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.’