BLITHERING, BUMBLING, AND RAMBLING #1

There was a period in the early 90’s, when my mom got involved in just about everything. She was the bookkeeper for my dad, and did payroll for a few of the other farms in the area. She ran a tax preparation business out of the house, and was on the board of education for the county. On top of that she became the manager of the south Sutter recreation pool and ran payroll for all the lifeguards. With all that going on you would think she was pretty darn busy most of the time. Which she was.

Still, she had a friend who was starting up a newspaper in south Sutter county, and wanted her to be an editor. Sure, she said. It was just a tiny little publication called the South Sutter Connection, all local stuff, created by locals for locals. 

Because I lived in Placer County, mom wanted to know if I’d be interested in subscribing, since, heck, I was pretty out of touch , even though I was barely past the county line. When I finally did start reading it, I saw that it carried mostly grapevine news, farm glimpses, and the occasional article on a local who had done something, good or bad.

Then I started reading the section written by Don Bielby. Blitherin, Bumbling , and Rambling, he called it. It was some insightful commentary about the rumors, gossip, and odd things that popped up in the neighborhood. It was mostly humorous, in a very mild way.

Don’s stuff was pretty good. I had known him growing up, he being the parent of two kids at my school that I knew pretty well. I had no idea the guy could write like that. His stuff began to be the only part of the paper that I read, and I often repeated some his stuff at work and around the house. 

Sadly, the paper ran its course and eventually came to an end. So did Don. My mom keeps the copies of every issue at home, and I find myself perusing them from time to time. Don passed away in 2011, his obituary mentioning his many years as a humorous columnist in the South Sutter Connection.

There were several times when I thought the things going on seemed to be the kind of calamity-of-errors-type events that needed that type of approach. Life being so much more acceptable with a twist of levity.

So, in tribute to Don, I set down my musings in print. With no goal beyond providing a lighter side look at how things can, and maybe should, just be.

STARTING WITH CHRISTMAS....

The family was gathered for the annual gift opening and we were awaiting the arrival of my wife’s brother, Mark. As soon as he arrived, he and my wife whispered a couple things and retreated to another room to “get a present ready”. Shrouded in mystery, they disappeared for only three minutes, then returned, and the evening went on as planned.

It wasn’t until the gift’s were opened that the reason for the “get a present ready” was disclosed. Mark purchased a couple holiday bottles of vodka as presents, which came with a label that would digitally display a greeting of your selection, through an online app. Buuuuuttttttttt......he couldn’t get the app to work, so there was no display. Lucky thing, my wife tinkered with the app, and the display lit up. Not exactly a Christmas miracle, I know, but it made me think.

Like, who would have imagined you would have to know something about online app’s in order to get a bottle of booze to work? 

THE LAST GOOD RUN...

Just before COVID started sheltering in place, I signed up for the Donut Dash in Sacramento. It started at William Land Park, and at the midway point, you stopped at Marie’s Donuts, where you could pickup either donuts or holes, and casually walk, jog or sit for awhile before returning. Time being of little concern.

As it was starting, it was cloudy and cold, yet the crowd was large. As we jogged/walked at a leisurely pace, the weather began to turn, and a light rain began to drizzle. The folks who hadn’t brought rain gear immediately started to speed up a bit, and complain about the weatherman being vague. As we neared Marie’s Donuts, the rain picked up, and every parent of a rain soaked child jogging with them, heard “how much farther?” every 15 seconds.

By the time we got to Marie’s there were several hundred folks surrounding the donut tents. As I waited in line, my feet cold and wet, and the rain getting heavier, the smell of the donuts was a boost for me. It made the situation tolerable, knowing I was but a few feet away from the whole point of being here. 

The nice lady who handed me mine, smiled pleasantly, telling me to try to find a dry patch to enjoy it in. Right after she did, a gush of water came off the tent and splattered my shoulder. I couldn’t see any sheltering rooftop or awning that wasn’t already crammed with rain soaked joggers. 

Miraculously, across the street, was a coffee shop, with few people inside.

I walked over, trying to get as much rain off me as possible, and saw that there were several empty tables and only about six customers .

It took all of about two minutes before they were taking my order and encouraging me to sit and enjoy the heater. I sat. I started to dry off, but ordered a second cup and sipped until the rain lightened up, and then I walked back to William Land Park. The comforting warmth and flavor of Coffee and Donuts will forever be ingrained in me as the epic moment of that run. Probably because as I sat drinking hot coffee, several hundred people stood out in the downpour, eating wet donuts. Oddly, no one crossed the street to get out of the rain.

Oh, and all participants got a screaming yellow T shirt with a drawing of a bunch of running donuts! Yeah, who could pass that up.

BROADWAY JOE ALIVE AND KICKING.......

I was watching a late night episode of “game time” on TV, in which Boomer Esiason ( yeah I know, who remembers that guy) was interviewing Joe Namath about his career. OH! MY! GAAAAAWWWD! Broadway Joe! Still alive! Coherent? Yeah actually he was. 

Wearing a shirt that could best be described as 70’s style groove plaid, and hair that looked freshly dyed and slicked back, he looked pretty good for a 77 year old former NFL player. I remember watching him in the 1968 super bowl against the Colts, and me being a Colts fan, how miserable it was to watch the Jets triumph. And since that time, the Jets have never returned to the super bowl. Yeah, N-E-V-E-R. I was pointing out to my daughter that it was Joe Namath, and she looked at the screen and of course muttered “who?”

THE PHONE CALL...

A strange tragic comedy took place in our house, as my wife was dealing with a personal health crisis. Having very recently been diagnosed, and surgically treated for breast cancer, she needed assistance with trying on a new sports bra she had ordered for the recovery phase. I leaped to volunteer, only to discover that we were unfamiliar with the design. By “we”, I mean me. Anxious to assist, but clumsy in effort, it began to look like the three stooges best effort to put a shirt on an octopus. I managed to get it upside down, backwards, and stretched the wrong way.

Luckily, my wife was patient, and quite amused. Even so, I was caught quite off guard when her brother called her cellphone, and in the midst of this game of twister-with-a-sports-bra, she answered the phone. I can only imagine what was going through her brother’s mind, listening as we continued to struggle and direct each other’s efforts, without ever explaining to him what was going on. After we managed to complete the effort, and he had hung up, we laughed hysterically for a few minutes. We thought it made a good scene idea for a sitcom.

THE SECOND ROUND GOES TO THE GEESE...

I came home after running an errand and my wife was standing in the back yard, and upset. She explained to me how the kid across the pond past our back fence had chased some geese and baby geese, caught one in his hands, and roughly tossed the baby goose on the ground, stunning it briefly before it scurried to safety. She had thought he may have injured it, and was upset that he thought it was funny. 

A couple days later she saw him chasing the geese again and kicking at them with his feet. When she was standing in the kitchen, a few minutes later, I looked out the window and saw he was at it again, chasing after a family of geese, splitting up the parents, and heading towards a baby goose. But the the two adult geese turned. One headed toward his left leg and as he turned to face it, the second goose flew into his midsection, flapping wings that made contact, causing the kid to roll to the ground. As the kid got up, the geese charged after him and chased him across the yard, not to be seen for the remainder of the day.

I relayed what I saw to my wife. She thought Karma had restored the rules of proper behavior towards nature.

A MEMORY JOGGED....

My nephew is getting married in Colorado in a couple months, and Debbie told me to make sure I still had a suit that fits. I looked in the closet, saw my old pinstripe, a decent dress shirt, and a bunch of outdated ties. I went into the living room, showed her how it still fit, and figured I was set.

A couple hours later I thought how I should probably shine up my dress shoes, and a thought struck. 8 years earlier as I was arriving at a funeral, my brother Pete arrived ahead of us, and as he walked into the cemetery, a big black chunk came off his shoe, followed by several more smaller pieces with each step. The ceremony was set to begin in a few moments, and when Pete inspected his shoe he found the heel was crumbling like rotted wood. 

The more he stepped, the less he had, until he was heel-less. No one could figure out what caused it, and since he was a speaker at the funeral, he couldn’t go fix it in time.

He continued on, much to the amusement of several of us. (Yeah, maybe a little sympathy). To this day, it is one of the most remembered moments of that funeral. Never have I seen or heard of it happening to anyone else’s shoe.

So, I went back to my closet and gave my shoes, belt, shirt, and suit a VERY thorough inspection. That old boy scout motto “be prepared” took on new focus.

THE SCENIC ROUTE...

Several times , when driving across town on various errands

I have repeatedly gotten stuck behind drivers who seem to operate a vehicle as if it was a foreign object they were trying for the first time. They can be spotted by the slow weaving motion they make while driving 15 miles under the speed limit, and hitting the brakes suddenly every quarter mile, but not stopping. I assumed all the likely reasoning- tourist, mental health issue, on the phone, etc. 

But the most annoying practice they have is, when approaching an intersection, they will drift to the far left side of their lane, coming to a near stop, before turning RIGHT.

This effectively blocks all upcoming traffic from being able to get around them. Worse yet, they often slow down the turning maneuver to a 2 mile an hour pace. 

Since it’s not always the same car, or driver, I can only assume that it’s a new trend, hopefully one that won’t catch on. It seems, to me anyway, their purpose is not to get from point A to point B, but rather to generate as much attention to slow deliberate movement. My dad used to tell me when I muttered about other drivers that there were those who focused on the road, and those who just stared at the scenery until people honked them back to focus. I’m doing my best to restrain my honking impulse.

There are just too many, and I don’t want to be nicknamed “the Honker” .

AND THEN THERE WERE TWO......

When COVID started and all the panic-driven hysterics started stockpiling hand wipes and toilet paper, making your own bread became one of the trends. People started trying to make sourdough, because yeast was hard to find, and black market pricing went through the roof. I thought it amusing at first, thinking how you might have to meet some seedy character in a dark alley to score some good yeast. 

But I started making it too, finding it to be a good way to produce something, even though it didn’t always look like the picture on the recipe. I offered to share my sourdough starter with 3 friends, to get them to try. I gave three of them out, and after awhile, our friends Jim and Donna told us Jim was gonna try his first loaf of lemon Rosemary sourdough. 

Annnndddd....(drumroll please)...

I tried it, it was pretty good. I have to say, for a first effort, it was pretty impressive. As far as I know, he still hasn’t done another, but has kept the starter alive, to try again. 

The starter, which I nicknamed Stanley, because folks on the internet said it was a good idea to name it , to remember it. So every time we talk bread, I ask how Stanley is doing.

But. When I ask the other two friends I gave Stanley to, one told me their Stanley had passed on to the great starter jar in the sky, and the other said he was MIA, last seen behind the ketchup in the fridge six months ago, and not looking well then.

But Jim hangs in there. He was nice enough to remember Stanley’s birthday. May the bread gods bless you Jim.