Happy Birthday, Daddy

I missed a Father’s Day message this year, but today was my father’s birthday so I’ll do one for both.  We often celebrated the two together, almost always with strawberry shortcake.  And beef.  He was big on eating beef – we didn’t know then what we do about cholesterol, and what it combined with the family history of heart attacks might have done to his health.  Nope, beef was good for you.  When we went out you were supposed to order a hamburger, and sometimes we’d order a hot dog just to needle him.  Once he had heard or read that watercress was good for you, so every day all summer we had to hike up to the old springhouse that was part way up the pasture hill and pick some for him to have with supper.  He had a multitude of interests.  Not sure how it started, but when my mother got into having her antique shop, he became interested in paperweights.  He read up on them, and had a good sized collection of them.  He’d travel to auctions, or to places where they were made to try to get new ones.  He got one at an auction in Chatham, where the folk singer Harry Belafonte was sitting in the row in front of him; Belafonte asked to see the paperweight and held it,.looking it over – so it was known as ‘the paperweight that Harry Belafonte held’.  Belafonte was a special celebrity to my father, because one of his movies “Odds Against Tomorrow”, was shot in Hudson with several scenes done at the place my father worked, so he got to talk to the stars and watch them at work.  Another paperweight was purchased directly from the man who made it, in a little town in the mountains of West Virginia.  They stopped there on the way back from Florida, and my mother said he was so excited to be at the artist’s studio – he went inside and came back to the car and said “He’s in there – sitting at the table making a paperweight - just like the picture in the book”.  My sister and I have the paperweights now and I think of him every time I look at them.  And a lot of other times, too. There are still things I’d like to ask his advice on.  Happy Birthday, Daddy, and Happy Father’s Day, too.      

A MOUSE IN THE MORNING

 

Nothing like a mouse to start your day off.  There I was sitting in the bathroom doing – well, what you do in the bathroom first thing in the morning (I know, tmi), when Prettypurr raced past my feet and jumped into the bathtub. From the scrabbling noises I figured she had a mouse, and looked to confirm my suspicions, just as the mouse (which was quite large and agile) scampered up the side of the tub and first hid behind the bottle of shampoo on the ledge of the tub and then in my bath scrubby (which is now in the trash, thank you Mr./Ms. Mouse).  So I went to get something to trap it with and then let it go outside, with strict warnings to never darken our door or bathtub again.  Except that by the time I got back, the mouse had disappeared.  Prettypurr was searching diligently all around the bathroom, to no avail.  Ok, the mouse got away, that’s the breaks, better luck next time, Prettypurr.  I did mention that perhaps were she not quite so stout she might be a bit quicker and thus have better mouse luck, but she just glared at me and let me know it was my fault that the mouse got away.  So I had my tea, and did a few things and went to take my shower.  Got into the usual shower-taking attire, and reached up to pull the curtain back to get in, and there was the mouse, on top of the curtain rod.  Saying ‘don’t give me away!’  Ha!  I shook the curtain a couple of times, dislodged the mouse, and it fell into the tub.   Grabbed the jar again and tried to trap it, but that was one fast mouse, let me tell you.  It dodged the jar numerous times and then decided it was time to retreat, so it jumped up, ran across the hand I was bracing myself on the edge of the tub with and headed for the bedroom, with Prettypurr right behind.  I can still feel those little feet running across my hand.  It went behind a little stand next to my bed, and then under it when I moved the stand, with Prettypurr being ever vigilant for it to move within range, and when I moved the stand again the mouse ran under the bed, with the cat hot on its tail, and it sounded like they were doing laps around and around and around. 

So I did the only thing a person could do under those circumstances.  I took my shower and got dressed and went to the diner and had a ‘Hot Mess’ for breakfast. 

PS, I don’t know if Prettypurr ever got the mouse but when I went to the house a few hours later to close the windows against the rain, I stepped on her lying under the chair at the end of the bed.    

 

The Great Chatham Duckling Rescue (or: one more thing that makes Chatham a great place to live)

                Last Wednesday morning, if you saw three people dashing through yards on Kinderhook Street, they weren’t casing houses for nefarious deeds, they were doing a very good deed.  It all started on Main Street about 10 a.m., when Chatham DPW worker Phil Genovese saw a distraught mother duck whose two babies had fallen into a storm drain.  Phil jumped to the rescue, into the drain, and got them out, but then the family was stranded in a world of concrete and cars, instead of their usual serene creek side home.

                Phil set to trying herd the little family down Park Row and Kinderhook Street to the creek.  Ever heard the phrase ‘like trying to herd cats’?   Trust us, trying to herd ducks is harder!  As his efforts seemed doomed, Barbara Peduzzi was parking on Main Street and, seeing that something involving animals was happening, crossed the street to see what was going on.  “I’m trying to get them back to the creek”, Phil explained, adding his story about their plight in the storm drain.  The two tried to corner the mom and babies, and did get them to Park Row when Mama Duck took a right past the church and into some back yards. 

                The people were getting too close, and she panicked and flew over the fence to behind Chatham Brewing, leaving her babies, but quickly returning to lead them into yet another yard.  About that time Lynne Bell was walking down Kinderhook Street and joined the rescue effort.  The mother duck could not deal with that many people, and flew off again, leaving her babies in a yard where they quickly ducked under a porch. 

                Scared without their mother, they came back out and after some quick footwork through flower beds (no plants were damaged in this ordeal) Phil captured both babies. 

                Now, to get Mama Duck reunited with them!  Lynne and Barbara held the tiny little fluff balls and urged them to “Peep!  Call your mom!  C’mon, Peep!”  It worked, and the little ones made as much noise as they could.  After all, they were being held by giants making very strange noises!  Mom soon heard them, and was flying overhead calling out to them in desperation.

                The people made their way through more back yards, behind the Methodist Church and over to Center Street, where Phil stopped a truck while waiting to see if the mother duck would come across the road.  She took to the air again.  Another DPW worker joined the group, helping keep track of where the frantic mother duck was.  By now everyone was on or near Mill Street, and close to the creek.  Mama Duck was in the brush but tracking her babies.  Phil carried them down to the steep bank to the edge of the creek, for a happy reunion.

And everyone went back to work.

Mother's Day 2013

Some years ago there was a saying, I think coined as a tag line to a joke, that went “Oh, No!  I’m becoming my mother!”  All I can say is: I should be so lucky.  My mother was an exceptional woman.  She was smart, she was savvy and she was wise.  She was blessed with infinite patience.  She never stopped teaching herself new things, from needlepoint and furniture refinishing to caning chair seats to selling antiques to bookkeeping for our gas station, and, of course, the myriad things about farming.  She went from a probably upper-middle class upbringing and college at Cornell to a farm wife, doing everything from milking the cows to helping birth calves to driving the truck piled high with bales of hay with all of us kids piled on top of the load.  She showed her love in more ways than we knew, making clothes, leading our 4-H clubs, being there and giving words we needed.  She missed my father every day between his passing and hers.   She was ready for it when it was her time to go and she did that as she did everything else, with calm dignity.  To become even a small part of what my mother was would be an honor that I hope I someday reach.  Love you and miss you, Mommy. 

Life is full of random things

File this under “Life is full of random things”.  I rarely add people to my ‘Friends’ list on Facebook.  I have a bunch of invites, but just don’t ever think about it/get around to accepting.  The other day for some reason I was at the list and clicked a few, including one name from the past.  It’s a convoluted connection: her mother Martha, or Marty as everyone called her, is my age, a younger sister of one of my aunts, but even though just ‘in-law’ related, our families shared get-togethers and we kids grew up as an extended group of cousins.  Marty was in my class in high school for a while, and we hung out together there.  After school, everyone went their separate ways.  She married young, had her family, my aunt moved away, the generations slowly passed on, and it has been many, many years since I’d seen her.  But the other day when I saw her daughter’s name in my invites I accepted.  The daughter is Annie, named after her grandmother.  I had to think a bit to put people together, to be honest, to figure out why this person wanted to Friend me.  That was earlier this week.  I meant to message Annie to ask how the family is, just hadn’t gotten to it yet.  Tonight Annie posted that her mother passed away today.  You know the things you wish you’d done sooner?  Yeah, that’s on the list.  Marty, I hope your life was good since last we met.  Go in peace.  Annie, I hope that fond memories make this time easier for you all.

How did he get the guns?

What happened in Webster, NY yesterday could have happened anywhere.  It could have been people I know, people I am related to, could have been any of us in slightly different circumstances.  It was, a couple of years ago, again here in NY when an EMT was shot and killed at a house he tried to enter on a call. 

“Police say Spengler was convicted in 1981 for beating his grandmother to death with a hammer and was released from prison in 1998. They’re trying to determine how he had weapons in his possession.

“Spengler was a convicted felon. He’s not allowed to possess weapons. Did he legally possess those weapons? No,” said Webster Police Chief Gerald Pickering.”

So then how did he get the guns?  If there are all the background checks every time someone gets a gun, how did this man possess them?  How does anyone with criminal intent get a gun?  We’re not talking the gritty city streets where guns get stashed in trash cans for anyone in the neighborhood to use, and a lot of people can supply a weapon of choice for the asking.  We’re talking a quiet almost rural town, like the one I’m in and many of you are in.

How did he get the guns?   

“Four firefighters shot, two killed”

“Four firefighters shot, two killed” - the latest updates on an incident in Webster, NY this morning (12/24/12). 

Firefighters, going to do what they do, and a gunman opens fire.  Two died.  So far.

The others pulled back from the fire scene, and more houses are involved, ruining more people’s lives. 

Add these to the other headlines about shootings across the country, and it is a sad commentary on our people, our times, our society, our laws and the ways to circumvent them.  It’s just a sad, sad story to add to the far too many ones we’ve already read and heard, and to the ones we will continue to read and hear.

No, I’m not advocating that guns be banned.  Guns serve a purpose, whether it be for hunting, hobby, law enforcement, or a number of other legitimate purposes. 

I’m not going to quote the much mis-interpreted 2^nd Amendment to defend having guns, either.  I’m also not going to try to get into a debate about the wisdom, or lack thereof, of having a gun for personal defense.  In some cases this has proven to be a right choice.  In some it has caused tragedy.  

Since this is my blog, I’m going to give my opinion: that there is no single place to place the blame.  There is no single thing that could have prevented any of these tragedies.  Yes, maybe more difficult access to the guns, especially automatic weapons could have helped in some cases.  Yes, maybe better mental health care could have helped in some cases.  Yes, maybe armed guards at schools could have helped in some cases (although some are saying that there was an armed guard at Columbine, and there for sure were armed people at Fort Hood).  Yes, maybe everyone having their own gun could have helped in some cases.  Yes, maybe banning violence from tv or video games or and even headlines could help in some cases.  And so on.

The truth is, none of us know what could really have helped in any of the cases.  The truth is that there is no absolute cure, there is no complete and total answer.  

But maybe, just maybe, we all can help tame this epidemic.  Maybe we can try to reach out to someone who is withdrawn, not fitting in.  Maybe we can try to stop bullying when we see it happening.  Maybe we can let the ‘different’ people know they are important, too.  Maybe there are a lot more ways each of us can do just a little something to try to keep even just one of these tragedies from happening.  We’ve got a lot to say after they do, let’s try to say something before.  And maybe, just maybe there will be fewer headlines and fewer tears.  Maybe.