Harmony County

You would figure that when you get to my age, do not ask, I would have enough sense to watch what I say, particularly around my grandkids. But no, I managed to insert both feet in my mouth and this time I pulled out two kittens.

My SGIC, Senior Grandchild In Charge, is a delightful young woman. She has a great heart and by way of illustration when she is not studying at Lander University, she volunteers her time in the local animal adoption center.

Since I am moving to a new home, I casually mentioned that it would be nice if I had some pets around to keep me company. Therein lies the problem. The SGIC heard this remark and took immediate action.

Consequently, I have two new roomies. They are of the young feline persuasion and as such have completely taken over the place. A wise person once observed, “Dogs have owners, cats have staffs”.

Mary Katherine gave them names when she got them. They were ‘Tommie’ and ‘Joey’. I thought that this was rather pedestrian and after a few days of observation, they got the new monikers of ‘Lazy Jake’ and ‘Fast Eddie’ much more appropriate to their personalities.

Lazy Jake is exactly that for most of the day. Cats are notorious for having lousy internal clocks and Jake’s clock needs rewinding. To him yawning is an effort and an occasional trip to the food bowl and the litter box is exhausting. There is an exception to this lack of activity and I will discuss it later.

Fast Eddie on the other hand goes from point A to point B at full speed and he does it all day. He is constantly underfoot and is talking all the time. All this activity leads to Eddie’s major shortfall. He has a serious gas problem that makes one believe he is jet propelled.

Jake has a characteristic not normally associated with pets. At the risk of sounding politically incorrect let me just say that Jake is ‘gender confused’, much to the chagrin of Fast Eddie who does not scratch that way. Draw your own picture, enough said.

The one collective problem I have with the two of them is the daily reenactment of the Oklahoma Land Stampede. Unfortunately, the historical event is celebrated at 4:30 a.m. The Stampede come complete with hisses, spits, growls, head banging and thumps. It lasts for about an hour so I feel like I am back in the Army and the Platoon Sergeant kicks the metal trashcan down the middle of the platoon bay as a wake up call.

They just beat the daylights out of each other so here is a little ditty that describes my roomies;

There once were two cats from Kilkenny.

Each thought there was one cat too many.

So they fought and they spit,

And they scratched and they bit.

Until only their nails and the tips of their tails was left

and the rest of the cats wasn’t any. © 2012, Jim McGowan

We finally caught a financial break here in Harmony County. Up until now, the only businesses that would be considered income generators would be the cottage industries that produce personality-altering substances in either powder or liquid forms.

Just last month we had the grand opening of a plant that manufactures golf carts. The owners of the facility are a major company from the Land of the Rising Sun. The company wishes to be anonymous, but the name rhymes with ‘Omaha’.

The management is almost exclusively from Japan and the workforce is locals. It is odd in that almost to the man the first things that the leadership did after arriving is they rushed out and bought the biggest cars they could find. Then they immediately drove their mega machines to the golf course and joined. It seems that in Japan SUVs that are visible from outer space and golf courses are both expensive and rare.

Things started slow. It seems that Japanese manufacturing processes differ from the ones in the States.

One thing was the requirement that each shift started with a brief session of stretches and exercises.  After some minor complaints, the boys and girls finally grudgingly agreed.

The first sessions were filled with creaks and cracks as if a couple of hundred people were popping their knuckles simultaneously and the jumping jacks could only be described as hilariously uncoordinated. However, eventually the group said that the activity did clear away the cobwebs from the six-pack of the night before and felt generally better for the effort.

However, heels dug in universally when the management insisted that each PT session ended with the group singing the company song. You have to remember that this group only sang songs about; pickup trucks, favorite dogs, and being left by spouses/girl or boy friends/first cousins. Occasionally, they would mumble their way through a hymn, and at the beginning of any sporting event, they sang something that has been called, “The Star Strangled Banner” in the hidden key of R.

However, the worst thing that happened was not the singing requirement. It seems that the plant director was heard on an open mike at a business meeting as referring to the workers as, “a bunch of lazy Americans”. The sushi hit the fan.

The very next day the entire workforce should up wearing t-shirts that had a picture on the front of the first A-bomb, ‘Fat-Man’ with the words, “Built by lazy Americans” on the back was a mushroom cloud and written around it, “And tested in Japan”.

Cooler heads finally prevailed and a deal was brokered. The overseas contingent agreed to lighten up. They would try sour mash, Big Macs and when speaking to two or more workers use the phrase ‘y’all’ (Which sounds funny with the Japanese problem with pronouncing ‘L’.)

The ‘crackers’  said they would stop yelling, ‘bonzai!’ at the beginning of  each shift, not drive their pickups into the sides of the SUVs  and all get Godzilla tattoos. © 2012, Jim McGowan

The Harmony County Quasi-Annual ‘Bark in the Park’ and impromptu dogfight was recently held in the Mildred H. ‘Pack Your Tooth Brush’ Frehr Park. (The park is named after the woman who was the head of the local draft board who once sent a young fellow in a half body cast to the reception station. When the guy was helped off the bus the NCOs took one look, said, “Mildred, right?”, and sent him back

Things started quietly enough with the smaller pooches timidly looking things over and sticking close to their humans. However, when the Great Danes arrived there was some serious tail tucking in the 10 pound or less set.

You could see the thought, “Does that thing come with a saddle?” going through their minds.

The Labradors and the semi- Labs were their usual goofy selves. Some dogs like German Shepard’s and Doberman Pinschers are serious minded and mission oriented. You can call them ‘men’. Labs and Weimaraners are the easy-going types. They are somewhat goofy and if they were human, they would be ‘guys’.

The party started with the usual Frisbee contests and agility demonstrations. This got the tempo up and you could see by the tail wags the dogs were getting with the program. It quickly became territory-marking time.

The wetting of the landscape is always the prelude to the impromptu dogfight. And right on queue it started. By the time the canines were brought under control there were quite a few two leggers wrapped from the knees down in leashes similar to the way calves are wrapped by cowboys at branding time, with similar postures on the ground and some very similar calf noises.

With calm restored and a couple hundred doggy treats distributed it was time for the distribution of the prizes. This is the part of the program that is a bit tricky because the humans have a tendency to ardently believe that their mutt is the best.

All went well up unto the point when, in typical Harmony County fashion, the award for the ugliest dog. I suppose this was to be considered humorous, but the owner of the first place winner did not take it that way.

The ensuing commotion between the owner and the person that handed out the prize made the dogfight look tame in comparison.

I am not fully aware of all the injuries sustained by the trophy presenter, but his proctologist said his patient should eventually recover, however he will walk funny and talk a few octaves higher for the rest of his life.

The dog show ended as many Harmony County public events do with the usual collection of law enforcement officers and first aid providers, but this time there was a contingent of vets dispensing doggy ‘Prozac’ to one and all.

However, there was another group of animals that are going to require therapy. As soon as the animal welfare folks can talk the squirrels down from the highest branches their mental health should be restored. © 2012 Jim McGowan

The day of the big move dawned clear and bright. I know this because there was a familiar pounding on my front door just at dawn. When I opened it there were two deputies there, who were to make certain my move out occurred.

I greeted them with my traditional law enforcement hello, “I want a lawyer”. They assured me that they were not there for the usual reasons, but that the sheriff wanted to guarantee I left town. As an afterthought, they added, “safely”.

The moving crew showed up a bit later and we got on with the physical aspect of the migration. That is to say, we filled the truck ala ‘blivid’, e.g., ten pounds of …, in a five-pound bag.

The house that I am moving into is a bright yellow. Lemons are yellow, a canary is yellow, the ‘no-pass’ stripes in the road are yellow, but this house is YELLOW. It is so yellow that blind people can pass by and tell you it is yellow.

In the town where I am moving it is used as a geographical point of reference as in, “Where can I find a good Irish restaurant?” The reply is, “There is no such thing, however there is a good Irish saloon. Just go three blocks north from the yellow house and make a left. Go halfway down the block and when you see a journalist getting heaved out the door, that is the place”.

When the crew and I got there, waiting was one of my sons and his boy and a few of his friends. Where it took us six hours to load up it took less than an hour to unload. People carrying my junk were coming out of that truck like a platoon of Marines coming out of a landing craft. The downside is that now I am living in a seven-room storage container.

Over the years one has a tendency to accumulate ‘stuff’. For example, when my kids ask themselves, “What are we going to get ‘old da’ for his; birthday, Christmas, or “Talk Like A Pirate Day” (September 19), a bunch of light bulbs come on and a universal conclusion of “a sweater” is reached. Accordingly, I have sweaters that went out of fashion in the Carter Administration.

Another item is ‘veteran underwear’. I do not know why it is so important to hang on to the skivvies I wore when Pat Sullivan won the Heisman in 1971, but I still have them. I guess it is a guy thing.

I was hoping for a neighborly reception from the folks that live around me. You know, a covered dish of say Lobster Thermidor or Beef Bourguignon, but I was disappointed. No one stopped by and the only recognition I got of me moving into the block was an overnight springing up of ‘For Sale’ signs in their front yards. The addition of, “Distress Sale” really hurt.

I guess the old saw is right, ‘Your reputation does precede you’.© 2012 Jim McGowan

With a baseball team worth of grandkids I am forced to experience one of the downsides of that familial relationship. In a four-letter word ‘magazines’.

It seems that a standard fundraising ploy is the selling of subscriptions and to whom else but the Sucker of the Century, and the world’s easiest sale, Grandpa Jim. I have no idea how many sports teams, class trips, and Scout Troops I have supported, but I have not seen the top of my coffee table in years.

My taste in magazines runs to outdoor oriented titles and news and current event weeklies. Well, the money always goes to a good cause, but there is a drawback. Somewhere along the line, one or perhaps more of these publishing companies sold their subscriber list to a group of the most strident tree-hugger organizations around.

Do not get me wrong, I am a firm believer in conservation and wildlife management. However, things, as described by some of the propaganda, are a bit overstated. For instance, WWIII is just around the corner and it will be fought over water.

I do not know where you live, but here in South and the East coast in general you cannot walk five miles in any direction without having your hat float. There are more rivers, streams, lakes, and ponds that will insure that your socks will never get dry.

Nevertheless, if I do not use low capacity toilets and slow flow showerheads I will personally cause an invasion from countries that do not have water resources and death and destruction will follow on an unprecedented scale.

Out West, it might be a different story. However, if you build your home in the middle of the desert or build a huge city on the edge of another desert, I am talking Arizona and Los Angeles, somewhere along the planning stage somebody had to notice that there was no water in those places.

So let us figure out who is going to invade. Canadians, not likely they have more water than we do. The Mexicans, all they have to do is cross the sieve we call a border and it is bath time. That leaves those fun loving, silly willies from the Middle East. Of course, they are going to have to cross an ocean to get here so if they put their Qurans down long enough they may figure out there is a lot of water out there.

Desalinization has been around for quite some time. We have plants in the US and the Saudis have been using it for years. Currently it cost more for the treated water, but scientists and engineers are figuring out how to reduce costs.

In the mean time, the folks out West can use the water saving toilets and showerheads. Maybe they should go back to the old-fashioned, once a week Saturday Night Bath.

I know some of my grandkids would think that is a great idea. In addition, look at all the money we would save on soap.© 2012, Jim McGowan

It used to be, “The right way, the wrong way and the Army way”. We can now add to that, “The VA way”. The bureaucrats at the Veterans Administration hospital have changed the simple instruction of, ‘Pee in the cup” to a six step, fully illustrated poster prominently displayed on the bathroom walls complete with a plastic cover. I guess the cover is for those folks who get a little over enthusiastic or have poor aim.

I must say that the instructions clear things up considerably for me and will go a long way to eliminate the embarrassment of many of we ex-GIs who you see wandering the halls with suspicious wet stains on our trousers. I never would have guessed that Step #1 had to do with unbuttoning your fly. I guess you learn something new every day.

Come on VAers, it only takes six commands to unload an entire planeload of paratroopers into the “sky above”. The most important one, Number 2, “Hook Up” is the only one that really needs personal attention. The jumpmasters with some manhandling and a swift kick can handle the rest.

Another of these helpful instructions is in many government reports. It is currently the rage to label blank pages with “This page intentionally left blank”. This label can be found at the top and sometimes the bottom of the page. What is left out is, “…because you are too dumb to recognize a blank page and need to be told”.

Maybe it is a good thing. Imagine the time I could have saved when I was reading a report, came to a blank page, and spent hours staring at it blankly. Finally, after much contemplation, I would cautiously turn the page and ‘Behold’ more words would be there.

I guess when critics call a book, “A real page turner”; it means that there are a lot of blank pages.

Another thing I cannot get my head around is the four-way stop at a crossroad. Should not the desired results occur if you just put up two stop signs?

There is also a savings to the town because those signs have to be expensive, unless, of course, that one of the politicos has a relative in the sign business or is on the vig.

The two recent fads on TV have got me confused. The first is the popularity of the so-called ‘reality’ shows. If any of that is real then slap my bottom and call me ‘Snooki’.

The other show that has me dumbfounded is the ones dealing with UFOs and monsters. The producers of these shows are so much at a loss for material that there is one entitled, “UFOs in the Bible”. I am not the most religious person, but that one smacks of blasphemy.

I would like to go on record that Big Foot, the Yeti, the Jersey Devil, the South Carolina Democrat, et.al. should be put on the endangered species list and we all can get some peace. © 2012, Jim McGowan

I thought we would explore the legends associated with the Patron Saint of Ireland, the well-known and loved Saint Padriag.

First off, let us cover the one about driving all the snakes out of Ireland. You might just as well say that he drove out all the elephants, or unicorns or jackalopes. Ireland had no snakes. The best they can come up with is a creepy creature called the ‘slow worm’. It is an oversized earthworm good for fish bait and little else. There are still plenty of them there.

The snake legend is loosely connected to the Adam and Eve Bible story. I still maintain that if Eve would have ate the snake instead of the apple we would all be in better shape. At any rate since then snakes have gotten a bad rep and I do not expect to see any kid’s books staring ‘Sidney the Singing Snake’.

Another legend concerns Judgment Day. According to this one Jesus will judge everyone, but the Irish. We Harps will be judge by Saint Patrick. I want to go on record that I want a change of venue. I would have a fighting chance with the Lamb of God. However, Patrick had a bit of temper and did not mind showing it. With Saint P on the bench I figure I am going to spend eternity shoveling coal.

Saint Patrick is credited with converting the inhabitants of the Emerald Isle to Christianity. Well, yeah, kind of I suppose. If you have ever met a more superstitious group of people I have never heard of them. We have banshees, leprechauns and even a prayer that goes “From ghoulies and ghosties and long leggety beasties and things that go bump in the night, Good Lord deliver us”.

I am even called “Black Irish”. Not Shaquile O’Neal or Kobe Bryant black, but being dark haired and dark eyed and of short stature I am supposed to be descended from the original Irish who had mysterious and magical ways.

Not that tall, redheaded, blue-eyed folks like Conan O’Brien are not as Irish as Paddy’s pig. Nevertheless, you can bet there was a Viking or two in his woodpile.

So since there are only two more shopping days until Saint Patrick’s Day and you have not picked out my gift, not to worry. Just drop off the cash in small, non-sequential, unmarked bills at the newspaper office and we will have a dram of ‘Holy Water’ in honor of the Saint. That is if you bring the bottle.

Everyone is Irish on Saint Patrick’s Day. That is not to say you are authorized to do something stupid involving the drink. Go to the parades and the festivals and have a great time. However, if you are going to add alcohol to the mix (Remember that the Irish invented whiskey.) Please make sure you have a designated driver or if not get a taxi.

Saint Patrick died on March 17. There is no reason why you should.© 2012, Jim McGowan