Greenwood/Elk columns

January 9 ~ February 27, 1992

January 9th,

Trying to find and buy a used car is an interesting proposition, but this time it really got strange. Lolli was only going to get around $1800.00 for her car from the insurance company; remember the deer episode from a few weeks back? She wanted another station wagon, smallish, Toyota, Datsun, possibly a Volvo.

We looked at the car lots in Fort Bragg and checked the local papers. The last day of 1991 found us heading to Martinez in ROADCOW to celebrate New Years Eve at my sister and brother-in-laws' place. We checked the used car lots in Santa Rosa on the way down. It seems station wagons are far and few between, and pricy.

We all had an enjoyable New Year's Eve at my sisters and next morning, the beginning of the New Year, found us going through the papers with a cup of coffee in hand.

Next stop, San Francisco, to visit our friend Suzanne who lives close to Golden Gate Park. After finding her place we had a pleasant afternoon walking the beach South of the Cliff House, Suzanne watching the surfers, Lolli and I looking at the station wagons parked along the way.

No "For Sale" signs.

Heading back to Suzanne's, on 35th Street, we noticed cars parked on the side streets that did have "For Sale" signs on them. I have noticed them on 19th Street too, come to think about it. It seems like that is where people park their cars when they want to sell them. We poked along and looked over the current crop, and then, sure enough, an 1984 Nissan Maxima station wagon, $2000.00.

We went around the block and pulled up behind it. We are standing around, looking it over when a car pulls up, a guy jumps out and asks in broken English if we are interested?

"Well, maybe."

He said he will have the key in a minute, pulls a FM walkie talkie out of his coat pocket and stars talking to someone in what? Pakistani? Yugoslavian?

In a few moments, Zoom! a car pulls up and out jumps the guy with the key. He opens the tailgate, reaches over the back seat, and opens the back door, goes around, reaches in and opens the driver door, then hands Lolli the key. It seems the door locks have been jimmied.

"That happens in the city."

The car starts, sounds okay, Lolli and I drive it around the block, one of the guys sitting in back.

We park again and I look under the hood, under the car, all around. The spare tire is gone, the jack is gone, the cassette player is gone, the ash tray is gone, the fuse block cover is gone. The hood has some dents in it. The Plastic trim around the headlights is broken. It is an automatic transmission, instead of a stick shift, which Lolli prefers, yet, overall it is straight and clean.

We offer them $1600.00.

""$1900.00. Cash."

"We'll think about it."

Then drive back to Suzanne's for the night.

The next morning we decide to take another look. It is a lot of car for the price. All the missing stuff is minor if the car is any good.

We drive back to 35th Street. The guy is waiting. This time we take the car for a drive down the freeway. Everything seems to work; wipers, lights, power mirrors, power windows, everything except the radio and cruise control.

"$1700.00."

"$1800.00 including tax and smog!"

We talk it over, get them to include a spare tire and jack, and decide to take it. Lolli gets into the guys office, a Toyota sedan. He sorts through his briefcase to find the appropriate papers. He has over thirty different envelopes, each represents a car! Finally he finds the right one, fills out the paperwork.

While talking to him, Lolli discovers these guys are Russian. They operate a floating used car lot! Lolli hands over the cash. The car is hers.

Lolli gets in her new car. It won't start.

"No problem. Its been sitting for two weeks."

They get out jumper cables and jump start it. Lolli takes off for the closest gas station, the gauge is on empty. I follow in the ROADCOW.

Four blocks away, at a major intersection, the car dies again. I jump start it from ROADCOW. It won't stay running, the battery is 'too down'. A Muni bus is held up behind us. A traffic jamb is building.

Across the street is a gas station. I run over and borrow a new battery and put it in the car. The car starts and runs. We pull into the station and the mechanic checks the charging system. Dead alternator. We buy the new battery and head for Mendocino, running on battery.

In Santa Rosa, Lolli buys a new alternator but nobody has time to install it. You need an appointment. We press on and get to Lolli's house just after dark, Lolli following close behind ROADCOW with her lights off, so the battery would last.

The next morning I install the alternator. The car starts and runs. I fiddle with the radio and get it to work. I install Lolli's pink windshield wipers, Lolli installs her purple seat covers. She is getting happier. Confidence is building.

We go to San Francisco to buy a Japanese car from Russians.

Yahoo, New World Order.

1992. So far, so good.

January 16th

What to write about? What to write about? The political concerns, the environmental concerns, the financial concerns, on and on. It is all so mind numbing and worrisome. The newspapers are full of it. Conversations are loaded. What to do. What to do. I have my opinions, of course, but why waste paper?

My dog and I decide to take a walk and check out Southern Greenwood/Elk. You may remember I checked out Northern Greenwood/Elk at the end of last year. It is time to get on with it, at least tie up loose ends.

It is a sunny Sunday afternoon. The twelfth of January.

In my mind, Southern Greenwood/Elk consists of everything South and East of the Elk Market.

So off we go to see what we can see.

First off, the still closed and unchanged Oasis Bar. What a shame. Today, some of the football playoffs are in progress. I can conjure up the clink of glass and the cheers as sports buffs watch a touchdown on the TV, but no. All is quiet except for the rustle in the wind of a few notices, stapled to the bulletin board, on the front of the building.

On past the empty house behind an overgrown hedge and then, left, up Lousia Street. Still no potholes, the road seems to be holding up so far. Past Force Ten. Door locked, nothing going on today, no tours, no wet suits drying in the sun shine.

Next, the Steve Acker boat works. Home of the Odyssea Ski. Door locked. All is quiet. Out back various double and single kayaks sit in racks.

Around the bend is the Community Center. Nothing going on. The replaced roof looks good, the multipurpose court has the tennis net strung up but no one is playing. The skate board ramp is pushed to one side. All the kids are elsewhere.

On down the lane behind Rafferty's, my dog and I go. Doctor John has his gas powered shredder going. He is busy grinding up some recently pruned tree limbs. The only sound of activity in town.

I take the back way into Belvie Rook's yard. In through the wood shed, careful of the rotted floor, then on out into her back yard. I knock on the back door. She isn't home, so I go around the house and down her sidewalk, out onto the Philo/Greenwood Road. Christmas may be over but Belvie's Green Christmas lights are still strung up on her fence.

I turn left and walk up the road towards what I consider to be the Eastern limit of our little town, the PG&E sub station. Along the way I see blooming pink roses and white Calla Lilies in Mary Berry's front yard. Next door, at Jane Corey and Gary Moran's house, one of their twins sit on the porch, whittling a stick.

Kevin Joe, our Park Ranger, isn't home but his Christmas lights still hang in the windows. Christmas seems to last a little longer in Southern Greenwood/Elk.

Ella Russell's house looks nice with fresh paint and light blue trim. On the South side of the Philo/Greenwood Road, Mr. Miller's on-going garden project looks...on-going.

I return back down the Philo/Greenwood road to Highway One. Very little traffic. I notice the road cut, just before the intersection, which exposes what this little town is built upon. I think it is called Graywhacky. Seems about right. Busted up mountain rock washed out into the ocean as sediment, compacted, then raised as a coastal shelf. It seems solid but it is easy to break into pieces. I think my mind is made of the same stuff. Graywhacky.

Off to the West I see the Greenwood Creek outflow from the lagoon has taken a swing to the South. I notice nobody is walking the beach.

And now, North, up past the Daniel's houses, Anne and Donny. Down past them I see Erna's pick up parked at the cabin she rents from Donny. Our Mistress of the Post must be home for the day. I notice the "Abalone House", on the East side of Highway One has a new porch.

Next up, the State Park Parking lot. One car parked there.

Well that pretty much wraps it up. The human condition may be on edge elsewhere in the world, but things on the edge seem to be, just fine.

I didn't check out the Elk Cove Inn or the Muellner house that Judy and Joss live in, just South of the Greenwood Creek bridge, although I do consider that part of the town. Maybe another time. Oh yes. I did see two cats, one robin and several whales.

January 23rd.

I went for a walk on Greenwood Beach and what's this? A strange track in the sand.

It looked like someone had rolled a bald car tire through the sand, leaving a imprint, smooth in the center but with a ripple pattern on each side. I figured some kid had found an old tire and had been rolling it along, but no, there were no human tracks. Could it be a turtle?

I followed the track up from the surf line and onto the dry sand. Did it come ashore to lay eggs? The trail weaves around drift wood pieces and I soon lost it in the grass and brush at the foot of the cliff. Oh well.

I returned to the shore line and continued on North. Soon I saw the track again, this time parallel to the reach of the surf. Ah! maybe I was tracking it the wrong way. A short way further on, sure enough, a turtle, clumping along.

I walked up to it and it retracted into its shell. It was about seven inches in diameter, with a high back. It looked like the box turtle or snapping turtle I remember in the mud holes and drainage ditches of Nebraska.

Soon he extended his head and legs, dark green with yellow streaks and a red spot on each side, and continued on along the beach. I noticed the back legs just pushed, but the front legs looked like he was doing the Australian Crawl, alternating arms swinging out, around and down to move himself forward. Clump, clump, clump. It looked like hard work.

A extra large wave broke and ran up the shore. I ran back, out of the way, but the water washed over the turtle. When the wave retreated, the backwash flipped him over. He laid there like a rock on the sand. Soon, out came his head and legs, he flailed around a bit, then craning his head around and down, reaching with his legs he pushed against the sand and flipped back right side up. He looked around, wiped his eyes with his front feet, arms?, then proceeded once again along the shore, leaving that distinct trail.

I think he is a fresh water turtle and the direction he is heading in leads to either the sea or shear rock walls, but what do I know. He seemed determined and has obviously been around a while.

I decide to leave him to his fate and I turn to face mine.

The next morning I happened to tell Pure Wilcox about the turtle. She said,

"Hey, somebody around here told me they lost their pet turtle. Let me try to remember who it was."

About four hours later she called me. She realized it was Beth Perrill's son Nova, who lives in the former Thompson house, that had lost a turtle.

The next morning I decided to go back to the beach and find the turtle. I looked for over an hour but was too late. I found the old tracks of the previous day that led down to the shoreline and headed off to the North end of the beach, but that was the end of the trail. High tide had closed out the beach during the night and the possibilities of survival looked slim. There was no way that turtle could have scaled the cliffs or survived the pounding he would have taken in the surf against the rocks. There were no fresh tracks back up over the dunes either. Gone.

In the evening I met up with the owner, twelve year old Nova Perrill. He invited me into his house and showed me his three remaining turtles. "Senior", who is a Painted turtle. "Turtell", who is a Red Eared turtle, and "Kirby", who is a Western Pond turtle, "The only fresh water turtle native to California".

The one that is lost was named, "Tortellina". She is a female Red Eared turtle who was almost twenty years old. Nova has had her for four and a half years. She got out last December, during the Christmas Fair, when a friend of Nova's forgot to shut the back door.

Nova and I walked down to the beach and I showed him the day old tracks, then we looked around the North end of the beach for a while. No luck. Nova said, "Fresh water turtles can't survive in salt water".

As we headed back up the trail for home, Nova told me he feeds his turtles live fish. He said they are pretty much hibernating now and rarely eat, but in the summer, Tortellina could put away fifteen fish at a feeding. Sometimes he lets them crawl around in the house. The interesting part is, if he puts their pond, a plastic wading pool, on the front porch, they will crawl to the front door. If he moves the pond to the back porch, without them seeing him do it, they will still crawl to the back door!

Well, there you have it. The only hope now is that someone else happened to see Tortellina after I did and moved her to a safe place or took her home. If you did, I know someone who hopes to get her back.

January 30th

And now, for the rest of the story.

Remember Nova's turtle, Tortellina, in last weeks column? Well, the following Sunday, the Perrill family was enjoying a late afternoon, down at the beach. Beth was talking to Rhonda Poehlmann when a woman tourist came walking by with what, at first glance, looked like a crab. Beth then realized it was a turtle, it's arms, legs and head, hanging down. The woman said she found it in a tide pool at the North end of the beach.

Eve Perrill, Beth's daughter, ran off to find Nova and when he showed up he took the turtle over to the lagoon to wash it off and try to revive it. It's shell was bleached white, almost transparent, it's claws were worn completely down and it was blind. Nova could feel a faint pulse in its left rear leg. Nova tried to get it to drink some water, then, while holding it in his arms, it died.

They took Tortellina home and buried her under the Eucalyptus tree in the back yard.

The ship with all the lights on it that has been seen this past week off the coast of Elk is, according to Paul Young, a cable laying operation. A second fiber optic cable is being put in place between here and Hawaii.

The recession finally caught up with me and I was fortunate enough to get a forty hour a week job pumping gas at the Elk Garage.

Jeff Schlafer, who was running the front end of the garage has returned to Chico State College. I happened to be seen standing around with my hands in my pockets and got tapped for the job.

I must admit it came at a propitious time. Now if I can only learn to "do it right". Either my age or too many paint fumes, over the years, have impinged on my ability to quickly grasp new situations, or, maybe I always was that way. I don't remember...

Fortunately for me, Bob Matson has a lot of patience. He said, "If I can teach teenagers, I can teach you". Well, we obviously have our work cut out for us!

Whatever. It is nice to be back in the heart of our fair city and to have the opportunity to visit with the locals on a more regular basis.

"Three dollars of Regular Unleaded."

"Okay."

"Put it on my charge."

"You got it. Have a nice day."

Or even tourists;

"Fill it with Super."

"Okay."

"Put it on my Visa."

"Okay."

"Say. How many miles to Mendocino?"

"I don't remember." (Hee. Hee.)

February 6th.

Working at the Elk Garage five days a week has obviously put me more in touch with the folks around here because I have a pile of notes handed in for this column. So, let us get right to it.

The Roadhouse Cafe is putting on a special Valentine Dinner, Friday, February 14th. There will be two seatings, one at 5:30 and the other at 8:00 PM. Reservations in advance only. Marcia Sloane and Fred Raulston will provide the music. Wayne Walker and staff will hold forth in the kitchen. Call 877-3285 or 877-3306 for reservations.

A reminder;

The Elk Altar Society is again sponsoring the 99th Annual Saint Patrick's Dinner and Dance, March 14th at the Greenwood Community Center. There will be the traditional Corned Beef and Cabbage, professionally cooked by Chef Gloria Ross of Boonville. Cocktail hour starts at 4:00 PM. Dinner at 5:00 and continues until 8:00 PM. Following dinner there will be dancing to our local band "Word of Mouth". A full beverage bar will be available for refreshments. The prices for dinner, $12.00 adult, children under twelve, $6.00. The dance admission will be $6.00 per person. There will be a raffle and auction. Mark down March 14th on your calendar and see you there. Come join the fun.

Kay Curtis is opening a new multi-media show, "Hearts", February 5th through April 5th at the Boonville Hotel. Come by and see her new work, Wednesday through Sunday, noon to nine.

I delivered Barbara McKnight's car to her after replacing the fuel filter. Barbara invited me to take a quick tour of the Paunchy Pelican, the rental cabin they built next to their house, South of Elk. It is built only forty feet from the ocean bluff and what a view. The house is 1800 square feet, two story, three bedrooms and a bath upstairs, full kitchen, bath, living room, deck and so on downstairs, all beautifully furnished. If you have out of town guests visiting and they need a place to stay, check it out. Rates are available by calling Barbara at 877-3230.

Sarah Winters, Lillia Davidson's daughter, had a baby boy January 12th. Seven pounds, six ounces. His name is Habibi. His father currently lives in Java and hopes to join mother and child in the near future.

Isabel Petty is quite easy to locate now a day. She is back from her "Vacation in Hell", and quietly recovering. Well, not exactly quietly recovering, but recovering never the less, in her second story bedroom at the Greenwood Pier.

I stopped by for the story.

There she was, trekking in Guatemala with her friend Lydia Rand of Mendocino. They had just stepped off the "once a day bus" and started walking along the path, North of Lake Atitlan, when Isabel slipped and broke her right ankle!

She crawled and hobbled back to the "highway" and had to turn down several offers of rides, "the drivers were too inebriated to trust", before they finally found a ride to the hospital in Solala. There, the doctor performed surgery, installing screws and pins in two ankle bones but evidently didn't notice the broken tibia. That was later discovered in the Fort Bragg Hospital!

After spending three days in the hospital in Solala, living on black beans and baby sized tortillas (no bed pan), Isabel was turned loose with a full length cast and crutches.

To keep their trip from being a total bust (heh, heh), they decide to rent a car and go shopping in Panajachel. Isabel had Lydia drive slowly through the market area and when Isabel saw something interesting she would have Lydia stop and bring the vendor to the car for Isabel to inspect the goods.

Isabel saw some purses, Lydia stopped the car, and went off to get the vendor. The cops arrived and wanted to ticket Isabel for illegal parking. When Lydia returns, the cops take Lydia to their car which is parked in front of Isabel. Lydia doesn't speak Spanish. Isabel, left fuming in the rental car is speaking Spanish real good and loud by now. All of a sudden, Blam! A drunk rear ends Isabel. Finally everything gets sorted out.

Isabel and Lydia return to the States. When they get to their car, parked at the Airporter in Santa Rosa, they can't find the keys to their car!

Isabel told me she is quite happy to be home now, enjoying a real vacation, in her bedroom, in her bed.

Stop by and say hi.

February 13th.

The Greenwood Civic Club will have its Annual Rummage Sale, Saturday and Sunday, April 4th and 5th. Please save all your rummage until then. More details later.

The annual town meeting will happen February 25th at 7:30 PM. We will hear reports from;

The Elk Community Services District.

The Elk Volunteer Fire Department and Ambulance Service.

The Elk County Water District.

Plus, the latest plans for the addition to the Community Center will be on display. We will also hear a report on the status of the Greenwood Watershed lawsuit against Louisiana Pacific and the California Department of Forestry.

Finally, not necessarily in this order, a report about how the "Free our Beaches" petition is coming along.

Keep in mind that there are open positions on the Elk County Water Board, The Community Services District Board, and the Community Center Board. Make sure your hand written excuse is signed by a parent!

Charlie Acker went to a PG&E meeting concerning the under grounding of power, phone, and cable lines, here in Greenwood/Elk. He reports the latest news is that it will happen in 1993. The estimated cost is now up around three million dollars.

Last year, at the annual town meeting, only about twenty five folks showed up. We discussed the usual business but the impending Gulf War was foremost on our minds. A lot has changed in the year since and we hope for a much better turn out.

Over the past several years I have compiled a Greenwood/Elk mailing list. Whenever the Community Center, or the Rummage Sale folks, or other local public groups need to do a mailing, I print out a set of labels for them. As time goes by folks move in or move on. It is hard to keep it up to date.

If you want to be on this list and are not, please let me know. Write to me, Box 2, Elk, or talk to my answering machine, 877-3216.

This morning, February 7th, I heard on the news that our sixth year of California drought is official.

The last couple of weeks the weather man has been predicting storm after storm but they all fizzle out by the time they get to our neck of the woods. Another storm is predicted for this coming weekend, meanwhile, we are experiencing some of the nicest sunny weather we have had in a long time and much better weather than we had in all of June, July, and August of last year, when we had continuos fog on the coast.

The marble, mosaic floor, Kendrick is having installed in their new building, is quite something to see. Better take a peek before Isabel covers it all up with rugs and stuff.

February 20th.

Wetness. We have wetness!

I called Jane Matson to see how much wetness so far. She said the 1st of February we received .68 of and inch

\tab the 8th, .05

\tab the 10th, .80

\tab the 11th, .68

\tab the 12th, 1.05

\tab the 13th, 1.01

\tab the 14th, 1.05 and as noon today,

\tab the 15th, .70 of an inch.

I know, at the Elk Garage, windshield wiper blades, silicone caulk, and vis-queen are hot items.

The tow truck has been busy with folks that have either slid off the road, gotten stuck in the mud, or won't start due to wet electrics.

The rivers are up and hauling out loose topsoil and debris that has accumulated over the past five years of drought. All rather exciting.

Eddie Hall stopped by the gas station driving Isabel's car, "Fill it up".

I look inside and there is Isabel, sitting in the passenger seat wearing her cast, all dressed up for a trip to the city. I knew she wouldn't lay around in bed for long just because of a broken ankle. Sure enough, she had commandeered Eddie as a chauffeur and was off to shop.

Later I sloshed over to the Greenwood Pier to see how Kendrick's marble floor was progressing. It is about two thirds done and looking good.

I don't know how Bob Matson handles this gas pump jockey business. I'm a one thing at a time kind of guy, whereas, Bob runs the gas station, offers twenty four hour a day towing service, he is fire chief, ambulance medic, deals with the Roadhouse Cafe, and so on.

Take last Friday, for example. I just get the doors open and the pumps turned on when some guy wants Bob to tow in his motorhome. His brakes burned out coming down Mountain View Road.

Bob tells me Donny Daniels is sick, he won't be in today, and would I install an electric ignition module in Skilton's VW when I have the time. Then he heads down the road in the tow truck.

No problem. I'm on my own.

The rain starts pounding down. The phone starts ringing off the hook. I have Volvo Yuppies at the Super pump with a Visa card and two Chicanos, pumping gas into a big old flatbed truck at the cheap pump. They ask me, in broken English, if I can cash a four hundred dollar check from Galletti?

"I don't have it, try the Roadhouse."

I grab the Yup Visa Card and head for the ringing phone.

"Is Bob there? We have a chimney fire at the Green Dolphin Inn!"

"Bob's gone to Mountain View Road in the tow truck. I'll try to get him on the radio."

"Unit One, Elk Base?"

"Go ahead Elk Base."

"Hey Bob, the Green Dolphin has a Chimney fire."

"Call 911 and have them page out the Volunteers."

"Got it. Base out."

I call 911.

"The Roadhouse doesn't have four hundred dollars."

"Try the Elk Market."

I hand the yuppies back their card as the fire truck goes by.

"The Elk Market doesn't have it."

The phone starts ringing. The pump island bell rings. Harolde Searles walks in with a flat. Roff Barnett wants four tires mounted and balanced on his truck, he will wait in the Roadhouse. Vince Carleton calls. He is stuck in the mud in his drive way. Rosie Acker's car battery died. She needs a jump start. Her kids are crying in the car.

I clip off the Chicanos at $11.88

"You guys have any money?"

"No. Just this four hundred dollar check. We are going to Ukiah. We will cash it there and pay you on the way back."

"Okay. Okay. Get out of here."

George Lawrence and Ron Karish on the phone. Should they come down from the ridge for the fire? What's the status?

"I don't know. You better come down."

I hang up and the phone rings. It's Rusty Gates.

"Fire's out."

Ed McKenzie goes walking by.

"Hey Ed. Could you help Rosie? Bob's out on a tow, Donny is home sick, and I'm stuck here by myself."

"Sure."

I get Skilton's distributor out of the car, take out the old electronic ignition module and install the new one. I put it back in the car. Everything is fine except it won't plug into the cable. The plug shape is different for some reason.

Roff's tires won't 'seat' on the rims; well, one does, but the rest won't. The one that I do get mounted won't balance properly on the electronic wheel balancer.

More cars at the pump island. The phone is ringing.

Bob returns with a thirty four foot motorhome in tow.

He gets the tire situation straightened out, the ignition module situation straightened out, Vince out of the mud and me, straightened out.

"This is nothing. Wait 'til summer."

Finally the end of the day. I'm a wreck. I've had it.

As we are closing up the shop, getting ready for Valentine Dinner at the Roadhouse, the phone rings.

Kristy Matson, Bob's daughter, heading home from Chico State. Her car broke down by Lake Mendocino, East of Ukiah.

Bob heads off into the rain, in the tow truck.

I head home for the shower.

How does he do it?

Don't forget. Town Meeting. February 25th at 7:30 PM.

February 27th.

Politics. Ugh. I've been listening to the radio, off and on, during the New Hampshire primaries. Checking the papers too, for that matter, and what a strange process it is.

We have a cast of about eight or nine characters. They take turns saying, "blah, blah, blah". Then we have a poll.

Aha. It looks like 'so and so' has increased his lead. 'So-so' seems to be doing a bit better and 'oh no' has dropped off the pace.

Time for another poll. And on and on. Round and round it goes, using this process to find out who we like, except, Who Are These Guys?

While this musical chair process has been going on I finished reading a book called "The Reckoning", by David Halberstam. It was a best seller back in that dark, unenlightened year of 1985. It is about the decline of the American auto companies, using Ford as an example, and the rise of the Japanese auto industry, Nissan in particular. The last chapter in the book is titled, "Past becomes Future".

David Halberstam hit the nail right on the head and here we are, Japanese bashing, yet I hear nothing from the politicos, blabbing away back East, that really addresses the problems that our leaders have brought down around our heads. What is so amazing to me is that we have the information. We know who the crooks are. The corporate raiders, the New World Order, off shore job transferring, union busting, CEO's, junk bond kings, as nauseam, but no.

The most relevant question is; who served or didn't serve in Viet Nam? Who stepped out on his wife? Questions that really get to the bottom of our problems.

Enough already. I decide to go to deVall's birthday party on the beach.

My dog and I take a look over the edge of the bluff and there they are, standing downwind in the smoke from an approved fire ring, dogs on leash. Not our kind of scene. We slink back home.

Later in the evening I stop by deVall's house. The party is up to speed. The sign on the front door says, "No shoes No smoking".

I try to remember if I have on my good socks or my bad socks. I'm afraid to take a peek in front of all these people. I give it up and go back home.

It is so hard to be politically correct at all times.

Erna Smith, our Mistress of the Post, as Louis Martin calls her, had a sofa stuck in the back of her pick-up. It seems her sons loaded it into the truck for her, down South, and now she wants it unloaded except it is hung up on the wheel well.

Well, Donny Daniels and I were minding our own business, eating breakfast at the Roadhouse, when Erna comes bustling in, looking for recruits. I told Erna about my sore neck and Donny complained about his back and wrist. Soon Bobby Beacon shows up for breakfast and while Erna turned her attack upon him, Donny and I paid our bill and split.

We wander over to Erna's truck, remove the sofa and then proceed on to Donny's house to look at his motorcycles. An hour later, Donny happened to notice Erna is still trying to recruit someone at the Roadhouse. He finally tells her to go check out her truck.

After all was said and done, Donny and I ended up with credit for a free breakfast at the Roadhouse. Thanks Erna.

Bill and Lydia Edison are back from India. Bill said, during their trip he had a religious experience. It seems the bus they were riding in was forced off the road and over the edge of the mountain. Somehow it stayed right side up and finally came to a stop. The driver turned and said, "Happy Birthday". Bill asked him why he said that? The driver replied that today was the first day of his new life. Bill does seem like a new man although he still drives with his foot on the brake.

The annual town meeting takes place in two more days, February 25th. I won't have the results in this paper until March 5th because of the way the column deadline falls.

March 14th is the 99th Annual Saint Patrick's Corned Beef and Cabbage Feed and Dance. Did you know that Saint Patrick was Italian?

Further down the road is the Rummage Sale. Spring is coming. The daffodils are up.

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