Son-in-law and Sledge Hammers
I'm convinced that I have the best son-in-law in the world. He's wicked smart, funny, fun, honorable, and interesting. Every molecule in his being exudes joie de vivre. He's a great dad, husband, employer, and so. And, at this juncture the astute reader is thinking, there's a 'but' coming. And there is. My beloved son-in-law can, on occasion, be inspired by a truly bad idea.
This past summer, Fred and Lucy attended a friend's 50th birthday party in Scotland. One of the groups' activities was to participate in a number of traditional Highland games. This featured the males wearing kilts, commando I presume and mindful of the old joke: Why do Scotsmen wear kilts? Because sheep can hear the sound of a zipper for miles. But I digress. The gentlemen participated in log tossing, hammer throwing, and other Scottish kinds of amusements each accompanied by the consumption of abundant quantities of Scotch whiskey. I understand they also took turns trying to play the bagpipes. Apparently, Fred really enjoyed the festivities and did particularly well in the hammer throw. The event consists of taking a 22 lb. ball attached to a wood handle or pole, then whirling it around one's head trying to build up as much momentum as possible, then throwing it as far as one can, hopefully in the right direction. Spectators are advised to stand some distance from the tosser.
This past weekend, twin grandsons Finn and Charlie hosted a party at their house. I was enlisted as the cook, although I later had to apologize for the burnt burgers. A group of boisterous 12-year-olds were running around in the back yard when Fred brought out a sledge hammer he borrowed from his brother earlier in the day. And he went out to introduce the hammer throw to the lads. What could possibly go wrong?
As some may recall, the Olympic hammer throwers do so from a station surrounded by netting, excepting the narrow opening through which the hammer is intended to be tossed. This keeps errant throws from fatally beaning any spectators or officials. There was no such safety device at this particular suburban backyard.
Now I realize I possess the common 'old guy' disease wherein I can conjure every imaginable disastrous outcome for even the most benign activity. However, when I espied Fred's introduction of the hammer throw to the kids, I had to shout, "Fred, this is definitely not a good idea." And he agreed. He did however, demonstrate his hammer throwing prowess, absent the three rotational twirls. And he did throw it pretty darn far.
And in his defense, Fred did not introduce the kids to games involving pitchforks, hatchets, or poisonous snakes.
Comedy Gone Bad
A not very amusing vignette popped into my head a few days ago as I was brushing my teeth. I can't explain it, but my mind wandered back to a partner's meeting from many decades past. For some odd reason, the person responsible for the event thought it would be a good idea to hire a comedian to entertain the group. A local comic, who happened to have a modicum of notoriety was selected.
I'm sure he's had bad evenings before, but on this particular evening he reached his nadir. Now, I'll grant you that CPA's can be a fertile target for comedy. This is often unwarranted in my view, but hey, it's all in fun. But this particular performer thought an audience of CPA's would somehow be entertained by being mocked.
His act went over like the proverbial turd in a punchbowl. The audience was polite, but nary a mild titter ran through the crowd. Somewhat flustered the comedian got nasty, which is fitting given his name was Naster. He somehow focused his attention on a conservatively dressed, older man in the crowd. To a stranger, Howard may have appeared to be the archetypal, mild-mannered, boring accountant, and the comedian chose him as his foil.
What he didn't know, was that Howard was a bright, thoughtful man who was loved by his clients and well respected throughout the firm. He also failed to appreciate that Howard spent 18-months in a German POW camp during WWII, having survived multiple daylight bombing missions as the navigator on a B-17 before being shot down. Howard had lost an adult child to cancer, and had recently lost his wife to illness. And his sister was the governor of Arizona. Other than that Mrs. Lincoln, he was the perfect target for mockery.
The comedian was oblivious to the notion he had crossed the line until the managing partner interrupted his set and asked that he leave.
Shortly afterwards, I told my Mom about the event. She said she had the noxious comedian in one her English classes at SM West. Being a woman who used words economically, Mom recalled, "Yes, I remember him, and he was a complete asshole."
So why, you might be asking yourself, am I sharing this vignette from ancient times? The answer is to convey a message: know a little about your audience. I then reflected on the many occasions when I regrettably failed at following this useful tip.
Bickering
Judy and I have been watching The Extraordinary Attorney Woo on Netflix this week. It's an excellent Korean show about a brilliant young woman with autism who prevails in a difficult case each episode using her creative mind. As a little girl she memorized law books. She spoke for the first time when she was six when she stopped an altercation by reciting chapter and verse the law applicable to the situation. It's hugely entertaining.
A few days ago I was picking up the three grandkids after school. Charlie beat Waverly to the car by a whisker and situated himself in the front seat, much to his older sister's chagrin. This led to bickering. I know, unheard of sibling bickering, but fortunately it soon ran out of steam. After a few minutes of silence in the backseat, Waverly calmly stated, "Papa, you realize it's a punishable offense to allow a child to ride in the front seat unless he is older than 12, weighs more than 80 lbs., and is at least 4' 9". The fine is $100 plus court costs. It just so happens Charlie meets none of those qualifying criteria, putting your driving privileges in jeopardy. Just saying."
Life imitating art once again.
Pheasant Hunting 101 for Kids
A friend of mine, Nevin Waters, has long been involved in a 501c3 called Duckhorn Outdoor Adventures. They own 285 acres in Bates County Missouri devoted to bird hunting. It's a beautiful property with a lodge situated on a dominant hill overlooking oak forests, lakes, and fields of grain. One of their missions is to introduce city kids to hunting thus getting them off their screens and outdoors. Nevin said, "You should bring your grandkids. They might enjoy it." I mentioned it to 13-year-old granddaughter Waverly, and she said, "Sign me up."
We arrived at the Duckhorn Lodge at 7:30 am on a warm fall Sunday, and Waverly quickly observed there were 24 boys and one girl. At first, she sat shyly in the back, but that later changed. The morning started with a short program on gun safety. We then went to see an exhibition of hunting dogs doing their magic. Some kids brought their own shotgun, for those who didn't guns were provided. Wavy picked a 20 gauge, and she was assigned to a group with two other novices and an instructor named John, who teaches shooting for a living. John showed them the proper stance, how to site the target, how to load and unload the gun, and proper safety protocols. Then they started shooting skeet. They do not skimp on ammo. After shooting at multiple stations, it was time for the main event.
It's called a European style hunt. The property has a large lake, about 250 yards in diameter, with a small island in the middle. There are 20 shooting stations surrounding the lake. The kids were dropped off at the various stations, each of which had a volunteer to oversee the shooting. Most of the volunteers had skilled hunting dogs who would quickly retrieve any fallen bird on land or water.
Wavy was lucky to have John as her volunteer. He's a big ole boy, friendly, knowledgeable, and they hit it off instantly. Wavy started at station #9, and was one of the first in the entire hunt to get a bird. John would tell her when to shoot and when not to, "That bird's too low, let it go." "This one is coming your way, get ready. Shoot now!" A total of 300 birds were released over the hunt. I'd guess half escaped, and half were dispatched by the kids.
After the last bird was released, people moving trailers picked up the hunters and volunteers. Each trailer held about 20 people. Wavy and I were separated when we got aboard. Wavy sat next to a grizzled old guy with a white beard. I was close enough to hear the following exchange:
Grizzly Adams, "Where do you go to school little lady?"
Wavy, "Pembroke."
Grizzly, "Do you chew?"
Wavy looked around for me with a look that said, 'did he really ask that?' but she said, "No."
Grizzly, "Do you want some?"
Wavy, "No thank you."
Grizzly, "Do you cuss?"
Wavy, "Yea, a little bit."
It continued like that.
They served a superb fried chicken dinner once we got back, then cleaned the birds and distributed them. Most of the volunteers are old guys, and a few came up to Wavy to give her fist bumps. One of them said, "I saw the shot you made on that bird. Well done."
Wavy initially wanted to take her first bird back to get it stuffed. I said, "Yes, by all means take a bloody, dead bird in a bag to your Mom. I'm certain she will know exactly how to get it ready for the taxidermist."
Wavy was fast asleep after about 10 minutes on the drive home. It was a great day being in a beautiful part of the world.
Sanibel
Our family has been going to Sanibel Island, FL for the past 35 years. The recurrence of our visits reflects a genuine affection for this treasure. Included among its many compelling attributes are: the absence of any structures over three stories, fourteen miles of pristine beaches, conservation lands comprising two-thirds of the island, the best shelling in North America, many great restaurants, a flip-flop/tee shirt ambiance, civilized residents and tourists, and Jerry's donuts.
We've owned a third story condo in a complex for the past twenty-two years and have spent winters there, bringing life to the motto that winter is best served at 72 degrees.
We are now about one month past the day Hurricane Ian hit SW Florida. On the good news front, our condo was spared. Sadly, all of the first-floor units in our complex and the common areas were flooded by the surge. One of our neighbors, also the owner of a third-floor unit, but in a different building, stayed in her home during the storm. She reported that it was quite terrifying. We live on the eastern end of the island. Sanibel basically runs east west for about 6 miles before bending up to the north towards Captiva, a geologic anomaly that accounts for the great shelling. Our neighbor noted that the surge came from the east while the winds came from the west. Presumably, this was caused by the rush of water from the Gulf of Mexico being squeezed between Sanibel and the nearest land, which happens to be Ft. Myers Beach. She observed a construction dumpster floating around like a toy boat, along with all the cars in the parking lot, including her formerly favorite Porsche. Miraculously, she was unharmed, and her unit was unscathed. She was rescued by a military helicopter the day after, and said that was pretty darn cool. She is now living in CA with one of her kids, hoping to return to her home ASAP.
The most devastating destruction visited by the storm was the damage to the 4-mile causeway that connects Sanibel and Captiva to the mainland. A giant section of the bridge that connects to the mainland terminus, collapsed into San Carlos Bay. The causeway was built in three sections with two manmade islands in between. Both of the islands were damaged extensively, along with the section connecting the bridge to Sanibel. Most residents and Sanibel lovers were confronted with the prospect of rebuilding without having a functioning causeway for up to a year. Imagine the difficulty of restoring power and water, clearing up tens of thousands of tons of debris and ruined cars, and transporting restorative building materials back to the island using only barges, ferries, and Bailey bridges. But, amazingly, temporary repairs were made, and the causeway was operational less than three weeks after the storm. Line after line of dump trucks dropped their sand to rebuild the islands, and now thousands of loads of debris are being hauled off every few days. 500 electrical workers and 60 law enforcement personnel were on site in days and made camp on the ball field of the grade school.
City officials report every other day on a website of the progress being made.
It is taking a Herculean effort, but it's absolutely amazing how fast good things are happening. Jerry's Grocery store has reopened, and they're now helping their competitor Bailey's to do the same. My favorite restaurants, The Lighthouse Café and Over Easy Café, suffered severe damage, yet have cleaned up and pledge to reopen soon.
Many have not been so lucky. Many buildings, especially those built before recent hurricane codes went into effect, no longer exist. A friend who owns a first-floor condo mid-island reports the Gulf side front of her building looks like the back of a doll house. Her refrigerator is gone and was replaced by a gumbo limbo tree. For seasonal owners like us, the impact is costly and inconvenient, but for fulltime residents and business owners the losses are catastrophic.
Book Sales re: Howard, Bill, and Sally
On a brighter note, Judy and I recently attended a gala event at our alma mater, Drury University, to dedicate the grand opening of a new business school building. It was delightful reuniting with classmates from days gone by and others we've come to know over the years. We were mingling over cocktails and hors d'oeuvres in the crowded lobby in the new building when I espied a friend I hadn't seen in many years. Crystal is quite tall and strikingly attractive, and she saw me from a distance and gave the hand signal with two fingers pointing at me, then back at her own eyes, which I believe means, "I need to talk to you."
We eventually moseyed towards each other, and she said, "I read your book about Howard and Bill, and I loved it." This made my day. I met Crystal many years ago when I served on the board at Drury and she was the chair of some department, I forget which one. She had long since left Drury, married some guy, and moved to San Miguel de Allende, Mexico.
And she told me the following story: "Shortly after we moved to SMA, my husband and I were told that we must meet Howard and Bill, the social doyennes of the expat community. We were invited to one of their famous cocktail parties and became acquainted. They quickly brought up the subject, 'Have you read the book about us?' then Howard gave me a copy of Ordinary People Who Aren't. (One of the 17 stories therein is titled Howard, Bill, and Sally referring to their hosting of the aging fan dancer, Sally Rand during the last years of her life.) I saw your name and said to anyone who would listen, 'I know that guy', and we then exchanged stories about you."
Now I don't mean to brag or anything, but four copies of OPWA were sold on Amazon last month. At this rate, I'm making literally tens of dollars each year from my writing, almost as much as I make from my farming. Sales of Nude Nuns and Other Peculiar People have now passed 3,000 copies, yet Ordinary People Who Aren't, a better book in my opinion, has yet to eclipse 2,000 copies. And that's the news from here.
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:
mailto:charlesawellsjr@gmail.com
