September 11 '04
Volume 432


Standing In Line When Short Is Long

Short Lines Are RiskyIf there’s more than one line of folks standing in front of the Pearly Gates, I hope I’ve 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 it’s 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 merchandiser’s 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 Tom’s nabs. Nabs are those snacks commonly made by sandwiching a glob of peanut butter between a couple of cheese flavored or toasted crackers. I can’t 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. "There’s 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, they’ll bag your groceries and carry them to the car for you at the Piggly Wiggly in Pontotoc, but they won’t unload your shopping cart at the check lane. I’m 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 Mable’s 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 woman’s 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 doesn’t know is there and won’t discover it’s 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, I’m 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 didn’t 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 don’t skip eating. That’s why I pack along the nabs and candy bars such as the Payday. No, it’s not the healthiest of meals, but it keeps my stomach from growling between breakfast and dinner.

Exiting the store, I couldn’t 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. I’m not certain I will recognize her if I see her again, but if there’s an elderly Black lady in the shortest lane anywhere I’m shopping, I’ll 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 dad’s younger brother, gave me a subscription in 1958, and continued my subscription until I graduated from high school. Somehow, I’ve 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 don’t think I’m a packrat, but I can’t bring myself to throw away a National Geographic magazine, let alone more than forty years worth of issues. I don’t know if a public library is interested in my collection, but unless my children or grandchildren want them, I’m okay with my family donating them to any interested public library.

To be honest, I’ve always appreciated the photographs in National Geographic more than the articles themselves. There have been a lot of articles since 1958, that I’ve never read, and a great number of articles that I have only partially read. However, I believe it’s fair to say I’ve read my fair share of them.

Through the pages of National Geographic I’ve traveled the world, exploring the highest mountains and the deepest oceans. There’s not a continent, ocean, or sea that I’ve 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, I’ve 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 Australia’s unofficial national anthem. For many years, I’ve loved the tune, but I didn’t know all the words, and I didn’t 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 Australia’s great outdoors and characters to match.

Many of Paterson’s 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 Paterson’s legal brief urging the real Clancy to settle his legal obligations was returned to the sender with a note scribbled on the envelope stating, "Clancy’s gone to Queensland droving and we don’t know where he are."

No one’s 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 America’s Clint Eastwood and John Wayne, and the spunkiness of "Little Joe Cartwright."

"Waltzing Matilda" is the only work of Paterson’s 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, I’ve read it again and again, trying to absorb something I previously overlooked. I don’t know if it’s that well written, or it’s 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 Paterson’s 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 I’d 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, there’s 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 America’s 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 o’er 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 Australia’s best-loved poets. I doubt I’ll ever visit Australia’s Snowy River region, but I think I’ll 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 wasn’t 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 Doctor’s 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. She’s 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 couldn’t 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. I’m 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 wouldn’t be surprised to learn she wants to watch TV. So far she’s 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 editor’s sister, Sarah. However, it’s no laughing matter, because the editor is nine years older than his sister.

If you need a laugh, here’s 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. They’re swinging on the pearly gates, my horn is missing, barbecue sauce is all over their robes, and they’re 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, I’m back. What can I do for you?"

Gabriel replied, "I just want to know what kind of problems you’re 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, "I’m back. Now, what was the question?"

Gabriel said, "What kind of problems are you having down there?"

The Devil said, "Man, I don’t believe this…hold on."

This time the Devil was gone for 15 minutes before returning to the phone and said, "I’m sorry Gabriel, I can’t 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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