Old Shirts are like old friends

  It may not be the same time of the year for everyone. Some people choose Spring or Summer while others choose the Fall or Winter. But at some time during the year we do a bit of housekeeping. Around the end of school is popular. I am not talking about the dusting, vacuuming or washing windows. That can always wait until another day. I am talking about sorting out clothes, getting rid of those things that are old and worn out. But that is not always an easy thing to do..

   I like to frequent LL Bean in Freeport at least several times a year and happened to do so several weeks ago. There were some great sales and markdowns. As I looked over a selection of shirts, of which I needed none, I picked up on the conversation taking place next to me. The husband had selected several new shirts to purchase. His wife reluctantly agreed but only if he would throw some of his older ones away.

   “You need to get rid of the shirts that you don’t wear anymore, the ones that are all faded and worn. Look at the one you're wearing today. Why do you wear that out in public? The cuffs are all frayed and the collar is torn. Who knows what color it was when it was new.”

      “I like this shirt,” was his quick reply. “It is comfortable. You gave it to me for a birthday present when we first started dating. Do you want me to throw it out?”

   I recalled the words of a Mary Chapin Carpenter song.

   “This shirt is old and faded. All the color is washed away. I’ve had it for many damn years now than I can count anyway. I wear it beneath my jacket with the collar turned up high. So old I should replace it, but I’m not about to try.”

   Old clothes may be like an old friends. They are comfortable, fit us just right and often have some great stories to share. We can sometimes even get an extra day of wear before putting them into the washer because they looks so bad. (Not our friends)

   For some folks it’s a shirt, for others, a sweater or pair of old jeans. But as often as we try to replace them, it is sometimes just too difficult to throw the old ones away.

   Back at the store the discussion........

   “The next time you put that shirt in the wash, I am going to throw it in the rag bin!”

   With sadness on his face, the husband put the new shirts back on the shelf. He was sad, not about not buying new shirts, but sad he might have to toss out the old one. To be sure, that shirt would never see the laundry basket again. It will find a special hiding place.

   “This shirt is a grand old relic with a grand old history. I wear it beneath my jacket with the collar turned up high. So old I should replace it, but I am not about to try.”

Changing seasons signal new nighttime sounds

Each season has its own unique and beautiful features; a glistening white snow in winter, colorful flowers of spring, a bright summer sun and the red, yellow and orange leaves of fall. But each season also brings with it its unique sounds, especially at night.

It appears that summer has finally arrived.. Those early warm days in March turned out to be just a tease for a season that eventually arrived, and arrive it did with an over-abundance of raining days and cool nights.

But there is another way to know that summer has arrived. I know its summertime, not only by the flowers in the garden or the need to cut the lawn almost daily, but by the sounds of the nighttime.

As the sun sets and evening settles in, the birds sing their last song for the day. The frogs and toads begin their nightly chorus. It seems that one frog starts and soon others join in to the rhythmic melody. More frogs and toads from a nearby pond, not to be outdone, get into the mix and while it's not the soundtrack from “The Sound of Music,”it is fun to listen as they try to out do each other.

Then, as quickly as it starts, it stops! Silence. Not a single croak. But soon it starts again and lasts well into the night. (Now if I can just keep the neighbor's cat away.)

But there are some nighttime sounds not quite so entertaining. Settling in for a good night's sleep, the peacefulness and calm is interrupted by the buzzing of a pesty mosquito. Left ear? Right ear? I slap my forehead. Missed!

The room is dark. I can't see it, but I sure do hear it. It makes another pass. Has it landed on my hand? Slap. Missed again.

I know! I'll stick my head under the pillow. Maybe it will go away. But now I can't breathe.

From the other side of the bed come the words...” just get up, turn on the light and kill it?”

That would be too easy. This had turned into war now. If I can't outwit a little old mosquito...

The battle continues to rage. I listen. No buzzing. The frogs continue to sing in the background. Without notice the mosquito lands on my nose. Sneak attack. Swat. Missed again. Ouch!

“Turn on the light!!!” This time the suggestion is a bit more forceful.

Even thought it would signal defeat, I turn on the light and within several minutes, the deed is done.

“Keep me awake, will you! Take that.” Splat.

Lights out and peace and quiet returns, except for the frogs as they cheerfully continue their”froggy refrains”. Suddenly there are a series of splashes and I know the neighbor's cat is probably close by.

All of a sudden, out of the darkness come that annoying sound,.. another one?

Yes, summer is truly here again. Sleep well.

Hand Tools

   Every once and awhile I make an attempt to clean up the area around my work bench. There are tools, tape measures, rags and dried spots of glue that missed their mark.

   Now I have an assortment of power tools: drills; sanders, saws, electric screw drivers and more. But scattered among the power tools are the hand tools, those that require no electricity or rechargeable batteries.

   I can not remember the last time I purchased a 'new' hand tool. Most of my tools were either picked up at auctions or passed down from my father and grandfather. If tools could talk, I am sure they would have some interesting stories to tell. Maybe they helped repair the priceless dining room table at grandma’s house or were part of a mad Christmas Eve frenzy to finish putting the toys together.

   Some of the hand tools are true pieces of art. The crafted wooden handles and the delicate etchings on some the saw blade represent fine craftsmanship. . The handle on the crosscut saw is well worn and fits comfortably in my hand. Who knows the number of boards its teeth have cut?

   There is a well used screw driver, bent near the tip. Its handle is smooth to the touch from many turns I am sure. And although well used and a bit battered, the wooden handle remains rich in color from sweat and toil.

   My father must have really liked pliers. In his old tool box were at least a dozen pair ranging in size from very small to a pair that almost requires two hands to hold.. Pliers can be a very handy tool, not only for gripping things but also for scaring little children when a tooth is about to fall out.

   The true measure of a craftsman might rest with the quality of the chisels. From flat and narrow to curved and beveled, each has its own sleeve in the leather case. The ties to hold the case secure are long gone, but the faded initials of my grandfather are still visible.

   Anyone who has a tool bench knows you can’t have just one hammer. Now I know there are new hammers that are used by carpenters that can be quite expensive. But no metal handles here; just claw hammers of different sizes and shapes. There is a very small hammer that I remember as part of the “junk drawer” in my grandmother’s kitchen. I wonder if she ever used it on my grandfather.

   Part of my hammer collection includes a ball peen hammer. To this day, I still am not sure of its purpose, but it is fun to say. All I know is that it works nicely when removing glass from old window frames.

   With my current collection of power tools are my hand tools. But I hope that in fifty years from now my grandchildren will be looking at the old hand tools, wondering what they were used for or who used them. There truly is something fascinating about them.

Sticks and stones can break my bones, but..........

Joshua huddled in the far corner of the playground, trying to avoid the taunts and shouting from the other kids. It wasn't his fault that his skin was a different color or that when he spoke he sounded different from most of the other kids. As the other kids on the playground played, they did not throw sticks or stones, only verbal insults and accusations and when Benny began shouting at him, Joshua broke into tears. Benny was suppose to be his best friend.

This had been school recess for Joshua for a long time. Each day he would try to hide from the others, but usually to no avail. The recess bell would ring and the kids would file back into school. Just another day. But today, Joshua did not go back into school after recess. When the others were inside, he hopped on his broken down bike, the one with the flat tires, and raced down the street.

While teachers and administrators frantically searched the building to find him, an ambulance, siren screeching, raced by the school, stopping at the intersection. Joshua, in attempting to cross the street and not really paying attention, his mind back on the taunting at the playground, had ridden into the path of a pickup truck, surprising the driver. Joshua lay motionless on the pavement.

Lives changed at recess that day. The taunting and bullying had led Joshua to seek flight from what was suppose to be a safe environment. The distraught pickup truck driver would live with the memory of a horrific accident, never knowing why the young boy had ridden out into the street in front of his truck. Joshua's parents would never know what his life was really like at school and for the other kids, life would go on as usual and the bullies would continue to bully. They had won again.

To some degree, this story plays out each day. It is not always on the school playground. It could be at work, home or even at church.

In aisle 3 at the grocery store, the young father shouted angrily at his son, calling him names and telling him he would grow up to be “nothing but a lazy little punk.“ The truth is that's what would happen. He  probably would grow up just like his father.

The silence of the night was broken by the crashing of glass as a rock missiles its way through the plate glass window. The single mother and her children huddle in the darkness of the closet until it was safe. In the middle of the living room, wrapped around the rock was a note with words threatening that 'the next time it would be worse.'

The act of bullying has no boundaries, no socioeconomic status, no religious beliefs or political parties. At some point many of us may have participated in bullying, just for fun, of course. Or was it out of fear?

When people become frightened or scared, they react in unusual ways. When they do not understand or are ignorant, they look for ways to hide their fears by making fun of others..

Sticks and stone may surely break bones, but names (and words) just might kill you.

Summer Vacation

500 Words

Remembering summer vacation as a child

The countdown is on, the countdown to summer vacation from school.. that is. How do I know you may ask? Our backyard borders on the far edges of the playground at the local elementary school and often a small group of kids will congregate there at noon recess. If the wind is blowing in the right direction, their discussion is as clear as a bell.

The other day a group was discussing the upcoming summer vacation. . They could not agree on the date, but they all knew the last day was a Monday and each bragged that his or her parents surely would not make them come to school for just one day. It was 'stupid' to have just one day of school!

I listened intently as each described how they were going to spend the summer. Several would be going away to church camp for a week or two. One boy would be going to spend the summer in New York with grandparents. He was pretty excited because his grandparents had horses and this year he he was old enough to learn to ride..

Some would be going to family camps at nearby lakes and ponds This was going to present a problem because they really wanted to play baseball and the coach said that if.....you know the coaches!

One young girl complained that she would have to spend the days at home with her older sister while her parents worked. All her sister did was talk on the phone and smoke cigarettes. Boring.

I thought about my summer vacation planning nearly six decades ago. The end of school was always an exciting time. The first item on the list? Make sure you got promoted to the next grade level. Not getting promoted would mean a terrible summer.

There was baseball and the town's summer recreation program. I think my mother still has some of the arts and crafts projects we made year after year.

By the middle of July things sometimes got pretty boring. No one would admit that they would like to be back in school, but I think that's what we were all thinking. And I also think that mom and dad were eager to have school begin too.

Sometime during the second week of August, there was the phone call! “Your teacher for the school year will be.............. Oh no! Not her. She's so mean.” Last year she failed everybody in her class. And besides, her hair is a funny color.

Back in my day, school didn't begin until after Labor Day., so there might be one more picnic or trip to the beach, shopping for new shoes, and the 'beginning of school' hair cut. We all looked pretty 'dorky' on the first day of school with those haircuts.

So kids, enjoy the anticipation of the upcoming summer vacation and know that September will be here before you know it.

It all begins with a cup of coffee

It begins with a cup of coffee...
   Humans are creatures of habit. We get up each day from a 'hopefully' restful night's sleep, refreshed and ready to tackle the challenges of a new day. Much of our day is based upon a personal routine that we have developed over time and while daily activities may vary to some degree there is a core that remains constant and provides  structure for the day. They are the things we come to expect and don't think much about. But when that daily routine is disturbed, it can send the entire day into a tailspin.
   Part of my daily routine includes making coffee. Coffee, water, flip the switch and by the time I get back from walking the dog , the coffee is ready. Except this morning! When I entered the house, there was no aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Had I forgotten to turn on the switch?  I didn't think so. I tried turning on the coffee maker several more times and got the same result. Absolutely no sign of life. Dead!  Thank goodness for the A E Robinson store just around the corner.
   Almost at the store, I notice that the car turned the corner with a bit of sluggishness. I pull over, get out and notice that the front right tire seems a bit low on air pressure. Not flat, but almost. Did you know it now costs money to put  air in your tires? Something that used to be free, now costs money. What is this world coming to? Will we soon be charged for the air we breath?
   As part of the morning “routine,' I usually try to catch the early morning local news, especially the weather. I know. I can look out the window and get a sense of what the day may be like. But remember, it's part of a routine.
    But on this morning the remote for the television didn't work. My goodness, no Kevin Mannix, no weather forecast. I won't know what to wear!
   This was an easy fix. Two new batteries and there he was, wrapping up the weekend forecast. But what about today Kevin?
   The day was not going to be exceptionally busy, but there were a few people I needed to see. Coffee, a well rounded tire, clothes I thought might match the day's temperature and I was ready to hit the road.
   Three blocks from the house I realized that I had forgotten my cell phone. What to do? I could turn around and pick it up or I could try to make it through the day without it. Isn't that what we all did not so many years ago, before the advent of the cell phone? This need for constant contact has become an obsession.
   I should have just kept going. When I pick it up, I discovered that I had not charged the battery as I normally do. Once charged, it beeped, rang and sputtered, making all kinds of noises resulting from missed calls to appointment reminders from the calendar function. What ever happened to those little pocket calendars anyway?
   By now, the day was  'out of sync.'  Nothing big, just a bunch of little things. I decided to stop, regroup and get another  cup of coffee. The clerk at the drive through must have sensed that it had not been the best morning of the week and gave me an extra large coffee for the price of a regular. “It was a special today,” she said.  I thanked her and headed down the road.
   Now, I have this idea for an invention. It's called the 'auto bib', designed for those of us who eat and drive at the same time. Every once and awhile I have been known to spill just a bit of something on a freshly laundered white shirt, and wouldn't you know that this particular morning...
   My hope is that tomorrow will be a better day. For starters,  I just bought a new coffee maker.

Nothing like a good fence

There may be nothing like a good fence...
   With warm spring weather arriving a bit earlier this year, I have been able to get a head start of some gardening and yard work. I've gotten a bit smarter over the years and do some of the cleanup in the fall after the leaves have fallen and flowers have died off. But even with the fall cleanup,  there is still work to do each Spring.
   I like to garden. It can be relaxing, the flowers add a touch of color to the surroundings and the fresh vegetables taste really good. I would add that I also mow my own lawn, each time cutting the grass in different directions to give it the 'Fenway Park' look.
   Each year we travel to Williamsburg in early Spring to get away from the mud season and hope that the weather there is just a bit warmer. Colonial Williamsburg is known for its gardens, its white picket fences and meandering pathways. We are generally a bit early to see the gardens in full bloom, but it is easy to picture how they will look later in the summer.
   This year I decided to create my own Williamsburg garden look-alike with raised beds and  surrounded by a fence. My yard is not  large so instead of a white picket fence, I decided to go with something a bit more open and airy and since I live in a fairly wooded area, I decided to stick with the natural split rail look. No white plastic fencing for me
   Planning the layout is important. What's even more important is what to grow. The area is not  large so it is important to be sure to plant things that make sense. Perhaps some vegetables, herbs and a few flowers would be a good way to get started.
   Now, I need to add a disclaimer at this point. My wife and I are not new to gardening and we are always learning. We currently have some rather extensive flower beds and scattered around the yard are nearly ninety five hosta plants of various colors and sizes. And one of the things we have learned is that... if  hungry enough, deer will feast upon those large, inviting hosta  leaves as well as many other things we grow in the garden.
   The fence has caused some discussion in the neighborhood. When asked, I usually respond with a smart remark about three new thoroughbred horses or six  Australian sheep. Perhaps we may even  become home to a giraffe from the giraffe rescue association.
   The history of the fence probably goes back to prehistoric times. Some speculate that as   prehistoric men and women attempted to domesticate animals for both food and pets (can you imagine a pet ten thousand pound dinosaur), they used early fences to corral the beasts.
   My guess is that fences became popular when new neighbors  with three teenage kids moved into the cave next door, and the higher the fence the better.
   Fences have always been a part of history and have served many purposes ranging from keeping in the cattle, defining  property lines and creating endless arguments. I believe it was Robert Frost who once said that “ good fences make good neighbors.” I have noticed that more and more people are beginning  to put up fences around their homes. They must be looking for ways to become better neighbors!
   My fence is purely for esthetics and decoration. It will not keep out the deer or the neighborhood kids. It will not protect the crops from being ravaged by  those who seek to pillage the land. But after stepping past  the gate, it will offer an imaginary step back in time and a few quiet moments to admire the wonders of nature.