Olaf

He who does not look ahead remains behind.

Mexican proverb
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Hello Rose
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This is the tale of Olaf, the prophet, a New England story.

Any man can tell you that some of the most arcane literature can be found written on men's room walls. Contrary to what most people think, and against old wives tales, I don't remember ever reading anything that said something like:

"For a good time call Daisy"

with a phone number attached. But there are statements that seem to find their way onto all the men's room walls of the world. If I have to read one more time:

"I'd rather have a bottle in front of me than a frontal lobotomy"

I think I will kick the wall down in a rage. Maybe it was mildly clever the first time around, 35 years ago, maybe, but enough is enough. It is worth noting that in some rare cases something can be found of interest. Near a theatre I used to manage was a bar and grill that I liked to frequent at night after the show was over. Among the other nonsense on the walls of the men's room someone had written:

"What's hot and swims"

That curiosity kept me and my colleagues amused for some time.

I used to live in northern New Hampshire, near the White Mountains. It was a tourist town. Almost all year round people would come up from southern New England, what the locals called Flatlanders, to enjoy the recreational aspects of the area. In the winter that meant skiing. There was a lounge with food and entertainment not far from where I lived, and I used to like to go there for lunch after my radio shift was over.

It was usual that there would be plenty of snow by mid to late December for the visiting skiers. But one year the snow was late in coming. And on the men's room wall someone, probably a frustrated flatlander, had written:

"There's no snow"

A few days later I was in the same restaurant and underneath it someone else had written:

"Olaf knows why there is no snow"

As the winter progressed with still no significant precipitation some one else had written:

"Why, Olaf, is there no snow?"

The Winter came and went. During the Spring the walls of the men's room had been painted, thus erasing all communications to and about Olaf.

But the next Winter's weather was comparable. Folks were waiting and hoping for a major snow storm that wasn't happening. I ventured into that men's room one afternoon and, sure enough, there on the wall someone had written:

"Where's the snow"

After about a week I found written this plea:

"Where is Olaf when you need him?"

That seemed like a serious, ongoing saga about Olaf and the lack of snow when a few days later another men's room journalist had written

"Olaf moved to North Carolina"

It seems that in North Carolina they had mastered the art of making snow.

And thus ends the tale of Olaf, the prophet..

DB - Vagabond Journeys
Never give up.
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Incident At The Bar

Never let the other felloe set the agenda.

James Baker
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Hello Lily
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The year was 1980. I was living in northern New Hampshire. The small town I lived in was surrounded by mountains. It isn't that the local population considered themselves mountain people especially, although many of them would ski in the winter and the men would go out into the forests during hunting season. It was rather that people who didn't come from there were called "flat landers." I moved to the area from New York City. I was a flat lander.

I worked as the morning disc jockey for the local radio station. I hit the Star Spangled Banner at 6 a.m. and commenced many hours of broadcasting. My shift ended at 1 p.m. In the good weather I would usually go for a hike in the mountains near by. But as hunting season came and then the Winter I made a different agenda for myself.

One block away from the station was a bar and restaurant. I would go there, have a couple of beers at the bar, have lunch, stay around and chat with folks until it got dark then I would go home.

One afternoon I walked into the bar and found that the bar stools were all full of local guys. They all knew who I was because I woke them up every morning, gave them their weather forecast, road conditions, school closings and so forth. It was the only radio station in town. They depended upon me. In between I tried to play their favorite music and give them some harmless, amusing chatter. So I was no stranger to them. But, still, they were all native mountain boys and I was a flat lander. As such they wouldn't acknowledge me beyond a friendly nod.

So on this particular day I went into the bar to find the entire bar section filled up with those good old New Hampshire boys. I went to the service side of the bar and ordered a beer. One of the men at the bar, who was sitting in the middle, knew me because he was the mechanic who worked on my car. He spoke up with a slightly mischievous grin in his voice and said "Dana. Why don't you have a seat?" It was a friendly challenge, with an edge.

All conversation stopped. There was silence, drinks were poised in mid air and everyone waited. There was tension in the room. A response from me was absolute and all were ready to hear it. I thought for a short moment and then said "Can't. There's too many asses and not enough chairs."

That was it. Some of them laughed, others grinned and a few looked at me and nodded. The tension broke. I had passed the test. I was in. After that none of them had any trouble being friendly with me.

"You know something, Dana, you're a cool guy for a flat lander."

Dana Bate - The Vagabond
Never Give Up
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100 Feet From The Door

Never do today what you can put off till tomorrow. Delay may give clearer light as to what is best to be done.

Aaron Burr
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Hello Kate
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One Spring evening in New Hampshire I was attacked by a piece of ice. I lived in a nice A frame house in the forest, I had a dirt driveway that led up to the house about 1/5 of a mile long. Driving home one evening I got to within about 100 feet from the house and stopped. My left rear tire was spinning and the car wouldn't go any further.

I took it nice and slow as you are supposed to do when driving on ice. But the wheel kept spinning. I rocked back and forth to get some traction, but it was useless. I was beginning to get irritated. It was ridiculous that I couldn't finish driving the car up to my front door.

I had a shovel in the back of the car so I got it and shoveled all around the tire, making sure that the lip of the shovel tucked under the tire on both sides. I also noted that there was no other ice around. It was a North Country Spring, April, and a lot of melting had happened everywhere except under my tire.

I went into the house and got a large piece of cardboard. I shoved it under the tire as best as I could. No good. The tire spewed the cardboard out the back and kept spinning.

I remembered that in the house I had a rough piece of metal with links that was designed to give a spinning tire some purchase on the ice. I got that and placed it under the tire. The tire didn't even grab hold of it but kept on spinning. Now I was really angry.

I got a large spoon from the house and dug all around the tire hoping to dislodge the ice, but each time I tried to go forward the tire spun.

I tried lifting the rear end of the car and pushing it beyond whatever was holding it, but each time I did that it rolled right back to where it was stuck.

By this time I was raging. I had a jack in the car and I thought of raising the wheel and driving forward but I soon realized I would run over the jack and probably damage it.

Could I have called the wrecker to come and charge me $25 to push me to my front door? Don't think I didn't think of it.

I even considered jacking the car up, taking off the tire, driving to my door on the wheel rim and then reattaching the tire, but I didn't even know that would work.

It seemed that all the leftover ice in New England had congealed into a small, ornery, critical mass under my left rear tire, and that was that.

It got dark and cold. The car was not blocking anything, no one would be driving down my driveway and it wasn't in plain sight of any would be thieves. So, in a fury, I quit. I gathered up all the tools, put them away and went into my house in a state of utter rage and disgust.

When I awoke the next morning the sun was up and some more melting had gone on. I went out, started the car and drove it easily to my front door with no trouble.

The question is why did I put myself through that misery when I could have done what I eventually did, go inside and wait for the ice to melt? The answer is willfulness. I gotta do it now. I gotta have it now. It's gotta be done NOW !! When it doesn't, there's always tomorrow. It will get done.

DB - The Vagabond
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AUTUMN QUESTION

What event over the past year changed your life, a lot or a little?

3 answers so far.

dbdacoba@aol.com

I await your answers.
DB
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