Something Funny?
By Kay Turner Greczkowski,
June 2, 2010
I read somewhere recently, it is good for your heart health to have a good belly laugh once a day. Clears out your pipes or something, I suppose. But seriously, it does lift one’s spirits, at least. Well, I don’t usually get to the belly laugh stage, it’s more like a hearty chuckle, but yesterday I laughed for a good ten minutes while tears puddled down my cheeks. It happened like this.
Ed and I were sitting in the living room, separately reading sections of the Sunday paper. We usually read in silence. I learned years ago not to speak to my husband while he is reading the paper, and he does not comment orally on the news of the day until he is through reading. I try to hold back my grunts and mutterings. So, this day I was startled to hear him exclaim, “Now this is going too far! A Presbyterian minister is holding church services for dogs!”
I hadn’t yet read that particular section of the paper, and my imagination immediately formed a mental picture of row upon row of pews filled with sitting dogs, ears alert, eyes staring - as only dogs can stare - at a white robed minister in the pulpit. As my imagination raced on, I pictured dog biscuits in the collection plate.
Of course, that was not the story at all. This minister, searching for ways to make people feel comfortable enough to come to church, was inviting dog owners to come to an informal service - dogs welcome. Not a blessing of the animals, just come and bring your dog. Apparently it was working out. Each dog got a biscuit from the passing collection plate. (The humans gave, the animals received. It didn’t say whether the biscuits were blessed.)
Clever, I thought, as soon as I had stopped convulsing enough to read the story.
I liked my version better.
Deep Purple
By Virginia Graves
June 2, 2010
The brass horn was a French horn, if my memory serves me right. It was a straight horn, not curled like the ones we see today. Dad played it in the marching band in South Williamsport, PA, in the 1920s and '30s.
My brother Billy and I were so proud of him on those occasions. The band marched down the brick road on Southern Avenue past Gram and Pop's home. Dad stepped lively and looked so cocky and gorgeous in his uniform. They played good, old fashioned, marching band tunes, unlike most played today. Such a thrilling sight to behold.
Dad and mom both played piano: Mom the latest popular tunes and dad always played the marching band tunes. Dad attacked the piano with a vengeance, pounding out John Phillip Souza tunes that reverberated through the house.
Billy and I tried to imitate them, especially while they had gone grocery shopping or on other errands. Bill was especially good on his steel guitar, while I fumbled on the piano, never having taken lessons.
Billy sometimes brought out the horn and we got along fine until he decided to go off on his own with a different tune. He had always been the devil's advocate, teasing me unmercifully.
I was attempting to play "Deep Purple" on the piano when Billy began blasting our a Souza march. I instantly got my dander up, snatched the horn from him and threw it on the floor.
I froze in the spot where I was standing. I was literally in a state of shock. I could not believe the horn was destroyed. It lay there all bent and distorted. My stomach churned and I ran from the room while Billy cursed me up one side and down the other.
I ran upstairs to my bedroom and closed the door, crying, moaning and pacing the floor.
Mom and Dad arrived home. Soon afterward I heard steps on the stairs. I had nowhere to go so did the only possible thing: crawled under the bed and scooted to the back up against the wall.
I remember the door opening and saw Dad's silhouette in the doorway. Then I heard the snap of his belt as he pulled it from his pants. Oh, dear God! I braced myself for the whipping of my life.
But no. Whether Dad couldn't see me or he changed his mind, I'll never know. He turned around and softly closed the door.
I had a reprieve!
To my knowledge, nothing was ever said about the incident. This punishment was the most profound of my entire life.
I never tried to play "Deep Purple" on the piano again.