A SATURDAY SURPRISE

A SATURDAY SURPRISE

When Jim Mootz announced at Coffee last Saturday, that there would be a surprise waiting for us this Saturday, January 20, 2018, I thought it was probably going to be the receipt of our packets containing the voting ballots for this year’s election of H.O.A. officers.  Instead, we were treated to some wonderful Big Band music by the Lonny Lynn Orchestra, from Wahoo, Nebraska.  We suspected Lonny was from Nebraska, as he was wearing green.  (We found out later that he uses all John Deere machinery on his farm, and that each new item is tested by him, then cleaned to a more than new condition, and stored in his Quansit hut.)

What is the occasion? I wondered, on this foggy Saturday morning. 

Turns out it was Curt Pueppke’s birthday.  Curt and Shirley, who live here in the Village, are frieds of Lonny Hansen, leader of the band, and his wife Denise.  Curt and Shirley have followed the band all across the country, for many years, even on Cruise Ships.

It was our good fortune, that Jim Mootz made arrangements for them to come to the Village.

Big Lonny, on the Drums has played with the Jan Garber Orchestra.  Steve, played the Piano with Glenn Miller.  Jim was on the Clarinet Sax, and Josh, from Chicago, who was on the Trombone, played with Tommy Dorsey.  Is it any wonder that their music was such a delight to all we Seniora that morning?

The Lonny Lynn Orchestra, with their eleven piece Big Band, comes to Arizona each winter for just one week, and plays at local complexes.  His band has played Big Band music for 35 years, playing at the Rooftop Ballroom in Indianapolis, Nashville, and Willowbrook in Chicago, just to name a few.

Perhaps you will recognize their music from your former or recent dancing days.  I know I surely did.   And to think I almost slept in and missed it.     

BITS AND PIECES

As the old 40’s song used to say, “Don’t get around much anymore.” 

I must apologize for not keeping my extended family up to date on what has been happening in the Village.  Sorry.  I have missed many goings on.

I did get to bring home a plate of food from the Thanksgiving dinner, and thoroughly enjoyed it.  Thank you.  And they tell me that the Christmas party was lovely, with top-notch  entertainment.

I did get to attend Norton’s Christmas Cactus trimming party.  That party seems to get bigger every year, trying to keep up with the new growth of that beautiful cactus, no doubt.  Earl and Donna treated one and all to drinks and some darn good pizza.  Thank you, neighbor. 

Mary Ann Benttine sold her condo and purchased Roy and Jan Lietzau’s duplex.  Now you can begin to fill up your garage, Maryann.  Ours is so full that you couldn’t get a cigarette paper in there if you tried. (do they still make cigarette papers?)

I met a new face at the mailbox last week.“Hi.  You must be our new neighbor,” I said to him.

“I’m Murch Mc Callister,” he said , as he shook my hand.  I just bought #41.  I’m a hockey player.”

“Nice to meet you,” I assured.  “Are you by yourself?”

“Yes.  I have a Porsche,” he said, “And you can’t have a wife and a Porsche too!” 

That seems so sad.

The Ladies Social Committee decided to have a Big-poolside cocktail party on January 11.  No food.  Just your own drinks.   I wandered over with my plastic cup of my secret hootch.  I was surprised to see a good crowd under and around the gazebo.  The weather was comfortable, almost autumn like, and the conversations flowed.  Jean Mills and I had a nice visit.  She told me she is running for the Board.  Good for her.  We should all take an interest in our community.  And being on the Board is  a perfect way to put your ideas forth.  Having been on the Board more years ago than I care to remember, I will tell you, that mine was an enjoyable experience.  Everyone would benefit from at least one time of being a Board member.

We were pleasantly surprised this week, with a visit from Dick and Mary Akers.  When they left here it was sad to think we would never see them again.  So here they were, guests of Bob Tudjan for a few days.  I am certain  that everyone was as happy to see them as Roger and I were. 

There are many more events coming up at the Village in 2018.  God willing, I will “get around more,” and report on them as they occur. 

Mary   

ANOTHER DON’T TELL THE KIDS

I had been gently warned not to walk under the giant saguaro cactus, which grew at the end of our block.  I readily took heed of the warning.  Instead of walking to the end of the block on my morning jaunt, I cut through the A-section culdesac, and missed the big cactus altogether.  And it was a pleasant walk in familiar territory, as I had lived on the culdesac some fifteen years ago.  I knew every crack in the sidewalk, and bump in the road.
And now the old landmark was gone, taken down by the city for safety reasons.  The saguaro, which was estimated to be 150 years old, according to the Sonora Museum had been removed, leaving an empty gaping spot on that corner.
I had gotten so accustomed to taking the short cut, that I continued to cut through the A-section.
One morning I noticed that a little puddle of water, about the size of a baseball glove, lay on the side walk.
“Another leak in our aging sprinkling system,” I said to myself.  But then I walked on.
Next morning the puddle was about the size of a large pizza,  (Without the anchovies of course.)  Still, I did nothing about the water leak.  Perhaps someone who lived in the culdesac would report it to the office manager.
On the third morning I was walking a little earlier than usual.  The visibility was not so good.  As I approached the spot where the puddle was on the sidewalk, I now stepped into a flowing stream.  When my shoes went squish, squish, I knew that no one had reported the problem.
Just then a culdesac resident pulled out of A-section driveway, and stopped to say “Hi.”
“Hi yourself,” I said.  “Do you know that you have a serious water leak, in your section?”
“No.  Where is it?” she asked.
“It’s on the N.E. corner of # 6,” I told her.
“Thanks,” she said.  “I’ll report it to the manager.”
Feeling I had done my civic duty, I continued on my way.
Next morning I wanted to get an even earlier start on my day, so began my walk just before daylight.  I came to the spot where the water leak had been, and bumped into a yellow caution tape.
“What the heck?” I thought.  “I’m not going to go all the way around this spot, just because there was a little puddle here yesterday.”  So I lifted up the yellow tape, and took one step under it.
Not good.
Evidently, the tape was not there because a little water had been leaking.
The powers that be had dug a hole about three feet deep,in  order to fix the leak.
My foot was sliding into the hole, which until then I had not seen.
I managed to pull my foot out of the muddy edge, flipped that yellow tape back over my head, and got the Hell out of there.
BUT DON’T TELL THE KIDS.

THE GIANT SAGUARO IS GONE

On Thursday, November 16, 2017, the giant saguaro which stood stately on the corner of 56th and Stockton streets, met its demise.  Very few were present to witness the end of life for this majestic arborescant tree-like cactus.  It was the home to numerous local birds, and was riddled with their nests.
Judging from the large number of arms it displayed, it was estimated to be over 150 years old.  A final arm fell from the main cactus in the summer of 2017, making it imperative to have the city came and take it down..
I propose we at least offer a Requiem for this dear old friend.

THE MIRACLE OF FRIENDSHIP

Mary Lamphere, Mary Ann Benttine, Dolly Spencer, Jean Halvorson and I, treated  Donna Norton to  lunch to celebrate her ?? birthday and the Miracle of Friendship.  Donna brought along this apropos poem from her kindergarten girlhood friend.
THE MIRACLE OF FRIENDSHIP
There’s a Miracle of Friendship, that dwells within the heart.
And you don’t know how it happens. Or how it gets it’s start.
But the happiness it brings you, always gives a special lift
And you realize that friendship,  is God’s very precious gift.
***
Come on down now friends.  Perhaps  Donna will take you out for your birthday and enjoy your special friendship.

MY FRIEND THE GIANT SAGUARO

“Hi Mary,” called out my neighbor Roger Spencer, as he pulled up along side me in his golf cart, as I took my morning walk.
“Hi yourself,” I said.  “What’s up?”
“I’ve stopped to give you a little fatherly advice,” he said.
“Well, what the heck?” I said.  My kids are telling me it’s about time I take some advice from my elders, meaning they think I am the kid and they are the elder.  So, go ahead, shoot.”
“You know that giant Saguaro cactus at the end of Stockton and 56th street.  You walk by it every morning.  Well, I’d like to advise you to cut through the culdesac, and avoid that corner.  That old cactus dropped two arms a couple of years ago.  And last week it dropped two more.  Those arms probably weigh close to a ton.  And one more arm is just hanging on by a thread , so it could fall anytime when a good summer wind comes up.  I’d hate to see one fall on you.  It would surely kill you.”
“Wow.  I never thought about it,” I told him.  “I will definitely take your advice and avoid that corner.  Thanks.”
And then I got to thinking about those giant sized wonders.  The Sonora Museum had very interesting things to tell me about them.

The giant Saguaro is an arborescent tree like cactus.  It can grow to be 40 to 60 feet tall.  It is one of the defining plants of the Sonora Desert.  They develop branches or arms, as they age, although, some never grow arms.  The arms generally bend upward, and can number as many as 25.
Saguaros are covered with a protective spine, with white flowers in the late Spring, and fruit in the summer. The flowers bloom at the very top of the cactus, looking for all the world like a man’s top-hat.
Saguaros are found exclusively in the Sonoran Desert.  Most important factors for growth are water and temperature.  If the elevation is too high, the cold weather and frost can kill it.  Although the Sonoran Desert experiences both winter and summer rains, it is thought that it’s moisture is obtained during the summer rain season.
You find this cactus in southern Arizona, and western Sonora Mexico.  A few stray plants can also be found in southern California.
Arizone has strict regulations about the harvesting, collecting or destruction of the species.
With the right growing conditions it is estimated that Saguaros can live to be 150 to 200 years old.  Very slow about growing, a 10 year old plant might be only 1.5 inches tall.  Full growth can be between 3,200 to 4,800 pounds.  It is the largest cactus in the United States.
I for one will respect the old fellow from now on, and stay clear of any precarious branches.

YEAR ‘ROUNDERS TRAVEL

It sees as though a few of the year ‘rounders have found an excuse to get away from the heat this summer.

Roger and Dolly Spencer went to Denver for a granddaughter’s wedding.

Earl and Donna Norton spent ten days back home in Illinois.

Mary Lamphere went back to Storm Lake, Iowa to close the deal on her house.  Mary Ann Benttine did the same in Osage.

Jan and Pete Hermanson were back and forth, although right now Jan is a patient at Advanced Care of Mesa, having just undergone back surgery.

Del and Dorothy Schmidt went somewhere, but I forget where!  Sorry neighbors.

Peggy Borgwardt actually came to visit us for a month or so.  We have tried to keep the heat turned down for her.

Bob Tudjan flew to Columbus, to spend a couple of weeks with Gloria Speck.

I flew to Detroit to celebrate birthdays with my three older brothers, age 90, 91 and 92.  Roger stayed home to keep the air-conditioning running.  Wonderful Care Givers came in every day to check on him.  When I talked with him by phone, I asked, “Are you getting along with the Care Givers?”   He answered, “Oh, Hell yes.”
I think I might take another trip.  Perhaps I will even come and visit one of you.

CORN DE TASSELING

No matter how old I get, I learn something new every day.  Trouble is, I forget more than one thing every day, so I end up knowing very little.  But, today at Saturday Coffee, I learned about corn de tasseling.  It is a term I had never heard in my 87 years.
It seems as though, everyone at my table had heard the term, and went into great fascinating detail about it.
Dolly said, “I earned $43.00 when I was sixteen, de tasseling corn; enough to buy my school clothes that Fall.”
Google tells me that in the Midwest, de tasseling corn employs about 100,000 people, mostly students every summer.

It seems that seed corn fields are planted in repetitive patterns, known as “panels,”  “blocks,” or “frames,” depending on the area of the country.
A de tasseler walks down the row, finds the tassel, and pulls it off.  By removing the pollen producing flowers, the tassels, it forces cross pollination.
Just so you know, it is from the de tasseled corn that seed comes from, which the farmers plant on the millions of acres throughout the Midwest.
Who knew corn could be so complicated?  I thought you just enjoyed corn on the cob every summer.  It  goes to show, you should never miss Saturday Coffee.  You just never know what you might learn.

STORIES ONE HEARS AT A COCKTAIL PARTY

 When we moved to Arizona in 1994 we lived in a small one bedroom apartment in a U shaped culdesac.  There were twelve units in all, and the occupants soon became close friends.   Every once in a while we would have an impromptu cocktail party, oftentimes at our house.
Next door  to us were some Snowbirds from Canada; two  retired professors with their 5 year old precocious granddaughter.  I say precocious, as I was not accustomed to having a child come to my door and say, “my grandfather says you probably want to give me a cookie.”  I had not planned on giving the kid a cookie, but what the heck?
The grandparents had lived all over the world, their last location in Africa.
One evening during our neighborhood cocktail party, they began to tell about weird things they had experienced over the years.  I can only imagine what stories their two young children at the time could tell.
“In Africa,” said the grandfather professor, “their plumbing was very inadequate. “ Watch out for the snakes,” he cautioned, as they settled in to their latest apartment.  “They tell me they get into the house quite easily.”
That very night, their daughter came screaming into their bedroom.  “There’s a snake in the toilet,” she cried, as she jumped into bed with her parents.
Sure enough.  Upon investigation, a snake had indeed come up through the plumbing into the children’s commode.
“He won’t hurt you,” the professor promised the little girl.  “He’s perfectly harmless.”
Our neighbors never did tell us if the child was convinced.

I told this story at our complex cocktail party last night, and of course, someone had one to top it.  Reta came up with this tale, and I’ll paraphrase.
“I was a young mom with two little boys,” she said. “ We lived in a farm house out in the country.  We did have running water in the house, but the water available to the house came second to the available water to the barn. In the Fall, it was not unusual for the field mice to move in when the weather turned cold.  Sure enough, we had a mouse who  appeared in early October.”
“We are going to catch that little buger,” she told her boys.  “We will go to the hardware store and buy a trap.”
Reta and her boys made a trip to Ace Hardware.
“What can I do for you handsome young men?” asked the nice old clerk.
“We need a mouse trap,” the boys told him.  “ We are going to catch us a mouse.”
They were sold the best mousetrap available, and went home, ready for their adventure.
“We are going to get him tonight,” promised Reta.  “We will put a little cheese on the trap to coax him in.”
That night they set the trap with cheese, then sat back very still and waited quietly.
Not more than ten minutes later, they heard a loud SNAP!
“We got him.  We got him.” shouted Reta’s youngest son.
“We sure did,” she said as she approached the trap and found the mouse firmly secured under the spring wire.  “Now, what should I do with him?”
“Throw him outdoors,” said the oldest son.
“No.  Flush him down the toilet,” said the other.
So Reta carried the mouse, still in the trap, to the bathroom.
“Open the seat,” she told the boys, “and I’ll dump him in.”
The boys   opened the toilet seat cover, and Reta unlatched the mouse trap, dropping the varmint into the low level water.  One big splash was all it took, and the mouse came back to life.  He began to swim round and round in the slightly filled toilet bowl.
“Flush the toilet, mom,” shouted one son.  She did just that, but with so little water in the stool, the mouse did not go down.
“Get me the plunger,” said the now almost frantic mom.  “We’ll plunge him down.”
And plunge she did for several try’s until the now stunned critter went down the toilet, never to be seen again.

“That’s enough varmint stories for one night,” suggested one of our fellow story tellers.  “You girls will have nightmares tonight.”

Not to worry.  I for one slept like a log last night.  After all, who is afraid of a little ole mouse, dead or alive?

17 SUMMER UPDATE

Bless their hearts, Mike and Jean Halvorson continue to keep the every other week T.G.I. cocktail/potlucks going.  Some who do not come to  Coffee, show up for the night affair, so they do touch base now and then.

Most tolerate the 100 plus degree temperatures except Donna Norton who wishes she were still a Snowbird.

We combined a Coffee with cake for Lyle Reed’s 96th birthday.  Lyle is still hustling around.  Reta tells us that he complained so much about pain in his side, that they went out and bought new mattresses.  When he still complained, they had
X-rays taken.  Turns out he has a cracked rib.  Where or when he got it nobody knows.

The workers are busy at closing in the eves.  Just this week they turned the corner by Hazel’s and are on their way up Stockton Place.  No one minds the early morning noises of sawing and nailing.  We all realize theirs is a work in progress.

August is just around the corner.  Can Fall be far behind?  Time to start packing, friends.  See you then.

WHO IS THIS LITTLE LADY?

She was born on a farm, in Floyd County, Iowa, right on the kitchen table.  Her great aunt served as Midwife.  There was an older brother, and two younger brothers.  Two siblings had died in infancy.  Her mother was quite sickly, and died when she was thirteen years old.  Though there were the usual hired girls to watch the children, they never stayed with the family for long, as life way out in the country, was no picnic.  Our mystery lady became Chief Cook and Bottle Washer for her father and brothers.
While their mother was still alive, there was ample food from the farm, and our little lady learned to cook the hard way.  Sometimes her father would complain that, “even the dog won’t eat this food.”  Still, she maintained her role as substitute mother through her high school years.
Her dad rented a freezer locker in town, and kept it stocked with meat for the family.  When he did go to town, he came home with one bag of groceries, including Campbell’s soup, green beans and pork and beans.  They were the staple food of their time.  A bread truck came to the farm once a week and left one loaf of bread, and a slab of wonderful cinnamon rolls.
Her dad did all the laundry, but our little gal would come home from school, take the wash off the line; fold and press it.
Electricity did not come to the farm until 1947.  Until then, she made the scary trek to the outhouse every day, and washed up in a basin of water at the back door, sharing a community towel which hung at the end of the clothesline.
Our lovely little gal graduated from Osage High in 1957.  Elvis Presley and Rock and Roll where just becoming popular.  She attended the prom both Junior and Senior years with the same fellow, wearing the same dress each time.  (Can you imagine one of our grandchildren wearing the same dress twice?)  It was a beautiful, pink strapless gown.  She wore rhinestone jewelry which her father had given her money to purchase, and received a wrist gardenia corsage from her date.  The church put on a dinner for the prom goers in her Junior year.  The Senior prom was held at the County Club.  She has fond memories of that prom.
While in high school she belonged to the Girls Glee Club and mixed chorus, her only school activities.
Our mystery lady left right from high school to Business College in Minneapolis, where she shared an apartment with three other girls. “ Those were some of the most enjoyable times of my life,” she said.
Upon graduation, she went to work for Mobile Oil.  She earned $50.00 a week.
She met Don, who ran a Sinclair Service Station in down town Osage, and they were married in 1973.  They have four children between them.  He was a very good mechanic, and so,  during that time they also owned a bar, where she did all the money managing.  The bar was called D. and M. Lounge.  They served beverages, Tombstone Pizza, cold sandwiches, pickled pig’s feet and pickled eggs.
Running two businesses at the same time took its tole on the family, and she gave Don an ultimatum.  “Get rid of the gas station, bar, or me.  One of us has to go.”  Wisely, he sold the gas station.
After the bar was sold, he worked for a car dealership as a mechanic, and finally opened his own repair shop, which he ran  for 25 years..
They came to Arizona in 2004, and rented from Shirley Feinman for that year.  Now they are home owners and have stayed all season.
Her dear husband Don is now happily residing in an Assisted Living facility here in Mesa.
Who is this lovely little lady?  Of course, she is our dear neighbor, Marianne Benttine.