April Lifestyles

February Lifestyle Artic;e

ARE BLACKBIRDS SMARTER THAN A FIFTH GRADER?

They are very smart birds. They speak two languages. Really. They
have one dialect that warns their friends of impending danger. It is
very noisyl
The other one is quieter and they use this
one in everyday conversation with their friends.

My wife hates blackbirds. Sne says they intimadate other birds,
especially smaller ones.
She also hatest the noise. But I'm deaf so the noise doesn't bother
me at all. I think the blackbirds remind her of a Alfred Hitchcok
movie

They hardly ever travel alone. If you see one blackbird, you can be
fairly certain that one
or more are nearby. I have a beautifully illustrated book that claims
you can tell the future
by how many blackbirds you see in your yard. One bird forecasts a
death to come. I think that's right. Two means something
else...three something else. Fortune tellers probably use the book
for reading your fortune. I don't put much stock in the book actually

I don't think my wife likes the idea of birds that are smarter than
her grandchildren.

Apparently there are more 50 species of the common blackbird.
Goodness knows how you tell the difference. They are all black. I
know they come in different sizes. But they all strut the same way.
I love to watch them wallk across the yard. And , my wife is
right...they hog the birdfeeder and make smaller birds get out of the
way. It is a dog eat dog world, as they say.

saluda lifestyles...november 2011

HE THINKS HE IS A RESURRECTION FERN.

     Here in the Lowcountry of S.C., we have some wonderful subtropical plants.  One of my favorites is the resurrection fern.  It grows along the branches of Live Oak trees (also a favorite of mine).  It is almost impossible to kill a resurrection fern.  During dry spells, it turns from green to brown and shrivels up....looks dead.  But if it rains or if the air gets humid...the fern greens up and comes back to life.

 

     I just spent nearly three months in a rehab facility...as I was checking in, they wanted to know if I wanted to be resuscitated.  But I told them "no, I only want to die once, so don't bring me back.  But make sure I am really dead.  I am a shallow breather so sometimes I just look and sound dead.  Put a mirror under my nose before you send me off to the crematory."  They laughed, but I was serious.

 

     There was a younger man standing there and he started talking to me.  He looked like he had just washed up on the beach...had on a Cuban wedding shirt and designer jeans.  He started giving me medical talk and I asked, "Who are you?  A surfer?".  He tried to convince me that he was the main doctor for the

rehab but I told him he didn't look like a doctor and that I would have to see his

certificates.  He said they were back in his office on the wall but I told him. 
Not good enough.  I need to see them."

 

     They took me to my room then.  The guy came by later...told me to drop my pants.  I said, "Drop yours first."  He said, "I'm the doctor!"  And I said, "So you say."

 

     This is a wonderful but old rehab hospital.  The beds looked like they were left over from the Civil War.  Some of the nurses did, too.  And all the patients looked

leftovers.  Except for the physical therapists.  They really know their stuff.  My wife had warned them that I would try to weasel out from anything too strenuous, so they were on to me..  I tried to get out of therapy on Saturday by telling them I was a 7th Day Adventist and it was my Holy Day. (They gave you a banana if you attended church service on Sundays.  I went once, but I wasn't that desperate for a banana.Besides, my family members brought me cheeseburgers and milkshakes when they came .... that is until the dietitian caught them and said she would have to strip search them if they didn't stop..  Actually I lost more than 50 pounds on the rehab food.)

 

     They wanted to know what my goals were.  I told them I wanted to be on Dancing with the Stars, that I wanted to find my goat and I wanted to  be able

to attend my granddaughter's wedding.

     Carol came almost every day...one day she brought her WD40 and was under the bed when the nurse came in.  I explained that my wife was changing my oil.  Carol said it was me that was squeaking and not the bed.

 

     My daughter Laura said the dietitian had bought a new cookbook since the 50s...we had a lot of tuna noodle casserole which I tried to trade for a hot dog.

Speaking of dogs, they were allowed to come visit if they had their shots and brougjht proof...so when my friend Elwyn came to visit, Tallulah (his poodle) came in with him.  She was a hit...my room was filled

with visitors, all trying to pet her.

 

     Actually the Surfer was the doctor.  He saved my life at least twice...once when I got hundreds of bloodclots in my legs.  I decided to change doctors and keep this one when I got out of The Home.  Carol didn't like him much because he called her "babe".  I tried to explain that Cuban men think every woman is a babe but she wants to be called Mrs. Babe.  When I was ready to get out of the rehab place, we made an appointment for the docotor's office.  He said to bring a live chicken...preferably a white rooster and to come after dark.  I have to admit that it is a little strange....it's the first time I've had to go to a doctor and bring a live chicken.

DO, SI, DO......SWING YOUR PARTNER.

     I was so happy to hear about the square dance over at Jamboree.  And about the free lessons.  
Even if you think you can square dance, I would advise taking the lessons...especially you guys.  It's not as easy as it looks.

 

     Years ago when my parents were first married, they ran a square dance place.  It was a covered pavillion by a lake.  
They only operated it on Friday and Saturday nights.  Mp Sunday dancing unless you were shouting and dancing i.  n church.

My Father was the caller and everyone claimed he was good.  My Mother loved to dance and she usually had no trouble finding a partner since she has heavy in the bosom.  My Father made more money selling Moonshine than from selling tickets for square dancing.  Lots

of guys would never get on the dance floor without a few swigs of home brew.  
But that's why you need those free lessons.

 

     Square dancing is fun...even if you don't know how.  But it's dangererous, too.  I would recommend two things for guys:

 

1.  Don't wear a felt or straw cowboy hat.  You might look good but they are very little protection when you are ready ro dance roward and bow to your partner.  i got a huge knot on my head bowing (or butting) to my partner.  She and I were both over enthusiastic.  She didn't get a knot...I think her bangs\

saved her.

 

2.  Wear a motorcyle helmet.

 

I have had two big square dance parties where we hired a square dance club to give lessons and a professional caller to send us around the floor.  My wife said no one would like it, but everyone who didn't get knots on their heads had a great time.

 

For a corporate party, we rented a big barn that had been built just for square dances.  One of my fondest and funniest memories was from the dance.  A guy who worked for me came and brought his wife who really didn't get out a lot (or drink a lot).  The two of them were in our group.  
After dancing for a while, we would have a rest and more instructions.  At one of the rest breaks,

my friend's wife sat down on an open window to have a cigarette.  No one else noticed but me, but

she fell out of the window backwards.  It wasn't a big fall; I saw her legs sticking up in the air but then

they disappeared.

 

When the music started, my friend turned to where his wife had been,  He was surprised that she was not there.  Then he looked to his left...no wife....then he looked on the floor...then he looked up on the ceiling.  I was laughing the whole time and pointing out the windown..  At that point, she was  getting\

herself up obviously wondering where she was and he was saying, " What are you doing out there."

 

I don't think she is coming to the Jamboree Dance.  In fact, I don't think she has ever square danced

again.

 

But you can grab a partner and do-si-do.

 

 

 

SALUDA LIFESTYLES - JUNE

EVEN WHITE GIRLS GET THE BLUES.

 

     I MISS MY FRIEND HELEN.  SHE HAS PASSED  ONE LIKE SO MANY OF MY OTHER FRIENDS.  SHE WAS A GREAT PIANO PLAYER...LOVED TO PLAY THE BLUES.  SHE WAS BORN IN GEORGIA AT A TIME WHEN IT WAS NOT APPROPRIATE FOR NICE WHITE GIRLS TO BE HANGING OUT IN JOOK JOINTS AND PLAYING THE BLUES.  BUT SHE DID IT ANYWAY.

  

     SHE ALSO PLAYED THE PIANO AT THE TOWN MOVIE HOUSE WHEN THEY SHOWED SILENT MOVIES.  SHE DIDN'T PLAY POPULAR SONGS BUT ACTUALLY COMPOSED MUSIC TO FIT THE ACTION ON THE SCREEN.  THAT WAS O.K.

WITH HER DAD AND MOM.  BUT THEY DIDN'T LIKE IT AT ALL WHEN SHE WANDERED DOWN TO THE JOOK JOINT TO LISTEN TO MUSIC ON SATURDAY NIGHT...AND EVEN WORSE WHEN SHE JOINED IN TO PLAY.  THEY TOLD HER SHE WOULD GO TO HELL, BUT SHE WAS WILLING TO GO THERE IF THAT'S WHERE THE GOOD MUSIC WAS BEING PLAYED. 

 

     I DON'T THIN\K SHE'S IN HELL.

 

     SHE COULD PLAY CHURCH MUSIC, TOO.  AND DID.  THAT'S HOW I MET HER.  SHE USED TO COME ONCE A YEAR UP TO MARYLAND TO VISIT HER TWIN DAUGHTERS.  WHEN SHE CAME ONE OF THE DAUGHTERS WOULD FIND AN OLD HYMAL AND WE WOULD HAVE A PRAYER MEETING,  HELEN WOULD FIX US A REAL SOUTHERN DINNER...BLACK EYED PEAS, FRIED CHICKEN, COLLARDS.  AND THEN SHE WOULD PLAY FROM THE HYMNAL....AND WE WOULD ALL SING,  EVEN THE CATHOLICS...OR THEY DIDN'T EAT.

 

     YEAR AFTER YEAR, SHE WOULD RETURN AND FIX ME A SOUTHERN DINNER.  WE BECAME GREAT FRIENDS,.

 

     SHE TOLD ME WHEN SHE FIRST MARRIED SHE WOULD PLAY THE PIANO AT HER BIG HOUSE AND A BLACK WOMEN WOULD COME ONCE A WEEK TO DO THE WOODEN FLOORS.  HELEN WOULD PLAY BLUES AND THE BLACK WOMAN WOUILD DANCE AND CLEAN.  THE BLACK WOMEN REFUSED TO TAKE ANY MONEY  SHE AND HER HUSBAND MOVED TO WASHINGTON, D.C.  SHE SOON HAD  TWIN GIRLS TO PLAY THE PIANO FOR.  IT STILL WAS NOT APPROPRIATE FOR WHITE WOMEN TO PLAY THE BLUES BUT HELEN CONTENTED 'EVEN WHITE GIRLS GET

THE BLUES.' AND INDEED THEY DO.

 

      YEARS PASSED AND HELEN MOVED BACK TO GEORGIA ON HER OWN.  SHE HAD A ONE ROOM  APARTMENT

IN A MANSION THAT HAD BEEN CONVERTED TO APARTMENTS.  IT WAS ABOUT TEN BLOCKS FROM THE TOWN LIBARY.  SHE LOVED TO READ AND I TOLD HER ABOUT BIG PRINT BOOKS  BECAUSE SHE WAS HAVING TROUBLE WITH HER EYES.  THEN I CONVINCED HER SHE SHOULD START GIVING CONCERTS AT THE LIBRARY.  SHE WAS A BIG HIT, EVEN PLAYING THE BLUES.

 

    SHE HAD A BLACK MAN WHO WAS A TAXI DRIVER TO COME TAKE

HER TO THE LIBRARY AND TO BRING HER HOME.  SHE TIPPED HIM EVERY TRIP.  BUT THEN AT CHRISTMAS, HE HAD TIED UP ALL THE TIP MONEY IN A NICE HANDKERCHIEF AND GAVE IT BACK TO HER AS A GIFT.  SWEET MAN.

 

    THE LAST TIME I SAW HELEN SHE WAS VISITING THE TWINS IN S.C.  SHE MOTIONED ME OVER WHERE SHE WAS SITTING AND SAID, "COME SIT BY ME.'  I SAT THERE FOR A FEW MINUTES AND

SHE FINALLY SAID, 'YOU ARE THE CRAZIEST PERSON I KNOW.' I ASKED HER, ' IS THAT A COMPLIMENT?'  HELEN SAID, 'YES, YES OF COURSE.'  \

 

     IT IS ONE OF THE NICEST THINGS ANYONE HAS EVER SAID TO ME. 

 

     HELEN DIED SOON AFTER THAT.  HER DAUGHTERS WERE VISITING AN OLD BLACK GRAVEYARD AND HAPPENED TO SEE A

WREATH MADE UP LIKE A GRAND PIANO.  THE FLOWERS HAD DIED

BUT THE FRAME SHAPED LIKE A GRAND PIANO WAS STILL THERE.

THEY DECIDED TO TAKE IT AND RECYCLE IT FOR THEIR MOTHER'S

MEMORIAL SERVICE.  THEY SAID IT WAS THE HIT OF THE GRAVEYARD AND THAT YOU COULD ALMOST HEAR HER BLUES MUSIC BEING PLAYED. 

 

     SWING LOW, SWEET CHARIOT. COMING FOR TO CARRY ME HOME,.

 

 

JOE ADAMS

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Saluda Lifestyles , May

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Why Goldfish Never Graduate From High School

 

     It's not because they can't get a cap and gown to fit, although that could be a problem if they ever made it to high school.

 

     The problem is much simpler.  They are fairly dumb.

 

     The goldfish are gorgeous.  And they swim better than Esther Williams.  But they are dumb as a stump.  They only have a memory span of 30 seconds according to scientists.  I have no idea how they know this but they claim that whatever you tell them goes in one ear and out the other.  If they have ears.  That might be the problem since I've never seen fish ears.

 

     Goldfish rarely get beyond first grade.  They can't hold a pencil, poor things.  Even if they knew the answer, they couldn't write or tell the teacher.

 

     "Hold up your fingers," she would yell.  "Blow four bubbles."

 

     There are other problems other than the pencils.  They can't tie their shoes.  No wonder.  No feet.  And getting on the schoolbus is a major feat.

And once they are on the bus, they tend to slide from one end to the other.  If their mothers were thoughtful enough to put them in a sealed baggie with water, some of the bullyboys start playing toss with the fish.

 

     I sympathize with the goldfish.  I really do.  They're not going to get a good job unless they graduate from high school.  I am retired so I don't have to worry about getting a good job.  I worry that I am turning into a goldfish.  I can't remember anything I'm told more than 30 seconds ago.  Sometimes not

then.  Of course, maybe I just don't care.  Maybe the goldfish don't either.

Saluda Lifestyles, April - 2011

I Saw Grandpa Picking His Nose.

 

My great grandaughter has been living in St. Louis for a while with her Dad, but she just recently returned to Hilton Head Island to live with her grandmother.  We are glad to have her back, but I don't get to see her that often.  She's very observant and is a real

blabbermouth.  She tells everything.  She told my daughter recently, "I saw Grandpa picking his nose."

 

My daughter asked her what I did with the boogers.  She said, "Sometimes if they are big, he feeds them to the dog.  The dog

seems to love them.  Other times he picks one side of his nose, then if he has no place to put it, he sticks it in the vacant side.  It is

so sick and disgusting."

 

My daughter wanted to know if I ever flicked them  or stuck them anywhere.  But I was not quilty.

 

I confronted Ellie why she was telling stuff like this.  She said it was what girls do.

I asked her why she said I picked my nose.  I also pick apples, blackberries, blueberries, strawberries...but she never tells that,  She said they don;t come out of my nose.

I tried to convince her that we had two "picking" fingers just for getting boogers...that was what God gave us those fingers for.  But she wasn't buying  .it, 

She said he hade the so called "Picking" fingers  to keep your place while reading and to paint so they look pretty. 

 

I doubt that I will be able to stop after all these years.  Unless she starts smacking my hands.  Then I might have to flick the boogers at her, sweet as she is.

\

 

 

October Lifestyles Article

I FOUND MY THRILL ON BLUEBERRY HILL

And also my breakfast! I love blueberries. A friend of mine who
lives in Candler found a spot on the Blueridge Parkway that has a
hillside of wild blueberries. He's not giving out the location, but
that's o.k. because he picks and brings me blueberries. He said he
noticed an old graveyard by the roadside. The headstones had become
overgrown with moss. But when he was looking around, he noticed the
blueberries bushes; some up to
fifteen feet high. So he started picking,..filling up whatever
containers he had in his car.
He said it was so easy to pick because there were so many blueberries.
He now makes regular weekly trips to Blueberry Hill and picks enough
to have bowls of blueberries three times a day. He's kind enough to
bring me a few, but he gives more to his girlfriend. (Wouldn't you?)

He claims that blueberries are the healthiest fruit you can eat. He
says they are "brain
food", although I haven't noticed my brain kicking in any faster. And
they are only 80 calories a cup. The wild blueberries tend to be
smaller but I think they are more delicious than the plump ones that
you get at the store for $3.50 for a little cup full.

A few years ago I tried starting my own Blueberry Hill in my backyard
at Lake Sheila. I met a couple at the Pickins Flea Market who sold
all kinds of plants. They had a sign that they specialized in
blueberry plants but you had to order them at a certain time of the
year. I placed my order for l2 plants and went to see them down at
Traveler's Rest.
(I love the name of that little town.) I had cleaned out my car,
expecting some big plants.
As it turned out, they looked more like "cuttings" I was fairly
disappointed but they assured me they would take off and grow really
fast. So I took them home and planted them along a walkway from the
house to the lake. I only have two left. Unfortunately I
didn't warn the yard man and he mowed down ten of them. But two of
them are flourishing. One is more than 6 feet high and usually loaded
with blueberries. I have to fight the birds for them and the birds
are winning. Not only do the early birds get the worms, they also get
the blueberries.

I spent a summer once in the northernmost county in the U.S.....in
Maine. It's the largest producer of wild blueberries in the country.
But the plants are really low to the ground...little more than a
groundcover. I noticed the blueberries first because the hills were
turning blue in color. Literally. Then I noticed busloads of migrant
workers who had been brought up to pick the blueberries. I had a
bunch of blueberries growing where
I was staying in a national forest. I picked blueberries every day,
but I wouldn't want it as a job. Unless of course I was very short.