September 11 '04 |
|
Volume 432 |
Standing In
Line When Short Is Long
If theres more than one line of folks standing
in front of the Pearly Gates, I hope Ive got sense enough to pass over
choosing the shortest line, because as far as this earthly existence is
concerned, it seems whenever I choose the shortest line, whether its
at the bank, a grocery store, or a mass merchandiser, I would have been just
as well off and possibly better off in selecting a longer line. In a bank,
someone in the short line is going to have a bag of money or checks that
will tie up the teller for a half-hour or longer. At the grocery store, a
price check will surely be required if I get in a short line, and in the
mass merchandisers short line, the lady in front of me will take forever
in writing the check, waiting until her order is totaled before opening her
checkbook.
I was heading out of town a few days ago, and upon remembering I was out
of nabs, I stopped in the local Piggly Wiggly to purchase an eight-pack of
Toms nabs. Nabs are those snacks commonly made by sandwiching a glob
of peanut butter between a couple of cheese flavored or toasted crackers.
I cant rely on convenience stores to stock my favorite nabs at a reasonable
price, so I typically go to the grocery store for the eight-packs. I found
the ones I needed and made my way to the checkout lanes, where only one cashier
was working.
"Good," I remember thinking. "Theres only one person ahead of me."
That person was an elderly Black woman, fishing one item at a time from her
shopping cart and placing it on the conveyor of the checkout counter. Unlike
some grocery stores, theyll bag your groceries and carry them to the
car for you at the Piggly Wiggly in Pontotoc, but they wont unload
your shopping cart at the check lane. Im not complaining about the
service; I think every grocer should do the "bag and carry out" drill for
their customers, but I also appreciate those who provide a full-service shopping
experience. About then, another shopper pulled her cart behind me, which
the cashier noted and called for assistance.
"Mable, can you help check?" the cashier asked, turning her head slightly
to the right and in the direction of the office.
Mable opened an adjacent checkout lane, and the shopper behind me backed
up and rolled her cart into Mables lane.
"Thirty dollars and forty-one cents," the cashier announced to the elderly
Black lady in my lane.
I watched in a mixture of amusement and frustration as the elderly woman
opened her purse, and, after a considerable amount of rummaging, produced
a womans billfold, opened it, and withdrew a twenty-dollar bill. My
frustration arose from the fact she had made no effort to find her money
until being told the total of her purchases. I drew amusement from watching
the woman trying to locate something in a purse. Purses are those bottomless
storage pits into which objects easily fall into obscurity, if not oblivion.
I believe I can confidently say every woman has something in her purse she
doesnt know is there and wont discover its presence until
she cleans out her purse upon buying a new one.
After handing the twenty-dollar bill to the cashier, the senior citizen put
away the billfold and closed the purse, all the while holding two envelopes
in her other hand; envelopes like you receive at a drive-thru window at a
bank. She appeared uncertain as to which one to open, but after a moment,
she opened one and took out a ten-dollar bill and gave it to the cashier.
"I need forty-one cents," the cashier patiently responded.
The senior citizen reopened her purse and went straight for the bottom.
A third cashier opened the check lane to my right and offered, "Sir, I can
check you over here."
"No thanks, Im enjoying this," I replied with a smile and without further
comment.
I wanted to explain that I had stood in one place so long that I had grown
comfortable with my surroundings and didnt want to move. Also, I wanted
to say that should I live long enough, I might end up like the elderly woman
ahead of me, but of course I said nothing.
The elderly Black lady handed the cashier two quarters, and in less time
than I would have imagined she had her change in her hand, and the cashier
was greeting me.
I had gone inside the store for a pack of nabs, but after standing beside
the candy rack so long, I remembered I was out of Altoids, so I grabbed a
tin of the curiously strong peppermints, and then reached for a Payday candy
bar. On some days, I skip lunch, but I dont skip eating. Thats
why I pack along the nabs and candy bars such as the Payday. No, its
not the healthiest of meals, but it keeps my stomach from growling between
breakfast and dinner.
Exiting the store, I couldnt help noticing the elderly Black lady getting
into her car as the carry-out boy put her bags on the back seat. I was surprised
that someone her age was still driving. Fortunately, I was in my car and
underway before she got out of her parking space. Im not certain I
will recognize her if I see her again, but if theres an elderly Black
lady in the shortest lane anywhere Im shopping, Ill play it safe
and choose a longer line.
Snowy
River Thoroughly Australian
National Geographic has been my favorite magazine for almost fifty-years.
Lamar Carter, my dads younger brother, gave me a subscription in 1958,
and continued my subscription until I graduated from high school. Somehow,
Ive managed through the years to maintain the subscription and have
kept all the issues.
About thirty years ago, I made a good effort at organizing the back issues,
buying a number of specially designed boxes, or slipcases, each capable of
holding a half-years worth of issues. So, most of the issues are neatly filed
on bookshelves, but I still have some in cardboard boxes. I dont think
Im a packrat, but I cant bring myself to throw away a National
Geographic magazine, let alone more than forty years worth of issues. I
dont know if a public library is interested in my collection, but unless
my children or grandchildren want them, Im okay with my family donating
them to any interested public library.
To be honest, Ive always appreciated the photographs in National Geographic
more than the articles themselves. There have been a lot of articles since
1958, that Ive never read, and a great number of articles that I have
only partially read. However, I believe its fair to say Ive read
my fair share of them.
Through the pages of National Geographic Ive traveled the world, exploring
the highest mountains and the deepest oceans. Theres not a continent,
ocean, or sea that Ive not visited. And, every once in a while, I go
to the moon, or a planet in our solar system, and occasionally test the
boundaries of our universe. To be sure, my travels via National Geographic
magazine are not the same as what one might experience first hand, but thanks
to National Geographic magazine, Ive a pretty good feel for how things
look outside of Pontotoc, Mississippi.
The August 2004, issue of National Geographic magazine introduced me to A.B.
Banjo Paterson, the author of "Waltzing Matilda," a ballad hailed
as Australias unofficial national anthem. For many years, Ive
loved the tune, but I didnt know all the words, and I didnt
understand the slang well enough to have much of an idea what the song was
all about. Yet, thanks to the National Geographic article, The Real Man
From Snowy River, I can sound intelligent the next time I have a chance
to publicly discuss this beloved tune. Not only can I discuss "Waltzing Matilda,"
but I also can recite a verse or two of "Clancy of the Overflow" and "The
Man From Snowy River," which are other poems by Australian born, A.B. Paterson.
In 1888, while a law clerk in Sydney, Paterson, began writing poetry after
office hours and selling it to the "Dispatch." His ballad, "Clancy of the
Overflow" was an instant hit among readers as it contrasted the life of a
freedom-loving drover to that of the lawyer poet and the wide-open spaces
to the din of city life. Paterson, or so it would appear, longed for a romantic
past but lacked the will to walk away from the security of a good job. Instead
he created grand visual images of Australias great outdoors and characters
to match.
Many of Patersons characters were based upon real life persons, and
often the events were fact-based. In "Waltzing Matilda," Paterson recounts
an event in which a drifter, caught in the act of stealing a sheep, drowned
himself rather than forfeit his freedom to a jail cell.
"Clancy Of The Overflow" was inspired when Patersons legal brief urging
the real Clancy to settle his legal obligations was returned to the sender
with a note scribbled on the envelope stating, "Clancys gone to Queensland
droving and we dont know where he are."
No ones certain exactly who inspired "The Man From Snowy River," but
most agree he could be one of several rugged characters or even a composite.
To Australians, the man from Snowy River is the embodiment of the ruggedness
and fearlessness of Americas Clint Eastwood and John Wayne, and the
spunkiness of "Little Joe Cartwright."
"Waltzing Matilda" is the only work of Patersons that is entirely
reproduced in the National Geographic article, but most, if not all, of the
poems of A. B. Paterson can be found on the Internet, public library, or
a bookstore near you.
The article contained enough verses of several poems to arouse my interest
in reading more and to send me to the Internet in search of the "rest of
the story." In the weeks since reading the article, Ive read it again
and again, trying to absorb something I previously overlooked. I dont
know if its that well written, or its because of something all
together different. The verses chosen for the article are about as metrically
pure as I need for poetry to be enjoyable, and Patersons words produce
a visual imagery that a single photo can hardly match. I find myself remembering
these verses as I drive to and from work.
"And I somehow rather fancy that Id like to change with Clancy,
Like to take a turn at droving where the seasons come and go,
While he faced the round eternal of the cash-book and the journal
But I doubt he suit the office, Clancy of the overflow."
Perhaps, theres a part of me that wishes I might have lived a romantic
past, where cowboys and settlers quarreled over grazing rights and men camped
beneath the stars of Americas West. Though, if I had been born in that
era, most likely I would have been a merchant in town rather than riding
a herd oer the plains, and would have missed the romantic part of the
Old West.
If action adventure is your forte, perhaps you can appreciate the following,
knowing that a group of riders chasing a herd of wild bush horses reined
their mounts at the top of a treacherous mountain descent, whose terrain
was filled with wombat holes hidden beneath thick bushes
all but one
rider, that is, the one deemed by most as least likely to succeed.
"But the man from Snowy River let the pony have its head,
And he swung his stockwhip round and gave a cheer,
And he raced him down the mountain, like a torrent in its bed,
While the others stood and watched in very fear."
The plucky "Man from Snowy River," eventually ran down the bush horses and
single-handedly brought them back, proving his mettle and that of his mountain
horse to the rest of the rugged riders.
So, there you have it, a few of my thoughts and a sampling of verses from
the pen of one of Australias best-loved poets. I doubt Ill ever
visit Australias Snowy River region, but I think Ill post a copy
of "The Man From Snowy River," near my computer, just in case I need to be
reminded that good poetry can be inspiring.
About Aunt Jo
Using The Phone Again
t wasnt that long ago that many of us feared Aunt Jo might not survive
another week. A series of health issues had landed her in the hospital, and
the outlook for her recovery was bleak. Somehow, she pulled through, either
by the grace of God or by sheer determination, the latter a trait that
characterizes her Crausby spirit.
Aunt Jo has been a resident of Sunshine Nursing Home, just north of Pontotoc,
since last Christmas. She remains an invalid, unable to get out of bed and
is entirely dependent upon others for all personal care. Her body may be
worn out, but her mind remains sharp.
Aunt Jo has a dislocated shoulder that Doctors advise be left alone.
The tumor in her neck and the one at the base of her skull are not life
threatening at this time. Shes been on blood thinner for years, because
her blood is prone to producing clots, so any surgical procedure would be
extremely risky, including a tooth extraction.
Her caregivers set her in a rolling recliner a couple of times each week.
She takes her meals in her room and must rely upon an aide to feed her.
Surprisingly, Aunt Jo is in relatively good spirits during most of my visits.
Barbara and I most often drop in to see her on Sunday afternoons.
Because Aunt Jo had a host of friends she kept up with via the telephone,
Barbara and I had urged her to get a phone in her room. However, she insisted
she couldnt hold it up to her ear and continually refused our phone
suggestions.
We were surprised to hear her bring up the subject of a phone recently, but
we were encouraged by her interest. James and Peggy, my younger brother and
his wife, found a phone that seems to suit her needs. Im convinced
the phone will be good therapy for Aunt Jo. She and her phone buddies can
keep up with one another, once again.
With Aunt Jo using the phone again, I wouldnt be surprised to learn
she wants to watch TV. So far shes had no interest in having a TV in
her room, but stay tuned for updates.
Bodock Beau
Those Texans Again
Today is the birthday of the editors sister, Sarah. However, its
no laughing matter, because the editor is nine years older than his sister.
If you need a laugh, heres one published in the "Good Times Gazette,"
a monthly publication shared with us by Kim Goslin.
Gabriel came to the Lord and said, "I have to talk to you. We have some Texans
up here who are causing problems. Theyre swinging on the pearly gates,
my horn is missing, barbecue sauce is all over their robes, and theyre
wearing baseball caps and cowboy hats instead of halos. They refuse to keep
the stairway to Heaven clean. There are watermelon seeds and pig feet bones
all over the place. Some of them are walking around with just one wing."
The Lord said, "Texans are Texans, Gabriel. Heaven is home to all my children.
If you want to know about real problems, call the Devil."
The Devil answered the phone, "Hello? Damn, hold on a minute."
The Devil returned to the phone, "Okay, Im back. What can I do for
you?"
Gabriel replied, "I just want to know what kind of problems youre having
down there"
The Devil replied, "Hold on again. I need to check on something."
After about five minutes the Devil returned to the phone and said, "Im
back. Now, what was the question?"
Gabriel said, "What kind of problems are you having down there?"
The Devil said, "Man, I dont believe this
hold on."
This time the Devil was gone for 15 minutes before returning to the phone
and said, "Im sorry Gabriel, I cant talk to you right now. Those
damn Texans have put out the fire down here and are trying to install air
conditioning."
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