Stick The Ending

By

Gerry Niskern

Have you been watching? The Summer Olympic Games, that is. Those people are unbelievable.

There has been a lot written, pro and con, about why continue to have the Olympic games at all?

Well of course we should have all the games, Summer and Winter also. The Olympic games play an important part in the cultural life of the global community. It is a way for nations from all over the world to unite. Over two hundred countries participate. They are an inspiration for kids, especially, to achieve their potential in whatever activity or sport they aspire to.

Actually, the Olympic Games first began in ancient Greece, with representatives from each city/state. It’s even been said that wars would be halted while the games were going on, and then taken back up again.

I wasn’t aware of the games as a kid. We didn’t have the 24 hour coverage that we do today. I’d like to blame that omission for my lack of athletic ability back then. I remember watching my best friend swinging with ease from one end of the Monkey Bars to the other. I dropped with a thud after one attempt. She also tried to teach me how to dive. Frustrated, she finally gave up saying, “This is harder then putting toothpaste back in the tube”.

Jump rope was even more difficult. I could never get the hand of ‘running in.’ Same with Jacks. I could toss up the ball and I could pick up the jacks, just not at the same time! My daughter learned how to play jacks from her dad. And don’t even mention Dodge ball. I was, of course, last one chosen for a side, and first one put out.

I yearned to be able to do a cartwheel. Didn’t happen. We played ‘work up’ in softball In grade school, needless to say, I never got out of left field.

However, There is one maneuver  that all the athletes, men and women, do now. No matter what sport, they hug afterwards; the coaches, their fellow competitors, the other team. HUGGING! Just like the gymnasts, I think I  might have the potential  to ‘stick it’.

“July Pastimes”

By

Gerry Niskern

Every day while walking I listen to the rush of water plunging from the pumps along the irrigation ditch. The pampered, pristine lawns I pass by are watered by irrigation. The other day I was reminded of an amusing E-mail story concerning our resident’s preoccupation with grass.

‘God was talking to St Francis and asking whether the people on earth were enjoying the variety of grasses and wild flowers he had provided. He was flabbergasted to learn that people on earth got rid of all of them and planted plain grass around their houses instead. . He was even more bewildered to learn that they water it faithfully, but then pay to have it cut…..and hauled away!’

We all know the pleasure of smelling newly mowed grass. As a kid, it was right up there with rolling down a grassy knoll then climbing to the top and rolling down again.  Another summer pastime was playing in the irrigation water.

When I was a child here in Phoenix on special days shouts were heard in our neighborhood, “They’re irrigating the capitol grounds!”  Kids for blocks around the state capitol would race to don bathing suits and head for the lush grass around the capitol. (This was before the politicians decided to cover most of those beautiful grounds with government buildings). When we got there the clear, cool water was pouring into the areas between the sidewalks. We ran and played in knee high water; only once in a while accidentally splashing the state office ladies walking to lunch.

When the irrigation evaporated, we turned to lawn sprinklers.  On any hot day in July somebody’s mother would be watering their grass, using a variety of whirling sprinklers.  We kept cool running in and out of the crystal droplets.

My father cut his grass on Saturday afternoon.   He was grateful he hadn’t listened to helpful neighbors back east when they advised him, “Don’t pay to haul your lawn mower to Arizona. You won’t need it. The yards out there are all sand.”

About the age that I was playing in the irrigation water as a child, my husband said he was running a grass cutting business.  He even had one customer out by Camelback Road and Lateral 14. He transferred twice on the city bus to reach the expansive grounds of that country home.

Years later when we moved into our first home, he couldn’t wait to get the lawn started. (How he would have loved the luxury of ordering a few rolls of sod!)   He was so proud to be the first guy in the subdivision to cut his grass.

I can’t say he was so thrilled later when he spent hours pulling and digging bullhead weeds out of the Bermuda grass. Nothing hurts the tender feet of little ones like the sharp prick of a dry bullhead burr. Daddy was happy when the owners of those little feet grew big and he decided they could take over the mowing chores. He even brought home a used riding mower.  # 1 son was delighted since he was planning on being the next Andretti.  He loved to see how fast that baby would accelerate. After we lost a small grapefruit tree, guess who was back in the mowing business?

Don’t Know Jack

By

Gerry Niskern

“My dog’s not spoiled, I’m just well trained!”

I have a young friend who has been pet sitting for many years. She loves all dogs and doesn’t mind if there is a cat or two in residence where she is sitting. It’s estimated that over 40% of the households in the United States have a dog and she figures she has sat for half of them! But she met her match the other day.

She had been a little concerned when she booked the job. You see, the family had a cat, a small dog and a Great Dane. It would be her first experience with that breed. She was given instructions to give Jack, the Dane with an attitude,  his meds every day for his arthritis. “All you have to do is put the pill in a piece of cheese and he gobbles it right up” the owners assured her as they headed for the door.

Well, Jack had other plans. He was not having any part of anything she tried to give him, including even a doggie treat. She wasn’t about to argue with a dog that stood taller then her. She called the vet, goggled the problem for suggestions and finally called the owner. It was agreed that he would be all right without meds until they got back.  She was laughing though because Jack came and stood right over when she gave the small dog his pill.

My grandson says that when he cuts his dog’s toenails, his other dog comes real close to watch. I don’t know much about dogs but I think that that is probably a loyalty thing. We all know how  loyal dogs are, don’t we? We also know that their sense of smell 40 times better than ours. Which reminds me of a favorite dog story of mine.

My Uncle Joe had a hunting hound named Fanny. She was the best hunting dog around and was stolen more then once. I remember hearing the grown ups saying, “Fanny is missing and we’re going after her.” A car load of my uncles with their hunting rifles would take off and they seemed to know which farms to look for her, because they always came home with Fanny. She sure got an extra share of loving from all us kids that day.

But here’s the best Fanny story about loyalty. When Uncle Joe went into the Navy during WWll he was sent directly from boot camp to duty on the Great Lakes with no leave between. Before he reported, He took a chance and hitched a ride with a beer truck going thru West Virginia . The state highway ran past my grandma’s house and that beer truck sped past and stopped two blocks away. By the time the trucker stopped Fanny was there in Uncle Joe’s arms. Talk about loyalty!

“Jump In”

By

Gerry Niskern

While there is deep concern about the extreme drought here in Arizona, the kids are doing what they have always done in the summer, “Gon Swimmn”.

Actually, I should say, kids invariably  find some form of water fun here in the valley, and there are many. If they don’t have a pool at home, there is always a community pool close by. The many water parks cover acres with slides, wave pools and winding rivers.

Years ago the kids who lived in Phoenix had their favorite holes along the Salt River. There was a constant stream of water down the channel, flowing over rapids into big pools a block or so long and deep enough for good swimming. One place was called Pike’s Retreat. It was a deep lake, a quarter mile long and a hundred yards wide, at the foot of Seventh Avenue.

Of course, the kids also swam in the canals, which were closer to home. The Swilling Ditch was another favorite of locals. The kids loved swinging from ropes tied to a Cottonwood tree ad dropping into the frigid water of irrigation ditches that fanned out across the valley. The barefoot climb up the rough bark was worth it every time.

Eventually there were many pools built around the valley. Eastlake Park, Coronado, and University were among the first community pools. Broadway pool, located at 19^th Avenue and Broadway, wasn’t as well known, but it held special memories that my resident historian used to relate.

“My family had just moved here to Phoenix in August of l941. I met a kid who invited me to go to the Broadway pool to swim. Being a young man from a dusty little town in Texas, I didn’t know how to swim. Also being a ten year old boy I wasn’t about to admit it. We walked South from West Jackson clear across the Salt River bed to get there. I hung around the shallow end and watched the other kids to see just how they did it. Then I moved a little deeper and pushed off. For a few seconds I found myself in a strange world of kicking legs and bubbles. After I came up and gulped for air I started thrashing my arms and legs and pretty soon I was propelling myself through the water. Pretty soon I decided that I could keep up with my friends in the deep end. All I can say about my first day of swimming and nearly drowning time after time, is, it sure was a long walk two miles North across the river bed and home.”

Wherever you learned to swim as a kid, canal, river, lake or pool, I’ll bet you’ve never forgotten the delight of that day.

Neighborhood Ambassador

By

Gerry Niskern

He races up the middle of the street around six o’clock every evening. Moving like a rocket with his long bill, long legs and long tail feathers sailing behind, he is a sight to behold.

Since Roadrunners are monogamous I always figure he is late for dinner or his nest sitting shift. Our roadrunner is extra large, with black and brown feathers, tinged with white. The skin behind his eyes have a touch of cobalt blue. He has lived with his partner in our neighborhood the entire four years that I have been here.

The most famous of all the birds in the Sonoran Desert, the roadrunner can run up to fifthteen miles an hour and sometime a little more when catching  their prey. They are not seed eaters and they do not hang around bird feeders. Rodents, reptiles, small mammals and insects are the preferred diet. They also catch spiders, scorpions and even rattlesnakes.  After running down their victims they slam it against a rock to kill it.

Our guy reminds me of another roadrunner neighbor we had at another house in the North Phoenix Mountains. Actually, the piercing look he gave us that first day said, “ You can move in, but this is really my property!” He proved it often. I remember when a flock of black birds settled in the yard once. He hunched down low to the ground and shot across the ground like a missile and knocked one of the intruders end over end. Another bird met the same fate. Needless to say, the flock decided it wasn’t much fun at this guy’s house!

Our bird is a reassuring reminder that “ all is well” on Foothill Drive every evening as he speeds by and jumps the low wall at Joe’s house. He disappears around back for the night.

The next morning he will  be back down the street sitting on a wall  in the sun somewhere ruffling  his feathers to warm up.  Lucky is the neighborhood that has a resident Roadrunner. If you spot him, just sit back and enjoy!