RRN Online Volume 325

August 24 '02

Volume 325

Belmont Trip Flatout Fatigued

It happened about a month before Hedge Trimmers the annual RRN cookout/ fish fry that my daughter asked when I might have time to help her with some yard work.

"I’ve got some flowerbeds that need cleaned out and re-mulched," she coaxed pitifully.

I should have known better than to respond without thinking of what I might be getting into, but I found myself saying, "It’ll be the first weekend in August, at the earliest."

With all that transpired in the days and weeks leading up to the fish fry, I pretty much forgot about my conversation with Rayanne, but she didn’t.

In fact, I think it was the weekend of the fish fry that she asked, "You are coming up to Belmont next weekend to do my yard aren’t you?"

"Yeah, sure," I thought to myself. "Assuming I live through the current weekend."

In my mind, I can still do all the things I did twenty years ago. I’ve the skills, the know-how, and the will to do them, but sometimes, my body balks.

"Listen buster," it chimes, "You may think you’re forty, but let me tell you a thing or two. Forty was twenty years ago. I had the stamina back then to do whatever it was you dreamed of me doing, but you’re fantasizing if you think I can sustain the hectic pace you’ve set for us this summer. Have you not noticed how short of breath you get after using your chain saw or hedge trimmer for ten minutes? It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out why, but noooh…you keep pushing the limit. Well, one of these days that ticker of ours is going to…."

It’s usually about then that I tune out my body’s language. After all, hard work never hurt anyone, right? Exercise is good for you, right?

I don’t think the trek to Atlanta and back, on Monday and Tuesday following the fish fry, had a lot to do with my inability to recuperate from the fish fry, but it’s safe to say I was not fully recovered by Saturday morning, when Barbara and I piled my yard tools into the back of "Old Blue," the '87 S-10 Chevrolet truck that I own and Jason drives, and headed out for Belmont, MS.

"It would be nice if we could drop by the Howell Family reunion at Tishomingo State Park, today," I wistfully mused, aloud. "Gwen said it would be okay, but we’ll have to see how the day goes."

Barbara agreed that it would be nice to see old friends, though neither of us thought the visit would materialize because of the constraints of time. Time is what one makes of it, and I don’t really like to use it as an excuse, because I chastise others for doing so. We could have "made time" and visited the Howell clan, but then we’d have shortchanged Rayanne on the yard work. Anyway, Gwen tells me the family will do it all again in three years. Maybe then, it’ll work out for Barbara and me to be there.

The air conditioner in my blue pickup lost all its coolant a couple of years ago. I keep thinking Jason will get tired of riding in a hot truck and get it fixed, but that hasn’t happened. So, Barbara and I became somewhat acclimated to the heat during the seventy minute drive to Belmont.

The pickup belonging to Anson’s dad sat on the street in front of the house loaded down with a mulch of shredded pine and pine bark. I was glad to note one chore already completed. Minutes later, Rayanne blessed our arrival and quickly put us to work. Us…consisted mostly of Anson and me, though Rayanne helped. Barbara did some light work and watched after the two youngest grandchildren.

My heavy duty Mantis hedge trimmers made quick work of the hedge beneath the living room windows of the Adams’ house.

"Daddy," Rayanne commented, "Our neighbor, Mr. Floyd, is impressed. He wanted to know if you were my daddy."

"He said," she continued, "When I saw him pull those hedge trimmers out of his pickup, I thought to myself, ‘I’ll bet he’s got a pretty yard.’"

I don’t know the connection between gasoline powered hedge trimmers and a pretty yard, but I reasoned if he had as much shrubbery and hedge as I do, he’d need a set of trimmers, too. I can’t take credit for the landscaping that surrounds my house, but I will take credit for the maintenance, and most of the time it does look pretty.

It didn't take long to work up a good sweat in the humid heat, though trees protected us with shade for much of the morning. A light lunch kept me more willing to go back to work than a heavy one would have. When Anson and I had finished the flowerbeds in the front yard, Rayanne pointed to the backyard and requested the lower limbs of a tree be pruned. Then, the privet hedge growing weed-like near the dog pen begged to be hewn at ground level, as did a fine crop of poke sallit, nearby.

Whatever rejuvenated energy level I had acquired from lunch was spent by mid afternoon. I sat in a chair in the carport as a fan blew a warm breeze over me. I expect my clothes would have eventually dried with me sitting there, but the air conditioning within the house kept calling my name, until I gave up, went inside, and allowed it to embrace me.

My actions did not suit my daughter, who was all for Daddy and Anson moving the several rocks that held the chain link fence securely to the ground and prevented Oreo the Dalmatian from escaping the compound. The rocks were too big and I was too tired to attempt moving them. Maybe when Anson's back is stronger and my will is weaker, I'll return to finish that task. Maybe it'll be in the dead of winter, too.

An hour-long nap, a hot shower, and a change of clothes did wonders for my well being. Afterwards, Rayanne needed me to accompany her to the grocery store to select some ground beef for our supper. She normally shops at the Piggly Wiggly, but a friend told her the ground meat at Big Star did not have "re-grinds" in it. Some meat markets still mix day-old ground beef in with fresh trimmings. It may help the department's profitability, but it hurts ground beef sales in the long run as consumers find their freshly ground beef is bright pink on the outside but dark brown on the inside by the next day. The ground beef at Big Star appeared to have a good ratio of fat to lean, while the ground chuck looked like it did not have any fat in it. I'm sure the ground chuck is healthier for us, but it sure isn't very tasty, so I chose the ground beef.

I made out hamburger patties while Anson fired up the Weber charcoal grill, and then I watched Anson grill the hamburgers to perfection. They were so good that I'm now yearning for a charcoal grill to use whenever I'm not rushed or simply want a more flavorful result than that provided by a gas grill.

Anson's parents, Charles and Beckie Adams joined us for supper. Charles and Anson wanted another chance to prune tree limbs with the pole saw I had, so I let them enjoy themselves to their heart's content following our meal. At 8:30 p.m. or so they needed a flashlight to see the limbs they were trimming, and they really needed some insect repellent to keep the mosquitoes away, but they managed without the repellent. I didn't need the flashlight or the repellent. I stayed indoors.

As I recall, Barbara and I motored back into Pontotoc shortly after 11:00 that evening, and if memory serves me, I didn't have to be rocked to sleep that night.

Downright Rural Countrified Expressions

Folks who know, claim that as we grow old we loose much of our sense of taste. Subtle flavors become increasingly difficult to detect and may explain how some folks manage to eat bland hospital and nursing home food without complaining. Those in the know also claim that the ability to taste things that are sweet is attributable to the "sweet" buds outlasting most other detectors employed by our taste buds.

When she visits our house at mealtime, Barbara's mother, Lillie Belle, now at age eighty-five, is often heard to turn away a vegetable or two, and is not likely to ask for rice. However, I can't remember the last time she refused a dessert. I'm not quite that old, but I don't turn down many desserts, either.

I once had a bachelor uncle and an old maid aunt who lived together as brother and sister. My mother's mother lived with them for a few years, too. Mama Nona was a fabulous cook, but she used to say it was hard to get anything too sweet for Dial Vaughan or his sister Dink.

I got to thinking about my aforementioned relatives the other day as I reflected on the usage of "purt' near."

Purt' near is old-time country for "pretty near" or "pretty nearly," either of which express "almost" but do so more colorfully. Being a product of some old-time country folks, I've heard the "purt' near" expression "purt' near" all my life. Sometimes, I've heard the expression used to understate an extremely accurate measurement.

An example might be in the carpentry trade such as, "That board fit in perfectly, didn't it?" No? Well, purt' near, anyway."

Sometimes the phrase fitly describes an accident avoided, "Dang fool! Why, he purt' near ran over me."

When it comes to judging sweetness, I tend to use it myself when asked, "Did I get enough sugar in the lemon icebox pie, dear?"

"Purt' near!"

I really need to consult with Phyllis Harper, writer for the Daily Journal, about the origin of Pure Ole Dee. Pure Ole Dee (spelling attempted) is an expression which is probably more rural or countrified than "purt' near!" I don't remember the last time I heard it used, though I heard it many times in my youth, and it typically described a challenging problem or a lack of beauty.

"Those fractions we had on our arithmetic test were Pure Ole Dee hard," or "Did you get a look at the new girl in our class? She's Pure Ole Dee ugly!"

"Downright" would have served the purpose in the "ugly" example, but Pure Ole Dee would be punctuating the ugliness in the way Emeril Lagasse "takes it up another notch" on his cooking show.

While I can't recall the first time or the last time I've heard someone use most of the rural expressions I remember, I can resolutely state that the last person I heard say, "Do which" was my grandfather, Hayden Carter. Granddaddy had grown hard of hearing, by the time I was old enough to remember him. It didn't take me long to learn that his way of asking me to repeat something I'd said was to ask, "Do which?"

Had I been brave enough to ask an adult, any adult, "Do what?" or simply "What?" I might have been spanked for not saying "Sir?" or "Ma'am?"

Above are a few of the unusual phrases I remember from long ago. If readers of this newsletter have some fondly remembered, little-used, countrified expressions, please feel free to share them with us.

Bodock Beau Humor

Everyone seems to be wondering why the Arab terrorists are so quick to commit suicide?

Let us count the reasons:

No premarital sex.
No booze.
No bars.
No television.
No Internet.
No organized sports, stadiums, tailgate parties. Actually, no tailgates.)
No Hooters.
No meat from a pig.
Sand everywhere, and not a dune buggy insight.
Lousy fishing at an oasis.
Rags for clothes and hats.
Constant wailing from the guy next door because he is sick and no doctors.
No music.
No radio.
You can't shave.
You can't shower.
Bar-B-Q donkey cooked over burning camel dung.
The women have to wear baggy dresses and veils, at all times.
Someone else picks your bride.
Oh, and then your teachers tell you that when you die, it all gets better!

Who wouldn't go for it?

Submitted by Bing Crausby

Less Famous Proverbs

He who laughs last, thinks slowest.
Everyone has a photographic memory. Some don't have any film.
A day without sunshine is like…night.
On the other hand…you have different fingers.
Change is inevitable, except from a vending machine.
I just got lost in thought. It was unfamiliar territory.
When the chips are down, the buffalo is empty.
Seen it all, done it all, can't remember most of it.
Those who live by the sword get shot by those who don't.

Submitted by Kim Goslin

Jury Duty

A woman was called to serve for jury duty, but asked to be excused because she didn't believe in capital punishment and didn't want her personal beliefs to prevent the trial from running its proper course.

But, the public defender liked her thoughtfulness and quiet calm spirit, so he tried to convince her that she was appropriate to serve on the jury.

"Madam," he explained, "this is not a murder trial!

It's a simple civil lawsuit. A wife is bringing this case against her husband because he gambled away the

$12,000 he had promised to use to remodel their kitchen for her birthday."

"Well, okay," agreed the woman, "I'll serve. I guess

I could be wrong about capital punishment after all."

In The Army Now:

Mr. and Mrs. Braithwaite Backus,

Bald Buzzard Ridge, RFD 2

Mountainville, Kentucky

Dear Ma and Pa:

Am well. Hope you are. Tell Brother Walt and Brother Elmer the Army beats working for Old Man Minch a mile. Tell them to join up quick before maybe all the places are filled.

I was restless at first because you got to stay in bed till nearly 6 a.m., but am getting so I like to sleep late. Tell Walt and Elmer all you do before breakfast is smooth your cot and shine some things -- no hogs to slop, feed to pitch, mash to mix, wood to split, fire to lay. Practically nothing. You got to shave, but it is not bad in warm water.

Breakfast is strong on trimmings like fruit juice, cereal, eggs, bacon, etc., but kind of weak on chops, potatoes, beef, ham steak, fried eggplant, pie and regular food. But tell Walt and Elmer you can always sit between two city boys that live on coffee. Their food plus yours holds you till noon, when you get fed.

It's no wonder these city boys can't walk much. We go on "route marches," which, the Sgt. says, are long walks to harden us. If he thinks so, it is not my place to tell him different. A "route march" is about as far as to our mailbox at home. Then the city guys all get sore feet and we ride back in trucks. The country is nice, but awful flat.

The Sgt. is like a schoolteacher. He nags some. The Capt. is like the school board, Cols. and Gens., just ride around and frown. They don't bother you none.

This next will kill Walt and Elmer with laughing. I keep getting medals for shooting. I don't know why. The bull's-eye is near as big as a chipmunk and don't move. And it ain't shooting at you, like the Higsett boys at home. All you got to do is lie there all comfortable and hit it. You don't even load your own cartridges. They come in boxes.

Be sure to tell Walt and Elmer to hurry and join before other fellows get onto this setup and come stampeding in.

Your loving son, Zeb

Prior two submissions by Larry Young

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