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MAY
2008 READER'S STORIES Dull
Rusty Pocketknife I arranged to fly from California to Texas with my 85-year-old father-in-law to a special occasion. I was flying out of Sacramento and he from Los Angeles. I luckily was able to set the flight up where we were actually on the same flight that started in Sacramento and stopped in LA on the way to Texas. I arranged for my sister-in-law to “family escort” him to the gate to ensure he made it to the correct gate on time. Thank God, I did, as I had not taken into consideration security. Every bell, whistle, and alarm went off as he went through the scanners. With all his replaced body parts (knees, wire-mesh hernia correction, etc) it was expected, but he didn’t make things any easier carrying an old rusty pocketknife that he refused to relinquish to the security officer. I have to admit his argument was valid, “How much of a threat is a shaky crippled 85-year-old man holding hands with the Grim Reaper sporting a dull rusty one-inch pocketknife?” Regardless, rules are rules. The entire family had told him to empty his pockets and leave it all behind…but no-o-o! Mr. Stubborn-Old-Man refused to give up his belongings until my sister-in-law arranged to have the “weapon” held for her to pick-up on her way out. Everyone finally agreed and after an extra hour’s worth of security, he arrived at the gate less then 30 seconds before the plane door closed. I was sweating blood by that time, not knowing if he was going to be there or not, or whether I was to stay on or get off the plane. For the return flight, I figured in an extra hour for security and told him to check his orneriness or he was going to end up getting an unpleasant cavity search. He cooperated, but I caught hell from the wife. --- PW Birds of a Feather While my family and I were visiting Venus, Italy, my sister, and I were feeding a few pigeons in a plaza. At first, there were a few dozen pigeons, then a dozen more. My little sister started to freak out as the birds kept coming and she eventually tossed her handful of seeds in fear and ran. The unfortunate thing was that her toss was in my direction and hundreds of pigeons instantly swarmed me. Everybody was laughing as I froze with nowhere to go for fear of stepping on a dozen birds trying to escape. I’m sure it was hilarious as I stood looking like a statue with birds on my head, shoulders, and arms. Somewhere in time, I recall a little old lady telling me that it was a sign of good luck to be pooped on by a bird…if so, I'm owed a year’s worth of luck! --- Ima O. Kay Independence Day in Eagle River It's Independence Day in Eagle River, Alaska. Hot dogs, hamburgers, barbecued chicken, potato salad. Cotton candy, apple pie, ice cream. Booths, kiosks, with bright yellow, green, red and white striped awnings challenge gray, overcast skies. Gunny-sack races. Balloon relays match grizzled faces and gnarled hands with angelic faces and chubby little hands. Flags, flowers, stars and butterflies adorn beaming faces. Fairy wands reach for the sky. Sparkling tiaras surround little heads; streamers flow behind. Boys and girls race across soggy grass. Clusters of not-too-young men and women stand in close-knit groups, laughing, talking. Eyes move constantly, always attuned to their children. Overflowing strollers rock to and fro. Teenagers with bare midriffs, baggy T-shirts, fitted sweaters. Red, white and blue hair. Natural hair. Pierced eyebrows, ears, tongues, navels. Baseball caps worn backwards. Pants riding low on hips. Walk, talk, giggle in bunches. Boys and girls, really, playing their own, non-verbal games. Grandparents, or those who could be, sit in folding chairs or bleachers. Waiting. Umbrellas tilt as they share recent events. Waterproof hoods top loosely fastened jackets. Crinkled faces smile, nod, laugh. Waiting. Waiting for midnight. Waiting for darkness… dusk, really, in the Land of the Midnight Sun. Waiting for fireworks. Disk jockeys play popular tunes. At midnight, The Star Spangled Banner. Everyone rises. We sing, hands over our hearts. Rain soaks heads, sneaks under collars, and pools at sodden feet. Fireworks explode. Rocket's red glare, bombs bursting in air. Oooh's and aah's, screams and squeals. America the Beautiful brings tears. Proud to Be an American brings everyone to their feet. Voices burst forth, accompanied by crackling, thundering fireworks. Miniature flags wave proudly. Everyone is drenched. No one cares. --- R. Jo An Hayes Loop | |
| Disclaimers | Ó 2007 Gold Country Families E-Magazine |