Cats

I don’t like cats. I have never liked cats. They make me sneeze and I don’t find them appealing in any way. The trouble is they like me. I don’t know what it is but cats seem to be attracted to me? It seems like every time I go someplace where there is a cat around it ends up coming over and rubbing against me or wanting to sit on my lap. It’s very annoying!

We had a cat when we lived on West Clay Street. Angie had returned from a weeklong retreat with it I think? I wasn’t very happy about it but what could I do? The girls loved the kitten and named it Hilda. I thought that was a suitable name for a feline.

This cat lived in our basement and was only upstairs to pass through the kitchen, back porch and out the backdoor. She did, on occasion, love to show her independence by taking a path through the whole house. That was something that annoyed Becky and, of course, me too!

Although the girls professed to love the kitten they fed it on an irregular basis. Sometimes she had food provided and at other times she had to forage for whatever she got to eat. She had a regular route through the neighborhood and I always hoped she would catch and eat the mice in the basement. She wasn’t too good at that. Too much work I think?

One winter I trapped so many mice in the basement that I skinned them and had the hides made into gloves. I couldn’t wear them though because the all of the cats in town followed me around when I did.

Early one summer morning when Hilda was still a kitten I was awakened by a terrible racket in the basement. I went down there only to discover that the kitten had gotten into some fuel oil that I was siphoning out of a large tank. The little kitten was covered with the stuff! Each time she took a step she let out a horrible howl and would extend a leg out in front of her and shake it like crazy. When I saw the cat howl, step, extend, shake and then do it all over again with the other foot I couldn’t contain myself. I burst out laughing and it continued for some time.

Finally, I realized the cat wasn’t laughing so I needed a plan. I got a bowl of water some dish soap, and I, still in my underwear, carried the kitten out to the patio. Then I shampooed her six times. Somewhere in the middle of it all my neighbors, Charlie and Eunice Shappell, on their way to work came out their back door and caught me in all my glory. They stopped, looked at me, shook their heads, and headed off to work. They never did ask I me to explain what I was doing early that morning on the patio with that cat.

If that kitten liked me before he loved me now because, I think, he attributed me with saving his life.

Curses

I really don’t believe in curses but there are some times when you just wonder? Particularly when certain kinds of problems just don’t seem to go away.

When we looked at the house on West Clay we noticed that in the basement one of the covers on the large sewer pipe was missing. It was just an open hole and the realtor said that it was no problem and could be fixed easily. I should have known better.

Plumbers just looked at it and shrugged. They said the spot where the cover screwed in was broken and the only thing to do was replace the whole thing. That was something they didn’t seem to want to do and I certainly couldn’t afford. Now, you can’t have an open sewer pipe in your basement because not only does it make the whole house smell bad but also it poses an explosion risk because methane is highly flammable.

The hole was about eight inches in diameter. I tried covering it with plastic bags and duck tape. That sort of worked but my Dad didn’t like it. He carefully measured the hole and then, in true Mennonite tradition, fashioned a wooden plug for the hole. It was perfect and even plumbers marveled at how well it worked!

Sewer problems solved. Not so fast! They were only just beginning!

Our sewer started backing up. A neighbor said, “That house had always had sewer problems!”

We tried everything! I dumped more chemicals down the drain than Dupont produces in a year. I am probably, single handily, responsible for the dead zone in the Gulf of Mexico. Oh, some things worked for a while but the problem always came back.

The old fellows I talked to said it was the Moleburg tile. I am not sure that was the name but whatever it was tended to crack and let roots in and that is what clogged up the sewer.
It was roots all right! My neighbor, Charlie Shappell, did something, which turned out to be a routine. About every three months we would have to send a twisting sewer taped through the line. It always came back with a great big ball of roots. Sometimes we had trouble pulling it out because the roots were packed so tight around the tip.

I have to tell you that rooting out a sewer is not a pleasant task for what should be obvious reasons. In our time in that house I bet I did it at least 20 times. I paid to have others do it, too.

Noting seemed to solve the problem. Finally, I dug up the sewer by hand for the first of three times because I couldn’t afford to have it done. I cleaned it as best I could but the roots would always eventually come back.

At last, I thought, I paid the plumbers to come and replace that old pipe with new plastic that was root proof and would solve my problem. It didn’t!
For some strange reason they replaced the entire line to the street except the last three feet before it came into the basement.

The last thing we did as owners of that house was pay to have that last three feet of pipe replaced because, of course, the sewer was plugged and the new owner wanted it fixed.

Shhhhh!!!! We have escaped the sewer curse for now but I am still looking over my shoulder now and then.

First Aid Classes

I became a first aid trainer in the early seventies. It was probably a mistake but was a natural off shoot of all of my water safety training. First aid was a big part of that training, too.

John Becker and I went to Burlington two nights a week for three weeks to take part in what was called Multi-Media First Aid. It got its name from the sound practice of having the participants view a video, read about the each technique, and then practice the technique. It was a very effective way to learn. We completed the course and were certified to train others.

The Henry County Red Cross bought all of the books and materials to teach the class. It was an Occupational Heath and Safety (OSHA) approved course and was required of all construction businesses that employed more than fours workers and all firemen and police officers. We were in great demand to teach the course!

The draw back to the whole thing was that we were volunteers and could not, because of Red Cross rules, take any payment for teaching the classes. John quit doing it after the first year, but I continued for some reason.

I taught two large groups from the local concrete company. The owner was very appreciative and kept wanting to give me something for doing it. I wanted a patio behind our house. I knew how to do the concrete and had friends who would help. The company provided the cement free of charge and we ended up with a nice large patio. Angie and Heather left their handprints in it near the southeast corner. I am sure they are still there.

I trained the Mt. Pleasant Police Department. That was a nice thing because it is always a good thing to be on good terms with the police. They handled the whole thing very seriously mostly, I think, because they had all been in many situations where they could put the training to good use. They always had valuable tips to share.

I trained some difficult groups of construction workers. They usually didn’t want to be there and didn’t even try to learn the material. There was an exam at the end and it wasn’t unusual to have a few of them fail. Then they were mad because they had to pass it. A couple of times I let them retake the test.

Once one of the course participants was drunk and very disruptive. His foreman was in the class and he made the guy leave during the break and he never came back. I suppose he lost his job but I really don’t know.

I taught a large group of the employees at the Rural Electric Association (REA), the Mental Health Institute (MHI), Metromail, and several other places. It was always interesting and enjoyable. I think I learned a lot during that time.

The most unusual group I taught was the nursing department at Iowa Wesleyan. College. I was really apprehensive about it because I didn’t feel qualified to teach nurses. They were very kind to me and said they really hadn’t had any real training in first aid. I don’t know if that was true or not but they were very nice about it. I learned a great deal from them in the process.

Nightcrawlers for Sale II

As time went by we moved the large cooler to the patio and gradually customers got used to the self-service nightcrawler business. That’s when the trouble started! But first let me tell you about the set up.

The cooler sat on the patio just outside thejkl;o back door that led first to an enclosed porch and then into the kitchen. The cooler usually contained several dozen worms in Styrofoam cups, a frozen bottle of water and a cup with some change in it. Buyers would come and take as many dozen as they wanted and leave their payment in the cup. It worked remarkably well for some time.

Once in awhile we might be short a little money but other times there seemed to be extra in the cup. Then we started missing cups of worms. We were amazed that people would steal fishing worms but it was happening. It got worse! Someone started taking all of the worms and money.

I was infuriated! We stopped putting so many worms out in the cooler and were careful to not leave much money there. Still it was continuing. There was another worm seller across the highway and I began to suspect him. He was an ex con who rode around town on a bicycle.

I set up all kinds of elaborate schemes to catch the culprit whoever it was. One involved running a fine thread around the yard and attaching it to a bell in our bedroom window. That would have worked but every dog or cat that went through the back yard set it off. Early one morning I heard the bell jangle and then heard a bicycle in the alley. It didn’t register with me for a minute or two and then it was too late.

Becky and I took turns sitting on the back porch with the lights off and waiting for the thief. Late one night when Becky was sitting there, a thief came across the neighbor’s patio and crept by the back door to the cooler. At that moment Becky turned a flashlight on and shined it in his face. I am not sure who was scared more, Becky or the crook. He turned and ran and Becky came and got me but by the time I got out there he was nowhere to be found.

Another time I was sitting in the dark on the porch and I heard a terrible racket on the neighbor’s patio. Then a stark naked guy came gingerly stepping through our yard. He stopped near our clothesline and turned back towards the neighbors and said, “Larry! Come on!” A second naked guy came through the yard and they both headed off towards the alley. I heard them swearing all the way. I heard them him hit Van Allen’s fence, too.

Then a policeman appeared in our backyard. I went out and told him which way they had went. The boys had been skinny dipping in the pool, which was about a half block away, and had ran when the police came leaving their clothes behind.

One evening, after dark, Becky and I were sitting on the front porch when we saw a figure walking up the street and then cut between our house and the neighbors. Becky went back through the house and I followed the guy to the back of the house. We had him dead to rights! I recognized him right away and he was very surprised. I turned him into the police but I don’t think much ever happened to him for that charge but soon after he was implicated in some other thefts and got in serious trouble.

We got out of the worm business but for a long time after that people would stop at our house and ask if we were still selling worms.