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whew !!!

IN THIS ISSUE

• Carolyn Harris also has happy memories of a logging camp
• Geoff Goodship recalls his first paid employment
• Bill McNair writes about locking keys in cars
• Miriam Ockenden forwards some tips on buying a new computer
• Gerrit de Leeuw sends a story about a hillbilly birth
• There are many different reasons to get married
• Burke Dykes sends another - guess what? - blonde joke
• Jack Peaker warns that there is rough language in this one
• Memory loss can be a real problem
• Websites are suggested by Irene Harvalias, Jack Peaker, and Jay

Carolyn Harris, who once lived in a logging camp, found my story on the internet and wrote to ask if I would like to have her stories. Of course I said yes, please!, and she has sent me some of her memories of the camp. She has also written a book, "RV IN NZ: HOW TO SPEND YOUR WINTERS SOUTH - WAY SOUTH IN NEW ZEALAND", and her website is http//:www.rvinnz.com

She explains that Pondosa, the logging camp, was built in 1928, and parts of the camp are still there. Satellite camps followed the timber and moved every few years. Her family left in 1952, when the company decided to phase in diesel engines. McCloud, the parent company town which needed the timber, is now a privately-owned tourist town.

Carolyn still lives in the southern Cascades, and loves the tall timber.

Here is the first of her stories:

MEMORIES OF GROWING UP IN A LOGGING CAMP

After World War II, my mother packed the Haviland china she used when entertaining her Garden Club ladies in the San Francisco Bay area, and we followed my father to a remote logging camp in northern California.

Addicted to work and steam engines, my dad couldn´t resist the chance to lay back the throttle and toot the whistle of a steam engine again. Chugging up and down the rails in virgin timber country from early dawn until late night six days a week, he always had a smile on his face.

After the shock of her new environment wore off, my mother tried to smile. The Haviland china stayed in the garage rafters. One day, a cup fell through a mouse-chewed hole in the carton and landed on the hood of our ´35 Ford. I remember how she ran her thumb over the jagged spot where the handle had been, then sucking her bloody thumb, she dropped the cup in the trash barrel.

Ten at the time we moved, I settled in to life in a logging camp easily enough. I found a best friend - Jo. That was all I needed. My brother, Stevie, just turned four when my mother had a nervous breakdown, brought on in part by what we now call Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD).

Camp was snowed in our first winter. Jo and I belly-flopped off roofs and dodged snow clumps rumbling from the Ponderosa pines, while men worked their way around camp shoveling roofs and digging out stuck D8 Cats. In the middle of the night after my dad put his steam engine to bed, he´d shovel the snow tunnel to the living room window. My mother needed a little daylight. She had cabin fever.

Camp was laid out like a game board. On the dusty side of camp by the main road, long skinny boxcar-shaped houses with wooden plank floors crouched on blocks, a wood round for a step. The only door led into the kitchen/living area where the company provided a sink and drainboard. I was warned by my mother to stay away from the dusty side of camp. Only later did we realize the thick red dust found every corner of camp.

Cat skinners, timber fallers, equipment mechanics, and the school teachers - the more permanent employees - lived in the middle of camp in L- or H-shaped houses that usually had linoleum floors and curtains.

The last two rows of houses near the three-room school house stretched along Railroad Avenue, a wide, tree-lined walking path. Houses here were stick built - usually three bedrooms - tacked on by camp carpenters wherever they´d fit among the towering Ponderosa pines. Railroad Avenue homes were saved for railroad employees and camp officials. My mother didn´t seem to care that the throw of the dice had landed her on the winners´ side of camp.

Your last name determined your job and where you lived in camp. Most timber fallers were Swedes. Oklahoma dustbowl refugees also moved in - and looked down their noses at the Arkies on the dusty side of camp. There was one Italian family - another railroad crew, but most Italians worked in the company mill thirty miles away. The company talked of bringing black men to the woods, but the Swedes kicked up a fuss. Those timber fallers could drop a pine on a beer bottle, so the company decided maybe having black men in the woods wasn´t such a good idea.

A boundary road separated the single men´s cabins, community hall, company store/post office, swung past the cookhouse and cook crew cabins, then circled around camp equipment waiting for repair or parked for the night. Any single man crossing the boundary road into the family section without an invitation would be fired. The company owned the game board. If you didn´t like the rules, you left the game. My mother said, "The single men´s section is even more dangerous than the dusty side of camp." The few times I visited the single men´s section with my dad, I sat with my back to the wall and my eyes on the path to the boundary road, in case I had to make a run for it.

The camp with its spring-fed water supply sat on a hill - probably so the sewage could be drained in the opposite direction. Six days a week, the logging train snaked up that hill, moaning for each of the three crossings, before the engines bedded down for the night in the roundhouse behind the company store.

When I got an urge for lemon meringue pie, I´d wait for the last crossing whistle, then meet my dad. In the cookhouse kitchen, I´d stuff myself with lemon pie, while my dad ate steak and biscuits, then got snockered with the cookhouse boss. By then, my mother had given up on life - and cooking.

To be continued.

Geoff Goodship writes: My childhood was blessed with kind, patient and loving grandparents. This is one of my fond remembrances of them. I call the story

MONEY FLIES

When do little girls become girls and little boys become boys? Somewhere in the mist of memories there is a time when we become aware: when suddenly we realize that we belong to the male or female branch of the tribe. This moment may pass unrecognized but this identification determines much of our path through this life. My identification as male emerged during a summer spent with my grandparents.

In a family of five children, grandparents are an especially valuable asset, and grandparents with a nearby farm even more so. Grandma and Grandpašs acceptance of two or more energetic grandchildren for much of the summer probably went a long way toward preserving my parents´ marriage and sanity.

I can never remember a time without chores. I think I was born with them. They were a part of my very early and dim understanding that I was male. This was long before the modern invention called an allowance. Part of the attraction of Grandparents´ farm was that there were no regular chores and as a consequence we loved to go there. With no regular chores to keep us occupied, we would pester these ever-patient and loving seventy-year-olds with, ŗWhat can we do next?˛

ŗLet´s go for another walk,˛ Grandpa would say, for Grandpa could walk forever. Off we would go until our little legs told us to ask Grandma next time.

One hot summer afternoon, Grandma needed a nap to escape our endless energy. ˛What can we do next?˛ became a challenge to this resourceful, kind and loving soul. I can still see her place her palms backwards on her broad hips and look toward the ceiling. Reaching into a cupboard, she handed us two lids and two mason jars. "Catch some flies,˛ she said, then as an afterthought to buy a little more time, ŗIšll give you a penny if you can catch ten.˛

Catching flies was my first paying job. Money flies! My sister and I fell to the task like bloodhounds. My hunter/provider genes slammed into place like the screen door on Grandmašs kitchen. An hour later when grandma awoke, we had caught and lost several pennies´ worth and we were developing a technique to transfer a "caught one˛ to the collecting bottle without losing any money. By Saturday, the going-to-town day, we each had three cents. The candies we bought were red and black treasures.

Grandma must have been pleased with her success. It reduced the number of flies in that old farmhouse, and she got a well-deserved rest. Money flies became an activity reserved for her nap time. We quickly became expert fly catchers. When business was slow and when Grandma was asleep, we learned that walking in and out slowly through the kitchen screen door improved our cash flow. It didnšt take us long to learn that by moving and climbing on a chair, we could get up on the kitchen counter and reach the flies stuck to the flycoil hanging over the sink.

One windy Friday, after a slow week we desperately needed about fifteen more flies before the Saturday-going-to-town we enjoyed so much. With Grandma asleep, we headed to the outhouse. To this day I cannot remember whose idea it was: mine or my sister´s. If Grandma was surprised with our success, she never let on, although there was a certain smile that gave me an uneasy feeling.

In Grandmašs kitchen we learned about enterprise, ambition, cunning, greed, and guilt, and all from those Money Flies.

CORRESPONDENCE

Bill McNair responds to Jay´s locking his key inside his car, as told in last week´s issue: Just inside your front glass window of the car is the VIN number of your car. A dealer of that make of car can cut you a key using that number. Also keep an ignition key in your purse or wallet ... I do!

Ed. Note: I carry extra keys for the car and my apartment in a money belt which I wear whenever I leave home. It also contains all my plastic, so that if I lose my purse, I will have lost only money. That can easily be replaced, unlike my driver´s licence and charge cards. And no, the belt is not noticeable - just one more bulge.

Miriam Ockenden forwards this invaluable advice:

THE CONCISE GUIDE FOR COMPUTER BUYERS

Whether you´re a first-time buyer or a power user planning to upgrade that antiquated Pentium 100, the decision to plunk down a couple thousand dollars for a box filled with little pieces of melted sand can be an unsettling experience. The following tips should help.

If you decide to buy from a store, remember that some salesmen are a bit newer at this than others. Watch out for any of the following phrases:

And what size would you like that in?
Computers? Yeah, I think we got some.
Pentium, schmentium, let me show you something really nice.
It comes with a TV attached.
Look, from what I hear, they´re all the same.
The good computers come without any software. Honest.

Not all computers are made to the same standards. Avoid any brand with the following attributes:

The instructions are only in Malaysian.
There are bare wires projecting out of the drive slots.
The case includes a built-in smoke detector.
The power switch is labeled OFF/MAYBE.
Instead of a CD ROM, it has a slot for eight-track tapes.
There is mud on the bottom.

While mail order outlets generally offer lower prices than stores, think twice about dealing with a company if the catalog has any of the following features:

Women in bathing suits.
A 900 order number.
A note to send all orders in care of The Warden.
Computers, knives, and government-surplus ball bearings.

And a few final tips to make sure you end up with the ideal system:

Despite what it says in the ads, a monitor is not optional.

Internal and external modems are fine; avoid unassembled ones.

Yes, you really need all those cables.

If it doesn´t work, it´s not your fault.

Gerrit de Leeuw forwards this story of

A HILLBILLY BIRTH

Deep in the back woods of Letcher County, Kentucky, a hillbilly´s wife went into labor in the middle of the night, and the doctor was called out to assist in the delivery. Since there was no electricity, the doctor handed the father-to-be a lantern and said, "Here, you hold this high so I can see what I am doing!"

Soon a baby boy was brought into the world. "Whoa there," said the doctor. "Don´t be in such a rush to put that lantern down. I think therešs another one coming.˛

Sure enough, within minutes he had delivered a baby girl. "Hold that lantern up, don´t set it down - there´s another one,˛ said the doctor.

Within a few minutes he had delivered a third baby. "No, don´t be in a hurry to put down that lantern. It seems therešs yet another one coming!" cried the doctor.

The redneck scratched his head in bewilderment, then asked the doctor, "You reckon it might be the light that´s attractin´ ´em?"

REASON ENOUGH

A senior citizen said to his eighty-year old buddy: "So I hear you´re getting married?"

"Yep!"

"Do I know her?"

"Nope!"

"This woman, is she good looking?"

"Not really."

"Is she a good cook?"

"Naw, she can´t cook too well."

"Does she have lots of money?"

"Nope! Poor as a church mouse."

"Well then, is she good in bed?"

"I don´t know."

"Why in the world do you want to marry her then?"

"Because she can still drive!"

Burke Dykes sends yet another blonde joke:

A TRIP TO JAMAICA

A blonde gets on an airplane and sits down in the first-class section. The stewardess tells her she must move to coach because she doesn´t have a first-class ticket. The blonde replies, "I´m blonde, I´m smart, and I have a good job. I´m staying in first class until we reach Jamaica."

The stewardess gets the head stewardess, who asks the woman to leave and she says, "I´m blonde, I´m smart, and I have a good job. I´m staying in first class until we reach Jamaica."

The stewardesses don´t know what to do because they have to get the rest of the passengers seated to take off, so they get the copilot. The copilot goes up to the blonde and whispers in her ear. She immediately gets up and goes to her seat in the coach section.

The head stewardess asks the copilot what he said to get her to move. The copilot replies, "I told her the front half of the airplane wasn´t going to Jamaica."

Jack Peaker asks that you excuse the rough language in the following story: "I don´t write them, I just forward them."

ROUGH LANGUAGE

A young couple got married and went on their honeymoon. When they got back, the bride immediately called her mother. "Well," said her mother,"so how was the honeymoon?"

Oh, mama," she replied, "the honeymoon was wonderful! So romantic...." Suddenly she burst out crying. "But, mama, as soon as we returned, Sam started using the most horrible language - things I´d never heard before! I mean, all these awful four-letter words! You´ve got to take me home. PLEASE, MAMA!"

"Sarah, Sarah," her mother said, "calm down! You need to stay with your husband and work this out. Now, tell me, what could be so awful? WHAT four-letter words?"

"Please don´t make me tell you, mama," wept the daughter. "I´m so embarrassed, they´re just too awful! COME GET ME, PLEASE!"

"Darling, baby, you must tell me what has you so upset. Tell your mother these horrible four-letter words!"

Sobbing, the bride said, "Oh, Mama - he used words like dust, wash, iron, cook...."

"I´ll pick you up in twenty minutes," said the mother.

MEMORY PROBLEMS

A couple in their nineties are both having problems remembering things.

They decide to go to the doctor for a checkup. The doctor tells them that they´re physically okay, but they might want to start writing things down to help them remember. Later that night, while watching TV, the old man gets up from his chair.

His wife asks, "Where are you going?"

"To the kitchen," he replies.

"Will you get me a bowl of ice cream?"

"Sure."

"Don´t you think you should write it down so you can remember it?" she asks.

"No, I can remember it."

"Well, I´d like some strawberries on top, too. You´d better write it down because you know you´ll forget it."

He says, "I can remember that! You want a bowl of ice cream with strawberries."

"I´d also like whipped cream. I´m certain you´ll forget that, so you´d better write it down!" she retorts.

Irritated, he says, "I don´t need to write it down, I can remember it! Leave me alone! Ice cream with strawberries and whipped cream - I got it, for goodness sake!" Then he grumbles into the kitchen.

After about 20 minutes the old man returns from the kitchen and hands his wife a plate of bacon and eggs.

She stares at the plate for a moment and says - "Where´s my toast?

WEBSITES WORTH CHECKING OUT

Irene Harvalias recommends a site we have seen before, but it is well worth viewing again, if only because it is so very clever: http://www.care2.com/ecards/p/8020-3532-10346-2209

Jack Peaker suggests these sites:

Art: http://www.boschuniverse.org//index.cfm?

Words: http://www.netlingo.com/index.cfm

Opinion: http://snipurl.com/tdn4

My mailbox has been overflowing with "hot" stock tips lately, for stocks that are "about to skyrocket". Jay has been similarly plagued, so he went to http://www.scambusters.org/stocktips.html to see what we have been missing. As we suspected - worse than nothing. Before you invest - investigate!

For information on the safe adjustment of your car´s side mirrors, see http://www.linquist.net/motorsports/tech/mirrors/

"Those who desire to give up Freedom in order to gain Security, will not have, nor do they deserve, either one."