She died five times

Thursday, September 15, 2016

Trepidation means fear, but also trembling, which reminds me of the old radio program we used to listen to on KMET Los Angeles, the Dr. Demento Show.  In it, the doctor sometimes featured a piece about a “trepidation contest,”  really about flatulence.  Do you remember it?  Dr. Demento also had a syndicated program throughout the country and of course, you could buy recordings of Dr. Demento’s hits:  Fish Heads, Groucho singing “Hello, I must be going,” and other such goodies.

My daughter took us to see Dr. Demento on stage in Orange, California, once.  Surprisingly, the crowd was modest in an area of many millions.

Back to the trepidation contest.”  What I remember most was the description of the champion, a fellow named “Boomer,” who wore a powder blue suit with an opening in the butt area, trimmed with red and with a gold fringe.

Boomer approached the pole at the center of the arena, grasped it with both hands, then flexed his knees several times before letting his effort fly.  Boomer did not win the contest because on his third try he “splotched,” thus disqualifying himself.

Hard to let this image go when one is doing something serious, like, say, hammering a nail or paying a bill or listening to someone speak of spiritual things.

Last night we had three persons to our house from the church of the Fervently Religious to speak of spiritual things.  The spiritual things proved, well, spiritual.  Thus, elusive and few, so after our best efforts, we told our life stories.  A wise woman named Melodie told hers with such alacrity and with a true writer’s voice, that we were spellbound for many minutes.  Example:  her mother died five times.  Another:  she lied about her age so often she didn’t know how old her children were.  I wish other people could have been there.  Yes, she said she is a writer, but no, she has not published her story anywhere.  I think it is a pity.  So many stories of hers may remain unheard.

Another woman, Joy, also a writer, told her story and it turns out that 50 years ago P. and her mother were friends in Hall, Montana.  Why, this is where P. and I will ultimately be buried, I noted, in a plot of land in the (Flint Creek) Valley View Cemetery that cost $25.  Best price ever for a piece of real estate with no taxes to pay forever.  Not ever.

I baked the pies I had planned, along with a rhubarb.  I find that rhubarb pies practically bake themselves, they are so easy to make.  I love to bake them, but I enjoy eating them, as well.