Conversations with my father (2003)

Conversations with my father

James E. McGuire

2003

Every trip to Oregon to see my father is another chance to collect fresh stories. I can never remember all of them. Some are very funny and some are just nice. When I can, I take notes on the airplane on my way back to Boston.

April 27-29, 2003

Mirable

Pop agreed that it was time to get a new bed. JoAn had suggested that the old one, bought at a yard sale many years ago, was doing no good for his back. We bought a new mattress, box springs, sheets, pillows and pillow cases.

Back at Pop's home, it was fairly easy to take out the old mattress and box springs. Bringing the new one into his bedroom was more a challenge. The turns were tight and the clearance minimal. We finally got the right angle and squeezed the box springs through down the hall, through the door, and into the bedroom. Now, would it fit on the frame? We lined it up, pushed it over and into the frame.

"A perfect fit," I exclaimed. Without a pause, Pop intoned, "Mirabile visu; mirabile dictu. "

[I know. I had to look it up too. Miabile visu: Wonder to behold. Mirabile dictu: wonder to relate.]

Tibetan Prayer Wheel

During dinner with Frank and Vi, I asked Vi how she spent her day. She said she started her day and ended her day with her prayers. "Do you kneel when you pray?" I asked. "No," she said," the arthritis in my knees hurts too much for me to do that. I asked the priest about it and he said God could hear my prayers just as well if 1 were horizontal, so I say my prayers in bed."

Frank was listening, but not saying anything as he continued to saw away and then eat his steak in small bites. Vi continued, "I also asked the priest what would happen if I fell asleep saying my prayers. He said, 'Not to worry. The angels would finish them for you.'" I asked her what she prayed for. Vi said, "Well, I pray for your Dad and his family, John and JoAn, you and Claire, and all your brothers and sisters and their families; I pray for my family; I pray for world peace, especially in the Middle East, and I say my Hail Mary's, the Lord's Prayer and the prayer for the day. You know, there is a special prayer that we have for each day of the year." Impressed by the number of prayers, I asked, "So, how long does it take you to go through your evening prayers?" "About a half an hour," she said.

At this point, Pop entered the conversation. "You know, Vi, in Tibet, they have what they call a prayer wheel. It is a big wheel.  They write each prayer on a separate piece of paper and then attach it to the wheel. Then they give the wheel a big spin and they let the wind do the work. That way the prayers just go spinning off to God and they can get some sleep. Maybe we should get you a Tibetan prayer wheel."

A Truck and then another truck

Driving down 1-5 to Oakland to visit Jan and Lillian, Frank calls out the exits, the turn-offs, the construction sites and other landmarks he has memorized. This is his way of showing that he could still drive the road if he had too. He can see "good enough." We have played this game over the last several years as his eyesight continues to deteriorate. In former times, it was an eye-test to see how close he had to be to read the road signs. Now there is no pretense that he could read any of the road signs. Big landmarks and the white line on the road side now map his driving routes. Frank calls out, "There is a truck ahead of us." Now the truck is turning; he is getting off at this exit." "The truck is now off the road."

 "Okay Pop, what is in front of us now?" He replies without even pretending to look, "Another truck."

Pop adds, "What holds up the world?" and answers his own question: "A rock. And what holds up that rock? Another rock." He remembers that conversation from two grade school friends, two brothers, who earnestly believed that this was the way of the world. In their version, he said it was turtles.  “What holds up the next turtle? Another turtle.  And that one?  It’s turtles all the way down.”

Driving 1-5, the pipeline of the West Coast from Canada to California to Mexico, what holds you back? A truck and then another truck . . . unless it's a car.

Breakfast at the Pour House

We went to the Pour House for breakfast at 6 am. I drove his truck, but Pop called out the route. He also cautioned that there was no fire and that they would serve breakfast when we got there so there was no need to drive so damn fast. I glanced at the speedometer and posted sign to confirm that "so damn fast" was exactly the speed limit, 35 mph. At the Pour House, 1 pulled into a parking spot. Frank observed that he generally backed into the parking spot since it made easier to leave.

We went in and he was greeted warmly by Renee who regularly serves him his usual breakfast. It is somewhat startling to be served a traditional ham and egg breakfast and then watch the waitress draw a pitcher of Bud from the tap for the early-morning beer-drinkers. Frank noted, "The beer drinkers usually don't drink at the bar. They have their own table." I saw them then, near the pool tables, mill workers who had just finished the graveyard shift. There were also three or four people playing video poker with dogged determination. They didn't look like they had come from work or had bothered to sleep the night before.

We talk about wood-cutting and how much energy it takes. He admits this is probably his last season since his legs just get tired and he does not want to go to the woods and just set in the truck while Carl does all the work. "Though it doesn't take as much energy as setting choke." Pop stared off into space and started another trip down memory lane. "When I was younger, 1 worked in the woods setting choke. You had to scramble down the hill with the heavy log chain in tow, get it under the tree that had been felled and cut to length by the loggers, cinch off the chain and then signal the whistle punk to start hauling the log up the hill. It was hot, hard work." "Setting choke-a choker-you were low man on the totem pole out in the woods." "The Brush Bull would come by to make sure you were not dogging it and direct you where to go for the next log he wanted up the hill." From me, "Was he at the top of the totem pole?" Pop: "No, I think that the rigging spinner claimed that spot. Of course, no one could swagger like the fallers, especially the fellows that were toppers." "What did it pay?" "Top wage was $6.75 a man for a full day—sun up to sun down."

We talked about favorites. Favorite author -Louis L'Amour. Favorite color-­blue. Favorite poem or poet -"Charge of the Light Brigade or Crossing the Bar. Well, actually Robert Service is pretty good. But my favorite poet? Why, I guess that would be me." "You didn't know I was a published poet? Western Anthology of Verse, University of Washington 1935." "It was a school assignment. Write a poem. Naturally I waited until about ten minutes before class and then I just scratched it out. The teacher bundled all the poems together and sent them off to this poetry contest. I forgot all about it and so did she. Months later, she told the class with a look on her face like she had just swallowed a lemon, "We should all congratulate Frank. He is going to be published in the Anthology." She did not want to believe it and neither did the class, but there were only two high school poems selected for the Anthology and mine was one of them."

I asked, "What was the poem?" "Well, I don't exactly remember, but it was something about the lonely beach and a sandpiper." He thought some more:

Gray November sky

 Walking on the beach

 Just a lonely sandpiper

 And I

Conversations with my father August 11,2003

"Controlling blood pressure/heart rate is a difficult thing to do. They say I have a heart rate of 92-96. I don't believe that for a second. When I take it myself, it is 68."

"Maybe going to the doctor's raises your heart rate."

"Maybe so. They are enough to provoke anyone, but I still don't believe it. I know what my heart feels like. If I had a heart rate of 96, I would be hopping around like a sparrow. And I know ... I am not a sparrow."

"You know they put me on Coumadin too. You know, "Warpath" the rat poison [warfarin]. They sell it by a different name now, but it is the same stuff."

"Well then, I guess am I glad you are not a rat."

"So am I. Because if I were a rat, I would be dead now. I have been on the stuff for two months."