October 05 '02
Volume 331
Chewing Gum A
Remembrance
Occasionally, someone
offers
me "a piece of gum." Sometimes it’s "a stick of
gum," referring to a wrapped slab of a flavored chewable material, and sometimes
it’s simply offered as "some gum." Chewing gum predates me and was even
available to my parents. Actually chewing gum has been around for quite some
time, and modern chewing gum arrived in the 1860's when U.S. producers began
to use chicle as an ingredient in chewing gum.
I learned rather early in life not to accept ABC gum, though it was okay
to accept NBC gum. ABC and NBC stand for After Being
Chewed and Never Been Chewed, respectively. I
can’t say I never chewed anyone else’s gum, but I did not do it
often, and it normally happened early in the chewing process, not after the
flavor had been removed.
I don’t recall a lot of variety among the flavors of my youth, but I
remember liking both Wrigley’s Doublemint and Spearmint
better than Juicy Fruit, while Dentyne came in a distant fourth.
Perhaps, the most fun was derived from the enjoyment of bubble gum. I never
paid much attention to the brand, but Dubble Bubble sounds right.
I’ve heard of folks putting their gum in a sugar bowl, coating it, then
chewing it again at a later time. I’ve probably done so, too, but I
have no clear recollection of it, and I imagine what little sweetness was
imparted to the ABC gum was relatively minor.
Apart from chewing someone else’s gum, perhaps the most disgusting aspect
of chewing gum relates to how folks dispose of it. Who among us has not stepped
on a wad of bubble gum in the summertime and had to remove a gooey mess from
the bottom of a shoe? Just about every school kid has run a hand beneath
the seat of a desk and found wads of chewing gum puttied there. Folks still
throw wet, sticky gum into unlined waste cans with no thought of someone
having to pry it loose to clean the can. Children may be no worse than their
gum-chewing counterparts among adults. I occasionally see a wad of gum in
a urinal in a men’s room and wonder what idiot thought the gum would
actually flush from the urinal.
Young children, who chew gum, are prone to get gum in their hair by falling
asleep with gum in their mouth. Again, I don’t remember that happening
to me, but both my children have experienced the ordeal. Thanks to
Heloise’s Hints or those of a friend, we learned that massaging a dab
of peanut butter into a clump of gum-matted hair worked wonders and avoided
having to snip it out with scissors.
In the schools I attended, chewing gum in class was prohibited. As far as
I can recall, I did not break that rule, but it may have had more to do with
the lack of chewing gum to chew than a respect for authority. Basically,
I was an obedient, good student until I discovered girls and found out they
liked to talk to me in class.
I taught school for seven years, 1965 through 1972, and in those years I
did not permit students to chew gum in class. Though they told me other teachers
allowed them to, I explained that I did not chew gum in front of them and
they were not to chew gum in my class. More than one was disciplined for
not following the rules.
A co-worker offered me a stick of gum the other day, after we had been to
lunch together.
I politely responded, "Thanks, but I don’t chew gum."
Normally, I don’t explain my reason for not chewing gum, but on that
day I did.
"Tony," I stated, "I haven’t chewed gum since my daughter was a baby,
and that’s been more than thirty years ago."
Usually that will prick someone’s interest as to why I’ve not done
so.
"That was in the days before everyone had a camcorder. We had a Super-8 Movie
Camera with no sound and a run time of three minutes of shooting per reel.
One time, my wife filmed me playing with my daughter, and it so happened
I was chewing gum. It’s hard to say which was the better performance,
her being held aloft by one leg or me displaying my gum chewing technique.
Rayanne looked like an infant sized gymnast, and I looked like an idiot
who’d never had a piece of gum in his mouth…talk about chewing
with your mouth open…well, it wasn’t pretty. When I saw that film
and heard other family members comment on my chewing, I decided it was time
for me to quit chewing gum. I’ve probably chewed less than a small pack
of gum since that day."
I know plenty of folks who chew gum discreetly, and unless one is closely
watching it’s difficult to tell they have gum in their mouth. I don’t
fit into that category, thus I don’t chew gum. It’s okay with me
if others chew gum, as long as they dispose of it properly.
I think there are places where it’s inappropriate, such as in the classroom
or at formal events such as weddings and funerals. Under no circumstances
should someone enter a church sanctuary chewing gum, and no, I don’t
believe it enhances anyone’s worship experience any more than it does
a student’s learning experience. However, I do see some worshipers engrossed
in their gum chewing on most Sundays. Maybe, I should videotape them and
let them see how "nice" they look. Yet, it’d be my luck they'd simply
offer me a piece of gum.
Opal Warren
Upstaged By A Yardman
The last time Barbara and I visited Mrs. Opal Warren, we were there to pick
figs. It was early August and the fig trees were loaded. I remember the weather
being very hot, so we were not long in harvesting all the figs we felt we
could use. I've not had a lot of experience picking figs, but apparently
it's similar to picking cotton in that the amount gathered never weighs out
to be the amount expected. I suppose we picked about two gallons and Barbara
cooked them into preserves, the first she'd ever made, by the way. They turned
out rather tasty and our plentiful supply is nearly gone, with most of them
finding their way onto Barbara's plate at breakfast. I like fig preserves,
but I'm not the sort of person who needs to begin the day with a laxative,
so I've eaten far less of them than has Barbara.
A few weeks ago, Barbara answered the phone while I napped in the bedroom
unbeknownst to her. Miss Opal asked to speak to me, but Barbara thought I
was cutting grass. Miss Opal commented that she wanted me to drop by sometime
so she could tell me about the "old days." Apparently, something I had written
in a newsletter put her in a nostalgic mood. By the time I got around to
returning her call, Miss Opal did not seem to recall whatever it was she
wanted to relate, but I told her Barbara and I would try to visit her soon.
When Miss Opal was in better health, Barbara and I sat next to her every
Sunday morning at Church, until First Baptist went with two morning services.
She elected to attend the early service, believing she could not find a parking
place near the main buildings, while we stuck with the eleven o'clock service.
In the past year, Miss Opal had surgery, and following an extended hospital
stay, developed a bedsore on her heel that continues to be troublesome,
preventing her from wearing shoes most of the time and disallowing her from
attending church.
Now in her mid-eighties, she remains fiercely independent, choosing to live
alone as she has for all the years since her husband W.H. "Juicy" Warren
died approximately two decades ago. She has relinquished some lawn-care chores
to others, but has held onto cutting her own yard. She's the sort who likes
to cut grass and is willing to do so as long as she can get on her riding
mower. By the time I got around to choosing a mate, I think all the "grass
cutters" had been taken, though it's possible I settled to quickly.
Arriving at Miss Opal's home shortly after two p.m. today, Barbara and I
were greeted by her daughter, Leoda Morrow. Miss Opal asked me do something
for her before I had a chance to sit down.
"We need you to get the plastic top off the can of oven cleaner for us,"
she stated.
"It's one of those you have to squeeze in the sides and turn," commented
Leoda. "I can't ever get them off."
I was confident I could remove the cap. I've been challenged by similar
contraptions in the past and have, on at least one occasion, plunged a
screwdriver through the top and torn the lid off. I had no luck removing
the plastic top with my right hand, but it popped right off when I switched
to my left hand. Though my right arm and hand are dominant, I've learned
that in some situations, my left hand serves me best.
"We loosened it up for you," Leoda teased.
I had scarcely relaxed after sitting down, when Miss Opal began to tell me
about her yard helper.
"Do you know anybody that can do everything?" she asked.
I glanced at Barbara, expecting her to point me out.
Instead, Leoda declared, "Billy could," referring to her late husband.
As modestly as I could, I replied, "A lot of people think I can do about
everything."
"Well, you should have been here a few days ago," responded Miss Opal. "I
couldn't get my lawn mower to crank. I'd turn the key and all it would do
is make a whining noise. I thought it was my battery, but my yardman can
fix most everything, and he said it was most likely the starter."
"I was going to charge the battery," Leoda added, "but I couldn't get to
it. I got the seat off, but there's a metal plate under it. The battery's
under that, and I couldn't get the plate off. I got Kevin (Leoda's son) to
come over, and he got the charger hooked up."
"Yeah, but it still wouldn't crank. All it would do is make the same
funny-sounding noise," stated Miss Opal.
"Have you ever heard of a froze starter?" she asked, and when I hedged on
the affirmative, she matter-of-factly informed me, "Well, if you're going
to know how to do everything, you'd better learn about a froze’ starter."
Actually, I knew a little about starters on automobiles and once had a car
with a faulty starter, which could be coaxed into working by rolling the
car forward or backwards a few inches, with it in gear. Since I've only had
two mowers with electric starters and neither of them have ever "froze up,"
I didn't want to stretch the truth by claiming I was knowledgeable about
starters on mowers.
"Anyway," she continued, "Kevin loaded the mower in the back of his truck,
by himself, and took it over to Melvin May's. He wasn't gone five minutes,
and he was back with it fixed. All Melvin did was turn something on the starter,
and now it's working. My yardman told me you could sometimes bang on a starter
and it would work."
I don't even know this "yardman," but I found myself being upstaged by him,
at least in Miss Opal's eyes.
"I fell yesterday," Miss Opal revealed. "I was sweeping off the driveway,
at the time. My yardman had gone over to fix a light switch at my neighbors
across the street. I had dirt in my mouth from my fall. I fell on my knee,
the one that had knee replacement surgery, and I couldn't get up by myself.
I got ahold of the guy-wire out there. She gestured toward the back of her
drive where a bright yellow plastic sleeve surrounded a cable, anchored in
the ground, that offered support for a utility pole. I didn't have the strength
to pull myself up. I just lay there, 'til my yardman came back. I guess it
was thirty minutes or more."
"I'll bet you're sore today from your fall," I reasoned.
"No, I'm not," she calmly assured.
"Not even from trying to pull yourself up?" I pressed.
"Nope."
"That's amazing!" I responded, while thinking, "Independence is not without
it's risks, and she was fortunate her yardman returned."
Later, Miss Opal invited us to view her expansive glassware collection in
the dining room and even had Leoda retrieve a sixties' photo of her late
husband "Juicy," Bobby "Winkie" Davis, Cleo Baker, Butch Montgomery, and
Paul Mask holding a bowling trophy and their prize money.
Barbara and I visited with Miss Opal and Leoda for the better part of two
hours and felt the visitation was good for us all. Our older friends (yours
and mine) aren’t getting any younger, and some of them are fast becoming
homebound. It would do us all a lot of good to visit our elders more often.
Bodock Beau Give
It A Few Years
The elderly priest, speaking to the younger priest, said, "It was a good
idea to replace the first four pews with plush bucket theatre seats. It worked.
The front of the church fills first."
The young priest nodded and the old one continued, "And you told me a little
more beat to the music would bring young people back to church, so I supported
you when you brought in that rock 'n roll gospel choir. We are packed to
the balcony."
"Thank you, Father," answered the young priest. "I am pleased you are open
to the new ideas of youth."
"Well", said the elderly priest, "I'm afraid you've gone too far with the
drive-thru Confessional.
"But Father," protested the young priest. "My confessions have nearly doubled
since I began that!
I know, my son," replied the old man. "But that flashing neon sign, 'Toot
'n Tell or Go to Hell', can't stay on the church roof!"
From Internet Site http://home.att.net/~mrburke/index1.html
NEWSPAPER HEADLINES IN THE YEAR 2035
-
Ozone created by electric cars now killing millions in the seventh largest
country in the world, California.
-
White minorities still trying to have English recognized as California's
third language.
-
Spotted Owl plague threatens northwestern United States crops & livestock.
-
Baby conceived naturally.... Scientists stumped.
-
Authentic year 2000 "chad" sells at Sotheby's for $4.6 million.
-
Last remaining Fundamentalist Muslim dies in the American Territory of the
Middle East (formerly known as Iran, Afghanistan, Syria, and Lebanon.)
-
Iraq still closed off; physicists estimate it will take at least ten more
years before radioactivity decreases to safe levels.
-
Castro finally dies at age 112; Cuban cigars can now be imported legally,
but Pres. Chelsea Clinton has banned all smoking.
-
George Z. Bush says he will run for President in 2036.
-
Postal Service raises price of first class stamp to $17.89 and reduces mail
delivery to Wednesday only.
-
35-year study: diet and exercise is the key to weight loss.
-
Massachusetts executes last remaining conservative.
-
Supreme Court rules punishment of criminals violates their civil rights.
-
Upcoming NFL draft likely to focus on use of mutants.
-
Average height of NBA players now nine feet, seven inches.
-
New federal law requires that all nail clippers, screwdrivers, fly swatters,
and rolled up newspapers must be registered by January 2036.
-
Congress authorizes direct deposit of illegal political contributions to
campaign accounts.
-
IRS sets lowest tax rate at 75%.
Submitted by Gwen H. Cottrell
Pic submitted by Dena Kimbrell
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