Give Me Mr. Webb

Give Me Mr. Webb

Noel Laflin

4-20-19

It was Thornton Wilder’s birthday earlier this week and the anniversary got me to thinking about ‘Our Town'. Actually, I think a lot about Grover’s Corners and its characters as it was probably the first play that I can ever remember seeing. I was twelve years old and pretty impressionable. Fortunately, that first impression has stuck around for the last half century – and then some.

I always thought it would wonderful to be the Stage Manager – but he has a lot of lines to memorize as he plays so many roles. I am certain that I could never memorize so much material. I have a hard enough time trying to remember what day it is, let alone pages of monologue and remembering what character I am supposed to be on stage.

So I decided early on that perhaps I would be Simon Stimson instead – the choir director, church organist, and town drunk. His character is funny, sad, sarcastic, and has many fewer lines to deliver. I thought he stole the show at times and got the biggest laughs. Yeah, he was going to be my guy if the opportunity ever presented itself.

And then I came across this bit by Mr. Webb – Emily's father. I had never paid attention to it before. But it grabbed me today for obvious reasons. He is responding to a question from a lady in the audience when he says:

“Well, ma’am, there ain’t much culture or love of beauty in Grover’s Corners— not in the sense you mean. Come to think of it, there’s some girls that play the piano at High School Commencement; but they ain’t happy about it. No, ma’am, there isn’t much culture; but maybe this is the place to tell you that we’ve got a lot of pleasures of a kind here: we like the sun comin’ up over the mountain in the morning, and we all notice a good deal about the birds. We pay a lot of attention to them. And we watch the change of the seasons; yes, everybody knows about them. But those other things-you’re right, ma’am, -there ain’t much.”

So, when the opportunity comes, I’m now ready to play Mr. Webb. I believe I can speak to the importance of sunrises, birds, and change of seasons. And the icing on the cake? He's editor of the town's newspaper. This former journalism major is definitely ready for this role.

But I think I'd be happiest when he is talking about birds.

Running Amok

Running Amok

Noel Laflin

4-19-20

They ran wild through brambles, trees and creek, bare of shoes (although one wore sandals), muddy, dusty feet barley touching the ground – impervious to rocks and oak leaves sharp.

We crossed paths several times and I marveled at their mothers’ wisdom to just let them be kids as they shouted, cheered, and generally ran amok in the water, muck, and dust - and studied insects great and small.

They carried sticks, climbed rock walls, and waged mock wars.
 
And not a single electronic device could be either seen or heard.

Lazy Man's Photography

Lazy Man’s Photography

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Cherubs, Chair, Camera, and Coffee
Noel Laflin
4-6-19

I joke with my good friend, Jay Spring, that most folks think that in order to get a decent picture of any kind of wildlife one must first venture into the wild. And that is certainly true for the most part. As it’s getting harder and harder to find actual wild lands nowadays, however, I usually just stick to parks close at hand. God knows I have become a fan of Irvine Park since retiring a few years back. And as it’s only a ten minute drive from where I live in Orange, I am there frequently. It’s also my excuse for getting in a good walk multiple times a week.

But sometimes I have the best luck in getting a fun shot just by wandering the backyard garden, front walkway, or standing on the balcony – camera in one hand, coffee mug in the other.

And from a really lazy perspective, sometimes I get a good shot or two from the comfort of my favorite chair – camera on one side, coffee mug on the other.

When my old mate Tom bought the sleek looking Eames chair some thirty-six years ago, it set him back a considerable sum. But he got a decent discount on the piece as he worked in the furniture department of Robinson's-May as a salesperson at the time.

The chair, along with a new couch – also obtained via the employee discount - were the only two new pieces of furniture purchased for our new condo back in 1983. I did not even own a camera of any sort back then. But there was always a coffee mug at hand sitting by that chair.

The couch bit the dust decades ago, but I still have the Eames chair. And from this chair I have a direct view of our balcony. And on that balcony sits a small cherub bird bath. And to that bird bath come both birds and squirrels. And occasionally I get a shot of them as they perch, drink, or bathe there. It was one of the reasons I shelled out fourteen bucks for those little angels – enticement.

And so the investment of the chair by Tom, so long ago, has definitely paid off, as has the relatively inexpensive one sitting on the balcony. And never once have I confused the coffee mug for the camera. But I bet it’s bound to happen one of these days.

Spring Brew

Spring Brew

Noel Laflin

3-20-19

I finally figured out how to program the coffee grinder/coffee maker. It’s been a year.

I did it accidentally, of course, when I touched a button on the machine in a darken kitchen.

As I could never figure out how to get the damn thing to start on its own all this time, I was always up by six fumbling about to start things brewing.

But since the accidental touch, and as there were beans in the basket and water in the holding tank, the pre-programmed feature worked like a charm!

The problem was, it was set for midnight by default.

Fortunately I was up at that hour and wondered what the strange sound coming from the kitchen might be.

The aroma of freshly ground coffee reminded me of having seen a new LED light flash on the machine hours earlier. Thus I put two and two together eventually.

So I had a cup of freshly brewed coffee as I reread the instruction booklet, figured things out, and set the program to a more reasonable hour.

It was a stimulating way to greet the first day of Spring - right at the stroke of midnight.

Coffee on the second day of Spring, and thereafter, will start grinding away at dawn in the future. Unless I touch a wrong button again, or until the next time change.

Ash Wednesday

Ash Wednesday

Noel Laflin

3-6-19

I asked the butterfly, “And what have you given up for Lent?”

“Cocoons,” she sighed, in sweet reply, and swiftly sailed away.

The Few, The Proud, The Hungry

The Few, The Proud, The Hungry

Noel Laflin

3-6-19

I have been a fan of buckwheat pancakes since I was a kid. There is just something about the texture I have always liked – there is grit to them that appeals to my taste buds.

So I am grateful to my sister for recently supplying me with this. Whipped up a batch this morning as a matter of fact.

And speaking of siblings, I still like buckwheat cakes despite my brother telling me – long ago upon his return from Vietnam - how boll weevils would infest the flour so badly that they had no choice but to either toss it or (as my brother, the former cook, recalls) just tell fellow Marines that the crunch they were experiencing was buckwheat.

The Few, The Proud, The Crunchers.

Pockets

Pockets

Noel Laflin

3-2-19

Seated between two old friends in a crowded pew waiting for the service to begin this morning, I reached inside my old suit left coat pocket rummaging around for my reading glasses. I wanted to better see the memorial service bulletin that the kind usher had given me when I entered the church.

Caught in the glasses were pristine looking business cards inscribed with an address that I had not been to in a dozen years or more.

I nudged my old former co-workers seated to either side of me and showed them the cards. We three used to work together, along with scores of others gathered at the service today. Now, we were all scattered like the wind, but drawn together again to pay respects to the man we had all once fondly called boss – the man that had provided me those cards by which to proudly represent his company so long ago.

Wondering what the right inside coat pocket might contain, I reached in and felt a paper folded twice over.

It was a memorial service bulletin, from seven years ago, for the father of the man for whom we had all gathered today.