Home  >> Stories  >> The Tale Spinner #2011-25

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IN THIS ISSUE

• Carol Dilworth and Wendy Fisher write to us
• The editor recalls a trip to Scotland
• Pat Moore warns that walking with Indians can be dangerous
• Zvonko Springer sends a poem about English plurals
• Don Henderson shares a way to deal with stress
• Tony Lewis sends some idle thoughts of a retiree
• Gerrit deLeeuw forwards a story for golfers
• Sites are suggested by Don, Gerrit, and Tom Williamson

CORRESPONDENCE

Carol Dilworth, referring to my reprinting a story from a previous issue in last week´s Spinner, writes: There is nothing wrong with recycling material; I missed it the first time around.

Regarding useless facts: weighing less at the equator is highly relevant to me as I visit Uganda every two years.

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Wendy Fisher writes: I am totally amazed that you are still publishing your stories! I love every issue of your newsletter... the stories are great!

If anyone is interested in connecting with Senior Pen Pals, they are now posted on my site each week. I´m thrilled to say that seniors, worldwide, are finding new friends through the site. View it and find senior pen pals here: http://www.retirement-online.com/senior-people- meet.html

Apply to have your own ad published here: http://www.retirement- online.com/senior-pen-pal.html

Emboldened by Carol Dilworth´s comment, I am reprising a story of a visit I made some years ago to

SCOTLAND

Getting there isn´t half the fun! At least, it´s not true of long airplane trips, where one is squashed into a pint-sized seat, fed tasteless meals, entertained to in-flight movies which can be seen only by stretching and twisting, and obliged to share the air that is recycling every germ that every passenger breathes.

These were my impressions of the flights that took me to and from Britain on my recent holiday, and they account for my jaundiced remark that the best thing about travelling is returning home. Having now recovered from the bug I picked up en route and the fatigue that probably made me vulnerable to its invasion, I can now contemplate my holiday with more pleasure.

My first visit was to old friends in Douglas, which lies among rolling hills about thirty miles to the south of Glasgow. It is a small village, the home of the Black Douglas, and later Sir Alec Douglas Home, who lived in Castle Dangerous, now in ruins. The castle was literally undermined, caving in when coal was dug from underneath it. Only a round stone tower remains of that dour ediface.

Douglas is the spiritual home of Clan Douglas, whose members are scattered around the world. They make regular pilgrimages to the old village, put out a newsletter, and correspond with Jim Clarkson, a retired curator of Saint Bride´s Church museum. On my first visit, Jim showed me around the museum and told me the stories connected with the effigies of Crusaders and burial places of long-gone Scots. From his stories, I got the impression that the soil of Scotland must be soaked with blood. At the drop of a hint, Jim, now 85, will recite a poem about Douglas and its famous sons. [Ed. Note: Jim has since died at a ripe old age.]

Many of the older homes in Douglas are built of stone, as are all the fences in the fields. Obviously, the stones once lay all over the lands, and the thrifty Scots used them to build their fences while clearing the fields. When I was there, many of these fields were occupied by sheep, and this year there was an unexplained number of twins and even triplets born. Other fields contained Highland cattle, or "hairy cows" as one Texan called them. They sport an impressive width of formidable-looking horns, but I was told they aren´t dangerous unless their calves are threatened.

The day I arrived in Douglas was very warm, but the next day it clouded over, and by the weekend it was raining hard. After a pleasant evening at the home of my friends, my b&b hostess and I were dismayed to find it was blowing a blizzard, and the next morning the hills were covered with snow. Her peonies lay frozen, buried in white.

The general election in Britain took place the day before I arrived, and Scotland and Wales had completely repudiated the Conservatives. The Labour party had promised the Scots they would get their own parliament, where they would make decisions that affected them exclusively without having to go through the Parliament in Westminster. The agitation for a free Scotland I had encountered in my last visit there seemed to have died down with the promise of home rule.

One of the entertainments planned for me was a visit to New Lanark, an early experiment in socialism in a nearby town. (I wish I had kept the brochure!) A wealthy Welshman, early in the nineteenth century, had bought a cotton mill on the banks of the river Clyde, and he proceeded to treat his workmen in a manner unheard of at the time. He built blocks of apartments for them; the children went to school until the age of 10, after which they could work in the mill. They were introduced to dancing and the arts. There was a cooperative store, where the workers could buy their supplies more cheaply than in the neighbouring town. The owner tried to persuade other industrialists that treating workers fairly would result in larger profits for them, but no-one else bought the theory. Eventually, he sold the mill and went to America, where he tried another experiment of a similar nature.

The mill worked until sometime late in the century, but had been abandoned for many years when a Scottish heritage society undertook to restore it. The apartment buildings have been refurbished and are being lived in again, though not by mill workers. The mill itself has been restored to something close to its old condition, though I don´t believe the millwheel turns any more. From the look of the raging Clyde River, it should be feasible, but it is not now a working mill.

A unique feature was a darkened passageway in which people sat in little two-person gondolas and were trundled past scenes of the early days, hazily seen through gauze. Narration was by "Annie," the ghost of a ten- year-old girl who lived in New Lanark when it was new.

Another attractive feature was the factory outlet, where all sorts of Scottish woollens were on sale at very reasonable prices. I desperately needed a cardigan, which were priced at two for 20 pounds, but alas, none were in my size.

There was a sizeable crowd there that day because it was raining, and the lunchroom was packed. People come from all over Scotland, and probably further afield, because the enterprise has won many honours for its authenticity and interest.

The Scots are among the kindest and most hospitable people I have ever met, and It was with very real regret that I said goodbye to my friends and boarded a train to take me to Exeter in southern England on the next lap of my journey.

Pat Moore warns of the result of

WALKING WITH INDIANS

Two Indians and I were walking through the woods. All of a sudden one of the Indians ran up a hill to the mouth of a small cave.

"Wooooo! Wooooo! Wooooo!" he called into the cave and listened closely until he heard an answering, "Wooooo! Wooooo! Woooooo!" He then tore off his clothes and ran into the cave.

I was puzzled and asked the remaining Indian what it was all about. "Was that Indian crazy or what?"

The Indian replied, "No, It is our custom during mating season when Indian men see cave, they holler ´Wooooo! Wooooo! Wooooo!´ into the opening. If they get an answer back, it means there´s a beautiful woman in there waiting for us."

Just then they came upon another cave. The second Indian ran up to the cave, stopped, and hollered, "Wooooo! Wooooo! Wooooo!" Immediately, there was the answer. "Wooooo! Wooooo! Wooooo!" from deep inside. He also tore off his clothes and ran into the opening.

I wandered around in the woods alone for a while, and then spied a third large cave. As I looked in amazement at the size of the huge opening, I was thinking, "Hoo, man! Look at the size of this cave! It´s bigger than those the Indians found. There must be some really big, fine women in this cave!" I stood in front of the opening and hollered with all my might, "Wooooo! Wooooo! Wooooo!"

Like the others, I then heard an answering call, "WOOOOOOOOO, WOOOOOOOOO WOOOOOOOOO!"

With a gleam in my eye and a smile on my face, I raced into the cave, tearing off my clothes as I ran.

The following day, the headline of the local newspaper read:

NAKED NEWFOUNDLANDER RUN OVER BY TRAIN

Don´t feel bad - I didn´t see it coming either.

Zvonko Springer forwards this

ODE TO ENGLISH PLURALS

We´ll begin with a box, and the plural is boxes,
But the plural of ox becomes oxen, not oxes.
One fowl is a goose, but two are called geese,
Yet the plural of moose should never be meese.
You may find a lone mouse or a nest full of mice,
Yet the plural of house is houses, not hice.

If the plural of man is always called men,
Why shouldn´t the plural of pan be called pen?
If I speak of my foot and show you my feet,
And I give you a boot, would a pair be called beet?
If one is a tooth and a whole set are teeth,
Why shouldn´t the plural of booth be called beeth?

Then one may be that, and three would be those,
Yet hat in the plural would never be hose,
And the plural of cat is cats, not cose.
We speak of a brother and also of brethren,
But though we say mother, we never say methren.
Then the masculine pronouns are he, his and him,
But imagine the feminine: she, shis and shim!

Let´s face it - English is a crazy language.

Don Henderson sends this article on

STRESS

A young lady was confidently explaining stress management to an audience. She walked around the room with a raised glass of water, and everyone knew she was going to ask the ultimate question, "Half empty or half full?"

She fooled them all. "How heavy is this glass of water?" she inquired with a smile.

Answers called out ranged from eight ounces to 20 ounces.

She replied, "The absolute weight doesn´t matter. It depends on how long I hold it. If I hold it for a minute, that´s not a problem. If I hold it for an hour, I´ll have an ache in my right arm. If I hold it for a day, you´ll have to call an ambulance. In each case it´s the same weight, but the longer I hold it, the heavier it becomes."

She continued, "And that´s the way it is with stress. If we carry our burdens all the time, sooner or later, as the burden becomes increasingly heavy, we won´t be able to carry on.

"As with the glass of water, you have to put it down for a while and rest before holding it again. When we´re refreshed, we can carry on with the burden - holding stress longer and better each time practiced.

"So as early in the evening as you can, put all your burdens down. Don´t carry them through the evening and into the night ... pick them up tomorrow.

"Whatever burdens you´re carrying now, let them down for a moment. Relax, pick them up later after you´ve rested. Life is short. Enjoy it and the now ´supposed´ stress that you´ve conquered!"

Tony Lewis writes: Sad but true, the golden years are upon us. Here are some

IDLE THOUGHTS OF A RETIREE´S WANDERING MIND...

I planted some bird seed. A bird came up. Now I don´t know what to feed it.

I had amnesia once ... or twice.

I went to San Francisco. I found someone´s heart. Now what?

Protons have mass? I didn´t even know they were Catholic.

All I ask is a chance to prove that money can´t make me happy.

If the world were a logical place, men would be the ones who ride horses sidesaddle.

What is a "free" gift? Aren´t all gifts free?

They told me I was gullible and I believed them.

Teach a child to be polite and courteous in the home and when he grows up, he´ll never be able to merge his car onto the freeway.

Experience is the thing you have left when everything else is gone.

One nice thing about egotists: They don´t talk about other people.

My weight is perfect for my height - which varies.

I used to be indecisive. Now I´m not sure.

How can there be self-help "groups?"

If swimming is so good for your figure, how do you explain whales?

Show me a man with both feet firmly on the ground, and I´ll show you a man who can´t get his pants off.

Is it me - or do buffalo wings taste like chicken?

Today is the oldest you´ve ever been, yet the youngest you´ll ever be, so enjoy this day while it lasts!

Gerrit deLeeuw sends this story for golfers:

THE CONFESSIONS

Ed and Nancy met while on a singles cruise and Ed fell head over heels for her.

When they discovered they lived in the same city only a few miles apart Ed was ecstatic. He immediately started asking her out when they got home.

Within a couple of weeks, Ed had taken Nancy to dance clubs, restaurants, concerts, movies, and museums. Ed became convinced that Nancy was indeed his soul mate and true love. Every date seemed better than the last.

On the one-month anniversary of their first dinner on the cruise ship, Ed took Nancy to a fine restaurant. While having cocktails and waiting for their salad, Ed said,

"I guess you can tell I´m very much in love with you. I´d like a little serious talk before ourrelationship continues to the next stage. So before I get a box out of my jacket and ask you a life- changing question, it´s only fair to warn you, I´m a total golf nut. I play golf, I read about golf,I watch golf on TV. In short, I eat, sleep, and breathe golf. If that´s going to be a problem for us, you´d better say so now!"

Nancy took a deep breath and responded, "Ed, that certainly won´t be a problem. I love you as you are and I love golf too; but, since we´re being totally honest with each other, you need to know that for the last five years I´ve been a hooker."

Ed said, "I bet it´s because you´re not keeping your wrists straight when you hit the ball."

SUGGESTED SITES

Don Henderson sends this link to a video of hand feeding hummingbirds in Ketchikan, Alaska:

Gerrit deLeeuw forwards this link for women: 25 ways to wear a scarf:

Tom Williamson writes: Click on this link for the most amazing puppet show:

If you are interested in global economies, this look at the situation in Ireland is illuminating:

Why do people see the Virgin Mary on a cheese sandwich or hear demonic lyrics in "Stairway to Heaven"? Using video and music, Michael Shermer, publisher of Skeptic Magazine, shows how we convince ourselves to believe - and overlook the facts:

To check out the features of the "freedictionary", which changes daily, go to

http://members.shaw.ca/vjjsansum/freedictionarytestpageV2.html