The Impossible Takes a Little Longer

“The difficult we do immediately. The impossible takes a little longer.”

The phrases has been linked to the French statesman Charles Alexandre de Calonne in response to a question posed by Marie Antoinette, the American essayist George Santayana, the Norwegian polar explorer Fridtjof Nansen, and the Seabees, as well as other branches of the military.

I don’t really care who first said it.  I am just happy to have first seen it on a favorite teacher’s wall some fifty- odd years ago.

It’s the only thing I can actually quote verbatim from 7^th grade.

 

But it’s enough.

So I’ll just thank a teacher.

China Doll

The China Doll

Noel Laflin

4-13-18

(condensed from longer original post) 

Located on the corner of Sycamore and East Street, he China Doll was all of a three-minute walk from my house.

The proprietress, Sal, with whom I’d interviewed just the night before, was a large woman. Like a super tanker idly adrift at sea, she dwarfed Lily, the petite waitress flitting about the establishment.

Upon seeing me, Sal reached under the hostess’ stand and threw an apron my way.  

“Put it on, kid,” she hollered, “I’ll give you the lowdown around here.  Chop, chop.  Let’s go!  Time is money, ya know.”  

I struggled with the strings behind my back, trying to get the thing tied as Sal slowly navigated us toward the kitchen.  Before we got to the swinging door, however, she made a slow right turn.  I followed, at a safe distance.

“OK, kid, aside from the scraping, rinsing, washing and drying in the back, as well as dumping the trash, you’ll also be responsible for keeping this area well stocked with clean plates, platters, tea cups, glasses, etc.   You won’t be busing any of the tables, that’s Lilly’s job.



“Since we’re back here,” Sal paused, “I just wanted to warn you about the cookies.”

“Cookies?” I asked, a tad confused.

“Yeah, cookies.  These things right here.”  She was pointing to a large pink box filled with fragrant almond cookies sitting next to the beer cooler. She grabbed one and shoved it whole into her garishly made up mouth. 

“Now,” she mumbled,  “I know it will be tempting to swipe one or two of these when you’re back here stocking things,” she croaked, spitting almond dust my way,  “but don’t even think about it,” Sal threatened.  “They’re too expensive to be wasted on the help.”  She palmed one more as she did an about face, forcing me to back out of the tight area. 

“You can have any broken ones you find. Touch these good ones though, and I’ll break your arm.”  She tossed the second almond cookie into her wide mouth and pulverized it with a smile.

Now that we got that clear,” as she dusted her hands, “come on back and meet the cooks.

I could hear a commotion coming from the kitchen, in both Cantonese and English. Pots and pans were being slammed about. A metal trash can lid clanged into place. I inched closer in order to hear better as well as align myself with that pink box. 

I snitched a cookie, broke it cleanly in half, and hid it in my apron pocket.

I was beginning to take to the place already.

Miscalculating

From the Ever Embarrassing Memory File:

'Miscalculating'

Noel Laflin

4-9-18

I really thought the ball would clear the building.  I had seen it happen on other days, watching that kickball sail ever so gracefully over a row of lower grade classrooms and landing ever so beautifully on the big kid’s playground.

But when is did not, as my aim was off apparently, flying straight for the large plate glass window of a classroom instead, I knew I was in trouble.

It made a spectacular crash, taking out every piece of glass in the frame.

Panic stricken, I turned to flee the scene only to run into the arms of Robert Roberts, our principal.

“Stay!” he commanded, as he let me go and sprinted toward the room of screaming second graders.

I was fast on his heels, expecting blood and guts and carnage to haunt my young dreams for a very long time.

No one was near the window at the time gratefully, as they had been in an opposite corner of the room attending their reading circle.  I remembered those reading circles – I had thrown up on half my classmates in just such a one three years prior.  I did not know that I was coming down with the flu at the time.

Seeing that no one was injured, Mr. Roberts pulled me aside and asked me to apologize to one and all.

Sheepishly, I did.

And that was the end of the scandal, or so I thought.

As no note was sent home, nor any late afternoon phone call placed to my parents, I kept mum about the unfortunate incident.

But two weeks later my folks came home from the monthly PTA meeting, waking me up and asking to speak with me.

My dad was holding a flattened kickball.  It looked like it had sailed through a plate glass window.

He had but one question.

“Anything you want to tell us, young man?”

Worth the Try

Worth the Try

Noel Laflin

4-12-18

The little hummingbird with the bad wing did not make it.

Was the effort to save and rehabilitate something so small and fragile worth it, you might ask?

I guess it depends on one’s point of view.

For me, I look no further than that great line from Antoine de Saint-Exupery’s ‘Little Prince,’ when the lad from a very tiny planet, the one who also fell to Earth, remarks: ‘The most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or touched, they are felt with the heart.’

And in our case, in the hand as well.

So, yes, it was worth the try.

Maybe next time.

Light as a Feather - Small as a Golf Ball

Light as a Feather - Small as a Golf Ball

Noel Laflin

4-8-18

My neighbor Sharon showed up in my garage last Tuesday, wondering if I could check on a baby hummingbird for which she had been caring.

She had wisely placed the injured kid in an open shoe box so the mother could sail down to feed him, which she did every 20 minutes or so.

Determining that his wing was not working right, and knowing that the mother would eventually stop the care, and after a crow swooped down and nearly grabbed him (yes there was drama in Sharon's little oasis as the clever lad hid under a leaf and did not make a peep), we successfully got him to a wildlife refuge center in Huntington Beach yesterday.

We won't know if he'll ever fly - but he's in a nice cage with another injured baby hummer and being tended to by experts. The folks at the Wetlands & Wildlife Care Center have been giving Sharon updates.

A mutual friend of ours asked if we were really going to go through all this trouble for something as light as a feather and as small as a golf ball.

Well, yeah ...

Mice

Mice

Noel Laflin

4-8-18

'Do you like hummingbirds?'I asked the older woman sitting two chairs over.

'Well, yes I do,' she said with a smile.

'You want to see a picture of one?' I ventured, pulling out my phone and opening up a sweetheart of a shot.

'Oh, my!' She said. 'That is lovely! Do you like mice, by chance?'

'Yeah, I do,' I replied. 'I had pet mice as a kid.'

My new friend, Barbara, who couldn't have been a day under eighty, but had the finger dexterity of a teenage girl flipping through pictures on her phone, quickly located what she was looking for.

It was a cute Internet image of a sleeping mouse with a quilt pulled up to its chin.

'That's sweet,' I said, now my turn to smile.

'All creatures great and small,' I concluded.

'But I like mostly small best of all,' she sighed, continuing to sweep the face of her phone and chuckling over more pictures of mice.

Making Use of the Old

Attempting to use all twenty of the following words in a brief story:

Snollygoster – a person who has intelligence but no principals

Peg Puff – a young woman with the manners of an old one

Fudgel – the act of giving the impression of working but actually doing nothing

Twattling – gossiping idly about unimportant things

Grumbletonians – people who are angry or unhappy with government

Hum Durgeon – an imaginary illness

Groke – someone who stares at you hoping you will share your food

Shivviness – the uncomfortable feeling of wearing new underwear

Crapulous – feeling ill as a result of eating too much food

Mugwump – someone in charge who affects being above petty squabbles

Dysania – someone who has extreme difficulty getting out of bed in the morning

Hugger Mugger – secretive or covert behavior

Elflock – a word that describes tangled hair – as if matted by elves

Ultracrepidarian – someone who gives opinions on things of which they know nothing

Trumpery – things that look good but are basically worthless

Jargogle –to confuse or jumble up

“The town’s mayor was nothing more than a mere cockalorum  - a mugwump known for outright fudgel  - the very fellow with the intelligence of a gutter snollygoster but who could sell his ideas with the finest trumpery, when in fact he was a simple ultracrepidarian.

Meanwhile, the mayor’s wife, a corpulent peg puff suffering from  chronic shivviness, not to mention hum durgeon tendencies, made yet another appointment with the town physician – yes, the very man known for dysania, which would account for his zwodde behavior,  not to mention hugger mugger attributes.   As she was feeling  quite crapulous – due in part to the feast of the night before, the mayor’s wife was feeling most anxious about the upcoming appointment.  She also thought it would be a fine time to make complaint, once again, about the town’s groke.  He had made her quite uncomfortable the night before when he stared, as he had so intently, at her generous third helping of  heaped sweetmeats.

But upon her arrival, the physician was idly twattling with the ultracrepidarian nurse – yes, the voluminous blonde with elflock hair.

Looking up from their fudgel, the two quietly groaned in unison, as they knew the mayor’s wife to actually be the worst sort of lanspresado.  The two grumbletonians smiled nonetheless, attempting to jargogle the poor woman.”

Endings

Endings

Noel Laflin

4-4-18

Is it a sign of age that I have forgotten how some of my stories end – I mean the ones that I have already written?
A friend of mine just posted one from a few years back, so I re-read it, suddenly remembering the research I had put into the piece. I had spent hours trying to get facts right and then determine how it would tie in with specific memories of my own. And although I often wince at the immaturity of my writing, and often comment to myself that the story really needs professional help – especially when it comes to punctuation – I was most surprised to read the ending. I had forgotten what was coming. 

I just love a good ending, even if I had authored it …

Nancy's Mom

Nancy’s Mom

Noel Laflin

4-4-18

I could get a cheaper haircut, but I’d miss out on all of Nancy’s stories.

Ten years ago I wandered into the Echo Hair Salon in need of a trim. I had grown weary of bad haircuts at the likes of Fantastic Sam’s, etc. They had become my fallback after the barber I had grown fond of at a local shop – the one just walking distance from my home - had died.

Thus, taking my chances on a better place, albeit more expensive, I was immediately charmed by pretty, funny, petite Nancy Contreras. And I have been going back ever since.

I go back for a good haircut of course, and a fantastic scalp massage/wash preceding each encounter with the scissors, not to mention the fresh coffee, cookies, and cold beer on hand, but more importantly to hear more of Nancy’s stories – especially those about her mom.

“So mom went out to trim some trees and fell down the hill,” she told me this morning.

“Jesus, Nancy!” I exclaimed, “She’s eighty-seven years old! Why’d you let her do that?”

“Hey!” she replied, “This was a year and a half ago, OK? She was fine. It only took her an hour to crawl back up the hill. I told her next time to tie a rope around her waist.”

“Mom turns eighty-eight next month,” Nancy continued. “She’s studying to get her license.”

“License for what?” I inquired.

“Driving license,” she said. “She thinks it’s time to get one.”

“I thought she already knew how to drive,” I parried.

“She does,” Nancy answered. “But mom thought she should make it legal.”

And so the stories go, month after month, year after year.

I have met Angie, Nancy’s mom, on a few occasions. She has a great sense of humor and does not look her age.

She may be in the salon a month from today when I have my next appointment. It will be her birthday. I think I will bring some rope along as a present.

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