RRN Online Volume 442

November 20 '04

Volume 442

Fine Arts Fundraiser Fall Harvest Luncheon

As fund raising events go, Pontotoc’s Fine Arts Club does a good job with their annual luncheon. The Fall Harvest Luncheon, formerly known as "The Ladies Luncheon" now attracts men as well as women. I’m sure there are not many married men who view civic-sponsored luncheons, as I do, but I’m the sort who would probably not attend were it not for the promptings of my wife.

Barbara doesn’t nag me or try to drag me to such events. In fact, she’s not always sure of my weekly schedule, so she just buys herself a ticket and later asks if I would like one also. I think she enjoys having me accompany her though not for reasons one might assume. I’m certainly not eye candy, and I hardly qualify as a brilliant conversationalist, as I tend to listen more than I talk. Instead, I imagine Barbara derives a certain pride of accomplishment, not unlike that of a deer hunter who hauls around a trophy buck to show to friends. It takes a bit of doing to find me captured at a noon luncheon, and the degree of difficulty is comparable to the aforementioned hunter’s early morning entrance into the woods and the patience to wait for the trophy animal to move within range, before making the kill. Oh, my wife would attend without me, and she’d enjoy herself, but if I’m with her, she has bragging rights over those whose husbands were not present.

Luckily, I did not have to be in the office on the Friday morning of the luncheon, as I had a mid-afternoon appointment with a retailer in Louisville, MS, and was able to work at home that morning. I picked up Barbara from work shortly after eleven o’clock, and we drove to the nearby Community Center for the luncheon. I was glad we left early for there were not many parking spaces available when we arrived. On our way, I asked Barbara if she bought a ticket for me.

"No, but I’m sure they’ll have some at the door," she stated.

Betty Austin was seated inside the entrance and announced she did in fact have a few tickets left, but just a few. Patti Sneed was ahead of us in line, preparing to pay for a meal she had committed to purchasing, but was on her way to a business lunch in Tupelo. Hers was truly a charitable gesture.

"They’ve got their goodies out here," Barbara noted, pointing me toward a table laden with foods, books, and ceramics.

I glanced over the goods but kept moving toward the main room, knowing that I was short of funds to purchase any extras.

"Sit anywhere you like," we were told. "Someone will serve you as soon as you’re seated.

Already a large number of folks were seated and eating, and while I would have been comfortable joining any of them, I suggested we sit at the opposite end of the room where several tables were vacant.

"Let’s start a new table," I told Barbara, "and see if anybody joins us."

One of my friends from our Card Club days greeted us warmly, as she always does. She’s chastised me for mentioning her name before, so I’ll respect her anonymity this time.

Anyway, she hugged my neck and remarked, "I’m sure glad we’re not serving chicken and dressing this year, since you complained about it the last time you came."

"Complained? Did I complain?" I mocked, not remembering what I said but aware that I had written about the luncheon two years ago, and she’s a subscriber.

My backside had scarcely knocked the chill off the seat of the metal folding chair when Betty Montgomery, another member of the Fine Arts Club, cheerfully asked, "What can I get you to drink?"

Barbara asked for water, and I asked for tea. There was a time in the South, when tea was universally understood to mean sweet tea, or more correctly, sweetened tea. I think we’ve had too many Yankees move down here and request un-sweetened tea and have complicated our mealtime communications. With respect to tea and the South, I believe in conforming non-Southerners to our ways and not the other way around.

After all, the adage, "When in Rome, do as the Romans," still sets the example for social behavior.

Heck, if we get an influx of Canadians anytime soon, we’ll have to start asking tea drinkers if they want ice with their tea, as well as offering sweet or un-sweet tea. Betty and I both grew up during an era when folks who asked for un-sweetened tea drew strange looks from others.

"Sweet or un-sweet?" Betty asked.

"It doesn’t matter. I’ll drink it sweet or un-sweet."

"We have both," she insisted.

I sometimes play the "tea game" beyond this point, by encouraging the server to make a decision for me and respond, "Either one is fine. Just give me whichever one you’re running long on."

Yet, because that tends to exasperate most servers, I decided to be nice and simply asked for sweet tea.

Someone sat a plate in front of me before Betty returned with my tea (probably the same individual who prefers anonymity). The scalloped potatoes with carrots and onions called out to me, as I studied the gravy ladled atop the boneless pork chop. A homemade roll and a serving of green beans rounded out the foods I recognized. However, that which I erroneously assumed to be a strawberry-iced cupcake turned out to be a frozen cranberry salad.

Barbara and I had just begun to eat when a group of Presbyterians asked if we minded them joining us. Willene Owen, mother of my childhood friend, Frank Owen, introduced us to Jane Garrison, who joined Libba Cook, and Nancy and Sidney Pipkins.

I was glad the Presbyterian group brought along a man, as I had noticed earlier a conspicuous absence of men, perhaps less than twenty percent of the total present.

Willene informed me that she’s now a great grandmother. She looked puzzled for a moment when I told her I was a "great" grandfather, though I didn’t have a grandchild with children. However, she soon figured out my pun.

The portions of food were of a sensible size but nothing on the order of what a restaurant heaps on it’s clientele. Personally, I prefer a sensible portion of food. When portions are large, I’m often left with a sense of guilt for saving room for dessert and not eating everything on my plate.

Wanda Davis brought desserts to our table on a large serving tray. Everything looked good, but when Barbara selected a slice of caramel-iced pound cake, I changed my mind and picked up a square of cake topped with cool whip, coconut, cherries, and oranges. I knew Barbara wouldn’t eat all of her selection, and while I thought I could finish her piece, I found that I could not, for the sweet caramel icing on the sweet cake made for more sweetness than I needed.

At twelve thirty, I mentioned to Barbara, I should be getting on the road. I walked into the area where club members were filling plates, cafeteria style, for the servers to transport to the tables. I was on a friendly mission but was met with mild hostility by a handful of club members who admonished me not to write anything critical about the meal.

"Ladies," I assured them, "I just came in to say that I enjoyed the meal. The food was good (insert pause) for the most part."

"See, now that’s being critical," one responded.

And, I suppose, some of my friends will find this article critical as well. I don’t view it that way, but that may be attributed to another of my flaws, insensitivity.

Barbara and I began to work our way toward the entrance but stopped frequently to greet others. The opportunity to speak to acquaintances, seen all too infrequently, is one of the aspects of a civic sponsored luncheon that I most appreciate, but to have made the most of the opportunity would have jeopardized making my afternoon business appointment on time. Making our way to the car, I remembered the good food and good fellowship of the past hour, but I also wondered if members of the Fine Arts Club would even sell me a ticket next year.

My Squeegee Do It Yourself Service

The demise of Service Stations has left motorists on their own to perform chores such as checking air pressure in tires, coolant levels, and cleaning bug remnants from the windshield. While there are a few full-service Service Stations left, the services that once were free are now built into the price per gallon at the gas pump, especially if the gas pumps are full-service, too.

Fortunately, to fill the void left by Service Stations, quick-lube stations have come to small town America, and for the price of an oil change, they’ll check tire pressure, coolant levels, air filters, and numerous other items of concern for motorists. They’ll clean your windshield, too, but the windshield won’t remain clean between oil changes when bugs are in season.

Basically a motorist has two choices, purchase a windshield squeegee or use those provided at most self-service gas pump islands. I got tired of trying to clean my windshield with dirty water and a dirty squeegee, and I also tired of trying to locate a gas station that kept clean water and clean squeegees for those of us who like to see where we’re driving, so I bought a squeegee to keep in my car. I sometimes use it between weekly car washings, but I seldom use mine at a gas station, because either no water is available or else the water’s dirty and stagnant. Plus, if an attendant sees me putting a squeegee in my trunk, I don’t want to be suspected of theft.

As one might guess, I’m particular about the squeegees that I purchase. I don’t want one that’s too heavy, has a wooden handle, or one with any metal on it. I don’t want one that’s light and flimsy or has a scrubber that falls apart after a few uses. Wouldn’t you know it, the last time I went to Wal Mart to buy one, they had changed brands, and I couldn’t find one like I had been using; at least I couldn’t in Pontotoc or Indianola. But, last spring, I bought the last one on the shelf at the Wal Mart in Livingston, AL, while waiting on my fishing buddies to arrive.

In warm weather, I use a "miracle cloth" to wipe down my car at Young’s Car Wash. After the final rinse, I’ll squeegee off the windshield, side windows, and rear windows.

To keep my hands from icing over in cold weather, I use the scrubber on the squeegee to clean the tops and sides of my car following the soap cycle before the final rinse. I also squeegee all the glass surfaces before a final wipe down. But, if it’s bad cold, I’ll skip the wipe down and let the surfaces air-dry.

I must have been in a hurry to finish washing my car the other day and get inside to visit with Cordis and Cubell Young, because I forget to pack away my squeegee before I exited the car-wash stall. It was a week later that I missed it. I was at the carwash, again, and could not find the squeegee anywhere inside my car. Needless to say, I was outdone with myself for having left the squeegee at the carwash the prior week, and perhaps equally outdone for having also forgotten to bring the Young’s RRN with me and had to drive back to the house to pick it up.

As for the squeegee, I assumed that whomever washed their vehicle after me didn’t want to see a good squeegee go to waste and, counting his or her good fortune, made off with it. However, I did mention my misfortune to Mrs. Young, who shared that no one had turned a squeegee in to her.

A few minutes later, Mr. Alford Johnson, who helps with repairs at the car wash and the laundry as well as being Derwood Young’s right-hand man, came inside and asked, "Did you leave your squeegee down here last week?"

"Did you find it?" I asked, almost jumping with joy.

"Yeah, I thought it was yours, and I put it up for you," he stated with a broad smile and then walked out to a maintenance room.

When he returned, I shook his hand and thanked him for his service and immediately put the squeegee in the car’s trunk. I wanted to make sure I didn’t forget it again, because as sure as I am of death and taxes, I’m just as certain there won’t be one like it at Wal Mart in Pontotoc.

Bodock Beau Men Are Happier People

The following were sent our way by Kim Goslin:

Why Men Are Just Happier People

Your last name stays put.
The garage is all yours.
Wedding plans take care of themselves.
You can never be pregnant.
You can wear a white T-shirt to a water park.
You can wear NO T-shirt to a water park.
Car mechanics tell you the truth.
The world is your urinal.
You don't have to stop and think of which way to turn a nut on a bolt.
Same work, more pay.
Wrinkles add character.
People never stare at your chest when you're talking to them.
The occasional well-rendered belch is practically expected.
One mood -- all the time.
Most phone conversations are over in 30 seconds flat.
You know stuff about tanks.
A five-day vacation requires only one suitcase.
You can open all your own jars.
You get extra credit for the slightest act of thoughtfulness.
If someone forgets to invite you, he or she can still be your friend.
Your underwear is $8.95 for three-pack.
You don't get the wind blowing up your skirt.
Three pairs of shoes are more than enough.
You almost never have strap problems in public.
You are unable to see wrinkles in your clothes.
Everything on your face stays its original color.
The same hairstyle lasts for years, maybe decades.
You only have to shave your face and neck.
You can play with toys all your life.
Your belly usually hides your big hips.
One wallet and one pair of shoes; one color for all seasons.
You can wear shorts no matter how your legs look.
You have freedom of choice concerning growing a mustache.
You can do Christmas shopping for 25 relatives on December 24^th in 25 minutes.

Some artists have re-released their greatest hits with new lyrics to accommodate their aging audience: (Original Title In Parentheses - For those of us with memory problems)

Carly Simon - You're So Varicose Vein (You're So Vain)

The Bee Gees - How Can You Mend a Broken Hip (How Can You Mend A Broken Heart)

Roberta Flack - The First Time Ever I Forgot Your Face (The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face)

Johnny Nash - I Can't See Clearly Now (I Can See Clearly Now)

James Brown - Papa's Got a Kidney Stone (Papa's Got a Brand New Bag)

Nancy Sinatra - These Boots Give Me Arthritis (These Boots Are Made For Walking)

Leo Sayer - You Make Me Feel Like Napping (You Make Me Feel Like Dancing)

Commodores - Once, Twice, Three Trips to the Bathroom (Once, Twice, Three Times a Lady)

Procol Harum - A Whiter Shade of Hair (A Whiter Shade Of Pale)

The Beatles - I Get By with a Little Help From Depends (I Get By With A Little Help From My Friends)

Steely Dan - Rikki Don't Lose Your Car Keys (Rikki Don't Lose That Number)

Herman's Hermits - Mrs. Brown You've Got a Lovely Walker (Mrs. Brown You've Got A Lovely Daughter)

Creedence Clearwater Revival - Bad Prune Rising (Bad Moon Rising)

Marvin Gaye - I Heard It Through the Grape Nuts (I Heard It Through The Grapevine)

The Who - Talkin' 'Bout My Medication (Talkin' 'Bout My Generaton)

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