Sunday was the day selected for a memorial service. It was held in a wooded area near Mt. Shasta where the deceased had lived for many years.  Although some of our family attended the service, the missus and I did not. We were babysitting our great grandson, who will be two in August. Those in attendance at the service were aware of our situation and agreed this was a valid excuse for our absence. However, I probably would not have attended even though I had great respect and affection for the deceased.

She  was a live wire…and I intend to remember her that way. No amount of prayers or hand holding would alter that fact. And of course memorial services are for the living. Folks gather and discuss, but that’s it. If one has vivid memories of those have shucked off their mortal coil, they are best revisited alone and in quiet moments thereafter. So big Murray Clyde,  Little Bert  and I walked down to the grove to conduct  our reflections  there.

Although a hot day, it was still pleasant in early morning. I reclined in a hammock while Clyde checked out the perimeter for cats, and then plopped down beside me on the newly mown grass. Bert , b ringing up the rear finally joined our discussion group.

A large Monarch butterfly flew about, but not being a believer in reincarnation, I didn’t see it as an omen or a sign that the late lady was hovering nearby. I asked Bert what dogs do when one of their brethren passes on. He reflected for a moment, and then replied, “Not much. We can’t reflect…or so we are told. We notice when a familiar bowl is absent from the dinner scene…and we may miss a particular bark in the middle of the night…but other than that, we just move on.”

He seemed very much on point, and I wondered why the human race makes such a fuss…the flowers, the songs and the recitals. Compared to our four footed friends, human grieving seems much ado about something, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. Clyde must have read my thoughts. “We enjoy the company of other dogs or we bite them. There is little time wasted in our companionship. If we visit with other dogs, it is more curiosity than compassion. When they die, we don’t morn.”

“Well, now, I have it on good authority that you morn your masters when they are gone,” I said. “You have bedside or graveside vigils, refuse to eat and carry on something awful!”

Little Bert looked amused and replied, “Such antics are interpreted by humans, not dogs. It makes for good reading in novels…but it is likely such conduct reflects loss of food rather than companionship.”

I didn’t buy his comment. “I prefer to think you guys will miss me as I will miss you if you go first. We have bonded. Our relationship knows no bounds. We may not conduct memorial services…but we will feel the pain of loss. ” Both dogs rolled their eyes but reserved comment.

Murray Clyde rose to his feet, sniffed the air and put his nose on my wristwatch. I got the message and the three of us headed back to the house for lunch.  Such talks are good for the appetite.

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Several months ago, the County wide TRAX service was put out to bid. We were contacted by a bidder who, if awarded the contract, would have taken over one of the empty buildings we manage. Alas, the County decided to stay with the current provider. The moral to the story is that we bemoan the cost of government, per se, yet we lurk about, with hat in hand, looking for a City or County entity as a tenant. It would be nice to have it both ways.

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Our Downtown Red Bluff Business Association is promoting “Hawaiian Days” as a theme for sidewalk sales August 6^th and 7^th. They are urging merchants to dress accordingly. I’m sure this is a plus for retail trade…but if they think I am going to wear a grass skirt, they’ve got another think coming!

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Ah! Just what we need…a new Friday Daily News column! The Editor has come by with contrition written all over his handsome face and asked me to resume my I Say column in my treasured spot? No… not bloody likely. Instead there will appear a column titled “COUPON QUEEN”. Uh huh. Just what the doctor ordered for the ailing newspaper.

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Last week’s quiz went unanswered. Summer travel… or perhaps  our readers are lost in the horse latitudes? Whatever. We asked about the creator of the “Blue Book” which is a guide to automobile resale value. Les Kelley is the clever fellow who, in the 1920’s, published this helpful guide. He also created one for the Real Estate industry. And the Masonic Vesper Lodge #84 resides on the top floor of their own building in the 800 block of Main. They donated the clock and chimes to the Cone & Kimball Plaza.

This week’s quiz: Mark Twain, who lost money in bad investments, wrote, “If you pick up a starving dog and make him prosperous, he will not bite you”. How did he conclude his sage advice? If a church planned to bus its parishioners to its service, what could they call it?

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A contestant on a T.V. game show, for $50,000, was asked to name two of Santa’s reindeer.

“Rudolph and Olive”, he replied. A groan went up in the audience. The game show host shuffled uneasily and asked how the contestant came up with that answer.

“Easy,” the guy sang. “Rudoph the red-nosed reindeer , had a very shiny nose, and if you ever saw it, you would even say it glows. Olive, the other reindeer…”

(To respondto this website: rminchandmurray@hotmail.com)

Marine Corps veteran Warren Flournoy was inspired to write this poem after participating in the Korean War.

“I’ve played a lot of roles in my life; I’ve met a lot of men.

I’ve done a lot of things I’d like to think I wouldn’t do again.

And though I was young, I was old enough to know someday I’ll die,

And to think about what lies beyond.

Beside whom would I lie? Perhaps it doesn’t matter much, still if I had my choice

I’d want a grave amongst fighting men when at last death quells my voice.

I am sick of the hypocrisy, of lectures to the wise.

I’ll take the man with all his flaws, who goes, though scared and dies.

The men I knew were common place; they didn’t want the war;

They fought because their fathers and fathers before them had.

They cursed and killed and wept…God knows they are easy to deride.

Bury me with men like these. They faced the guns and died.

It’s funny when you think of it, the way we got along.

We came from different worlds to live in one where no one belonged.

I didn’t even like them all, some didn’t like me,

I am sure they’d all agree,

Yet, I would give my life for them; I know some did for me.

So bury me with fighting men, please, though much maligned they be.

Yes, bury me with fighting men, for I miss their company.

But bury me with men like them ‘til someone else does more.”

Warren Flournoy 1928-

(Another of his poems next week)

Larry LaLaguna Sr. suggested I get liable insurance. I laughed it off at the time. However, after a phone call from an irate reader, it might be good preventive medicine.

The caller was the Glassblower, not to be confused with the Benchwarmer, an earlier adversary. The Glassblower is, in real life, Mr. Richard Hanson with his business in south Corning. He said, while it appeared I was sympathetic to his cause, concerning his right to advertize his products via outdoor signboards, that what I had done in reality was to belittle his occupation and his factory. He went on to say that my column had implied that his business consisted of Bunsen burner and a straw…or words to that effect. And in the future, I should research my subjects more thoroughly. Although, in effect, he was giving me hell for my article, he was doing it is a nice way i.e. he did not sue me.

His point about research is well taken. I think father was more careful in his column…more informed. My material is perhaps less documentary and I use more poetic license. Maybe distortion is a better word.  Anyway, my comments are meant to catch the eye and touch the wit of the readers as opposed to the present Sports Page, for example. In so doing I may exaggerate, somewhat. To this Mr. Hanson, I confess. For shoddy, erroneous information, I apologize. To set the record straight, I find that you have four employees, another shop in Sausalito and make many diverse art objects of glass. So purse your lips and blow something beautiful and I’ll keep my eyes on the road when driving by your establishment

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Abner McKenzie has purchased Dr. Hardin’s Don Shasta Pony Farm. Abner currently raises Quarterhorses. I guess it will be Eighthhorses now.

Robert Minch 1929-

Daughter Madalyn is 52, lives alone in El Aye, and loves it. She became a Juvenile Diabetic at age 10…but does not care much for the honor. She had a reprieve of sorts when her younger sister Maralyn gave her a kidney about 20 years ago. Said kidney performed admirably until a couple of years ago when it too began to fail. Whereas a donor was lined up in the form of the lovely Kelly Forward, a small cut on Madalyn’s foot resulted in a staph infection, incurred at USC Hospital in El Aye, while preparing for the transplant. The staph infection persisted for months and months and led to countless delays. Prior to this frustrating time, Madalyn developed Charcot foot which was abetted by the staph infection.  After lengthy discussions by her team of doctors, it was decided that she, in their opinion, would be better off without the foot. When she fully grasped the situation, she decided, why not? She has now been a month without her left foot and recently flew home to visit.

There is no way to make light of this development, although her sisters threatened to nickname her “Peg”. But humor has been a great asset with us as a family, and the missus and I are pleased to report the patient is doing fine and expects to be up and about on her new prosthesis by fall. If readers are inclined to feel sorry for her plight, forget about it. She does not want sympathy…and feels she does not warrant such sentiment. If her cat were to lose a foot, she would feel remorse. With her own loss she has been stoic and practical and staid if she were a ballerina she would adjust to wearing a one one…rather than a tutu.

Let us all laugh and be glad she is with us and now in line for a transplant in the near future. Good show, kid!