A WIND SYMPHONY IN THE ATTIC

The wind was roaring westward 

     thru Tijeras Canyon

that cold March midnight....

    Blowing a gale (it seemed),

as it was wont to do.

The wind was playing symphonies...

    Big dramatic ones, it seemed, 

with all the help it could find:

The soprano wind chimes on the 

    front porch, were being 

answered by the deep-throated

   bass chimes on the patio

in back...

The Rose of Sharon's limbs were

    brushing our bedroom window...

In the driveway, a trash can lid

   was blowing, sliding, and clanking

all around on the cement....as if

   waiting for the percussionist

to arrive and bring some order.

Giving all this---structure and rhythm

    was my big old mulberry tree

branch, up there, regularly bumping

   the attic wall....with a 

"BUMP, BUMP, BUMP, BUMP."

Somewhere in the house, a window

    was open a fourth inch...and

it produced a sad wailing sound of

    a weeping woman....moaning,

and adding to the symphony,

Whether faulty, or designed that way,

    our various roof vents tended to twist

and turn and add their creative

   noises during windy storms...as if

they just couldn't be still.

And here came the SPLAT! SPLAT!

    SPLAT!  big wet raindrops,

hitting the windows, the walls, 

    and the roof.

Suddenly I was wide awake...and

    wondering if all was okay...

I was caught up in this exciting

    drama that was taking place...

like it was the

     Creator's Own Symphony.

The Moaning Woman of the Wind,

    somewhere in a house window,

fascinated me...she had

     my attention....

Slipping into my masculine bunny-

    rabbit houseshoes, and my

soft fuzzy striped robe (which the

    Beloved Editor bought for me),

I decided I'd better check on things.

    Particularly the attic room!

Up the stairs I went, and I found the

    Moaning Woman---she was the

attic window, slightly open at 

    the bottom. 

Oh, if I could only sing with such pathos

    and feeling as she! What emotion!

The wind was putting its whole heart

    into this storm.

With wind, I've decided, it's an ego-thing.

    The wind knows it can't be seen...

So it has to show us what it can do.

    And it has an artistic side...

It was cold up in my attic...

    and there  was my 3/4 camp bed---

With a soft pillow; several nice old quilts

    were folded at the foot.

How it happened, I don't recall... BUT

    the next thing I knew, my rabbit

houseshoes were sticking out 

    from under the bed, and I was covered-

up and cozy under all those quilts...

All the sounds of the symphony 

    heretofore described were going on,

with some new ones I couldn't even

    identify...

The rain now was pouring onto the roof

    right over my head....and as I got

cozier and cozier and sleepier and

    sleepier, I thought of Wylie's

mother, who once wrote: "I've always 

    loved a good storm."

And the last thing I remember, is

    hearing the far-off "ARF, ARF, ARF"

of the neighbor's loud pesky little dog:

....and hoping he was under his porch...

..............and dry.

********30*******

BY MIL

3/29/14

"NINETEEN THIRTY-FOUR"

"The richness of life lies in the memories

     we have forgotten." ---UNKNOWN

**********************************************

Just pick a year in the history of our great country,

if you will, and let's talk about it.

Okay....what? Nineteen thirty-four? Good choice,

except of course there were two major disasters

occurring in our nation---The Great Depression

and The Dust Bowl.

The stock market had crashed. Millions were jobless.

Soup lines for the hungry were seen in every major

city. Cash was hard to come by; people were "broke."

At least, though many still disagree about his fiscal

policies, we had a president who was American 

through-and-through and was doing his best to get

the country back on its feet.

Most Americans living today have no concept of what

life was like In those times.

The Dust Bowl was centered at the confluence of the Oklahoma-

Texas-Colorado-New Mexico corners. At times there 

were dust clouds covering the eastern United States, all the 

way past Washington D.C. and out into the Atlantic. It was a great 

tragedy--- one that ruined many farms and lives and affected the 

economy of the whole country.

Where there were jobs to be found in 1934, men worked for a

dollar a day, and were glad to get it. (In the later years of the

depression, about 1939, a lucky family man might find a job 

paying thirty-eight dollars a week.)

Contrast this with my yard man who (on his moonlight job) will

not work for twenty dollars an hour (twice minimum wage

and twice what some substitute school teachers with Master's

degrees make.) He works only by the "job" and the latest

"job" he did was ninety bucks for an hour-and-a-half. Yes,

times have changed!

Let's look for a moment at who and what was happening in 

1934.  Franklin Delano Roosevelt was president; John Nance

Garner was vice president.

The FCC was established that year.

Life expectancy in th U.S. was an average 59.7 years. My

dear grandmother, Emma, died in 1938 at age 59.

The Kentucky Derby winner in 1934 was M. Garner for

"Cavalcade." The Pulitzer Prize winner was "Lamb In His

Bosom" by Caroline Miller.

Babe Didriksen pitched a scoreless inning for the

Philadelphia Athletics in an exhibition game against the 

Brooklyn Dodgers. World Series Champs were the St. Louis

Cardinals.

Kodak marketed its "Cine Kodak Eight" movie camera at

$34.95 and a roll of film at $2.25.

Studebaker trucks with large beds were popular at $625.00

each!  The big Hudson family sedan was highly advertised

and widely favored as a luxury car, and sold for $695.00. 

"Perfect Circle" piston rings were said to be the best in the 

fledgling auto industry.

The Auburn was touted as "easy riding" and "America's 

Smartest Convertible Car."

The biggest part of the population had ice boxes in their

kitchens, with the ice man bringing them fifty pounds every

three or four days---now the new Kelvinator and Frigidaires

were becoming popular for those who could afford them.

Talkies had been "in" for only a few years, but movies were

the main form of entertainment for most people who could

find a dime or twenty-five cents. "It Happened One Night"

was the 1934 Academy Award winner. "The Thin Man"

was big, as well as William Desmond in "The Way of the 

West."

On the Hit Parade were "Cocktails For Two" by Duke

Ellington; "I Only Have Eyes For You" by Ben Silven;

and "Let's Fall In Love" by Eddy Duchin.

In National News:

----Bonnie and Clyde were killed in a fusillade of bullets,

    ambushed in Louisiana.

----Dillinger was shot and killed outside a theater in

    Chicago.

----Labor strikes swept the nation.

----Bruno Hauptmann was arrested in the Lindbergh

    kidnapping.

----Shirley Temple shot to stardom in "Bright Eyes."

----And...The Dust bowl was ever present.

The Cost of Living in 1934:

New house.....ordered from Sears....$595.00

New house....constructed....from $4000.00

New car.....$625.00

Average rent....$20.00 month

Tuition Harvard, one year....$400.00

Movie ticket, adult.....25 cents

Gasoline.....10 cents per gallon

First Class stamp....3  cents

The Cost of Food in 1934:

Granulated sugar....10 pounds.... 59 cents

Vitamin D milk....one gallon...45 cents

Coffee....one pound...35 cents

Bacon....one pound...25 cents

Eggs...one dozen...17 cents

Fresh ground hamburger meat...one pound....12 cents

Fresh baked bread...loaf...5 cents

Many famous and productive Americans were born 

in 1934. (Some are deceased.) They were: Henry "Hank"

Aaron,  baseball; Florence Henderson, actress; Pat

Boone, singer/actor; Sam Donaldson, journalist; 

Shirley MacLaine, actress; Carl Sagan, astronomer;

Russ Tamblyn, dancer; Bill Russell, basketball; Roberto

Clemente, baseball; Roger Maris, baseball; Maggie Smith,

British actress; and Joan Hackett---born March 1, 1934,

actress memorable in the movie "Will Penny."

    

By 1934, the "Greatest Generation" of Americans ever

born (according to the opinions of many), were growing

up, finishing grade school, and some high school---their

days of playing marbles and spinning tops were ending...

They were soon to be done with farm chores---plowing,

milking, feeding chickens...some were joining the CCC,

to get three square meals a day and a decent pair of

shoes...some were soon to be off to college...others

were joining the Navy (to meet their  destiny at Pearl

Harbor); others the USMC, only to fight and die on

lonely Pacific Islands, such as Gaudalcanal, Tarawa,

Peleliu, Iwo Jima, or Okinawa.

Some would complete their growing-up and find them-

selves storming the beaches at Normandy, parachuting

into Holland in Operation Market-Garden, or fighting in the

Battle of the Bulge.

Countless others of these boys, still growing up in 1934,

didn't make it home from WWII, as they fell out of the

skies over Europe in burning B17's or P51's...

All this to save our beloved United States, freedom, and

our Constitution....

They were truly a Great Generation.

My reader, I'm glad you chose 1934 as our slice of U.S.

history to talk about. Was it a "good year?" Well, I hope so.

(In fact, no year in this world is ever totally good or bad....)

..... and on a Wednesday morning at 5:20 a.m., January

31,1934, in a sandy, sleepy little West Texas town, "Mil" 

arrived ("trailing clouds of glory do we come, from heaven 

which is our home...") on this planet, for good or bad----for 

better or worse----he was here...crying...for some coffee in 

his bottle.

    ***************************

 "The past isn't dead; it isn't even past. I would often quote

 William Faulkner. I meant that every little thing that happens

 to people remains with them throughout their lives. Every 

 experience influences every choice."

                                  from "The Hypnotist".....L. Kepler

*******30******

By Mil

3/19/14

O PITIFUL LITTLE DUCK

O pitiful little duck
   what are you doing here
        anyway?

As skinny as you look,
    I'd have thought you,
       of all living creatures,

would have been aborted...

You see, on earth, we abort
    skinny little things, that
       are barely alive.

But you know, you will likely
    someday soon be a 
       beautiful little duck

Fuzzy, cuddly, soft, and a
    pretty yellow...toddling
      along with your 
       siblings behind mama
        in a cute little row.

We will then be so glad we 
    kept you!

Or are you a baby chick?
    It doesn't matter---

You are a MIRACLE 
    from God!

********30********
BY MIL
02/19/14

OUR PAINTER SAID: "ELEVEN-ISH"

Our painter-guy
    simply said:
       "I'll arrive to paint
          eleven-ISH."

it was now eleven
    thirty-five-ISH,
      and he
         hadn't shown.

We had even looked for him
        possibly
   at ten thirty-five-ISH.

Problem with the "ISH"
            is
On which side of eleven
     does the "ISH" apply?

Or does the "ISH"
     mean "MAYBE,"

maybe.

********30*******
BY MIL
02/07/14

THE THIRTY-FIRST BOOK

THIRTY WRITERS ---THEIR MOST 

     CHERISHED BOOK,

*******************************************

Here is a most-unusual book for you book-lovers

and students of writing---a compilation of thirty

well-known writers--- each of whom has given

us his/her own story about a favorite book...and 

why.

The title is "Bound To Last," ed. by Sean Manning.

Immediately on seeing this book, and realizing the

cleverness of its premise, and seeing that it was 

"on sale," I called and ordered three. The lady said:

"Um..the computer shows there is only one left."

"I'll take it," I said hurriedly.

(It must be said here that I could've done without 

some of the blue language from three or four writers.)

All through this captivating book, as I read it, I kept

thinking: "Why I could do this...just like these people.

After all, I am a reader...and...a writer!" If..if..I only

knew what my favorite book is...

For you see, I have twenty shelves (not counting

boxes) of books in my office, garage, and shed--- an

estimated 3000 volumes---the reading of a lifetime.

A good many of these of these are fully noted in the

back fly leaves: the highlights of the books by page

numbers.

I may have a hundred favorites. How could I have ONE

favorite? I like Caro's books, McCullough's books;

I like Lynne Olson's "Troublesome Young Men," Leif

Enger, Carlo d' Este, and Victor Klemperer's World War

II Diaries: "I Will Bear Witness: The Nazi Years," Vols.

One and Two. One of the great experiences of life

was reading Patrick O'Brian's twenty historical sea

novels.

I love Mary Oliver's "A Thousand Mornings," and all

her books! I learned a lot from "The Apple Trees of

Olema" by Robert Hass. I have the life and poems

of Sylvia Plath. In our library---leather-bound,  are "Final 

Harvest," by Emily Dickenson, "Poems" by Marianne

Moore, "Selected Poems" by William Carlos Williams,

"Poems," by Edward Arlington Robinson, and a whole 

volume of Longfellow.

"I'll just pick a book," I decided, "and become writer 

 number thirty-one."

But first I looked at some of the unusual favorites 

chosen by the thirty writers. Why, a good many of 

them I'd never heard of! Books like: "Mason and Dixon," 

by Pynchon. (A daunting writer in the Faulkner-class, 

I'd been told.) Then,"Mythology" by Edith Hamilton, "The 

Collected Stories," by William Trevor, and "For Whom 

The Bell Tolls," by Hemingway.(Well, there's one I knew!)

Other favorites of the thirty writers seemed a bit strange

to me, like: "The New Professional Chef: Fifth Edition,"

"The Viking Portable Dorothy Parker,"and "Believe It Or 

Not," by Ripley. Who ever heard of "The Crying of 

Lot 49?" (Not I, that's for sure!) Then, there  was a

favorite book of one writer, titled "Dungeon Masters

Guide."

So with those books in mind, I just picked one of MY

favorites, with perhaps as equally-an-unusual-title

as theirs! My selection: "Between Silk and Cyanide,"

by Leo Marks (son of the famous owner of the

equally-famous London rare-book shoppe at 84 

Charing Cross Road!)

Unlike a good many hooks of the thirty writers: my 

selected book---has never been torn, yellowed,

stained by spilled Dr. Pepper, left out in the rain,

or splashed on by chlorinated water at poolside

while watching my child swim!  It has no mustard

or mayo stains on it, and I haven't had it since I was

a child. I haven't read it twenty times and it is not

coming apart. I do not keep it in a Zip Lock bag

due to its fragility.

It does have sentimental value, in that my Beloved

Editor bought it off a sale table at Page One and 

gave it to me for  Father's Day, fifteen years ago.

I have read it three rimes...and love it.

I love it for many reasons:

---I grew up in WWII, admired the British and have

never forgotten what a "d-----close run thing" that 

WWII was (Quoting Wellington on Waterloo).

---Leo Marks, a young genius, in 1942, joined-up

to fight...but the British recognized his genius in the

fields of cryptography and codes and re-assigned

him.

---He was put in charge of training and parachuting

attractive young women spies into occupied France.

It is heart-rending to read of those that were lost---

executed by the Germans, when these women were

volunteers and did not have to go.

---Leo Marks writes with a considerable amount of

self-effacing humor, and with great skill... which 

stood him in good stead after the war, when he 

became a Hollywood writer.

---84 Charing Cross Road Booksellers, as noted,

was famous in its own right as a world-wide source 

of rare books.It was a place frequented by the famous. 

Books were written and a movie was made about the 

store, owned by Leo's father.

---A most-memorable time comes at the end of the

war, when Leo's operation is closed down, all the

secretaries are gone---his building is being

emptied...many loyal spies have survived the war..

and are safe, and mostly back in civilian life.

He is sitting  in his dismantled office, smoking cigars 

with one of his male agents and they are reflecting 

on it all...and they are remembering those who paid 

the ultimate price...

The reader is left with a deep feeling of sadness,

emptiness, and nostalgia, as he realizes the 

magnitude and cost of the effort of this one operation 

of WWII, out of thousands of efforts...and the regrets 

or the loss of these fine women.

And then he remembers that Hitler's aspirations

cost the world seventy millions souls...all because

of his madness.

Now, add another favorite book to my list: "Bound 

to Last," edited by Sean Manning.

*********30*******

BY MIL

01/15/14

LESS CAN BE MORE

***********************************************************

O LET THERE BE AN EXPERT OUT THERE,

SAYING: "BREVITY...IT'S ALL ABOUT BREVITY!"

***********************************************************

O how much better a place

    this world would be

if only we could learn the lesson:

    "LESS IS MORE."

It is a principle taught to us

    every day, by someone...

and diligently observed by

    newspaper writers!

Often one sentence...

    is one paragraph.

Nice... I think I like it.

Now the crime novel-writers

    have picked it up: brevity---

Page and a half chapters!

    And it works...."Why, Ah

read fourteen chapters

    last night...bet you can't

beat that!"

Less is more---certainly 

    a principle not observed

by sots and gluttons...

    Not that that applies

to any of us!

I have sat thru many speeches

    in my life, long ones...

and sermons....long ones...

    Some when the preacher

went twenty seven minutes...

    had a brilliant one going,

and then started over and went

    twenty minutes more.

Attention spans, ages of the 

    listeners, and bladders all

have to be considered...

O how I felt I was bordering on

    sacrilege...needing or wanting

to escape...for after all, 

    the subject matter was

holy.

Where was Preaching 101

    when you needed it.

My Beloved Editor says the same

    about me...

"Your stuff is really good, but

    you need to shorten it!"

"Well, doncha see, I'm like the 

    others---I like to hear myself

in print!"

I cook a little. Matter of fact, I am

    what they call a SOU Chef!

And can chop celery, peel garlic,

    bone chickens, slice steak,

make stews, chili con carne,

    and stuff. I learned that less

is more when it comes to salt, 

    hot peppers,vanilla, oregano,

and vinegar. De gustabus 

    non est disputandum.

There are some things in life,

    which, due to their nature

cannot be shortened. Trips 

    for one. Another is

baseball. Baseball games 

    are as long as they are!

(My wife thinks a good baseball

    game should be three or four 

innings! A nine inning game?

    "I don't think so.")

Once she went to a Duke's game---

    Fourth of July or something.

Went overtime, lasted thirteen innings!

    She was pooped...and nearly dead!

After her discussion with me

    about that long game---

I was nearly dead too!

    ....and it was her

LAST GAME! Ever.

So when we think about it---

    Brevity and moderation

may be principles woven into

    the fabric of the universe...

Which some Einstein will

    eventually discover.

But there are also things...

    which we want to last long---

Like vacations...or life itself---

So is the premise: "less is more"

    a valid one?

Maybe it should be taken 

    with a grain of salt---

But ah..ah... not too much!

What If the author of this poem

   didn't follow his own premise?

Uh...then we'd just call this long poem...

    an EPIC.

********30*******

BY MIL

12/28/13

Sent from my iPad

"AN ARRANGEMENT MADE IN HEAVEN"

 by RICHARD DRAKE
Response to Mil's "Ode to a Tractor"

I loved your little story (poem) about the tractor. It reminded me of my only experience with tractors.

In the summer before my sophomore year in high school, I got a job driving tractors on two farms. Needing a job, I went to the unemployment office in downtown Clovis to see what might be available. While there I met a lady who was looking to hire some kids to plow under the wheat stubble on a farm  in West Texas just over the state line. I applied and was hired but I had to get my Mom's approval first. She interviewed the lady and agreed to let me take the job even though it would be for about five to six weeks. So off I went with four other boys on a new adventure.

The farm was owned by four dentists from Oklahoma city so they were absentee farmers. They hired the planting, the harvesting and then the plowing of the fields to turn under the wheat stalks getting the land ready for the next year. The wives of the men would go to the farm each summer to supervise the work but, more importantly, to feed the field hands. The women were very nice and they could cook. Evidently their families were not big eaters but five teen age boys could eat a ton at each sitting. We loved their food and the women were very pleased that they had someone who devoured their meals. It was an arrangement made in heaven.

We operated the plows for about ten hours per day with a break in the morning and afternoon.  The women  would drive out in to the fields with a snack and cold drinks at break time and pick us up for lunch.  We lived in a separate house from the women and had a good time teasing each other.

The farm had five tractors. Four relatively new John Deere's and one older Allis Chalmers which was a big machine. It was a faded red color and the others painted in  the John Deere green. Since I was the largest of the five boys, I was selected to drive the monster. It was fast and loud. I would push it for all of its worth. It would fly around the fields. I found that I could cover more ground than the others.  They wanted to take turns on the big tractor but the women were afraid that the others boys might be too small. I guess that they did not realize that the tractors did all of the work. So for six days each week we plowed the fields. It was a big farm.

One afternoon, we could see a big storm brewing in the west. We listened to the weather report on the radio and learned that it was going to be a big one. At lunch the women told us that if it reached the farm, they would come and pick us up because they were worried about lightning.  In mid-afternoon the rain clouds were getting near so there was a mad dash to get indoors before the rain hit. We barely made it.  If you recall, this was in the early fifties and a severe drought was underway so rain was a seldom enjoyed event.  We all sat on the big wrap around porch and watched the downpour. To us it was a big event. The best part was we ate Almond Joys and drank RC Colas.  It was a bit of heaven on earth. The ground was so dry that the water soaked right into it so we did not miss a day of plowing.

After seven weeks this adventure came to an end.  We were promised $7.00 for each day worked so I was expecting just under $300 for the work which was a lot of money for a fifteen year old in Clovis at that time.  When I looked at my check it was almost $400.  One lady took me aside and asked me not to tell the other kids. The women had decided that I had plowed much more land than the other kids.  Thank you "Big old red".

Returning I started to look for another job to finish out the summer. I now considered myself to be an experienced tractor operator.  The father of a classmate, Marcia Kimbrough, hired me for  a two week job. It was boring work and I had to work to stay awake during the afternoons. Marcy would bring a lunch to the field for her Father  and me each noon.  The food was good but it not reach the standard that had been set in west Texas.  This job was a bit more demanding because the field was much smaller and required that at the end of each row I had to turn to the left and count five rows before I turned into the next one. 

One afternoon I was half asleep when I missed my count and had to turn sharply to hit the right row.  The hitch to the plow caught in the tread of the rear tire and flipped the entire plow onto my back and smashed my chest into the steering wheel.  The tractor came to a quick stop and I was stunned for a minute.  Mr. Kimbrough had seen me make the mistake and came flying in his pickup.  He thought I had seriously injured myself.  I was fine except for a very sore back and chest.  We had to take the steering wheel to a welding shop in Farwell to have it straightened. After that I took the turns more slowly to ensure I made the right turn.

The summer was marked in my memory as a learning experience.

PS:  I should have said more about the cooking. The women fixed all of the

basics.  Bacon, sausage, or ham with fried eggs and biscuits.  They served

mountains of fried chicken, pot roasts, chicken fried steak and baked ham.

Wonderful deserts were always available. I was going through a growing

period so it was difficult to feel me up.  It made me a favorite of the

cooks. They loved an eater. We usually ate our desserts on the porch while

we enjoyed the cooling of the evening.  I am getting hungry thinking about

it.

Those were the days when we had endless dreams about the future and no

fears.

A great time.

 

         Richard

---30----
FOR MIL'S
by Richard Drake