Hello Reader:
After visiting an excellent flight museum this past weekend, I recall my drivers of days past. Led by Frank C, a former pilot, these intrepid retirees chauffeured our performers and lecturers and reported to a 19 year-old… me.
Once the Clancy Brothers, the Irish band, were in town and stayed outside of the village so they could have a telephone and tv, and my drivers told me I could take them to the venue and back and also of their off-the-book rules.
Yes, I was the proud owner of my parents’ brown Olds Vista Cruiser woody station wagon and walked through the paces as taught.
They would have needed two cars so I picked them up in my non-hip wagon on a hot day, even hotter lights on stage and they were all wearing hand-knit fisherman sweaters. Yes, my mother used to knit them for all our cousins. Not us. I had to go to Oban, Scotland to get a cardigan for me.
My rule was to tell them the place is “dry” so if they want any alcohol I can stop en route to the venue. They asked me to stop and bought a six-pack of beer. One six-pack on a hot summer night. What’s up there?
I dropped them at the venue and asked if I could help take anything in (they had instruments, of course) and they said I could take the beer. Now, my father was running this teetotaler’s paradise and here was his oldest kid carrying a six pack and hoping there were no photographers around backstage.
Turns out their instrument cases were laden with many bottles of Jameson’s Irish Whiskey. After intermission the stage manager tottered out of their dressing room drunker than a skunk. All I did was hand them a check and say thanks and drive them back to their hotel.
Jolly good folks, actually. It was a fun night for all the audience. Another work day for me.
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If you want to hear about other drivers, how about the last time I ever played golf at age 20. Dad ran the place so we’d show up at the golf course in the evening when no-one was there and try a few random holes.
The Pro, Stan M had lent me a set of clubs for the summer. I am a “leftie” but he assured me that right-handed ladies’ clubs would do me well. Our last hole I was 35 feet from the pin and in a sand trap. I took out a seven iron (no sand wedge) and chipped it right in, making par. Dad said from there on out, I was only allowed to drive the cart! I never played golf again.
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Bowling; A pro was next to us as I was beating my husband with no training whatsoever. Somehow this beginner hit a 7-10 split and the pro that was just practicing next to us said “nice split.” I replied “beginner’s luck, and coming from you that is an honor.”
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We look forward to Nanny getting our new outdoor Thanksgiving game, Kubb (pronounced KOOB) invented by Swedish Vikings centuries ago. We hope the kiddos get it and read the instructions and can beat all of us old folks by November.
Until then I’ve never played but in War Games the WOPR said at the end (no spoiler) “How about a nice game of chess?”
That’s all for now. Cheers, Dee
Cooking with Dee 