Cold Breakfast

Cold Breakfast

Noel Laflin

3-29-18

(from a longer piece - now just the beginning)

We called the camp cook Motorcycle Bill, partly because we never bothered to remember his last name and chiefly because he drove a large motorcycle.  He had a habit of spending his nights off in the back bar at Lloyds, in Running Springs - some five miles away - and then weaving the big bike dangerously through the hairpin curves back to camp in the wee hours of the morning.  

I don’t think he cared for kids, nor the daunting task of cooking in cramped, under-equipped kitchen quarters and then having to transport the often under-cooked, burnt, cold, or hard-as-a-rock grub to a bunch of Boy Scouts taunting him with dog food songs at every meal. 

We both had our points of view I guess.  We hated his cooking and he resented all of us, as well as the circumstances under which he had to perform his dreary task three times a day.  

No wonder we all sang and jeered.  

No wonder he drank.

It was a mutual dislike.

But then came the morning when we all showed up for breakfast, but none was forthcoming right off.

It seems Bill had met his demise by plowing his bike into a large tree on the way back from the bar hours earlier.

Two hundred heads bowed in a moment of silence when the announcement was made to both troops and staff.

A cold breakfast of milk and cereal was then produced.

It was a vast improvement over previous meals.

                                                                  

A Tug on the Sleeve

A Tug on the Sleeve

Noel Laflin
3-29-18

(from a longer piece  -  now just the ending)

Luggage had been checked in and Eric was resting comfortably in the wheelchair, as Frieda sat beside him.

Our old neighbors of twenty-five years were departing for Germany, a country much changed since their having departed there in 1929.

But as Eric was dying, and fearing for his wife’s well-being once she was on her own, they decided to head back to the land of their birth where distant relatives – ones they had never even met - would receive and care for them nonetheless.

“I think I’ll find the men’s room,” my dad said, as the four of us waited for a boarding call.  

My dad pulled me aside before he went in search of the restroom.

“Don’t let Eric give you any money while I’m gone,” he whispered.  “I know him, and he’ll wait till I leave.  We are not being paid for this, understand?”

“Got it, dad.  You better hurry.  They may be calling this flight soon.”  He dashed off.

 As soon as my father had disappeared, I felt a tug on my coat sleeve.  Eric pulled me toward him and leaned his face into mine.

“Don’t tell your papa that I gave you this.”  He pushed four folded twenties into my hand.

“Eric, I can’t accept this,” I said, hoping he’d talk me out of my less than fervent refusal.

“Jost take it, boy!” he growled.  “Don’t tell your papa.” 

 With that final admonition, he coughed and pushed himself back from me.  I pocketed the money.  I looked behind me and saw my father returning.

“Everything OK?” he asked, looking suspiciously at Eric and me.

“Ja, ja.  All’s goot,” said the stoic little German, looking threateningly at me.

“Hunky dory, dad,” I said.  I felt the eighty bucks burning a hole in my pocket. Just then the Lufthansa flight number was announced.

We wheeled Eric to the front of the line and were about to hand his care over to a flight attendant.  Hurried goodbyes were made, and Frieda began to cry. 

“Ja, Ja, it is OK now, Frieda,” Eric said, choking back his own tears.

“You be good to your mama and listen to your papa,” he told me.  “Good bye, good neighbors,” he cried, reaching for my father.  My dad took his extended hand and clasped his other hand on top of Eric's.  I did likewise and then embraced Frieda. 

We last saw them being led down the narrow ramp by members of the flight crew. Eric looked old and small in the wheelchair.  Frieda, looming large in contrast, followed patiently behind him, tucking an old lady’s hankie into her sweater pocket. 

I involuntarily tucked something deeper within my own pocket as well.

Mr. Armstrong

Mr. Armstrong

Noel Laflin

3-24-18

I studied the form with increased frustration and embarrassment, finally giving up and quietly made my way to the teacher's desk.

Lloyd Armstrong was a kind man, who served me well as my homeroom teacher in both grades five and six. I had watched him leave the classroom in tears the year before, after he'd had the misfortune of delivering the news of President Kennedy's assassination to a group of ten-year-olds.

And now it was I who was crying as I tried to hide my tears from my classmates.

"What's the matter, son?" he asked quietly.

"This question," I whispered, pointing to the line on the form that asked for my father's occupation.

"He lost his job two months ago," voice trembling. "I don't know what to write here!"

Mr. Armstrong looked at the standardized form updating student information - the paper that would just be hidden away in some forgotten old wooden file cabinet.

"What's your daddy doing today?" he asked causally, removing his glasses and cleaning them absently with his tie.

"He's painting a friend's house," I replied, knowing that my father was doing whatever he could to bring in needed cash.

"Then we have your answer to that pesky question," smiled Mr. Armstrong.

"What?" I asked a bit perplexed - "House painter?"

"No, son," he replied - "Artist."

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Lizard Impersonation

Lizard Impersonation

Noel Laflin

3-25-18

Many of us are recalling our time with Jack Schlatter and trying to put the experience into words either to be written down, spoken into the blinking eye of a friend's video recorder, or perhaps both.

You see, there's a project under foot to record those memories, express those thoughts, and remind one another just how fortunate we were to have known this fellow.

Some of us were lucky enough to transition from the youthful salutation of 'Hello Mr. Schlatter,' to, as we grew older, and much to his insistence, 'Hi Jack!'

Others, numbering in the tens of thousands perhaps, will only remember the former greeting, as they and Mr. Schlatter only met once when he entered their classroom - like an aging heavyweight boxer who has yet to throw in the towel - the large jolly fellow with a boyish grin on his face, a ready joke on his lips, and a bellowing proclamation, 'Hi there! My name is Jack Schlatter and I have the honor of learning from all of you today! Anyone ever seen my lizard imitation?' And faster than the blink of an eye, this funny man had crossed his eyes, scrunched up his face, and flicked his tongue in search of an imaginary fly.

Consequently, whether the classroom chairs were either large or small, the infatuation of those seated within had begun.

And though it might have been fifty years ago, I so remember that lizard in search of a fly, albeit on a younger face, and my own first infatuation with this remarkable fellow.

Sugar Coating

Sugar Coating

Noel Laflin

3-26-18

Sixty-five years ago today, American medical researcher Dr. Jonas Salk announced that he had successfully tested a vaccine against polio.

I was three months old, to the day.

Ten years later, I remember standing in a very long line with my family waiting to get the new Sabin polio vaccine via sugar cube. I think half the population of Anaheim passed through the new Sycamoe Junior High cafeteria that day.

I'd attend my first dance there two years later, hear my first lecture regarding the evils of marijuana, eat my lunch just outside its doors over five hundred times, and practice for a play on the stage where a neighborhood band had once entranced a couple of hundred young teens with their rendition of 'House of the Rising Sun.'

But my first and most lasting impression was of that long line of friends, family, neighbors, and total strangers standing like congenial congregants awaiting to partake in our new scientific communion together.

Sandy Did Of Course

Sandy Did Of Course

Noel Laflin

3-23-18

Although we’d never met, she was a friend.

It started with her liking a bird photo on Face book a few years back – and then more friendly ‘likes’ and comments on those that followed.

Friend requests were exchanged and accepted.

Over the years, Sandy was a fan of my stories. Even if few others read a particular one, she could be counted on as one who did, and always let me know with another friendly ‘like’ or complement.

Curious about Sandy, I viewed her page and noted that she was eighty years old at the time, active in her church, a noted quilter who showed amazing talent, and admired by friends and family alike.

Age has got nothing on this fine friend I concluded.

And then the sad message from a nephew, and then her daughter, on Face book today, that Sandy has died.

I feel their loss. And I feel terrible for not even realizing that she had been hospitalized a week ago, put on hospice care just two days back, and then died peacefully at home last night.  She was eighty-three.

Sandy last commented on a post of mine from two weeks ago. It was a short story that few took notice of. 

But she did of course.

Unexpected Laugh

Unexpected Laugh

Noel Laflin

3-21-18

One night, long ago, I mentioned to my folks that I was heading out with friends to see the new comedy, The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes Smarter Brother.

An hour later, and five minutes into the funny flick, I heard the distinctive laugh of my father some rows back.

He and my mother had decided to catch the show themselves – a nice, serendipitous move on their part.

Thus it was unexpected, this laugh I knew so well, but welcomed in the dark.

My friends and I chortled every time we heard my father snort with glee – which was often.  It was infectious.

Both my folks and one of those two friends from that evening are long departed, as are all of the stars of that funny film of forty years past.

But the distinctive laughter of that night, coming as unexpected as it did in that dark theater, is still a comfort today.

Glutton for Punishment

Glutton for Punishment

Noel Laflin

3-18-18

By the last week, there were just the two of us.

A month earlier, two dozen other parents and I sat at the small desks as Pastor Dan introduced us to the curriculum his confirmation students would be covering over the next two years.

Having gone through the Lutheran confirmation process myself, so very long ago, I thought it only right to see what was being taught nowadays.

When I told my daughter that I intended to go to the adult classes, I could tell that she was nervous.

“Don’t embarrass me, please!” was her plea as we drove to her church that night.

“Oh, honey!” I replied, remembering what it was like to be thirteen.

Well, Pastor Dan covered several droll biblical topics that first night and I behaved myself in like kind by remaining quiet.

By the next week, his flock was half of what it had been at week one, but I had managed to put forth a few objections concerning creation, original sin, and the forgiveness of some really bad folks.

 

I think he took note of me.

When I told the kid what had transpired that session, as we drove home together, she just rolled her eyes. She may have been praying – I’m not really sure.

By week three, there were just three of us, if you counted Pastor Dan.  The other parent was a former Muslim-turned-Christian.  By the end of the night, I do believe she may have returned to her earlier beliefs.

The next week, it was just down to Pastor Dan and me.  Everyone else had bailed.  But, being a glutton for punishment, and a tolerant person of crazy ideas, I decided to keep him company nonetheless.

I am not certain what it was I said that night, but the fifth week – and all subsequent weeks were canceled.

My daughter was ever so grateful.

Cousin Robert

From the Memory Files:

Taking Cousin Robert to see ‘The Rocky Horror Picture Show’

“Are all movies like this in California?” asked my cousin, Robert – fresh from the farm in Minnesota, on his first trip out West some thirty-eight years ago, as we emerged from the Balboa Theater at three in the morning, red-eyed, hung over, and covered in bits of raw hamburger meat.

"Pretty much," I replied.

For all I know, it might have been his last visit to California.

"No Idea Where"

3-15-18

Having dinner with my kid nowadays is a rare treat.

Whoever would have imagined that the simplest of things, a meal together, would be so valued? After all, we shared a thousand or more in the past – back when she was young – something that almost seems like a thousand years ago now.

But I do not begrudge the fact that she studies sixteen hours a day, nearly seven days a week, as she is in her second year of medical school – the toughest year according to many – and she takes her boards in less than three months; God help her.

So when we do get a couple of hours together to talk in person, go out for a great meal, share a beer together, it’s pretty special.

Such was the case last night, as she showed me the new apartment that she and Zac just moved into.  It is brand spanking new, high tech, very modern, very hip, and way cool. And it in Anaheim, the city I was raised in.  So it seems extra special to me.

“We might just be here for the next sixteen months,” she told me over dinner, “So, we are going to make the most of it.  I have no idea where we will be living after that,” she concluded.

It’s a sobering fact – the fact that I do not know where she will end up once medical school comes to its natural conclusion.  I hope it is not far away.

Those words: “No idea where we will be living …”

But until then, I will treasure the time we have here – even if those one-on-one meals are few and far between.

As I told her for the millionth time last night, “Honey, I am so very proud of you!”

And the best part is, she knows it.

Ode to the King

From the Memory File

Ode to the King

January, 1978

“If she knew I showed you this, she’d kill me,” he said. “But since she’s out with a girlfriend tonight, I think it’s safe.”

And with that, Joe opened the door to his sister’s bedroom and turned on a light.

It was a shrine to Elvis.

Autographed pictures of the late king, trinkets, posters, and personal mementos of all shapes and sizes adorned the walls and sat upon places of honor - the dresser, a night stand, a cabinet.

“She was a backup singer,” Joe said casually, strolling over to a small bear sitting on the bed and stroking the pelt. “He gave all of these things to her as gifts. They’re probably worth a fortune now. I thought you’d like to see them.”

It was an intimate moment - and a bit voyeuristic to say the least.

I wonder if Joe's sister ever found out about our trespass?

But as it's his birthday, and since it's been forty years, (not to mention the remotest of chances that she might actually be reading this), it's time to tell suspicious minds the truth.

Ponies

Ponies

Noel Laflin

3-9-18

Peter dropped the entire plate of hamburgers on the shore when he tripped over a rock.

We peppered him with insults as we tried to brush the sand off of the last of our fresh meat.

Having just paddled all day, we ate them anyway.

And even though the sun was setting, it was still a hundred plus degrees.

Consequently, we were a grumpy crew that first night on the river.

Jerry had taken the troop on this canoe expedition for years. But it was my first time - and with the extreme heat and sandy grit still between my teeth, I swore that it just might be my last outing with these guys.

But then, later that night, when the moon was up and the temperature had dropped to a comfortable ninety degrees, wild mustangs came to drink.

I thought I might have been dreaming, but there they were, a half dozen ponies gingerly walking down the hill to get at the river.

I looked about me, and most of the kids were sound asleep. I nudged the Scout beside me and when he sat up, I just pointed across to the Arizona shore where the beautiful creatures lapped at the eddy.

My attitude toward the trip changed in an instant that night.

And even though it's been over forty years now, and I have forgotten just how hot it really was as well as the taste of sand grinding between my teeth, I have never forgotten that marvelous sight of wild ponies drinking in the moonlight.

At The Red Rock

At The Red Rock

Noel Laflin

3-10-18

She had a sad smile. It would come into focus occasionally when the smoke drifted away.

I held her place at the Keno machine while she ran off in search of more cigarettes; she had been methodically doing them in, one after another, as she tried to hit her numbers and score something big.

"I'll be right back," she said in a darkly husky Eastern European accent, tilting her chair against the kiosk.
‎
"There's a gift shop back that way," I offered, pointing across the lobby, past a coffee shop. "They probably sell them there."

"I get them for free," she smiled. "I will be back soon."

Free smokes, I pondered. She must be a local, and a regular at that, I reasoned. I bet she plays a lot. But I wonder why she chain-smokes?

True to her word, she soon returned, thanked me for holding her place, and lit up.

"I come here to relax," she said.

"Me too!" I said enthusiastically.

" My husband passed. I am so depressed." She took another drag from her cigarette.

And suddenly everything made sense.

Patience

Patience

Noel Laflin

3-8-18

I feel like Glaydys Kravitz,

Peeking thru the blinds,

Waiting for small beaks to rise,

In that nest outside.

But patience is a virture,

Or so the saying goes,

And so I wait, all the while,

Bewitched by nature’s show.

Boundaries

Boundaries

Noel Laflin

3-7-18

My next door neighbors installed a sun screen on their patio the other day.

Over the fence this morning, Steve said it was to block hummingbirds from buzzing them when they sat there.

 

‘Works like a charm,’ he said amicably enough.

I need to have a talk with the flock and establish better boundaries.

But I don’t think they’re gonna listen.

And I didn’t tell Steve that there are dozens more on the way.

Springtime

Springtime

March 6, 2018

We may be two weeks early, but I tell you, it’s Springtime here right now - and it’s glorious!

Doors and windows are wide open and the heavenly scent of citrus blooms fills the house. Outside, starlings are startled, doves are dozing, sparrows are singing, crows are cawing, parrots are parlaying, bees are buzzing, hawks are hovering, and hummingbirds are ... well, humming. And more are showing up every day.

And as wonderful as it was to travel to the far East and see some fantastic sights, there is nothing like Springtime in Southern California.

Sign of the Cross

Sign of the Cross

Noel Laflin

3-5-18

There’s a spot at the bottom of the Grand Canyon, where the Little Colorado meets the larger Colorado River, which river guides tell of the mid-air collision of two airliners back in 1956.  They point to not-so-distant hillsides still littered with rusting debris.

I have never forgotten the sight or the telling of that story.

On this day, March 5, 1966, a British airliner broke apart over Mt. Fuji when the pilot veered a few miles off course in order to give the passengers a better view of the mountain. They were caught up in violent turbulence caused by tremendous wind gusts; the pilot lost control, and the plane broke apart.

Like the canyon incident, all were lost.

I was at the base of Mt. Fuji just a week ago today, but was unaware of the tragedy that took place there half a century back. It surprised me on a history site this morning.

I have often thought of the Grand Canyon crash while flying over Arizona, and always find myself making the sign of the cross when we catch sight of the river confluence way below.

Should I ever catch sight of Mt. Fuji again, my fingers and hand will know the drill.

Lazarus and Bread

Lazarus and Bread

Noel Laflin

2-18-18

Five of us walked for miles around Kaohsiung Harbor the other day and naturally this one later fell asleep on the car ride home.

 
We stopped at a popular bakery and I carried her inside while her mother and David placed delicacies on their checkout trays.

The sudden, indescribable scent of fresh baked goods woke her from her slumber faster than sun rays breaking through a cloud.

She sat up in my arms like Lazarus called forth into the light - not to mention a feast.

It was a funny moment which I thought worthy of sharing.

Plus, I just really liked this shot.

Maps and Lions

Maps and Lions

Noel Laflin

2-25-18

There was a mural-size map of the United States in the bedroom of my youth. My father had gotten it from Congressman Utt, way back in the early '50's. He placed it dead center on the wall facing the bunk beds my brother and I shared. It was framed in knotty pine paneling.

The map was so old that Alaska and Hawaii were still shown as territories of the U.S.

Being young of eye, I could see the small print of even the tiniest of towns and hamlets quite clearly. The giant outline of the Louisiana Purchase looked like a lion and sometimes steered my dreams as it was the last thing that caught my eye as I drifted off to sleep. It then greeted me as first light of morning broke in through the old bedroom window facing Flower Street.

When an addition to the house was completed, Bobby and I moved into the new, cooler room so that our grandmother could have the map room.

Grandma was ancient and frail, frequently leaving the house in her old fashioned clothes, wandering until lost, but always returned safely home by friendly policeman.

She suffered a number of strokes and died not long after her stay with us.

As she only spoke Norwegian, I never did think to ask her how she liked my old bedroom.

But I bet she loved that map and the lion.

Leaving Tianan

Leaving Tianan

Noel Laflin

2-19-18

Our time in Tianan City is coming to a close. Tomorrow we travel north to Taipei.

I am going to miss the old narrow streets, the temples, shrines, the rich history of this ancient town.

I am going to miss the friendly family gatherings and movable feasts that seemed to take place every few hours.

I am going to miss running and sliding across the condo's long smooth floors in stocking feet. Every kid that stops by with his or her family does likewise.

I already look back with fondness on the new friendships made here in Southern Taiwan.

But Taipei beckons and new adventures await. Besides, there are more friends and family there.

Lunch dates have already been planned.