James M. Redwine

Females/Pick on Peg

Putrid Porridge

by 1 Comment

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?

by 2 Comments

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

by 4 Comments

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

by Leave a Comment

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.

Mucho Mulch

by 1 Comment

Ah, spring! The hummingbirds have returned to JPeg Ranch and the falling locust tree blossoms can make me forget for a while how the thorns attack me each time I must deal with a fallen branch. The air is filled with perfume and a symphony of avian love songs.

Of course, it is not called spring for nothing and the Equinox strikes deeply into Peg’s cortex causing her to spring into a frenzy of projects around the Ranch. Unfortunately for me Peg’s projects become my sentence.

Then there is Peg’s deeply held belief we should contribute to virtually every cause that advances the beauty of Posey County, especially New Harmony. The confluence of her obsessions of yard improvement and public service converged when our friend Barb McConnell, who is a hardworking member of the New Harmony Garden Club, mentioned to Peg that the club was selling bags of mulch as a fundraiser.

Now, New Harmony is our home and we care about it. My affection for our small village is best expressed by patronizing Sara and David Brown’s Coffee and Wine Shop, David and Vicki Campbell and Sara and David Brown’s microbrewery, Kenny and Nancy Weinzapfel’s Yellow Tavern and the Owen family’s Red Geranium Restaurant. My position is I spend money on a good meal and/or a good glass of red wine, then I have well met my duty to improve our community. With Peg that’s not quite enough. Therefore, Peg bought 120 (you did not misread that figure) of brown mulch from Barb and the Garden Club.

When Peg gave me the good news my first thought was, “Okay, you bought the mulch, you must want to lift, move, open and spread every last 50 pound bag of it.” Gee, how could I have ever had such a fleeting dream? Oh, no, Peg demanded that I have the pleasure of spending an entire weekend frolicking in the yard with enough mulch to recreate the Old Plank Road between New Harmony and Mt. Vernon.

We put mulch on every possible tree, shrub, flower bed and mole hole within sight. The left over was used to get ready for our grandson’s wedding to be held at the Ranch this month. I bit my tongue when the thought arose, “Does the happy couple really want to stand on a 3 foot high pile of mulch to take their vows?”

The Mouse That Roars

by Leave a Comment

Gentle Reader, I ask you, “Is this fair?” Last week I barely escaped a medical catastrophe when I slipped on the ice while attempting to relocate a mouse from our house to a fiery fate. You may recall this whole thing was started by Peg who went ballistic when she found the mouse stuck in a trap. Apparently there is some universal law that mouse disposal is a husband’s job.

After I fell and received zero sympathy from Peg I sought input from my legions of supporters who read Gavel Gamut. Well, forget that! I have heard from nearly everyone who read last week’s column and they divide into three categories: (1) One person who accused me of cruelty to a mouse – even though it escaped as I almost died; (2) Three women who wondered how Peg could abide my whimpering; and, (3) an attorney from Orlando, Florida whose law firm specializes in representing mice. I’ll just relate his letter for you.

“Dear Judge Redwine,

As members of the Bar we are amazed a judge would violate the rights of our client whose only error in judgement was to seek warmth in your converted barn home. Come on! You should expect such visitors as you live right in the middle of their community.

Be that as it may, please be advised that should you not cease and desist from your attempts to harm our client, legal action will ensue.

Respectfully, of course,
Attorney Reyfert Hogart, Esq.

P.S. Peg has also contacted us with a question or two.”