Hands of Time

Hands of Time

Noel Laflin

10-31-20

As my father instructed me long ago and as I remind David twice a year (tonight being one of those times), we never move the minute hand on either the grandmother’s clock or the cuckoo clock in a backward motion.  To do so would jam the works.  Westminster chimes would chime no more and the annoying bird from the Black Forest would refuse to open its door and announce the hour. So when it’s time to fall back, the pendulums are merely stopped and given back their swing an hour later when time has caught up once again.

Of the many clocks and watches in the house, these two mean the most to me, as both are old, made by hand, and represent an age that I still relate to the most – analog.  Digital is fine, but I feel most at home with minute and hour hands slowly making their way around the face of time.  Slow is fine by me nowadays anyway.

Besides, digital can’t cuckoo.

 

 

 

Well, Let Him Out!

Noel Laflin

10-29-20

Sir Walter Raleigh, adventurer, fancy dresser, flirt, and one-time favorite of the queen, was beheaded on this day in 1618 for conspiring to overthrow King James.

Now, I hate to brag, but as a kid I like to think that I actually knew something about both historical figures.

I knew, for example, that King James must have written the Bible, as I saw his name stamped on them all the time. And the passages within were pretty flowery in verse – filled with thees and thou’s – definitely written by a king.

And boy was I an expert on Raleigh as this was a very popular pipe tobacco found in every store  way back when, as well as the only brand of cigarettes preferred by a favorite aunt.  She smoked them because of the coupons.  My folks only collected Blue Chip and S&H stamps from local markets – thus, I never learned much history from those.

But speaking of markets, we would sometimes call one on a dare and enquire whether they had Sir Walter Raleigh in a can. When a new clerk – one who had not experienced the prank as yet – would reply, “Why, yes we do,” we would screech with delight and yell back, “Well, let him out!”

Ah, childhood history.  I was an expert.

Rock Walls

 Rock Walls

Noel Laflin

10-20-20

There are literally miles of stones hand placed by WPA masons some eighty-some-odd-years ago into cement-based retaining walls and drainage channels spread throughout Irvine Park. I couldn’t tell you the exact number of rocks brought up from Santiago Creek and put into place over the years, but there are thousands. I know this to be a fact as I have followed the majority of those walls and drains looking for the gift of an occasional fossil embedded in a pretty rock or the name of an emboldened mason left behind.

And to think that I used to get stoned in a completely different fashion when I was young.

Good to the Last Drop

 

Good to the Last Drop

Noel Laflin

10-16-20

I broke my leg shortly following my fifteenth birthday, spent the night in the hospital, had three parts of the left tibia realigned the next morning, watched as a ten pound cast was woven from toe to crotch, and then sent home straddling the entire length of the back seat of my dad’s station wagon.

No sooner had I been laid to rest in my hastily made makeshift bed then I told my dad that I really needed to pee – as I had not done so in the last twenty-four hours.

Since the bathroom was just too far away, and we had not even procured a set of crutches as yet, my father yelled to my mother, “Vi, we need an empty coffee can, pronto!’

Scavenging beneath the kitchen sink where such items were bound to reside – being good for storing bacon grease, etc. – my mom rushed one to my dad, who had by then gotten me to my feet and propped me up.

A true gusher ensued.  As the can was rapidly filling, I whispered to dad, “I’m not done …”

Dad yelled to my mom once again, “Vi, we’re gonna need another can!”

Mom rushed in with reinforcements, a well-timed swap on the part of my father played out, and the second can was nearly filled.

When all was said and done and I was gently laid back to rest, my father gingerly walked the coffee cans to the bathroom.

He started to laugh when he read the labels, yelling out to my mother one last time, “Hey, Vi, God Bless Maxwell House – “Good to the last drop!”

My mom switched to Folgers shortly thereafter.

 

Don’t Let the Door Hit You on the Way Out

 

Don’t Let the Door Hit You on the Way Out

Noel Laflin

10-11-20

 

Every day, nowadays, is something-or-other National Something Day. 

Yesterday, for example, it was National Cake Decorating Day.

Tomorrow is National Kick Butt Day.

Today you can celebrate National Sausage Pizza Day, Clergy Appreciation Day – started by Hallmark cards, of course – and last, but by no means least, National Coming Out Day.

I was just reading some stats which concluded that 9.5 percent of today’s youth, between the ages of 13-17, identify as LGBTQ, an astonishing number to me.  Shoot, when I fell into that age category – twenty years before the first National Coming Out Day was first celebrated - I thought gay meant happy – such were the times and my lack of street lingo, let alone sexual experience.  But I had an inkling about what I might be back then, even if I didn’t have a word for it, other than queer. And queer was the last thing you wanted to be as a teenager in the 1960’s.

But by the mid ‘70’s, I had finally come out to myself, and that was a fine start. Eventually, that led to discussions with family and straight friends – all of which went really well, looking back on it.

That article I alluded to earlier mentions that coming out is not a one shot deal – but rather a series of coming out scenarios – sometimes lasting for years. And for some folks – both young and old alike – it just doesn’t ever happen at all.  Sometimes that’s by choice, which is fine, and sometimes because of perceived persecution or violence brought upon them if they did so, which is not fine.  But that’s just the way it is unfortunately.

My life has been a cakewalk in comparison to the folks who can’t come out.  I was fortunate to have a loving family and enlightened straight friends - although I once had an employer who wasn’t so enlightened by my acknowledgement of being gay, and it cost me that job.  But life, by way of a straight friend, provided me a better job a short time later, so there is that. And besides, that organization that fired me is now in bankruptcy due to their antiquated way of thinking and will most likely just shrivel up and die any day now. So, there is that too.  Ain't karma a bitch sometimes ...

And so, this October 11, 2020, you can either celebrate your sausage pizza or your pastor – I’ll take the pizza, by the way.  Or maybe for some, they can step out of the closet instead, if so inclined.

And if so inclined to take that first step, close that closet door firmly behind you.

The world has a much more colorful wardrobe just waiting for you to try on. In fact, there’s damn near a rainbow of colors from which to choose.