Riding Sandy

The old gray mare may not be what she used to be, but you really can't say that about Sandy.  Sandy is a coin-operated mechanical horse that has galloped and whinnied in the entryway of my hometown grocery store for well over fifty years now. 

As a child in the '50s and '60s, I stepped up into the stirrup and swung my leg across Sandy's saddle many times, as did my own children in the '80s.  With Pooh's discovery of Sandy last week, the tradition reaches down into another generation like a sweet, old cowboy campfire song.

Here's how it works:  You slide a quarter into Sandy's slot, give the coin box a little jiggle, and hold your breath for a split second to see if the old horse will lurch into his full, jerky gallop one more time.  Then, you stand back, enjoy the accompanying "William Tell Overture" ("The Lone Ranger" theme to us '50s kids), and watch the eyes of your grandson light up for the duration of the minute-long ride.

 

The sign on Sandy's coin box, lettered by a store employee, is a testament to the fact that his performance may be a tad irregular.  This close-up of the sign explains it all:

 

A store manager recently told me that their company's two stores, both named Bing's, opened their doors in 1952, the year I was born.  In the late '50s, they bought a Sandy horse for each store, and they both remain operational to this day. 

Clearly, the machinery that makes Sandy go hails from an era in American workmanship when things were built to last.  But with the technological changes of the past half century, the parts that trigger Sandy's mechanism have become obsolete. 

Thus, there will be no replacement parts when Sandy balks on his final rider or when his saddle finally wears out.  The leather reins that I used to pull back to make him buck a little harder are already gone.  As a result, Sandy's saddle horn is shiny from the grip of hundreds of little hands.

A few Sandys remain available on the internet, but only for the kind of big bucks clearly out of reach for a small hometown grocery business.  There will come a day when a local welder can no longer wield his soldering magic.  At that point, Sandy will have to be put out to pasture for good.

But for now, at least, Sandy rides relentlessly on, charming a sixth decade of riders with his novelty and his simplicity.  And when Pooh came to spend the week with me last week, the Sandy Fan Club gained another enthusiastic new member.

On the day of our last grocery store visit of the week, Pooh, who is not especially open with his expressions of affection, bade Sandy a fond farewell.  "I love you, Sandy," he said as we walked past.

Sandy's face didn't register much expression.  I imagine he has heard this before.

 



  

Just the Birds

It is quiet at Googie's house this morning.  Pa-pa is off at a conference, so at the moment, my cup of coffee keeps me company and does a pretty good job of it.

The morning lends itself to reminiscence and a somewhat pensive state of mind.  I think about my aunt who has just passed and contemplate the events that, this weekend, will honor that life lived long and well.

It is also the calm before the sweet storm of summer grandkid visits, which Sooby will kick off in a couple days.  The end of the week will bring a whirlwind, no doubt.

As I sip the last lukewarm drop of coffee, I look down at my mug and smile.  The mug advertises our local poetry group, SpoFest, organized just over two years ago by a friend and former creative writing student of mine.  Once again, I marvel at the fruit of this man's vision despite his physical blindness.  I lean back, close my eyes, and wonder what it would be like to be blind.

And so, out of all this, comes this short lyric poem, with which I will bid you good morning on this gorgeous late-spring day.  I hope you like it.

                   Just the Birds

I close my eyes, and I hear just the birds--
a solo first, and then a chorus swells,
a redbreast maestro setting tone and pace
from his director's stand upon a branch.
With open eyes the music fades away
to only faint and random background notes--
the neighbor's yellow cat stalks prey so loud;
her laundry flaps so noisily on the line.
I close my eyes against these raucous sights,
and when I do that, I hear just the birds.

The Office

It happened quite by accident, but the fact remains:  Sooby now has her own office here at Googie's.  Strangely enough, the office came about because it was time for a change in sleeping arrangements.

Until now, Sooby has slept in a daybed and Pooh in a toddler bed in their mama's old room.  Bootsie had taken up sleeping quarters in a pack-'n'-play in son Teebo's old room, which Pa-pa and I converted into a home office when Teebo moved away from home.

But recently, in the game of musical beds, a couple of the kids were needing more night-time space.  So Pooh has moved over into the trundle stored under Sooby's bed, and Boots has moved into the toddler bed.  Because the trundle requires space formerly occupied by the kids' play table, the table has been relegated to the bedroom-turned-office in a special spot between Pa-pa's bill-paying desk and my computer station.

Almost immediately, Sooby laid claim to this as her own "office."  Last time she was here, she spent quite a lot of time sitting at her little round green table making sticker pictures and a nursery rhyme book.  When she left, it was with an admonition not to move her office--so I haven't.  But I have been working on a surprise for when she returns by herself later this week.

In her absence, I have scoured drawers, cabinets, and shelves all over the house, collecting a duke's mixture of writing tools and art supplies into a plastic basket to stock her "desk."  With the collection I have amassed, she will be able to make posters, bookmarks, booklets, pictures, and whatever else her imagination dreams up.

I am anxious to see where Sooby's creative energy takes her given these and other resources at her disposal.  I am expecting her to spend quite a bit of time in her office while she is here, and maybe she will generate some creations worthy of sharing here on the blog.

The Clydesdale Birthday

As I write this, it is nearing 8:56 p.m.  In just a few moments, when the big hand gets just past the Number 11, I will turn another year older.  I will always remember this birthday as the day I met the Budweiser Clydesdales.

The majestic Clydesdales, known nation- and worldwide for their appearances in parades and, of course, Budweiser Superbowl commercials, inhabit 300+ acres at Warm Springs Ranch about an hour northeast of where I live.  Today we were able to get up close and personal with the Clydesdales in the state-of-the-art facilities where they mate, foal, and nurture their young.

The Clydesdales, of Scottish and Flemish mixed heritage dating back to the 19th Century, are tuft-footed "gentle giants" who like people.  Here, Pa-pa and I are making friends with a huge specimen of horsehood named Duke.

To qualify as a hitch horse, a Clydesdale gelding at least four years old must stand six feet tall at the shoulders and tip the scale between 1,800 and 2,300 pounds.  The ranch web site will tell you that he must have a bay coat with four white stockings, a black mane and tail, and a blaze of white on his face.  Clydesdales not meeting these qualifications are sold; only those with the perfect features get to pull the Budweiser wagon as part of an eight-hitch team.

Now that I have seen the ranch, I am anxious to take the grandkids there one day.  They will especially love the babies.  This baby, named Stars and Stripes, was born on Memorial Day.

 



The kids will also love watching the babies nurse, like this one.

Warm Springs Ranch has been in operation since 2008.  It has been just down the road from us all this time, but this was my first opportunity to visit.  At any given time it is home to over one hundred Clydesdale foals, yearlings, mares, geldings, and stallions.

So, Sooby, Pooh, Boots, and baby boys--some day Pa-pa and I will try to take you to see the Clydesdales for yourself.  For now, you will have to be content to look at my pictures.

Meanwhile, it has happened.  The clock over on Pa-pa's desk has ticked its way past the time I was born. Next time I write my age on something, I will have to add a year. 

That's OK.  The Clydesdale birthday was great.  Good-night Duke, Stars and Stripes, and all you other gentle giants just down the road at Warm Springs.  You are beautiful creatures, and you made this birthday one to remember.

A Little Winter Magic: The Conclusion

The Story So Far:  Two little bears, Honey and Beezer, disregard their mother's advice to nap for the winter.  Instead they want to stay awake to see snow and ice for themselves, because their friend Squirmy Squirrel has told them all about ice skating and snow ice cream.  When they sneak out of the house, a strange, rather unorthodox creature who calls herself their "Hairy Fairy Bearmother," uses a series of rhyming chants to convince them they might not enjoy ice and snow so much after all.  Honey and Beezer decide to return home for now, but to dress warmer and try the adventure again next year.

"Where did the Hairy Fairy Bearmother go?" Honey whispered, as she and Beezer sneaked quietly back into their warm den and underneath their mountains of warm blankets.

"I guess she just disappeared," said Beezer.  "After all, she's magical, you know."

Honey didn't even hear Beezer answer.  Her eyes wouldn't stay open any longer.  Beezer himself felt his mouth stretch into a gigantic yawn.

In her room next door, Mama smiled at the sound of soft little bear cub snores.  Just as she was crawling into bed, she noticed the pile she had left on the floor.  In it were a shimmery gown, a lopsided crown, a sparkly veil, and a branch from the walnut tree right outside.

"Oh, well," she said, snuggling down under her own mountain of blankets.  "I'll pick those things up next spring.  The way it sounds, I may need them again next winter."

Commentary:  So now you know that the story is really about a mother's resourcefulness as she comes up with a creative solution to the problem of two little bears who don't want to go to sleep.  Hopefully, it is not apparent until the end that she and the Hairy Fairy Bearmother are one and the same.  I want that to be something children can figure out for themselves.  

I didn't know myself that this was going to be the case until I was trying to think how to end the story within the 750-word maximum imposed by the contest.  For me, watching a piece develop in the actual act of composition is always a real thrill.

The names Honey and Beezer, I suspect, arose from my subconscious through a circuitous route that winds back to A.A. Milne and the honey-loving, bee-beleaguered Winnie-the-Pooh.  The kids and I have read a lot of those charming tales over the past five years.  Last weekend, Sooby said she would again lend me her illustrating expertise when she comes for her extended visit this summer.  If that happens, I will share her illustrations here on the blog.

As I mentioned several posts ago, the fiction-writing thing is relatively new to me. However, the recent experience of having five grandchildren in five years has given me much opportunity to contemplate and analyze the literary strategies of those who write for children.  Likewise, I have had a lot of fun trying my own hand at it, so I was glad for the opportunity to enter the contest sponsored by my local senior center.

Thanks for giving the story a look here on the blog.  I have learned much from your comments, and I thank you for those as well.

And--oh yeah--I promised to tell you the outcome of the contest.  Honey and Beezer, it seems, garnered second place.  Good enough to be encouraged.  Room to grow.

 

 

 

                                                   

A Little Winter Magic: The Middle

Headnote:  This is the second installment of the kids' story begun in the previous post.  In that segment, two little bears, Honey and Beezer, disregard their mother's advice to nap for the winter.  Instead, they want to stay awake to see snow and ice for themselves, because their friend Squirmy Squirrel has told them all about ice skating and snow ice cream.  At this point in the story, they have just escaped from their beds into the winter wonderland outdoors.

Sure enough, a layer of ice topped the pond like cake frosting.  Squirmy was already gliding and sliding on tiny skates made of walnut shells.  Snow was falling all around, and its soft whiteness made the world appear magical.

Suddenly a most interesting creature appeared before Honey and Beezer.  She wore a shimmery white gown and a lopsided crown.  A long sparkly veil hid her face.

"Who are you?" Honey asked. "Are you our fairy godmother?"

"I am your Hairy Fairy Bearmother," said the strange creature.  "Is it true that you want to stay up all year and see what winter is really like?"

"Oh, Yes," Beezer exclaimed.  "Can you show us how to ice skate?"

The Hairy Fairy Bearmother raised her magic wand (which, by the way, resembled a plain, ordinary stick).  She cleared her throat and chanted:

          If you think that ice is nice,
          Think again not once but twice,
          For you might cringe and hear a thump
          And find you've landed on your rump!

"Ouch!" said Beezer.  Just thinking about that made his bottom hurt.  "Maybe I don't really want to skate.  But I sure would like to eat some snow ice cream!"

The Hairy Fairy Bearmother seemed to know a lot about winter.  Once again she raised her wand, cleared her throat, and chanted:

          You may think in your wildest dream
          That you would relish snow ice cream,
          But just when you are saying, "Yum!"
          The frosty cold will freeze your tum.

Hearing this sent a little shiver rippling through Honey's hair.  "I'm already a little cold," she said, pulling her night cap down over her ears.  "Let's go home, Beezer."

Just then Beezer saw Squirmy tumble head over heels on the frozen pond.  The cold air seemed to whistle right through his new night shirt.

"Well . . . OK," he agreed.  "We'll go home for now.  But next year, we'll wear warmer clothes."

                                                                                                            To Be Continued . . . .

Footnote:  Originally, I had planned to make the character they encountered a talking snowman who would impart some kind of wisdom to the bear kids.  But halfway in, I saw that doing that would put me over the word limit imposed by the contest I was writing the story for.  Hence, the Hairy Fairy Bearmother appeared, and I thought it would be fun to have her talk in rhyme.  

In a day or two, I will post the story's surprise ending (Can you guess it?) along with a few observations on the process of writing it.  Oh yeah--I will also let you know how I fared in the contest.  Thanks for your feedback.

A Little Winter Magic: The Beginning

Headnote:  This is the opening of a children's fairy tale, written last month for a local competition, on the theme "The bears decided to stay awake all year."  When Sooby comes to stay in a couple weeks, I will see if she wants to draw some illustrations for it like she did for "Jacky Joe's Halloween Party" last fall.

Once upon a time, on a cold night in early winter, a sleepy mama bear called to her children.

"Hurry, Honey!  Come on, Beezer!  Winter is here," she said.  "It's time for our long, long nap."

"But Mama," Honey protested, "Squirmy Squirrel stays up all winter, and he says it's really fun.  There's snow and ice and--"

"--we want to stay awake the whole year too," Beezer chimed in.  "Please, Mama?"

"That Squirmy Squirrel is nothing but trouble," Mama said, frowning.  "I wish he would quit filling your heads with those newfangled ideas.  We are bears, and when it's cold outside, bears are supposed to sleep."

Honey's face fell.  Beezer puffed out his mouth in a genuine baby-bear pout.

"But look here," Mama said, changing the subject.  "I made a new lace nightcap for you, Honey.  It's pink."  Honey brightened a little.  She did love pink.

"And Beezer, come try on your new striped nightshirt.  It's warm and stretchy, with plenty of room for those long arms and legs."  Mama helped Beezer put his arms through the sleeves.  Then, she led the cubs to their matching beds in the nursery and tucked them tightly under mountains of soft, warm blankets.

"Spring will be here before you know it," she reassured them.  "Now sleep tight."

After Mama left, Beezer climbed out of bed and tapped Honey on the shoulder.

"Honey!"  Let's tippy-toe outside.  Remember what Squirmy said.  The whole pond freezes over with ice.  What fun skating will be!"

Wide awake now, Honey also remembered Squirmy's words.  "And there is something called 'snow' that we can make ice cream with!" she said.  She wanted to stay awake as much as her brother did.  Very quietly the two little bears ventured outside.

                                                                                                To be continued . . . .

Footnote:  From long-ago college classes, I learned that part of the fun of reading to children and of teaching them to read for themselves is stopping mid-story and asking them what they think will happen next.  What do you think Honey and Beezer will find outside?  Will they get into trouble?  Will Squirmy Squirrel be involved?  What do you think?