The Sick Blanket

By O’Ceallaigh-

The Greek language back in the days of the Bible, that is, the New Testament, didn’t use punctuation. That sometimes caused problems for the translators.

In the King James Version, in the book of Acts, chapter 19 and verse 12 it tells us that they brought from Paul’s body to the “sick handkerchiefs and aprons…”

Well, that’s not really what it says, but in a cursory reading, it certainly looks that way. And, it’s all due to the lack of a comma missing from the appropriate place. The reality is, I’ve never heard of a “Sick Handkerchief!”

About 45 years ago we had a Sick Blanket at our house. Kathy knit the thing together over the period of about two weeks in her spare time. She loved to keep her hands busy! It was sort of a cream color in alternating strips of orange. We kept in on the back of the couch or a chair as a throw – I guess you call them an Afghan.

It was rather attractive! It was nice to lie on the sofa and pull it down over you and take a nice nap in the mid-afternoon. So nice that it got to be a habit!

There was a transformation that took place though, as time passed and the kids grew. They liked it, too, especially when they were sick.

When they had the flu or just a cold, with fever and chills, it was very comforting to have the Sick Blanket to lay over them to keep them warm. I can still see Laura with her flushed red face, sleeping with the orange and white afghan pulled up around her chin.

Our son, Lance, came up with a rare condition one time called Henoch–Schönlein purpura.

I could go into a long dissertation of the cause and origin of that disease, but what’s important is that he had the opportunity to spend several weeks tucked under the Sick Blanket on the couch, or on the floor in front of the fireplace in the old house on Hunt Road.

When we moved from Hunt Road to the village of Ashville, the Sick Blanket went with us, tossed on the back of the sofa in front of the large picture window overlooking the back yard.

I remember one Sabbath afternoon we had company home for dinner after church. We gathered around the Round Oak Table for the usual delicious meal and then sent the kids out for a walk or off to play some innocuous games fit for such an occasion while we adults sat about the living room to discuss the grand and lofty theological issues of the day.

As is often the case with such heady discussions, one after the other began to nod off – I in my large, patch-work over-stuffed platform rocker and others wherever they might have landed. At one point I roused slightly and noted Ted and Dr. Bob stretched out on the living-room floor both covered with the Sick Blanket.

When I talked to Lance the other day, he couldn’t really remember much about being sick under the blanket but he did remember when he would come home from school on long weekends he would crawl under the sick Blanket for a nap. But, he recognized that he had stretched out considerably from his younger days and he would have to tuck the blanket under his feet and stretch it up around his shoulders. His feet had grown “too big for his bed!!”

My daughter, Laura, has four children. Children get sick.

Some time ago, she called Kathy and told her that she missed the Sick Blanket because the flu was going through the house and she was remembering the comfort the Blanket brought her when she was a child.

So, Momma tossed it in the washer and cleaned it all up and then packed it into a box and sent it out to Kansas City, Kansas so Laura could have the Sick Blanket for her little ones. Now it continues the tradition in the family.

I wonder, though, if it will last for another generation? Perhaps it will turn out to be something like Linus’ blanket from “Peanuts.” You know, a few threads remaining from the original blanket but the family still loathe to discard it.

But, even if that turns out to be the case, both Lance and Laura and their families will have the precedent set and will carry on the tradition of the sick Blanket “throughout their generations!”

Even if their Sick Blankets turn out to be different material and different colors, the comfort attending them will still be the same.

The Flat Rock Pool

By O’Ceallaigh –

There was a large, flat, shale rock in our creek that jutted our over one of the many little pools where the gravel would wash away and form a deeper spot in the creek. To get there one would leave our barn yard and walk down the lane past the old elm tree to the corners of the ten and fourteen acre fields. The ten acre field was on the right side of the lane and the fourteen acre plot was on the left. The lane was quite wide but the cows had made a habit of walking on only the right side where they had made a well travelled cow-path.

The Flat Rock Pool was probably my favorite spot on the entire farm because I could go there anytime I wished and get in the water to my heart’s content. It was only about a ten minute walk from the house and if Mom wanted me for anything she could simply call me and I would hear. Unlike many kids of today, I would drop what I was doing and go back to the house to see what she wanted. I must have been a good little kid!

One summer the spot became more special because I developed a friend who met me there every time I went to the pool. It was a Red-Fin Chub.

It is interesting to note that when we would go fishing for Muskellunge in the lake, we would use Red-Fin chubs for live bait. Muskies seemed to like them and we generally had good luck when fishing with them.

But, down at the Flat Rock Pool that summer, the chub that I made friends with was not used for bait. He was a pet! I wouldn’t abuse a pet by putting a hook through his lips and feeding him to a Muskie! Good Grief!!

I discovered him one day when I was lifting small stones looking for crabs, or, more technically known as crayfish. These little critters would hide under the flat stones and then, when discovered, flip their tail fin and scoot backwards away from their predator – ME! Their pincers were large in some cases and it was a test of my boyhood to see if I could withstand the pain caused when they would clamp onto my finger.

It was probably about late May when I first met the fish. I was feeling under the ledge of the big flat rock when I felt him.

I had seen him swimming about in the pool when I first got there that day. When he saw me, he darted under the rock. To investigate, I laid down on the rock and reached my hand back under the ledge. He must be too far back!

Farther back I reach! My shirt sleeve was wet now but that didn’t matter, I was about to catch a fish with my bare hands! A little farther! Now my shoulder was wet! I felt it! Something went over my hand! I closed my fingers to my palm!

Missed him!!

There he was out in the pool laughing at me!

“You just wait, you rascal,” I thought. “I’ll get you yet!”

Up off my stomach I scrambled and walked to the other side of the pool. I could still see him! I waded in behind him!

Zoom!! There he went under the rock again.

Thinking back, it’s hard to remember how many times this scene was repeated! I know that I made several trips down the lane, past the old elm tree and down the bank to the flat rock to go through the same dance with the Red-Fin chub.

After perhaps a week of trips, I finally was able to touch him and gently close my fingers around him before he darted away. After maybe two weeks, maybe more, maybe less, we came to an understanding, you might say. I could take him in my hand, carefully bring him out from under the Big Flat Rock and hold him in the pool while we just looked at each other.

He would then casually swim away and then venture back, close enough for me to put my hand under his belly and suspend him in the water! I was gaining on it over the next few days!! Then….

Mom called!

I let the Red Fin Chub go and watched him swim away.

It wasn’t long after that when we had one of those thunderstorms that created a “Gully-Washer.” These storms filled the creek with rushing water, brown and muddy.

With Mom and her worrying, I was obviously not allowed to go to the creek on a day like that!! So, it was a few days before I walked down the lane, past the old elm tree, down the bank to where the Big Flat Rock still lay, anchored and secure with the years of time.

I laid down on the rock and searched. I got my sleeve all wet but that wasn’t enough.

I went farther under the rock. My shoulder was now wet! I felt around in the darkest and narrowest crannies under the ledge of the rock.

The Red Fin chub was gone.

————————————————————————-

I still went to the pool by the Big Flat Rock, but somehow things had changed.

In later years Leonard Lipton wrote a poem that was set to music by Peter Yarrow called, “Puff, The Magic Dragon.”

That song has a verse that said, “A dragon lives forever, but not so little boy. Painted wings and giant rings
make way for other toys!”

So it was with me. But it just was never the same as those summer days, laying on the big flat rock over the Flat- Rock Pool, playing with my friend, the Red-Fin chub.

I wonder if the Big Flat Rock is still there?

PRIMOGENITURE

By O’Ceallaigh –

Primogeniture (Pri-mo-GEH-ni-choor) .

The term is defined by Merriam-Webster as: “ 1. The state of being the firstborn of the children of the same parents, 2. An exclusive right of inheritance belonging to the eldest son”

Now, I haven’t done a whole lot of research on this but the other night Pastor Frank used the term in Mid-week service and gave us a bit of detail. That got me thinking about how it might apply to the Christian now and in the days, weeks, months and years – and millennia to come.

You see, the estates of the nobility were passed to the eldest by tradition or law and were thereby held intact rather than being split several ways between the several heirs.

Pastor Frank explained that this is a great benefit not only to the heirs, but to the entire community which the estate, or the manor, services.

Some of these estates are more than 1000 acres and employ several hundred people from the community. They also draw thousands of tourists who bring substantial income the community.

If the estate were to be given to, shall we say, four heirs as individual receivers, the 1000 acres would be reduced to 250 acres for each one. In the next generation should each of the 4 heirs have only 2 heirs, the estate would be reduced to 8 small “estates” of only 125 acres in each one.

When the estate was whole and entire, it was an economic machine! Now, who from America or other country would care to spend freely on visiting a 125 acre farm?

Simple logic sees the benefit of keeping the estate entire! When the “First Born” inherits under Primogeniture, he becomes the “ruler” of the estate. The remainder of the heirs, however, benefit from the “entire estate” along with the first born.

Now, that seems like a rather protracted explanation which, we ask, leads to where?

In my cogitations, I began to think of Jesus and the fact that He is referred to as the “Firstborn of every creature” (Colossians 1:15) and wondered where this would take me.

Now, I don’t want to get theological on you, but Jesus was born! His mother was Mary. He was sired by a miraculous conception with the Holy Spirit (Ghost) having a part in it which we do not fully comprehend. In addition, we see Adam’s son Cain as the First Born of all Creation. How does this work?

Note what Spiros Zodiates says. He is a Greek scholar and author of notes in the “Key Word Bible.” Regarding this reference and the word ‘protokos’ used here which is translated ‘firstborn’ he says: “What it means in this passage is that Christ holds the same relation to all creation as God the Father because He is above (preeminent to) all creation.”

This makes sense to us because, “In the beginning was the Word…all things were made by Him and without Him was not anything made that was made…And the Word was made flesh and dwelt among us.” (John 1:1,2,14) This is referring to Jesus, there at Creation and with us also in John’s day through the Incarnation.

Now what does this all have to do with Primogeniture?
The apostle Paul wrote, in his letter to the Romans, “For as many as are led by the Spirit of God, they are the sons of God…And if children, then heirs; heirs of God, and joint-heirs with Christ…;”

Christ the Elder, the Firstborn, the preeminent one, inherits the entire estate. But we are “Joint heirs with Christ.”

Under the law of “Primogeniture,” we share, as sons and daughters of God, the entire estate. That estate which we inherit works to the benefit of the entire community – the entire Universe.

Could it be? Yes, it could be. That’s what it says!

What, in your mind, are the implications of that?

The Raging Torrent

By O’Ceallaigh –

Summers were always very busy around our place in the old days. It seems that we never had the time to get wood for the fires of winter when the weather was warm and descent. It always waited until winter time when the snow was deep and it was freezing cold. Either that or it would be in the spring when everything was mud and the creeks were full and rushing.

We had an old wood-burning kitchen range that used a lot of “kitchen wood.” That stuff was split up into pieces about 12 to 16 inches long and about 3 inches wide. Generally it was my job to bring in the kitchen-wood – “if you want anything to eat!” Dad used to say.

That job I hated because it was generally in the winter, or at least it seemed like that. Thinking back, I suppose Mom had to cook in the summer, too, but I only remember bringing in the wood in the winter, all caked with snow! Somewhere along the way my dad installed a wood box in the back room which prevented the melting snow from the wood, running all over the floor of the kitchen.

I still had to bring it in, but I could schedule it a little better and fetch it while it was dry. It worked out so much better.

I think my Mother liked it better, too.

One spring day when the snow was melted, Dad decided it was time to go to the woods to get a load of wood cut. All five of us got dressed up as warm as possible and headed down across the 10 acre field, down the “dugway” to the creek.

Now, my mother was a worrier. I expect we all have folks in our ancestry who have been worriers but I’m not so sure that any have been as bad as my mother. She worried about everything!

On this day, when we got to the creek, it was a raging torrent! We were in the wagon with the horses pulling it but the creek; – oh, this was no match for the wagon and the horses! Mom insisted that the rushing water would wash us all down the creek and she would lose her entire family in one fell swoop!

So, we all off-loaded the wagon and then Dad got back in and drove the horses across the stream while we all huddled around Mom demonstrating appropriate concern! With several of Mom’s expressions of instructional epithets, Dad made it to the other side.

He was then obligated to return by wading back across the stream to get us, one at a time; Mom had to go first so she’d be there on the other side to receive us on our arrival.

So the transfer began; Mom on Dad’s back while he stepped into the raging torrent, teetering and stumbling and almost falling!

I began to wonder what it would be like living as an orphan. I tried not to think of my parents being washed down-stream the entire two and a half miles to Lake Chautauqua! Fear gripped my young heart!

I became a worrier that day!

But, they made it to the other side!

Then my brother, my sister and finally me.

I climbed on Dad’s back, grabbed onto his jacket collar and held on for dear life! I looked down and the brown, muddy rushing water! I began thinking about Chautauqua Lake! I decided not to breathe, just in case!

Dad stepped onto the opposite shore and I opened my eyes and finally could breathe again. He put me on the ground.

I looked at Dad’s old barn boots. They were wet about half way to his knees!

It was then that I realized that it was rather useless to worry. First, because Dad had everything under control and secondly, because there was nothing I could do to improve the situation anyway. I decided that day, too, that it probably would have been better to have just stayed in the wagon and been carried across the raging torrent that was only about 8 inches deep and about 15 feet across!

But, youth and childhood is, after all, a time of learning.

“But now thus saith the Lord that created thee,… Fear not: for I have redeemed thee, I have called thee by thy name; thou art mine. When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee:….” (Isaiah 43:1,2)

A Saltwater Excursion

By O’Ceallaigh

50 Years is a long time to be married to the same woman!

     Ask my wife and she’ll tell you, it’s even longer to be married to the same man!!

We just celebrated our fiftieth Anniversary and our daughter just got married on that date, too. So, now we share the day with her and her husband!

We had a gathering of the clan and what a joy it was to bring them all together! I’d name them all but I try to keep these blogs under a thousand words! Were I to include everyone, I’d no doubt exceed that limit. In addition, I‘d most certainly leave someone out and start a feud akin to that of the Hatfields and the McCoys! I don’t want that to happen.

So, I’ll try to tell you about Larry, and our little salt water excursion.

About 23 years ago, maybe more, maybe less, who knows, my wife’s sister found this guy by the name of Larry and struck up a conversation. One thing led to another as things always do, and they married. I first met Larry when they traveled to New York and we took them to Niagara Falls.

On the Canadian side of Niagara Falls there are many tourist attractions which, for the life of me, I can’t remember now, and the girls wanted to see and do them all! There was one thing way up on the north side of the city called the Floral Clock, or something like that. I think it’s still there. It’s been there for maybe a hundred years.  It’s a big clock put together with live flowers, in case you hadn’t guessed.

After all the other stuff, Larry and I were worn out. But, we wanted to please the ladies so we went along with their wishes to see that clock. On arrival, we saw the large clock built into the side slope of a rock garden beautifully decorated with those various flowers.

For the next half hour, while they walked about taking pictures, Larry and I sat on a stone wall and discussed the amazing eccentricities of watching a floral clock run!  It was sort of relative to watching the grass grow, or Tim Conway make his way across the floor on the Burnett show!!

It was then that we realized that we had something in common – fun! Well, maybe with a little cynicism mixed in!

This week, when everyone had gone except Larry and Joan, he suggested that he’d like to go fishing and invited me to go along.

Bay fishing was something totally new to me. First of all, it was salt water fishing, and the only time I had been on salt water was on a Holland Cruise, a “Cruise” on the USS Patch transporting me to my military station in Europe and then on some equally depressing ship bringing me back to the world.

We got to St. Pete’s Madeira Island, found the docks and got our tickets.

I had to go.

I found a men’s room. There was a sign on the door that said, “Please Knock.” I thought, “What?” I knocked.

I heard nothing.

I opened the door. Some guy in plaid shorts was just standing up and hollered, “Wait!”

I waited.

Well, I finally got to go and returned to the dock. We boarded the ship and picked up our rod and reel and went to a convenient spot, dropped the butt of the rods into the sockets on the rail and prepared to fish.

The guy standing next to me was the guy with the plaid shorts. He had them covered up now! I learned that he was a truck driver from Wisconsin who had emigrated from The Ukraine. We laughed about my invasion of his privacy. He was a good guy!

We plied the waters of the Gulf of Mexico for about an hour and fifteen minutes and then the two big diesel engines were cut and we floated to a stop. Hooks were baited with cut bait, – shark – then the lines were dropped in thirty feet of salt water. We were “Drift Fishing.”

Larry got a strike! He set the hook!!

Missed it!!

Skillfully he moved the bait under the boat – well, the wind blew the boat over the bait. Another strike! He set the hook!

The graphite – or maybe it was fiberglass – or plastic – pole bent! ! Larry cranked on the reel!   The thirty feet of line slowly retracted onto the reel! After what seemed like an eternity, the white belly of a fish appeared in the water! Larry kept cranking! The fish splashed out of the water! He brought it in!

“Heeyyyy!! Congratulations!!!” I chortled!!

He was back fishing again. – I didn’t even get a nibble.

Suddenly there it was!! – My pole was jerking! I yanked back! Set the hook! “It must be a 30 pounder!” I thought as I cranked on my reel! – I was getting tired! I kept cranking! It must have been close to an hou – well, a few min – OK, a few seconds, I’m not as strong as I used to be! I pulled it in. A 10 inch grey bass, about two and a half pounds.

Larry and I caught 14 fish that day and had a great time doing it. We gave them to another fisherman who hadn’t caught many.  Then we had the hour and a half ride back to shore and docked. I took a nap on the way!

The ride back home was quite eventful, too. Larry and I discussed the heavy stuff of the large, expansive, universe and then reversed the process and went inward looking at the small universe of the cells and DNA, wondering at the power of a being who could think with an engineering mind to create such things.

It was an expansion of our poor finite minds!

If I ever have the opportunity, I think I’ll have a go at another Saltwater Excursion and catch some more fish! I probably won’t keep them either, but share them with another less-fortunate fisherman!

It was an enjoyable day and I slept well that night!

The Mitigation of an Institution

By O’Ceallaigh

A 6,000 year institution, established by God Himself, has, with the stroke of a pen, so to speak, been abrogated and severed from the traditional family.

Marriage has been redefined.  Wrong has been made right, right has been made wrong, – Sacred Writ has been mitigated and eviscerated.  For today, Culture rules!

But, Eternity looms!

How do we deal with this ideology?

I wrote a brief statement sometime ago stating, “False assumptions are misleading and build faulty foundations. They do not alter the truth,”

This may sound profound, but it is relatively simple in principle.

Truth is truth. It does not change. It progresses. But the foundational truths remain.  New “truth” which changes the foundational principle of a Truth is not Truth with a capitol T. It is an egregious stand-in for Truth.

So, in reality, this changes nothing in our lives.

If you are of the Gay community, chalk up a victory for your social structure.

If you’re a person of faith, simply continue living your faith.  “Dare to be a Daniel, dare to stand alone!  Dare to have a purpose firm!  Dare to make it known.”

Daniel was a teen when taken to Babylon by King Nebuchadnezzar in 606 BC.  When taken, he decided on the way that he would continue to live according to his beliefs and principles regardless of circumstances.  The result was that he was ultimately made Prime Minister of that foreign country and was then thrown into a den of lions for rejecting a ridiculous law enacted to entrap him.

He miraculously survived the lions, and earned the respect of the King who was forced to put him there.  In an encounter with the Angel Gabriel he was told that he was “a man greatly beloved!”

So, I will continue to live my life, serving my God and my fellow man, whether they be straight, gay or somewhere in between.  All are undeserving as am I.  But the blood of Jesus, the Christ of God, was shed for them, as it was for me.

All are equal in His sight.  All are equal at his cross. If they accept Him and His sacrifice for them, and follow Him and His principles, His promise is for them, too, just as it is for me.  Keep your eyes fixed on Him!

Forward on your knees!

The Great Skunk Caper

By O’Ceallaigh and Santa Ward –

After reading our Blog entitled, “The Little Old Glad Lady,”  my cousin Sandy got in touch with me because she had been reminded of an episode from her past, too.

Sandy was born and raised on the old farm that our grandparents had, just up the road from ours, and she- well, let’s let her tell the story, um, in her own words!

By Santa Ward-

The year was about 1960ish and I was 12ish. It was early spring, the snow was melting and the earth below was becoming visible in spots.

I was a tomboy. I could jump higher, run faster than any boy my age, no boy was going to best me at anything, not at a-n-ee thiiiing.

My Uncle was visiting from Ohio with his stepson, Jed.

Jed and I, and our old dog Mickey were off to the woods to play, when off in the distance, across the field, something dark moved against the white snow.A  mystery to be solved! I set off running with Jed and Mickey running to keep up. Mickey got the scent and bounded ahead. It was a skunk! Mickey quickly began barking at it. The skunk, feeling threatened, sprayed Mickey in the face.

Poor dog! He ran off to wipe his face in the snow. The skunk retreated down a water logged hole. I challenged Jed to reach in and grab it. He declined.

“A-ha,” I thought, “I’ll show him!’

I rolled up my sleeve and stuck my arm down the hole. I felt around until my hand came upon something. I took hold of it and pulled it out.

I had the skunk by the tail!

I opened my mouth to exclaim this with excitement when the little devil sprayed me in the mouth.

Now I don’t think there are too many people know what this is like!

Let me give you an idea!

If you have ever eaten a very hot pepper or had too much horseradish in your mouth, you know how it permeates rapidly up through the nose, into the sinuses. Well, this was worse! But it didn’t stop at the sinuses but kept going. I thought my head would explode and my eyeballs were going to pop out of their sockets at any moment.

And then there is the foul, bitter taste that will not leave your tongue.

While I suffered this pain, I kept a tight hold of MY skunk.

We decided to return home. I was spitting with every step. The skunk kept struggling so I held its head underwater until it stopped moving. (I’m still ashamed by my callousness to this day, what was I thinking?)

Jed decided to go home.

Here I was, alone with my great catch, my prize, my example of besting a ‘boy’, caught with my bare hands. I was SO proud of myself; I had to share this, but with who?

Grandma!!!!

I stood at Grandma Todd’s door, put the skunk behind my back and knocked. As Grandma opened the door I pulled the skunk out from behind my back and thrust it forward at full arm’s length, proclaiming with the pride of a big game hunter!

“Grandma!……look what I caught!”

Her face grew pale and a look of horror took over. She yelled in a shaking voice “Oh, Sandra!” and slammed the door in my face! Not the reaction I was expecting.

I stood there stunned, puzzled and very perplexed.

“Didn’t she get it?” I thought to myself, “that I caught this all by myself”?

I was very disappointed.

As I walked away I wondered who else might appreciate my great feat? Then it came to me! – MOM!

Once again I’m standing at the door, skunk behind my back, I knock.

As Mom opens the door, I bring the skunk around thrusting it forward at full arm’s length, full of pride, proclaiming “Mom! – Look what I caught!”

Again, – not the reaction I was expecting.

Mom let me know in no uncertain terms to “get rid of that thing! Go to the trash barrel and remove your clothes, – throw them in the barrel for burning and come into the house for a bath!”

“What?” I thought. “Get rid of MY skunk”? I couldn’t – I wouldn’t.

I walked across the road and gently placed my skunk across a branch in a tree, intending to return for it.

I went to the trash barrel, stripped off my clothes, praying that a car would not come up the road and catch me naked, and then I bolted for the house.

The minute I was inside, Mom scooped me up, plunked me down in the tub, poured mustard all over me and began scrubbing me with a brush. I thought she would remove my skin.

When I was finally dressed again in clean clothes, she released me back “into the wild”. I decided to retrieve my trophy, my prize. As I neared the tree I could see that My skunk was GONE!

My first thought was “Someone has stolen MY skunk!”

I decided to track down the perpetrator and get it back! I looked in the snow around the tree for tracks. The only tracks visible were little skunk tracks heading for the woods!

It was alive!

I felt very relieved. “Could it be that skunks play ‘possum, too?” I wondered.

I had lost my trophy, I walked off to sulk.
I learned some very valuable lessons that day.

First and foremost, 1) skunks are best left alone. If you can’t leave them alone then remember this: 2) keep your mouth shut! (Protective eye-wear is also helpful.) And then, 3) If you get it by the tail, keep the business end up! If the feet touch the ground, it has leverage.

Finally, number 4)- If you’re looking at it and it begins to pucker, drop EVERYTHING and run like HELL! !!

The Little Old Glad Lady

By O’Ceallaigh

–Bemus Point, New York, in the 1940’s, was a bustling post-war resort town on the shores of Chautauqua Lake. In the pre-depression years it was a hot spot for high rollers.

Big Bands would frequent the large hotels and clubs on the lake and play their music. The Dorseys, Glen Miller and others. Lakeside Drive was exactly what the name implied – a beautiful street following the shoreline with “cottages” crowding the North side of the street.

Now when I say “Cottages,” don’t be a-thinkin’ little one room shacks! These were summer homes of the rich and famous. Mr. and Mrs. Packard (yes, the Motor-Car Packard’s) owned two of them; one in Lakewood and one in Chautauqua! The one in Lakewood had about eight bedrooms, maybe more, maybe less, but it was constructed of stone and was three stories high on the upper (street) side and four on the lakeside! But, the Packard’s are another story. How many square feet? I don’t know, probably 6,000 – 7,000. Maybe more! It was big!

On Lakeside Drive in Bemus Point lived the Bemus family, the Loomis clan and a plethora of other wealthy folks who summered there in the little town where I grew up. We lived on the old farm about two and a half miles North-east of the town and my grandparents were just a little closer to town to the West of our farm.

Grandma’s house was one of those picturesque old farm-houses. One and a half stories, weathered wood siding and tall grass growing everywhere! Paths to and from the house to the barn, chicken coop and outhouse were well worn and the grass along the sides usually was well over my head! Those big black and yellow Garden Spiders with webs as strong as piano-wire guarded all those paths.

Grandma was a gardener. She had about an acre of ground in which she grew nothing but flowers. Zinnias, large daisies, others that I have no idea what they were, but mostly Glads! Gladiolas! Those beautiful long spikes of green with multicolored blooms protruding out of those spikes! I marveled at those flowers!

In season, Grandma would take those flowers to Bemus Point and sell them to the wealthy folks along Lakeside Drive.

Usually, there was someone to drive her to “The Point” so she could market her wares. My Dad often would take a little time off the farm work to run her down to the Village and leave her there to sell her flowers then go back to pick her up at some specified time.

I remember at least one time that my older brother, who was perhaps 12 years old, was asked to hitch up the buggy and take Grandma to her market!! I was privileged to go along. What an excursion! With Jim driving old Bill, or whatever his name was; Grandma beside him in the seat and me and all those glads on the back floor, it was sheer joy. I watched the big wheels turn smoothly and listened to Bill’s “clop, clop clop!”

Times were hard. Grandma would run short on cash from time to time and the flowers would supplement her meager income. At fifty cents a dozen, it wasn’t much, but in those days pennies provided!

Grandma was always an old lady to me, but she was probably only in her mid-fifties. But when I think about it, it was still quite an undertaking! But she did what was necessary! When there was no ride available, she would gather several dozen glads in her large apron, don her broad-brimmed floppy sun-hat and strike out walking the two miles to Bemus Point to sell her flowers.

I went with her one time. Two miles may not sound like much, but in the heat of the summer sun, on the gravel roads, and, as Cosby used to say, “Uphill both ways” it became quite a chore! But as I walked with her I marveled at the stamina of this little old lady.

Then, on arriving, she would walk up to these mansions and knock on the door. When the doors opened, she would present herself with her open, beautiful and friendly smile! “Would you like some beautiful Gladiolas today?”

How could they refuse?

I have a Lawyer friend who lives on Lakeside Drive in one of those “Mansions” now and I’ve often wondered if he or his wife ever see a “Little Glad Lady” knocking on his door.

Oh, I know it wouldn’t be my Grandma, but it just seems that the place and the ambiance of the Mansions and the Lake-shore needs to have another tiny old woman with an armful of Glads smiling back at these wealthy folks when they open to her knocking.

If you live on a Lakeside Drive somewhere, remember the Little Old Glad Lady. And if you have one in your neighborhood, help her out! Remember the work she put into raising the flowers. Remember the walk to get them to you. Remember your grandma and the tough times she may have gone through. Remember my grandma! The original Little Old Glad Lady!

Mary Adeline (Addie) Newville Todd Vincent.

I shall never forget her.

They Needed Help

By O’Ceallaigh –

We turned the corner onto Poucher Road and encountered a couple in a stalled car. He was in front of the car, standing in the rain, waving his arms for us to stop.

It’s not our habit to stop for these situations but Kathy was driving and pulled over in front of his car. “Should we help them?” she asked as the car came to a stop.

“Well, “I thought, “now is a good time to ask!!

She rolled the driver’s window down.

“I’m Matt, that’s my wife Stephanie, our car has stalled, I just got out of the hospital, I got snake-bit and I got a fishhook in the same arm and got infected and spent four days in the hospital, they gave me prescriptions and we don’t have triple A or anything and we’re waiting for our daughter to transfer some money to us, Walmart to Walmart…”

“Breathe, Matt! Breathe!” I thought to myself!

“Do you have jumper-cables?” I asked.

“No.” Matt answered in a very short sentence.

“OK,” Kathy said, “we have a neighbor who has some and we only live a mile away. We’ll go get them and be right back.”

We hustled to get the cables from our neighbor, Ray, and returned to the stricken car. Matt had the hood up and told us that he had discovered a battery cable end that had a loose wire. Another lady had stopped and loaned him a pair of pliers.

The clamp on the wire was still loose.

We jumped the battery and the car started. We suggested that they follow us home and use my tools to secure the cable-end properly.

Matt said, “You’ll do that for us!?”

“Well, sure, why not? I mean, are you Ax murderers or something,” I thought. We left with Matt and Stephanie following.

We were successful in tightening the cable and said our goodbyes with much thanks. They left.

Three minutes later they were back!

Matt jumped out of the car and told us that it had started coughing and bucking and they turned around to get another jump.

I’m thinking, “Matt, you need more than a jump!! You’ve got something more serious here!”

We jumped his battery again and it immediately started.

That car had an Ammeter on the dashboard rather than an “Idiot light” so we looked at the meter. It was pegged. I said to myself, “This is an alternator problem!” But, what do I know I’m no mechanic!

Matt said, “I think I need a battery!”

Maybe it’s the alternator, Matt,” I said.

“No, it’s an old battery, it’s probably grounded out.”

Kathy took them to Walmart for a test on the battery. Walmart wanted to sell a battery. Sure enough, the battery tested bad! But, by the time the test was done the automotive section was closed and they couldn’t buy a battery.

“Come on home and stay with us for the night,” Kathy told them.

They did.

There was much conversation in which we learned about Matt and Stephanie’s family and business, education and background. It was an interesting time.

Then we went to bed. All slept well.

The next morning we were having breakfast and Matt said, “You know, I think maybe it could be the alternator!”

I had brought Johnny, another neighbor, over the night before for an opinion. He’s a former mechanic. He suggested it was an alternator problem.

I thought it may be an alternator problem.

Now, this morning, Matt agrees.

We have a consensus!

Stephanie began making calls and found a used alternator at a salvage yard. Kathy loaded them into our car and drove them to the junk yard.

They had two alternators. One was the most popular one that was “probably the one” that would fit. They brought it back.

Matt and I tackled the removal of the old one and had grease up to our elbows. We had a terrible time figuring out how to relieve the tensioner pully for the serpentine belt.

I had been lying across the front of the car working for some time. Finally tiring from the bending, I straightened up. Matt looked and saw a diagram where I had been lying telling us exactly what to do with the tensioner!! Go figure!

Good Grief!! The old one was finally off. We compared it with the new one.

Wrong mounting bracket! Wrong electrical post!

The most popular one was not the one that would fit Matt’s car.

Back to the Yard! This time, our neighbor Ray, the Jumper-Cable guy, drove me and Matt the thirty miles round trip to exchange the alternator.

Back home we installed the new alternator. We checked the meter. Fourteen amps! Success! Grease up to our elbows!!

Matt and I washed up and Matt and Stephanie were ready to leave. Goodbyes were said, thank-yous were expressed and they left. It had been an exciting 24 hours!

Epilog

Our daughter Laura called and told us that George, her fiancé, asked if she had heard from us. He thought maybe she should check on us not knowing these folks. They might be Ax Murderers or something!! She chuckled!!

No, they were not. They were very pleasant people and we were glad to be able to help.

They were on their way to Baltimore to attend the Preakness Thoroughbred race and then visit family and friends. They had a stop to make in Kissimmee before continuing on. While there, they received a call telling them that Stephanie’s grandmother had passed away. She had just let us know via e-mail.

I believe that Matt and Stephanie were supposed to be delayed to keep them a little closer to their home for this time of their bereavement.

“Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.” (Hebrews 13:2)

Tunnels In The Hay

By O’Ceallaigh

As far back as I can remember, back on the farm, we put our hay up loose- stowed away in the second floor of the barn in what was called the “Hay-mow.” I’m not sure when it was, but along about 1948 we made a deal with Scotty Danielson to bring his baler over to our farm to bale our hay.

That was the year everything changed.

Scotty had a Farmall “A” tractor that was just my size and I would drive it, pulling his baler while three of the men would run the machine, pushing and hooking wires and stuffing hay under the packing hammer.

Then I would get to drive the Farmall “A” again to pick up the bales on the hay-wagon. When it was all loaded, one of the men would drive from the field to the barn for unloading and stowing the hay in the hay-mow.

Then the fun began!

I guess the work all day wasn’t enough to wear us out so we would head for the hay-mow when all the work was done and begin moving the bales of hay around making tunnels all through the second floor of the Barn. We would move bales to make a passage, and then lay bales cross-ways over the passageway to enclose it. Then we’d move all the extra bales back in place so we would have secret entrances and escapes. We even had rooms.

It’s a real wonder that we aren’t still buried up there in that barn floor somewhere after a catastrophic hay collapse!

I remember one time we had one of our secret chambers that had been built right over a chute that led to the first floor of the Barn where the cattle were in their stanchions. The room was about six feet square and maybe 4 feet high. There was room for maybe 20 kids!

Well, maybe a few less that that!

My brother Jim and I and two of our cousins, Don and Norm, who were visiting us on this day, had gravitated to our secret chamber. After traversing a labyrinth of tunnels we finally arrived and squeezed ourselves into the cavity. We had a couple of flashlights with Ray-O-Vac batteries in them.

Now, Ray-O-Vac batteries were advertised widely in the farm magazines and I was always the first one to look at the magazines because I had this thing about wanting to be a mail-man when I grew up. Cassius Hazzard was a remarkable mail-man and if I was lucky enough to be at the mail-box when he came, he would hand the mail to me. That was a special treat!!

He was a Square-jawed man that always looked like he needed a shave! In the magazines, Successful Farming and the other one, Farm Journal or something- or-other, (I can’t recall its name) there was an advertisement for some Liniment product. The caption on the Ad was, “When Peter Pain Strikes…!” Well, Cassius Hazzard looked just like the caricature of Peter Pain!!

The Batteries?  Oh!  Yes!

Ray-O-Vac batteries had a graphic Ad that showed a farmer in some hazardous situation in the dead of night with a flashlight and a white beam of light streaming out from that magnificent instrument and a caption, “Now! Light when you need it!!”

Oh! That impressed me!

So, there we were in our dark chamber with Norm sitting precariously over the chute. Don began telling a story that I had never heard! “Who Stole My Golden Arm!!”

One of the flashlights went dead! So much for Ray-O-Vac’s Ad!! I guess they’ve probably gotten better by now!

Don continued with the story about a guy who married a girl who had a golden arm and she began to realize that he was more interested in the golden arm than he was in her.

As stories go, the wife finally died and, since she was kind of attached to it, she wanted her arm buried with her. All went fine, but the husband got to thinkin’ about that arm – and all that gold and couldn’t sleep. So, he went out and dug her up and relieved her of her Golden arm, took it home and tucked it under his pillow.

Now by this time, things in our chamber were getting pretty tense! All eyes were on Don! All ears were on his voice! The second flashlight was going dim! Jim was shining it under Don’s chin giving an eerie glow and ghostly shadow to his face.

He, in a quiet and mysterious voice, continued the story.

The wife couldn’t rest without her arm so she began wandering about searching and calling, “Whooo Sstolllle my Golden Aarrrmmmm!!?? At first her call was way off in the distance but it kept coming closer and closer to where her husband rested on his pillow, underneath which was the golden arm!

The man was becoming nervous and agitated! Did she know? Then the bedroom door creaked open!

“Whooo Sstolllle my Golden Aarrrmmmm!!??

Jim held the dim light!

I sat there clutching two handfuls of hay! I had to go to the bathroom!!

Norm was over on the tenuous perch above the chute!

Don said, “BOO!

We all jumped about four feet high!

Norm almost fell down the chute! The door of the chute clattered to the floor below and scared the herd of cows, the team of horses and all the calves in the pen, half to death.

We all laughed, even Norm!

We made our escape safely from one of the shorter tunnels and, very honestly, I have no idea what happened after that!

I do not recall ever building tunnels in the hay-mow after that.

I don’t really know why?