Monthly Archives: February 2018

Before Little Boy BIll

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Knowing what makes a person tick requires a look at their parental make-up and that’s where today’s episode of “Bits of Bill” takes us.  When dad’s mom is introduced to a senior official on the Pasadena police force, in a somewhat arresting manner, a story unfolds that pop has captured in three short tales.  Below is an excerpt from the last one.

A sound from the kitchen jogged her memory, and she excused herself.  She returned moments later, after having checked on the stew, and asked, “Have you made plans for supper, Chief McKenna?”

It seemed to Edith that there was touch of sadness in his smile.  “Why, yes, as a matter fact I have, I’ll be dining at the Good Fellow’s Grill.’

Jason spoke up, “That’s where we had hamburgers, boy, they make good ones!”

Edith nodded.  “I see, and you eat there regularly?”

“Yes…yes I do.”

“So it isn’t a special occasion…um, you aren’t expected by…someone?”

A quizzical smile touched his lips.  “Not by prearrangement, no.”

“Then I will be terribly hurt if you don’t stay for supper!”

It was, in Edith’s estimation, a brazen display, but possibly excusable for its motivation: The empty longing and helpless need that had nearly driven her to her childish escapade with Officer Barnes, she had seen in Chief McKenna’s eyes.

Whether that had been the only impetus, it was a beginning; and, later, Edith was able to see that, under the circumstances, it had been perfectly proper.  It had also been most rewarding.

Three years later, he was 56, she, 33; in the home of a justice of the peace, they were married.  How much of the true, Wilbur McKenna, Edith ever met, we are not to know.  What is known, is that Jason had a father that he idolized, a man he would come to love dearly, a father that loved him as his own.  Edith no longer searching, had found peace with a man she would love for the rest of his life; and Will McKenna had found, in that love, and in returning it, a reason to, if not forget the past, live for the future.

As for the children of Edith and Wilbur… perhaps later.

Interesting that there was only one other child, Warren Dean, and he wrote the tale about my Uncle Jason and grandparents; Wilbur and Edith McIntyre.

Want to learn more?  Here are some options that you might enjoy…

The Jason Station

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It was bad enough that the large, glowering man, happened to be the little girl’s father, but when he left her at the train station, with someone she didn’t know, you could only hope her life would, somehow, take a turn for the better.  In today’s ‘First Acquaintance‘ post, we find just such a new direction.

A pair of trousers’ legs towered before her.  Dark blue and neatly pressed, they seemed to reach forever.  Her eyes traveled upward to the vee at the joining of the vest.  Then, on past the great gold chain hanging loosely across the line of buttons, to the point at which his black tie shown starkly against the gleaming white shirt.

From above the stiff collar, a face smiled down at her.  It was not like her father’s.  There were no dark bushy brows crouched above fierce black eyes.  These, nearly white, were laughingly placed on a broad forehead above two beautiful blue eyes.  At the moment, however, these seemed very sad, but she knew instinctively that they would twinkle like stars when they were happy.  Beneath a lovely mustache, the wide smiling mouth opened, and again the concerned voice spoke soothingly.

“Well, hello there.  I thought I might never see your face; what with your hands covering it up; but my… you should never hide it, it’s a lovely face, and you have beautiful eyes.”  He chuckled softly.

With these few words, we’re introduced to Jason Carlson, the man Rowena’s father had somehow selected as the girl’s new parent.  And with the same words, she recognized a change for the better may have burst into her life.

Jason has…oops, almost gave away a future episode of First Acquaintance.  Until that article appears, here are a couple of options to help you get better acquainted with Rowena and the characters in her book.

 

As the Crow Flies

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Sometimes, people need to stop and refresh!  When life is throwing a wrench at us, removing ourselves from the issue at hand can give us the clarity we need to finish what we were dealing with.  In this, my first ‘How-To’s‘ post, an excerpt from Dad’s short story, “The Crows are Quacking”,  tells the story of Just such a thing happening to my parents when I was five years old.

It was 1955; our new house was in one of the first tracts to sprout among the orange groves surrounding a lovely little town nestled close to the San Gabriel mountains; some thirty miles east of Los Angeles.

Our moving day had been hectic.  I was able to get a truck, but none of the promised help had materialized; it was late and we were very tired.  I was trying, with little success, to connect the kitchen range, when Barb burst into the room.

“What’s that noise?”

“Me, cussin’!”

“No, it’s outside.  Listen!”

I stopped mumbling; then it was my turn:  “What is it?”

I scrambled to my feet, and we both hurried outside.

“It’s coming from the east,” Barb said, pointing.

It is probably safe to say that most of us have heard the call of a crow.  If not in person, on radio or TV, but until you’ve heard several hundred of them returning to their rookeries, you ain’t heard nothin’!

Because the sound had preceded the birds by a considerable distance, we were forced to wait for some time before catching a glimpse of its source.  I don’t recall there being any apprehension, but anticipation and curiosity were at a peak.

Finally, the first of the flocks came into view. They moved in a general direction, but there seemed to be great confusion with regard to their eventual destination.  Although the din seemed to be the result of differing points of view concerning that objective, it soon became evident that they knew exactly where they were going, and everything else was just fun and games.  We watched, totally enthralled, as they came in seemingly endless waves.  Circling above the groves, they dove, landed and flew again to repeat the process, many times.

Suddenly, I remembered what I’d been doing and glanced at my watch.

“Sheesh!  I’ve wasted fifteen minutes watching those crazy birds.”

Rushing back into the kitchen, I grabbed my wrench and wiggled in behind the stove.  Surprisingly, what had appeared hopeless before, seemed less so now.  A brief examination revealed a place where I could fudge a little; and, in a few minutes, the pilot was lit, and staying on!

Those crazy birds!

Obviously, the interruption was unintended but never the less, highly helpful and effective.  Maybe, following this event, mom and dad listened for avian packs approaching when things they were working on weren’t going so smoothly.  What about you?  When you’re tired and trying, with little success, to address life head on, what have you used to remove yourself from the moment so you can return with a new outlook?