Remember this?

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I was looking through some history for October this morning, and one event brought back a huge memory from my long-ago childhood.

Anyone remember singing this song in elementary school?

One dark night, while we were all in bed
Old Miz O’Leary left a lantern in the shed
And when the cow kicked it over, she winked her eye and said,
“There’ll be a hot time in the old town tonight.” [Fire! Fire! Fire!]

Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?

Of course, it got me to thinking: why would we sing a hand-clappin’, knee-slappin’, happy song about something that killed between 100 and 300 people, destroyed dozens of city blocks, and left countless children orphans? I guess it’s our way of glossing over the pain. The above song about the Great Chicago Fire of 1871 wouldn’t have a place in any school music curriculum today, I’ll wager. Although … songs about Christopher Columbus sailing the ocean blue in fourteen hundred ninety-two are still all over the place — go figure. I digress.

What do you do when everything is on fire? You run. You leave everything and run. Then, as we saw so often during the coverage of 9/11, you choke. You can’t get away from the smoke; it gets harder to breathe with every gasp.

There were also tramplings, especially with so many folks trying to get out of town in horse-drawn wagons. I can’t imagine the pandemonium. All this while everything you own burns.

According to the readings, Chicago was supposed to have been a fire-conscious city in an age when fire was at the top of everyone’s fear list. I guess nobody told that to the all the wooden structures that served as fantastic kindling in an area ravaged by drought. The whole “Mrs. O’Leary’s cow” story never really stood up, either; rather, officials speculated that it was careless smoking that did the deed.

Growing up in Wisconsin, there was a general feeling that the Chicago fire overshadowed another tragic conflagration that occurred on the very same day: the Peshtigo Fire. which swallowed up 12 million acres of pristine forest, and killed 1200 people up near Green Bay. Why did the Chicago fire get all the glory? Obvious reasons: big famous city, cool cow story. Made no sense to me.

I do love reading about history, though. Don’t you wish everybody did? By the way. Big ol’ Hershey bar goes to the person who sees the product ad in this paragraph. Name the product and the slogan. First one to post it in a comment here is the big winna. :-)

All right, I’m late. Speaking of late…the Finkmobile goes in for repair on the 28th. Of November.

Oi.

Ya know…

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The Finkmobile. She is cursed.

Bambi’s mom. She is dead.

After all that hassle with the body shop on the last go-around…now this. Same side of the car, same sort of damage. What can you do but laugh? (And pay the deductible?)

It was dark yesterday morning, and — irony of ironies — I decided to take a main state route to school instead of the rural one, in order to avoid the deer. Eeeeyep. The gigantic doe appeared out of nowhere, about five minutes outside the city limits. I didn’t even apply my brakes until after the collision. My priority at the time was not locating the deer, but avoiding the oncoming school bus, which I did. Fortunately, I was near the Bailey Lakes General Store, so I hobbled into their parking lot, got out, and eyeballed the damage.

After getting under the front end and dislodging a piece of bumper that was stuck between the fender assembly and the brand new tires we’d had mounted just last week, I got back on the road to school, as the car was basically driveable. I must admit though, to quote Lynyrd Skynyrd: I was shakin’ like a leaf on a tree.

Of course, the first question my middle school (and some high school) students asked was, “Did you go back and get the doe so you could take it home and eat it?” *massaging massive headache* Yeah, sure thing, kids. That’s what I did, yep.

Calgon…

At least she was gone by the time I drove home from rehearsal last night. I dreaded finding her there. Actually, a colleague called me on his way home from school and told me he couldn’t find it on the side of the road, so that was a good thing. An avid deer hunter himself, he added, “Some hillbilly probably picked it up and cooked it for dinner.” Ha. Anyway, nothing like returning to scene of the crime and discovering the corpse still there, indicting you with its dead eyes. Glad I avoided that.

So, once again, we start the process of estimates, paperwork, phone calls, appointments and repairs. One thing’s for sure: we won’t be going back to the World’s Worst Body Shop Ever. I’m no good to anyone if I’m sitting in jail.

:-)

Fink out (of the deer huntin’ bizniss)

A tasty morsel,

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as my fiend Stoney is wont to say.

Yesterday, in her comment, PK gave a link to a cute little snack: Chocolate Peanut Butter Acorns. I thought they’d be perfect for the faculty lunch for Boss’s Day tomorrow, so I made some up last night:

Wow, they are yummy, and so easy. And I have enough ingredients left to possibly bring a batch to my cast at rehearsal tomorrow night — if they’re wonderful and the words are correct and the metal on the feet hits the floor all at the same time. [I was a bit disappointed that the Hershey’s Kisses had “chocolate dust,” even though the freshness date on the bag said 9-2012. :-( Oh well. Got overheated during shipping, I guess.]

They’re a great fall treat, and really do resemble little acorns. Cute!

All right. As Daffy Duck would say: back underground. More parts to write. And thanks again, PK!

RNF LI

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So, I wonder things this day. Having just responded to yesterday’s comments on strange dreams, I got to thinking about how much, as children, our perspective is janked.

Analyze this:

  • When I was, oh, 5 or 6 years old, my mom bought some Bible stories on 33 RPM records. They came complete with sound effects and dramatic readings. I only remember one tale from the collection, and only because it terrified me. It was the story of the Passion. At the point where Roman soldiers came to Gethsemane to arrest Jesus, the narrator’s voice took on a dark, sinister tone, and he said something like, “Then the soldiers came to take him away.” Starting very softly and growing into this horrible crescendo came the sound of marching boots (did they even have boots back then?). Closer and closer, louder and louder. I was positively terrorized by that sound, as if they were coming to get me. Honestly, I can reproduce the sound in my mind right now, like it was 1964 all over again.
  • Suzanne’s comment about having a recurring nightmare where giant pins chased her reminded me of this weirdness from my own childhood. Sometime in elementary school, I learned about Abraham Lincoln’s assassination, via filmstrip. (Remember filmstrips, with the accompanying records for narration with the little beep tones that told you when to flip to the next frame? I loved being chosen to be the flipper.) At some point, it showed that old cartoon drawing of Booth shooting Lincoln. Again: terrorized. I had never ever in my life seen anyone in print or on television point a gun at someone’s head. And for some bizarre, unknown reason, I developed a fear that lasted for years afterward: Abraham Lincoln was lying underneath my bed, ready to grab my feet as I got in or out. So I’d turn off my bedroom light, get a running start, and perform the Olympic long jump into bed. I mean I made it from five feet away. Silver medal style. I did that for years. True confession: I still get ooky standing next to a bed.
  • Remember when you thought your house was really big? This past summer, the Thriller and I took a nostalgic trip to my childhood home in Milwaukee. I remember how huge my front yard looked to me, after Dad had the sod laid down. It was like a meadow. Seeing it 37 years later? Not so much. But it was enormous, I know it was…
Jake and Justin like to ride their trikes down a little slope in our back yard. And by little, I mean a gentle incline. They call it “the mountain.” To them, I’m sure it looks huge. Ten years from now, when they visit, one will say to the other, “Remember when we used to call that ‘the mountain?'” Sometimes I think stuff is ruined by growing up. True wonder is rare in adult life, ja?
~
Hey, it’s Finkday! FINALLY. :-)