Travels With Becky

Oh, boogers!

It was my joy and pleasure to interview children’s book illustrator Marty Kelley at the Dimond Library at the University of New Hampshire for NHPTV's N.H. Authors Series, sponsored by Friends of the Library. Marty writes funny books for kids. Among his favorite subjects are boogers and underpants. His pictures are even funnier than his words, and his delightfully skewed world view brought out the child in all of us.  

My favorite of his books, so far, is Twelve Terrible Things – a child’s eye view of the horrors of childhood, including ice cream fallen from the cone to the sidewalk; a dentist looming with instruments of torture saying, “Open wide”; and a white-haired auntie with long red fingernails closing in with “Just look at those cheeks.”

For more Marty Kelley humor, go to his website.

The show will air on Channel 11 sometime in December. I’ll let you know the date and time as soon as they’re set.

Maybe someday Marty and I will write a book together. His interest in boogers and mine in pies, we could call it “Booger Pie,” as someone in the audience suggested.

I think it’s a fine idea! Sign me up.

A helpful snake

In Goffstown, a teller prefaced his story by saying he’d heard this from his grandfather in his formative years – when he believed everything Grampa said.  

Grampa said when he went fishing he always took a flask of spirits, just in case. On one trip, he ran out of worms. Luckily, he spotted a snake on the banking of the brook. The snake had a small frog in its mouth.

Grampa took out his flask, sprinkled a few drops of spirits on the snake’s mouth, and, sure enough, the snake released the frog, which Grampa put on his hook for more fishing.

A little while later, he felt a gentle poke on his ankle. It was the snake. Back with another frog.

Bruce and the tricycle tractor – the real story

In Goffstown, Cynthia Geiger told the true story of her husband Bruce and the upending of his tricycle tractor. I heard the story from their neighbor several months ago and have been telling it all over. At one point, I heard that Cynthia had heard I was telling it and was pleased. Bruce died a couple of years ago. He was a man of many stories. Finally, Cynthia made it to one of my programs – I told the story. I put it in a blog back in March, but here it is again in case you missed it.

A tall thin man, good with horses, Bruce Geiger (pronounced Geigah) did a lot of work in the woods. One day he was out in the woods working with his tricycle tractor. When his wife came home from work, Bruce hadn’t come in from the woods yet. She got ahold of their other neighbor, Tinkah Johnson. “Tinkah,” she said, “I haven’t seen Bruce. He should have been home hours ago.” 

So Tinkah went in search of Bruce and came upon a terrible scene, the tractor upended and Bruce pinned underneath. Tinkah rushed to Bruce’s side expecting the worst. But he realized his friend was still alive when Bruce looked up and said: “What took ya?"

Cynthia’s version includes a lot more detail: It was June and had been raining a lot so the ground was soft. She hadn’t been at work, but at church. The neighbor’s name was Tinker Anderson (not Johnson). She walked up and down the road hollering for Bruce before she enlisted Tinker’s help. Bruce had been hollering for help for a long time. His voice had just about given out. The dog who was with him heard Cynthia and Tinker coming and alerted Bruce, who was pinned under the tractor. Bruce hollered and they heard him. He insisted he didn’t need to go to the hospital, but ended up being hospitalized for several days anyway. His legs were badly hurt but he recovered. Cynthia wasn’t the one to call for the ambulance though, since Bruce had forbidden her to do it, and if the ambulance showed up and Bruce didn’t need it, she’d have heard about it. Another neighbor called.  

How did Bruce get pinned under the tractor?

Cynthia said it was on a hill and started to roll on its own. Bruce “played cowboy” and tried to jump on to stop it. That was a mistake.

 “Did he say, ‘What took ya?’” I asked Cynthia.

“He might have,” she said. “I didn’t hear it, but maybe he said it to Tinker.”

And so the story continues even as it changes. Next time I tell the story, I’ll tell it a little differently and with a little more authority – thanks to Cynthia. Can’t guarantee I’ll get all the facts right. They shift, like soft earth under my feet. But I’ll get the gist of it.  And, ultimately, it’s the gist that counts and lasts.

Here’s the scene at the Goffstown Historical Society. “Recycled Percussion,” the drumming group from Goffstown that came in third in America’s Got Talent, was playing just down the road, but these folks preferred potluck and stories, so that worked out well for us.

Sign of a Yankee

Yankee humor takes many forms. Sometimes it’s signage. 

At first it was a dip, then a pothole. The pothole started out the size of a bushel basket, progressed to washtub capacity, and grew larger and larger through the spring. When the big rains came, it filled with water. 

That’s when the neighbor put up his sign: “No fishing.”

 

A matter of taste

I’ve always loved the expression “small potatoes.” We were discussing potatoes (and whether my garden would yield any), when Shirley remarked: “We used to feed the little potatoes to the hogs. Now they’re gourmet.”

How times change. Years ago, lobsters used to be what poor folks living on the coast ate for lack of anything else. Now they’re gourmet, too.

Stanley visited Newfoundland and enjoyed the cod. Evidently they love cod up there. One night he mentioned to his host that he enjoyed clams.  

“Clams?”

“You got any around here?”

“Well, yuh.”

They went to the mudflat, and the first shovelful yielded more clams than mud. Plenty of clams, but nobody much enjoyed eating them – except Stanley.

Man of few words

Discussing the Yankee trait of using as few words as possible, I heard this story of the lazy brother-in-law and the sailboat. He was sailing with the family off the coast of Maine. Beautiful warm day. Folks were sprawled on deck enjoying adult beverages. In the distance, the captain – said lazy brother-in-law – spotted a fisherman in a small boat. The captain calculated that the sailboat might come close to the fisherman, but on it’s present tack would miss him, so he didn’t bother to adjust direction.

Sure enough the sailboat passed within five feet of the little boat. The fisherman was overheard muttering just three words: “Whole damn ocean.”

Uncommonly good time at Bentley Commons

Had a great time visiting Bentley Commons in Keene. Here I am with Red Hatters Theresa Bourque, Doris Holbrook and Marge Patrick.  

               

Here are some other audience members:

My only complaint: those couches and easy chairs looked awful comfortable. I was afraid somebody might doze off. Far’s I know nobody did – or if they dozed they kept their eyes open and didn’t snore.

A woman who worked in a nursing home told this story, which I think illustrates the natural stages of life, everything in its own good time. She said one of the residents, Mrs. B, seemed very upset.  “What’s wrong, Mrs. B?”

“I’m having another baby.”

“Mrs. B, you’re 95 years old. You’re not having another baby.”

“Oh. Thank goodness!”

Scotch broth and beer

At the Loon Mountain Highland Games and Scottish Festival, we heard most wonderful music from Albannach, Charlie Zahm (charliezahm.com) and Brigadoon. Had scotch broth and beer. Watched the border collies put the sheep through their paces on the side hill. If you’ve never been, you must go. Loon Mountain in Lincoln is as close to Scotland as you’ll get on this continent.  Check highlights at nhscot.org.

The master of ceremonies told this story twice within my hearing. It’s a goody, but you have to imagine the wee Scottish lady and her wee Scottish accent.

“What’s that animal standing so still in the woods?” the wee Scottish lady asked.

“Why, that’s a little moose.” 

“If that’s a little moose,” she says, “I’d hate to see the cat.”

USS HR Dickson reunion

At the Margate Lakeside Hotel in Laconia (gorgeous, with its own little beach and dock right near the Weirs), those who served on the USS HR Dickson (1944-1972) held their annual reunion. They came from all across the country, Texas, New Jersey, Pennsylvania – all kinds of exotic places. So I was in the odd position of telling New Hampshire stories to a crowd that included only three New Hampshire people. Still, we managed to communicate.

Here are Ruth Ann and John Croda from Indiana. When I told my story about the time Priscilla got her foot stuck in her bra (reported in an earlier blog entry), Ruth Ann said: “My husband got his foot stuck in my bra last night.” Adding, “And I was wearing it!” Wish I had a picture of that. Or maybe not.

Biggest laugh of the night came when I announced that I had a slight New Hampshire accent.

Santa Claus was also present. I believe he’s from Texas. He gave me his business card with this photo on the front and phone number on the back. That should come in handy this December.

Donald offered this Yankee response to the remark: “You’re looking good.” He said, “I doubt if you know the state I’m in.”

Which reminded me of an exchange this week at the Hannafords. I saw my friend Gail – looking  thin and tanned.  “Looking good,” I said. “You too,” she said. Then I thought, and added, “It’s easy to look good at the end of summer. Wait ‘til February. We’ll be cadavers again. All pale and pasty.” 

 Ain’t winter wonderful? Maybe I’ll actually go cross-country skiing this year instead of just talking about it.

 

Fun-filled day

On Saturday, I hit  Barrington Heritage Day at Warren Farm, the 140th Anniversary of Calef’s Country Store, also in Barrington, and the lasagna supper at the Northwood Congregational Church. That last one was a fundraiser for the church porch – it’s sunk three feet and needs shoring up.

Naturally, it rained all day. Sometimes hard. Still, attendance was strong at all three events.  My shoes got muddy at Heritage Day, but not as muddy as they would have if I hadn’t caught a ride on the shuttle. Here’s a picture of the shuttle. It were fun.

Best line of the day: I forgot a phrase (what a surprise) – couldn’t come up with “road agent” in one of my stories. Luckily members of the audience knew what “the guy who takes care of the roads in town” translated into, so I was saved. “Middle age is tough on the memory,” I said, and others commiserated. But Bob piped up: “I remember middle age.”

I asked the audience how they were doing, in light of the drizzle, mud and chill, and the fact that we we were huddled under a tent behind the farmhouse. Fella said, “I been better, but it’s cost more.”

We also got into a discussion of measures of frugality, and David said he lived in “handy downs.” Love that phrase for re-used clothing. Putting it in my dictionary!