Reaching Out

I am going to write this like I was talking to my brothers and sisters of the gospel. I have a good work ethic, a heart full of faith in the gospel of Christ, an intellect that sticks with me, and common sense to save me.

I have been reaching out since I can remember. As a kid, I knew my reach was too high but I kept reaching anyway. The stars weren’t always aligned for me but what was making the difference was this simple belief that God never made any Junk. I had times when the only way I can explain it is that I could hardly reach up and touch bottom. When you find yourself an “almost ran” so many times, you lay low and wait for the rain to stop. I found out it does when you keep punching above your weight.

One day I was standing outside at a ball park staring off into the blue. I played the game with other kids but there are ball players and ball players. I was benched and the sun wasn’t shining but as the fellow says: “I can’t guarantee my success. All I can do are the right things to deserve it.” It makes me feel good to this day. I thought to myself: “Now you’re talking in my good ear.”

There is much to think about when you’re a kid. You imagine your way by thinking of all the possibilities that could happen. There wasn’t a nickel to rub together so you behaved as if you had a million dollars. What that means is you got together with your friends and did all the things kids do. You rode the best horse and were the hit of the parade as it wound its way down Main Street. The crowd cheered when you and your horse came into sight. You were wearing the clothes of a warrior and your horse pranced and snorted in a fashion that thrilled all who watched. Your friends were right there with you as they took the lead in their own fantasies. When the trumpets stopped and the fanfare faded, we fell exhausted from our efforts to be best of show and the King of the Hill.

I was feeling sorry for myself one day when a voice interrupted my thoughts. I looked up and there was a Salvation Army lady calling my name. “Hello, Digby,” she said. I asked her how she knew my name. She replied in a very proper voice, “I inquired about you and the Lord led me to you.” We were not a religious family so her mention of the Lord gave me a peculiar feeling. I watched her for a moment. She was wearing a Salvation Army Bonnet and had tied a scarf over it and then under her chin. The reason was obvious for she had driven up in an open air jeep and the wind was whipped up by the speed. She began to talk to me like I was an old friend and before I knew it we were laughing and carrying on like we had known each other for years. I asked her why she was interested in me. She said, “Because the Lord is interested in you.” She explained that Heavenly Father loved all of his children and reached them through people like her. She was a Major in the Salvation Army and wanted us to be friends. She followed that up by asking if she could talk to my parents about a youth program she thought I would enjoy. I looked at her and said: “I don’t know; my mother doesn’t care much for church stuff.” She replied, “That’s ok; let’s go and talk to her.”

When the Major told my mother about the youth program I could see the fire in my mother’s eyes. She began to tell the Major all about people who were religious and said many things that were not complimentary and fired off a couple of examples that were zingers and ended with a mention about hypocrites in the churches.

I swallowed hard and looked toward the Major. The Major began to speak in a very friendly way and did not let the things my mother said bother her. What followed was an understanding heart and an appreciation for my mother. Before it was all done, my mother agreed to look into this youth program. I couldn’t believe it for my mother never had a good thing to say about church folks.

What followed was a series of times that the Major picked me up in her jeep and transported me to the Salvation Army Building to be part of their program. My mother said it was OK for me but to leave the rest of her kids alone. Turns out the Salvation played a role in one of my sister’s lives too. Anyway, the Major would often come looking for me and would call out: “Digby, my boy, where are you?” I would answer: “I’m over here Major. “ She would yell back: “I’m coming, my boy.”

So often I will think back and I can hear her calling my name and I think to myself, “ I’m here, Major, and I miss you so.” The Major drifted in and out of my life right into my late twenties.

I remember before I met the Major I would go to the church on the corner. Meaning, I would find a church near where I lived. I would get up on Sunday mornings before the family was awake and go down to the church, especially in the summer, and sit outside by the an open window to listen to the singing and the preaching. I was drawn to it like a pin to a magnet. Perhaps that’s why my mother was more lenient with me; I don’t know. She gave me more latitude and when I joined the Mormon Church I went to tell her about it. She stared at me for a long time, or it seemed so. She finally said to me, “OK, but don’t get sanctimonious on me.” I said, “OK, Mom, but I don’t know what that means.” That is the first time I ever saw my mother just break out into a hilarious laugh and I could hear her laughing even after she left me to wonder what was so funny.

Well, I never preached to her but once she told me that I better not. There were people reaching out to me through my youth. I can’t say I was religious but I can say I was fond of the Major and perhaps that is why I allowed the Missionaries to speak with me and to teach me. It was not a fit for the Major but she let it be and we remained friends.

The church lifted me up and gave me a reason to hope. It filled up my empty spaces and allowed me to see farther down the road than I ever had. I began to not worry about anything I was missing and settled into being part of this great gospel plan. Time and time again I was driven to my knees and petitioned the good Lord on behalf of my family, my friends and my brother and sister. I have had the wonderful feeling ever since I joined the church of quiet assurance the gospel is true. It was reinforced so many times when, in the still of the night, I came to grips with the struggles of life. I found myself more aware of divine intervention and I never have regretted following in the footsteps of the Savior. When my head was bowed and my forgiveness complete, I started again and sought out the answers and the direction I needed. To brothers and sisters of the church who so often were such examples to me, I find no way but to say thank you for your lives and your faith.

Down through the years the steps have at times been unsteady but never faltering and I know that is because I found strength in all the gospel had to offer. There were times that the sweet promise of the Savior carried me off to obedience and the distance I had to go was filled up with the recognition of greater good and complete witness to the truths of the gospel.

Digby

No One To Please

I have been poking about in my mind about the early years when I was in grade school. I shudder to think about it sometimes because it was not a happy time of my life. By that, I mean my way of looking at things was how it affected me as I had little upbringing by the way of guidance. I was told what to do and never given much instruction. There was no patience shown and very little emotion or appreciation for things done well.

I expect it was that way for all the older kids in our family. The younger ones, I believe, were drawn in more to conversation, ideas and ways to be involved as sources were not as limited when the mouths to feed had mostly left home.

The day to day events were not punctuated with things to remember other than the negative. In fairness though, the work ethic was good for one had no choice but work and it came in hard and disciplined ways. If one did not work to satisfaction, there was a lot of yelling and accusing with short tempers and cutting words that drew down on one until you were stretched like a banjo string ready to break when the pressure got too great.

So it was that life did not have a lot of joy in it. I suppose it was the knee jerk reaction to the sentiments that flew one’s way constantly and the lack of approval for whatever you were doing. If it got done it was what you were supposed to do and if it needed doing and wasn’t done you were a slacker and not much good for anything and told so.

Words like: “Can’t you do anything right?” “How many times must I tell you?” “No you can’t have another piece of bread nor should you ask.” “You have a brain to think with but you seldom use it.” “You make the same mistakes over and over and who has to pick up after you? Me, that’s who, and do I get any time to myself? No!” “It’s one thing after another.” “Sometimes I think you are listening but most of the time you are not.” “I gave you instruction when I left for work and when I got home you still hadn’t completed all I told you to do.” “I don’t know what I am going to do with you. I should ship you off to a home somewhere maybe they could do something with you.” “Why are you crying? Keep it up and I will give you something to cry about.” “Get out of my sight and give me that broom. I could do it in half the time and much better.” “What did I do to deserve this?” “I worked all day and half the night and noone thinks about me.” “I could die and who would care?”

It was a long list that was repeated over and over again and laced with swear words that somehow gave more meaning to all she said. Dad was gone most of the day and when he came home he got a dose of the acid tongue and then fired back with words that were not properly formed and out of order somehow. His education was to write his name and that was it. He was crude and being a laborer on construction jobs, he had little taste to do anything when he got home. At most, he was not interested and when he was he lacked the drive to follow through.

There was plenty of anger to go around and, of course, lots of fights. Most were verbal with things being thrown and accusations spread around like a drill sergeant on a parade. Sometimes the tone changed and it was time to hide as physical abuse and meanness came home to roost.

My father had no ambition to better himself. He spent paychecks buying drinks for his bar friends and often pay days were short. My mother worked two jobs and one could cut the unhappiness with a knife. So it was that school was preferable to home and going to friends’ houses was an escape that was welcome and needed.

Well, that’s the way things were and us kids were either hiding or running away or taking long walks until the fighting subsided. It kept us out of the loop of anger and the pent up emotions of living in a family that was dysfunctional at best and a nightmare at worst.

The open house at school was dreaded for we were to complete an assignment and whatever it was the best of it was shown off at the open house for your parents to see. Drawing, painting, grammar, and other subjects were displayed and the grades were on the work. I tried hard to finish and do it as best as I could but it was, at best, not quite up to par. My parents never came so there was no one to please.

When I did get something really right, my teacher would compliment me and I would stand by my project. However, I could feel the rejection as people walked over to their kids and said great things to them. Sometimes a few kind folks would come by and I drew in their compliments like a pin to a magnet. The hard thing was to stand there every time there was an open house and get passed by even when I begged my mother to come and share some of the things I was doing. I soon learned to work real hard on a painting or a drawing and give it to someone I really liked -- a teacher or someone I admired. They were kind and took it with such warmth and feeling that I felt some satisfaction and drew some strength from being able to please someone.

“No one to please” is a phrase I never let my kids see or hear. "No one to please" still brings me sadness when I feel the winds of rejection but someone to care takes care of me just fine.

When I look at life since I left home I remember the hopes and dreams I worked on and the support that came to me. There is no room for self-pity but there is the remembering which tells me how lucky I was to have friends and finally a family of my own to cherish. There was no
yelling, no constant barrage of "I told you so” nor was there a place I had to run to and hide from to survive. No day dreaming and no wanting to leave. I relished coming home and felt a peace that soothed my battered heart. That peace gave life to an injured soul caught up at last with his childhood. “No one to please” was given a place to go to and found refuge in acceptance and love of being pleased in the places and people around him.

Digby

The Other Shoe

Margaret came to Winnipeg from the Province of British Columbia, Canada. When I first saw her, she was clad in a wool coat with buttons that were big and sleeves that were just a little too long. Her father had come to Winnipeg to work with his brother who ran a general store. He had expanded the store and premises to meet a demand for more goods by his customer base. At first glance one would not think of a general store on the outskirts of Winnipeg being a flourishing business, but it was and partly because folks liked the feeling around the store. Jim Whitley, who owned the business, had a way that endeared him to others.

His customers were farm folks. His store carried a variety of things that were useful and enough of them so one could pick up a large part of what they needed without running around town to get them. Jim was there during the depression and was a comfort to so many folks because of his kindness and thoughtfulness when the load they carried was almost too much. Jim helped those he could and was able to give enough folks credit from time to time to see them through. It was a strain on his business and yet he was as pleasant as anyone could be and well thought of by the community. Margaret’s Dad, Joe Whitley, joined his brother at the store. World War II was just finishing up so goods were needed and things were starting to get better economically.

That’s when I met Margaret. She was short and had an impish grin that gave you an instant liking of her. She had a way of talking that softened when she spoke about things that were close to her. Her voice had a funny pitch and one often thought, "Gee, Margaret, you said that just right with a touch of Heh!" That’s the way it was feeling.

Margaret was a worker and for a girl of 12 she could get things done. She was helpful around the store and took to it like water on a duck's back. She worked there on weekends and sometimes after school. It wasn’t long before her Uncle Jim was saying: "That Margaret finds time for everyone and has a handle on the inventory and promotes this store almost as good as I do." Did I mention that Uncle Jim and his wife Pat didn’t have any children so Margaret and her brother were welcome as rain on a hot summer day?

Margaret was soon in the swing of things. Her brother Skip, being seven years old, had more carefree time. Harry, his dad, thought the whole experience there was more than suitable and so a new chapter in their life began.

Margaret and I were instant friends and when she could get away we would often just enjoy each other’s company. I was also twelve years old so we were in the same classroom and took a lot of the same classes together. Having a friend like Margaret meant a couple of things. First, she was independent and second, she liked her independence. Sometimes one had to walk around her objections or differences for she could get a hold of an idea, work out the details, and clamp down on the direction with unshakeable determination. My nature was to not run interference but kind of go along and it made our relationship easier. Margaret once said to me, "How come you don’t get pushy or demanding about some things?" I would readily reply: "Because it doesn’t seem all that important, but if it ever does I’ll let you know."

Little did I know that down the road those words would come back to me with an emphasis on “let you know.”

Margaret came to me one day and said she had run into a situation that needed talking out. I listened as she began to relate how this family had come to the store looking like they were in stress and seeming quite nervous. The father needed a few things and Margaret said he was looking around the store until he finally selected a small purchase. Margaret was more attentive as she watched the daughter who looked about fourteen and the son who was Skip’s age. The daughter was very edgy and the mother stood quite still and stared at the floor. When it came time to pay, the Father asked how much, then opened his wallet and looked toward his wife. He said, "All right?" and she nodded. He paid for the goods and then asked a rather unusual question: "Do you have one work boot in the store?" Margaret, thinking she misunderstood, said, “We have several types of work boots." He replied, "No, I just need one work boot." Margaret thought for a moment and said: "You know, a while back a fellow brought in a pair of work boots where one boot had been damaged." They still had the one boot but she couldn’t remember where she had put it. She went and asked her Uncle Jim if he knew where it was and pretty soon they found it. The fellow asked how much and Margaret was just about to ask him, :How come just one boot?" when she got a glance from her uncle that said: "No, do not go there." She said: "Excuse me sir, I will ask my uncle the price." Uncle Jim told her to give it to the man at no charge. She did so and the family left. Uncle Jim came over and said: "I don’t know why I stopped you from asking the fellow about the boot but something told me to not ask questions."

Margaret thought about it and returned to her work. Still, she was really curious about the whole thing. A week later the same family came in and bought a few things and then asked if the store happened to have one woman’s work shoe. Margaret said she would look around and found a work shoe that was still in the box. Her uncle Jim explained he remembered years ago when he bought the store it was part of the inventory. Margaret returned with the shoe and again there was no charge. Margaret again never asked any questions. Some time later, the Mother of that family came in on her own. She asked if they happened to have any work shoes for children that were just one shoe but she needed two of them. Margaret was beside herself. She asked her uncle again if they had any single shoe in the store for children. He looked so surprised but scratched his head and said: "You know, some time ago we had a couple of mismatched children’s shoes and I think we still have them." After some time, he found them and gave them to the lady saying, "There is no charge."

Margaret related all this to me and said she was going to talk to the children to see what it was all about. She said she couldn’t stand not knowing. I said: "No, Margaret, leave it alone." She argued with me and set her chin as if to say: "I am going to do it anyway." This time I looked at her and said: "When it is time for you to know then you can ask. Right now is not the time. Do you understand?" Margaret flashed that impish smile at me and said: "Is this one of those times when you are letting me know how you really feel?" I said: "Yes and I think you should heed my words." She stopped for a moment and said: "OK, Digger, but you should know my curiosity will eventually get the best of me."

Several weeks later, Margaret said she knew the answers to her questions. She then played coy, leaving me in suspense with her silence. I couldn’t stand it. I said, “Are you going to tell me or what?"

She laughed and then began relating the rest of the story.

Several more weeks went by and finally one day the family came into the store and asked to speak with uncle Jim. He,thinking they needed something more unusual, came over and was about to speak when the father said: "Perhaps you have been wondering about our asking for those single shoes. We would like to explain but first we want to thank you for being so generous with us. You see, I have a new friend who has been putting together a tribute to my son, his wife and their two 5-year-old twin daughters. Some time ago my son and his family left to go on a vacation. They were in a 49 Ford sedan and climbing a hill when a car coming from the other direction, left its side of the road, and hit my son's car head on at 50 miles per hour. All of the family was killed. The fellow that hit them was good man who had a heart attack and the results were devastating. Our grief, as you can imagine, was horrendous. It seems nothing could comfort us and it began to take its toll on all of us. We were so wrapped up in our grief that the children were having a hard time coping with every day life. We were unresponsive to help from neighbors and others who went out of their way to be of service. I was very angry and my wife was in a bad state of depression. It was tearing our family apart. The children were having difficulty at school and something had to be done. One day while we were working outside, a young man came by about the same age as my son who was killed. He said he had heard of our experience. He was very good with his hands and could create a memorial for our son if we would let him. We talked about it and finally agreed. He said he would need some unusual things but if we were patient he would make it and he was sure it would help.

After a while he came back with this wonderful piece of work. He had fashioned the boots all in a row from the mother and father to the twins. They were embedded in bronze and had been lacquered and treated.
He carved the words, "Eternally yours" and had put their names on each shoe. Above the shoes was a sculpture of Christ standing with arms outstretched. Behind Christ, he had fashioned some special crystals which picked up the light that then shined through and around Christ. In one corner he had the words “Trust in the Lord.” He then said to the family: "What you have lost will be found again. You have each other. I have found throughout my life that forgetting ourselves and serving others can comfort us. This is my way of serving."

The father then said, looking at the young man: "What you have done is enough." Then, through tears of gratitude, hugged the young man with his family joining in. The mother asked the young man why he needed new work boots. Wouldn’t old work boots have been better, showing the journey they had taken in life? The young man replied: "I wanted them new as to show their journey now was beginning and everything was fresh and new just as our Savior had promised. It is the spirit that quickeneth; the flesh profiteth nothing; the words that I speak unto you, they are spirit. And they are life."

The family related how his words comforted them and his presence brought them joy rather than sorrow.

Margaret then said the family was going to the cemetery this Sunday and they were going to bring along the memorial their friend had made. They would like to show it to us. Would we be willing to share that time with them and be there about 1 pm. We readily agreed and then they thanked us and said our kindness to them was very special. Margaret asked if I would like to come along. I said: "I sure would."

We met at the cemetery as planned that Sunday afternoon. It was a beautiful day and as we met with the family. They began to relate something to us. Apparently the young man was not to be found. They wanted to invite him and they searched the neighborhood but no one had heard of him. They widened their search and had not found him. Just before they were getting ready to come there was a knock on their door. They went to the door and opened it but there was no one there. However, they looked toward the road and there was the young man waving goodbye. He then turned and walked down the road. The Father and mother and kids rushed to the road to call him back but when they got there, there was no sign of him. There was a field on each side of the road and no one could have disappeared without them seeing it. They stood there for a while but to no avail. All of them said when the young man waved good by his countenance changed and there was a glow to him that seemed almost translucent. They will never forget the beautiful expression on his face.

We looked over the artist's sculpture and we found a moment in time that comes once in a lifetime. If there is a picture worth a thousand words, this was it!

We all stood around looking at the tombstones feeling quite private in our own thoughts but I am sure we all felt special somehow and blessed to be there. Margaret finally said for all of us. “I don’t think I will ever feel this good again."

Digby

The Clever Girl

Years ago when my feet picked up quickly and my legs seemed untouched by the aches and pains of old age, a girl moved into our neighborhood with a name that instantly made you laugh. You just couldn’t help it. Her name was Beatrice Snoobey. She was tall for her age with freckles and light brown hair. She was good looking for a tomboy. She wore her hair in a ponytail and had a way of speaking that caught people’s attention. We just couldn’t get our heads around Beatrice or Snoobey so the guys started calling her BS. At first it made her upset but after awhile she just settled into the idea. BS was very smart and would often prove it by quoting authors and statistics that left you brain dead from the details.

One day Digger got hit pretty hard while playing touch football with the guys. It knocked the wind out of him and he had a hard time coming up for air. He swallowed hard and breathed little for a minute or two. Finally when that racking, sucking sound came down to a shallow rasping, we knew he would be all right. BS looked at him and said: “You got hit in the diaphragm – that’s when a sudden force is applied to the abdomen – which creates a temporary pressure and you can’t take a full breath. It’s helpful to just lie there or put your arms above your head to increase the amount of oxygen. Most of the time it is not dangerous unless you have a heart condition.” We just stared at her and she added: “It is a good way to repel an attacker by giving blows to that area.”

So there she was, full of clever thoughts and although annoying at times, she was real useful at others.

There was a kid in the area that had a bike he had reinforced with metal so that the front tire was protected. It stuck out enough in a square shape, allowing him to bang into other bikes without hurting his own bike. Usually that meant trouble for the other biker and a great deal of amusement for Sturdy. We called him that as he had great stability due to the way he was built. Short, blocky and very little fat. He became quite proficient with his bike at knocking other people over when he chose to. His bike was nicknamed Crasher because of the noise it made when Sturdy hit bikers he was targeting. He had a mean streak in him and got enjoyment from tormenting people. We were out to get him and his bike. We, meaning a bunch of friends who got together to sound out ideas to get the job done. One day while discussing the punishment of Sturdy, BS said: Here’s what we should do.” Here is how she outlined it.

In our area there was a pond made from runoff water, which was starting to dry up during the summer. It was not more than twenty feet across and three feet deep. At certain times in the summer it was just a water hole about 10’ by 10’ and about three feet deep. BS figured that was just enough water to create a stink hole to trick Sturdy into. She had looked it over and had noticed there was a horse operation nearby. They dumped the manure in a pile a short distance from the barn and BS calculated that if we mixed enough of that manure into the pond it would be quite suitable for our purposes. It was decided we would gather up the fresh manure. But, how would we do it without getting caught?

BS arranged for some of us kids to tour the horse barn with the owner by feigning interest in his operation and especially wanting to tour the riding arena. Meanwhile, the rest of us would gather up the dung in wagons and wheelbarrows. Once the tour was inside the barn we went to work and took enough of the fresh manure to the pond, which was just a short distance away. We dumped the dung into the pond. One of our guys had borrowed his dad’s hip waders he used for fishing to walk through the pond and stir up the crap. BS said it was time to build a ramp so that our fastest biker, Curly, could go up the ramp and jump across the pond. The pond sat in a small hollow and the ground on the opposite side was mostly flat.

Curly practiced before we dumped the manure in while we kept watch, just in case Sturdy rode by. Soon he was coming down the grade at top speed, hitting the ramp, and jumping the pond with enough room to reach beyond the water. When BS was satisfied with the arrangements, she then instructed Curly to go out and taunt Sturdy into following him. She said in the meantime we would stretch a rope across the edge of the ramp long enough so that two guys could hide without being seen.

Curly found Sturdy harassing some kids on their bikes and called him dumb ass. He called Sturdy a chicken who could only peddle a bike like a girl. Curly didn’t leave it there and next called Sturdy a sissy who couldn’t even ride too well. That did it. Sturdy came riding after Curly and Curly took off heading toward the pond. Curly was fast but Sturdy was gaining on him. Sturdy was shouting obscenities at Curly, who concentrated only on getting to the ramp before Sturdy caught him. Down the hill they came with Curly blocking Sturdy’s view. Curly hit the ramp and sailed over. We weren’t sure if Sturdy would take the bait and sail right after him but he did. The reason we thought he would was because he had a big enough ego to think he was a better rider than Curly and he could do anything Curly could do. In the meantime, the kid with the hip waders had stirred up the pond as best he could and then hid out. Then came Sturdy, head down and hands fully gripped on the handlebars. He hit that ramp at top speed and just before he reached it the rope was pulled tight. It was too late and Sturdy and the Crash went flying into the manure pit. It was a pile up. First Sturdy and then the Bike. He just couldn’t help thrashing around as he tried to get control of his equilibrium. There was crap all over him and the hollering and the cussing was music to our ears. He came out of that dung heap limping and falling until we could hardly see through our tears of laughter. His bike was still in the pond but he was almost out until he thought of it and had to go back in and get it.

We gave him the raspberry then. Shouting things like: “You were always full of crap Sturdy; you should feel right at home in there. Your mom is going to have you take your clothes off outside. Better have her take a water hose first for you sure stink. Did you get a mouthful or is that brown spot a bruise?”

BS was beside herself. “Sturdy,” she yelled, “Horsecrap looks great on you! Brown is definitely your color.” That did it. He started after us but he was so wet and laden down with crap he couldn’t get up to speed. He had a limp from the fall and he fell to the ground slamming his fist and yelling: “You SOB’s will pay for this!” BS yelled back: “You’re full of crap!” We all busted our guts laughing and headed for home.

Sturdy took off for home and some of the guys followed to see what would happen. His mother was yelling at him and spraying him with a hose between bouts of laughter. His sister was shouting: “He stinks, Mom. Don’t let him in the house!” Sturdy was yelling at the top of his lungs: “That water is too cold! Shut it off!” His mother yelled back: “We have to get that crap off of you before you go into the house!” His mother yelled for his sister to get a blanket.

Between fits of laughter, his younger sister and brother held the blanket up so Sturdy could remove his clothes then use the blanket to wrap himself.

Meanwhile, Sturdy had become the sight of the year as the neighbors watched this manure dunking play out. When he came home, his hair was matted with dung and he looked like a drowned rat, not to mention what looked like a dark tan on his skin. His face was especially gut busting as two very angry eyes peered out from the new brown skin.

The last thing one of our guys heard was Sturdy yelling: “I’ll kill them!” His sister said: “Kill who?” In his quivering voice, Sturdy said: “Them rotten SOB’s!” to which his mother replied: “Watch your language or I’ll wash your mouth out with soap.” Then she, laughing hysterically, added: “I think I have some brown soap around here.” That did it for Sturdy. He lost it and screamed and hollered but Curly swore it sounded more like wailing and crying.

The best part was what happened the following day. There was a sign on the front fence that read: “Manure bath experience – ask for Sturdy.” We heard later that Sturdy’s dad and mom got to the bottom of it all and then took Sturdy’s bike away. His mom made him apologize to other parents whose kids’ bikes had been damaged from his actions. Oh yeah -- One of the kids said Sturdy stood red faced before his parents and although the words sounded right, his whole demeanor was one of silent defiance. We expect we will hear from Sturdy again?

Where Have I Been?

Have you just noticed that I'm back?

I finally finished up the projects around the house and inside. We have a new Greenhouse 8' wide and 29' feet long. There is also a pond with waterfall plus a new metal building 10' x12'. Busy me.

A couple of years ago we replaced our deck surfaces with new lumber. This year we removed the peeling stain, sanded, then refinished. Next we added on a little to the wood shed next to our storage building, then spent a long time cleaning up the dead wood and tree branches where the blackberries lurk and spring out at you as you whip by on your riding lawn mower.

Bonnie has planted things everywhere. The ground around here is hard pan with a touch of cement so planting anything requires a pick, a shovel, lots of water and a strong back. There are dozens of little projects and larger projects like cleaning the moss off the roof, checking the gutters and adding screens and fixing the leaks in hopes that the gutters will last a few more years. We have painted everything that stood still and saluted anything moving just like in the military. I have poured cement from a small cement mixer and limbed trees until my arms ached and then went further by laying block and finding a numbness in my fingers and hands when I did too much. Here is the bottom line: Now I just have to maintain what we have. I look at Bonnie when she has a project and hope she will forget about it. But alas, I could never say no to her. She is so generous with all of her time and putting me on a guilt trip is great fun for her. I worked in the rain and didn't seem to mind too much. I have this to say about all of it. Hard work never killed anybody but it sure wore them out. Nevertheless, we are grateful at our age to be able to still work. So now I am turning my hand to writing. E-gads! Watch out all you out there because "something different this way comes." Shakespeare said: "First we shoot all the lawyers." I say we should make the economists stand in front of them. I just said that for fun so you can see we are off to a good start.

Stay tuned.

Digby

Late at Night

Right the world and lay it out across the country;
Ask little, demand much, and fall down along the way;
Stretch out the hugs and delay the pain for a tougher time;
Pull up the stones of delay and wait for the call;
It will come with a wisp of hair and a touch of silence;
Return to better times and still your beating heart;
Much of the rain will give into the sun.

The look is over a web of faces attached to the closer people;
Shades of the past and glimpses of tomorrow hang on the mind;
Climb above them and listen to the better side but listen;
Great moments when even the slowest thought takes wings;
Stay loose and free and wise to the turning points given you.

I would gather up my hurts in a firm grip and toss them out
Before the wind is too strong and moves aside my protests;
Work it out and shut down the possessor;
He is drowning in self and leaving an empty room;
Full hearts are needed for each dark moment;
My reach is long for hope and short on despair.

Where are you now as the day shuts down?
Oh, you took time out and left me to my own thoughts.
Come on back, I miss you when you're gone so long;
I'll wait long past my patience and call out often;
I'll stay the course but my arms will be empty;
This time the darkness is heavy.

Digby

Lulu

It is late in the evening. I have remembered things long since passed but, for some reason, ever so clear. It is not that I have a good memory but that the memory was too good to not remember.

It was a different time and my heart was not full. My willingness to be better was strong for one so used to being put down. We are taught and/or forgotten or set aside, but at some point in time we make the difference.

You and I - two pronouns working together to be something more than just a name. You and I - the product of "Just Do It."

It matters little if it is an inch or a mile as long as it is moving forward. I love people and always have but I have a strong resentment for those who continually take. Yet, how I love the givers and the giant givers make nights a little shorter and the days tolerable.

One such giver was LuLu. She was hard not to like and at first glance you would think she was short changed. Her lot was cast with too much plainess and distorted features. She was in the neighborhood amongst us, at first noticeable, but not without catching us looking at her with interest and a sense of sadness for her.

She was large with some muscle to get things done. Her hair was sandy colored with curls that were loose and gave her a Shirley Temple look. She had a bug-eyed look with folded features on her face where lines met and came into each other. Her lips were large and her brow was tight skinned with a heavy eyebrows and, of all things, a pug nose in the middle of that large head.

She was quick on her feet, which were as wide as they were long. She spoke with a voice of pure mellow tones and offered her hand to all who would take it. Then, finally, the smile of sadness came into a broad grin and showed the whitest teeth, not quite straight, somehow passing for more than a smile for it was radiant and melted any sense of feeling sorry for her.

She was there in the rain, and the snow, and the hot summer days, always cheerful and saying things that were so much a part of her. "I got a grip today. The sun can be brighter for me; I need a sun tan on my glorious body." That would break us up. One time she said: "Hanging around you guys is good if you like to be on a downer." We would laugh and ask her what her idea of a good day was. She said: "It is when my friends have woken up and we meet on a Saturday and play basball." She loved baseball and could hit a homer more times than not. She was the catcher and gave great encouragment. I can see her now, looming over home base when it came her time to bat. She would yell at the pitcher: "I could follow that pitch in slow motion seeing as how you throw it that way." The pitcher would throw his fastest ball at
her and she would step back and knock it for a homer. She would wink at us and say: "I don't do so well running but as far as I hit that ball it will give me plenty of time to run around the bases."

There was a hug for the saddened and a mile walk if need be for the needy. She gave of what she had with a little "it's mine" attitude. About the only thing she was reluctant to share was ice cream.

Her nature was to keep the spirits of others up. I never knew her to feel sorry for herself. She lacked one thing to spoil her countenance and that was selfishness. It just did not occur to here to not think of others.

Lulu was a nickname for Lucy. She got the name because one of us said, "That was a LuLu," when something happened out of the ordinary. It was usually Lucy, so LuLu stuck. She liked the nickname and would introduce herself as LuLu. But, the way she said it sounded like a drum beat lengthened into LooLoo.

She was plenty smart but hid it behind those kind eyes and fun nature. "How was school today, LuLu?" we would say. She would reply, "Boring. I couldn't find a place to sleep."

Her life was twisted with parents that gave little of their time to her. She found her family with us and we liked it that way. We would not tolerate anybody making fun of her and stood together many times when others tried to bring her down. She would be a little uneasy but then her remark usually was, "My friends don't like what you are saying to me so I would be careful not to get them mad." Then she would laugh walk away and leave these words hanging in the air: "Families are like that."

Sometimes we would all get together and laugh, just forget our troubles, and sing silly songs. LuLu would sing and her mellow voice was soothing and easy on the ears. She had a good memory and would at times sing one of her special songs: "Jesus wants me for a sunbeam to shine for him each day. In every way try to please him at home at school at play. A sunbeam a sunbeam. I'll be a sunbeam for Him." Yeh, I know it was a religious song and we would kid her about it but she would come back with, "I don't mind singing about Him; it sort of makes me feel good."

LuLu was just around when you needed her. She would smile and say the most kind things. One time she said to me when things were kind of rough at home, "You know, Digger, I look at you with your long legs, big feet, and think that if you drank a glass of tomato juice you would look like a thermometer! I am glad you are my friend." Then she would laugh and add, "The way I look makes us an odd pair, right!" I would then say, feeling the humor, "God never made any junk but He came close with us."

I would see LuLu ambling toward me, waving her hand at me as I came in sight. Not just waving but waving enthusiastically like her arm would fall off. She would yell: "Hey Digger!" and then greet me with a big smile and say: "Boy am I glad to see you!" I would ask: "How come?" "Because," she would say as she punched me on the arm. "Just because, Silly!"

Some people just brighten up a room when they come in. That was LuLu. Always chatting about something that she noticed or felt or heard. With a great sense of detail, her delivery was second to none. Example: "That bird dived like he had a stone for a head and I thought for a moment it would slam into the ground but at the last moment it turned with an abruptness that made it poop as it flew upward." We would all laugh and someone would say, "You mean it scared the poop out of it?" and LuLu would be quick with, "Whatever that was that fell from the sky."

One day she came to us with a sad look to her which we seldom saw. She just stood there with tears running down her cheeks. We instantly shuddered and gathered around her. Her parents were moving out of the area, across country and we would probably not see her again. She explained that her Dad had lost his job and had found work in another Province. We muttered the things you usually say but our hearts were not in it. LuLu understood we were trying but we just all became silent. Until one of the guys said: "Boy, LuLu, you are off to another adventure and this time we won't be with you. But remember: tie you shoelaces and comb your hair and don't spit on the sidewalk." We all laughed and then talked about where she was going and slowly drifted away. The day before she left we guys went by her place and there was a lot of commotion. Her dad and others were loading a truck with their belongings. LuLu spotted us and came over. "Well guys," she said, "I guess this is it." She said she had thought of all kinds of things to say and wondered if we would remember her. It was like a chorus: "Sure. You bet. Are you kidding? Who could forget you." She lowered her head for a moment, then raised her head with her eyes glistening, and gave us all a hug, and ran toward her house. When she reached it she turned around and shouted: "I'll never forget you guys!" and waved goodbye.

That last look of her with her shining eyes and her big head and bright smile still clings to my memory. There are days when I think I can hear LuLu saying, "It's a great day if you're rich but being poor it's a greater day for we have nothing to lose." That's for sure!

I went to see LuLu again on the day she was leaving. I walked over to her place and looked around but I couldn't see her. A voice behind me said: "Digger!" It startled me and I said: "I didn't see you." She said: "That's because I'm so much thinner." We laughed and I looked at her and finally I blurted out: "Darn, LuLu. I just wanted to let you know I will think of you when the going gets tough and laugh when it seems too hard to laugh and look for sunshine when your name is mentioned." I did a dumb thing that boys don't do and quickly kissed her on the cheek then ran off, feeling the bite of life. I finally looked back and she was still waving and I waved back and kept running.

Digby