Every Thanksgiving I
think of Huw Lewis-Jones
of Liverpool, England. He’s
a cousin of my late first
wife, and he and his wife
Catherine, both doctors,
are dear friends to Anne
and me.
Huw’s a radiologist, and
he comes to mind at
Thanksgiving because of a
radiological truism he
shared with me. (Thanksgiving,
by the way, has been
imported to England as a
holiday, complete with traditional
meal, Pilgrims, Indians,
etc. Go figure. . .)
Huw says that, just before
Thanksgiving and again
just before Christmas, he
and other x-ray docs see a
rash of patients with broken
toes and sometimes
squashed feet.
Why? Because people
have lost their grip on a frozen
turkey and dropped it,
a dozen pounds or much
more, smack on a foot. One
foot, if they’re lucky.
For comparison, think of
the average ten-pin bowling
ball, about ten pounds.
Dropped from chest height,
imagine what that that
would do to your toes or
metatarsals. (I saw that
happen once at a bowling
alley. The guy’s howl sounded
like a chainsaw.) Now,
imagine a solidly frozen
turkey weighing half again
as much, or twice as much.
Oh, my. That could take
the edge off a holiday.
The above, then, is a
caution, courtesy of Cousin
Huw, who, though he and
Cath practice in Liverpool,
is a 100% Welshman. He’s
a native son of Dolgellau, a
name not pronounced nearly
as the letters would suggest.
Its last syllable, a
``thee,’’ must be expelled
out both sides of one’s
mouth. I can’t say it yet
without spattering standers-
by.
Like most Welshmen,
Huw’s a gifted story-teller
and, God bless him, loves to
make himself the butt of
the stories. Here’s a memorable
one that I once shared
in part with you:
Huw, then a young dad
of Tom and Gareth, five
and three respectively, was
driving them home from
playschool. They were secure
in their car seats, and
between them were their
two Border collie puppies,
Moss and Meg. (I knew the
dogs in their later years,
both of them still rollicking
and puppy-like. And the
boys, now both in college,
grew up just fine, too.)
As Huw tells the story,
he was driving along happily,
humming to himself,
with suddenly Tom spoke
from the back seat. I should
add that both boys, growing
up in Liverpool, always
sound to me uncannily like
the Beatles: that odd Liverpudlian
monotone, with a
drop of a minor third on
each sentence’s last syllable.
It was in such a voice
that Tom spoke:
``Dad, the dog is going to
be sick.’’ The drop in pitch
on ``sick’’ made the prospect
seem even worse.
Huw, though a doctor, is
self-admittedly squeamish.
His first reaction was to
minimize. ``Now, Thomas,
he’ll be all right. Just lower
the window a bit and give
him some air.’’ But then:
``Dad! He’s going to
spew!’’ And Huw, wincing,
heard the sound every dog
owner knows, that convulsive
``Erk! Erk! that makes
them snatch the puppy up
from the carpet and plop
him, at very least, on a floor
of vinyl or tile.’’ But, too
late:
``Dad!’’ came Tom’s
mournful, frightened cry.
``Dad, he’s spewing on the
floor!’’ And worse: ``Dad! It’s
worms! Dad, he’s spewing
worms!’’
Cringing, Huw glanced
into the mirror. His two little
boys were pasted against
the far sides of their car
seats, right up against the
windows. Tom himself was
now gulping and hiccupping,
and little Gareth was
sobbing and wailing, both
at once.
Well, Dad pulled over on
the road’s verge, as they
say, and unwillingly opened
the back door. On the floor,
at his poor boys’ feet, was a
tangled mass of strands of
white, mixed in some red
liquid that Huw tried to ignore.
With gritted teeth,
the poor man bent up the
sides of the floor mat and,
holding his breath, carried
it over to some shrubbery.
Then he upended it and
cleaned as best he could on
the grass. He then put it in
the car’s boot.
On the way home, Huw
stopped at a market and
comforted the boys and
himself with ice lollies; we
call them popsicles. Then
he drove home and loosed
the still sober boys and the
rollicking dogs into the
back garden.
Catherine was in the
kichen. Lovely Cath, who
now manages Liverpool’s
largest Hospice with serene
grace. She was stirring up
supper. Huw, still whitefaced,
sank into a chair.
She glanced at him and
said, ``What on earth is
wrong, Huw?’’ She knew it
wasn’t the boys since she’d
seen them out the window,
now restored and chasing
the dogs.
``Oh, Cath, it was horrible!’’
gasped Huw, hoping
for a big outpouring of sympathy.
``We were driving
home and — and Moss
spewed on the floor, right
in front of poor Tom and
Gareth. And, Cath, it was
worms! Awful, squiggly
worms, in some sort of reddish
effluent! And I had to
clean it up!’’ Huw has an
actor’s face, and he looked
at her with woeful eyes. ``I
almost gagged, too,’’ he
added, still waiting for
``Poor baby!’’ or the British
equivalent.
Cath sat down beside
him, smiling. ``Huw,’’ she
said evenly, ``you’re a dear
man, but a proper fool
sometimes. The dogs’
breakfast this morning was
last night’s spaghetti Bolognese.’’
No need to say more. Every
husband knows how
Huw felt. But never mind.
He’s still a very bright man
and gives excellent advice.
And so, remember his
warning and, when you lift
that heavy turkey out of
the freezer, use a damp
dishtowel. It will adhere to
the plastic wrapper and
give you a secure grip. And
pay close heed to what
you’re doing.
Keep on your toes, and
you’ll keep your toes on!
(That last advice is mine,
not Huw’s.)
Read about Jim Atwell’s
book, From Fly Creek--Celebrating
Life in Leatherstocking
Country, at JimAtwell.
com
Columns
Jim Atwell: Keep on your toes!
- Columns
-
-
In These Otsego Hills: The losses are adding up ...
It is with sadness that we note the passing of long time friend, and distantrelative, Jane Patrick. Over the years we have worked with Jane in a number of organizations including Women’s Club and the Community Advisory Committee at Bassett. And, of course, in later years we joined her, along with the other Dinner Belles, for any number of delicious meals. But we do think that our favorite memory that we shared with Jane was when we discovered, having both married Cooperstown natives, that we shared Cooperstown Christmas plans.
Continued ... -
Up On Hawthorn Hill: Bird Feeder?
Bird feeder is a relative term. At least that is the case around here. A few mornings ago we spotted the first rabbit to visit the feeders. Normally, all we see during the winter are rabbit tracks crisscrossing the gardens.
Continued ... -
From Fly Creek: Cheers for the Blue Rabbit!
My handwriting’s always been an embarrassment. Way back in elementary school, while most of the others were developing a clear, sometimes graceful hand (especially the girls), my penmanship showed no improvement.
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: This and that ...
We have found the weather so far this year to be on the unusual side. And while we have no problem with the fact that we have received very little snow, we are of the opinion that what we have had instead is not particularly to our liking either. In fact, we are very hesitant to venture out much as we live in fear that the rain will turn to mixed precipitation which will freeze into a sheet of ice. And we are definitely opposed to encountering a sheet of ice underfoot. In fact, we are so hesitant that we now have taken to canceling our participation in events based on what just might be a dubious forecast.
Continued ... -
Book Notes: Feinstein’s latest is sheer enjoyment
Most people who follow sports have probably heard of John Feinstein. As a nationally known author, sportswriter, pundit and broadcaster, he has brought a unique angle to sports journalism. His groundbreaking book on Bobby Knight’s 1986-87 Indiana University basketball team, “A Season on the Brink,” still resonates today as an all-time classic.
Continued ... -
Book Notes: No Trekkie should miss Shatner’s books
It would be hard to find a television phenomenon as popular as “Star Trek.” Even though it was only on television for three seasons and 79 episodes (1966-69) it attracted viewers and devotees that still follow it passionately 45 years later. The fanatical supportspawned several movies and television spinoffs. Star Trek conventions continue to this day. There has never been anything like it.
Continued ... -
Up on Hawthorn Hill: Making sense of things
A book I have been reading investigates the various ways over time that we have made sense of the world. It carries the reader through to the present via several seminal classical texts and ultimately aims to suggest a strategy for “ finding meaning in a secular age.”
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: ‘Property must be secured or liberty cannot exist.’ − John Adams
Last week we were asked if we would be interested in previewing a documentary, “The Empire State Divide,”produced by the Foundation for Land & Liberty. And we were more than happy to do so as we understood the documentary dealt with the problems that continue to face family farms.
Continued ... -
From Fly Creek: Now wait a minute!
On the ninth day of Christmas, driving down Cooperstown’s Eagle Street, I saw something astounding! No, not “nineladies dancing, eight maids a-milking, seven swans” etc. I saw one jogger jogging. And puffing on a cigarette.
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: Goals of the past and goals of the future
We have long subscribed to the concept that we are always more successful if we, number one, set a goal and then, number two, meet it. And this was our thinking when we decided before Christmas to watch at least part of every college football bowl game. It was perhaps an odd, if not completely nonsensical, goal.
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: Not to our liking ...
It is with sadness that we note the recent death of Steve Nagel. The son-inlaw of our late husband’s cousins, Alice and Harvey Eckler of Fly Creek, Steve was married to the Ecklers’ oldest daughter, Gail. We had the pleasure of spending Christmas Eve with the Nagels and the Ecklers in Fly Creek, greatly enjoying the delicious food and delightful conversation.
Continued ... -
Up on Hawthorn Hill: Of birds and faith
I watch birds quite a bit. Every five days or so I send in a report to Cornell as partof its annual Project Feeder Watch program. The data, collected from volunteers from all over the country, enables scientists to track population trends. I would spend quite a bit of time checking out the visitors to our feeders anyway. Participating in the feeder program makes a personal pleasure that much more meaningful. It is rare that aesthetical and scientific endeavors work in tandem.
Continued ... -
Book Notes: Biography captures the real Stephen Colbert
It would be hard to find a comedian as unique as Stephen Colbert. As the host of “The Colbert Report” on Comedy Central he hasmanaged to leave his mark on the nation’s consciousness in both a serious and humorous sort of way. His unusual wit has allowed him to become American icon. It would be difficult to find another entertainer quite like him.
Continued ... -
From Fly Creek: Christmas and varied blessings
I’m still astounded! The last farmers’ market before Christmas, I was sitting up front, directly under the ceiling heater, shmoozing with the hoi-polloi. (That’s an awkward linguistic mix,but let’s let it go.) As I sipped my hot coffee, a gloved hand came to rest on my shoulder and a warm voice said, “Merry Christmas, Jim.” I looked to my left—it was Santa Claus!
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: Always a learning experience ...
We must admit that we thoroughly enjoyed our 2011 Christmas celebration. We partook of Christmas Eve dinner at the home of Alice and Harvey Eckler of Fly Creek and Christmas Day dinner at the home of Sandy and Al Bullard of Milford. We had our usual Christmas Day brunch at home on Pioneer Street, although we must admit it was a tad bit later than usual as, what we enjoyed most about Christmas, namely our granddaughter Abby, took a great deal of time opening her Christmas presents.
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: Coming up ... 2012
Difficult as it seems, 2011 is fast coming to an end. And it is always our hope that as a year draws to a close, the issues which have been in the forefront during the year will be resolved. Unfortunately, we suspect that will not be the case this year. Instead, we are fairly certain that many of the issues that plagued this year, will continue to plague next year. Thus we will find ourselves still musing about the same issues we have spent time with already. And while we have not come toany conclusions about many of the issues, we do think they would all likely benefit from both sides thinking critically about perspective, risk assessment and possible solutions.
Continued ... -
Up on Hawthorn Hill: Circularity
When she was a puppy my dog Gabby would run in what I described then as “circles of joy.” She celebrated her15th birthday a few weeks ago and despite the inevitable frailties that old age imposes upon all of us, she is doing pretty well.
Continued ... -
Book Notes: Grisham doesn’t disappoint
John Grisham is one of this country’s most popular authors. Every time he publishes a book it’s an instant best-seller. He appeared on the scene about 20 years ago with his tense legal thrillers, “A Time to Kill” and “The Firm,”and hasn’t stopped producing top-notch novels since.
Continued ... -
From Fly Creek: Still singing, beyond our hearing
This column from Christmas 2001 still speaks deeply to me, and perhaps will to you, too. Take it, please, as my Christmas gift.
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: The 2011 Cooperstown Carol
Since 1984, with the exception of one year, 1999, we have looked forward at the end of the year to going through all the issues of the paper in order to glean those news items which have been worthy of note throughout the year and which should make their way into our annual Cooperstown Carol.
Continued ...
-
In These Otsego Hills: The losses are adding up ...
