Echoes From the Loafers’ Club Meeting

I got to work early this morning.

Way to go.

I worked all day and got lots done.

Nice.

I wonder what else can go wrong?

Driving by the Bruces

I have two wonderful neighbors — both named Bruce — who live across the road from each other. Whenever I pass their driveways, thoughts occur to me, such as: With the upcoming election, it seems like every man I talk to wants me to have an opinion — his. That’s one of the reasons I appreciate Chuckles’ company. Some think he is so grumpy that when he sees a lemon, the lemon makes a face, but he’s just quiet. He doesn’t say much, but he nods a lot. He’s like the lazy dog that merely nodded when he heard another dog bark.

Busted knuckles and sugar cookies

I bought the latest model cellphone. It had just been introduced to the market. A week later, the salesman asked if I’d like to upgrade to the phone that had just made my new phone obsolete.

I didn’t upgrade.

I grew up in a family that didn’t upgrade. We patched, welded, taped, nursed and scrounged. We made do or did without.

My father worked on a misbehaving farm implement. It was dark and he was toiling under the fading light of a troubled trouble light.

I wasn’t much help. I wore my T-shirt inside out in order to advertise that fact. I added a sluggish element to the farming operation. My specialty was getting in the way of Dad’s light. I made a better door than a window. My skill set best fit that of a gofer. I was the boy who ran errands and fetched things.

“Get me a 1/2-inch box end wrench,” Dad grunted, having long ago dumped the “please” that might have fit on either end of that sentence.

My feet had wings. Down into a darkened corner of the basement I hurried, determined to do a good job and prove my worth. I didn’t take a flashlight with me. In my family, flashlights were nothing more than cases to hold dead batteries.

I grabbed a wrench and carried it back to my father. It was a 5/8-inch wrench. I recommended that Dad give it a try anyway, but there was no point. A lifetime of busted knuckles had given my father the gift of being able to instantly gauge the size of a nut. A slipped wrench is a good teacher.

I hustled back to the basement and brought Dad a 3/8-inch wrench.

Dad sighed and said slower than I thought required, “I need a 1/2-inch box end wrench.”

I’m sure that he’d have liked to have said more, but even bad help was hard to find.

Back to the basement I went, like a boomerang wearing hand-me-down tennis shoes.

Mom had made some of her neighborhood-famous sugar cookies. She offered me one. I ate three. By the time I’d finished ingesting the treats, I’d forgotten what my father had wanted. I knew he wanted something.

I took him a sugar cookie.

Care for ketchup on that ice cream?

The neighbor boy, Larry, and I had been on our best behaviors. That meant we’d been staying outdoors instead of clogging up the house. When we did come into the house, my mother gave us each a bowl of vanilla ice cream as an edible good conduct medal. I asked if there was any topping for the ice cream, but the cupboard was bare. We didn’t even have any Karo syrup.

I put some ketchup, which was the only exotic spice found in our kitchen, onto the ice cream. I put it on Larry’s ice cream, too. An uncle had told me that ketchup made everything better. I’d even considered gravy as it covered a multitude of sins. I worried that my mother would have been unable to roll her eyes far enough back had she seen me applying gravy to ice cream.

I discovered that ketchup was no improvement over plain vanilla ice cream.

Larry and I finished our ice cream/ketchup combo.

It was still ice cream. Even bad ice cream was good. Liver and onions ice cream would be edible.

I haven’t eaten ketchup on ice cream since that day.

Nature notes

A robin lives two years on average. Fledged robins experience an annual mortality rate of 50 percent. Only 40 percent of nests produce young and 25 percent of those young survive to November.

Meeting adjourned

“Kindness in words creates confidence. Kindness in thinking creates profoundness. Kindness in giving creates love.” — Lao Tzu