Travels With Becky

More on the outhouse...

Ginger writes in response to Arthur Surette’s most excellent outhouse/love poem:  “Gee, that's why every outhouse I've ever seen has the roof slant from front to back - so when the snow slides off it doesn't block the door!”

Guess the architect for Arthur’s outhouse wasn’t thinking ahead.

Ginger also notes that her outhouse in Pittsburg has a plastic domed roof -- that slants to the back -- and padded seats that warm as soon as you sit on them.  

Ahhh, luxury!

Love from the outhouse

In my last blog I mentioned that Arthur Surette read the best outhouse/love poem ever.  He has kindly given me permission to publish it in this blog.  It’ll be in a forthcoming book of his, so this is a preview.  

"The Outhouse Incident of '64" or "Sometimes Love Strikes Twice"

Spring has come
The snow’s still here
I hope this don’t keep up all year
Reminds me of back in sixty-four
When the snow blocked up the outhouse door
Slid off the roof
Four feet or five
I’m lucky that I’m still alive
The mercury dropped to nine below
And the wind came howling up that hole
I finally had to heed the call
And nearly froze off my left knee
Oh laugh
It was a night from Hell
I did freeze other parts as well
But as fate would have it
Fortunately my wife had drunk a pot of tea
Before she came upstairs with me
So I was peering out that crescent moon
Hoping that she’d get here soon
Ah stocking hat and mukaluks
And my old robe three times her size
What a sight for frozen eyes
I’ll tell ya
I was so damn cold
She was a vision to behold
“Are you in there?” she called to me
"I am" I answered shiveringly
I’m frozen halfway to the core
And the snow’s piled right against the door
That pile was up above her chin
But she grabbed a spade and dug right in
The snow was flying everywhere
And some was glistening in her hair
I fell in love again right there
She dug non-stop till almost dawn
All I could do was cheer her on
Then my heart filled with undying love
I gave the outhouse door a shove
And wrapped her up so tenderly
And this is what she said to me
“Let go you fool. I’ve got to pee.”

Here's Arthur in mid-poem.

Delights of the open mic

The Effingham Library has held Writers Night on the third Thursday of the month for the last five years or so, organizer Katie McCarthy tells me.

Each month one or two featured readers kick off the evening, then there's snacks and chat, then open mic -- poetry, stories, essays and original songs.

Last Thursday Susan Bruce and I were the featured readers.  Well, actually it was Susan’s late husband, David Emerson, and me.  Susan read David’s work and I told stories.  The open mic that followed was a delight!  Some funny, some serious.  Eric (originally from Boston) told about ice fishing on a windy day:  surf casting.  He caught two blocks of ice, boiled them up, but they were tasteless. Pablo sang in Spanish and read a poem in Spanish.  (He’s a native Spanish speaker.)  A lot of us didn’t know what the heck he was saying, but he read and sang so beautifully we knew it must be good.  James Cross read about the acquisition of a hamster and the havoc that ensued -- that was wicked funny.  Arthur Surety read the best (THE BEST) outhouse/love poem I’ve ever heard.  And Ed Pacht read a poem about the time he caught fire during a poetry reading. 

The only problem was the frost heaves.  Route 153 -- OMG -- relentless frost heaves for miles and miles and miles.  Rattled the balls right out of the ball joints. By the time I got to the library I was seasick.  As one local said:  “We like frost heaves.  Keeps out the riff raff.”

And I learned something. Arthur spoke about fly fishing with “garden hackle.”

“Garden hackle?” I said.

“Yup.  Worms.”

Here’s Ed at the lectern sharing a poem.  Note the jaunty beret!  He always wears it on open mic nights.

One of the regulars said this is the best open mic venue in the state.  I haven’t been to all of them so I can’t say for sure, but it’s a dandy.  

Hard tellin', not knowin'

Here’s an old saying that’s new to me.  I’m told the stock answer from one vintage Yankee was “Hard tellin', not knowin'.”

For example:  “Do you think it’ll snow tomorrow?”  “Hard tellin', not knowin'.”  Or, “Will we see health care reform in our lifetime?”  “Hard tellin', not knowin'.”  Or, “Is she really that ignorant, or is she just pretending to be?”  “Hard tellin', not knowin'.”

Good all-purpose answer, wouldn’t you say?  

From away

Had a great time talking to folks at Leadership New Hampshire. They’d enjoyed a busy day learning stuff about our state and how it works, so we all relaxed over a tasty dinner at the NH Charitable Foundation in Concord.  Cotton Mather Cleveland (she’s descended from Cotton Mather) was one of the organizers and, at last, I got to ask her about a story I’d heard (and long been telling) about her father, the Honorable James Cleveland, longtime congressman from New Hampshire.  She said the story was true! I love true stories, and here it is, with the exact wording as handed down through the Cleveland family.

During a campaign, Jimmy Cleveland’s challenger made a point of saying that Jimmy wasn’t even a native of New Hampshire.  A serious charge.

“It’s true,” James Cleveland replied.  “At the time of my birth I thought it best to remain close to my mother.”

Snap.

Another Grande View

Ginger J.  from Colebrook took this shot of the Balsam's Grand Hotel earlier this winter.

Brrrr -- don't that look some chilly.

 

Deliberating under the radar

I’ve been attending deliberative sessions in various towns to gather information for my book on New Hampshire Town Meeting.  In a number of towns there is no more town meeting.  Under the SB2 (Senate Bill 2, adopted in 1995), deliberative sessions are held instead, not to vote on warrant articles (up or down), but to vote (up or down) on amendments to warrant articles and shape how the articles will read come voting day on the second Tuesday in March.  I asked one attendee at the Candia Deliberative Session how much difference she saw between the old town meeting and the deliberative session. She said, “They’re not that different. You get the same personalities debating the same things.”

One of my favorite discussions during the session, which lasted from 9 a.m. until early afternoon, concerned  monies to purchase a radar counting device for the police department.  It had been cut from the budget, but an amendment was made to restore the amount needed to purchase it.  For one thing, there was a grant available to pick up 50% of the cost.  The Chief explained the information generated by this device  -- how many cars, how fast they were going -- to support cases for lower speed limits and help out with decisions about road maintenance.  

“How high on the pole will you mount this machine?” a concerned citizen wanted to know.  He worried that somebody might take a baseball bat to it.

“I’m 5’9,” the Chief replied.  

The amendment passed by a show of cards.

If your town has switched to SB2 I’m very interested in how that’s working and if the flavor of the old town meeting has survived. What’s your take?

Family stories make great heirlooms

Family stories rank high on my list of heirlooms. Barbara McKinnon told this story at the Windham Women’s Club luncheon. Her grandfather (yes, grandfather, not great or great great), Newell Cram, served the Union during the Civil War. On a mission to sneak papers from General Grant to another general, he was caught by rebels, stripped and searched.

Finding nothing, the rebels threw his pants back to him and let him go.

His pants were all he needed. The papers were sewed into the cuff.

Which reminds me of another Civil War story. One night Jim wandered away from the Union camp, having imbibed in some contraband spirits. The next morning he returned with two rebel soldiers that he had taken captive and strapped to the back of a horse he was leading.

“How’d you get ‘em?” his comrades asked.

Jim said, “I surrounded ‘em.”

A Grand view

A view from the Mountain View Grand Hotel in Whitefield. File under: Why we love New Hampshire.

 

It's only for show

At the Windham Women’s Club, we got to talking about kids and the funny things they do.  Ruth was at Home Depot with her small child and her neighbor and her boy. Both children were in the potty training phase.

The neighbor’s son disappeared briefly. They found him soon enough -- but not before a crowd had gathered.  The little boy was seated on a demonstration toilet.  He said, “Muma, there’s no toilet paper.”

Here’s some of the gang at the beautifully restored town hall. Note the vintage wall paper.

 
And here I am with Ruth Coole, my new friend!