James M. Redwine

Females/Pick on Peg

Peg’s Motto: Jim’s Labor Omnia Vincit

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This famous Latin phrase, “Work Conquers All”, was originally a piece of propaganda used by the Roman poet Virgil (70 BC-19 BC) in his poem Georgics to curry favor with the Roman emperor Augustus (63 BC- 14 AD). Augustus wanted to encourage Roman citizens to quit their enjoyable lives of drinking wine and discussing politics to take up the hard work of farming. Peg, and maybe your spouse too, has carried on this tradition.

​In the beginning were the innocent sounding words, “Jim, are you taking a vacation this summer?”

I thoughtlessly replied, “I dunno, why?”

“Oh, I just thought we could spend some time together at the Ranch, relax and catch up on some things.”

“Sounds good, I’ll check my docket.” Unfortunately it wasn’t too busy. I aimlessly proceeded into Peg’s nefarious Inferno.

Wives and husbands see “relaxing” and “catching up on things” from different perspectives, kinda like foxes and roosters might see dinner. The first two weeks of August were anticipated by me to be a bucolic period of connecting with the deer, fish, wild turkeys and even the pesky raccoons around JPeg Ranch. What could be wrong with some time spent with my feet up and a good book or a cool beverage to lull me to sleep on a lazy summer afternoon? Ask Peg!

“Since you are home with nothing to do would you mind …?” Yep, the dreaded LIST!  Peg had been secretly working on it since spring. I had no idea our home was near the point of complete collapse from chores undone, by me, of course. Immediate action was called for. What wasn’t called for, or allowed, was propped up feet.

Now one need not be mentally exhausted from reading or relating a seriatim rundown of the physically exhausting chores that stood between “relax” and utter destruction of our home. Their actual completion was punishment enough. Suffice it to say that from tilling the garden, to reorganizing my stacks of half-finished projects from years past, my vacation morphed from pastoral pleasure to a yearning for a return to Court. I’ll be there Monday!

Your Time Has Come

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“The American Creed”

I believe in the United States of America
As a government
Of the people,
By the people,
For the people,
Whose just powers are derived
From the consent of the governed;
A democracy in a republic;
A sovereign Nation of many sovereign states;
A perfect Union;
One and inseparable;
Established upon those principles
Of freedom, equality, justice and humanity
For which American patriots
Sacrificed their lives and fortunes.
Therefore, I believe it is my duty
To my country to love it,
To support its Constitution,
To obey its laws,
To respect its flag,
And to defend it against all enemies.

This poem by William Tyler Page was adopted by a Resolution of the United States House of Representatives on April 03, 1918 as America was helping to end the Great War to End all Wars (WWI).

It was recited by Ann Greenfield who is Posey County, Indiana’s First Lady of Political Service during the impressive and appropriate Fourth of July program sponsored by the Friends of the New Harmony Working Men’s Institute, University of Southern Indiana/Historic New Harmony and the New Harmony Kiwanis.

Ann is of that generation where capable women believed they could best serve by supporting capable men. The demographics of history support this regrettable reality. Fortunately, at least in America, history is being rewritten and the wisdom of such women as Ann, my sister Jane (Redwine) Bartlett, my wife Peg, and many more may be what guides us through the troubled waters we appear to prefer to curse instead of carefully navigate.

Perhaps it is provident that as we face our current challenges involving technology, health care, the environment, military deployments, immigration, equal justice and more issues than can fit in one column, we have in reserve a fount of experience, knowledge, self-sacrifice and wisdom whose time to spring forth is just now arrived.

The generation of women who helped end the Viet Nam War, started us on the road to equal justice, began to demand equal opportunities for everyone while still managing to bind our wounds brings unique talent, experience, perspective and courage to today’s bitter divisions. Of course, huge numbers of women have always personally joined the fight while many others saw their place as spear carriers. But the current challenges require a general call to arms where all the available soldiers are engaged. I respectfully suggest that we encourage women in their 60’s, 70’s, 80’s, 90’s, and maybe even some elderly women, to step forward on their own. Your time has finally come and we need you; more importantly, your country is hurting and it needs you to lead on the field not cheer from the sidelines.

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Putrid Porridge

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As this is a family newspaper I cannot recite the W.C. Fields (1880 – 1946) actual quotation about why he did not drink water. However, after spending two full days removing a winter’s worth of sludge from Peg’s above ground pool I side with W.C. My first clue as to the toxicity of the greenish, quivering mass clinging to the Walmart plastic liner was when my friend Paul Axton, who is a Department of Natural Resources officer, stopped by to retrieve the racoon trap he had loaned me. Paul smelled the acrid fumes rising from the pool and walked over to investigate.

“Jim have you notified the E.P.A. about this concoction? It may require Congressional oversight to remove this junk. If this gets into the wrong hands terrorists may be able to use it for untold mayhem.”

“No, Paul, but Peg has already ordered me to get in that knee deep filth and prepare the pool for swimming. According to Peg, as the man of JPeg Ranch, the gods have ordained it is my duty. Peg has already cleared the disposal with the Health Department and the Department of Defense. Thanks for your concern; would you like to join me?”

“Gee, I would but I told my sister, Judy, I would help her with her racoon problem. But feel free to call me any other time.”

In past years Peg has just bypassed my reluctant involvement in removing the winter’s accumulation of dead organisms, crop dust, and floating debris. However, Peg thoughtlessly fell off the ladder when she started to clean it last week and re-injured the knee she broke skiing 22 years ago. She claims it hurts and Dr. Matthew Lee took her side and ordered her on bed rest for two weeks. To make matters worse, Dr. Lee then sent her to an orthopedic surgeon who agreed.

I gently reminded her she had skied on down a huge mountain in Utah when she broke her leg and maybe she could just ignore the medical profession’s opinion and the pain. I cannot repeat her response due once again to that family newspaper thing.

Anyway, my weekend was filled with two days of shop vacs, mops, Clorox, white vinegar, long handled brooms and water hoses. It was so gay to watch globs of unidentified multi-colored crude having the consistency and smell of the contents of used diapers ooze off the plastic floor through the vacuum, into the bucket then hoisted over the pool wall into the yard. My guess is every varmint within miles will think a grand smorgasbord has been laid out for them. Of course, the grass immediately began to wither and turn yellow.

Well, Gentle Reader, I know Peg’s injury and its unfortunate consequences may concern you, but, do not worry, I’ll be alright.

What Could Go Wrong?

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Mothers of sons frequently assume, often rightly so, that attention to detail is not their son’s strong suit. Daughters of fathers often assume, frequently to their chagrin, that their father’s strong suit is attention to detail. In situations calling for responsible action a mother of a son usually looks to her dad instead of her son. If given a choice between youthful exuberance and supposed tempered judgment a woman, say the mother of a bridegroom, will lean on experience, say the grandfather of that bridegroom, when important wedding tasks (safekeeping of the wedding rings, for example) must be performed.

This was the dilemma facing our daughter, Heather, last Saturday when she worried her son, Alec, might lose the wedding rings if they were entrusted to his care. As I was going to be performing the ceremony at Alec and Arielle’s outdoor wedding at JPeg Ranch, Heather believed she could rely on me to be the keeper of the rings. It had already been decided that the tall grass and uneven land militated against using a child ring bearer. So, it came down to which semi-adult male of the wedding party should be entrusted with the rings. Heather chose me. Hey, I did not volunteer.

However, once the mantle was cast upon me I approached the task as most males would have. I promptly put the matter out of my mind and concentrated on the large albino catfish that Adrian, the brother of the bridegroom who was supposed to be getting formally dressed as a member of the wedding party, caught in our pond before the wedding. See you have already forgotten about the rings too.

Anyway, as I took my place on the antique, moveable bishop’s stand about 10 minutes before the start of the wedding and looked at the podium where I had casually placed both Alec’s and Arielle’s rings, the sense of happy serenity that had pervaded my psyche turned to panic. The rings had blown off into the tall grass.

Oh, I could have called for help but then Heather would know, and life is already too short for me to face that. So, I did what any man would do. In my suit and black judge’s robe I got down on my hands and knees in front of the assembled congregation and proceeded to sift through the foliage. It was hopeless of course but what choice did I have?

Just as I had decided to fake the whole ring thing by using my own wedding band for Arielle to place on Alec’s finger and then covering both of Arielle’s and Alec’s hands with mine as he pretended to place nothing on Arielle’s finger, the heavens opened up and a ray of blazing sun glinted upon bright shiny objects resting against the bottom edge of the wooden bishop’s stand. My first thought was I had better pay this good fortune forward. My next thought was it really wasn’t that big of a deal as All’s Well That Ends Well and Heather might now never know.

I Wannabe A Girl Singer In A Rock Band

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I am so excited! Our new granddaughter-in-law is already what I have always wanted to be: a girl singer in a touring rock band. Well, maybe not the girl thing, but ever since I spent my Sunday School offering of a dollar to buy my first record, a 45 rpm single of Sonny James’ “Young Love”, I have secretly dreamed of headlining a rock and roll show. I could have done it too if I hadn’t been unfairly held back by the inability to know a musical key from a wash tub.

But before we get to the wedding of our grandson, Alec, and his bride, Arielle, I have a few questions you, Gentle Reader, who may also be a closet rock star, can answer. First, whatever happened to the Roll in Rock and Roll? Remember Bill Haley and the Comets or Jerry Lee Lewis or Little Richard, etc.? We used to have rock and roll stars. Now all we have are rock stars. Have we lost the art of rolling? What is rolling anyway? For that matter, what is rocking? I think I used to know the answers to these fundamental youthful behaviors. Now about all I can dimly recall is loud music, conversations about hair and the vague impression of a concert venue filled with strange smelling smoke.

Well, if you have any thoughts on these issues, as the Tappet Brothers used to say, put them on the back of a $20.00 bill and send them to me. For now, let’s get back to our grandchildren’s wedding which was living proof of how men have allowed their once dominant position in such matters to be cast into the dustbin of ancient history.

For example, I am fairly confident our grandson, who is also a fine heavy metal musician, would have been completely okay with a ceremony that involved a large club and a couple of animal skins. The whole thing would have taken ten minutes and cost only some sweat and maybe a broken bone or two. Au contraire mon ami. When Alec asked for Arielle’s lovely hand in marriage it came with a female retinue of mothers, grandmothers, sisters, aunts and a multitude of feminine wedding enthusiasts. JPeg Ranch, the wedding venue, was transformed from a bucolic backwater to a bastion of bustling estrogen-driven frenzy.

The quiet emptiness of The Ranch was filled with potted plants, satin drapery and netting, twinkling lights of several varieties, enough chairs and tables to accommodate the Light Brigade, fountains, food, cakes, libations mit tender, coolers, a bonfire, a DJ, two large white tents that would have made Lawrence of Arabia proud and even a bishop’s stand for me to stand in as I performed the official duties. This campaign resembled the D-Day Landing. If General Eisenhower had had these women, he could have forgone Omar Bradley. And have I mentioned the pink and blue porta potties?

Well, it was a glorious and happy event and even as a grumpy old Grandpa I loved it, especially when Arielle channeled her inner Janis Joplin and sang Me and Bobby McGee. Maybe there’s hope for me yet. After all, any reasonably competent journeyman can be a judge, but to have grandchildren who are rock (and roll) stars, now that is a real accomplishment!

Enough Suggestions, Already

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Those few of you who actually read this column on a regular basis will recall my completely justified response to Peg’s destruction of my weekend by sentencing me to help her haul, open and spread 120 fifty-pound bags of brown mulch at JPeg Ranch. You might say, “Well, Peg worked too”. But you see, Peg lives for such opportunities so to her it is not work. On the other hand, as for me, a ball game viewed from the couch is a more appropriate way to spend a Saturday.

I was quite astonished and even a little hurt when several readers of last week’s article weighed in with suggestions on what I should do with the mulch. It surprised me that everyone who responded so uncharitably sided with Peg. After all, she was the one responsible for the mulch being there in the first place. I will relate a few of the unkind, and even inappropriate, suggestions.

Neighbors, who need not be named as we only have two, came over during the mulching marathon last weekend and instead of offering sweat offered advice. “Why don’t you just put all the bags out while Peg is planting the garden and the new flowers?” I did not respond what I was thinking but chose to just pretend I heard nothing.

Then at Sara’s Harmony Way Coffee Shop on Sunday morning Barb Mc Connell who had been the initial instigator of the mulch acquisition from the New Harmony Garden Club asked Peg about the progress of the mulching program which gave Peg an opportunity in front of the entire round table crowd to point out my poor attitude.

Then I received an email from the Posey County Jail referencing the previous article and making a rather rude suggestion of what I could do with the mulch. How do those people access the Internet anyway?

But, as is often the case with my big sister who read the article from the safety of her home in Missouri, Janie took Peg’s side again. Janie, who was always allowed by our parents to lord it over her three brothers, first mentioned that Peg was just trying to beautify JPeg Ranch for our grandson’s upcoming wedding. Then she sarcastically suggested if I was too lazy to properly spread the mulch before the wedding I could just cover the piles with white satin.