Generous offer ignored
When the weather gets bad, I don’t go anywhere. One flake falling from an overcast sky, and all bets are off. That means I have lots of time to sit in my chair, having a royal snit.
I was very disappointed to read that the choir from the Bethel African Methodist Episcopal Church in Marysville wasn’t coming up to Miners Foundry for its annual Martin Luther King Jr. celebration. Then I read where The Union was hiring a bus to take 50 people down to Marysville, free of charge – thank you, The Union!
And I still didn’t go. Hundreds of people show up for the concert every year; the Foundry is absolutely packed to the rafters. I knew in my heart that 50 people would be lined up for that bus at 6:15 a.m., so I didn’t even bother trying to go.
Well, you could’ve knocked me over with a feather when I found out there were only two people who took advantage of The Union’s offer! Incredible!
Were you out Dec. 6 to see the Toy Run through Nevada City and Grass Valley? I think that was my seventh time, and I’ve made up my mind: Next year, by dad, I intend to be in the run.
I’ve given this a lot of serious consideration. I don’t want to ride on the back of somebody’s motorcycle. I really don’t think I could handle driving one, and nobody in town will lend me one, anyway. However, our school happens to have an adult-sized three-wheeler the kids will occasionally pedal around on, and it would be perfect for me.
I have already consulted with my two sons, and both agree they could install a lawn mower engine somewhere on the back to navigate the hills through Bigtown and on out to the fairgrounds. I can buy pink handlebar grips with streamers, put cards in the spokes, and wear a leather jacket (also pink, size 3X) with “Washington Whiz” embroidered on the back.
Go ahead, laugh, snicker, and chortle, but I think it’ll work. I’m tired of standing on the sidelines, waving and applauding at all those wonderful bikers.
On another subject, I occasionally read the Sacramento Bee, including the obituaries and memoriams. Some of the latter are touching, even heartbreaking. “Darling John, it’s been seven years since you left. We love you, we miss you, not a day goes by that we don’t think of you. Love, Ethel and children.” Almost every day, there are at least two of these.
Okay, sue me, shoot me, throw me to the wolves, and watch me die – why are these written? Who’s supposed to read them? Do people in heaven read the Bee (or the Chicago Tribune or the San Jose Mercury-News)? And if so, who delivers it?
My oldest daughter recently asked me about her heritage – where her ancestors came from. “Your dad’s family,” I told her, “is a mixture of English, German, French and several drops of Cherokee to spice things up.
“My family is East European: Russia, Lithuania, Poland and Romania. Your family tree includes a Romanian Gypsy horse thief, a murderer and one of Leon Trotsky’s bodyguards during the Russian Revolution.
“Your pedigree is made up of many nationalities, cultures and religions. In some other countries of the world you’d be considered a mutt, a mongrel, the object of prejudice or discrimination. Such blending has been commonplace ever since the United States began … to which I say, God bless America.”
Vivian Herron is a longtime resident of the town of Washington whose column appears on Saturdays. You can write her in care of The Union, 464 Sutton Way, , 95945.
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