"Turn out, they're found!" Aren't those the words Mark Twain wrote when Tom and Huck and the other lost kids were found in a cave in that old classic story which youngsters enjoyed? Were those Tom and Huck books considered no good for children to read? I can't remember, but it seems they were banned from some libraries. Excuse me if I'm wrong. Remember, in a 'cuff several weeks ago, I mentioned losing notes about subjects for later 'cuffs. I'm just trying to announce that "Turn out, they're found!" Now if I can just read my writing, we may be in business.
As I pulled up to the desk to attack that terribly-named Smith-Corona (only the Smith saves it), I glanced at that old Underwood which still isn't workable. I'm not much of a typewriter fixer. A quick glance at the wall where one of those old so-called atomic clocks brings me up to date with information that comes from somewhere in Colorado. It's handy but the outdoor temperature doesn't work. If you were looking at it, you'd say the clock isn't working either. It's stubborn, no matter how many times I've followed directions, it still won't shift from eastern time zone to central zone.
"Is that the reason you're always running ahead of yourself?" you ask. I guess it's better than running behind myself if it changed to mountain time. Is that right?
Just to the left of the clock hangs a calendar that has pictures of Norman Rockwell's paintings. The one showing is of a doctor or psychiatrist or, more likely, a dad talking to a young lad who seems to be facing a problem. Days of the month are readable from six feet (and you know how important six feet is in today's world.)
But that isn't the whole story. Popping up in big two-inch black letters is the word "May." Yep, you guessed it; what happened to June and July? I just flipped past June and, there lounging in a hammock is a sailor all sprawled out with his pet dog on his legs. Just right for July, especially since the nice rains of the last few days in July have a person ready to enjoy the change from the 90-degree days which were recorded in all but three or four days this July. And writing about the crazy weather the past two or three months is one of the topics for the 'cuff. It'll just have to wait since I haven't completed the monthly report that goes to the NOAA office in Tulsa. I guess I'm running a few days behind. Surprised? I need to get one of those smartphones that can tell you everything about everything. That may happen when this old simple talk-and-listen thing blows its top.
Maybe, since I'm two months behind, that explains why those unbelievable predictions for 2020 never hit the 'cuff in January. I do remember predicting the new populations for towns in the Eagle Observer area after the census is completed. Judging how the area is growing and developing, those old figures probably need to be increased by 10 or 20 percent. I hereby do just that.
Have your census forms been filled out? That's still possible at the library or city hall in Gravette. It'll only take a few minutes to complete. That'll help one other prediction made in a 'cuff in the '80s or '90s, that the population center of the United States will be just about a mile southwest of Gravette or at least in Benton County. Check that out for me about 30 years from now.
Let's see. We'll tackle the weather 'cuff later, as well as announcing the new name for the postage stamp garden which is ... let's leave it there for this week. This brings us to the other topic: The totem in our front yard. It appeared unannounced about two months ago after a rainy, windy night. I looked out the window and there stood a dead limb from the pin oak tree, six or seven feet tall, held in place by two smaller limbs that were anchored in the rain-soaked sod. That was it. Then a friend asked if I was going to carve it into a totem pole. I decided to leave it there where nature placed it and let nature carve its own pole characters.
Nature went to work. During the past two months, pieces of bark shed from the pole. Small branches fell to the ground from the mother pole. It was on its way to continue decorating the entire neighborhood because every once in a while, a car would slow down to glance at that monstrosity. I even took a picture for posterity. It was a real limb legacy in motion. But it finally ended when Don Wells stopped by to take out a couple of other dead limbs from the tree and when he asked if the pole could go. It took a moment to answer, "I guess so." And so there went it to....
Was there one more topic that was mentioned in that pocket full of notes that turned up from right where I had put them? Was it my piano lesson? If not, maybe that's a new note. The thought that crossed my mind every time I looked out at the old totem pole: How fortunate it landed where it did. A few feet away it could have gone through the roof, possibly the ceiling, and it could have played a melody when it landed atop the piano. That piano lesson really is a story. Maybe someday.
Until then, keep the faith, practice patience, remember a smiling "hello" spoken from behind a mask can help make a bit of sunshine to help those we meet as we all challenge this far eastern virus that has and is causing so many problems for everyone. Now, if the lawnmower will start.
Dodie Evans is the former owner and long-time editor of the "Gravette News Herald." Opinions expressed are those of the author.