Ship Notes and Other Musings

 

Ship Notes and Other Musings

Noel Laflin

December 2021

 

Ship Notes

Friday, December 17th 

It's a little after high noon, and somewhere to the west of us is Cuba, although it can't be seen at present.

I know all of this as the captain just finished his daily announcement summation via loudspeaker. 

We've traveled over two thousand nautical miles, he informs us, during this Caribbean adventure, and still have far to go before reaching our final destination in Florida, board a plane and fly another three thousand miles to get home. That's nearly nine thousand miles roundtrip altogether, via air and sea. In contrast, on a typical day at home, I may drive a total of eight miles to Irvine Park and back. So, this is a change in pace, not to mention transportation and scenery - but a fine change at that.

All of this flows through my simple mind as I also consider the fact that this doesn't seem like the week before Christmas as the weather is warm and tropical. I am only reminded of the upcoming event when we pass brightly decorated Christmas trees scattered throughout the many decks inside, as well as the giant gingerbread village that appeared magically at the base of the grand staircase a few days ago. Sea elves were busy in the gallery as we cruised the first week apparently.

But outside here on this comfortable lounge chair, I only feel the warm sultry wind ruffling the pages of my well-worn book, (it's one by Tolkien, in case you are wondering) and listen to the constant soothing sound of the deep blue Caribbean ocean rolling by. But unlike a Stevenson nautical adventure (another fine read while at sea), there's not a single pirate ship in sight.

And according to the captain, the Island of Cuba is out there somewhere too. But like Long John Silver's mysterious island, it also remains elusive.

The thought of Cuba almost makes me wish I had a cigar, or, even better, an ill-gotten barnacle-encrusted chest filled with ancient Spanish gold doubloons.

I suppose I'll just settle for a run and Coke instead, as that is more easily had. 

The birds and squirrels don't come by and serve those in Irvine Park, let alone cigars and pieces of eight - but I wish they did.

I fully intend to talk to them about it when we get home.

 

 

Ship Notes

Saturday, December 18th

The magician and his pretty assistant are in a corner buffet booth chowing down on a late morning breakfast. I know her, the magician's assistant, despite the lack of glittering skirts, etc., here in casual land at this hour, as she wears no mask in order to eat.  It takes a moment to  initially recognize, however, the man we had seen on stage making magic just the night before; masked he is just now, dressed in common attire (minus black frock and ruffles), his plate magically levitating with food. But once seated and unveiled, the full face reveal is obvious. It's the magic man.

The conjuring pair are thick as thieves, speaking in quiet Spanish, hands and arms gesturing, a table knife being repeatedly thrust between extended, parted fingers -  a tweaking of an act in the making, no doubt. All the while the magician's plate of food is performing its own disappearing act.

But, even though I may not be the world's quickest study, I can still figure out that vanishing culinary trick easily enough as I have been performing that very same eating prestige all my life.

 

Ship Departed

Sunday, December 19

We spent our last day in Florida touring Tampa University, that wonderful old hotel (all eleven million bricks of it, according to a former instructor turned tour guide). The invasion of Cuba, which would lead to the Spanish American war was hatched by old men in rocking chairs on this very walkway, or so our retired philosophy instructor also told us.

JFK spent four days in town, including having lunch in the stately old structure, before flying off to Dallas in November, 1963. The town went crazy in celebration while the young president was here. There's even a famous statue of the man on campus, where he addressed adoring crowds. The statue now looks out onto Kennedy Blvd.

Hours later we flew from Tampa to Dallas, as we had a stopover there. Thoughts of yesteryear weighed mightily on my mind somehow.

 

Tampa Airport

December 19, 2021

We're in the Tampa airport waiting for our flight home, and I can't help but notice that there are a fair number of children boarding planes with their folks.

Then it dawns on me that it's the week before Christmas and folks, both young and old, are traveling every which way across the country to be with family. I hope Santa finds all of these youngsters, wherever they land.

When I was ten, our family traveled by train one Christmas in order to spend the holidays with grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins in Minnesota.

It was a fine adventure for my siblings and me.  And although there was no global health pandemic looming over our heads at the time, it had only been a month since President Kennedy was gunned down, so I do remember a different type of trepidation and sadness that initially foreshadowed that trip.

But once we were underway and eventually reunited with kinfolk, things got better.

And even Santa found his way to St. Paul that particular Christmas. So, there was that considerable consolation too, of course.

 

 

Roadside Distraction

 

Roadside Distraction

Noel Laflin

December 5, 2021

 

I have posted about this old stone cabin forlornly sitting a couple of hundred yards off the 15 Highway in Newberry Springs twice before, so forgive me for doing so again today. But I am always intrigued when I still see it standing.

Yes, that roof is looking even worse than the first time I photographed it three years ago, and there is more graffiti on the outside too, as noted here in a shot on Thursday. But damn, those old stone walls still appear strong. And those very stones most likely sat at the bottom of the massive lake that once covered this entire region some twenty thousand years ago. So everything is relative, I suppose, where timelines are concerned.

I told David that the next time we travel east, or west, we are detouring off on Harvard Rd. and drive the half mile or so that will take us up to the dilapidated structure so that we can look inside and see the damage, as well as the resilience up close.  Maybe there will be clues as to when it was built, and by whom.

Until then, the cabin remains just another mysterious, and mostly overlooked roadside distraction – but one that continues to intrigue, at least to me.

I wish the stones could talk.

 

 

Scattered Treasures

 

Scattered Treasures

Noel Laflin

11-9-21

 

I sat at my old friend's desk on the night he passed.

And although it was only in late August, it now seems like a lifetime ago.

Phone calls had to be made, and I selfishly wanted to be alone in the dark den, sitting in his chair among his things as I made those calls.

I keep this photo in my phone as a token of remembrance to both my old friend, that sad night, and fondness for some of the items on the desk. I remember taking the shot before switching over to the phone app and delivering difficult news.

It gives me comfort knowing that the small treasures placed about here and elsewhere throughout his home would eventually be given to other worthy homes.

Gandhi is with my friend's brother as the fellow who painted the picture was a great friend to both brothers and who is now also gone. 

That pretty girl in the frame is now with the pretty girl - a wonderful woman who was the light of my friend's life and cared for him like no other.

Moses holding the Ten Commandments is with a retired priest, a man who was of great comfort to my friend for nearly all his life. 

The Scout patch is with a former Scout, an old friend of my friend when we were all just kids together for several magical summers.

And I have Mr. Churchill sitting in a place of honor on my own old childhood desk, along with other treasures that will be given to more friends of my friend when next we meet up.

The snapshot is just a freeze frame - a brief moment in time - frozen, but mightily treasured.

But treasures of the heart are harder to explain.

 

Nighttime Run

 Nighttime Run

Noel Laflin

10-31-21

Some nights we dared one another to make a run the entire length, and back again, of the cemetery grounds beneath a bright full moon.

As we frequently slept out in one another's back yard on warm nights listening to tunes on a tiny transistor radio, we told ghost stories and tried to scare one another, as children love to do.

Eventually, like a pack of nervous young wolves trying to prove their worth, we'd leave the comfort of our lair and sneak through the dark neighborhood, silently scaling a neighbor's fence abutting the cemetery and run swiftly through this city of the dead.

Barefoot and breathless we finally found our way back to our sleeping bags, listening for our parents voices quietly talking indoors, catching bits and pieces of a sixties television show, willing our hearts to beat normally once more.

We resumed the telling of the same corny kid jokes, the same stupid ghost tales, and greatly embellished our recent dare, eventually falling off to sleep, one by one, awakening to dewy grass and stiff limbs in the morning.

Learning to Fly

 Learning to Fly

Noel Laflin

10-28-21

A friend of mine turns sixty-nine today, which means he’s older than me once again – even if it’s only less than by two months.

But despite that, we were still childhood best friends, first becoming so when at age three (or thereabouts), I would stand on my side of the street and yell out his name until he appeared in his doorway and wave me over to watch Superman reruns. This led to fantasies of actually thinking we could fly ourselves, just like the Man of Steel, if we tied towels about our neck, let the long fabric lay against our back to form a cape, and jump off the back of furniture in attempts to fly.

We always aimed for his folks’ couch, just in case we failed to fly, and I am here today to say just how glad we were that his folks had a soft one.

But in short order, that two-month age difference put us in different grades, a fact that bothered me greatly when he went off to kindergarten a year before I was deemed old enough to join him.  Consequently, he flew off to school and I was left at home watching Superman reruns on my own. 

My mom told me that because I was born in December, I had to wait another year before attending kindergarten. I never understood the rule, but there you have it.

So, I continued to practice my flying skills off our own living room furniture. I might have been alone now in each repeated attempt, but determined nonetheless.

I’m glad my folks had a soft couch too.

In hindsight, I now think that common sense - or more likely, the lack thereof - might have had something to do with when one was actually allowed to attend school.

However, I am still puzzled, all these years later, as to how my slightly older friend got away with it.

Seeking Mr. Emerson's Opinion

 Seeking Mr. Emerson's Opinion

Noel Laflin

10-19-21

"Nature always wears the color of the spirit."

Ralph Waldo Emerson

It's early morning and I'm listening to a cricket who's taken up permanent residency behind the refrigerator, a rooster crowing in a neighbor's yard, hummingbirds squabbling over territory out front in the walkway, and a flock of noisy parrots passing overhead. All the while, there's a bluebird drying its wings after a bath on the balcony.

Judging by the sight of the bluebird, Emerson obviously got the part about the colors right, but if he were around today - Mr. Emerson, that is - I'd invite him over, offer him my chair (along with a cup of coffee, of course), and ask him to describe the sounds of nature as well.

I'd sure like his take on it.

Meanwhile, I need more coffee, and whilst in the kitchen, remind the cricket to give it a rest for a bit. 

House Warming

 House Warming

Noel Laflin

10-15-21

Thirty-eight years ago today, on a warm Santa Ana wind-blown October morning, I spied a billboard just outside of Mimi’s Café over on 17th Street. It said, ‘New Homes’, with an arrow pointing northeast.

Curiosity got the better of me as I followed signs that led to a new development just at the base of Panorama Hill, way out in East Orange. It was so far out of town that roosters could be heard crowing throughout the old El Modena neighborhood.

Now, maybe there were roosters also cock-a-doodle-dooing around the St. Joes Hospital neighborhood where I was born, but as that was so long ago, and I was rather new to the world, I don't recall.

Unshaven, dressed in a ratty t-shirt, shorts, and flip flops, I toured the models and discovered one that I might just be able to afford - maybe.

Within two hours I was writing a hot check, all the while explaining to the banking rep that this retainer would be good by Wednesday, payday. He just smiled and said to postdate it.

By Tuesday, I had begged, borrowed and cajoled my way to come up with the down payment, and then persuaded my boss to write a preposterous letter saying that I would be due a bonus at the end of the year. The bank informed me that I needed said bonus to swing the deal. The boss agreed to write the letter on the condition that he be invited to the housewarming. He also reminded me that there really was NO bonus coming my way at the end of the year.

I gladly agreed to his conditions.

Escrow closed in twenty-six days and I suddenly found myself with a new home, and a thirty-year mortgage.

This was a fine starter home, I reassured myself; one might actually stay here for the next three-to-five years.

Although that turned out not to be the case, as I continue to gladly extend my stay, the boss did come to the housewarming.

Also, as promised, there was no bonus – other than the crowing of roosters, and the discovery of lots and lots of birds that also call this urban neck of the woods home.

Consequently, we all happily share it together.

I mean, they were here first.

As poet E.E. Cummings once wrote,
"May my heart always be open to little
birds who are the secrets of living
whatever they sing is better than to know
and if men should not hear them men are old."

National Dictionary Day

 National Dictionary Day

Noel Laflin

10-16-21

It's National Dictionary Day, as it celebrates the birthday of Noah Webster - a man who studied 26 languages, in order to better understand English.

A friend of mine, who recently died, had made it a youthful goal to read every single word in the dictionary.

I don't know if he accomplished the task in his seventy-two years of life, but he was the most well-spoken man that I have ever met, bedazzling one with unfamiliar words with every turn of phrase, or in this case, turn of page

So, maybe he did make it to the end of his book.

And I bet he'd be pleased with me making use use of the word bedazzled too.

October 9, 1967

 October 9, 1967

Noel Laflin

10-9-21

It was fifty-four years ago today.

With Scoutmaster Dale Wilcox and my folks in the basement of the old First Christian Church on Broadway in Anaheim.

The church is gone, as are my parents, but the former boy and his mentor (as well as my Eagle Pin) are still here.

Homecoming

 Homecoming

Noel Laflin

10-11-21

They patiently listened to my tales of seeing frolicking whales, playful otters, and bald eagles, but only wanted to know about fellows like themselves.

They had all flown south for the winter I said.

Good, they replied, as we don't want you having some short lived vacation romance with strangers.

No worries there, I assured them.

Then be so kind as to top off the feeder, I was instructed.

Which I did, with great haste.

Shock Top

 Shock Top

Noel Laflin

10-11-21

As I sat in a folding chair in front of the beer cooler at our local CVS this morning, waiting the prescribed fifteen minutes following my COVID booster vaccine, I couldn't help but notice that Shock Top was on sale.

Sitting in such close proximity to such tasty temptation, and knowing that David was going to prepare a juicy tri-tip shortly, and fully aware that we were out of beer, I grabbed a twelve pack when the time was up.

An older, wiser gentleman also waiting for his orders to leave, remarked that my selection sure beat Tylenol.

Indeed, I concurred, paid up, and smiled all the way home.

Up and Adam

 Up and Adam

Noel Laflin

9-27-21

When I was a kid my dad would open our bedroom door and declare, 'Up and at 'em, boys'. I always misheard and thought he was talking about two other brothers named Up and Adam.

Consequently, I was inclined to to just go back to sleep and let my father eventually find the right boys to rouse.

Time and Money

 Time and Money

Noel Laflin

9-26-21

My friend Tom would have turned 64 today.

A Beatles song comes to mind.

He was just twenty when we met, so for his twenty-first birthday, four months later, I took him out for his first official drink, as well as hid twenty-one Eisenhower dollars around our room, making him hunt each one down. They were big and shiny coins – fresh from the bank – hard to miss really – unless the coins are hidden and the hunter has had a few drinks.

“You’re getting hot – you’re getting cold.” You know the game.

The last one discovered took a while as it was atop the cuckoo clock. The clock struck a late hour when he reached out to finally, and happily, retrieve it.

Cuckoo! Then the little bird retreated and the tiny door slammed shut.

The coins were stacked and counted.

Twenty-one.

Time and money …

Both pale in comparison to an old man's youthful memories.

Water Gods

 Water Gods

Noel Laflin

9-11-21

We had some rain the other night, and the summer storm that carried in both thunder and lightning along with it was a doozy.

Summer storms are rare here, so their arrival, as unexpected as this one was, was gratifying, especially since we did not lose power or experience any damaging lightning strikes. I know others did and I feel badly for them.

The only concern in our home was to run around in the dark and close all windows and doors for an hour.

And while doing so, I swear I could hear every plant in the garden singing a song of praise to the water gods above

Sticking Out

 Sticking Out

Noel Laflin

9-10-21

The adult female Pin-Tail Whydah is a sneaky bird, and just like a European Cuckoo, will lay its eggs in another bird's nest, and let the unsuspecting foster parent do the rest of the work. But unlike cuckoos, the whydah won't toss out the other eggs, but instead just hopes that the other species of bird won't catch on when the number of eggs in her nest has magically increased.

Here in Orange, whydahs prefer to deposit their eggs in the nests of house finches, as the eggs are similar in both size and color.

As I see young whydahs frequently in the company of house finches, it always amazes me how it is that the finches just don't seem to catch on that one or two of their siblings look so different from themselves. Sure, they are about the same size, fly alike, and tend to eat the same kinds of seed and grain, but where, they must think, does that bright red beak come from? And their song, for that matter, as the whydah's is vastly more melodious ... What's with that, they must wonder.

But, far be it from me to judge, as these integrated siblings do seem to get along quite nicely.

And unlike Rudolph, the whydah kids are certainly allowed to play in house finch games.

Old Shoes

Old Shoes

Noel Laflin

9-10-21

Jeremy came home from work one night - some thirty years ago - and was pretty excited. He immediately sat me down, and began to tell me why.

Now, Jeremy's way of explaining anything was as adventure in itself, as it was always in rapid sign language (ASL), since the lad was deaf. But after five years of living together, I was able to keep up with his tales of wonder.

But his excitement this particular evening was even more intense than usual as it had something to do with Abraham Lincoln and shoes.

You see, Jeremy worked in the display department at Nordstrom, and to make a long story short, he and an associate were assigned the task that day of showing off some famous presidential shoes that were on loan from Johnson and Murphy, a shoe manufacturer first established in New Jersey in 1850. In fact, the new company's first presidential customer happened to be the forgettable Millard Fillmore, leader of the No Nothing Party.

Filmore's shoes weren't part of the traveling show, but pairs worn by FDR ( custom braces still attached), Woodrow Wilson, LBJ, Ronald Reagan, and Abraham Lincoln were those that were to be arranged behind a large glass display window.

With the curtain drawn, Jeremy, and his fellow employee began to arrange their inventory, the history cards informing viewers who's shoes were who's, etc.

When Jeremy read the original thank you note from Lincoln to Johnson and Murphy, extolling the quality of their work and asking for another pair of shoes exactly like the worn pair he was now cradling in his own hands (size 14, it turns out), Jeremy said he could no longer contain himself and just had to smell the shoes. He demonstrated to me how he first carefully caressed the ancient leather, admired the well worn sheen, and then brought them to his nose, and inhaled deeply.

He stopped then, hands now quiet, and just smiled.

I don't think that I have ever been so envious of anyone in all my life.

Keeping the Tape Handy

 Keeping the Tape Handy

Noel Laflin

8-26-21

Little Niko, aged three-and-a-half, came racing down our street on his miniature razor scooter the other night - racing down our street like a tiny bat out of hell - his mother, sans scooter, not far behind.

He abruptly stopped in the middle of the street just feet away and asked me, “Hey, what are you doing?”

“I’m planting grass seed,” I replied, holding up the half empty bag of all purpose seed, trying to fill in a few persistent bald spots on the strip separating the neighbor’s driveway and our own.

“Why are you doing that?” he asked.

“I am trying to make it look nice,” I replied.

“Better put tape on it then,” he concluded, pushing off and tearing away.

“I’ll do that, kiddo," I promised.

His mom, having caught up to her son momentarily, watched him speed away again. 

"He is pretty funny," I said. "And fast," I concluded.

"You have no idea," she smiled in reply, attempting once more to catch up with the boy. "He's pretty certain that tape fixes everything too," she added, as she sauntered on.

He zipped by again, from the other direction this time, a minute later and reminded me about the tape. He said it was important.

I’ve got tape handy, just in case he comes back to check on my progress.

Tick-Tock

 

Tick-Tock

Noel Laflin

8-26-21

Tick-tock, tick-tock – and so goes the cuckoo clock just to the left of where I sit to write this.

It runs a little fast, but the positioning of the wooden leaf on the pendulum is fixed in place and can’t be moved upward, or downward for that matter – as on the other cuckoo clock - so I compensate by stopping the swing once a day for five minutes in order to let time catch up.  It’s a small price to pay for a clock that could be a century old now. Heck, at a century old you would think time slows down a bit – but not in this case.

I say a century old, but am not certain of its age, to tell you the truth, as it is a recently inherited clock.

It belonged to my best friend, and before that, to his parents, and before that, to his grandparents. As my friend’s grandparents died some half century ago, I have been doing the math and that one hundred year guess is in the ballpark of time – give or take a few thousand tick-tocks.

I have been a fan of the clock for more than fifty years myself, as I could always both see, as well as hear the little bird announce either the hour or half hour in my friend’s old childhood home when I would visit.  I could also still clearly hear its announcement of time while on phone calls to my friend when it moved with him to his last place of residence two decades ago.

But due to a long illness on the part of my friend, that clock sat silent for the last year and a half.

He recently moved once more – my friend, that is - but to a place where time cannot be measured. As the clock needed a home, well, here it now is, sitting on the wall just above and to the left of me - running a little fast, and calling out to the other cuckoo downstairs on every hour and half-hour, but lulling me into memory by its gentle tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock swing with time.

Good Deeds

 Good Deeds

Noel Laflin

8-23-21

During a phone call with Greg Richards last night, where we spoke fondly about Fred LaVelle, and the positive impact he had made on both of our lives – as well as the lives of so many others, I mentioned that he, Greg, had been quite a role model for me as well.

I reminded him of how we met, back in the spring of 1964. The time and place is etched firmly in my mind as it was my first camporee in the old Golden Sun District of the now defunct North Orange Council.

My fellow patrol members and I were running down a steep grade – somewhere near the Santa Ana Riverbed, in what would eventually become the outskirts of Yorba Regional Park – or so I am guessing, as I was only eleven at the time.

In our haste to get to the next event, I tripped and bounced down the hill.

Within seconds, someone was lifting me up and carrying me to the first aid tent at the bottom of the hill.

The older Scout explained what he had witnessed to the caregivers and I was treated for scrapes and bloodied elbows. He also stuck around to make sure that I was alright afterward. He most likely knew about possible concussions, as I did not.

It was my first meeting with Greg Richards.  He must have been seventeen or eighteen at the time.

I believe I had instant hero worship of the man from that day forward.

Greg chuckled at the memory, recalling the incident himself.

“You know,” he said, “maybe that story should take place of the 4^th of July story you tell about me every summer instead.”  He was referring to the infamous nighttime hike up to the summit of Superstion Peak, in order to watch the fireworks over Lake Arrowhead.  What neither Greg, nor the rest of us (two hundred campers, adults and staff) knew, was that Arrowhead always did their fireworks display every July 3^rd.  So, bereft of this information, Greg kept reassuring everyone that the show was going to start any second – which of course, it never did. We all came down the two mile hike around midnight. Greg came to breakfast the next morning wearing a phony mustache and had changed his name tag to Rudy Begonia. He suddenly spoke with an Italian accent and denied any knowledge of someone named Greg Richards. And so the episode went down in history, some fifty three years ago.

“Perhaps there’s a new addendum to the story,” I told Greg; “about a camporee some four years before that.”

“That would work,” Greg laughed in reply.

So why wait till the 4^th of July, I am now thinking.

 

 

 

Fred

 Fred

Noel Laflin

8-22-21

Fredrick Thomas LaVelle left this world just a little while ago after a prolonged decline in health. He was 72 years old. He is survived by his brother Don, and the love of his life, Christy.

I have a thousand memories of the man. But who wouldn't after fifty-fifty years of friendship?

That friendship began at Camp Ahwahnee, of course.

The memories are slim comfort at the moment, but they're all going to come in handy for the rest of my life.

And for that alone, aside from his unwavering, steadfast, and most splendid friendship, I am both blessed and grateful.

All is well. Safely rest, old friend. God is neigh.

Claire

 Claire

Noel Laflin

8-18-21

Received word yesterday afternoon that my good friend Claire had died. She was 88 years old. In my mind, after 35 years of friendship, she was simply timeless.

Her daughter found my number in her mom’s phone to let me know. She said her mother always had fun stories about me. I told Gail that her mom always had wonderful stories about her as well. There was mutual satisfaction on both our parts as we silently thanked the lady who had now gone on to tell more stories about us, and many others, no doubt, in a new world. And knowing Claire, I bet they are mostly nice ones – and funny as well.

But I wish Claire could have stuck around just a bit longer so that I could remind her of all the wonderful stories that I could relate about her.

We are pictured here in our last photo together with good friend Lesley. It was taken on December 11, 2019. A lockdown would soon ensue, preventing the three of us from meeting for lunch as we were fond of doing. But I am thankful for the friend that took this last shot. It’s a nice find in my laptop this morning when I simply typed in ‘Claire.’