DEEPER AND DEEPER IT GETS

Deeper and Deeper It Gets                                                            By Charles Peek

As we grow older, growing older begins to occupy our thoughts. I only realized this after seeing where my thinking led me as I watched a home repair commercial that’s been airing repeatedly on one of our local TV channels.  This outfit specializes in basements and they get your attention with two questions. “Are there cracks in your foundation?” That’s one of them.

I have a basement and some years ago it flooded—we weren’t living in the home at the time, but a fine fellow who was our resident caretaker let us know. We didn’t live far away, so we drove over to see. There was maybe 2-3 inches of water. Good Fellow, he’d moved out almost anything the water could have damaged. We drove home determined to come back early the next day and use our shop vac to get the water out, envisioning dozens and dozens of trips up and down the stairs.

But, when we got back in the morning, no water—cement floor still damp but no standing water. All gone.

“I didn’t know we had a basement drain,” I told Nancy. Well, we hadn’t lived in the house even a quarter century yet, so how would we know? “Let’s find it,” I said adventurously. So, we began to look for it. “Whoever put in the drain must have done a good job of placing it where the slope would drain quickly,” I said.  They are not all that way; I’ve had basement drains placed upslope—rendered therefore useless.  Our drain had drained right away.

A good deal of looking later, however, we concluded we weren’t very good at finding drains. We called our local plumber, a marvelous guy and one of the two best plumbers we’ve ever known, just to have him help us find the drain. “You don’t have any drains,” he said over the phone.  “Then how did the basement drain so quickly?” I asked. Same reason it filled so quickly he said—your foundation has cracks.  That was before he stopped by between calls to laugh at us.

But then, cracks in your foundation meant only cracks, basement walls, water.  Now I’m growing older and, suddenly, listening to the commercial, I began relating this to aging.  Are there cracks in your foundation? Well, yeah, I reluctantly lamented to myself. You bet there are. And there seem to be more every passing year.

Imagine then the next question: Does your egress window leak?  I don’t even want to go there, as I’m sure is a relief to you. Aging isn’t pretty and it doesn’t make polite conversation. Does my egress window leak indeed! Does Preparation H come in a tube!

Leaving drains aside for a moment and speaking of the best plumbers we’ve ever known (for those of you who forget quickly, that was just a couple of paragraphs above), the other was my folk’s neighbor where I grew up.  We lived just south of the church where Dad was the Rector. Just south of us was the residence of Don and Mary Lehl and their three children, Donna, Mary Jane, and Charlie (and their Scottish Terrier dog), then the Baptist Church, then the First Christian Church. The Lehl’s were Baptists then. First Christian was a solid congregation, a good place to raise your kids, and it’s now apparently the place to go, served by a gracious pastor and his wife who also do double duty impersonating Senator George and Ellie Norris for town events.  But it was the Baptists who could sing!

But Don and Mary were wonderful neighbors. The neighborhood kids—I was the oldest, the Watson boys across the street and Charlie Lehl were the youngest, with the Lehl girls in between—almost always played in the Lehl’s house or yard—always except when we needed the deep window wells at St. Alban’s for hide and seek, machine gun nests, or centipede gathering.

Here’s how wonderful they were. One evening when Dad was out of town, my mother and I walked down to a movie showing at the Fox Theater. While we were in the theater, a storm brewed up, brewed up quick, a pretty bad one with tornado threatened. When we got out of the show, there was Don Lehl at the door to drive us home.

Don Lehl was a first-rate plumber and a first-rate guy, so when we eventually moved to Kearney from Flagstaff, Arizona, we were doubly delighted when Don and Mary also moved here shortly thereafter.  Don went to work for Anderson Plumbing, owned by our friends and parishioners, Joyce and Ardie Anderson and pretty much run by their oldest child, Jackie Wiester. All the time Don lived in Kearney he was our plumber, and it was here, while I was Rector of St. Luke’s, that they became Episcopalians. Mary lived into her 90’s and I was able to visit her not too long before she died and was buried from St. Alban’s, just two doors away from where she’d lived for years.

After Don had moved back to McCook in his retirement, we had a series of other plumbers. We’d used Monty Splitter when we first moved in, but Monty quit plumbing and became an inspector.  By far the most notable after Monty was an outfit that installed our second-floor shower, an outfit that shall remain here unnamed.  I took them upstairs to show them what I wanted and where I wanted it. Then I tried to point out to them that the first-floor ceiling below the shower was higher than the ceiling under the rest of the upstairs bathroom.  That whole ceiling had just been plastered.  I didn’t know how to plaster a ceiling at that time but Stu Unrau and Ron Wright came by and taught me and we three plastered it together.

Now, by “tried to show them,” I mean I brought them downstairs to see the two different levels and pointed out the difference. By nodding mutely in my direction, I mean they looked at me with the look that says, “We’re professionals—you don’t have to show us where the ceiling and floor are.”  They went upstairs and went to work. That was, oh maybe ten minutes before I heard a crash, went out to where I’d heard it, looked up through the ceiling and could see through the gaping hole in it the plumbers who were upstairs looking down through the hole at me.

After that, we didn’t use those plumbers any more, except to try to get them to stand for the damages, which turned out to be a lost cause. They did tell me how I might fix it, and I was in no hurry to do so until I could determine if their work was at least good enough that the hole was the last of my problems. It wasn’t, so I had to patch up where it leaked as well as patch the hole.

We called Dave Waggoner to fix the leak. We felt that since part of the leak was coming down through an electric light fixture we might want that done sooner than later!

Years later, when we replaced that shower, Norm took one look at how it had been installed and asked if it would be ok if he put the new one in right! No problems ever since.

Republicans these days are big on wanting kids to learn trades rather than go to college. We can all understand why they don’t want them to go to college (not that many of today’s colleges would constitute a real danger any more), but I can whole heartedly bless the effort to produce good plumbers!

The shower/ceiling disaster was a worse disaster than the plumber who came to my folk’s house soon after they’d moved to Lincoln…whose visit must surely be the most comical we ever witnessed.

Nancy and I were dating then and she was out to our house on Stockwell in Lincoln for dinner one night when Mom called from the Kitchen. “George,” she called to my dad, “there’s something wrong with the kitchen faucet.”  George’s expressions on such occasions could take two forms. He could put on that “wouldn’t you know it, just home for dinner after a tiring day, and now this” look. Or he could put on the “what have you done now Dot” look, followed by the “stand aside and let a man look at this and see what’s wrong” look.

We all trooped into the kitchen as much to see Dad in action as to see what was wrong, and what was wrong was that the single faucet that swiveled left (hot) and right (cold) was leaking.  It was probably just a washer, but Dad’s tools were not unpacked yet, so he looked in the yellow pages, found a number, and called plumber.  “Do you have anyone still on the job this late in the day?” he asked.  “Oh yes,” was the answer, “we stay open late and it just happens our best man is on call tonight. He can stop by on his way home in just a few minutes.”

That was good news indeed. Dinner was otherwise already, so Dad went downstairs, shut off the water so the leak wouldn’t create a kitchen mess, and we sat down to eat. Very shortly, there came a knock at the door, a uniformed man on the porch said he was the plumber, and Dad ushered him in, led him to the kitchen, showed him the faucet, informed him the water was shut off.

Well, he said he’d just go out and get his tools and be right back. First sign we should have noted—came in to fix a faucet with thinking to bring his tools. Anyway, no problem, he could easily go get them.

Our front door was off a little alcove and just before you got to the alcove from the living room there was another door that opened into a closet. The plumber not only chose that door instead of the front door for his exit, but opened the door, entered the closet, and seemed flummoxed by the rod of coats hanging there. He came back into the room looking a bit befuddled, and Dad showed him where the front door was. Mother kindly added that “it must be so hard to get used to a strange house”—that was Mom!

He left, and was back in a jiffy with his tool box. To the kitchen he went. In no time the faucet was off and he examined the socket into which it fit.  Not a washer, he proclaimed. The valve that governs whether you get hot water or cold is broken, he proclaimed. Think I may have one in the truck.  Well, such good news.

He exits the kitchen, crosses the living room, again opens—the closet door and tries to exit.  After a brief moment groping the coats as though they might give way to an exit they were there to hide from strangers, he once again emerged, once again befuddled.  Dad is so dumbfounded that it is Mom who has to show him where the front door is.

He leaves, back in a jiffy, just happens to have the right valve among the parts he carries in the truck.  I’m thinking that if you carry around spare valves like that, it may mean you are really on the ball—or it may mean these valves are not up to snuff.  Don’t discount my layman’s knowledge here—after all I grew up next door to a plumber!

In he comes, back in the kitchen, valve replaced in a jiffy. He’s about to leave when Dad says, well, hold on a second. Let me turn on the water so we can try it and make sure it’s works.  Well, fine, he says. Water gets turned back on, Dad comes upstairs and lifts the faucet, and water comes out fine—only now it’s hot water to the right and cold water to the left.  The valve must be in backwards, Dad suggests.

“They only go in one way,” the plumber claims. He should know, right? After all, he’s installed dozens of these.  Since he carries them with him in the truck, I find that easy to believe. And now it’s a matter of saving face…he doesn’t make a move to change it.

Dad tells him to hold on just a minute longer, goes downstairs, turns off the water, comes back up, asks to borrow the plumber’s wrench, takes off the faucet, removes the new valve, puts it in the other way around, puts the faucet back on, goes downstairs, turns on the water, comes back up and tries the faucet…works perfectly now, left for hot, right for cold.

There is a blank look on the plumber’s face. Dad hands him back his wrench and politely thanks him for coming. The plumber crosses the living room—I know you aren’t going to believe this but so help me—enters the closet, rummages about a bit as though it might be the threshold of Narnia, backs out, and seeing that we all now form a cordon to the alcove, makes his way past us into the alcove, says goodnight, and leaves.

Dad calls the shop and says, “Did you really say this was your best man?” “Oh, yes, says the woman on the phone. That’s why we give him nights, so he can earn overtime.” “Not on this job he doesn’t,” Dad replied.

Anyway, after Don Lehl had retired and after our episode with Ceiling Hole Plumbing Solutions, we were glad to have Dave Waggoner for a while; but Dave got more interested in plumbing new housing and apartment developments and it became hard to get him when you needed him and plumbing, unlike say cabinetry, is sometimes something you need when you need it. When, that is, the plumbing still refers to the pipes in your house and not the leak in your egress window if you get my drift here.

That’s when Kate Benzel finally directed us to Norm, and may she be blessed for it by the holy angels themselves.  He is the one who removed a lot of our old pipes and put in good copper where needed and PVC where possible. He is the one who discovered that one of the main pipes leading to the outside hung right above the breaker box—and again asked if we would mind if he placed that pipe differently so we weren’t all electrocuted.

Norm has known some real tragedy in his life and so maybe it isn’t surprising that Norm’s the one who, when he heard that Kate’s husband Mike Adams had died suddenly, stopped by our house to ask if we thought it would be okay if he stopped at Kate’s to tell her how sorry he was for her loss.

That’s what I mean, great guy and great plumber.

But, at long last, back to drains. I began, you may still recall, by noting how the realities pressing in on us send our minds in certain directions. The example was how getting older moved me to hear the basement repair ads differently (can’t get that leaky egress off my mind). Well, just so, thinking about drains has come to me at a time when in America talk of “drains” nudges us to think of someone’s promise to “drain the swamp.”

I will forbear most comment for now, except to say that, given the current crowd our President has brought to Washington, I could see a bright future for two plumbers. Not, of course, Don and Norm, whose praises should ever be sung. But the guys at Ceiling Hole Plumbing Solutions and the Exit Through Your Closet While You Do Your Own Plumbing Company should fit right into the gang of unfit misfits currently installing the drains in D. C.

But take some heart. My wife just stuck her head in the study to tell me, change may be a’coming. “Did you know,” she said, “it is the dawning of the age of Aquarius!”

And I thought, I know what the Age of Aquarius means: it’s when all the drains really work and your egress window doesn’t leak!

PS

Just as added consolation for our troubles and proof that the Age of Aquarius will dawn, September is the month when Samuel Pepys drank his first cup of tea and H. L. Mencken had his last drink of beer. Extraordinary coincidences never cease to amaze!

September 2018                                                                                                 Kearney, Nebraska

The Fall’s First Blog, or The Blog’s First Fall

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The Fall’s First Blog, or The Blog’s First Fall

                                                                                                Chuck Peek

The Lure

First to lure you in before I warn you about what follows: an extremely interesting observation: I don’t know if you’ve noticed yet the change in our animal fetishes. Seems squirrels and moose have had their day in the sun. Ah Rocky and Bullwinkle! Fish, too: Elmo, Charlie the Tuna. Horses, once popular (Flicka, Black Beauty) seem to have faded except for a movie warhorse and a new triple-crown winner. But the long season of dogs—Lassie, Sandy, Rin Tin Tin, Asta, Fala—seems to be over and cats now have the day. Think Cats, The Lion King, Black Panther. The world is a veritable cat-lover’s paradise, even for Betty and Larry’s Shadow and Eva! I don’t say this is a good thing—only note that it has happened… but the many things that have ‘coincided’ with the shift aren’t good! Blame Felix the Cat!

The Warning

Such astute observations as these are the mark of summer passing into fall and before fall falls upon us fallen, some notes on the summer—realizing full-well that the only thing possibly worse than notes on the summer would be a slide show. You may want to quit reading right now and wait until the summer is out of our system and I can again use the blog to set the world to rights. Or maybe you are in the doldrums…then by all means skip the rest. Or maybe you’re looking for anything you ‘need’ to do so you don’t have to mow or shop or pay bills. Then by all means, continue.

Cather Spring Conference in Red Cloud

Best ever Cather Spring Conference, with Antonia Welch and Nina McConigley the keynoters, as well as our friends Cathedral Dean Craig Loya and Sandhills priest Randy Goeke celebrating and preaching at the Eucharist, Nancy Savery pumping the organ, as well as the chance to visit with Ron and Barb Hustwit from philosophy grad school days. Best of show: a Latina panel from the University of Nebraska-Omaha. The directors and Ashley Olson and Tracy Tucker do a wonderful job and do it patiently and astutely! (We’d gone down a day early because our old friends John and Kay Hall were visiting family in the area and we were able to see them, see some Cather sites, and get in a good bit of catching up.)

Buffalo Commons Storytelling and Music Festival

Super experience (3^rd time) as poet and MC at the festival in McCook, Nebraska. Bill Lepp told great stories and the Rubber Band was super! (Zoe Lewis with Roxanne Layton and Kate Wolf—you don’t want to miss any of them if they’re anywhere near.) Locals Steve and Barb Amundson heard Zoe in Puerto Vallarta! Loved seeing Ginger ten Bensel, Cloyd and Linda Clark, Chuck and Kristi Salestrom, and Walt and Jean Sehnert, especially near the coffee and rolls and sandwiches at Sehnert’s! Another fine performers’ dinner hosted by Kay Flaska (and came away with Sharon Bohling’s recipe for kraut salad). Wonderful time on our way home stopping for Eucharist with Mary Hendricks and Rick and Connie Moon at St. Paul’s Arapahoe.

Dublin

Lifetime experience: Dublin and Galway with the Ptomey’s. Rowan’s pick of the Vat House for dinner, one of the best. We managed to space out the Whisky Museum, Guinness Brewery, and Jameson Distillery with a few other places and top them off with Kilmainham Gaol—a moving experience in itself. Other Dublin favorites: The Little Museum’s 29 minute ‘modern Dublin’ talk, the Book of Kells, the National Museum of Archeology and National Art Gallery, and the walks through St. Stephen’s Green—where by the way the lounging security police do not know anything about the species and genus of the park’s flowers and wonder why you have disturbed them to ask.

 

     Kilmainham Gaol, Dublin, where were imprisoned and hung the heroes of 1916

Galway / Aran Islands

Loved the Irish trains—clean and on time and cheap. Arrival in Galway delayed only a few minutes by animals on the tracks!  Treat to have coffee with Marty Townsend in Galway…she was there with a Service Learning student group from U. Missouri. As in Dublin (and later in Belfast) the hop on/hop off bus tours are often informative and funny and good orientations to place. Noelle’s picks of Kirwan Lane and Monroe’s to eat were great picks, too…especially the ¾ lb. half beef, half lamb burger! Loved the woolen market.

Nothing beat the experience of Aran Islands, with a picnic at the top of Dun Angus (our table, an airline blanket that mysteriously appeared), nothing except possibly the ride with Harlan his first time behind the wheel on ‘their’ side of the car and road. One loud “Jesus Christ” from the back seat speaks volumes. Highlight of the trip northward: Hawk Walk at Ashford Castle that Noelle had arranged (and seeing there the house used as the squire’s house in The Quiet Man).

 

The last portal to the top of Dun Angus, Aran Islands

Cather Symposium / Limavady

The Cather Symposium in Limavady: paper went well, chaired a challenging session, and gave a prayer at the banquet. Alexander Arms (more of an inn-like bed and breakfast than a hotel) was great fun, and the sights around Limavady quite extraordinary, especially on the mountain and point north with view of the Foyle River. Willa Murphy’s planning was great when things went as planned, and adaptable when they didn’t. The other planner was Tracy Tucker—great job and she brought along her husband Terry, too.

Rare treat to see both Thackers and three Arnesons, as well as Francois Palleau, Steve Shively, Joe and John and Sallie Murphy, Diane Prenatt, Mark Madigan, Richard Millington and Nalini Bhushan, and a ton of Yosts including Ardis—the stalwart traveler! (Area connection to Cather? Slim or distant!) Highlight of the conference: a student panel from Ulster U. under Willa’s guidance (both Willas!)—runner-up Francoise’s tumble at North Point, the knot on her forehead, and her cell-phone kerplunk in the Foyle! She is, by the way, one of our favorite people!

Last lunch at Ulster University Derry campus with Willa Murphy foreground left

Derry-Belfast Train

Another train, from Derry (where the history talk was too long by several centuries but the old wall interesting) to Belfast with Ashley Olson and her husband Tyler (who had carried with him to Ireland the two lovely glass commemorations of service for John Murphy and me—I don’t know if TSA liked them going over, but they didn’t cotton to them coming home). The train follows a lot of the lovely Ulster coastline. Figured how to get from Great Victoria Station to our AIRBNB on Dublin Road—ideal location and friendly host. (Some AIRBNBs are better than others but we’ve never had a bad one!)

Belfast

Before the Titanic Museum (worth seeing and done well), the Hop on/hop off took us to the “protestant” and “catholic” neighborhoods, burnt out blocks, and “peace” walls—not pleasant. (Where was George Orwell when anyone appropriated those words?) Our guide told us that the new Ice Hockey arena was built to house a new-to-Ireland sport that might transcend the “religious” differences—when asked for suggestions for a team name that would not slight either side, the first suggestion given was “Belfast Bombers”!

Despite the diminished but still-present rancor, Belfast is wonderful. The Linen Hall Library is worth a stop (and not far from a Tim Horton coffee house and bakery). The bar in the Merchant Hotel is lovely (and saves you a shirt/tie and 30 pounds at the High Tea on the mezzanine), there are promising emblems of peace at the Belfast Cathedral, and we enjoyed one of the 10 graduation ceremonies at Queen’s University on our way to the Botanical Gardens and Ulster Museum. Our UBER (yep, it worked there) driver taking us to the airport asked us if we’d enjoyed Dublin. Upon hearing we had, he said, “We’re the friendliest people on earth. We just don’t like each other!”

Bar Restaurant at the Merchant Hotel, Belfast, NI

Flights

I’m hereby taking back every bad thing I’ve ever said about Heathrow and British Airways. Mea Culpa. I blame my bad opinion on a horrible experience with both years ago. We had good flights on Southwest (Omaha-Boston/New York-Omaha) and American (Boston-Dublin), but by far the most comfortable flight with the most pleasant crew was British Air from London to Boston. Our travel agent, Gwen Gerber, stands thanked and heralded for our good seating!

(Still, I would question the economic sense of the AA flight to Dublin needing to go back to Philadelphia, change planes, and then proceed to Dublin, and the BA flight to Boston needing to go first to London, change planes, and then proceed to Boston, but alas neither airline has asked for my managerial help.)

Ptomey’s

By the way, our AIRBNB lodging in Galway and Dublin, our train Dublin-Galway, our rental car both to the Aran Islands and then on up through Sligo and Donnegal to Limavady were all arranged by Harlan Ptomey and most of the itinerary arranged by Noelle Ptomey and lots of the fun in both Dublin and Galway provided by Rowan and Brody Ptomey. Better than a Rick Steve’s Guide!

Boston

We celebrated our 53^rd anniversary in Boston as we were outbound, wonderful little hole in the wall called Yankee Lobster and Fish Market; stayed at an accommodating but overpriced Courtyard motel at Logan. But Boston on return was hectic: flight delayed while they found a new pilot to replace the pilot who’d become ill, Logan not ready even with a long delay to get ready for our flight, so we sat on the tarmac another hour, then had to get the rental car and drive across to Cambridge to a more reasonably priced Courtyard…until you added the parking fee!  A crumby little neighborhood donut shop and $8.25 for a map of New England at a nearby service station sent us northward the next morning toward Maine.

I-95

If you go up I-95, be sure to stop at the first Maine Tourist Bureau stop…it’s a gem, with a vast array of resources, great local “cartoon” maps, and real people who know things!  They even told us where to get an anniversary present on the way to Belfast!

We side-tracked to the coastal highway as far as Kennebunkport.  Since George H. W. hasn’t been feeling well, we didn’t try to interfere with his schedule to see if he wanted to have lunch with us at Alison’s after we shopped at Deep Blue, where they do glass ornaments made from sea stuff—unique and lovely stuff. Stayed on Hwy. 1 until Portland where we caught I-97 around and then I-95 to Augusta…a beautiful drive in itself through granite and forests, and then eastward to Belfast (probably not the first travelers to go Belfast (Ireland) to Belfast (Maine).

Theyes / Belfast Maine

A visit with Chuck’s former Dean, Betty Becker Theye and Larry (known as the drstheye) and the Shadow and Eva cited at the start of this travelogue. Betty was the best Dean under whom Chuck served and was, at the time, the highest-ranking woman in the Nebraska system of higher education. They also belonged to St. Luke’s when Chuck was Rector there and she and then President Bill Nester were responsible for bringing Chuck to Kearney State College to teach when he resigned at St. Luke’s. One thing that now seems lamentably distant: at the early Eucharist at St. Luke’s in those days there would often be Larry Theye, chair of the Buffalo County Democrats, and Tom Tye, chair of the Buffalo County Republicans, worshiping together! Thirty years later the political right has pretty well killed off that kind of bi-partisan display!

By happenstance, the Theyes were celebrating a 40^th wedding anniversary and their parish, St. Margaret’s, being without a Rector at the moment, needed supply priests for Sundays, so Chuck celebrated and preached, led the thanksgiving for their anniversary, and afterwards led the congregation in blessing a tree planted as a memorial.  (If you are looking for a place where you’d enjoy the challenges of being Rector, give St. Margaret’s search a look.)

Our enjoyment of the Theye’s warm hospitality included a stop at the First Church’s 200^th anniversary party—sandwiches, music, and home-made strawberry shortcake, as well as a visit with Baird and Joan Whitlock.  Baird knew Robert Frost well for many years. We also enjoyed a delightful dinner with friends of Larry and Betty hosted by Carol and Ron Whittle (more denizens of Penobscot Bay). Did I mention we also ate lobster? Well, butter that had lobster dipped into it!

                                View of Penobscot Bay from the Theye’s back yard porch

Seekonk / Harley / Block

Back down I-95 to Seekonk, Massachusetts (suburb of Providence, Rhode Island) for a delightful stay with Bill Harley and Debbie Block in the ‘haven of peace’ farmhouse and property they have been restoring for some years. Chuck was on a program with Bill at the Buffalo Commons Storytelling and Music Festival where Bill made the mistake of saying come visit us sometime. Then later, we ran onto a blog (“Speaking Truth to Power”) that is one of the sites we’ve most followed to survive the current constitutional crisis, and found Bill’s name mentioned in the blog. Chuck wrote saying, thought you’d like to know that a woman named Debbie Block spoke highly of your work—only to get his reply that this woman was his wife! Then Deb made the mistake of saying she’d like to meet us someday.  Encouraged by those two “invitations,” we invited ourselves to stay with them! Who wouldn’t want to know better a sensitive and funny storyteller and a discerning and knowledgeable blogger!

We had a couple of delightful days there and enjoyed seeing how they meet life head on and sustain each other’s enterprises and enviable talents, not only in their careers but in their avocations as well—keeping bees (Bill) and singing in a hospice comfort choir (Deb). They are world travelers, too, from which they’ve gained a breadth of understanding and compassion that informs Debbie’s writing and Bill’s storytelling and both of their characters. Great morning with them at the Westport beach where we could all just unwind, even as we watched the life guards rush to assist a woman who’d gone out too far and got caught in an undertow.  We stayed rather closer to shore! Hoping they will come out some time and let us be their hosts for the annual crane migration. (Bill and Deb, not the woman or lifeguards!)

                 Great and Hopeful sign in the Amtrak Station, Providence, RI

Providence to Times Square

Bill dropped us off at Amtrak which we rode to Penn Station, New York City, not terribly far from the Edison Hotel that Bev Carothers put us onto way back when. We were there years ago when the President was there—Bill Clinton was no longer in office but everybody there referred to him as “The President”!  Outside of locating the toilet paper where the toilet lid pressed against it, our room provided a nice stay. At 47^th and Times Square, there’s no better location, and their new “coffee shop” is splendid in quality of food and service.

Yost / Leak / Gallagher

Cather friends—well, real friends we happened to have met working for the Cather Foundation—bent their schedules so we could all have dinner together just around the corner from where two of them live, which in turn is just a stone’s throw from Union Square, home of NYC’s original farmer’s market, through which you can walk if you get off the subway one stop late. Tom Gallagher lives a ways away, but Jay Yost and Wade Leak have a grand “floor” of their own in a revamped building…love it when an elevator lets you off in a living room!

Forts / Cloisters

Tom’s guest pass to the Met/Cloisters allowed both of us and Claire and Shelley Fort to enjoy the next day there, seeing the girls and the galleries.

First, we took the subway down from the Edison to the new World Trade Center to see what’s happened there since we last saw a fenced in crater. Two young middle-Eastern couples asked our help with directions to get there!

Then we took the express up to the Cloisters in time to meet Claire and Shelley for lunch and an afternoon together. The two talented Kearney girls who went off to Kenyon are now two talented New York women making their way in theater, and they are just as delightful as ever. We’d planned to see Charles as well, but he just recently moved from Connecticut back to the North Carolina community he and his late wife Wendy had known years ago.

 

                               Claire Fort, Chuck, Shelley Fort, Nancy at the Cloisters

Sony / Jason / Naked Cowboy

Our last day, Wade showed us around the SONY building, we had canapes and drinks with Jay and Tom after, and then walked up Broadway from Madison Square to Times Square. About 33^rd, a voice behind us called out, “Chuck.”  We turned and there was a friend and his wife from Kearney. I asked Jason what brought him to New York, and it turned out they were escorting a student group. This was their last night and they were rushing up to one of the theaters for a show.  We trailed behind them into a knot of pedestrians who, it turns out, had knotted to see the “naked cowboy” and his even more naked “painted ladies.” I hoped the school tour had enjoyed the scene…it was not one they were likely to ever see in Kearney!

Ubers

We’d had a not very pleasant taxi ride from Penn Station to the Edison when we arrived—jammed into a small back seat with our luggage with a driver who didn’t help with our luggage and either didn’t know where the Edison was or knew and was sounding out our knowledge to see if he could take us the long way. But our Uber as we left was delightful…arrived promptly at 5:30 a.m., helped with our luggage, conversed with us along the way, took us right where we needed to be in LaGuardia.  No wonder the taxi drivers are trying to curb Uber! (But, before I praise them too much, there’s still the little matter of the overcharge to go to the Sony Building!)

Love it when a plan comes together

Arrived at Chicago Midway in time to meet our daughter and Betsy Blake Bennett and Woody Bradford as they returned from the Episcopal Church General Convention just over in Austin, Texas. Then all of us waited for a flight delay that we expected might end up in no flight at all but instead ended when they’d replaced the brakes on our plane!  The flight attendant announced that brakes might just be important before our flight was completed.  Harlan was at Eppley to pick up Noelle and us.  A good night’s rest and dinner at Chez Ptomey, then off to Kearney 28 days after we’d left, 28 days in which each of us had survived on one back pack and a small carry-on.  Home meant a clothes washer and dryer!

         The Diocese of Nebraska folks at General Convention, Noelle front and center

Catching up at home

Two fast-paced days to catch up with friends, do laundry, send a Power Point down to Ole Miss to be ready for the Faulkner Conference, see to some bills, answer some last minute questions about the new back deck that Go2Guys were ready to build, get someone from Tilley Sprinklers to hurry out to cap a sprinkler head that we’d neglected to see would be under the deck, and set out for Oxford, Mississippi. 

Kearney to ‘throwed rolls’

Stayed one more night at Chez Ptomey, then took off early to make Cape Girardeau, Missouri, by nightfall. If you are in that area, the Auburn Place Hotel and Suites is a heck of a good value and is right by the interstate exchange. Arrived there early enough to drive a few miles down to Sikeston and Lambert’s House of Throwed Rolls for dinner.  Bob and Kaye Hamblin introduced us to Lambert’s many years ago, and it’s been a standard stop going or coming from Faulkner territory ever since. Yes, they actually do throw the rolls—clear across the cavern-like rooms. Some of the throwers should be scouted for pitchers or passers. When the Archway Monument near Kearney was having its financial woes, I suggested that a Lamberts across the highway would be a big draw for busloads of tourists who could visit the monument while waiting the usual 45-60 minutes for a table…and was met with complete disinterest!

Hamblins / the Faulkner World

We wanted to be in Cape so we could visit with Bob and Kaye on the way to Faulkner territory. I’ve been privileged to make some pretty good friends and acquaintances in the Faulkner world (Noel Polk, the Harringtons, Arthur Kinney, Arlie Herron, Virginia Hlavsa, Pamela Knight Rhodes, Susan Donaldson, and of course the Carothers) but I’ve worked more often and more closely with Bob than anyone else. Now that Kaye is not well, they aren’t able to get to the annual conference, so we wanted to plan a stop with them.

Delightful morning catching up in the parlor of their restored historic register home, joined for a while by Chris Rieger and his wife who took some time off from moving family to join us. Chris took over from Bob as head of The Center for Faulkner Studies at Southeast Missouri State University, one of the best places for Faulkner studies in the world. It attracts its fair share of international scholars to use it facilities that include the L.D. Brodsky Collection of books, manuscripts, and memorabilia, a collection cultivated by Bob over many painstaking years.

Bob and Kaye have been very good to us, and if I had to credit anyone with whatever standing I may have in the Faulkner community, I’d without hesitation credit most of it to Bob. Not solely, of course: lots of hours spent at Ann and Dale Abadie’s, Evans and Betty Harrington’s, and Joe and Leslie Urgo’s were part of it all. Working with the Teaching Faulkner people (Arlie Herron, Jim Carothers, Theresa Towner, Terrell Tebbetts) and teaching for the SAKS Institute (courtesy of Joan Wylie Hall) were landmarks for us, and I never forget that Don Kartiganer was the first director to invite me to give a plenary talk, just as I will ever value the early friendships with Caroline Carville, Bill Shaver, Jim Campbell, Colby Kullman, Helge and Marianne Steinsvik, and Grayson Schick, among others.

But Bob is a generous colleague, a fine poet, scholar, and teacher, and he became a good and close friend. We miss him a lot at Faulkner and Yoknapatawpha, especially now that Jay Watson is giving the conference its new look and the folks at Digital Faulkner, led by Steve Railton, are changing the face of Faulkner scholarship. 

Oxford / Ole Miss / Faulkner and Yoknapatawpha

We arrived in Oxford in good time and managed to see Karyn Hixson and Roger and Cele Davis who were also there from Kearney so we could see when we could get together during the week. We were back for the conference because the theme was one Chuck had been hoping to see for many years, Faulkner and Slavery. Originally, we’d planned to stay in Europe until the end of July and the Hemingway Conference, but this theme won out even over Paris!

Because there were so many speakers and panels this year, there was time for only two Teaching Faulkner sections, one in which Brian McDonald addresses teaching Faulkner in AP and International Baccalaureate classes, and one this year well directed by Terrell in which each of the others of us took a short while to address particular passages that might illuminate the conference theme.

Panel

Chuck proposed a panel, it was invited, and it closed the conference…a good choice since the panel proposed extensions of the theme and avenues for future study. Peter Lurie addressed what “slave time” may have contributed to how Faulkner crafted narrative time; Theresa Towner addressed wage slavery in several stories; Chuck addressed the spiritual/cultural heritage of slaves’ West African origins and how it provided an element crucial to the slaves’ survival; Sarah Gleeson-White served as our respondent and closed with avenues for future work. (Peter and Theresa are the new editors of The Faulkner Journal.)

Slaves, their offspring and heritage

The highlight for us, though, were the presentations of a new group of faculty and locals involved in researching the slave history of the building of the university, Rowan Oak, and many antebellum homes in the area. Their presentations were individually engaging and clear and collectively tell a story long overdue to be told. At the closing party at Off Square books we were able to get a copy of the beautifully illustrated children’s book that came out of the McEwen family’s relationship with Faulkner, signed by its author, one of the McEwen sisters.

The “yuppie’ Oxford                 

Of course, the idea we go to Oxford to study Faulkner is just a cover story. We go to haunt Richard Howorth’s grand bookstores: Square Books, Off Square Books, and Square Books Junior; and to dine at Oxford’s many fine eateries—the downhome food at Ajax, the great muffins at Bottletree Bakery where we go with Grayson after Eucharist at St. Peter’s, a usual stop at Venice Inn, the Bouré where we hosted an evening where our Kearney friends could meet some of our conference friends, and finally at the Ravine as Colby’s guests.  Jack Barbera was able to take time from preparing for his art show to join with us for two of these evenings. The weather held for the Sunday opening catfish feed and the Wednesday closing friend chicken picnic at Rowan Oak, and Taylor’s catfish eatery outdid themselves for each.

We were so grateful this year that Jim and Bev Carothers could take time out of caregiving to be there, and we had some wonderful meals with them, not to mention time relaxing in the world’s best pool with Jim.

Townsend / Swisher / Columbia

Our usual homeward bound stop in Columbia, Missouri, with Marty Townsend and Clark Swisher was especially wonderful this year. Two more unique personalities you could not find and such a wonderful couple. Their complementary wisdom and compassion help shore us up in these dark times. And our stop there helps prepare for Clark’s visit with us on his way to Sturgis on his Harley, this year his 48^th Sturgis and probably his 7^th or 8^th staying over with us on his way there or back or both. Took him to the new Cunningham’s Journal lakeside Kitchen and Tap House which got from him the seal of approval it got a week later when Harlan went there when he was in Kearney for school administrator meetings.  On Clark’s way back through, Brad Driml came across the alley to join us a while on the new deck. (Hope to get the Columbia folks to come up for crane migration, too.)

Rowan / Brody

Great stop on the way home for an overnight with Rowan—Brody and his parents were in Lincoln for a movie and Salt Dogs game.  Dinner at the diner (where’s there a Cole Porter today who would turn that into a song or show tune?), and then Rowan showed us Omaha Steel’s foundry in Wahoo where his new job is—welding and grinding for six months before his hiring bonus comes through! Closed off an evening watching an episode of The Crown with him. Brody was of course eagerly anticipating back-to-school. NOT!

Nancy with Noelle, Rowan, Brody, and Harlan Ptomey waiting for the Hop On/Hop Off

Home a while

Arrived in Kearney to find the new deck finished—so well done and just what we’d hoped. Thanks Josh and Jarrod…a pleasure to get you the final payment!

A whole week to be sure both July and August bills were all paid, join our St. Luke’s parish family for Eucharist and friends Ken and Linda Anderson and Bobby and Rachel Fox for breakfast after, and catch the superb Crane River production of Annie—not a show I’ve ever ranked among my favorites until now! Our friends Dick Jussel and Stan Dart had cameo roles as part of FDR’s cabinet, and Stan’s change from gruff cynic to hopeful optimist not only steals the scene from the imported actors but is also pivotal to the show itself. Bravo Steve Barth! (Only sorry that our travels didn’t allow us to see Kearney Community Theater’s production of Cats, which from all reports was also superb. Our apologies to T. S. Eliot!)

Will-Greta-Huck / Iowa City / University Hospitals

Our last trip was to Iowa City for Nancy’s annual eye appointment with Dr. Alward at the iris clinic. This year Chuck found a Comfort Suites with a 100-foot water slide with its pool and the Milwaukee Peeks were able to get away for a couple of days and join us. Swimming with Willie, Greta, and Huck, or watching Willie and Greta go down the slide, or watching Huck cajole older boys to get his toys thrown further out than he is supposed to go—such a treat. As were the burgers and shakes at the Hamburg Inn, the lunch at the Bread Market and Bakery along the Pedestrian Walk, and the carry out pizza dinner.  After the Peeks left for Milwaukee, we kept our appointment, got the good doctor’s assurance that all continues to be well, and went to Longhorn Steak house just around the corner for a delightful meal…filled up and unwound at the same time. (Sorry that Mel Schlachter was off to Ohio for a family reunion—maybe another year.)

Out on a limb—at the Old State Capitol, Iowa City, with Will, Greta, Huck and a hidden Daddy

Home again

And home at last for the usual: mowing the yard (and our neighbor’s on vacation), Eucharist at St. Luke’s (Mother Stephanie was hitting on all cylinders, as were the band and organ), gearing up for school and college start-ups, a new DISH program for the TV, anticipating a party at Dart’s for Torch Club and another at our place for some friends, some twelve-step meetings and counseling, supper with Ryan, Carrie, Hazel, Declan, Carter and Paisley! Grand Island celebration of Jim Schmitt’s 80^th postponed but coming up, as well as Chuck’s talk on My Antonia for the Roads Scholars at the National Willa Cather Center and again at the new Broken Bow Public Library. Hope also to hear Meacham at the Nebraska Humanities annual Governor’s Lecture.

We are pretty well through those weeks in every August when everyone seems to have lost their minds! This includes finding a whole city block cordoned off for beer drinking at the Downtown Kearney food-truck night, so startling a sight that Nancy, trying to talk to a police officer over the noise of the band, got up close, her arm around his shoulder drawing him closer so he could hear, and missing the look of disbelief registered on his face—as he debated whether to listen or to body-slam her to the pavement! Even better than the stony look on another policeman’s face who wondered why I’d called him away from breaking down criminals’ doors or alibis to remove a nearly dead cat from our hedgerow!

Paul Olson

The sum, I think, of most traveler’s travels—it was great to go and it is great to be home. To be back where we belong. (Ask Paul Theroux, the inveterate travel writer!)

How good to see friends, weed the yard, walk at Cottonmill Park, and give thanks for everyone’s hospitality and, not at all least, to give thanks for Paul Olson’s indefatigable and intelligent efforts for peace and justice over a life-time. The Nebraskan’s for Peace he and his first wife Betty helped found (and fund) is the longest running peace op in the country, right where it needs to be in the backyard of Stratcom! NFP’s newspaper contained Paul’s last column before, at 86, he sets off to strive for a better world in new ways.  Nancy and I owe more to the Olson’s than we can ever say, so we’ll just say, “well done” — “keep on keeping on”!

Next ‘voyage’ – to Milwaukee to see the Peek’s fourth child due September 12!

 End of summer/start of fall 2018

Kearney, Nebraska