Comfortable Chairs and Growling Stomachs

 

Comfortable Chairs and Growling Stomachs

Noel Laflin

11-29-22

Sitting in the comfortable phlebotomy chair this morning, stomach growling due to my long fast, and watching Jesse scroll through the computer as he double-checked which colored tubes to draw, I told him that I used to work for this lab – well, a company by another name way back when, but still pretty closely related to the outfit I once represented.

Turns out I worked for the company longer than he’s been alive.  No surprise there as most folks I meet nowadays are so much younger.  And also surprisingly, that’s okay by me nowadays also, as too many of my generation seem to think the kids of today just aren’t up to speed for day-to-day living, let alone saving the planet.  But I think they are capable of both.

But, I digress, as usual. So, back to the comfortable chair and my growling stomach.  

I wanted to mention to the young man that the padded barber-type chair, upon which I was awaiting his due diligence, was also nice, beating out the old plastic primary school-variety patients once had to maneuver in to.  And computers sure had an edge over phone calls to superiors when a particular tube was in question, or to double-check on one’s insurance status. And that this was still a fine draw location, uncrowded and slightly off the radar (but close to my house), one my pal Zia secured long ago – back when Jesse was still in the fifth grade, no doubt.

I decided that these observations would just be meaningless meandering musings on my part, an older fellow now free of laboratory obligations other than being a patient in a comfortable chair. The unsaid observations would play no role in the boy’s day-to-day job description.

But what he might have lacked in years, he made up for in expertise, as the blood draw was painless. So I did tell him that when we had completed our brief time together.

And best of all, when I got in my car, I had no other doctor’s office or lab to rush off to, just a short drive home, where a fine breakfast awaited my ever-growling stomach.

Irvine Park

 

Irvine Park

Noel Laflin

11-26-22

 

My very first memory of Irvine Park was probably sixty-five years ago when my brother made the family breakfast there one misty morning.

 

It must have been for a Boy Scout cooking requirement of some sort as I distinctly recall the smell of pancakes, sausage, and the sweet aroma of burning wood. And maybe a little burnt Bisquick turning to charcoal on the old grill, too.

 

The park has not changed all that much since then. Oh, yeah, it's larger now as more acreage has been added over the years (491 acres at present), there's a newer train now, and better restrooms. Peacocks now roam the grounds – they weren’t there when I was a kid, but I think they are a fine addition. The concession stand is bigger and wooden rowboats have been replaced with plastic padding boats.  But setting all that aside, you can wander and still see the metal grills heating up and the smell of hot dogs sizzling. You can still walk or bike the back roads, just for the heck of it. And you can marvel at how those old oaks still reach across a narrow lane and bring welcome shade to those who travel them.

 

But, I will always be most nostalgic for that first visit - and the youngster who took it all in for the very first time. It's, in part, what keeps bringing me back.

 

He's not forgotten the memory, that boy, even all these years later. 

 

So, I find myself drawn back to the park on an all too regular a basis, just to make sure that doesn't happen, ever.

 

Living Under the Flight Pattern

 

Living Under the Flight Pattern

Noel Laflin

11-25-22

We get geese flying over our neighborhood at all hours of the day and night.

I was on a call with a friend recently when a gaggle let loose with their honking.

“What’s the racket I hear,” he asked.

“Geese leaving the pond,” I said.

“It’s nearly midnight,” he mumbled in surprise.

“Happens all the time here,” I replied.

“Huh,” he concluded.

The sound of Canadian geese flying at midnight is kind of cool.  I thought I might have been imagining it in the beginning, years ago, but neighbors back me up on the claim, as they hear it too. Sometimes the birds seem to be heading north (probably on their way to the big lagoon at Yorba Linda Regional Park), and sometimes they seem to be heading more northwest with the large pond at Eisenhower Park in the old town that was once known as Olive, as their destination. They don’t even seem to need moonlit skies to help them – just the Big Dipper and the North Star is guide enough. Or the lights down on Chapman, maybe.

Meanwhile, our little old reservoir is home to upwards of 50 or so most days.

But when they chatter and honk their intentions, before and after takeoff, either day or night, it’s a wonderful sound. And when it interrupts your dreams at the Witching Hour, it’s downright spooky – but in a good way.

 

Los Robles

Los Robles

Noel Laflin

11-24-22

I came across the little sheet of advertising I squirreled away on the day we first toured the new condos that had just gone up for sale some 39 years ago. As it turned out, we moved into said home 39 years ago Thanksgiving week. Something to be really grateful for, to be certain.

What's fun about the paper are all the hand scribbled notes on the back where I was calculating how I might finance the place. There was a bit of robbing Peter to pay Paul, but it all worked out in the end.

What's also funny is that the advertising guys dubbed our unit as Los Robles - The Oaks, even though there wasn't a single oak tree on the property, nor even in the entire complex, for that matter. One had to go across the street and to the hills around the old reservoir to find one. Actually, there are 17 lovely Live Oak trees surrounding the reservoir. Some appear to be quite old, too. Heck, they were old on the day I moved here, and that's obviously been a while.

Consequently, and quite unintentionally, it was from one of those very old oaks that I brought home a capful of acorns one day, by which to feed the backyard squirrels, and now have two tiny (but hardly) oak seedlings growing in the garden. One is already two feet tall. Some squirrel buried his excess loot one day, apparently, forgot about it, and wouldn't you know it, there's now oaks on the property!

I was never a fan of false advertising, like the name given to our humble unit.

But, it only took 39 years to rectify the situation.

The homes are worth a lot more than what I paid for at the time. But I have no intention of cashing in, as I have a couple of oak trees to tend to.

And I have the full support of all the squirrels around here too.

Exercising Restraint

 Exercising Restraint

Noel Laflin

11-23-22

It's a nice day outside and I promised myself much earlier in the day that I would be out in it enjoying the sunshine up close and personal-like. Heck, I've been up since before the butt crack of dawn. I'll get some decent exercise, I told myself

But home repairs and snacking in between got in the way and now I am in too deep with a good book, and I'm enjoying the breeze coming through the house and the midday sun shining through the open doors and windows, and the dozens of birds (at least six different varieties at last count) as they just keep flying in to bathe in the bird baths. l've had to get up to refill them on numerous occasions already. That counts as exercise, I suppose. So much exercise that it may be time for a nap soon.

So, l'll just work out tomorrow. At a well stocked Thanksgiving table.

I plan on exercising hand-to-mouth coordination.

No, no, I know. I am a glutton for punishment. But that's just me.

Dusty Brains

Dusty Brains

Noel Laflin

11-22-22

When I was young, and a sneeze would hit me right out of the blue, my mother would say it was due to dusty brains, a great name for a country western singer, by the way. I can't take credit for that, but owe that observation to an old friend.

But, as usual, I digress.

If she, mom, were around today and saw the dust residing about our house, she might revise the reason.

I, of course, blame it on the annual fall initiation of the furnace firing up and blowing out every nasty microscopic particle gathered in the attic for the last six or seven months.

Naw, mom would just, once again, resort to the brains reference and buy me some Pledge.

Meanwhile, I am searching the Internet just to see if there really is, or was, a country western singer by that name.

Bad Luck

 

Bad Luck

Noel Laflin

11-22-22

The Kennedy assassination took place 59 years ago today, and for the longest time 10-year-old me thought that I was partly to blame as I had worn a shirt to fifth grade that day, a pretty shirt that had, unfortunately, brought me bad luck on two other occasions: I had blown a spelling test a month before when wearing that shirt, and an injured sparrow that I had been caring for died the next time I donned the shirt - and now this, the worst luck of all.

Weeks later, I tearfully explained the situation to my mother when she asked me why I no longer wore that particular shirt any longer. She had always assumed it had been a favorite of mine.

It disappeared from my closet shortly thereafter, never to be seen again, and no further questions were asked by either party.

 

A Little Sorcery

 

A Little Sorcery

Noel Laflin

11-16-22

The first Harry Potter movie opened in theaters on this day twenty-one years ago.

I remember buying the book a couple of years before its release and reading it aloud to the six-year old kiddo snuggled in my lap. She eventually fell asleep but I continued on, reading silently now, as the story seemed pretty good. Eventually, the entire family would go on to read every installment, and catch every theatrical release.

It’s hard to beat magic.

But that first film remains the most significant. I watched it most recently while on a plane somewhere over Newfoundland and the North Atlantic. I needed a distraction as the movie I had viewed just prior to this was a bit depressing. The film was good, but sad.  So, I scanned the lists available and settled for a version of cinematic comfort food, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. It got me to thinking that maybe part of the Harry Potter phenomenon (the film anyway) was the timing of its release, as the country and its people were still reeling from the after effects of 9/11. It was such a sad, depressing, messed up time, that escaping to Hogwarts for a couple of hours seemed like a fine diversion.

Years ago I came across the 1941 movie classic, Sullivan’s  Travels, a story about a film director who wants to make a serious movie, but because of crazy personal circumstances affecting his life, and nearly killing him, ends up making comedies instead. It opened in theaters just weeks after the bombing of Pearl Harbor.  The New York Times described it as "the most brilliant picture yet this year", praising Sturges's (both writer and director) mix of escapist fun with underlying significance, and ranked it as one of the ten best films of 1941.

It’s safe to say that Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone would have been a hit regardless of timing.

But it sure came at a good time, nonetheless, even two decades later while flying over Newfoundland.

 

Keeping it Brief

 

Keeping it Brief

Noel Laflin

11-15-22

While cleaning out an over-stuffed closet yesterday, I came across an oversized briefcase that I used to haul around during my working days.

It had become a receptacle for all kinds of papers, pre and post retirement. I used to open the closet door, stuff what I thought was important in there, and promptly forget all about it.

Sorting it all out today took a couple of hours as I kept coming across a few treasures: an IOU from a friend who still has yet to pay me back, two funeral notices of close associates, my resignation notice from my last employer, thank you notes from three kids who liked the silver dollars I’d given them one Christmas (I am certain their father made them write them – but that’s okay, my folks used to make me do likewise a lifetime ago), a still-in-the-plastic-wrapped Camp Ahwahnee neckerchief from 1969, and our marriage certificates (two pristine copies) from nearly eight years ago.  I wondered where I had placed them … Glad no one ever asked to see one for all these years. 

Ninety-nine point nine percent of the contents have now been sorted, recycled, or ready for shredding.

But, I am keeping the thank you notes from the children, the marriage certificates, and the neckerchief that once belonged to a very good friend.

I don’t think that IOU will ever come to fruition.  But, hey, stranger things have happened – so I kept it, too.

And now, I have a perfectly fine, empty, oversized briefcase just calling out for new treasures to be stored and forgotten for another decade or so.

 

Winter Wonderland

Winter Wonderland

Noel Laflin

11-11-22

It was ten years ago on Veterans Day 2012, that my buddy Dave Herzberg and I took a drive up past Running Springs and proceeded on just short of Green Valley Lake, spending the day retracing many of the trails from our summer youth. The first snow of the season had fallen just the night before and so the entire mountain had turned into a sweet winter wonderland. Not quite like the warm, dusty summer days from half a century before when we used to wander the mountain in shorts, neckerchiefs, and tee-shirts, but it was nice. Beyond nice, actually. And although we weren't adolescents any longer, by any stretch of the imagination either, it was a wonderful reunion of two old friends, while hiking the land we still loved, and a good memory, just one of many.

Wine and Peanuts

 

Wine and Peanuts

Noel Laflin

11-8-22

There was a definite benefit to returning to my childhood home on Election Day – some forty-plus years ago - as it always meant a home cooked meal afterwards. I moved so often during the first decade of independent living that I never bothered with changing polling locations – but I still felt it my patriotic duty to vote. And as I was frequently hungry, I would go home.

I would time my going to the old neighborhood polling place just before dinnertime so that I could then proudly drive over to my folks’ house, announce that I had indeed voted, and then be rewarded with mom’s cooking. We would toast each homecoming with wine, of course.

Nowadays, I am more than likely filling out a mail-in ballot at my own dining room table, days in advance, with a glass of wine at hand, munching on peanuts.

I miss the old days, because even if the election did not go our way there was always mom’s cooking to help salve the wound. Beats peanuts all to hell.

But David is preparing steaks later on today, so there is that! I will provide the wine. It will help salve any forthcoming election trauma.

 

 

 

 

Nothing To Sneeze At

 

 

Nothing To Sneeze At

Noel Laflin

11-7-22

When my sister was last here for a visit, she told me how our folks took to warming up the LA Times in the oven each morning before giving it a read.  They had read (maybe in the newspaper?) – or heard from a friend – that doing so would prevent sneezing, which my dad was prone to do while reading the paper.

This must have taken place long after I had moved out as I do not recall mom tossing the Sunday Times in with the Sunday biscuits.

I asked Susi if the heating of headlines and obituaries did the trick for dad, but she was not sure. I have subsequently read up on the issue, and it seems that some experts believe that airing out the morning delivery in the warm sun – or oven – could reduce print and dust allergies. So, maybe the folks were on to something once upon a time.

I know for certain, however, that newspapers were not the culprit in dad’s later years as sneezing fits occurred even when there were no more papers for him to read, due to macular degeneration. He relied on the evening news for news at that point in his life.

Anyway, the man could rack up many a gesundheit from friends and family. The two of us used to count each sneeze out loud once he passed six or seven, and I would bless each one.  I think thirteen was the record, and he was mighty proud of it. He was ninety years old at the time, so we both took pride in the small accomplishments of life at that point – which was nothing to sneeze at, obviously.

Well, that’s all the news that fit print at present (bless the New York Times).  And if it makes you sneeze, well bless you, too, and feel free to blame the electronic device that has taken the place of paper, ink, paperboys on bikes, and things of the past. Or, maybe, just blame the news itself.