:Family Matters

May 25, 2008

You see here, as they used to say back in the days when movies were changing from black and white to color, proof in ‘living color’ of the adage that when one takes that first step onto a slippery slope it is difficult to stop. Such is the case I now find myself in as I feel a need to tell the story of Joy’s birth even though the subject is of little interest to any but we two, still having done it for (or as some have said ‘to’) the rest which leaves me well down the afore mentioned slope I will complete the saga and hope my telling isn’t too painful for you gentle reader.

Her story begins with a dream I had, on the night she was conceived, of a beautiful little dark haired girl dressed in a jumpsuit with a white blouse that had a ‘peter pan’ collar edged in lace and little pink roses. I could tell that she was being watched over by caring people but I couldn’t see them as they were blurred in the background. I remember telling MGH that I thought I might be pregnant and that it was to be a little girl. If he was dismayed at the prospect of becoming a father at the age of 52 he never expressed it to me but rather stated his delight and encouragement. I was thrilled but also worried, not because I was then 39 and would be 40 when she was born but because there had been problems with Rh incompatibility with Sherman which promised all kinds of dire things should the baby not be Rh negative like me. Because of this concern I decided to see an obstetrician who specialized in ‘high risk’ births which is what I was labeled as soon as I was seen.

Older women are at a higher risk of giving birth to Down Syndrome babies and so he encouraged me to have an amniocentesis at sixteen weeks to check for this possibility. I was not thrilled at the prospect, having been there, done that with Sherman just before he was born but the doctor felt that there was a need to be aware problems so that ‘fore warned is fore armed’ and if that were the case we could make sure that the baby would receive all the help needed to be able to reach his/her full potential if we decided to go ahead with the pregnancy. He also told us that we would know the babies sex which in that day was a novel idea. I reluctantly agreed to the procedure but was not at all surprised when the tests came out normal and we were told it was to be a little girl for you see, I already knew that.

The pregnancy its self was quite uneventful other than leaving me feeling exhausted all the time. The big concern for us was to make sure that the baby arrived in the ‘right’ place rather than in the middle of nowhere as was the case for Brooks, which was a distinct possibility considering the hospital was located, a good half hour from our home, in downtown Madison. The doctor must have felt our panic because he scheduled labor to be induced eleven days before her due date (I was already starting to dilate which meant the potential was there for the Gano ‘glitch’ to swing into action). On the way into the delivery room the doctor said to me, it looks like we have an Rh negative baby on board as there had been no signs of any problems which was a great relief to us all. There had also been no problems develop because I had developed gestational diabetes as well but just to make sure there was help if needed my doctor had requested two pediatricians to be on hand.

So sure was I that my baby would arrive safely it barely registered when the doctor commented that the cord was wrapped around her neck three times which he quickly rectified before handing her over to the pediatricians who were able to get her breathing in short order. Because her color was poor she only registered 7 on the Apgar test (ten means all systems are go) which is given one minute after birth in order for medical personnel to determine if the baby needs extra care. The doctor was quick to reassure me that she should be just fine and then she was placed in MGH’s arms so that he could carry her down to be weighed and measured in the nursery, which I have always felt helped him bond to her as she quickly became a delight and joy in his life.

Since I am on the subject I need to tell you how I picked her name. Naming a child is a special thing and MGH agreed that I should be the one to do so for this baby. Don’t feel too sorry for him here as Sylvia is named after his mother Bertha Sylvira Wright and is the only grandchild named after her. Ford’s name came from my father Ford I. Gano while Brooks is named after Brooks Robinson of the Baltimore Orioles who many feel is the greatest third baseman who ever played the game. His first name, Paul, is for my grandfather Paul Gano so we both had a hand in that one. Sherman is named after my grandfather William Sherman Waddington with whom he shares the same birth date, August 20th. I wanted to name this little daughter after one of the virtues such as Hope or Faith maybe even Charity but hadn’t been able to make up my mind until one day I walked into the kitchen of the house on South Road in DeForest, Wisconsin and saw Sherman standing on a kitchen chair so he could reach the phone talking to one of his friends. I remember hearing him say, “My mother’s name is Joy Anne.” I knew as soon as I heard him say it that that is what her name would be as it expressed perfectly what I felt about this new little daughter who would soon arrive in our home. Here is a poem I wrote about her:

Sweet little babe asleep in my arms,
Stole you my heart with your innocent charm.
Dark hair curling ’round your face.
Beautiful eyes full of wonder and grace
While rosebud lips try to whisper to me
Of angels and wonders now fading away.

One of the strangest things about carrying her turned out to be the fact that there was absolutely no problem with Rh incompatibility even though she is Rh plus and I am Rh negative. Go figure that one as the potential for trouble was there in spades. After the delivery the doctor gently suggested to me that I might want to consider that five was enough for me, further stating that I had managed to slip by a lot of potential problems this time. He then hastened to assure me that if I wanted more children they would do their best to see that I did. I thanked him for his advice but didn’t tell him that this would be my last baby—that was another thing I knew from the beginning.

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May 3, 2008

As I continue to rummage through the assorted boxes and bins that contain the detritus of my life in the hope that I might come upon something for Marie in her quest for family history I came upon this letter which I wrote to Dad and Lucille October 2, 1999 soon after visiting with them at their home in Keosauqua. Since I seem to be suffering from writers block at the moment I will take the path of least resistance and send this out for your perusal knowing that the delete button is an easy out for us all when unwanted material is foisted upon us in the form of the electronic transmission which is the blessing/bane of the world we live in.

“How good it was to visit with both of you. I was much relieved, dad, to find you still in the land of the living. Reports of your imminent demise were once again laid to rest. I hope you are continuing to improve and able to enjoy being with your loved ones.

If your can stand it I have one more story of misadventure concerning Coco the BIG Brown Dog. It happened this way. DeVon had gone to collect Coco and get him ready to go back into the car for our final days journey up to Sylvia’s where he was to be returned to Ford. Barbara and I were sitting in Kathy’s kitchen, sans Kathy who had gone to work already, sharing a last few words before we went our separate ways. DeVon came to the door and stuck his head in to say we were ready to go. He had Coco on a leash but not having walked Coco he didn’t know that Coco was capable of ignoring his pinch collar. Having walked the dog daily I knew all to well how fast control passed from me to him so I wasn’t surprised at what happened next. Coco saw me and decided that I was on his list of people to greet with the enthusiasm one shows a long lost friend even though he had just seen me ten minutes earlier. The fact that there was a 190 pound man attached to the other end of his leash was totally irrelevant to him as he lunged, breaking DeVon’s hold, and then headed for me. I, foreseeing disaster—I mean on the order of a bull in a china shop kind—grabbed for his collar and missed which allowed him room to pass on to the china cabinet and begin whacking the glass doors with his tail—all with the biggest grin on his face, he was so pleased with himself. By this time I was on my feet and again reaching for his collar when he pulled a stunt he did all the time with DeVon, he ran between my legs which works okay if one is wearing pants and is not vertically challenged which I wasn’t and am. The results were hysterical (at least for the bystanders) as Coco’s head caught in my dress which meant he couldn’t go thru my legs which meant I was caught and thrown off balance as I found myself astaddle his back facing rearward heading for a fate I had no wish to meet. With arms and legs flailing the air all 59 years of me was sent heels over head to the floor. Barbara, who was watching the whole proceeding asked, quite calmly I thought, considering what was going on. “Are you all right?”

I didn’t dare take time to see if I was still all in one piece as the dog was loose in the kitchen bouncing happily off whatever was closest to him at the the moment. With a speed I didn’t know I still possessed I was up and grabbed his collar. I had him—or he had me—that point is debatable. Be that as it may, we had him for DeVon had joined me and as soon as he disentangled his fingers from the metal pinch collar where they were in serious danger of being detached from his hand should Coco decide to ‘lunge’ again, we were out of there. No long lingering good-byes or stories told standing by the door, I mean, we were gone.

The 1700 mile trip home is a long one whether you go through Colorado as we did on our way out or through the Black Hills as we did going home. We had hoped to be able to pick up Joy’s and Justin’s car for them but it was not to be as parts that were to have been delivered in one week had taken three and had just arrived at the repair shop in Casper, Wyoming the day before we arrived which meant that project was still on hold.

We took time to stop at Martin’s Cove in Wyoming where the church has a established a visitors center in remembrance of the Martin and Willy handcart companies tragedy. DeVon had stopped with Mark and Brett earlier in the summer when they were on their way home from the Boundary Waters trip. He was quite impressed with the facility and wanted me to see it as well. We got there at 7 p.m. And were told by and elderly gentleman that they closed at 5 p.m. that time of year. We thanked him and were about to leave when he told us, “I have the key”. Then he graciously took us on a private tour of the Center. He and his wife had been there for seventeen months. He said they were from Moab, Utah and were looking forward to returning home soon but that they had enjoyed their mission very much. He was the nicest gentleman. We really appreciated his courtesy and kindness. I asked if they had very many visitors and he replied that they had had 60,000 during the summer. Some of them were youth groups who came dressed in pioneer costumes and pulled the handcarts (provided by the visitors center) to a primitive campground where they spent the night which gave them a much greater appreciation of just what it meant to be the member of a handcart company.

Our guide told us the following story: “There has been much debate over the years about the wisdom of sending these handcart companies on their way so late in the year. A Sunday School class had been arguing the pro’s and con’s when an old gentleman spoke up and said: “I have pulled my handcart when I was so weak and weary from illness and lack of food that I could hardly put one foot ahead of the other. I have looked ahead and seen a patch of sand on a hill slope and I have said I can go only that far and there I must give up for I cannot pull the load through it…I have gone on to that sand and when I reached it the cart began pushing me. I have looked back many times to see who was pushing my cart, but my eyes saw no one. I knew then that the angels of God were there. The price we paid to become acquainted with God was a privilege to pay.” Francis Webster—Martin Handcart Company, 1856

As we left the center dusk was upon us and we still had a long way to go before finding a place to stop for the night but I am glad we took the time to see this hallowed spot where “. . . .and should we die before our journey’s thru, All is well, all is well. . . .

Fall is a beautiful time to travel across the country. Summer’s heat has abated and the colors of autumn delighted our eyes as we once again traveled across this magnificent land we call ‘my native land, my own. . . .”

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My mother died forty-three years ago today. I was only 24 years old and thought that she seemed very old at forty-eight. Just shows how young I was although I don’t remember feeling like it at the time. The last thing my sisters and I did for her was to cover her face with the white temple veil before the coffin was closed. It seems like we were encouraged to give her a last kiss but I couldn’t do it. The dead, while deserving of our respect have seemed so cold and empty after the spirit has left that I have never wanted to get any closer than than to stand respecfully beside them as they lay within the confines of their coffin. Have you ever noticed the feeling of peace that surrounds the area where the family stand to greet friends and relatives? It is a beautiful feeling and very comforting as well–one final gift before one’s loved one departs completely from this existence and returns from whence they came.

Bishop T. came over this morning and fixed the leaking pipe in our sprinkler system. He is such a good man and we have really enjoyed/appreciated his care and concern for us. His calling as a Bishop takes up so much of his time that I found myself gently disengaging him from his good works by getting a 14 year neighbor to mow our lawn for us. At least I hope that I am as I talked to his mother this morning and she said that she would have him call me about setting up a schedule. I hope this works!

I went to St. George this afternoon to see D___ at the Boulevard about ordering a couple of book cases for the downstairs so I can get our ‘collection’ shelved. They are to be here Wednesday which means I will be forced to get the painting done before they arrive. Why is it that I have a feeling that I have just painted myself into the proverbial corner? Guess I can’t put it off any longer can I. I have really got to get the whole thing done as the area will need to be set to rights for our upcoming birthday bash in July.

When I got home MGH told me that he had had miserable day and was feeling rather poorly as a result. He had hoped to get some much needed sleep time in his chair but that didn’t happen for him. Getting old isn’t much fun.

I had a good visit with D. She works evenings and Saturdays at the Boulevard. Like everyone she is extremely busy. E___ is finishing his Jr year. Where has the time gone?

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So alright, already my decision to write something everyday has already failed. My dad was fond of saying that the road to hell is paved with good intentions and if that is indeed true I’m making a smooth road for myself. I suppose that part of the problem is that not really much happens here on a daily basis although I doubt that it is much different for most, so I am left to write about the very small things of my life, sigh.

MGH went to see the skin cancer doctor Wednesday morning and was given a clean bill of health, which is good. He is, however, on a schedule of being checked every three months to make sure that nothing has a chance to get out of control. I had to smile to myself as he was up early for him and got his shower taken and breakfast over in good order so that he could make it to the appointment which was scheduled at 9:45 a.m. I realize that this doesn’t sound like a big deal but around here where breakfast has slipped to nine o’clock that time means we have to get going several hours earlier than we are accustomed to. When I asked him how he was able to wake up so much earlier than he was used to he smiled and said, “I just went to bed early”. To appreciate that remark you need to know that he usually doesn’t go to bed until twelve-thirty which he says is necessary because he is afraid he won’t be able to sleep.

Not that I have room to talk as I often find myself wandering through the house trying to find a place to light that allows me to find the sleep that seems to be hiding. Of course there is the couch and the t.v. But the trouble there is that the light from the television is annoying as it constantly flickers. So I usually end up downstairs in the sewing room with the radio turned down low listening to the nut cases and guests who call into to Coast to Coast A.M. With George Norry which usually does the trick but sometimes they talk about something interesting and I end up staying awake because of that. I actually do better at falling asleep if I go to bed around ten ‘o’clock and read for awhile but I have gotten into a bad habit and find myself staying up quite late on some nights. I wouldn’t mind doing hand work but my eyes require good light to work by any more so I usually stay away from that.

It tried to rain for a couple of days this week but never was quite able to make anything happen so we are back to being very dry. There is a broken pipe in the front yard which has to be replaced. Bishop T. said that he would come over Saturday when he has some time and see if he can get it fixed.

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April 20, 2008

I was talking with my sister Darlene on the phone a couple of weeks ago. She has sold her home in the country and purchased a new condo in Sevierville, TN. Darlene is a hospice nurse and travels many miles every day in order to visit her patients. She is always a delight to visit with and a natural story teller who regales her listeners with story after story of the people she meets and cares for. I hope that when she retires she will write some of them down for family and friends as they are full of wisdom and the astute observations on human nature of this remarkable woman. She tells me that she is truly on her own now as her children have moved from the area one by one leaving her a lone woman. When I expressed my sympathy for her lonely state she chuckled and assured me that she is a big girl and rather looking forward to being on her own. My hat’s off to her courage although that is nothing unusual as she has displayed it over and over throughout her life beginning with the untimely death of her first husband Hollis Hervey in a tragic car accident caused by a drunk driver which left her injured with three young children to raise. I can remember what a challenge it was for her to find caregivers for her children as she went back to school to become a registered nurse.

While we were visiting she told me that she had a chance to go back to Arizona recently, where her son Chuck and his family are now living and while there visited Mesa and the area where we lived before moving to Iowa. She said that the area has fallen into decay and it was sad for her to see the home that mother and dad took such pride in designing and building and then only lived in for a year and a half fallen into disrepair. She said that the Mesa Temple which is only about a block away is beautifully maintained in stark contrast to the surrounding area. (My grand daughter Kristi who lives in Arizona tells me that the area, except right around the temple is scary to visit with a lot of unsavory characters hanging around the streets.)

This is not at all how it was when we lived there. At that time Mesa had a population of about 20,000 which was mostly LDS. It was family friendly and quite safe for children to play outside with their friends. I can remember walking to school most of the time, well actually, I used to skip and jump as I covered the distance, as well as run, but skipping was my favorite thing to do. I can also remember walking to the public library which was located in the downtown business area which my parents felt was perfectly alright for me to do and believe me, they watched over us like hawks and were very strict about where we could go and with whom.

I loved going to that building with its area just for children with the librarians watching carefully to make sure that we were directed to the proper area least we enter the adult section and acquire reading material that wasn’t appropriate for our age although what they considered inappropriate then was very mild considering what children can get into these days at a library. I always headed for my favorite shelf which contained book after book of horse stories and I believe that I read most of them before we moved. I greatly enjoyed the beautifully illustrated stories (Wesley Dennis whose careful attention to detail brought the stories bursting to life in full color) of Marguerite Henry whose stories were a delight to read. King of the Wind was probably my all time favorite. As a rule I rarely read a book over but I read many of her stories again and again. Another book that was a real favorite of mine was Black Beauty by Anna Sewell although I haven’t read it for many years I can remember having read it at least eight times and there is a dog eared copy on our bookshelf. The trials that horse went through always brought tears to my eyes no matter how often I read it. Will James was another author I enjoyed reading as he spun his stories of the western cow pony. I was never happier then when I had a good horse story to curl up with and the library with its shelves full of books opened up whole new worlds to my young eyes. For this I have mother to thank as she not only read to us when we were little but she encouraged us to read on our own as well. One of the things that we could always count on at Christmas was a book. I still have a very tattered copy of Elizabeth Upham’s Little Bear which I dearly loved to hear her read when I was a small girl. I also remember a book about a cat named Matilda which had a green cover and lots of black and white illustrations that I carried outside and left which resulted in the pages wilting and when I showed the book to mother, hoping she could fix it, she was totally unsympathetic and told me I had no one to blame but myself for the condition of the book. I wish I could say that I learned my lesson but alas, that was not the last time a book of mine has come to an untimely end which almost never happens to MGH as he is extremely respectful of written materials. (Could this be considered an example of opposites attracting?)

The downtown area was easily reach on foot and I can remember walking to the J.C. Penney store to buy a purse that mother had spotted there that she thought would be ideal for a young girl. This was to be a purchase I was to make entirely on my own which, I think, was her way of trying to help me gain some shopping skills Alas, it was not to be as I failed to find the purse she described and came home instead with a huge one that was nearly as big as I was. She was horrified and immediately returned me to the store to get my money back which was an absolutely mortifying experience for me and to make it worse the purse she had so carefully described had been sold. To this day I hate carrying a purse and I have a real dislike for particularly ‘large’ ones.

One of the things we used to do on our way home from school was to ‘cut’ through the grounds of the Mesa Temple which was only a block away from our home. We knew better but we did it anyway. We often went there as a family for walks on Sunday afternoons greatly enjoying the beautiful grounds. I think we probably felt rather proprietary about the area and that we were allowed more freedom to do such a thing then other children because we lived so close and it was almost like having a second back yard. We never did any thing to cause problems on the grounds other then running which wasn’t respectful of us but doing so shaved off about 30 seconds of the time it took to get home as we exited by a side gate that led to our street.

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Having developed ‘writer’s block’ and confessing my troubles to PBA yesterday while visiting with him on the phone he suggested that I might do better to just forget about writing at great length and instead write what happens on a day to day basis and see if that helps. With that in mind I wish to report that Joy called me this morning sounding rather ‘blue’ because Kendra broke her arm while sliding down the stairs with Mason, her step-brother who is three, in a laundry basket. She will have a cast on her arm until May 27. Joy had talked to her for a few minutes and said that Kendra sounded quite ‘chirpy’ eager to tell her story to Mike and Lincoln as well as her mother. Joy said that they will not be cutting their vacation short to rush home as everything seems to be under control.

The weather today was chilly and overcast with the promise of showers later in the day which did not materalize and the snow, hopefully, will also be a no show unless it falls in the mountains which would be welcome.

The iris are in full bloom and absolutely gorgeous. I have never seen such big beautiful blossoms as the one’s this year.

7.9 earthquake in China — scary how violent nature can be.

The man came from Bresnan and replaced the dvr which acts strange when ever it is disconnected from its power source. The cable company makes out like bandits on the money they make renting the silly thing to us–but life is what it is and if gas prices keep rising (they are now $3.60 a gallon) we might have to find some other way to entertain ourselves.

I pulled weeds on the north side of house for three hours today. Ugh! I would feel better if that effort meant that I was getting on top of things. . . .

That’s it for today. Be sure and tune in tomorrow for more exciting news from ORH(our retirement home)

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April 13, 2008

We’ve gotten fat as a nation. Life is easy and food is cheap, or at least it has been up until now. We are content to be entertained by others who we are quite willing to pass out large sums of money to see perform or play although it is not always easy to tell which is what anymore. While MGH and I rarely go to anything that costs hard cold cash we are willing, none the less, to pay a large sum each month to have cable TV come into our home with it’s many channels offering an endless variety of programing 24/7 or at least that is the theory although I think I sometimes spend as much time clicking the remote trying to find something to watch as I do actually watching, not to mention high speed Internet that opens up vast new vistas to peruse while sitting on one’s behinder. The reason I bother to mention this is that it seems as a nation the afore mentioned unwanted excess weight can be directly linked to ’spectatoritis’ an affliction that affects most of the population of this vast and wonderful land that has provided so much for us in so many ways. This wasn’t always the case and as justification of my statement I will use personal experience, which I do, reluctantly, out of my concern for your interest level but I find it necessary as it is the only kind I have had that I can personally vouch for and even that is somewhat suspect as to quote a good friend ‘I have a mind like a sieve’ she was referring to herself but I could completely relate to what she was saying.

In the long ago days of our youth my sister Barbara and I agree that we spent large chunks of time playing outside as mother was a big believer in fresh air being good for children. Arizona didn’t give us much inside time as far as the weather was concerned and so our days were filled with outdoor activities one of which was tree climbing. I bet that surprises you doesn’t it as it is hard to imagine our now somewhat portly bodies doing anything more strenuous than lifting a fork to our mouths but as children we were quite active. The years I remember best were spent in Mesa, Arizona where we lived from 1945 until 1953. My parents had managed to find a small home in Mesa which had a long front yard with the house set back at the end of a dusty lane. At that time there were two very, very tall pine trees in the front yard that had been there so long and grown so tall that they could easily be spotted from a long way off, which I liked to do because I knew if I could see them I would always know where home was. The top of one of the trees had been bent at some point in the past so that it pointed at it’s neighbor in a cockeyed manner. These were not our climbing trees as their trunks were very rough and free of limbs almost to the very top and offered no hand holds which were a necessity. No, the trees we climbed were the citrus trees that lined the side of our home with their smooth barked limbs placed conveniently close to the ground which was important as we needed to be able to find a place to get a hand or toe hold which we used to boost ourselves up into the higher branches until we found a place to sit and watch our world go by, half hidden from view inside our leafy bower. They were also a favorite place to hide when playing hide and seek with the neighborhood friends if you were able to scramble up before the ‘it’ reached the end of their counting.

Sometimes when the fruit was ripe we would pick a grapefruit and peel it just for the heck of it although it doesn’t seem like the fruit was nearly as sweet as grapefruit is today. At that time citrus fruit was full of seeds and took a great deal of patience to eat as they always had to be picked out before eating or if not then delicately mouthing around them so as not to release the pungent flavor that came from accidentally breaking a seed open and then spitting out the offending seed which could sometimes provide fun when we tried to see who could ’spit’ the furtherest. Sally our neighbor across the street had an orange tree which I found quite fascinating because it was called a ‘navel’ orange due to the protrusion that stuck out from the bottom of the fruit that resembled a human navel. With the strict prohibitions that we faced in our family about mentioning certain parts of the human anatomy I must admit to feeling quite daring when talking about the above mentioned fruit. We also had several lemon trees as well which mother made use of in some of her meals, think lemon pies to die for her, but by and large we thought of the trees as serving our need to climb rather than as a source of food.

I can remember picking off the sap that had oozed out from a cut on the trunk of one of the citrus trees and attempting to chew it like you could the sap from a spruce tree. I knew this was possible because dad taught us how on one of our camping trips. I must add here that the art of ’sap’ chewing requires a lot a patience and the ability to ignore the taste of turpentine as the sap when first placed in one’s mouth goes all crumbly and must be patiently gathered from all the nicks and crannies by one’s tongue with the the judicious aide of a finger now and again while continuing to chew vigorously. If one persists the stuff eventually coalesces into a wad that can be chewed for around a half hour before it once again begins to break apart at which time it is best to spit it out as it will quickly disintegrate and if you fail to heed the warning signs you will find yourself spending the better part of the next hour trying to get your mouth completely emptied of the remains. Please don’t ask me how I know — just trust me on this one.

By the way, have I ever mentioned that mother’s favorite flavor of chewing gum was Juicy Fruit? I remember her telling the story of a camping trip where Barbara, who couldn’t have been more than two, discovered several packages of gum mother had brought with her inside the tent where she had been put down for a nap, and proceeded to open them all up and chew as much as she could before she was discovered. I always liked hearing this story as it meant that I was not the only naughty child in the family which I needed to hear as I sometimes felt that I was held to a higher standard of behavior than my siblings because of my being the ‘first born’. Okay, so maybe that is a stretch but there is quite a bit of responsibility that goes with birth order. I can hear the laughter but try this experiment sometime when you are in a group of non-related individuals. Crumple up a few sheets of paper and scatter them around the room before anyone comes. Then watch and see who picks the paper up—chances are, should you ask, it will be the first borns who feel the ‘need’ to set things rights. I can even give you chapter and verse on this as it was studied scientifically and printed up in a learned journal, that is if you give me enough time to find the book I read it in which I know that I have seen fairly recently, which in the lexicon of the elderly can mean anything from yesterday to twenty years ago.

Just as you can’t judge a book by it’s cover it is best not to judge someone who has more than a few years under their belt, which in my case is almost double the twenty one inches I could boast of as a teen-ager, by their somewhat withered and possibly expanded personage as there could very well still be vestiges of a tree climbing child hiding there if one were to inquire.

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