
In days long gone, we'd load up the family station wagon early on Thanksgiving morning and head to Springfield, MO, where maternal grandparents Jesse and Mayme Welsh made their residence. Dad was an only child, his Mom died when he was 12, and his Dad died in 1948, so our Mom's parents were the only grandparents we knew, and we eagerly looked forward to our visits.
Dad had use of a Ford station wagon courtesy of his job as a band instrument salesman for McLean's Band Instruments. Mom and Dad / aka Helen and Charlie would occupy the front seats. Bill and I would sit in the way back facing the rear, and Sally sat somewhere. She was invisible to her older brothers, although mightily cute we were told. For some reason Sheb Wooley's song, "Purple People Eater" played incessantly on the radio as we journeyed south on the cold, gray November morning, and the year was 1958.
The roads from Prairie Village to Springfield had not yet met interstate standards, nor have they done so today. It was somewhat better than a goat track, but not by much. Somehow, we made our way into the Queen City of the Ozarks after a four-hour drive, made shorter by our silly games of counting cows and horses. When passing a big truck, we'd pump our arms like a trainman pulling on a steam whistle, and the truckers would graciously toot their horns in reply.
The northern parts of Springfield were distinctive given the many homes and motor courts constructed with giraffe-like flat stone facings. Dad would maneuver our massive, yet exceedingly modest, land yacht through the streets of North Springfield to our midtown destination. At the time, Jesse and Mayme lived adjacent to the Southwest Missouri State Teachers College, now Missouri State University. The football stadium and an enormous swimming pool sat across the street from their boarding house. There were candy shops and tiny grocery stores within safe walking distance for little boys and girls. It was pure heaven. (All of this is now long gone owing to the expansion of the university).
The house was modest and snuggled tightly to the neighboring dwellings, but it hosted a front porch with a swing. It was three stories, but I don't think I ever went into the basement. I remember well the fun times spent with cousins Steve, Bob, and Debbie, and I remember well the thrashing Jesse would administer to his grandchildren in the game of Hearts. He was not a playful grandpa, but he very much liked to play cards with us and to win. Apparently, his experiences as a WWI doughboy, raising a family of five during the depression, sending his sons off to a subsequent war, and decades as an educator in the first half of the 20th century had inoculated him to the illusion that everyone is a winner. But I don't remember where we all slept. They must have sent their boarders away
Uncle Stan would always bring his very own stash of Falstaff beer. In later life I would have occasion to sample many different varieties of said beverage, and I can say with little fear of contradiction, 'Falstaff is an acquired taste.'
Aunt Joan, my Mom's youngest sibling, was almost closer in age to the oldest of her nieces and nephews than to her older brothers and sisters. This accorded her great status to Bill and I. She was always playful and fun making the Thanksgiving experience all the more delightful.
Mayme's meal was beyond exquisite. As a 13-year-old, I could certainly lay no claim to gourmandmanship, but I can attest to this claim as one who could put away meaningful quantities of victuals. Grandma's signature offering was green beans cooked in lard with bacon and was my Dad's favorite. Her turkey and stuffing, and her yeast ladened rolls and sweet rolls were the tastiest dishes in the entire world. There would always be a home-made pecan pie, a pumpkin pie, and a minced meat pie. The latter was something only my Mom would eat. To this day I could not name the ingredients of minced meat pie. Porcupine innards? Last year's fruitcake? Perhaps. My favorite was the pecan pie. We stuffed ourselves and enjoyed our cousinly chatter awaiting the Hearts encounter with Grandpa.
I was 13, Bill was 14, and Sally was 10 in 1958. We had long since passed the adorable stage of life. Not surprisingly, it still has not returned in the subsequent half century or so, and I shall wait no longer. At that time cousins Bob and Debbie were reaching their acme of cuteness and Marcie was a dear wee baby. What grandparent doesn't adore cuteness? But amazingly, Jesse and Mayme distributed their love evenly. God, I miss those fine people.
Book Sales
After dining with Lucy and her family last week we stayed at the table and played a game where in turn one participant selects a card from a deck which poses a question. Everyone writes down how they think the card picker might answer the question. Then all the answers are read to the group. When it was my turn to select a card, the question was "What will be written on your gravestone?" Waverly guessed, "I told you I was sick." Lucy picked, "Buy my book." The lass knows me well.
This is a long-winded way of arriving at an update of my book sales. I have now passed Herman Melville. Surprisingly, I received an electronic payment from Amazon for the sale of nine ebooks yielding a bountiful royalty of $3.15. I'm not bragging or anything, but that transaction may have put me over the top in besting Melville's total book sales (3,000) whilst he was still living. Nude Nuns has now crested the 2,000-copy mark and Ordinary People has reached 1,000. In his honor, I am now rereading Moby Dick, a treatise I last read while in high school, but failed to appreciate. I am now officially withdrawing any comparisons to Herman. In contrast, the modesty of my scrivened dribble cannot be exaggerated. I commend this brilliant book to you.
***
And that's the news from here. This has been a grueling year on so many levels. I'm sure I join everyone in wishing for a return to some sense of normalcy. I hope everyone had a wonderful Thanksgiving including the enjoyment of a tryptophan induced nap. Here's a verbal toast to all for your good health and good cheer as the holiday season approaches.
Chuck
Charles A. Wells, Jr.
Author of Nude Nuns and Other Peculiar People and Ordinary People Who Aren't
Available on Amazon
Follow my blog at http://nudenuns.blogspot.com/
Or contact me directly at charlesawellsjr@gmail.com
