Diane Stringam Tolley's Blog: On the Border, page 52

Friends at Last

Tangmere. History makes me cry.   (bbc.uk.co picture)For over thirty years, my Husby worked for Alberta Culture. Specifically building the great museums for which Alberta is famous.
The last two museums had been announced by the powers-that-be.
One to house a collection of cars and trucks and thing that go. Or fly.
The other to showcase the horse-drawn vehicle era.
Both having to do with transportation.
In preparation for this, my Husby was sent to the UK.
They have museums.
And could offer insights.
Thus, twenty-five years ago, he went. Taking me.
Because.
It was a wonderful, informative, exhilarating, exhausting, emotional trip.
We saw farm museums. Transit museums. Air museums. Automobile museums.
We even went to the mews at Buckingham palace and got up close and personal with the gold coach.
But one visit stands out above all of the others.
Oh, we had seen exhibits expertly assembled.
Cunningly and beautifully displayed.
Extensive, professional artwork in beautiful buildings.
And trained, informed staff.
But none of them could compete with the (then) little museum, Tangmere.
Near Chichester, England, on the site of the old RAF Tangmere Airfield, this museum was almost exclusively manned by airmen who had served there during WWII.
Perhaps that is what made the difference.
The displays came to life when your guide, who had known the showcased men personally, described them.
He had many stories to tell.
And no few tears were shed in the telling.
One, in particular, I remember most vividly . . .
The worker/veteran, I'll call him Michael, described a gentleman entering the museum.
Alone.
This man wandered from exhibit to exhibit, reading the hand-lettered cards and information.
Studying the artifacts.
Finally, he approached the desk. "Have you a cemetery?" he asked Michael in heavily German-accented English.
"Why yes, sir. It's just through there." Michael pointed him towards a door.
"Thank you." The man went outside to the small cemetery directly behind the main building.
There rests everyone lost during the August 16, 1940 raid on Tangmere during WWII.
Everyone.
The visitor stayed outside for a long time.
Finally, he re-entered the building and returned to the front desk.
"Please excuse me, but I couldn't help but notice that you have buried the German dead with the English."
Michael got a bit teary-eyed in his telling at this point. "Why yes, sir," he told the man. "They were each and all someone's son."
The German visitor began to cry. Finally he whispered, "I was in the wave of German fighters who bombed you."
The Englishman put out his hand.
"Well it's nice to actually get to meet you!" he said heartily, shaking the other's hand. "And I should tell you that you and your boys made one hell of a mess!"
Michael looked at us. "I don't know what we were when he came in, but we parted friends."
I cried all of the way back to our hotel.

P.S. Most of us can never know the agony, physically, mentally and spiritually. We can only thank those who take our places there . . .

50 Day Wednesday #14

Truck trouble.

He was waiting for a tow.

She came to meet him and take him home. 

The A&W was right across the street so she bought supper to go while they waited.

There on the tailgate of the truck in the setting sun, they had the nicest date ever.

Today is Fifty Day Wednesday!

And that means another challenge to tell a story using ONLY fifty words.

Thank you so much, Adela, for opening this new world to me . . .

Sooo fun!

This is an uber-fun, uber-challenging exercise.Join us!

Leave your contribution in the comments...

Noticing

 

It had been a good walk.

Granddaughter #9 (hereinafter known as Miss E), and her family were exploring the neighbourhood.

They had remarked upon the crisp, fall air.

Endless blue skies.

Sunshine.

NO SNOW.

The geese were flying, getting higher and more numerous as the babies gained strength and experience to be ready for the Great Flight South.

Dozens of people were out on the city paths, walking themselves (and, more interesting to the little girl, their dogs).

Transparent ice was forming at the edges of the ponds.

Crispy, colourful dead leaves were everywhere, inviting running and stomping and flinging one’s small self into.

For a few moments, the little girl had been quiet.

Then they walked past a small shrub which, unlike its larger neighbours who were just beginning the leaf-shedding of the season, had completely lost its green, leafy summer coat.

Miss E stopped.

Pointed.

“Oh look, Mom!” she said. “This one’s naked!”

Everyone turned.

“How embarrassing!”

Punny

Puns, I love, they’re so much fun,
What follows are some favourite ones!

 

My funeral? NOT an A.M. spot,

A mourning person, I am not!

 

A balance check, of me, required…

I pushed him over—now I’m fired!

A thief stole all the precinct’s johns,

Police have nothing to go on.

 

My kleptomania hurts a bit, 

But now I take something for it.

 

Boiling water, RIP,

You will be mist, we all agree.

The restaurant, Karma, strikes a nerve,

No menu. Get what you deserve!

 

The word ‘many’, explained when sought?

I’m grateful. Know it means a lot.

I took a pole. Know what I found?

All campers grouse when tents fall down.

My dog ate coins. “Wait,” said the Vet,

I’m waiting, but there’s no change yet.

Zero’s author – on behalf of banks,

We salute you. For nothing, thanks.

A man lost his left side. Oh, wow!

Not to fret--he’s all right now.

Cartoonist was found dead. Poor guy! 

Details are sketchy, please stand by.

 

The silkworm race? Well by and by,

It ended in a total tie.

High-voltage fence around my house?

My neighbor’s dead against it. Louse!

A new mechanic. Here’s the scoop…

They’re a highly wreck-a-mended group.

A hippo’s a really heavy blighter,

And a Zippo is a little lighter.

A clown, he held my door just yester- 

Day. It was a lovely jester.

 

An ad for burial plots. Agreed,

It is the last thing that I need .

And there you have it, that's the lot

I've finished doing what I ought,

But please, before this day is through,

I'd love to hear some puns from you!

Photo Credit: Karen of bakinginatornado.comCause Mondays do get knocked a lot,
With poetry, we all besought
To try to make the week begin
With gentle thoughts,
Perhaps a grin?
So  Karen , Charlotte, Mimi, me
Have crafted poems for you to see.
And now you’ve read what we have wrought…
Did we help?
Or did we not?

Next week, we're cleaning out the 'Fridge,We're apprehensive, just a smidge...






Thinking of joining us for Poetry Monday?We'd love to welcome you!
Topics for the next few weeks (with a huge thank-you to Mimi, who comes up with so many of them!)...
Puns (November 8) Today! Clean Out Your Refrigerator (N ovember 15)  Your favorite record (or) best stereo or record player ever ( November 22 )

Chia Pets (November 29) Hanukkah/Holidays (December 6) Ice Cream (December 13) Music (December 20) Fruitcake (December 27)

Sleep (January 3)

Peculiar People (January 10) 

Ditch Your New Year's Resolutions (January 17)

Opposite Day (January 24)
Typo Day (January 31) Celebrate those funny (autocorrect) mistakes.

Getting Good Help

 It started with laundry.

Who knew it would escalate into . . .

Well, maybe I should explain.

Youngest Daughter and her youngest daughter (hereinafter known as Littlest Helper, or LH for short) were doing laundry (see above).

Generally, this included such things as: Sorting. Sitting on the floor to untangle various underpants from overpants. And giving the easiest jobs to almost-three-years-old LH.

Oh. And I should probably mention that LH was currently wearing her older sister’s snake sock puppet on her dominant hand.

Truth be told, said snake (or Mr. Snake as he came to be known) was the one actually doing the work.

Ahem . . .

At first all went well. The little pile of clothes on the floor in front of LH was steadily being dealt with by Mr. Snake, who proved remarkably knowledgable as to what went where and why.

Then, trouble.

Mr. Snake started having difficulties picking things up.

A true disaster when one’s only assignment consists of . . . erm . . . picking things up.

Mr. Snake received a stern and fairly volume-ific ‘talking to’, which in itself was—how can I say this?—humorous. Being forced, as he was, to face his accuser and submit to a firmly shaken finger.

Work resumed.

I really can’t say how it happened, but, by this time, not only was Mr. Snake struggling with his original assignment, he had adopted a rather cavalier attitude.

“SNAKE!!!” LH exclaimed, shaking him.

Finally, as no improvement was forthcoming, Mr. Snake was stripped of his increasingly dubious abilities by the simple act of being stripped from LH’s arm. Then, using the patented two-hand method, he was raised high in the air . . .

And dumped. In slow motion.

Just like that.

No notice.

No back pay or benefits.

Just . . . summarily relieved of his duties. Right there and then.

It was a crime.

Stories shall be penned of the outrage.

The unfairness.

Watch for them here.

 

P.S. Before you feel too sorry for Mr. Snake, however, you should probably know that apologies were forthcoming sometime during the afternoon, because by bedtime, Mr. Snake was in his usual spot—cuddled in the soft, dimpled arms of his mistress as she wandered happily off to Dreamland.

That is all.

Sunday Rest

A treat from Mom's journals. How did this . . .  . . . become this?










Sunday at the Ranch was a day of rest.

We slept in!

Instead of getting up at the uncivilized hour of 5:30 AM, we got up at the uncivilized hour of 6:30 AM.

The Wrangler assigned for the day saddled up Slow Poke and rode out to bring in the horses.

The other cowboys swept out the barn, fed the animals in the feed lots and milked the cow.

The man who drew the short straw got cow-milking duty.

Not a favourite chore.

Especially on Sunday.

And a cause for real irritation to whoever got stuck with it.

'Horse Play' usually erupted around or near.

Let me explain . . .

Hans, an animal lover came down the stairs from the hay loft, Cyclone (the aptly-named barn cat) purring in his arms.

Seeing Joe seated beside the milk cow, grouchily taking his irritation out on poor Jenny-the-cow, Hans got an idea.

Okay, not a great one, as it turns out, but an idea none the less.

He set the cat on Jenny's back and pulled his tail.

The cat's, I mean.

Cyclone's claws instantly contracted into the innocent old cow's hide.

Bellowing in pain, Jenny lunged forward, kicking wildly to free herself.

The milk bucket flew into the air, spilling its contents all over Joe as he scrambled for the door, desperate to get away from the flying hooves.

Cyclone flew through the air like a rocket. Five feet off the ground. He shot through the door with legs spinning, all of his nine lives in jeopardy.

With Jenny, intent only on finding the nearest far-away place, right behind him.

Just as the Wrangler arrived on Slow Poke.

Horse, cow, cat and cowboys met.

Completely out of character, Slow Poke erupted. With great heaves and grunts, he flung himself into the air.

Sunfishing.

Twisting.

Switching ends.

Pounding the ground.

The Wrangler catapulted into the sky in a beautiful arc.

Over the corral gate.

Everyone stood mesmerized in a total state of shock.

The dust settled.

Then the casualties began to moan and move.

Slightly.

This shook everyone out of their trance.

Mark grabbed his vet bag and began to check for cuts, broken bones and heart beats, prodding gently at each limp form. He swabbed and bandaged and dispensed pain killers.

Then Joe sat up, rubbed his eyes and lay back down. "Wake me in the morning," he said, "I just had a nightmare!" He opened one eye. "I should have gone to church!"

The boys carried Joe to the bunkhouse.

All of the other casualties limped or dragged themselves away to the nearest safe place.

Where they collapsed into a heap.

Everyone survived.

But it was some time before Jenny, Joe, Slow Poke, Cyclone, or any others involved in the spin off would approach the barn without apprehension.

Sundays. Truly a day of rest.

50 Day Wednesday #13

Dottie imagines herself a do-it sort of person—but is defeated at times. (Lawnmower? Still in pieces on her garage floor.)
One day she had a screwdriver out to dismantle an ‘uncooperative’ vacuum.
I smiled. “Why don’t you just take it to the garage and show it the mower?”

Today is Fifty Day Wednesday!

And that means another challenge to tell a story using ONLY fifty words.

Thank you so much, Adela, for opening this new world to me . . .

Sooo fun!

This is an uber-fun, uber-challenging exercise.Join us!

Leave your contribution in the comments...

50 Day Wednesday

Dottie imagines herself a do-it sort of person—but is defeated at times. (Lawnmower? Still in pieces on her garage floor.)
One day she had a screwdriver out to dismantle an ‘uncooperative’ vacuum.
I smiled. “Why don’t you just take it to the garage and show it the mower?”

Today is Fifty Day Wednesday!

And that means another challenge to tell a story using ONLY fifty words.

Thank you so much, Adela, for opening this new world to me . . .

Sooo fun!

This is an uber-fun, uber-challenging exercise.Join us!

Leave your contribution in the comments...

When the Tough Get Going

You see a fence post. We see . . . Okay, I’m apologizing up front for this story.

It’s . . . gritty. So to speak.

Ahem . . .

I’ve always wondered about toilet paper ads.

Softer. Stronger. More effective.

I mean, why advertise this stuff?

Are there people who are not buying it?

Actually . . . yes.

Think of the people who live in places where dropping over to the local grocery store is really not a possibility. Like those in the deepest, darkest part of the jungle.

And their banana leaves.

Okay, I understand. Soft. Strong. Effective.

Now think of the cowboys on the wide, wide prairie.

Where there are no trees at all and leaves simply aren’t an option.

What are they going to do when nature . . . hollers?

Case in point . . .

Dad was out with his dad doing . . . cowboy stuff. Fencing and exploring the joys of barbed wire.

They were far from the ranch house and even farther from the miracle of indoor plumbing and its accoutrements.

Grandpa had to go.

You know what I mean.

He turned to Dad. “I’ll be right back,” he said.

Dad nodded and continued with what he was doing.

Grandpa set down his fencing pliers and pulled out his pocket knife.

Dad stared at him, confused. Didn’t he just say . . .?

Grandpa walked over to one of the cedar fence posts and, using said knife, shaved off several pieces of wood.

Then he smiled at Dad and disappeared over the nearest hill.Can anyone say ‘ouch’?

Grandma Hearing

 

For years, poor Grandma’s hearing had been slowly growing worse,

T'was steadily much tougher for her loved ones to converse,

And so she got a hearing aid to stop her daily strife,

Was told: ‘With perfect hearing, she’d a whole new lease on life!’

 

A few weeks later, back she popped for further tests and such,

Her doctor asked if life had changed. She told him, “Not that much.”

“The hearing aid you chose is number one,” he said. “First-rate!”

“Your family must be pleased, now that your hearing’s gotten great!”

 

But Grandma merely smiled. “I’ve yet to tell them anything.”

“I sit around and listen to the chats of my offspring.”

“They don’t know I can hear their many sordid gripes and crimes,

“But I can tell you, doctor, dear, I’ve changed my will three times!”

Photo Credit: Karen of bakinginatornado.comCause Mondays do get knocked a lot,
With poetry, we all besought
To try to make the week begin
With gentle thoughts,
Perhaps a grin?
So  Karen , Charlotte, Mimi, me
Have crafted poems for you to see.
And now you’ve read what we have wrought…
Did we help?
Or did we not?

Next week we promise will be fun,Cause our topic will be PUNS!






Thinking of joining us for Poetry Monday?We'd love to welcome you!
Topics for the next few weeks...
New Lease (November 1) Today!Puns (November 8) Clean Out Your Refrigerator (November 15) Your favorite record (or) best stereo or record player ever (November 22)

Chia Pets (November 29)Hanukkah/Holidays (December 6)Ice Cream (December 13)Music (December 20)Fruitcake (December 27)Sleep (January 3)