The Annual Dive

I remember going on our annual summer weekend to Cumberland Lake with the whole family. There were Mamma and Papa and all of Mark's sisters and their families. We would rent a cabin near the lake and stay the whole weekend. We would also rent a pontoon boat for one day and Paula would bring her motor boat and we would spend the whole day on the lake. We especially waited for Papa to take his annual dive from the top of the pontoon boat and he always did. The Grandchildren would just love to see him take that dive. He was a great swimmer. I believe the last time Papa did the dive was on his 75th birthday. It was on a Tennessee lake. The people that we rented the house from at Cumberland sold it and we tried to get the family thing started in Tennessee, but it did not pan out. It's not that we never got together; I just miss the summer weekend gathering.

From: Mary--Daughter-in-law (wife of son Mark).

Flying Newspapers

The Lexington Herald newspaper could be a formable monster on Sunday mornings. I would get up at 6: 15 and quietly go down the stairs, sneaking past Dad's bedroom door. He had to wake up at 4:30 am every weekday morning for his 50 mile commute to work, so I tried to not wake him most Sundays. But some Sundays the size of the paper meant loading the baskets on my bike two or three times just to get the route in and this was carrying an over-the-shoulder bag filled with papers. My route was in the aptly named “Thorn Hill” subdivision. And besides the weight and thickness of the newspapers, my baskets alone weighed more than bicycles do today.

Dad had often taken me on my route, and could probably get all the houses himself if I conked out. He often saved me from some major soakings by taking me around in the car on rainy and snowy days. I think he always was awake when I came down those stairs and left it to me to make the decision on whether I needed help or not. My way of letting him know was by making an accidental noise when I came back in after viewing what the press had done to me overnight.

Stumbling, or bumping the pivotal two doors system to his bedroom, he would groggily ask me if I needed help. I would love it when he said, "Go start the car and I will take you.” I know deep down he was having fun reminiscing his days of paper routes.. Dad had a thing about getting up early himself, often having breakfast ready for the whole family on Saturdays and Sundays. You were awakened by the delicious smells if not the occasional shutting of a door, or clanging of a pan.

The one most memorable morning was a crispy, cold morning. Dad had been laid off at GE and was helping me on a weekday morning. Much smaller papers made for some tossing practice; with rubber bands around a paper, they could be thrown some distance and Dad was sailing newspapers on one side of the street and I on the other. It is a real pleasure when you have some one to marvel over an accurate placed newspaper between overgrown hedges and potted plants and the paper lands like a jet fighter landing and stopping suddenly on an aircraft carrier. Bulky and heavy, the paper would hit those welcome mats or concrete floors just inches from slamming into screen doors or worse yet those new aluminum doors. Hit those and lights would come on in the house.

Dad also delighted in having his son witness some tosses that seemed to defy laws-of-physics. Being a champion horseshoe player, Dad could fling a paper that looked destined for the roof top of some houses and yet it would arch down gracefully just passing under the gutter of the porch and maybe clipping the top inch or two of an overgrown hedge and land gracefully on the welcome mat as though placed there.

That was a joy to watch……

But one morning Dad said he was going to get this rather challenging porch. We both retrieved failed throws that landed in the yard at this house. Dad made a toss that resembled a ringer in a championship game of horseshoes. The paper was on target and we both watched as it clipped the top inches of the hedge, on it way to three-point landing and then, Crash! Glass was shattering and it was like a gun had gone off, it was so loud. The homeowner had set two, one-gallon returnable milk jugs on the porch railing, and the paper had found them before landing. And Dad hollered that characteristic, utterance, "OH, LORDY!!!"

Mark--Son