The Lane

(WRITTEN IN SPRING, 2007)

This is a little bit to tell you what my lane looks like. I’m limited to my ranch and really limited to my lane. My house and meadows are the closest thing to me and I want to tell about what I have to endure.

I took my two little dogs to the entry of the ranch. We turned around and went slowly. At our turn around point there is a large sign embanked upon the hill surrounded by bunches of blossoms of narcissus and beautiful blooms of gold and white. The sign stands about two feet off the ground and says “Alpine Meadows”. Under that sign there is a place where a lot of English primroses live and lilies and so forth and in due course each will show off their advantage. Rearing up on the flag pole above the sign is a large plant which showers purple flowers late into the summer giving substance to an American flag flying high. That’s the first vision of my ranch. Now you know to look for the ranch name and the flag – when you see them you know you’re here.

The ranch is currently ungated and you can drive right in. Immediately you find yourself struggling to get past a lower land of jungles. Bedded from the tip of the blacktop to the fences on either side are more bunches of blossoms of narcissus and beautiful blooms of gold and white daffodils. As you coast down the lane you immediately encounter the flowering plum trees of the thundercloud variety that are some 20 feet high and all in their finest array. At their feet is a cloud of jonquils that continues down the lane to the house.

Everyday when I walk with my two little shiatsu dogs, I relish this sight. They know this lane well and you’ll hear from them once in awhile I suppose. The lane is fenced by a redwood picket fence criss-crossed and hanging full of redwood moss. A little different from the wire fences of I remember of my youth in Indiana.

When you look upward from the lane, a stream comes tumbling down at least 60-70 feet over the hill, over the big rocks and at least 7 little water falls and rapids down from the highway that crosses the lane that brings you to my house. This can be an emotional scene when the water is running heavily, jumping white and flourishing. At the bottom it comes through live oak trees which provide a bough cover over the road. Then on to a lower wooded area of live oaks, bay laurels and a number of other tree varieties.

One thing you may run into are gooseberry bushes, with stickers if you hit them to hard. I don’t care for them so much, so bring your buckets and fill them up and take them home and make some gooseberry pie.

We proceed to some giant live oak trees - the greatest display of the lane. Groups of little spring Lilly Bells grow here. They stand up a foot or so high and then the white bells droop over. Gosh darn it; I swear I’ve heard those bells tinkle. My little dog Kink and I go over and bend down and listen. Kink and I swear we hear them tinkle. My wife once told me that those flowers aren’t the tinkling kind. Well, I’m still not sure.
Up the lane a bit more are firecracker trees. They’re special too. When they get a lot of sun and ripen, they pop open with red blossoms.

On your left is an avenue of cedar trees – incense cedars about 18-20 feet tall. They are symmetric and very sweet. We have a few thousand on the ranch. If you wish a few of them, you can take a few seedlings, but I swear they are hard to plant.

Now you are confronted by two redwoods. One at 30 ft and one at 25 ft and they’re racing to see which one will be the tallest. This is the gateway to Bob and Lois’s yard. There are some other things you’ll encounter, like Azaleas and Oleanders. As you walk away from the house, going west, there are seven high and lovely Aspen trees. They are shapely and beautiful in the summer but especially lovely in the fall.

Now look to the right and you will see an open meadow interspersed with an occasional valley oak. In this great meadow that is upward bound and rather hilly, you have the best view of the ranch. Stop a while and enjoy the view of the river, redwoods and magnificent expanse. In the middle of the meadow up there, high up, is a great white, snow white quartz stone with a few black specks in it surrounded by flowers and trees with a little bench and copper plaque. This is the resting place of the ashes of my dearest girlfriend, my Lois. In the following years, I am hoping to make this area a display for her.

The next beacon is a tree that stands high above our house and is not a fruiting tree, but a flowering pear tree called the Bradford. It is quite tall now, I suppose 25 feet. Recently it burst into a zillion snow white blossoms with a tinge of red in the center. If you don’t look closely you won’t see it. I don’t understand this tree because it doesn’t give any fruit. But it sure does put on a display in the spring and again in the fall. Right now, the blossoms are ecstatic. When you enjoy this tree, try to guess how many blossoms are on it. I’ve taken a good look and used my binoculars and calculated them out but it doesn’t come out right. I’ve asked my dog and he looks at me like “Why are you asking me dummy”? I think there must be thousands, but I’ve never succeeded in counting them. I walk past this glorious sight every day and sheen often covers it. Then a slight little green arrives, the next day a little more and the third day it is all green and the blossoms are gone.

On my left down by the river by the A frame, I heard a commotion. My friend Clyde was with me that day. I asked him what that noise was. He said Bob, you won’t believe it but it’s a big turkey gobbler with its feathers all up and he’s doing his best to get into the glass door of the museum! That turkey gobbler got down right angry. He ran into the lane and spit he was so angry. He went back and attacked the window again because he could see another turkey in the window! When he saw my cart, he left. Earlier in the morning we saw 10 turkey gobblers having a picnic on the football field eating worms and grubs which are abundant this time of the year. Two of the gobblers had their feathers all displayed like they wanted to have their picture taken. So, I saw a lot of turkeys this morning, as I do most mornings.

We’ll continue our walk another day – what a lovely spring day and what a lovely lane.

More Eye Poppers

Times Square Reunion
At this time in the service I was stationed in Philadelphia. Lois was with me and had a job there. We had friends in New York City who asked if we’d come and join them for New Year’s Eve. This was in the middle of the war. Arrangements were made; we took our first plane ride from Philadelphia to New York meeting our friends Fred and Mary there. Of significance was the monumental downtown crowd to celebrate New Year’s Eve in Times Square where there were possibly a million people congregated. Crowds filled the streets.

We were waiting for the ball to drop, to herald the New Year in, hoping for the best, when a sailor reached up and put his hands around Lois’ eyes. I immediately turned and said “Who is this bird?” I saw a friendly smile and we were totally amazed to see someone we knew! It was a sailor and his buddy whom we had been high school friends with. To say the least, this was an eye popper! We were so amazed that we ran into someone we knew in the middle of a million people swarming in that small area in that vast city. We clung to each other and when the crowd dispersed, we all went to Fred and Mary’s little apartment in New York City and talked the night away, celebrating our reunion. This was a grand eye popper! His identity? Dale Smiley, Rochester High School 1941.

Baby Conde
When I returned home, discharged from the military service, I had a baby boy whom I had never seen. Lois and I had been married four years and had earnestly wanted a child. Upon arrival in the United States I was advised that Lois, my parents, and my baby boy would meet me. This was an inspiration. Added to the dimensions of homecoming, he was the most wonderful welcome home gift,

We met at Joseph T. Adlebury Military Base, in Indiana, where we were to be discharged. My train came in and it was announced that I had visitors. I saw my dear wife, Lois, with a bundle in her arms. My mother, father and sisters and brother framed them. It was a total homecoming!

But who was in that tiny bundle shrouded in my wife’s arms? Right away he was uncovered as I rushed to them, taking Lois into my arms. We shed tears of joy and Lois said “Bob, here is your son.” I looked at this tiny baby boy with hopes and aspirations for his life - our son Conde! Parents and soldiers can appreciate how wonderful this little eye popper was.

Baby Colts
One of the most enjoyable pleasantries is watching babies of various denominations frolic and play, and certainly the human baby is no exception. However, today I want to tell you about some baby colts, horses, which we once had. I want to talk to a degree of their frolicking, and the enjoyment that they seemed to have.

Normally and regularly we’d have a few colts each year. We had a lot of big mares and stallions. That was part of the advantage – they could reproduce and give worthy animals to work on the farms. However, one of those years, and I know not when, when I was a little kid anyway, my mother was always pretty observant. She had exercised her camera once in a while, which was a truly fine one at the time, although pretty ancient at this point. She called my attention to a lot of little colts – nine in number. We had them in our stockade. When my dad and the hired hands took the mothers to the fields to work, they’d put the colts out in this big stockade, which is probably a quarter acre, maybe not quite, but a good sized, screened-in lot, so they couldn’t see too far. There they had nothing else but to learn to know each other and to play.

My mother, on a couple of occasions, I recall, when she wasn’t too terribly busy, she’d call my attention and we’d walk over there to see what the colts were doing. Thereby, it was a rather interesting show. We go to the circus to see all the exhibitionists and so on, to see what human beings do with the trapeze, and the high wire. There we went to see what the little colts would do. Most of these colts were no more than one to four months old. They were healthy, husky and exuberant. They were really trying to see what life was all about. They would run from one end of that corral or stockade at high speeds, put on their brakes as though it was a stock car race, and hurl and jump straight up in the air, and all the magnificent things that you’d never dream a horse could do so well. The fact that there were nine of them meant we really had a show. In my memory, this was many years ago, so I can’t be too correct, but I do recall that at times they’d seem to race each other, probably not, but they’d just run together! Two, three or four of them would come blazing down that corral or stockade! Although they were little colts, they were going pretty fast, as if they were seeing who could outrun each other. It was excitement there with their bodies and musculature rippling, their manes flying, so it was the show of the day, at least on our ranch, and I think, on other ranches. Sometimes farmers would come there just to see our colts.

I might also add some of the trivialities about it – adjoining this stockade were the lockup, or the stalls for the four stallions we had. They were big, registered Belgium horses, with vim, vitality and vigor. They were locked up in those wooden stalls because they were just too rambunctious to let out. They made mincemeat of fences, and everything else. The stalls adjoined the stockade. It was like when youth of today go to a concert and they have to have music. I think those colts had music too. Those four Belgium stallions would neigh, squeal and jump in their stalls. They were the mighty, strong, adults. They’d set the music for the colts escapades out in the lot. At least this is what I thought about it. They were noisy rascals at least. On one corner there was a place where they could get a drink. They’d zip to the corner, take about six swallows and away they’d go! They’d charge around there making around three rounds around the corral, then come back to the trough again. Coming to the trough was their recess. Many things occurred as you watched. Usually you had to watch through a big knothole. We had several of them, - so called knotholes. You’d put your eye to it and you could see. That was the best place because they didn’t like a lot of people watching them. If there was they wouldn’t do their antics nicely. My mother used to say that she thought those colts knew how to do quadrilles, jitterbugs and all because they danced and jumped up and down and around they’d go; very clever. They were so full of health. They were exuberant. Anyone who’s watched horses and colts has some idea of what I’m talking about.

I want to add one other phase. The mothers would come in and nurse at noon and then again in the evening. Then they’d be let out in a wood lot. We had a woods; a nice hardwood forest. They could actually run through the forest in part of the places. Then it opened up into a large, flat muck pasture field. This is where the cows and horses loafed at night. I don’t remember the acreage. I presume it was probably fifteen acres in the woodland and pasture, maybe a half and half. At any rate, they let them out and they enjoyed going out in the woods, scratching their backs on the limbs. They’d go down into the flat pasture. That was muck land, flat land, black land; that pasture had been there a long time. Little tussocks had formed in the pasture bottom – meaning little toadstools formed all over the place where, I understand what happened is the cattle had manured in one spot and it was too much, so the grass grew there abundantly and it seemed to magnify and grow up. Well this was repeated over fifty years so those tussocks got pretty big. They’d stand up maybe eighteen inches above the regular pasture and just thick as please everywhere. The little colts, in all their dramatics, would go up in the forest, and after they’d nursed again they’d swing down into the pasture, lickety-split, coming down the little bit of a grade and into the pasture full of tussocks. You had to be pretty cleaver to run through those tussocks without stumbling once in awhile. Occasionally a colt would go down. He’d stumble over those tussocks and he’d get ready to jump over one, then there were too many in his way and somehow or other he’d go down. Sometimes there’d be three or four in a row, and if one of them would go down the next one would jump over the colt, as well as he tussocks. Even from our kitchen window we had a good view of our pasture and all the antics that went on in that pasture. Not only with our colts, who probably put on the best show, but also calves and all the others – cows and so on. Trouble was it got dark too quick. We were tired and we didn’t have time to really enjoy watching, but a lot of fine shows went on in our pasture field every evening.

From among nine happy, little colts you could certainly find things to applaud. Just looking at them was incredible. Somewhere or other they were always a bit clever. Recently I saw a show on PBS. The host was studying wild horses and she too was telling about how clever the horses were.


Lightning
I was home on leave from the military visiting my father’s farm, with my wife. We’d rented a cottage near Leiters Ford, one of our favorite spots on the Tippecanoe and planned to stay there on the weekend.

A fierce thunderstorm descended on the Tippecanoe area that night. There was loads of thunder and lightning. It was rollicky! The storm was making Lois nervous, so I got out of bed to take a look outside. At the exact moment I opened the door, a blinding flash of lightning struck, lighting up the immediate area and down to the river! It’s said that even the fish in the rivers are alert to lightning activity. In that momentary bright light I saw at a nearby tree, a little coon. He was holding onto that tree for dear life! Just as startled as I, his eyes were as big as the moon!

Although it lasted no more than a nanosecond, that lightning was an “eye popper”! Mother Nature had gotten our full attention!

Feathered Friend "Eye Poppers"!

Duck Family
We’ve all had many experiences on the freeway. Mostly "Freeway Eye Poppers" are horrible accidents that occurred or almost occurred. This is slightly different. We were traveling near the town of Petaluma, on the freeway; it was quite a few years ago. Part of the present freeway was not complete. They were trying to change the lay of it so it would go right through a great swamp. There was water on both sides and they were building up the route so it could be a four-lane freeway.

The traffic was intense that morning, we were just one of many. Two cars ahead of us began applying their brakes, then we started to brake, the traffic started slowing in all four lanes. All we could see ahead was a duck coming up over the freeway with a row of baby ducks, while another duck followed the little ones. They were crossing the freeway and had literally stopped the traffic. As they came across that monstrous freeway of early-morning traffic, hundreds of cars stopped! They waddled across, babies trailing along, eight or ten of them with the father bringing up the rear. People got a real thrill out of that "Freeway Eye Popper!

Robin Attack
One day as a little boy I was riding my pony down the Burton Road, east of the Burton Church, when I came to the Burton Cemetery. Wild roses were grown over the gate, it was sequestered in behind some big pine trees, and vines had grown over most of the tombstones. On the top of the gate there was a robin having a fit. She was diving at her nest, which she had built on the cemetary gate. I was curious and thought “Gee, what’s going on”. I immediately tied my pony and ran over there. When I got there she veered away from me. She was trying to get a mouse out of her nest but it was to late. There were three bluish green eggs, but one was already broken open and the mouse had sucked the yolk out of it. It looked like another one might’ve been damaged too. The robin was trying desperately to attack that mouse. This was certainly an “eye popper”! I waited a little bit and when all had quieted down I got on my pony and went home.

Later my mom and I went back to see what had happened. We examined the nest. It was beautifully constructed. Mom thought it was one of the nicest nests she had ever seen. The mother robin was still hanging around, very disconcerted that her life had been disturbed.

Eye Poppers

In Wupert's book Amazing Observations he shared places, things and experiences that he found amazing. In the first section he called those musings "Eye Poppers". This is the first of several of his "Eye Poppers".



An “eye popper” is something totally unexpected, revealing, amazing, startling, and perhaps a bit frightening at times. It’s the fact that it’s so totally unexpected and occurs so suddenly, it makes your eyes open wider than usual, and you remember it a long time. We’ve all had these experiences. You probably have your own eye poppers. I'd love to hear about them. It’s amazing what happens to us in our most private moments.


The Jaws
This eye popper occurred when I was in the service. This occured during the Battle of the Bulge in the far, mountainous area of Ardennes between Belgium and Germany. I was a medic. The battle was fierce, many were wounded. I was left behind to take care of the wounded. Then I was captured. There I remained in very critical circumstances for several days.

On a very cold night, January 2nd, the 82nd Airborne landed via parachute and advised us to come with them immediately. We grabbed what we could. They assembled a total of about three hundred troops that they were going to take out with them. They would provide military protection for a while, and we were then turned over to the Belgium underground, which would take us across German lines into Holland.

Several things happened on this route. It was a long distance to go. It was in the middle of the night. It was cold, slightly above zero. There were two or three inches of snow in this mountainous area. They kept us off the roads as much as possible and up on the ridges quite often. We traveled all night. During the day we were very cautious. Sometimes we cuddled up together for warmth, slept an hour or two, and then went on.

As the day finally passed we were again cautioned to be extremely quiet and make no sounds of any kind. The commander wrote these instructions on a notepad to maintain the silence. He also wrote that as soon as it got dark we were to go up a rather steep ridge. It was getting quite dark, we were climbing up the ridge several abreast. We received another note that we should be extremely cautious and begin crawling on our bellies, like worms. Can you imagine 1000 little worms crawling on their hands and knees up that mountain ridge? That was us. It was better than getting shot, because we had no ammunition. So we continued, and while I was on that climb, on my belly, I reached out with one hand to pull myself forward and there was another fellow passenger. It was a little black beetle with another beetle on his back. He was parallel to me and was looking for a way to get through this line of soldiers. I reached over and tapped the soldier next to me. I pointed at the beetles and he was astounded too. There were two inches of snow but nevertheless he was hustling along. We had, evidently, dislodged him with our crawling crew. He was seeking new protection. In my book this was a genuine "eye popper".

We finally got up on a high ridge. We were crossing a main military route of the German army who had advanced through that area, and were engaging our troops further inland. So we were crossing the supply lines. How do you safely do this with three hundred soldiers? The Belgium underground had several very knowledgeable people who had prepared the way for us, continued to prepare the way and guided us through.

At one point, we came over a high ridge and had to drop down into a ravine. We followed an icy mountain stream, which was running fast. As we came close we were told to stay very quiet, make no motion, and stay about ten feet apart. There were a few others who would advise us further. As we followed the ravine down, we would occasionally hear the rumble of trucks passing nearby. We didn’t cross when there was traffic. When there wasn’t any, we sent a few men through. We dropped down into a big wooden and metal culvert they had built under the highway. It was about five feet in diameter. The stream took up half the space on the bottom, and there were some bits of framework we could hold on to. We slipped through that culvert underneath the highway for about thirty five feet. At the end of the road there was a drop and we had to jump. A good sized pool of water had collected there and a few of the men misjudged and landed in the water. After you got onto dry land there was a screened area with bushes and trees. We were instructed to jump immediately into a large hole there which would take us down and out of sight in the forest.

There was a bit of moonlight at that point; just enough so I could see the light of the snow and the tip of some icicles staring at me. I was to jump in that hole not knowing what lay on the other side. It was a fearful moment for me. When I jumped in, it was a sight! There were ice “fangs” all the way around it. Icy water from the pool had dripped in, freezing into long icicle teeth all the way around. Some of them were two or three feet! The hole was large enough that I was able to jump in and miss the teeth. It looked like I was jumping into the devil’s jaws to be gobbled up! Those jaws were an “eye popper”!

It was only a small drop, about two or three feet, then we were back on dry land along the stream descending down, down, down. This was a major crossing and we had to be absolutely quiet. There could be no sound, no light, nothing. If you fell in the water someone would usually fish you out and set you on your way, freezing. I didn’t fall in the water, but my feet were ice cold. After a long moon, desperately hungry, we ended our escape in the arms of the British army.

Wupert's final wishes

Wupert died in an accident on January 10, 2010. He was out for a drive on his ranch in his golf cart. No one saw the accident, but the cart flipped, he was thrown out and the cart landed on him, killing him instantly. I am his daughter and I vow to keep his blog going...he has left us with so many wonderful stories and it will be my pleasure to share them. He was so excited about his blog and loved the instant responses through the "comments".

We celebrated his life on Friday, January 22, 2010. It was a wonderful celebration, filled with music and stories from his many friends and family. Below you will find a memo he wrote a few months ago, which outlined his wishes following his death. Thank you Wupert - your memo set a wonderful stage for us to occupy on this day that was filled with tears of sadness and laughter! And, as many said at the "celebration" it is impossible to separate Bob and Lois and we will forever miss and love you both!



In the event someone should come upon an old man who is no longer breathing, and doesn’t talk (which is unusual) and he doesn’t respond when you pull his nose a bit, or when you tickle him under the armpits, and as a final test pull the hairs in his nose – you know the jig is up! It’s time to call Sheri. She will undoubtedly call the crematorium. They will come quickly and dispose of the trouble maker. In about two or three days you’ll have a little urn of ashes. You may care to take those ashes and put them with my dear partner, Lois, and scatter them up on a far hill or whatever. I assure you won’t be harming us in any way. The person you knew as an entity is gone. We might have some new experiences if we’re recognized.

As far as furthering my aftermath it is up to my children and grandchildren but it’s optional with you. If you want to have a little memorial service just to talk about old times, congregate, that’s fine – but it’s not necessary. If you do that I suggest you do it in a manner that Lois and I would not frown on from up above. Congregate wherever you like – out in the yard, up on the hill, on top of the rock or a cathedral. No! I don’t want that! Keep the cost down! At that time keep it pretty much a family affair.

We’d like to hear a little music with our heavenly music, could be some from our grandson and his connivers, not too dour, nothing that would burn my ears. We’d like something light and airy, like a Lawrence Welk number. I’d like hear Conde and Sylvia do a harmonica/piano duo, we might even have the duck callers band once more, and a couple of good religious songs in the garden again and another older song or two.

I don’t want to plan it all, you plan it too. If you have a eulogy, don’t crow too much! Whatever happens there should be no bawling, crying or moaning at the bar because there’s nobody our there to cry about. Notify the ushers if they shed a tear!

We’ve had a good life and it’s a time to be grateful and thankful to God that He took us through. Whatever he’s done with us, who will know for awhile.

If there’s any debate on who gets what, I’ve got six pipe wrenches, three of ‘em are pretty good yet. If you fight over them, you can arm wrestle. The best arm wrestler gets the best one and so on. Actually I don’t have much of that kind of stuff, as you well know.

Don’t cheat the poor bird who moves into this house after I leave it. Leave him some stuff to operate with – some of my old hoes and shovels. He might need it if he’s to do a fair job on the yard. There’s a lot of stuff the Goodwill and so on might take on a bet, nothing very critically important.

It would be my preference to let you have what you really want, not that you just haul something away as a keepsake, but something you really want. If you don’t really want it, we’ll give what the museums want and what they don’t want we’ll put in the flea market.

So it is!

A Gallant Try

The recent news of Tareq and Michaele Salahi, the Virginia socialites who crashed the state dinner President Obama had with Indian Prime Minister Manmohan Singh, reminded me of a near encounter Lois and I once had.

Back during the administration of Bush Sr., my wife, Lois, and I visited our friends, Julio and Margarite in Connecticut. We all stayed in their cottage near Aspen, Vermont. We were vacationing, but they had to go back to work. Shameful!

We continued on our way with a little sightseeing to New Hampshire's White Mountains. From there we went into the southern part of New Hampshire neat a stretch where Maine runs along the border for quite a ways.

We found ourselves at a woopsy-doodle of a country fair. It had things we'd never seen or done before. So there we were, two middle-aged people, having a bongo of a time! A man we were talking to asked, “Have you been over to see Kennebunkport?” I said, “Kennebunkport? You mean Bush's...?” He said, “Yeah.” “No. Where is it?” He said, “Not too far. Probably about sixteen miles. It's an interesting coastline there.” It wasn't out of our way so we decided we'd go over there and take a look.

Before long we were in Maine. The route came down along the coast to a nameless little town that we could see had been well cared for. It wasn't too big, and was all painted up nicely. The people lived in cute, little houses and there seemed to be many folks of retirement age. The townspeople had built their homes pretty close to the ocean and had the main road running more inland.

Lois and I stopped to grab a bite to eat. Our server said we should drive up past Walker's Point. It's just a little street but there are no restrictions there. So we set out. It was only four blocks until we were looking at the Pacific Ocean from a little inlet. All at once we realized where we were - in Kennebunkport!

From where we stood we saw, out on a rocky point, a rather sizable home, enough for a big family. The rocky point wasn't too high, but it was sure rocky! I imagined that when the ocean got angry the residents could probably feel the ocean spray on their faces. There was a lagoon in the bay between the house and the road, and another property we couldn't get to. We walked back and forth taking pictures. Lois went one way and I went the other.

All at once she came hustling back, “Bob! Barbara just waved to me! She was out on a portico looking at the ocean when she saw me and waved! I waved back! She was with someone, and when they turned to go back in she waved to me again, so I know she was waving to me!” I said, “Wow! Let's see if we have any luck getting into their place for a visit. Maybe they'd be willing.”

At the Bush's gate were several young, stern-faced guards. I explained we were out on a sashay, knew George and Barbara but had never visited their home. We wondered if they would notifiy them we're here and ask if they have time to see us for just a short time so we could say, “Howdy.” The guard said “ What makes you think you could do that?” I answered him, “Because I'm a member of the Republican National Committeee. I've been a solid member for some time. And my wife's two favorite people in politics today are Ronald Reagan and Barbara Bush.” The guard laughed, “I don't think you've got a chance, but I'll try. Follow me.” We had to walk behind and to the right of them. We passed through an inner-gate where two women in uniform were stationed.

I got out my RNC card and some other forms of identification. They asked if we had an appointment. I said, “No, we're vacationing here. We live in California and don't know when we'll be back. We'd like to say Hi.” One of them said, “These folks are home and they have family and guests here too. It's not open to the public except by invitation or special permission.”

Like a squeaky wheel I continued trying to persuade them, “I think they'd at least acknowledge us.” They finally called into the house. I don't know if they reached either of the Bush's or if they talked to someone who was an employee. I overheard the guard say, “We have a middle-aged couple at the gate whose names are Lois and Robert Mathias. They claim they're of your party, in good faith, are traveling from California and would like permission to say hello and just spend a few minutes with you.” The voice on the other end of the phone said, “Well, this is not possible now. Mrs. Bush is babysitting three of her grandchildren. Mr. Bush is in a boat out on the bay. The only other person here is the cook. Barbara prefers to do the cooking herself, but when she babysits she lets the cook do the cooking. I don't think I want to take care of the kids, so just a moment.”

The guard on the gate said, “If George were there, and they weren't doing anything except sitting in their chairs, you never know, they might've said “Check them out, make sure they don't have a gun on them, then let them come in. We'll talk to them and they can tell us about California.” After all my efforts to talk my way into the Bush home in Kennebunkport I came so close, but in the end I was thwarted!

Nevertheless, it was a beautiful day, so we enjoyed the scenery. Lois swears to this day Mrs. Bush waved to her twice and that if Barbara had actually gotten the message she would've said, “Tell Lois to come on in!”

Bow Tie Mania

There was a time when quite often I found myself garbed in bow ties. Lois once indicated I had a whole drawerful of them – as many as fifteen! Bow ties became my favorite over neck ties because most of them were the clip-on type that I could put on and off quickly.

Not all of my bow ties were clip-on though. Some were the type that had to be tied. My wife had to tie those for me or check when I tied them to see if they were even and straight.

Red, blue, black, yellow, white, you name it, I had a bow tie in that color.

Once, back in my coaching days, I wore a fire engine red bow tie to one of our basketball games. We were in a heated contest and held the lead for quite awhile but then lost it. I called a time-out. The team flocked around me and just as I sent them back to the floor, I heard a man in the stands shout, “Hey Coach! Get rid of that tie and give us some sensible decisions!” He also indicated I'd called the wrong defense. I never liked that man much anyway so I grabbed that tie and threw it right at him. The referee saw this and gave me a technical penalty. He warned me not to do that anymore or I'd be ejected from the game! That red bow tie was one I never forgot.

Bow ties that did different things were a fun part of my collection. One, a Christmas bow tie, flashed lights and if you pushed the center it said “Uh Uhh”. (It was supposed to be saying “Hello”, but I'd worn it out!)

One had a picture of my (supposed) mouth and tongue. When I'd push a little button inside my jacket a little thing popped through the tie and looked like a tongue sticking out. That wasn't very nice, but the kids at school loved it!

For most sports activities I had a favorite that had a little tube attached to the back of the tie with a pump I could hide in my pocket. When I pumped the bulb it would load with air, the second time it would pop a peanut, like a basketball going through the hoop. When I went to shake hands with someone they might get a basketball (peanut) shot at them.

These days I only put on a bow tie occasionally, mostly on holidays or other special occasions. Keep you eye on this blog for future pics of me in my bow tie finery!