Dear Uncle Emil,
Did dying ever enter your mind before you were shipped overseas? Don't know why but it hasn't entered mine. I know it's a possibility but the thought hasn't really gotten hold of me yet. It's more something I make jokes about.
Like when we were going through our AIT graduation ceremony. Now, that was funny. Some guy who claimed to be our battalion commander - don't know if he actually was 'cause we'd never seen him before. For that matter we'd never seen our company commander or even our platoon leader - stood up on a stage and called us diamonds in the rough. We were down below sitting in the auditorium. Sure didn't seem all that military. No flags or marching around, soldiers singing about killin' a Vietcong, blood-thirsty displays of us getting on line, bayonets fixed, charging dummies that look like Spiro Agnew, none of that good stuff. Nope we just sat there, in an auditorium. No movie, no play, just the guy up front telling us we need the polishing of combat to make us into finished diamonds or maybe corpses, depending on how it all worked out.
Anyhow, before the man walked out on stage to thunderous silence, I said a couple of things out loud that got me a few 'shut up Archie's'. One of 'em was "I wonder what size body bag I take?" Don't know why that'd upset anyone seeing as how that question had no doubt crossed the mind of most every man-jack in the place. Can't say I was all that eager to crawl into one of the bags just to find out. On the other hand it was an honest question. Should I ever be slid into one I probably wouldn't be aware enough to check out the size label.
A minute later I added, "Just think guys, in three weeks we'll be on our way to Vietnam." Didn't go over big either. Like I said, we know where we're going but sure don't want to think about it. Hogs to the slaughter. Not a one of us seems excited about where we're going. But then, no one talks much about it. We had this one guy who took a stand. Went on a hunger strike to either protest the war or show that he wasn't all that happy about having to take part in it. Hard to separate fear and morality. He stopped eating for about a week then disappeared. I suppose he'll spend the rest of his enlistment in the stockade. Don't know why but his protest pissed me off. A lot of others also. It's not that I think this is a good war because I don't. But I just can't help thinking he chickened out. Wasn't able to suck it up and do something completely stupid that might cost him his life. Kind of like he spit at us because we were going. That's not exactly it but it sure is part of how I feel. I wish I wasn't here but I am so I might as well finish what I started. And if I don't go, someone else will take my place. Yeah, I guess we're screwed, glued and tattooed.
Archie
Saturday, October 17, 2015
Friday, September 25, 2015
Bumbling Around II
Thoughts like these have passed through my head for decades. Could be it's time for Emil to bring them out in the open. As usual I don't know where this will go. Good chance it'll be erased when I'm done. Done that before. Not fun but when something sucks, it sucks.
Woke up this morning thinking about what it'd be like if I hadn't. As far as I know, not waking up happens but once in a lifetime and with luck, once is enough. Anyhow, death was on my mind. Not unusual when you're gettin' on in years. Not unusual at any time for that matter. Dying's the one thing I know for sure will happen. S'pose there's a comfort in knowing but I can't say I feel all that comforted when I think of it. But that's not the gist of where I wandered from there.
What may or may not happen after I die is the interesting part. Anyhow that's where the thought left me till I was back from shopping down in Grand Marais and eyeballin' the loom of a paddle I was carving. Been into making paddles lately. Don't have a need for more than three or four but they're fun to carve. Start out with boards, saw 'em into strips, glue 'em up and carve 'em out. Carve's a fine word. Sounds like I go at it with knives, spokeshaves and planes. All hands on and eyeball true. Well, that's partly true. Throw in the band saw and belt sander and you're gettin' close. Still, it's all handwork and the finished product is eyeball true. Also's a good builder of concentration. Can't let my mind wander too far or I'll just have a little more kindling for the wood stove.
I've got a pretty good idea what'll happen to my body. Become one with the worms and microbes, eventually, if I'm lucky, the left nut of a moose. But the pea brain that lives in my head, the one who pays attention so the saw band stays outside the line, most anything might happen to that fella after his body craps out. Maybe nothing, maybe on a cloud honkin' away on a kazoo. Frankly I kind of doubt the latter. Maybe all of me'll break up and become parts of other things. It's a big universe out there, over time a person could get spread out pretty thin. Maybe all the way to nothing. So maybe a person's not completely dead till the last atom breaks up into something else. Back when I was a kid, my old man'd occasionally ask me what I was thinkin'. Instead of the embarrassing truth I'd usually say, "Nothin'." Could be I already knew where my future lay.
Most every trip into town I pay a visit to the library. The printed word's important to me. 'Course there's words and there's words. Good writing makes me stop and think for a while. Pause a moment and stare off into the woods lost in thought. Sometimes it's just a sentence that could as easily have been left out of the story. Like a mention of a plains Indian tribe, could have been the Comanches, and their belief on time. Seems they figured time never moved or didn't exist in the first place. That it's always now, people and things move but not time. Had that thought myself. Don't know how Einstein and all the physicists would take to the no time idea. Same goes for the four dimensions they claim we live in. All those things, length, width, depth and time are just ideas. Just our human way of explaining the real world. Adding onto it. Not the same as running a doug-fir sliver into my index finger when I'm checking the round of a canoe paddle loom. Damn that smarts. Doesn't mean our scientific way of explaining things ain't apropos but does mean it's a human thing and may or may not have any relation to anything. Except maybe my band saw and all the other tools I'm using that wouldn't exist unless we were figuring stuff out mentally.
Or for that matter, all the contraptions we use to make war. Like the one my nephew Archie is caught in the middle of. I've heard shit happens and not all of it can be used to help plants grow.
Woke up this morning thinking about what it'd be like if I hadn't. As far as I know, not waking up happens but once in a lifetime and with luck, once is enough. Anyhow, death was on my mind. Not unusual when you're gettin' on in years. Not unusual at any time for that matter. Dying's the one thing I know for sure will happen. S'pose there's a comfort in knowing but I can't say I feel all that comforted when I think of it. But that's not the gist of where I wandered from there.
What may or may not happen after I die is the interesting part. Anyhow that's where the thought left me till I was back from shopping down in Grand Marais and eyeballin' the loom of a paddle I was carving. Been into making paddles lately. Don't have a need for more than three or four but they're fun to carve. Start out with boards, saw 'em into strips, glue 'em up and carve 'em out. Carve's a fine word. Sounds like I go at it with knives, spokeshaves and planes. All hands on and eyeball true. Well, that's partly true. Throw in the band saw and belt sander and you're gettin' close. Still, it's all handwork and the finished product is eyeball true. Also's a good builder of concentration. Can't let my mind wander too far or I'll just have a little more kindling for the wood stove.
I've got a pretty good idea what'll happen to my body. Become one with the worms and microbes, eventually, if I'm lucky, the left nut of a moose. But the pea brain that lives in my head, the one who pays attention so the saw band stays outside the line, most anything might happen to that fella after his body craps out. Maybe nothing, maybe on a cloud honkin' away on a kazoo. Frankly I kind of doubt the latter. Maybe all of me'll break up and become parts of other things. It's a big universe out there, over time a person could get spread out pretty thin. Maybe all the way to nothing. So maybe a person's not completely dead till the last atom breaks up into something else. Back when I was a kid, my old man'd occasionally ask me what I was thinkin'. Instead of the embarrassing truth I'd usually say, "Nothin'." Could be I already knew where my future lay.
Most every trip into town I pay a visit to the library. The printed word's important to me. 'Course there's words and there's words. Good writing makes me stop and think for a while. Pause a moment and stare off into the woods lost in thought. Sometimes it's just a sentence that could as easily have been left out of the story. Like a mention of a plains Indian tribe, could have been the Comanches, and their belief on time. Seems they figured time never moved or didn't exist in the first place. That it's always now, people and things move but not time. Had that thought myself. Don't know how Einstein and all the physicists would take to the no time idea. Same goes for the four dimensions they claim we live in. All those things, length, width, depth and time are just ideas. Just our human way of explaining the real world. Adding onto it. Not the same as running a doug-fir sliver into my index finger when I'm checking the round of a canoe paddle loom. Damn that smarts. Doesn't mean our scientific way of explaining things ain't apropos but does mean it's a human thing and may or may not have any relation to anything. Except maybe my band saw and all the other tools I'm using that wouldn't exist unless we were figuring stuff out mentally.
Or for that matter, all the contraptions we use to make war. Like the one my nephew Archie is caught in the middle of. I've heard shit happens and not all of it can be used to help plants grow.
Thursday, September 10, 2015
Bumbling Around
Going through one of those times in life where I'm not gettin' much done. A while back I built a lean-to on the side of the cabin. My outdoor work space. She's not much more than a twenty foot long shed roof with post supports, a deck floor atop a half dozen small piers and a couple of power outlets. Still had a pile of unused lumber and plywood so I threw together a sixteen foot work bench. Next I bit the bullet and headed down to Duluth. There I bought the tools I shoulda had when the cabin went up. Guess that's the story of life in a nutshell. Table saw, band saw and joiner. Put those together and they add up to tables, shelves, cabinets, canoe paddles and a coffin should I feel the need.
While working, my mind drifts. Not all the time, when the saws are fired up it pays to know where my fingers are. Being naturally lazy I find it easier keeping them on my hands than playin' hide and seek with finger tips on the ground.
Today, I had my mind on eyes. Mainly the color of them. Like most Minnesotans I was raised to look a person in the eye and in my growin' up years, did my best to do so. Then I heard the eyes are the windows of the soul. Put the fear of God in me that someone should know what I'd been thinking about. I knew where my thoughts had been even if I'd never physically joined them. Didn't want to let those cats out of the bag. So, over time, my eyes took to dropping and wandered everywhere but straight ahead. Came to know the condition of shoe leather way better than the color of another's eyes.
Over time I came to outgrow my fears. Worked my darndest to look a person in the eye. And almost succeeded. Turned out it's not easy doing three things at the same time. At least for me it ain't. I can listen to a person and look right at their eyes but have no clue what color they are. Tried it once but lost the gist of what the cop was saying. Turned out the right answer to the question, "Are you listening to me?" wasn't "Sorry officer, my thoughts strayed when I looked into your deep blue eyes." Wasn't sure whether he'd come upside my head with his night stick or ask me on a date. Can't say either one appealed to me.
Anyhow, that's how I got into noses. Like the eyes a person's nose says a lot about character. And's nowhere near as dangerous to stare at one. So, next time we meet and it appears I'm looking you in the eye, I'm not. Take no offense, it's just the way I am.
While working, my mind drifts. Not all the time, when the saws are fired up it pays to know where my fingers are. Being naturally lazy I find it easier keeping them on my hands than playin' hide and seek with finger tips on the ground.
Today, I had my mind on eyes. Mainly the color of them. Like most Minnesotans I was raised to look a person in the eye and in my growin' up years, did my best to do so. Then I heard the eyes are the windows of the soul. Put the fear of God in me that someone should know what I'd been thinking about. I knew where my thoughts had been even if I'd never physically joined them. Didn't want to let those cats out of the bag. So, over time, my eyes took to dropping and wandered everywhere but straight ahead. Came to know the condition of shoe leather way better than the color of another's eyes.
Over time I came to outgrow my fears. Worked my darndest to look a person in the eye. And almost succeeded. Turned out it's not easy doing three things at the same time. At least for me it ain't. I can listen to a person and look right at their eyes but have no clue what color they are. Tried it once but lost the gist of what the cop was saying. Turned out the right answer to the question, "Are you listening to me?" wasn't "Sorry officer, my thoughts strayed when I looked into your deep blue eyes." Wasn't sure whether he'd come upside my head with his night stick or ask me on a date. Can't say either one appealed to me.
Anyhow, that's how I got into noses. Like the eyes a person's nose says a lot about character. And's nowhere near as dangerous to stare at one. So, next time we meet and it appears I'm looking you in the eye, I'm not. Take no offense, it's just the way I am.
Monday, September 7, 2015
Letter Two - Archie to Emil
Uncle Emil,
We just marched in from our first bivouac. Can't say it was all that much fun. Not that it was a misery. More that we didn't do anything worth doing. Hiked around a bit, ate food out of green cans and slept on the ground. Never thought to bring a fishing pole. Didn't matter, the only water we saw was in our canteens.
Turns out our cycle is going to be cut a week short because of Christmas. Then we'll be sent home on leave before heading to advanced training. Can't say I mind that at all but it makes me wonder if the Army actually gives a damn about the war in Vietnam. Could be I'm wrong but I doubt training was shut down for a couple of weeks over the holidays during WWII. Somehow it seems like even the drill sergeants want life to be normal. Also go to bed each night being thankful they're not the suckers over in Southeast Asia being shot at.
Only two weeks to go. We chant about our time left each time we march anywhere. What we don't chant is how much time till we head wherever it is we're heading. If the rest of the trainees are like me they don't give much thought to the future. And if they do, that future doesn't involve ending up in a body bag. About all I worry about is getting through each day with as little misery as possible. A little short-sighted but the long view shows thunderheads on the horizon. Reminds me of the storm we weathered on the unnamed lake in Manitoba. Not sure where this storm's heading but it doesn't look good. However, there's plenty of time to dwell on that when the time comes.
I'd write more often but my mind and pen are usually elsewhere. Lauren sends me letters nearly every day and I try to do the same for her. When my thoughts turn homeward, most of them are on her. Our letters are as close as we can come to conversation and conversation's about all we have at the moment. When I wrote earlier about being at the end of a dead end road it was her ultimatum that finally put me there. Said she wouldn't see me till the end of fall semester (I wasn't registered) and I'd squared myself with my family (that's a long story I don't want to get into). So there I was, no school, no relationship with Lauren, not registered for the draft, out of money, no future that I could see. Turned out the draft was my lifeline. Hah, sure didn't see that coming.
And now, here I sit on my bunk, learning to be a trained monkey just like you said. There's a whole universe of humor in that. Oh well, maybe it'll all work out and I'll end up in Hawaii keeping the beaches safe for vacationers. Could say I'm depressed but I'm not. Just floating along, full to bursting with loss. Two years seems like forever. Throw in the possibility of going to war and it's … guess I don't know what it is. And don't want to think about it.
Archie
Only two weeks to go. We chant about our time left each time we march anywhere. What we don't chant is how much time till we head wherever it is we're heading. If the rest of the trainees are like me they don't give much thought to the future. And if they do, that future doesn't involve ending up in a body bag. About all I worry about is getting through each day with as little misery as possible. A little short-sighted but the long view shows thunderheads on the horizon. Reminds me of the storm we weathered on the unnamed lake in Manitoba. Not sure where this storm's heading but it doesn't look good. However, there's plenty of time to dwell on that when the time comes.
I'd write more often but my mind and pen are usually elsewhere. Lauren sends me letters nearly every day and I try to do the same for her. When my thoughts turn homeward, most of them are on her. Our letters are as close as we can come to conversation and conversation's about all we have at the moment. When I wrote earlier about being at the end of a dead end road it was her ultimatum that finally put me there. Said she wouldn't see me till the end of fall semester (I wasn't registered) and I'd squared myself with my family (that's a long story I don't want to get into). So there I was, no school, no relationship with Lauren, not registered for the draft, out of money, no future that I could see. Turned out the draft was my lifeline. Hah, sure didn't see that coming.
And now, here I sit on my bunk, learning to be a trained monkey just like you said. There's a whole universe of humor in that. Oh well, maybe it'll all work out and I'll end up in Hawaii keeping the beaches safe for vacationers. Could say I'm depressed but I'm not. Just floating along, full to bursting with loss. Two years seems like forever. Throw in the possibility of going to war and it's … guess I don't know what it is. And don't want to think about it.
Archie
Tuesday, September 1, 2015
Promised Land - Letter to Archie
Emil's was a mixed marriage. He was raised a Lutheran, took his communion as a symbol. Lena took hers as nothing less than the body and blood of Christ. And took her Catholicism like her eucharist, body and blood. Being an easy going soul, Emil had no problem switching religions in order to marry the love of his life. Went to mass every sunday from the day of their wedding to that of her funeral. Then he was done. Didn't pass through the double doors of any church unless someone was being baptized, married or had passed on to his or her greater reward whatever that might be. When the time came, Emil figured his reward would be to learn the answers to life's most important questions, such as: "Whatever happened to my blue, argyle sock? I know it went into the washing machine but it sure didn't come out of the dryer", or "Whatever happened to my ball on the thirteenth hole down in Alex? I know I drove it in the fairway. Me and the Otte brothers searched for fifteen minutes. Backed up golf traffic to the tenth hole. Damned if we could find it."
Yeah, Emil took life like he found it. Sifted through the important moments to see if a grain of truth might be found on the screen. Felt the same way about his years in church. "There's some truth in nearly everything, even religion. But you've gotta dig through the trash kinda like an archaeologic dig. A body has to move a lot of dirt to find the one pottery chip that'll tell you how it was made and something of the hand that made it."
All well and good but those early years in sunday school stuck with him. Brought up smidgeons of bible lessons most every day. Might have a humorous spin. Might be serious. Either way I found his take entertaining. Even got me thinking once in a while. One of 'em came in a letter he sent.
Dear Archie,
Holy Moses, you wrote. I was beginning to think you were dead. Your's was the first envelope I've received in a long time that didn't have a bill in it. Felt like slicing it open right there in the post office but figured it best to wait a while. Savor the idea it might be worth reading for at least a few hours. Anticipation is good. Once back at the cabin I put it on the end table in the lookout. Saved it for a treat along with my after dinner coffee and one of the english toffee cookies I'd bought at the bakery.
Built the table from the scrap pile under the cabin. She's about two and a half foot square with a full sized shelf beneath. Good spot to stack books. Legs are coupled two by fours of varying wood varieties Top and shelf, left over birch floor boards. Almost pretty if you squint just right. The lamp atop's another salvage job. Rescued it from the land fill. Rewired, polished and topped with a new shade. Works like a charm and only cost five bucks more than a new one.
I finally did read your letter. Three or four times even. Good you finally came to grips with the Draft. Can't be free unless your conscience is clean. Well, mostly clean. No matter what there's always a few skeletons rattling around in there. And now you're enjoying your freedom by becoming a trained monkey. That's the way she goes when you're in the Army. Also another thing you'll have to come to grips with. Everything balances out in the long run, sometimes even in the short. At the end of the bad you'll find some good. Unless, of course, you die before that happens. Wouldn't bring that up but with a war going on I figure you're already aware of the possibility.
I was thinking about balance just the other day. That maybe the Old Testament got the Moses story a little topsy-turvy. Those things happen now and then even in a good book. Maybe God figured the Israelites couldn't handle the real truth. Too tough on 'em. The way the Bible tells it you'd think Moses was one great guy. Well, he wasn't and that's the gospel truth. In fact he was butt-ugly repulsive. Not the way he looked. As looks go he was a knockout. Tall, muscular, maybe even swarthy. Not sure about the last as I don't actually know what swarthy means. Might not be good seein' as how the word's got a wart in the middle. No, Moses was repulsive in the same way magnets can repulse. Opposite poles attract, like ones repel. Some call the force an aura. Most of us have a little bit of an aura. Moses, he had one in spades.
Anyhow, when Moses was born he repulsed his parents 'cause of the like auras. They took one look, screamed out "Monkey!", threw him in a basket - yeah, Moses was the original basket case - and dumped him in the river to get him out of sight. Maybe be adopted by river rats and raised as one of their own. On the other hand, the Egyptians were polar opposites from the Hebrews and it was natural the royal ladies'd see our hero come drifting along and pull the baby out of the rushes. Thought him the cat's pajamas and if you've ever read much about the ancient Egyptians you know how they felt about cats, 'specially the ones in pajamas.
Time passed and Moses grew to be a big man in the big pond of Egypt out there on the desert. Had no problem persecuting Hebrews since he found them as butt-ugly repulsive as they found him. Let me tell you it took him by surprise when the angel of God popped up in a vision while Moses was eating his breakfast of Sphinx Toasties cereal, banana and orange juice and told him he was a Hebrew. Boy was Moses conflicted. So conflicted he went and asked his step-father, the Pharaoh, to let the Hebrews go. Moses figured if they were gone he wouldn't feel so bad about himself. Of course the Pharaoh laughed it off with a "Get real Moses you ain't no Hebrew. You're a mummy-to-be just like the rest of us. And just who do you think'll build our pyramids if we turn the Hebrews loose? And just who'll run the delis? I know for sure it won't be me. Heck, without the Hebrews you and me'll end up wandering the desert for all eternity wrapped in strips of bed sheets with no place to rest our weary fleshless heads. How do think that'll look? And what'll it do to all those B grade movies?"
Moses fell head over sandals for the Pharaoh's line of logic. Fell so hard his aura also did a flip-flop. Began to see the Hebrews in a different light and they, in turn, took a shine to him. And the Egyptians saw him as he really was. Yup, the honeymoon was over and Moses soon found himself doin' overtime as bottom man on the block hoisting crew. Came to know the other end of the whip and found it not to his liking. Pissed him off something fierce. Got so mad his aura did another flip but he was so covered in muck it was hard to tell. However, Moses felt the change this time and slowly figured out how to switch it on and off.
Next time when Moses went to see the Pharaoh he fired up his negative side. Pharaoh took one look and said, "Moses, long time no see. Where you been?" Moses did a "Hiya-ho Phar-e-oh" and just asked for the Hebrews to be set free. But that got him nowhere. Said a simple, "You'll be sorry," and skedaddled. That night he bore down on the negative and sucked in a cloud of grasshoppers. 'Course they ate up all the crops and of course the Pharaoh didn't like that one bit. But he had money in the bank and didn't worry a whole lot where his next meal was coming from. Next day Moses went through the same spiel and Pharaoh, of course, did the same. Moses left with a simple, "You'll be sorrier." Next fell a plague of frogs and whatnot. Chariots slidin' in the frog slime caused one big time traffic jam come rush hour. 'Course Pharaoh didn't much care 'cause he lived where he worked.
This went on for a while, Pharaoh sayin' no and Moses sayin' "sorrier" all the time. Here's where the Bible gets it wrong. Over the next few weeks the plagues kept gettin bigger and the animals came from all over. Cats, dogs, kinkajous, gnus, sheep, even holy cows ( I know, I know, not a one was bad enough on its own to change Pharaoh's mind. But figure they were crushing down on the Egyptians and Hebrews and the result was not good at all). Pharaoh, he didn't mind at all. Had his street crews sweep up the mess, barbecue the beasts and held country-wide parties to eat the spoils. Good time was had by all. Till the first rhino fell. Yup, the rhino was the straw. Camel's backs broken, people crushed, houses flattened and the smell was something awful. Don't know if you've ever enjoyed the fragrance of festering, sun-rotting rhino but even if you have, try to imagine a couple hundred thousand of them perking away on the streets of old Thebes. Well, Pharaoh didn't have to imagine and he called for Moses. Told him to gather up all the Hebrews and blow the coop. And take the stink with him.
Incidentally, that's how Moses parted the Red Sea. Fired up his repulsive side and the water just scampered aside to get out of the way.
So that's my convoluted advice to you about going to Vietnam. Don't prejudge. There's balance in everything. There's bad in the good and good in the bad. What seems your darkest hour can be the turning point in your life. Less, of course, you get killed in the process. But even that might have its upside. Not sure what that might be but I have my hopes.
By the by, just finished reading The Grapes of Wrath. Kind of a promised land story the way Steinbeck told it. Got me thinking of promised lands and how they've played out over the years. 'Bout all I can say for sure is sometimes they're there, sometimes they're not and I have my doubts about the promised part.
Yours in good fishing,
Emil
All well and good but those early years in sunday school stuck with him. Brought up smidgeons of bible lessons most every day. Might have a humorous spin. Might be serious. Either way I found his take entertaining. Even got me thinking once in a while. One of 'em came in a letter he sent.
Dear Archie,
Holy Moses, you wrote. I was beginning to think you were dead. Your's was the first envelope I've received in a long time that didn't have a bill in it. Felt like slicing it open right there in the post office but figured it best to wait a while. Savor the idea it might be worth reading for at least a few hours. Anticipation is good. Once back at the cabin I put it on the end table in the lookout. Saved it for a treat along with my after dinner coffee and one of the english toffee cookies I'd bought at the bakery.
Built the table from the scrap pile under the cabin. She's about two and a half foot square with a full sized shelf beneath. Good spot to stack books. Legs are coupled two by fours of varying wood varieties Top and shelf, left over birch floor boards. Almost pretty if you squint just right. The lamp atop's another salvage job. Rescued it from the land fill. Rewired, polished and topped with a new shade. Works like a charm and only cost five bucks more than a new one.
I finally did read your letter. Three or four times even. Good you finally came to grips with the Draft. Can't be free unless your conscience is clean. Well, mostly clean. No matter what there's always a few skeletons rattling around in there. And now you're enjoying your freedom by becoming a trained monkey. That's the way she goes when you're in the Army. Also another thing you'll have to come to grips with. Everything balances out in the long run, sometimes even in the short. At the end of the bad you'll find some good. Unless, of course, you die before that happens. Wouldn't bring that up but with a war going on I figure you're already aware of the possibility.
I was thinking about balance just the other day. That maybe the Old Testament got the Moses story a little topsy-turvy. Those things happen now and then even in a good book. Maybe God figured the Israelites couldn't handle the real truth. Too tough on 'em. The way the Bible tells it you'd think Moses was one great guy. Well, he wasn't and that's the gospel truth. In fact he was butt-ugly repulsive. Not the way he looked. As looks go he was a knockout. Tall, muscular, maybe even swarthy. Not sure about the last as I don't actually know what swarthy means. Might not be good seein' as how the word's got a wart in the middle. No, Moses was repulsive in the same way magnets can repulse. Opposite poles attract, like ones repel. Some call the force an aura. Most of us have a little bit of an aura. Moses, he had one in spades.
Anyhow, when Moses was born he repulsed his parents 'cause of the like auras. They took one look, screamed out "Monkey!", threw him in a basket - yeah, Moses was the original basket case - and dumped him in the river to get him out of sight. Maybe be adopted by river rats and raised as one of their own. On the other hand, the Egyptians were polar opposites from the Hebrews and it was natural the royal ladies'd see our hero come drifting along and pull the baby out of the rushes. Thought him the cat's pajamas and if you've ever read much about the ancient Egyptians you know how they felt about cats, 'specially the ones in pajamas.
Time passed and Moses grew to be a big man in the big pond of Egypt out there on the desert. Had no problem persecuting Hebrews since he found them as butt-ugly repulsive as they found him. Let me tell you it took him by surprise when the angel of God popped up in a vision while Moses was eating his breakfast of Sphinx Toasties cereal, banana and orange juice and told him he was a Hebrew. Boy was Moses conflicted. So conflicted he went and asked his step-father, the Pharaoh, to let the Hebrews go. Moses figured if they were gone he wouldn't feel so bad about himself. Of course the Pharaoh laughed it off with a "Get real Moses you ain't no Hebrew. You're a mummy-to-be just like the rest of us. And just who do you think'll build our pyramids if we turn the Hebrews loose? And just who'll run the delis? I know for sure it won't be me. Heck, without the Hebrews you and me'll end up wandering the desert for all eternity wrapped in strips of bed sheets with no place to rest our weary fleshless heads. How do think that'll look? And what'll it do to all those B grade movies?"
Moses fell head over sandals for the Pharaoh's line of logic. Fell so hard his aura also did a flip-flop. Began to see the Hebrews in a different light and they, in turn, took a shine to him. And the Egyptians saw him as he really was. Yup, the honeymoon was over and Moses soon found himself doin' overtime as bottom man on the block hoisting crew. Came to know the other end of the whip and found it not to his liking. Pissed him off something fierce. Got so mad his aura did another flip but he was so covered in muck it was hard to tell. However, Moses felt the change this time and slowly figured out how to switch it on and off.
Next time when Moses went to see the Pharaoh he fired up his negative side. Pharaoh took one look and said, "Moses, long time no see. Where you been?" Moses did a "Hiya-ho Phar-e-oh" and just asked for the Hebrews to be set free. But that got him nowhere. Said a simple, "You'll be sorry," and skedaddled. That night he bore down on the negative and sucked in a cloud of grasshoppers. 'Course they ate up all the crops and of course the Pharaoh didn't like that one bit. But he had money in the bank and didn't worry a whole lot where his next meal was coming from. Next day Moses went through the same spiel and Pharaoh, of course, did the same. Moses left with a simple, "You'll be sorrier." Next fell a plague of frogs and whatnot. Chariots slidin' in the frog slime caused one big time traffic jam come rush hour. 'Course Pharaoh didn't much care 'cause he lived where he worked.
This went on for a while, Pharaoh sayin' no and Moses sayin' "sorrier" all the time. Here's where the Bible gets it wrong. Over the next few weeks the plagues kept gettin bigger and the animals came from all over. Cats, dogs, kinkajous, gnus, sheep, even holy cows ( I know, I know, not a one was bad enough on its own to change Pharaoh's mind. But figure they were crushing down on the Egyptians and Hebrews and the result was not good at all). Pharaoh, he didn't mind at all. Had his street crews sweep up the mess, barbecue the beasts and held country-wide parties to eat the spoils. Good time was had by all. Till the first rhino fell. Yup, the rhino was the straw. Camel's backs broken, people crushed, houses flattened and the smell was something awful. Don't know if you've ever enjoyed the fragrance of festering, sun-rotting rhino but even if you have, try to imagine a couple hundred thousand of them perking away on the streets of old Thebes. Well, Pharaoh didn't have to imagine and he called for Moses. Told him to gather up all the Hebrews and blow the coop. And take the stink with him.
Incidentally, that's how Moses parted the Red Sea. Fired up his repulsive side and the water just scampered aside to get out of the way.
So that's my convoluted advice to you about going to Vietnam. Don't prejudge. There's balance in everything. There's bad in the good and good in the bad. What seems your darkest hour can be the turning point in your life. Less, of course, you get killed in the process. But even that might have its upside. Not sure what that might be but I have my hopes.
By the by, just finished reading The Grapes of Wrath. Kind of a promised land story the way Steinbeck told it. Got me thinking of promised lands and how they've played out over the years. 'Bout all I can say for sure is sometimes they're there, sometimes they're not and I have my doubts about the promised part.
Yours in good fishing,
Emil
Saturday, August 29, 2015
Letter One - Emil's Epilogue IV
I pick up my mail down at the post office in Hovland. Rarely there's anything so I only grab it on my way to and from somewhere else. Wasn't for taxes, car insurance, the monthly electric bill - got power in the fall of '66 - and the occasional letter there'd be no reason for a box. Have to admit I do like it when people write. Learned years ago the best way to get a letter is to write one. Prime the pump.
The first year Archie wrote me every month or so. We did our last trip in the spring of '66 then he was back to the Cities for a summer job. Didn't say much about the U, just that he was still going. After that the letters slowed. Come the winter of '67 they stopped. His mother wrote me he'd bought a car and she also saw him less and less. Guess I'll stop there and let Archie's letter from the fall of '68 fill in the blanks:
Dear Uncle Emil,
It's been a while hasn't it? Guess you can tell from the return address things have changed in my life. Big time. At the moment I'm sitting on my bunk surrounded by the quiet of a sunday morning barracks. It's an easy day. The men in the Smokie Bear hats are sleeping in. Went to Mass the first two weeks in Basic but it was too much like drill. When the priest said we should yell our responses like we were in formation I figured God must be pretty far away or He could hear us just fine. Made me long for the days of digging pier holes. Never figured work would put me closer to God than church. Live and learn.
So that's why I'm sitting here writing. Outside of the fact that I miss you and the good times we had. You probably know exactly what I mean. Quiet is good. Especially when you're going through training and there's a war going on.
I'll cut my story short for now. Bought a car a little over a year ago. Fell in love eight months ago. Dropped out of school, ran out of money and ended up nose to the wall at the wrong end of a dead end road. No way was my life going anywhere. Felt liked been living a lie. Still in love and knew that relationship was going nowhere until I became an honest man and found an honorable direction to my life. Didn't know where to turn till the Draft popped into my head one particularly bad morning. All of a sudden it didn't seem all that big a deal to walk in and tell the truth.
Didn't know who to see or where to start so I headed for a recruiting office. Must have brightened their day seeing as how the two sergeants were sitting around twiddling their thumbs. Could be there's not a whole lot of young men fired up enough about volunteering for an unpopular war to keep things hopping in an enlistment station. Then there was me. Mr. Sunshine. I fired off the whole spiel about not having registered and that I was their man should they want me. Turned out there was nothing they could do. Said I needed to go find my local Draft Board and deal with them first. Lucky for me they knew just where it was or I'd have no doubt chickened out if I'd had to find it on my own.
I found the old guys upstairs above a Merwin drugstore in a strip mall. Been by the door many times over the years but never consciously saw the name. Yeah, they were old guys. Probably left over WWI vets or maybe a bunch of old farts who had nothing better to do with their time. Looked like I should dust them off before I began.
Started out by saying I wanted to volunteer for the Draft. Let them know my intentions were good. Maybe cut down on the chewing out I was going to get. When I followed up with my real problem, outside of being stupid enough to volunteer for the Draft, they took it well. Couple of "tut-tuts " and "tsk-tsks" and they were done. Signed me up on the spot and told me my greetings from the President would arrive in the mail shortly.
Six weeks later I headed to the Federal Building downtown to be inspected, inducted and shipped off to Fort Campbell. I was sure one unhappy soul. A couple of days later during processing a man with two bars on his shoulder (four if you count both sides) suggested I learn Vietnamese to aid me in my tour of Southeast Asia. Also suggested I might consider signing up for a third year. Said that way I'd spend my time in supply instead of inside a body bag. Probably a good deal but couldn't see any possible glory in handing out underwear.
On the upside, haircuts here are cheap (and thorough) but we have to get one each week. The clothes are free and we get all the guidance a man could want. I've come to fear having someone jump on my Johnson even though I don't know what my Johnson is. I'd ask but figure they'd show me by jumping dead on or maybe in it. Other bad places to have someone jump are on your dick or in your shit. Leads me to think the Johnson lies elsewhere. Don't know if the food is good or bad but my stomach fears there won't be enough.
So here I sit. Can't say I'm happy but can say I created my own problem and am now paying the price. Oh well, guess there's always a price to pay no matter what you do. Maybe it'll turn out for the best.
Archie
P.S. What you said a couple of years ago, about me and the Draft, was pretty much on the money. Got any wisdom for a fool who's on the short track to Vietnam?
Still have the letter and all the rest he sent. I wasn't thrilled he ended up in the Army. Vietnam's a war of stupidity. Not one a sane man would want to take part in. As to Archie's problem with the Draft Board, I was only guessing. Saying words that came out of nowhere. Probably the same place ideas come from. Out there, or in there somewhere on the other side of the invisible wall. You know, like the one you cross when you fall asleep. Guess I'll leave it there for now.
The first year Archie wrote me every month or so. We did our last trip in the spring of '66 then he was back to the Cities for a summer job. Didn't say much about the U, just that he was still going. After that the letters slowed. Come the winter of '67 they stopped. His mother wrote me he'd bought a car and she also saw him less and less. Guess I'll stop there and let Archie's letter from the fall of '68 fill in the blanks:
Dear Uncle Emil,
It's been a while hasn't it? Guess you can tell from the return address things have changed in my life. Big time. At the moment I'm sitting on my bunk surrounded by the quiet of a sunday morning barracks. It's an easy day. The men in the Smokie Bear hats are sleeping in. Went to Mass the first two weeks in Basic but it was too much like drill. When the priest said we should yell our responses like we were in formation I figured God must be pretty far away or He could hear us just fine. Made me long for the days of digging pier holes. Never figured work would put me closer to God than church. Live and learn.
So that's why I'm sitting here writing. Outside of the fact that I miss you and the good times we had. You probably know exactly what I mean. Quiet is good. Especially when you're going through training and there's a war going on.
I'll cut my story short for now. Bought a car a little over a year ago. Fell in love eight months ago. Dropped out of school, ran out of money and ended up nose to the wall at the wrong end of a dead end road. No way was my life going anywhere. Felt liked been living a lie. Still in love and knew that relationship was going nowhere until I became an honest man and found an honorable direction to my life. Didn't know where to turn till the Draft popped into my head one particularly bad morning. All of a sudden it didn't seem all that big a deal to walk in and tell the truth.
Didn't know who to see or where to start so I headed for a recruiting office. Must have brightened their day seeing as how the two sergeants were sitting around twiddling their thumbs. Could be there's not a whole lot of young men fired up enough about volunteering for an unpopular war to keep things hopping in an enlistment station. Then there was me. Mr. Sunshine. I fired off the whole spiel about not having registered and that I was their man should they want me. Turned out there was nothing they could do. Said I needed to go find my local Draft Board and deal with them first. Lucky for me they knew just where it was or I'd have no doubt chickened out if I'd had to find it on my own.
I found the old guys upstairs above a Merwin drugstore in a strip mall. Been by the door many times over the years but never consciously saw the name. Yeah, they were old guys. Probably left over WWI vets or maybe a bunch of old farts who had nothing better to do with their time. Looked like I should dust them off before I began.
Started out by saying I wanted to volunteer for the Draft. Let them know my intentions were good. Maybe cut down on the chewing out I was going to get. When I followed up with my real problem, outside of being stupid enough to volunteer for the Draft, they took it well. Couple of "tut-tuts " and "tsk-tsks" and they were done. Signed me up on the spot and told me my greetings from the President would arrive in the mail shortly.
Six weeks later I headed to the Federal Building downtown to be inspected, inducted and shipped off to Fort Campbell. I was sure one unhappy soul. A couple of days later during processing a man with two bars on his shoulder (four if you count both sides) suggested I learn Vietnamese to aid me in my tour of Southeast Asia. Also suggested I might consider signing up for a third year. Said that way I'd spend my time in supply instead of inside a body bag. Probably a good deal but couldn't see any possible glory in handing out underwear.
On the upside, haircuts here are cheap (and thorough) but we have to get one each week. The clothes are free and we get all the guidance a man could want. I've come to fear having someone jump on my Johnson even though I don't know what my Johnson is. I'd ask but figure they'd show me by jumping dead on or maybe in it. Other bad places to have someone jump are on your dick or in your shit. Leads me to think the Johnson lies elsewhere. Don't know if the food is good or bad but my stomach fears there won't be enough.
So here I sit. Can't say I'm happy but can say I created my own problem and am now paying the price. Oh well, guess there's always a price to pay no matter what you do. Maybe it'll turn out for the best.
Archie
P.S. What you said a couple of years ago, about me and the Draft, was pretty much on the money. Got any wisdom for a fool who's on the short track to Vietnam?
Still have the letter and all the rest he sent. I wasn't thrilled he ended up in the Army. Vietnam's a war of stupidity. Not one a sane man would want to take part in. As to Archie's problem with the Draft Board, I was only guessing. Saying words that came out of nowhere. Probably the same place ideas come from. Out there, or in there somewhere on the other side of the invisible wall. You know, like the one you cross when you fall asleep. Guess I'll leave it there for now.
Sunday, August 23, 2015
Walnut Apocalypse
Tales like this pop up outta nowhere. Probably would have been a good idea if it'd stayed in hiding but my grandson Jakob was nearby. Being nine years old he's about the right age and mindset for this style of story so I laid it on him. Yeah, he did me proud by laughing. Probably had the same image in his head. 'Course it wasn't exactly like what follows but the gist was there. Anyhow, it goes like this:
Once in a while Emil'd catch me off guard. Say something so far out in left field I figured he must have slipped through a hole in time to a world most of us have no clue is there. Yeah, there's other people in the world who do the same thing. Could be you know a few. Odds are you weren't in the same canoe or alone in the boonies with the crazy man like I was.
We were up on the border lakes, believe it was Watap and were sittin' around camp on a late and cloudy afternoon. Watap's a long, skinny lake, not much more than river-wide, with some serious, south shore cliffs touring above piles of rubble that made a campsite near impossible. Instead, we were illegally lounging on the Canadian side gettin' up the energy to start dinner. The plan was eggs and sausages along with a bannock. Nothing fancy but when you're outdoors and hungry, most anything goes down well. First things first, we started with the bread. Emil began by pounding up a ball of dough, worked in a generous dollop of a cinnamon-sugar mixture and raisins, spread it inch thick in the larded pan, browned the bottom of the loaf, then tipped 'er face to the fire we'd built and burnt to coals. While the bread baked I grabbed my rod and wandered down to the water. Not so much with the idea I'd catch anything but heck, we were on the Canadian border. Yeah, I had my hopes.
Those hopes were for smallmouth bass. Back then I had a thing for smallies. Still do. Not sure if it's their red eyes or never-ending fight. Turned out it didn't matter since I didn't hook a one. But I wasn't skunked. No sir, my slip-bobbered jig and pork rind turned up a half dozen walleyes, kept half. In twenty minutes our menu changed. Fresh food trumped store-bought and three fifteen inchers would go down fine with the eggs and bread.
But that's not what this memory's about. I recall it being between walleye's two and three that Emil wandered down from the fire ring. Couple of minutes earlier I'd heard him chuckling to himself. Not a good sign. Emil's solitary chuckle most always meant he was working up something to share. Since mine was the only set of ears within ten miles that meant me. For a moment I considered grabbing the Grumman and paddling to mid-lake 'til he calmed down. Instead I stood my ground, continued to fish and took my medicine like the man I hoped to become.
He didn't jump right in. Waded in like the water was cold. Seemed Emil was never in a hurry when he was bustin' a gut to let something out. Watched me fling a few casts. Even let me hook up and land a walleye before he started,
"Last August I woke up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. Been havin' a nightmare. Don't know how or why, dreams make me figure that out on my own, but the two of us were arm wrestling in Furlong's House of Ill Brew down in Parkers. Me and a dinosaur that is. Big fella. One of them tyrannosaurus rex's with the little arms. No more than forty inch biceps. Long story short, I beat it (not sure if it was a boy or girl. Didn't figure it was my place or anywhere near wise to peek down there.). Actually tore its arm off. Chartreuse blood shootin' out everywhere. Talk about pissed. Last thing I recall was the big, yellow teeth just before they woulda snapped my head off."
"Woke up in the morning thinkin' there was a message in that dream. Maybe something to do with beer, bars, arms or extinction. Figured the latter more likely and trotted off to the cities 'cause of their big libraries. Did some research on why and how the dinosaurs disappeared. Checked both the science and science fiction sections. Even checked the Children's Room and read a few stories about a monkey who kept getting in trouble. Found nothing more than wild guesses and conjecture. Turned out it was up to me to solve the mystery."
'Put on my thinking cap - mine says 'Olberding's Equipment and Burial Service' on the front - and headed outdoors to walk my way to a solution. Learned year's ago I figured things out best when afoot. Wasn't more than a couple of blocks when the idea hit me. Squirrels. Down on Hennepin Avenue I came on the biggest squirrel I'd ever seen, staring down from a sign atop the entrance of a strip joint by the name of 'The Copper Squirrel.' You don't believe me, have a look for yourself. Struck me the combination of big squirrel on the outside and naked truth inside was just too much of a coincidence to ignore. Figured it the voice of God. And kinda like Jesus hanging out with the lower classes. Christ were to come back you wouldn't find him sailing on Lake Minnetonka. No sir, he'd be down here with the hooligans and hookers. And just maybe a sod buster from up in Parkers Prairie seeking an answer of great historic import."
"Gave it a few turns around the block and came up with an answer. All the books said not everything died when the dinosaurs took a hike. Nope, it seems the scroungers did just fine. Small rodents and whatnot. Got me wondering why. Then I recalled a picture of some fossils from about the same time, near a hundred million years ago. Wasn't much more than some softball-sized, oval-shaped tracks in the rock. The scientists gave those tracks some convoluted latin names that made no sense to me. What did make sense was their size, shape and that they were mixed in with some bone prints."
"Puttin' two and two together, a little interpretation, and a dash of interpolation I figured those ovals to be nuts. Most likely acorns and walnuts. Could be those dinosaurs were allergic to nuts. That took care of the herbivores but what about the carnivores? Aha! They were eatin' the small mammals. 'Course we wouldn't have seen them as bein' small. Figure them as dog-sized squirrels."
"All well and good but my idea still seemed too complex to be right. After all, the simplest solution is usually the right one. Gave some thought to modern day squirrels, mice and chipmunks. Also to Disney cartoons. Also to the trees drawn in the books at the library. Saw the big picture and the solution was obvious."
"Back when the dinosaurs disappeared there were palm trees that grew giant acorns and walnuts. Near the size of coconuts. Now palm trees don't have branches. No place for a rodent to store nuts. So they used the only cavities of size they could find and stuffed their stash up the backsides of the dinosaurs. 'Course that plugged the beasts up something awful. Fatally even. Over a few decades they all died off. The more the big guys ate, the quicker they died. The quicker they died, the more rodents that survived to stuff nuts up the backsides of dinosaurs and so on. Makes sense to me. Could even be that's where our saying 'cram it with walnuts' comes from."
'Bout then I had my third keeper. Time for dinner. "You know Uncle Emil, I kind of have to agree with you. As to your solution of the extinction mystery, there's no doubt in my mind that it's nuts."
Once in a while Emil'd catch me off guard. Say something so far out in left field I figured he must have slipped through a hole in time to a world most of us have no clue is there. Yeah, there's other people in the world who do the same thing. Could be you know a few. Odds are you weren't in the same canoe or alone in the boonies with the crazy man like I was.
We were up on the border lakes, believe it was Watap and were sittin' around camp on a late and cloudy afternoon. Watap's a long, skinny lake, not much more than river-wide, with some serious, south shore cliffs touring above piles of rubble that made a campsite near impossible. Instead, we were illegally lounging on the Canadian side gettin' up the energy to start dinner. The plan was eggs and sausages along with a bannock. Nothing fancy but when you're outdoors and hungry, most anything goes down well. First things first, we started with the bread. Emil began by pounding up a ball of dough, worked in a generous dollop of a cinnamon-sugar mixture and raisins, spread it inch thick in the larded pan, browned the bottom of the loaf, then tipped 'er face to the fire we'd built and burnt to coals. While the bread baked I grabbed my rod and wandered down to the water. Not so much with the idea I'd catch anything but heck, we were on the Canadian border. Yeah, I had my hopes.
Those hopes were for smallmouth bass. Back then I had a thing for smallies. Still do. Not sure if it's their red eyes or never-ending fight. Turned out it didn't matter since I didn't hook a one. But I wasn't skunked. No sir, my slip-bobbered jig and pork rind turned up a half dozen walleyes, kept half. In twenty minutes our menu changed. Fresh food trumped store-bought and three fifteen inchers would go down fine with the eggs and bread.
But that's not what this memory's about. I recall it being between walleye's two and three that Emil wandered down from the fire ring. Couple of minutes earlier I'd heard him chuckling to himself. Not a good sign. Emil's solitary chuckle most always meant he was working up something to share. Since mine was the only set of ears within ten miles that meant me. For a moment I considered grabbing the Grumman and paddling to mid-lake 'til he calmed down. Instead I stood my ground, continued to fish and took my medicine like the man I hoped to become.
He didn't jump right in. Waded in like the water was cold. Seemed Emil was never in a hurry when he was bustin' a gut to let something out. Watched me fling a few casts. Even let me hook up and land a walleye before he started,
"Last August I woke up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. Been havin' a nightmare. Don't know how or why, dreams make me figure that out on my own, but the two of us were arm wrestling in Furlong's House of Ill Brew down in Parkers. Me and a dinosaur that is. Big fella. One of them tyrannosaurus rex's with the little arms. No more than forty inch biceps. Long story short, I beat it (not sure if it was a boy or girl. Didn't figure it was my place or anywhere near wise to peek down there.). Actually tore its arm off. Chartreuse blood shootin' out everywhere. Talk about pissed. Last thing I recall was the big, yellow teeth just before they woulda snapped my head off."
"Woke up in the morning thinkin' there was a message in that dream. Maybe something to do with beer, bars, arms or extinction. Figured the latter more likely and trotted off to the cities 'cause of their big libraries. Did some research on why and how the dinosaurs disappeared. Checked both the science and science fiction sections. Even checked the Children's Room and read a few stories about a monkey who kept getting in trouble. Found nothing more than wild guesses and conjecture. Turned out it was up to me to solve the mystery."
'Put on my thinking cap - mine says 'Olberding's Equipment and Burial Service' on the front - and headed outdoors to walk my way to a solution. Learned year's ago I figured things out best when afoot. Wasn't more than a couple of blocks when the idea hit me. Squirrels. Down on Hennepin Avenue I came on the biggest squirrel I'd ever seen, staring down from a sign atop the entrance of a strip joint by the name of 'The Copper Squirrel.' You don't believe me, have a look for yourself. Struck me the combination of big squirrel on the outside and naked truth inside was just too much of a coincidence to ignore. Figured it the voice of God. And kinda like Jesus hanging out with the lower classes. Christ were to come back you wouldn't find him sailing on Lake Minnetonka. No sir, he'd be down here with the hooligans and hookers. And just maybe a sod buster from up in Parkers Prairie seeking an answer of great historic import."
"Gave it a few turns around the block and came up with an answer. All the books said not everything died when the dinosaurs took a hike. Nope, it seems the scroungers did just fine. Small rodents and whatnot. Got me wondering why. Then I recalled a picture of some fossils from about the same time, near a hundred million years ago. Wasn't much more than some softball-sized, oval-shaped tracks in the rock. The scientists gave those tracks some convoluted latin names that made no sense to me. What did make sense was their size, shape and that they were mixed in with some bone prints."
"Puttin' two and two together, a little interpretation, and a dash of interpolation I figured those ovals to be nuts. Most likely acorns and walnuts. Could be those dinosaurs were allergic to nuts. That took care of the herbivores but what about the carnivores? Aha! They were eatin' the small mammals. 'Course we wouldn't have seen them as bein' small. Figure them as dog-sized squirrels."
"All well and good but my idea still seemed too complex to be right. After all, the simplest solution is usually the right one. Gave some thought to modern day squirrels, mice and chipmunks. Also to Disney cartoons. Also to the trees drawn in the books at the library. Saw the big picture and the solution was obvious."
"Back when the dinosaurs disappeared there were palm trees that grew giant acorns and walnuts. Near the size of coconuts. Now palm trees don't have branches. No place for a rodent to store nuts. So they used the only cavities of size they could find and stuffed their stash up the backsides of the dinosaurs. 'Course that plugged the beasts up something awful. Fatally even. Over a few decades they all died off. The more the big guys ate, the quicker they died. The quicker they died, the more rodents that survived to stuff nuts up the backsides of dinosaurs and so on. Makes sense to me. Could even be that's where our saying 'cram it with walnuts' comes from."
'Bout then I had my third keeper. Time for dinner. "You know Uncle Emil, I kind of have to agree with you. As to your solution of the extinction mystery, there's no doubt in my mind that it's nuts."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)