Echoes from the Past - NO RUNNING IN THE HOUSE!!!!!

It's been a while since I showed up here. In fact, it's been a while since I've written anything. I had been so busy editing The Lost Letters for publication, I more or less forgot about writing for a while. Then the business of Attawatiskap came up and I was so incensed at the bungling of the government at it's handling, I had to shoot my mouth off. So I burned up my keyboard with as scathing a critque as I could muster, put it up on Youtube and sent it to my member of parliament. It's called "Rear View Mirror" in case you want to look it up.

Well, the upshot was that while I didn't much like to broach such a serious subject without my boxing gloves on, I did miss writing my little amusing stories. They give me much more pleasure. So I did a couple of them. Here's one I'd like to share with you. I hope you enjoy.

Echoes from the Past

“NO RUNNING IN THE HOUSE!” echoed through my septuagenarian brain the other day. It was as though a voice from seventy years ago pierced right through the ages - directly at me – as though I was hearing it for the first time. I stopped dead in my tracks for a second.

Actually, I was running – in the house. Picture this: If I get up out of my chair at my computer desk, take two steps into the hallway and turn left, seven steps gets me into the kitchen. Then I do a hard left at the freezer and bolt right through the kitchen into the dining room. Passing the dining room table, I do a looping left again around the coffee table in the living room and squeeze in between the couch and the TV. The path leads directly to my desk.

My calculator tells me that if I do that one hundred times, it should amount to about a mile. HOLY CRAP! I’VE GOT A BUILT IN INDOOR TRACK – RIGHT IN MY APARTMENT! All the other old farts walk up and down the hallways, stopping to say “good morning” to their fellow hall walkers, and of course, socializing and wasting good exercising time, while I, in the privacy of my own apartment, can whiz around the house in total concentration, counting laps. Cool!

So I start: one, two, three – oh – was that three or was it already four? Uh oh. Damnation, I can’t even count anymore. Well, you don’t defeat me that easy. I go into my penny stash and haul out a fistful of pennies and stick them in my pocket. Every time I pass my desk, I’ll drop a penny on my chair. That’ll do it! When I get finished, I’ll just count pennies and know how many laps I ran.

I start again: one, two, three – wait a minute, I already did three laps and I’m not wasting them. So I throw three more pennies on to the chair. Well, my stupid game leg is already starting to act up and I need all the mileage I can muster up. Seven, eight, nine – “NO RUNNING IN THE HOUSE!”

I never even noticed the wife lying on the couch, trying to watch TV while I’m looping around the living room. I can tell she’s annoyed. We’re at cross-purposes here. She’s lounging around watching Anderson Cooper interviewing his mother while I am grinding out my workout regimen, trying to stay fit and healthy for both our benefits.

Ten. “ALRIGHT!” I froze in my tracks, as I already said.

Wait, that wasn’t from seventy years ago. That was from right now! It wasn’t my mother either, it was my wife, for god’s sakes!

“And,” she opined, as if reading my thoughts, “if you really want to stay fit and healthy, wait ‘til I go down to the pool later and then grab the vacuum cleaner. Then you can run around the whole house and get even more exercise. That will benefit both of us.”

Don’t you just hate it when they come up with this strange kind of logic?

The Wonderer - Robert Service

After reading about and empathising with Russell Means titanic battle with cancer, I had just come home from the hospital after visiting a life-long friend of mine. I go there fairly often. This is a man whose prostate cancer has flaired up again, but that's not why he's in the hospital. You see, he's there for his son who, severly disabled, suffered a seisure and was injured in a fall. He is in intensive care with doctors working feverishly to bring him back to consciousness. My friend keeps a daily vigil over his son, more or less ignoring his own situation.

At home, I was looking for something that my friend would enjoy reading during his long daily stays and just by chance - by total coincidence (I think), I came across this poem by Robert Service to remind us of the marvelous gifts most of us have been given for the purpose of journeying through life.

We just don't realize what we have until we see someone from whom some of these gifts have been taken. Maybe it was a lesson for me. I thought I would share it with you with the hope that you too will be able to take inventory of the gifts in your life. You can see it on Youtube at

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D335rYk2wqE

Nestor's Mailbag New Names Department

I don't know if I posted this before, but I liked it so well, I'll do it (again).

New Names Department

Dear New;

It's me, Nestor! Holy Moley, youse guys is hard to find. I betcha you play hanky-panky in the bush behind the pond. Don't play hanky-panky. Horses run away with whole hayrack while you busy fooling around. Hoy boys - then you got a big mess! Lucky for you I notice on time.

Good job I don't raise pigs no more. Now I retired I sit on my balcony and have sausage and maybe a beer, I got time to watch out for you. I could even give you some friendly advice. Don't worry, it's free - no red tape attached. I ready to help anytime.

Just between you and me, maybe you should make a couple new departments. Well you got to fix that 'Make up New Names' department somehow. Hoy boys, what a mess! They're so sneaky to make up funny names. Could be they should go to ‘Make Up Names’ university. They gonna learn something then.

You see what they done? They cancel Happy Thanksgiving. They cancel Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Happy Easter, Ramadan - everything. Now they got one word for everything. Holy Moley I get such a surprise! They make one big word for everything - 'Happyholidaysshopatmystorecheapskate' - that's it! Where they get this from? What you gonna say to people who got to work on holidays - like store employees? They got nothing to think about except they got no holidays. They gotta put on pantyhose and war paint and a big smile. They don't want to and say to customers 'happyholidaysshopatmystorecheapskate'. Hoy boys, they get grouchy. Well you'd get grouchy too if you gotta work on your holidays. What you supposed to say to them - 'happynoholidayspoorslob'? Big mistake! Everybody talks about holidays and nobody gets holidays.

What you think about when somebody says 'Happyholidaysshopatmystorecheapskate' and you got to clean the pig barn? You think 'I got to do this stinky job and I got no holiday'. Between you and me I betcha two kopecks this is KGB from big box stores plot to hitch up 'shopatmystorecheapskate' to celebration name. How come they don't say 'Happyholidaysshopatmystorecheapskate' when you get vacation? Vacation is holiday and they don't say nothing. Hoy boys, what a mix up!

Just between you and me - it don't have to go no further - somebody got to take a big broom and clean out the New Name department. Just like my pig barn - I don't clean it out all the time, it get stinky. People got to say things right. Then everything be okey dokey. I give you example.

You go to somebody's house puffing on smelly stogie like big shot and say 'Have a cigar!'  People say 'Phoo - that stinks. We don't smoke and get outta here with that manure stick!' Holy Moley, you make big mistake! But if you go to same people's place and say, we just had a baby boy! Here, have a cigar, they understand and say congratulations. They keep the cigar to remember. They know what it means and are happy for you. How come you so surprised? You think Muslims don't have babies? You think Buddhists don't have babies? Hoy boys, everybody proud to have baby boy. How come is so hard to be happy for somebody else's special occasion?

Neighbor says to me, 'Merry Christmas'. I say thank you. Then I say to him 'Happy Hanukkah'. He say thank you. Everybody feel good. In February I say 'Happy New Year' to Chinese guy I know. He get such a surprise. How I know it's Chinese New Year? He say thank you - same to you'. Everybody feel good.

In old country they say 'Christ is born.' People look forward to have birthday party. Then church says 'putmoneyincollectionplatecheapskate!' Hoy boys, somebody always got to spoil it. Somebody always gotta stick a big fat nose in people's business. Uh-oh - you smell a rat too? Big long words again - same KGB plot. Everywhere you go - same thing.

Okay, okay. All right already! You want to say politically correct words then you got to finish the business. People should only say 'happyholidays' if you got vacation – like if you fire everybody in ‘New Names’ department. Then you could say ‘happyholidays’.

Listen, you should drop by sometime. We could sit on my balcony – maybe have some ham sausage and some beer if my boy still got some extra. I could give you lots good ideas.

‘Haveaniceday’.

Your Pal

Nestor

Nestor's Mailbag - Department of Agriculture

Department of Agriculture - Cow Department

Dear Cow;

It's me, Nestor. I hope you don't mind I call you by first name, Holy Moley - you guys got big troubles these days! I figure out maybe you could use some help. It's my pleasure, anytime. Don't worry, it's free - no red tape attached. You ask what does old pig farmer (retired) know about mad cow. Hoy boys - you gonna get huge big surprise what old pig farmers figure out. I gonna tell you little story and if you listen good, you gonna get all answers.

I learn this from my brother Stashu, cowboy (retired). Stash, he don't want to be pig farmer like me and daddy. He says it's too stinky. One day he sees a Roy Rogers movie and then he wants to be hotshot cowboy, just like him. He even gets fancy shmansy ten-gallon hat to show off. ‘Ten gallons!’, I yell at him. What kind o’ giant cows you got give ten gallons milk? Stash says hat is not for milk. You put it on head like this. I gotta admit it looks pretty good. He think I don't know so he got to explain hats are for heads and pails are for milk. I tell him thank you for information. He calls me bunyak.

Next day Stash comes to my farm on horseback. Holy Moley that Stash he goes whole hog. He sits in the saddle with ten gallon on his head, leather vest and chaps, big silver spurs on his fancy shmansy cowboy boots, just like Roy Rogers. He thinks he such a hot shot, I tell him, 'Hey Stash, I thought you said you was cowboy. How come you don't ride cow'? He yells at me, 'Smarty pants pig farmer, how come you don't ride pig'. I tell him calm down. It's just a little joke. Hoy boys, that Stashu, he don't get it half the time.

Anyways, Stash hears on radio they got mad cows in England. Hoy boys, they got big troubles. Lots o’ cows got to take a trip to abattory. So many dead cows they got to dig ditches and cover them up just in case. What, Stash yells - they bury them without even finding out? Somebody's nuts, he thinks. After couple days Stash keeps thinking about mad cows. He can't help it. He got cows - maybe they mad! After while he says, I gonna find out and steps in to cow pasture. Big mistake! Stash is thinking so hard about mad cow he forgot to put coveralls over red flannel gotchies. He find out right away quick he got a mad bull - catch him right in the trap door with big horns and help him back over fence. Now Stash can't sit in the saddle no more. He don't want to go back to check on cows just in case they mad too, so he calls vet.

Stash tells the vet to come and check. That vet, he such a joker. He scratch his whiskers like wise thinker and tell Stash bulls is easy to find out. All you got to do is wave a red flag and bulls get mad. Lady cows is much harder. You got to take them to the abattory and slice up brains to check. Now Stash get really upset. He think about all his nice cows with sliced up brains. Holy Moley, once you slice them up, you can't put them back together! What a mess! How come, he asks the vet. Vet thinks a little bit, rubs whiskers some more and tells Stash lady cows is like lady people - very sensitive. Hoy boys, now Stash is getting depressed.

Vet says only other way to find out if lady cow is mad without slicing up brains for microscope, you got to give them therapy - just like lady people. Example - you see your missus got funny look on her face and you ask nicely what's wrong sweetie. She makes a funny mouth and says 'nothing'. You still worried and ask again. No matter how many times you ask she says same thing. Even if you beg she screws up her face and tells you 'If you don't know I not gonna tell you'! You say if she not tell you she gonna have to take trip to the abattoir to get her brains sliced up, she says she don't care.

Same thing with lady cows. You don't just yell at her and say 'What's wrong Bossy'? That way you never find out. You got to say nicely 'Come lie down here on nice straw bed. We could have lovely chat'. Once she get settled you tell how interesting she is. Maybe she would tell you about her life from when she was young whippersnapper to now.  Hoy boys, you talk nice like that and soon she sing like canary. Everything come out like flood. She says first, farmer put her inside  stupid barbed wire fence - wrong side. Everybody knows grass is greener on other side. She get scratched up neck just get a little bit of good stuff. Then some hotshot feed guy bring stupid vitamins with sheep brains in. Where he go to school? Sheep brains are for people who play bagpipes. Everybody know that! Hoy boys, Missus cow she spills the beans on everything. Pretty soon she has good cry and then she calms down. She says she feels much better. She not mad anymore. She says maybe we should do this again next month just in case.

Stashu, he don't know how to deal with this – is too much for him. He such a crybaby. It's too much for him. He says to me do I want to trade some of his beautiful cows for some o’ my ugly, skinny pigs - even Steven. I say 'sorry - border is closed'. He calls me bunyak again. What a grouch!

See, now that was a nice story. You get all the cow answers you need from pig farmer (retired). I always glad to share. Ask any time. Don't worry, it's free - no red tape attached. You should drop by sometime. We could sit on my balcony - maybe have some sausage and a beer. I could give you some more advice.

Your pal,

Nestor Kropatnik PF (Retired)

Nestor's Mailbag - CBC

We all know there are lots of things wrong with TV. Most of us just grumble and do nothing about it. Nestor at least, has something to say - and he "says it how is it."  Well - you be the judge.

CBC

Dear C;

It's me Nestor! Ha ha, I sure got you this time! You don't know if I call you by first name or last name. I pretty cagey sometimes. Is just a little joke. But I not writing to tell funny jokes. My letter got to do with that TV.

My daughter Olga, she now CEO of pig farm since I retire. First thing she do is put TV in pig barn so she not miss soap operas. Pretty soon pigs don't like TV and get grouchy so Olga give it to me for present. She such a sweetie, our Olga - always think about mommy and daddy! She tell me is nice company for lonely old people in apartment. I tell says don't be bunyak. For people to get advice I got to actually mail letters. Huh? I never think of that before. Maybe she got a point.

"Of course, daddy!" she say. She tell me I spend whole life talking to pigs in barn and wrong end of horse in grain field. It's time I learn something new. Hoy boys she make such a big production about it - set up TV on stand, hook up cable, line up my big chair just so and gives me zapper that looks like cattle prod with lots o' buttons to turn TV on.

"Okay daddy," she tell me. "Now you all set to see the world."

I tell her I gonna watch later. Right now I too busy visit with very important CEO of pig farm. She laugh and give me big squeeze. Who needs TV when you got daughter like that?

After daughter's visit, missus goes to bed and I decide to try this new TV. I sit in big easy chair, line up my eye to screen and pick up zapper. Now I ready to see world. I sit back, push power button on zapper and wait for warm up. Holy Moley! I bet you five rubles I jump a mile high for sure! Picture come on and there is bunch o' people with no clothes on and play hanky panky! I so embarrassed I forget all about zapper and pull plug out of wall! Fast like bunny I do ten Hail Marys just in case.

Next morning smarty-pants daughter phone to see how I like my TV. I tell her thing or two in mother tongue. TV is going in dumpster. She yell at me to don't touch TV. Calm down and she gonna come over right away and fix it. When she get here she send me to kitchen so I don't see. All of a sudden daughter lets out yell and string of words in mother tongue you only hear in beer parlor. Hoy boys! Where she learn that from?  She sound just like Metro who drive gravel truck.

She comes in kitchen with big red face and tells me, "Daddy you no supposed to watch Playboy channel! You too old for that stuff! But is okay now, I fix all up. Everything hunky dory."

I tell daughter to wash out mouth with soap and then she should show me what to do. She laugh and go to washroom and pretend to wash out mouth. Soon as I learn to work buttons on zapper and get list of stations, Olga say she have to go so pigs don't miss her too much. I remind her to play Mozart on radio for pigs when nobody's in barn. They like Mozart when they by self. When somebody in barn they like polkas and happy singing. Then they know food is coming.

I still little bit nervous about turning on so I figure out is good idea to wait 'til tomorrow. I get up early morning at same time every day. After nice bacon and eggs I take glass o’ tea and line up in front of TV. This gonna be good. Now I turn on weather channel. Nice lady standing there in skinny coat says is minus thirty-four, feel like minus forty-five with wind chill. Holy Moley! Sound very cold so I go on balcony to check. Fresh air smack me in face to say 'Wake up Nestor!' I get huge big surprise. It's beautiful day and I nice and cozy. Maybe lady make joke. Oh no - no joke. She say it again. Then I figure out, she only wear skinny coat and little shoes and stand outside with no mitts.

Let me give you little friendly advice. Don't worry, it's free - no red tape attached. Ladies who stand outside and talk about weather got to be dressed nice and warm. You got to put on pure wool gotchies, like you get from Eaton's mail order - and pure wool socks too. You button up trap door on gotchies nice and tight, put on coveralls and felt boots. You put on fur cap and mittens and you all nice and cozy, just like polar bear. Then you don't got no goofy wind chill to mix up people. Same thing in summer time when is plus thirty-four. Everybody stand outside in short pants and complain about heat. Don’t complain. Even in summer heat wool gotchies and socks soak up sweat and you still nice and cozy, just like polar bear. How come nobody get it? Sure, you got to wash underwear every month or else get real stinky, but is not like old days when you got to walk five miles to wash in river.

Only reason you need weather station is to tell if storm is coming. You see that was easy. I bet you could save lots o' money if you tell people just go outside and see how they feel and don't bother with goofy wind chill that nobody understand in first place.

But couple o' things you guys got pretty good. Other day I was watching on the TV early in morning and I get such a big surprise. I turn on biography channel and Hoy boys, I bet my boots I jump a mile high! Right there on the TV I see Peter Gzowski sit and talk to some live guys. Holy Moley! He sure look good for dead guy! He got nice beard, and twinkle in eye and don't got a hose in the nose to breathe like when he sick. They must have good health care system for dead people. He look like million bucks!

You guys must have super duper hot shot agent can get dead guys to come back for do shows. How you do that anyway? Must be cost small fortune for plane ticket from heaven to CBC just to do shows. No wonder you always broke. Let me give you little bit friendly advice, just between you and me. It don't need to go no further so government find out and cut your budget again. Don't worry, it's free - no red tape attached. My grand daddy used to say if you look after kopeks, rubles look after own self. I think he right. You should listen to him. Maybe next time you fly Gzowski in to do show, you could ask my grand daddy to come too. That would be good show with two dead guys.

But I get little bit worry about labor laws for dead people. Four times in same weekend I see same show with Gzowski. What you think of that? Every time everybody say same words, move same way, everything same. Must be smart guys to do same thing over and over without making mistake. I bet you they must be tired after all that work. Maybe they wondering too if audience tired of seeing everything four times in a row. Maybe people go on strike and change channel.

Good idea would be if you only do shows one time only, but get more dead people. I bet you could get fleet discount for bringing whole planeload at same time. See, you could save more money again. Look at that. Hoy boys! You could have whole big talent pool just waiting for exciting programs. Maybe you could bring George Washington to have nice chat with politicians about telling lies. That would be good one. How 'bout you bring Moses for tour guide to take Israelis for stroll in desert? He's a natural. He been there before. And if you want to make pigs happy, you bring in Mozart to play concert with fiddle. I don't know can he play polkas, but he got lots o' talent and he could learn fast pretty quick. Look at that! You play cards right you have whole new audience.

Listen, you don't need to say thanks. I glad to give free advice. Ask anytime, I like to help. You should drop by. We could sit on my balcony and talk about TV planning. I got some nice ham sausage and my boy lives close by. He always got couple extra beers. We could do lunch.

Your pal,

Nestor Kropatnik PF (Retired).

Nestor's Mailbag - Olympics

Olympic Sporty Guys

Dear Olympic;

It's me, Nestor. I hope you don't mind I write you when you so busy getting ready for summer Olympic games. I know is huge big headache to get everything ready on time. Huh, look at that. I just start to write and already I got good idea, but don't worry, I not send letter until after big bash. That way you get to keep nose in own business when you need it. We could have nice chat later. Is no big deal anyway. I just got couple questions about Olympic games. Would be good idea you should explain to people about it.

 In first place, how come you got so many sick athletes playing games? Everybody always got to go to drugstore - even coaches. After competition, test show they still got disease anyway. You really think this is good idea? Let me give you little bit friendly advice. Don't worry, it's free. No red tape attached. You should try old country remedy for sick athletes. You could make nice little necklace from piece binder twine and seven juicy cloves garlic fresh from garden. Just hang around neck for seven days. You get it - seven cloves for seven days? Works like magic every time and no more drug store medicine. If athletes really sick, put one extra clove between teeth and chew nicely. Hoy boys, you get huge big surprise how fast they get healthy and strong - even smell strong! 

Other thing would be good idea for you to explain to people is what means some of these games. Example - you got whole bunch o' people throw spears in goofy spear throwing game called javelin throwing. Everybody throws far as he can to find out who is winner. What kind of game is this? You got no bull's eye. What is point of throwing far if you don't even hit side of barn? Buffalo just laugh at goofy hunter - maybe give him taste of horn in seat of pants if he not careful. That would be good game - see how fast hunter can run other way. But first you got to find out how far buffalo can run before he get tire.

Maybe that's how you figure out relay race. Hunter miss buffalo, buffalo chase him so he give spear to other guy who run some more. Hoy boys - big mistake. Buffalo knows who throw spear. He don't care about other guy who runs and gives to other guy who runs too. He gonna get hunter with bad aim. Let me give you little bit friendly advice. Don't worry, it's free - no red tape attached. Hunter who throw spear shouldn't go sit down on bench. He should go to showers right away quick before buffalo find him, for sure!

That's 'nother thing you should explain to people. Races, I mean. What kind business is races supposed to be? First everybody line up on starting line, seems to take whole hour. Everybody take off pants and stand around in underwear shaking arms and legs like going to be hot shot magic trick. Then everybody crouch down to look for four-leaf clover when guy shoots off starting gun. All guys or girls take off like they gonna beat the bullet. Okay, is good idea, but they run hundred meters and stop and look around. What they looking for - the bullet? Don't they know man with gun shoot blanks?

Oh, calm down - I just make little joke. I know they not racing against bullet. But you gotta admit whole thing looks kind o' fishy. After whole huge big production to get ready for race, they run like deer for hundred meters, then they stop. Whole audience clap. Now runners look around little bit, put pants back on, and go sit down. Holy Moley, now I get it! They got to see who gets best pair o' pants.  Just like going to church on Sunday and come home with brand new pair overshoes. Is this good idea when everybody watching? No, no - you need new pants, you got to get a job, save up money and go to store and buy. Never mind swipe other guy's pants. What is guy who lose race gonna do - go home in gotchies?

Let me give you little bit friendly advice. Don't worry - it's free - no red tape attached. Don't give guys who run relay races no more little sticks to give to 'nother guy. You give them mailbag. Tell him to run to next town and deliver mail. Hoy Boys! Canada Post get huge big surprise! I bet my big boots they jump a mile high to get such good service! Then runners can say for sure they run for Canada - just like pony express. Look at that. They don't even need hot shot Olympic Committee. Only they got to keep pants on or some ladies get all excited.

Same thing with guys who throw spears. Hoy boys, you think I out of ideas already? No way Jose! This is Nestor you talking to. You want to do something useful? Spear guys should go to places where is lots o' grouchy Canada geese. If they get lots o' geese, they could feed whole army of people who go to food banks. Feathers make nice cozy blankets for homeless people. Well okay, if you want to give prize is okay - but only for head shots. See, I told you. Is easy to have fun and games and still do something good for whole country. Is whole lot better than spend huge big pile o' cash to go overseas to take off pants. If you got to take pants off, go to bedroom and don't embarrass nobody. 

You got to use head little bit to do "value added" business. Could be whole new "Value Added Olympics" if you play cards right. Ha ha, you laugh. What does old pig farmer know about "value added" anyway? You be surprised what pig farmer knows. Some hot shot economist make up new name for how to do better business, but pig farmer already knows all about it. In depression my daddy take load of oats to grain elevator. Elevator guy says he give him ten cents a bushel - tops. Daddy says no - four-fifty a bushel.  Elevator guy laughs at him - tell him he's nuts. Daddy takes load home and drives to pig barn. Shows oats to pigs. He tells them is top grade - four-fifty a bushel. Hoy Boys, pigs are so happy they squeal like pigs! Daddy makes nice chop and feed whole business to them. After, he butchers pigs and makes nice ham sausage. He sells whole works for good price and never go back to elevator guy again. Daddy find out he can stay home, look after family if he do value added business and everything hunky dory.

Now you see - is not so hard to figure out how to have lots o' fun and games and still do good for people. You save lots o' money too. Instead of go to fancy gym for exercise, you go to pig farm - carry slop pails to trough - get strong right quick. If you want to learn run fast, take nice stroll in my brother Stachu's cow pasture. Bull is always there, ready to give you good work out. Maybe you want to think about that little bit. Hoy boys - you never believe I even got good job for think about things. Just hitch up horses to set of harrows and go clean up summer fallow on back quarter. While you're at it you could talk about whole Olympic business to wrong end of horse. Would be just like having meeting with board of directors. You feel right at home. Best part is you get free room and board and ten bucks a day.

Holy Moley! I bet you five rubles you never think of such a thing! Listen, no need to say thanks. I good Canadian. I glad to help out anytime. You should drop by sometime. We could sit on my balcony and have nice chat about more ideas. I still got good supply of ham sausage and my boy live close by. He always got some extra beer. Would be good visit.

Your Pal,

Nestor Kropatnik PF (Retire)

Nestor's Mailbag - Education (special)

I've often had a thing about people who need special education. It seems that the people in charge of education have the idea that one must learn things only in a certain way. If you can't do that - too bad! Well, that's not how it is. I have the biggest respect for people like my granddaughter Morgan Epp who is a blind/deaf Intervenor. or my sister's neice who is a speech therapist, who might advise these administrative cowboys exactly where it's at. Well -enough said. Let Nestor speak for himself:

Education Minister

Dear Ed;

It's me, Nestor. Ho, ho, I bet you five rubles you never think you gonna get letter from old Nestor! Maybe you figure out I far too busy being CEO of pig farm to write to busy CEO of teachers. But I got big surprise for you. Now I retire, I got time to give you hand with big mess you make with special education. Don't worry, it's free - no red tape attached.

Hoy, boys! You got nose so deep in fancy shmansy psychology books is no wonder left hand don't know where is right hand. You don't need all that. Everything you need is already in farm chores. You just got to know how to use it. Don't forget. Everybody got special needs. Everybody need special education - even teachers, maybe even Education Minister. Let me tell you little story. You gonna get huge big surprise.   

Actually I little bit nervous telling special education secrets to big boss of teachers. Maybe I gonna have to sit in corner with dunce cap - again. But by now I too old for that. Don't worry, I didn't forget about that business. Wouldn't have been such a big stink if snot-nose little brother don't have such a big mouth. But no, he gotta go home and tell grand daddy about bunyak big brother Nestor is dunce at school. Sometimes little brothers make lots o' trouble. Hoy boys - that Stashu - give me huge big pain sometimes.

Grand daddy sit in big chair, look in my eye and curl up trigger finger to say 'come here, little bunyak'. I hang head like sad little dog and wait for big lecture in mother tongue. I not disappointed. Grand daddy tells me Kropatniks never sit in corner like dunces. How come I decide to change rules? I tell him I don't decide, teacher decide. How come, he wants to know. I tell him I forget poem I supposed to recite.

"Poem - poem?" grand daddy yell at me. Holy Moley! Now I gonna get it for sure! That Stashu - he gonna pay huge big price for shoot off mouth, for sure!

All of a sudden grand daddy get big sneaky grin on old face and says "I like poems! You stand up straight and I gonna tell you one".

I bet you five rubles I jump a mile high. Maybe I not gonna get it after all. Grand daddy tells me long poem in mother tongue. He knows whole thing off by heart. Is all about little willow who grows up to be strong big switch for dusting off seat of pants from boys who sit in dunce's stool. Whole time grand daddy is still smiling like sneaky old fox and I look around to spot willow switch.

Grand daddy ask me if I like poem. What I gonna say - no? "Oh yes, grand daddy - is very nice poem".

Now he want to know do I want to learn it. "Of course", I tell him. He says he got perfect way to learn poem so I never forget. Do I want to see? "Of course grand daddy". Hoy boys, I can't believe maybe this time is no willow switch.

Grand daddy takes me out to granary. He gives me huge big grain scoop and opens sack for me to fill. Every time I dig in to grain we say a line of poem together. Every time I empty scoop in sack we say another line. Scoop - say a line. Dump - say a line - like that. Forty bushels later we come to last verse.

Grand daddy ask if I know poem now. Hoy, boys, all I know is how heavy is forty bushels oats. I tell him no.

"Too bad", says grand daddy. "We start again". He dumps out whole forty bags of oats.

When he hears me groan, grand daddy says, "Don't be crybaby. At least I don't make you put oats in one grain at a time. This time you pay attention. Now shaddap and say out loud".

Hoy boys, you bet your big boots I pay attention! I take every word in my brain and stick him on like fly paper. When we finish I got to recite poem again. We get to verse seventeen and grand daddy dumps out one bushel bag.

"Why you do that?" I complain.

He says, "Two wrong words. Says verse again".

I say verse again and he says, "Okay, fill him up".

Same thing happen in verse twenty-two, and thirty, and thirty-eight. At least I don't have to dump out whole forty bushels. Next time I recite poem I get everything right. Now maybe I can go in house and take it easy.

Grand daddy have other idea. He makes me get book where is my poem. When he sees poem he laughs and says, "This is sissy pants poem - only four verses."

We hitch up team to wagon and I get to load up oats for hammermill to making chop. Holy Moley - eighty pounds a bag - forty bags - my back is broke - arms too! Grand daddy says, "You look little bit tire. You rest and read poem to me on way to mill". I tell him thank you.

Only problem is poem is in English and grand daddy don't understand so I got to say in mother tongue. Now he says it sounds good but don't rhyme. It's got to rhyme or is no poem. I start to think maybe would be better to dust off seat of pants with willow switch and forget about stupid poem. But I smart enough to keep trap shut or else I still got to learn poem and get pants dusted off as bonus for complaining.

We dump out everything at mill and I get grain scoop again. Scoop up grain and say a line. Dump in hopper and say a line. By time we finish I can say in English and in mother tongue - even backwards if I want. On way home grand daddy says to me, "Thank you for big help to make chop and for teaching me nice poem. Today we had special education. You learn two poems in two languages at same time as learn how to make chop for pigs - just like professional pig farmer. I learn small sissy pants poem to say in English. When I tell to grandma, she gonna think I Leo Tolstoi. That's special".

Next day I go to school and say poem just like that. Teacher very happy - tell me I do perfect. Now go sit down. I say no - I not finished yet. I say also in mother tongue - even make it rhyme. Teacher says I must be bilingual. Now he thinks I smart kid after all. After that I never sit in corner with dunce cap again.

Now you see - that's not so hard. You don't need whole bunch o' huge big words to make lessons easy for students. They don't pay attention anyway. You do that and all you get is bored kids who grow up and know nothing. No, no. You got to figure out ways for students to pay attention so they learn something from teacher and teacher learn something from student. That way everybody feels good.

Listen, you should drop by for visit sometime when you not busy with nose in psychology books. We could sit on my balcony and have some nice ham sausage. My boy lives close by and he always got couple extra beers. I could give you more ideas about special education. Maybe you could bring bunch o' special education teachers to pig farm for lesson about special education. My daughter Olga is CEO of pig farm now I retire, but she knows poem about little willow switch as good as me and grand daddy. She be very happy to give special education to teachers.

Your pal,

Nestor Kropatnik PF (Retire)