James M. Redwine

Females/Pick on Peg

How The World Ends

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The first television I saw was displayed in the front window of an appliance store on Main Street in Pawhuska, Oklahoma in 1950. It had a real wood cabinet which swallowed the 9” screen. The picture was a blurry black and white that showed the same Indian Chief test pattern for hours. It just sat there as a continuously gasping crowd of gawkers oohed and aahed. I was unaware that I was in the presence of the beginning of the end of meaningful conversation, the reading of books and independent judgment based on individual investigation and analysis.

These insights appeared to me after almost 70 years because Peg and I have spent the past two weeks without access to television. I mention this woman I found living with me because until a couple of weeks ago our conversations had for years, especially the last two years, consisted mainly of “What is a Kardashian and what is it that they are doing?” Or, “Can you believe what those bobbing heads, most of whom seem to be twenty years old and chosen for their hairstyles, just stated as fact?”

With the T.V. out of the picture Peg and I have made some startling discoveries. It turns out we both enjoy getting out of our matching recliners and going outside. There is a lot to do out there. And we discovered that rather than watching inane commentary from screaming news pundits we seem to have some common interests, three children and seven grandchildren for instance, who are themselves engaged in some fascinating endeavors. Well, at least when they are not glued to some T.V. program such as Duck Dynasty or The View or on a cell phone.

Another discovery I made about Peg is she knows quite a bit about non-television things. These past two weeks we have wondered together how long the ten-thousand-year Egyptian dynasty would have made it had Egyptian children been educated by re-runs of Howdy Doody instead of mentoring by Imhotep. By the way, according to Wikipedia, Imhotep means “The one who comes in peace”, a pretty good mantra for civilizations wishing to build more than hamburger stands and hoping to last more than a few years.

Now, I know the smart people who read this column, and only smart people do, have picked up on a logical lacuna in my diatribe against television. How is reliance on the Internet any better? Well, it isn’t; it’s worse. In fact, what little bit of culture and polite conversation was left after television became ubiquitous has now been obliterated by cell phones, Snap Chat, Twitter, etc., etc.

My only defense is, society started me on this downhill slide in 1950. In other words, if I had been like Alexander the Great and had Aristotle as my personal advisor, instead of television, I too could have been great.

Ah, I Remember It Well

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August 25th. Ah, I now remember it well, thanks to Peg who sweetly asked me over our first cup of coffee, “Jim, isn’t this just a beautiful morning?” I looked up from the trial transcript I was proofreading and grunted, “Yeah”. Things went downhill from there.

As Peg had interrupted my work I assumed she would be pleased to get me some more coffee; so I held up my cup and said as politely as Oliver Twist, “More”.

Her response threw me off: “It’s in the coffee pot. Why don’t you see if you can pour your own while I concentrate on making the bed, emptying the dishwasher, feeding the cat, sweeping the floor and pulling the weeds in the garden? By the way, Happy Anniversary!”

I went into crisis-recovery mode. “Are you sure, I thought it was the 25th.”

“Today IS the 25th and you should already know that since I made a point of telling you yesterday on August 24th that I was planning your favorite dinner for today. Of course, you had your head stuck in that transcript then and merely mumbled something like ‘Okay’”.

Thinking at warp speed I said, “Oh what a grand wedding it was on such a gorgeous day.”

 “We got married in a thunderstorm! You kept telling me ‘It never rains on August 25th so we can have the wedding outside’. But our family and guests had to dodge lightning bolts and huge raindrops!”

 “Well, at least our D.J. stayed dry.”

  “Our D.J. was Rodney Fetcher and he had to set up in the tool shed so he wouldn’t get electrocuted!”

 “Yeah, he did a great job. Remember, we did our first dance to Here Comes the Sun by George Harrison.”

 “It wasToday by Randy Sparks of the New Christy Minstrels.”

 “Anyway, you looked great in that blue dress.”

“It was coral to match your tux. Which, by the way, you managed to spill our champagne toast on.”

I decided to take an old friend’s advice for situations such as this, “When in a hole the first thing is to stop digging.”

“Okay, what do you want to do to celebrate this happy occasion? Dinner at the Red Geranium? A quiet glass of wine out by the fire pit? Whatever sounds good to you will be fine with me.”

“I would have appreciated it if you had simply remembered that we did, in fact, get married.”

“I do remember and it was, I mean is, wonderful. It was just that it snuck up on me. Would a movie help?”

“No movie, no Red Geranium, no wine by the fire. How about just a card or at least some flowers?”

Oh, Gentle Reader, I don’t know about you but all I can hear going on in my head is the duet by Hermione Gingold and Maurice Chevalier from the musical Gigi. Perhaps Peg will allow me up from the canvas if I bring home a box of chocolates with the Lerner and Loewe lyrics taped to them:

“The dazzling moon,
There was none that night.
The month was June
It was [August};
That’s right …”

 

Well, you get the idea. I’m just glad we have only one anniversary per year because the chill in the air at JPeg Ranch is not conducive to my getting my work done and anything else is completely out of the question.

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.