Category Archives: How-To’s

Keep Your Head in the Game

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Wise people protect others by using wisdom and compassion when making decisions. That’s what we learn from Tog Ericson in today’s ‘How-To’s‘ post.

“Does Mister Tanksley really do magic, Uncle Tog?”

Tog chuckled. “Not the kind you saw at the Halloween program last year; but when it comes to fixing broken machinery, Struther does do some pretty magical things. So, in that way, he is a magician.”

“Oh…”

The answer had not fully completed its mission, but the advent of a more interesting alternative allowed it to suffice. “If the tractor isn’t fixed, can I ride Skipper?”

Skipper was a registered palomino gelding, one of several saddle horses owned by the Ericsons. Out of Tog’s own purebred mare, he was the result of an arrangement with the owner of a champion stallion, which would give them a purebred foal. The second birth, a filly then named Lollipop, had been the cause of the mare’s death, and came into the world with little more than lineage as her claim to greatness.

Because of their loss, the stallion’s owner had insisted that they keep Lollipop. Any regrets were soon forgotten, as the Ericsons cared for the wobbly-legged curiosity. She broke beautifully to become an ideal mount for Christine; and her gentle nature made her the perfect choice for what Tog had in mind.

“Skipper? Well, probably not for awhile, but I think you could ride Lollipop, um…there in the coral.”

“OH, Uncle Tog!” The child, unable to control her exuberance, threw her arms about Tog’s neck, trampling her sister who was sitting between them. “Could I, honest?”

Quote taken from page 8 & 9 of Bluebell

Just because someone wants to do something doesn’t mean it’s necessarily in their best interest, and discerning the difference, as Tog clearly does in today’s post, is a ‘How-To’ worth practicing.

Some Other Things on the Horizon

How to Do Those Things You Love

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Tog Ericson, a character in “Bluebell” who I’ve introduced in three previous posts, must have taken the the following quote from Elsie, the Richly Rooted blogger, to heart; “It’s important to create space for the things that make you come alive.”

As chapter two of “Bluebell” opens, we find it was Tog’s practice to drive slowly, but more importantly, we learn why in today’s ‘How-To’s post.

“Driving slowly served a dual purpose for Tog Ericson.  It kept the dust at a minimum, and gave him a few extra minutes with his two charming companions.

When Claude and Charlotte Watkins had asked that he and Christine be the godparents of their two children, the Ericsons were thrilled; and through the years they had come to love the girls as their own.  Their regular visits were a joy for all, but in particular Tog and Christine.  So it had come as a disappointment when it became necessary to relinquish their charges earlier than usual.

“Uncle Tog.”  The older girl was speaking.  “I wish we could go to Carver with you.”

“Well, I do too, Christine, but I’ll be getting such a late start that it will be way past your bed time before I get home.  We’ve had almost two whole days, though, and there will be next week.”   The child nodded, only minor disappointment showing in her lovely eyes.

Drive (or live life) a little slower than normal to allow more things you love into your days. Now that sounds like good advice to me and if you’ve got a bit more time you can spend at Read My Dad’s Stuff, here are a couple of other things to consider.

Interpret the Facts Carefully

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It’s not enough to gather facts when faced with an issue of importance.  We need to go beyond the fact-finding and carefully evaluate what we find.  That’s the lesson we get from today’s  ‘How-To’s‘ post.

“Driving slowly served a dual purpose for Tog Ericson.  It kept the dust at a minimum, and gave him a few extra minutes with his two charming companions.  When Claude and Charlotte Watkins had asked that he and Christine be the godparents of their two children, the Ericsons were thrilled; and through the years they had come to love the girls as their own.

As they came in sight of the house, Tog was surprised to see a man emerging from the field, a short distance ahead.  Scrambling through the fence, he hurried along the shoulder for a few hundred feet, before crossing, and disappeared into the woods.”

By reckoning the man’s height, Tog judged him to be a stranger because “aside from himself, Struther Tanksley and Jed Holister, he could think of no other man in the area that topped six feet.”

“Easing the car into the drive, Tog stopped by the front porch.  He could find no logical reason for it; but, his uneasiness, at seeing the stranger, had continued to intensify.

As he crossed the porch, he called softly. “Charlotte; I’ve brought your family home…”  A sound from inside indicated that he had been heard, but when no other response was forthcoming, he called the name a bit louder.  “Charlotte?”  The reaction to this was an explosion of sounds; those made by someone moving hurriedly.

Tog yanked at the door, it yielded easily, and he pushed through the opening into the semi-darkness of the draped living room.  The sudden change restricted his vision for a moment, but he could make out a man’s silhouette as he ran into the kitchen.  By the time he reached the outer door, Tog could see that he was a Negro.”

As Tog moved into the home he realized calling the authorities was going to be on his urgent ‘to-do’ list but he continued gathering and interpreting facts for that call.

“Waves of nausea swept over him as he knelt beside what had been a beautiful woman.  Aside from the blood-matted hair, there seemed to be nothing of Charlotte Watkins in what lay before him.  For several seconds he fought for control.

Without a conscious directive, his eyes sought out the compress on Charlotte’s temple.  Gradually, the contradictions it represented became the catalyst for clearer, more rational thought.  He stared in questioning wonder at the pan of water, the clean pad waiting to be applied, then at the other where it had been dropped on the floor.”

Tog lived in a southern city in the late 1930’s during a time when the black community was not often trusted.  And, as he entered the home of his godchildren’s severely beaten mother, he saw a black man inside.  Yet something about the first aid material he saw must have been analyzed correctly, for when he relayed his findings to the sheriff, through a call placed to the local telephone operator, he carefully instructed her to relay “that it looked as though the colored man was trying to help Charlotte, but he ran when I got here.”

Mr. Ericson interpreted the facts correctly.  What about you?  I’d love to hear about a time when you got the facts right (or wrong) and the lessons you learned along the way.

Find Someone to Trust

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Sometimes, that trustworthy soul will find you, as was the case for Willis Jefferson, in dad’s book, Bluebell.  Rowena Kramer, a white woman, rescued him, when he was a young child, on the plains of Kansas during a violent storm.  But however that trusted individual comes into your life, there can be a big benefit to finding someone to trust, as this brief excerpt shows.

Because of Miss Rowena he could read, write and speak correctly.  But far beyond that, her teachings had also reinforced those of his mother, which, having seemed inapplicable, he had been ready to cast aside.

“Two Miles?  Mercy.”  He squinted in the direction indicated by the sign.  “Must be a mighty small town.  Not even a water tank showin’.”

“Miss Rowena,” he whispered, and tears blurred his vision.  He had been about twelve when she took him in, and he had stayed for over ten years.  It was the nearly four years, since then, that held his attention, and he wondered if leaving had been a mistake.  Been a long time.  He thought.  “A long time….”

Anyone privy to the details of Willis Jefferson’s childhood would have seen Rowena Kramer as a greater force in his life than he might ever know.  Not only had she taught him about life, and instilled in him a love of it, she had implanted the need to share that love with all of God’s creatures.

Her guidance had given him a spiritual peace that allowed him to see adversity and conflict as merely challenging steps in his long, upward climb.  In academics, he excelled in neither reading nor writing, but with his introduction to numbers his true love was found.  He became an addict, going as far as she could take him in the years that he was in her care.

Wow…that’s a lot of benefit gained by finding someone to trust.  How about you…do you have a story to share about how somebody in your life made a big change?  Leave a comment and you just might inspire a fellow reader to be that person in another’s life.

Appease Your Partner Please

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Is it possible to soothe those seething situations where your partner demands something?  Well, in today’s How-to’s post, you’ll find one solution and perhaps realize that, sometimes, finding another partner could be a better option.

As our story unfolds on page 3 & 4 of dad’s book “Rowena”, we’ve just been introduced to the title character, a young child almost five, and her father, and as their train journey together comes to an end, we learn a great deal more about her dad.

The big man stood and stepped into the aisle.  Retrieving two suitcases from the rack, he dropped the smaller one beside the girl.  “Come along, child, we best be gettin’ off.”

Abruptly he turned, and walked to the end of the car, leaving the child staring after him.

Flexing her thin legs, the girl slid to the floor; and, with the satchel bumping at her heels, struggled to keep up.

“Hurry, Child!  I don’t have all day!”

She hastened her step, nearly falling in the attempt.

His laugh was mirthless.  “I swear,” he muttered, as he hurried down the stairs, “you’re as clumsy as your mother was!”

As the girl reached the vestibule, a blast of cold, dust laden wind swept through the door.  Drawing back, she dropped the bag to cover her eyes; and from the platform she could hear the man’s harsh voice: “For heaven’s sake, girl; get a move on!”

At the foot of the stairs the porter shifted his gaze from the annoyed man to the frightened child and, with three quick steps, was at her side.  “Here, young lady, let me take that.”

Grasping the suitcase, he whispered, “Those are pretty big steps.  Better take my hand.”

There were no words, but what he saw in the child’s eyes would obscure far more eloquent thanks for years to come.  As he eased her down to the rough planks, he said quietly.  “Mind your step, little one, the cracks are nearly as big as those dainty feet of yours.  I’ll just give your bag to…”

He glanced up in time to see the man disappear into the station.  “Well, my goodness⎯ here, let me carry that.”

She shook her head.  “Papa would be mad.”

Grasping the handle with both hands, she started to leave⎯ then, freezing mid stride, turned and executed a childish curtsy.  “Thank you, very much, sir!”

The words had come as those oft repeated instructions of a mindful parent, but the adoration in her eyes left him staring sadly after her.

The conductor touched his shoulder.  “It ain’t something for us to be meddlin’ in, John, but I know how you feel.”

John shook his head.  “Who is that man?”

“Her father.”

“Father!”  He peered skeptically at his companion.  “You’re joshin’ me.”

The answer was obvious in the other man’s eyes.  “Dear, Lord,” muttered John.  “How could a man treat any child that way, never mind his own?”

The conductor shrugged.  “I was talkin’ with the station agent up in Algona, where they got on.  Seems her mother died a few months ago, and he got himself some woman friend that don’t want the girl around, so he’s givin’ her to a family here in Garwood.”

There you have it.  Girlfriend upset that you have a child?  Get rid of the kid.  Or maybe, the story should be written a little differently if this was a real-life ‘How-to’ issue.  Which would you vote for?

  1. Discard the daughter
  2. Dump the dame

Want to continue reading this tale and find out what happens to Rowena?  A free download is just a quick click away and be sure to read about Rowena’s Challenge too!

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?