It is a well known fact of life that any reasonable man who goes to the old cafe for conversation and companionship does not like cats. You see, real men like dogs. They ask themselves why would anyone want an animal that coughs up fur balls and takes a bath in its own spit. “Cats tend to act too much like women,” says Manor Hill Mack, and most men seem to know what that means.
Therefore, each Christmas when talk begins to lag, Holly Lake Jake is asked to tell his Christmas Cat Story.
Jake swears this is a true story.
Clinton was the church cat. He was the church cat because Ms. Bernice Tavener liked cats. Bernice was the Women's Auxiliary head, the Pastor Annoyance Committee permanent chair, and a church choir soprano who demanded a solo at every service. Even for a soprano, Bernice's vocal chords were wound a little tight. She also looked the part. Her dresses were small tents, and her Christmas hat was an expanse of green felt topped with two turtle doves.
Though most men of the church would gladly have handed Clinton over to the Sipe brothers for proper disposal (the Sipes brothers liked to cook live frogs), the powerful and obnoxious Bernice Tavener would not allow it.
That brings us to the Christmas Eve Pastor Presley got the idea to let loose a dove during his sermon.
“Now Leslie,” said Pastor Presley dispatching Leslie Sipes up to the organ loft. “When I say, ‘Let there be peace on earth,’ You let this dove (actually a pigeon) go. You got that?”
“Yes sir,” Sipes said and up he went.
Pastor Presley then told Bernice to do her mandatory soprano "oooie-oooing" when he first said the words, “peace on earth.”
It was set. Leslie Sipes was in the organ loft, Bernice in her green tent and turtle dove hat was in the choir, and Pastor Presley was ready for a Christmas Eve nobody would ever forget.
Knowing the stunning effect the dove (pigeon) would have on the congregation, Presley went full tilt. "Let there be peace on earth," he bellowed and gestured to the organ loft. On cue, Bernice started to “ooie-oo,” and Leslie Sipes reached for the bird. Unfortunately, the bird was dead, and Clinton the cat was grinning. Leslie Sipes was in a panic.
Down below, Pastor Presley was now saying, “Peace” like it had three syllables. “Paw-ee-suhh, I say,” and his neck veins were an inch thick. “Let tharr be paw-ee-suh, on earth,” Presley said and looked to Leslie. --Nothing.
“I said, let tharr be paw-ee-suhh, on earth!” Presley shouted.
At that moment Leslie Sipes became unhinged and threw Clinton over the rail as if he thought cats could fly. Cat's arching trajectory was eerily on course.
The cat's screech hit perfect pitch with Bernice's “oie-ooing,” and Clinton's flight path homed in on Bernice.
From its perspective, the cat could just see the outline of two turtle doves in a green field below. It unsheathed ten sharp daggers for combat!
Some say it was the highest note ever achieved in operatic history. The shock waves broke windows as far away as Missouri City. Later, Bernice personally turned the cat over to the Sipes brothers who considered it a fine Christmas present. Bernice herself, never sang or annoyed anyone again.
Pastor Presley said it was his best Christmas ever.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Sunday, December 19, 2010
A Christmas Dinner
A snowy,stiff, cold wind blew across the Old North Side Cafe.
On Christmas the cafe is closed. The men are at home with children in houses about to be filled with warmth and love. In the air is the unmistakable aroma of roast turkey, hot rolls and pumpkin pie.
Stella, the waitress, lowered her head into a sharp gust and counted the blocks to the cafe. She was already cold. The kids were with their father for the holiday. Stella spent Christmas without them.
Before the divorce, Christmas was awful for Stella. She cooked a meal for at least 20-- turkey, ham and all the trimmings. Stella made rolls, cranberry sauce, and the little extras like oyster dressing, and fudge that made the day special.
Stella remembered how mad she was after the feast was over. Hours and hours of hard work were reduced to twelve minutes of consumption at half-time of a football game.
Few ever said thanks. Stella and a few other women were left alone to do dishes and clean the kitchen while the men lounged.
Stella did not miss that part of Christmas
.
She chided herself for her moment of self-pity. Sunday the kids were back for Christmas with her family. Still, this cold morning, she felt alone.
The wind blew a little harder and she picked up her pace.
When Stella was little girl, Christmas was a family time. Even as a child, she understood this holiday was bittersweet but deeply meaningful for adults. Families need to be together.
It was their celebration of the things a family stands for. The best moments came with the simple rituals like prayer, lighting candles, singing, and eating food they never got to have any other time. Stella grew up with a family she could see
Her Dad had been harsh and distant at times, but on Christmas his home was always open. Stella remembered resenting some of the ragged looking people who came to their home, but her father welcomed them all.
It was 4:30 a.m. and Stella knew she was behind. Bigger spits of snow filled the air. Her fingers ached with the cold as she unlocked the cafe. Soon, the ritual began. The first smell of coffee, the rattling of pans, ovens warming, vegetables peeled, Stella moved with an ease that betrayed the size of the task before her.
Tug showed up as 8:30 a.m. with an armload of groceries. Tug was from the church. He was gay and his family did not want him for Christmas.
"Hey, I brought my TV. Do you mind?" Tug said.
"Heck No," said Stella.
By 11:30 the first of the day's guests had arrived.
He was ragged looking--had a blue stocking cap which he clutched in both hands as he stood by the door. Soon they poured in from the cold. Mostly they sat in silence, their eyes down. Old men, some women, a few children--they all shared the same hunger.
"Welcome!" said Stella bursting from the kitchen coffee in hand, Her smile was a mile wide.
Stella and her helpers, other people who had no place to go on Christmas, served about 60 homeless people that day.
Tug said a prayer that made 'em all cry. She carved ham till her hands ached, and the football game was as stupid as ever. Few said thanks.
They finished washing dishes about 7 p.m. Stella stayed and cleaned the Old North Side until 9:00 p.m. and walked home in the dark. The day had cost her $700 she didn't have.
The boss let her use the restaurant as long as it was ready for business the next day.
Stella bowed her head to the cold. All those years when she had so much she never thought about those who had nothing. Becoming tender was not easy and at times took the strangest of turns.
She welcomed the cold walk home. The stars were sharp pinpoints. Snow and ice glistened in headlights. Christmas lights merged into a swirling galaxy of illumination. The warmth from inside etched a smile on her face.
This Christmas had been a good one.
On Christmas the cafe is closed. The men are at home with children in houses about to be filled with warmth and love. In the air is the unmistakable aroma of roast turkey, hot rolls and pumpkin pie.
Stella, the waitress, lowered her head into a sharp gust and counted the blocks to the cafe. She was already cold. The kids were with their father for the holiday. Stella spent Christmas without them.
Before the divorce, Christmas was awful for Stella. She cooked a meal for at least 20-- turkey, ham and all the trimmings. Stella made rolls, cranberry sauce, and the little extras like oyster dressing, and fudge that made the day special.
Stella remembered how mad she was after the feast was over. Hours and hours of hard work were reduced to twelve minutes of consumption at half-time of a football game.
Few ever said thanks. Stella and a few other women were left alone to do dishes and clean the kitchen while the men lounged.
Stella did not miss that part of Christmas
.
She chided herself for her moment of self-pity. Sunday the kids were back for Christmas with her family. Still, this cold morning, she felt alone.
The wind blew a little harder and she picked up her pace.
When Stella was little girl, Christmas was a family time. Even as a child, she understood this holiday was bittersweet but deeply meaningful for adults. Families need to be together.
It was their celebration of the things a family stands for. The best moments came with the simple rituals like prayer, lighting candles, singing, and eating food they never got to have any other time. Stella grew up with a family she could see
Her Dad had been harsh and distant at times, but on Christmas his home was always open. Stella remembered resenting some of the ragged looking people who came to their home, but her father welcomed them all.
It was 4:30 a.m. and Stella knew she was behind. Bigger spits of snow filled the air. Her fingers ached with the cold as she unlocked the cafe. Soon, the ritual began. The first smell of coffee, the rattling of pans, ovens warming, vegetables peeled, Stella moved with an ease that betrayed the size of the task before her.
Tug showed up as 8:30 a.m. with an armload of groceries. Tug was from the church. He was gay and his family did not want him for Christmas.
"Hey, I brought my TV. Do you mind?" Tug said.
"Heck No," said Stella.
By 11:30 the first of the day's guests had arrived.
He was ragged looking--had a blue stocking cap which he clutched in both hands as he stood by the door. Soon they poured in from the cold. Mostly they sat in silence, their eyes down. Old men, some women, a few children--they all shared the same hunger.
"Welcome!" said Stella bursting from the kitchen coffee in hand, Her smile was a mile wide.
Stella and her helpers, other people who had no place to go on Christmas, served about 60 homeless people that day.
Tug said a prayer that made 'em all cry. She carved ham till her hands ached, and the football game was as stupid as ever. Few said thanks.
They finished washing dishes about 7 p.m. Stella stayed and cleaned the Old North Side until 9:00 p.m. and walked home in the dark. The day had cost her $700 she didn't have.
The boss let her use the restaurant as long as it was ready for business the next day.
Stella bowed her head to the cold. All those years when she had so much she never thought about those who had nothing. Becoming tender was not easy and at times took the strangest of turns.
She welcomed the cold walk home. The stars were sharp pinpoints. Snow and ice glistened in headlights. Christmas lights merged into a swirling galaxy of illumination. The warmth from inside etched a smile on her face.
This Christmas had been a good one.
Take the Keys Away for Christmas
Winter pounced on the fragile ease of an autumn Indian summer. An army of occupation moved in from the north. It's cold regime of wind and ice hold captive the early days of December.
“What in the Sam Hill is going on?” Camelot Bob moaned shaking out of his Eddie Bauer down jacket. “Last week it was 70 degrees, and I was watering the grass.”
“You know what they say,” said Manor Hill Mack anxious to throw in the oldest joke in the cafe book. “If you don't like Missouri's weather, wait minute; and it'll change.”
Men smiled. There is comfort in the familiar, dumb as it may be.
Then it got serious
“How's the boy doing?” asked Mack.
“About the same,” Ron replied.
They knew the boy from church. He was in a wreck on an icy road. THis condition was critical. Drinking was involved.
The shock of such events stuns our sensibility. Old people form uneasy alliances with death. They know living, and that it slips away. Our children are not supposed to die. They think they never will.
Some at the cafe remember when childbirth and the first few years of life were a time of fear. Now, a driver's license ushers in the premier terror of our modern culture. A phone call comes in the night. A knock on the door means lives unalterably changed. Car wrecks are an abomination.
For the first time in years, drunk driving is again on the rise. The old guys at the cafe are plenty irked at kids these days. Some think they are soft and selfish, shallow and dull. But their real wrath is for parents who know their children drive drunk and turn a blind eye.
“Kids, beer and cars, I hate it!” said Ron and he dipped his head.
For that moment Ron was riding back from Wathena, Kansas to St. Joseph, Missouri on the old Pony Express Bridge. An oncoming car slammed on its breaks and slid sideways directly into a jolting crash. Ron's best friend was driving the car, and his girlfriend was killed.
It was all for winning a game and celebration that they crossed the line into Kansas. Drunk on glory, young love, beer, and the sheer power of a massive V-8 engine, Ron and his friends believed in the invincibility of youth.
“By God, if I could do anything for kids it would be to cut off the top of their heads and pour in the truth about life,” Ron said. “Even the magic of youth can not change a three second mistake.”
The sharp edge of sunlight outside the cafe clouded for a moment, and the silence inside was a prayer.
Wear your seat belts! Have a sober, designated driver! Don’t ride with a driver who is drunk; and, don’t let others drive drunk. Few of these messages ever squeeze past the arrogance of youth; especially when they are drinking.
It is up to parents, teachers, emergency room nurses, police, pastors, youth leaders, bloggers, best friends and caring strangers to enforce a sanity on our kids. We need to speak up and speak out!
Maybe the best gift we can give a kid this Christmas will be to take the keys away.
“What in the Sam Hill is going on?” Camelot Bob moaned shaking out of his Eddie Bauer down jacket. “Last week it was 70 degrees, and I was watering the grass.”
“You know what they say,” said Manor Hill Mack anxious to throw in the oldest joke in the cafe book. “If you don't like Missouri's weather, wait minute; and it'll change.”
Men smiled. There is comfort in the familiar, dumb as it may be.
Then it got serious
“How's the boy doing?” asked Mack.
“About the same,” Ron replied.
They knew the boy from church. He was in a wreck on an icy road. THis condition was critical. Drinking was involved.
The shock of such events stuns our sensibility. Old people form uneasy alliances with death. They know living, and that it slips away. Our children are not supposed to die. They think they never will.
Some at the cafe remember when childbirth and the first few years of life were a time of fear. Now, a driver's license ushers in the premier terror of our modern culture. A phone call comes in the night. A knock on the door means lives unalterably changed. Car wrecks are an abomination.
For the first time in years, drunk driving is again on the rise. The old guys at the cafe are plenty irked at kids these days. Some think they are soft and selfish, shallow and dull. But their real wrath is for parents who know their children drive drunk and turn a blind eye.
“Kids, beer and cars, I hate it!” said Ron and he dipped his head.
For that moment Ron was riding back from Wathena, Kansas to St. Joseph, Missouri on the old Pony Express Bridge. An oncoming car slammed on its breaks and slid sideways directly into a jolting crash. Ron's best friend was driving the car, and his girlfriend was killed.
It was all for winning a game and celebration that they crossed the line into Kansas. Drunk on glory, young love, beer, and the sheer power of a massive V-8 engine, Ron and his friends believed in the invincibility of youth.
“By God, if I could do anything for kids it would be to cut off the top of their heads and pour in the truth about life,” Ron said. “Even the magic of youth can not change a three second mistake.”
The sharp edge of sunlight outside the cafe clouded for a moment, and the silence inside was a prayer.
Wear your seat belts! Have a sober, designated driver! Don’t ride with a driver who is drunk; and, don’t let others drive drunk. Few of these messages ever squeeze past the arrogance of youth; especially when they are drinking.
It is up to parents, teachers, emergency room nurses, police, pastors, youth leaders, bloggers, best friends and caring strangers to enforce a sanity on our kids. We need to speak up and speak out!
Maybe the best gift we can give a kid this Christmas will be to take the keys away.
Remembering Thanksgiving and Heading For Christmas
Stella, the waitress, was worried. Since last week's newspaper story that men steadily lose their mental sharpness from the day they turn 20, the men had sat moping. It's not easy watching the old mind go. They fear a day their brain will turn to thick chunks of wood.
"Snap out of it fellas," Stella said. "It's Thanksgiving. Your kids are coming home. We all have to get old; your minds aren’t gone yet." No use. Mack and Jake, Pete and Bob sat like lumps. Losing accurate recall of the past was no small thing to them. They fiddled with their napkins and drank their coffee extra slow.
"When was Pearl Harbor?" asked Mack, unsure, half expecting to be ignored.
"That was December 7, 1941. Japan attacked at 7:55 a.m.. They sunk 19 ships and killed 2,300 people. We declared war against Japan on December 8. On Dec 11 we declared war on Germany and Italy.
"I know that date because my wife, who was just my girlfriend then, was out with that no good, snake in the grass LeRoy Leggit. Now, every time somebody brings up Pearl Harbor I have to hear about her date with LeRoy."
"When did Joe Lewis fight Max Schmeling? Can you remember that?" asked Mack.
"Joe Lewis TKO'd Schmeling on June 22, 1938 in New York," smiled Bob smugly. "In those days a new Ford V-8 cost $535. A summer suit went for $17.50 and good Kentucky bourbon was $1.59 a fifth. Those were the days"
"That was the depression, you idiot," snapped Pete
Stella liked the sound of this and served up some more coffee. They remembered the day Roosevelt died, April 12, 1945 in Warm Springs, GA. The A-bomb on Hiroshima, August 6, and Japan's surrender August 15, 1945.
They worked their way into the future, sometimes fuzzy about dates, but sharing lives full of emotion and history.
It was Jake who first sensed a feeling of thanksgiving beginning to form. Not for the wars or living through them, but for the friends gathered now. Not for the stories but for ears willing to hear them.
That afternoon Jake bought a 16 lb. turkey and extra drumsticks for the grandkids. He rummaged around looking for the old oyster dressing recipe. Along toward 5:30 p.m. he snuck over to Camelot Bob's house for a quick toast with fine Kentucky whiskey.
"That night he asked his wife if she remembered LeRoy Leggit. "Oh yes," she said. " December 7, Pearl Harbor, we were having such a lovely date until we heard the news."
On Thanksgiving Jake stood and asked to say a few words to the entire assembled family. It was his traditional toast. As he lifted his glass, silence filled the room.
May there be plenty of toilet paper ready today and the line short.
May those who prepared the food, of which I am one, rest while those who ate it clean up.
May parents never spank their children.....too hard.
May children learn to forgive their parents.
May love be a feather and your marriage a feather bed.
May the winter be short and the fires burn long.
May the moon always be full on your darkest nights.
and
May we be Thankful and never forget to remember each other, except for LeRoy Leggit.
Happy Holidays from the Old North Side Cafe
"Snap out of it fellas," Stella said. "It's Thanksgiving. Your kids are coming home. We all have to get old; your minds aren’t gone yet." No use. Mack and Jake, Pete and Bob sat like lumps. Losing accurate recall of the past was no small thing to them. They fiddled with their napkins and drank their coffee extra slow.
"When was Pearl Harbor?" asked Mack, unsure, half expecting to be ignored.
"That was December 7, 1941. Japan attacked at 7:55 a.m.. They sunk 19 ships and killed 2,300 people. We declared war against Japan on December 8. On Dec 11 we declared war on Germany and Italy.
"I know that date because my wife, who was just my girlfriend then, was out with that no good, snake in the grass LeRoy Leggit. Now, every time somebody brings up Pearl Harbor I have to hear about her date with LeRoy."
"When did Joe Lewis fight Max Schmeling? Can you remember that?" asked Mack.
"Joe Lewis TKO'd Schmeling on June 22, 1938 in New York," smiled Bob smugly. "In those days a new Ford V-8 cost $535. A summer suit went for $17.50 and good Kentucky bourbon was $1.59 a fifth. Those were the days"
"That was the depression, you idiot," snapped Pete
Stella liked the sound of this and served up some more coffee. They remembered the day Roosevelt died, April 12, 1945 in Warm Springs, GA. The A-bomb on Hiroshima, August 6, and Japan's surrender August 15, 1945.
They worked their way into the future, sometimes fuzzy about dates, but sharing lives full of emotion and history.
It was Jake who first sensed a feeling of thanksgiving beginning to form. Not for the wars or living through them, but for the friends gathered now. Not for the stories but for ears willing to hear them.
That afternoon Jake bought a 16 lb. turkey and extra drumsticks for the grandkids. He rummaged around looking for the old oyster dressing recipe. Along toward 5:30 p.m. he snuck over to Camelot Bob's house for a quick toast with fine Kentucky whiskey.
"That night he asked his wife if she remembered LeRoy Leggit. "Oh yes," she said. " December 7, Pearl Harbor, we were having such a lovely date until we heard the news."
On Thanksgiving Jake stood and asked to say a few words to the entire assembled family. It was his traditional toast. As he lifted his glass, silence filled the room.
May there be plenty of toilet paper ready today and the line short.
May those who prepared the food, of which I am one, rest while those who ate it clean up.
May parents never spank their children.....too hard.
May children learn to forgive their parents.
May love be a feather and your marriage a feather bed.
May the winter be short and the fires burn long.
May the moon always be full on your darkest nights.
and
May we be Thankful and never forget to remember each other, except for LeRoy Leggit.
Happy Holidays from the Old North Side Cafe
Monday, December 6, 2010
John Lennon Lives
Late in the night, thirty years ago, December 8, John Lennon was murdered outside his apartment building in NYC. It would have been his 70th birthday on October 9.
There will be special events around the world and many of us here in KC will listen to Lennon's music and celebrate his songs, the Beatles, his poetry, life, and genius. "Give Peace a Chance" will again echo in our collective memory.
So much about John and the Beatles is still relevant. Paul McCartney's Kennedy Center Award will air December 28 and the grammy nominated artist (Helter Skelter from last years's Good Evening NYC cd) will be on Saturday Night Live this coming weekend. Those who saw McCartney in KC earlier this year will never forget his performance. Ringo is still a force in the music world. George Harrison's life story has become all the rage in literature and film. I-tunes can't tell us enough they have the Beatles catalogue for sale.
A prominent list of the 1,043 Classic Rock Songs of All Time includs 99 Beatles songs. In the Top 10, Imagine is #7, Let It Be is #5 and Hey Jude is #2. John Lennon, my Hero, thanks again. Rock on, "Dreamers!"
There will be special events around the world and many of us here in KC will listen to Lennon's music and celebrate his songs, the Beatles, his poetry, life, and genius. "Give Peace a Chance" will again echo in our collective memory.
So much about John and the Beatles is still relevant. Paul McCartney's Kennedy Center Award will air December 28 and the grammy nominated artist (Helter Skelter from last years's Good Evening NYC cd) will be on Saturday Night Live this coming weekend. Those who saw McCartney in KC earlier this year will never forget his performance. Ringo is still a force in the music world. George Harrison's life story has become all the rage in literature and film. I-tunes can't tell us enough they have the Beatles catalogue for sale.
A prominent list of the 1,043 Classic Rock Songs of All Time includs 99 Beatles songs. In the Top 10, Imagine is #7, Let It Be is #5 and Hey Jude is #2. John Lennon, my Hero, thanks again. Rock on, "Dreamers!"
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