My dream career got plucked and stuffed

I saw a show on cable last week that nearly floored me.  It was about a profession that I, at age 14, thought would fit right into the life I had planned for my future.

I could not consider college, my support was needed for the family and I readily accepted that, with no regret, as was done in those days.  Mom’s health was starting to deteriorate and Dad wasn’t able to work steadily or sometimes at all and we still had twin boys who were 7-year-old eating machines .

I loved the out-of-doors, hunted everything that was legal and bass fishing was a passion.  I had worked part-time on farms, almost since birth.  I’d worked really hard and for long hours with little compensation.  I clerked in Kingsville Market, learned to cut meat and smooth-talk irate customers, not a bad job but still working for someone.

Dad had not used any of his gas ration points yet for the summer and it was September, a beautiful time to go for a visit.  We invaded Aunt Clara and Uncle Tom’s house on McKewin Avenue early one Sunday morning. We had sent them a note that we would be “down the city “ she was ready for us and we kids gorged ourselves on her waffles and King Syrup.

After a wonderful day of being catered to, we reluctantly departed the city.  Just before, Uncle Tom gave me a copy of Popular Mechanics that he had already read.

It was still daylight when we arrived on Old Landing Road and after unloading the old ’34 Ford I sat down at the kitchen table and started leafing thru the Popular Mechanics. Like a voice from Merlin, “Eureka I have found it”…I could be a hunter and preserve all my specimens and make a living doing the same for fellow hunters. 

There it was, a full-page ad for The Northwestern School of Taxidermy run by  J W Elwood of Omaha Nebraska.  It was a correspondence course and after certain tests you would be awarded a diploma which you could display.  I was working and all I needed was $2.26 for enrollment and the first lesson, after some begging Mom and Dad agreed.

After two weeks of agonizing wait, a large envelope arrived in the mail, stuffed to the brim with paper. There it was, Lesson #1, listing all the materials I would need, like a scalpel, 20 Mule Team Borax to preserve and moth-proof the bird skins and wood alcohol to preserve the animal skins.   Back then, before the advent of  expanding foam, you made your own bodies to put back in the skins from excelsior.  That’s the shredded wood that with used to pack fragile objects with before styrofoam peanuts were born.

Enthusiastic as ever,  I trapped a pigeon, did him in the way they suggested (squeeze him under the wings and stop his heart).  Still feel it would have been more merciful to shoot him.  It was Squirrel season and the first one I shot, I mounted. It looked pretty good to me so I took a pic of the pigeon and the squirrel and sent them off to old JW, hoping for approval and of course I sent another $2.26 for the next lesson. 

Sure enough, he thought they looked good and I had Lesson #2.  I did not realize until much later that, as long as payment for the next lesson accompanied the pictures, the test was approved no matter what the specimens, as they called them, looked like.  Probably my whole venture into the school run by J W and Rex Elwood ( which was probably his dog) was less than $100.00.

But despite the questionable nature of the school, I did quite well at it. I mounted a lot of ducks and geese and also many pheasants. I also did Deer heads, a Bob Cat, Raccoons, Possums, even a few Chipmunks that the customer said they had found dead (they said).  I soon realized that as a life long career it held little possibility.

In 1947, I had been a graduate Taxidermist for 2 years and a  brand new graduate of St. Stephen High.  I had my High School diploma but had heard nothing from Mr. JW or Rex Elwood about their diploma. Finally in 1952, I received word that I successfully graduated and a diploma would be forthcoming.  The company went belly-up in 1970.

My last job before my Career as an Airman was with Gas & Electric. While there, someone got wind of my Taxidermy and featured me in the monthly employee magazine in the Hobby Corner (seen in photo above).

While it wasn’t my career, I am proud of those few years that I preserved some of the beautiful “specimens” that were brought to me.  Any other taxidermists in the crowd?

Don Langrehr

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Cleaning house = Cleaner eating

“If it’s in the house, I’ll probably eat it!”  This is my regular response to my daughter when she asks why we don’t have “treats” for her or to my husband’s request for roasted salted almonds or potato chips.  I am one of the many that just can’t have junk sitting around, because often times, it disappears.  And, I’m not talking about throwing it in the trash, although I do that quite frequently with things that just don’t belong here.

I live in a family of 3, with a husband who travels 2-3 days most weeks.  I realize I have a 5-year-old who likes to have treats now and then (Well, ok, now and now).  She loves to bake and I do my best not to deprive her of this joyous activity.  So, the double chocolate with funfetti frosting brownies that she chose as our last baking activity have recently found their way to the trash. 

My mother was in town and boy, does she love her treats, too.  Once Grandma was on a plane to fly away home, the brownies saw the end to their stay, as well.  With only 2 of us left for them to speak to, it was safer (for me) that way.

For the “if it’s here, I’ll eat it” reason, I usually keep the foods in my house healthy.  I do buy things for my daughter, like breakfast cereal and microwave pancakes, Easy Mac and Cheese and hot dogs, and other snacking foods.  But, these don’t tempt me.  It’s the salty and sweet that gets to me.  These things can be my demise.  For this reason, I very, very rarely have ice cream in the house.  I’m the kinda gal that could sit down with a pint, blink and then wonder what the heck happened. 

I want my daughter to grow up knowing that it’s ok to have treats, so, like I said, I do bake with her.  We often bake using healthier ingredients and are more inclined to do so when the goodies are going somewhere they can stay vs. staying where we are.  I’m happy to treat her to a cookie at Wegman’s or a cupcake from Graul’s every now and again.  I’m just happier to not have the temptation, myself.

As I said, my mom was in town this past weekend and she loves to enjoy tasty treats while on “vacation”.  I don’t blame her, but I’m not on vacation in my own home.  My key to eating healthier is to be surrounded by healthy.  So, I spent the late morning ridding the house of the brownies, the chicken salad loaded with mayo, the white bread, the “nonsense” yogurt (just my silly name for regular yogurt that doesn’t have the protein in my Greek yogurt) and few other purchases that found their way in over the past few days.  Had I not done this, I can’t even imagine what my food choices for my mid-morning post-run would have been.  Ugly, I’m sure.

Yes, it’s a waste of money, I understand.  But, I’d throw away a bit of money to save a bit on health, any day.  Otherwise, it’s living life one step forward (exercise), two steps back (poor diet).  I work too hard for that.  Is it time for you to clean house?  Maybe start over with a cleaner pantry?  Think about it…

Happy Hump Day, all!  Have you gotten over your health “hump” yet?  Want to share your story?  You’re always welcome to make a guest appearance, just let me know!

Carri Nelsen of Gold’s Gym in Shrewsbury.

Got questions for Carri?  E-mail them to blogs@TheZoneMag.com.

Convalescence, The Invalid Wife, and Emerging Bees

I’m convalescing these days.  Convalescence is a great word, although we hardly use it anymore.  It conjures up images of sickly people bundled up in thick blankets and wheeled outside for a bit of sun.  Or rich sickly people doing the same thing on deck chairs of a cruise ship circa 1923.  To my stressed-out co-workers it means I’m taking the winter off.   To John it means I’m his invalid wife, with the emphasis on the second syllable.  In - val - id.

Convalescence is a great concept and it’s something we need in a world that tells us to go full speed ahead until we crash, and then pick ourselves up and get on with it.  In our society, if you are not in critical condition, you are expected to be high functioning.  There’s nothing in the middle.  You can’t just do nothing.  There’s got to be a pill or something to keep you efficient.

The problem with convalescing is that convalescents don’t look sick.  They look like they’re lying around doing nothing.  Taking naps and reading books, what a life.  It’s surprisingly hard to properly convalesce in a “do it all now” world.

Ah, but convalescing isn’t about doing nothing.  To my doctor, it means regaining my strength.  The body is working incredibly hard on the inside to recover from an ordeal.  That’s why the doctor can say, “Don’t even think about going back to work before six weeks.”  I love doctor’s orders.  Someone else is the boss telling me to stop.

The end of February is a lot like the end of a convalescence.  Spring is tantalizingly close.  Yet everything still looks so brown.  The woods are full of brown sticks–big tree trunks, tiny sapling twigs, and creeping vines.  Everything is brown, but there is so much going on that we don’t see.

Using both a cane and a walking stick, I hobble behind John down to the beehives.  The two hives are active (hooray!) and bees are returning to the hives with pollen.  Pollen?  In February?  Everything looks dormant to us, but the bees know that the red maples are starting to bud.  A closer look reveals the beginnings of buds on the hydrangeas and the lilacs, too.  It will be months before they flower, but they are beginning to wake up now.

In the front of the house, daffodils are peeking up.  How many people have moaned about the early appearance of the daffodils?  Don’t the daffodils know that it is not yet time?  Don’t they know that showing up early means  they will get zapped by a hard cold snow and be pathetic little nothings when spring arrives?  The daffodils remind me to properly convalesce, to take it slow and emerge strong.

For the many of you out there who are francophile word nerds, the word convalescence comes to us (mais oui!) via late 15th century French, which morphed it from Latin.

• con–from the intensive Latin prefix cum meaning “with, together, thoroughly”
• valescere– (to begin to grow strong) from valere (to be strong) which is related to valiant and valor

So what I’m doing by convalescing is becoming thoroughly strong.  And maybe courageous,too, because heading back to school is going to be scary and my Joint Journey Handbook says my strength should be at 80% by twelve weeks out.  What?  Eighty percent?  For a high-achieving, A-student type person, 80% does not mean “thoroughly strong.”  It means I will still be convalescing, even while I return to work. However, it does justify the handicap parking tag I applied for.  Dang, this is going to take awhile.

Now, as for being invalid…

Both invalid and invalid have the same Latin roots.  And both the noun invalid (meaning “a sick person) and the adjective invalid (meaning “of no legal force”) came sneaking into English by way of French.  And quel surprise! The noun originally referred to the old and disabled soldiers at the Hôtel des Invalides, the military hospital in Paris where Napoleon’s body now rests (but is not convalescing).  I assume that the soldiers all had valid disabilities, otherwise they would be invalid invalids.

John knows that I am neither a sickly person nor his not valid wife.  He’s just trying to help my convalescence along by getting a strong reaction out of me.  I’m thinking a sunny chair on a cruise ship might work better.

Kathy Harp – She can also be found at her personal blog Maywood Living.

 

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Everybody needs a barn

If someone asks me to pick one thing that I miss most about the farm I always think for a moment and never fail to come up with the same answer.

It was not just a beautifully constructed thing, put together by skilled hands but it was like an island, a place to seek shelter from the world that some times seems to gang up on us.  It was also a place to go to just be happy…happy having people to love and people who love you.

It was a barn,  but not like any like any other barn.  It was a special barn built some time in the mid to late 1800’s by German immigrant craftsmen who came down from Pennsylvania to make farmland out of this fertile soil around Baltimore.  The forests around them contained American Chestnut trees that were as strong as oaks and once cut and dried, the wood would last hundreds of years.  After it dried and hardened, termites had to build tunnels outside the wood to get past it.  Many old barns built with chestnut framing are still standing today.  My barn still stands over 70 years after I left it and has been converted to a house, occupied by a happy young family.

The old barn had many purposes, the main resident on the ground floor was our cow - our source of milk and butter and attached to one wall was the house that gave shelter to the chickens that supplied us with eggs and fried chicken on special days.  Occasionally a horse would spend some time in one of the stalls or, if not a horse, a mule might spend a night or two while the fields were being plowed.

Oh yes, let’s not forget, there was usually another animal, one that Henry and I loved and would have let him stay with us but Mom put her foot down.  It was Billy, the goat. I don’t think we were ever without a goat and we always called him Billy.

The second floor was high and dry and we stored hay there that was used for feed and bedding in what was called the hay mow.  Sometimes when we had a long spell of rain, brother Henry and I would spend our days playing in the barn, out of the weather and out of our mothers hair.  Even in the winter, when snow covered the ground for weeks, we would go to the barn to play,

That second floor is also the reason that everyone needs a barn.  I started going to that special place when I was very young and wanted to be alone to think about things.  I would climb up the ladder from the first floor, open the door at the front of the barn, sit with my feet hanging down and try to contemplate life on a 10 acre farm in the mid 1930s, in the midst of a Depression. 

I remembered thinking once, after leaving a depressing discussion in the house, how bad can things be if we have all this? I did not realize we didn’t have two nickels to rub together at the time but I was a boy of 6 or 7 trying to understand something that my adult parents couldn’t fully understand.  But again, my barn gave me a spot where I could go to re-group and when I returned to the house later, the discussion was over and I felt safer.

Now, I know you are not going out and begin looking for a spot to build a new barn but all of us - men, women and children, should find our own barn - a place to be alone to think, to contemplate what our next action should be, our next words.

Most times, a little thought before we speak can save us from a lifetime of regret. Our barn can be a place in the basement, a spot in the corner of our bedroom where we can look at the world thru a new window or think about the other side of a disagreement we are having.  It could even be in the garage or in the attic if you can get there safely. 

If there is a message in any of this, it is to think before we act.  Just a little thought about what we are going to say or about what we plan to do and the consequences, can save us, at times, from a lifetime of regret.  Statements made without thinking can never be taken back.

Don Langrehr

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There’s an App for that!

I’ve recently made a rather significant change in my life, one I resisted for quite some time.  When it comes to technology, I’m not all that adept.  I joined the world of Blackberry over 3 years ago.  I knew my phone inside and out and it was truly my sidekick.  It rarely left my side. 

Feeling like an expert at something makes us less inclined to make a switch to a new (even if it’s better) tool.  Well, folks, I stepped away from the comfort of Blackberry and got my first iPhone.  It took a lot of time and research before I made the commitment, but I have to say, I’m pleased with my choice.  I used to chuckle when I’d hear “There’s an app for that,” but now I must say, often times I cheer. 

Where am I going with this and how does it relate to wellness?  Fitness Apps, folks!  I love them and I’m kind of addicted!

For those of you who use Weight Watchers and track points along with your daily activity, I have an App for you!  MyFitnessPal is truly your pal, people!  Not only is it free, but it’s easy to use and comes with so many “bonuses”.  You get the calorie counter with a huge database of food, a recipe counter, an exercise tracker to figure in your calories burned, along with discussion forums that you can use to share experiences, get motivated by other or feel like part of a fitness community, right on your own phone!  If you’re paying for Weight Watchers, try this for free on the side.  See what you think.  I think it’s a cool find.

Now, if you’re the one who’s always looking for a change in routine, a new exercise for a particular muscle/group, I have another cool App to share.  Fitness Buddy is super cool!  This App has a library of over 1700 exercises, complete with images and animations.  It literally tells you how to perform an exercise and then will show you the images in animated steps.  I love it! It also gives you workouts (for varying fitness levels), either for your whole body or specific muscle groups.  Pocket personal trainer, you ask?  Yep, kind of.. That’s not all, though.  This App has a workout history tracker and other trackers for your weight and body metrics, as well as blood pressure.  It will even graph your progress for you.  A lot of offerings for one little App, I’d say.

I also have an App called Ab Workouts that I’ve grown rather fond of.  It shows you a wide variety of abdominal exercises, can provide you with workouts to target the areas you’re eager to work, gives you the option to sign up with an online trainer (I know nothing about this piece), and has a bunch of fun food facts.  I like having this little guy around on Ab Day to give me some helpful tips that make my belly feel the burn. Check it out! 

Last, but certainly not least…. My Tabata Timer!  I wrote a blog several months ago about the Tabata Profile.  I use it in my workouts all the time and this free App allows me to incorporate Tabata into my workout without having to watch the seconds tick away on a clock or piece of cardio equipment.  I can remain engrossed in my music and the timer sounds for me.  Perfect!  Need someone to track your high intensity intervals?  This one’s for you!

If you have the means to buy/download some of these Apps, check them out.  If you have a fitness App you can’t live without, please share.  We’d all love some new ideas!

Carri Nelsen of Gold’s Gym in Shrewsbury.

Got questions for Carri?  E-mail them to blogs@TheZoneMag.com.

There’s hope for snow days…

For all of you who are dragging your weary bodies through this warm, snowday-less winter, hope is on the way.

The tractor is not running.

Last week, during all those balmy days that were perfect for taking a walker stroll around Hunt Valley Town Center, the tractor was running like a charm.  Smooth as silk. Of course.  John had put on a new ignition coil, distributor cap, rotor, points, and spark plug wires.   (I don’t know what any of that is–I’m just quoting what he wrote on Facebook.) He even put on the snow blade.  Every day he took ol’ Betsy (Betsy???) out for some light exercise.  Everyday she purred her way around Maywood.

This morning, a dusting of snow coats the pavement.  The wind is whistling a cold song through the trees.  And Betsy will not turn over.  I don’t blame her.  She’s 60.  Who wouldn’t rather sleep in on a cold breezy morning?  But she’s more predictable than Punxsutawney Phil.  When will winter begin?  When the tractor won’t start.  When will it end?  When the tractor gets fixed.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“It’s too cold,” John replies.  “The starter won’t turn over.”

“Maybe you need a new starter motor,” I suggest.  Now, I know almost zilch about auto mechanics, but over the years I have learned that starters have motors and that they sometimes die.

John doesn’t think it’s the starter motor.  “I just put one on.  Remember?  That big snow in ’95?”

I do not remember.

“And I had to drive to Lancaster to get the part?”

Oh, now I remember.  It was one of those monster snow storms that had us snowbound at the end of Miller Lane for days and we were drinking raw milk from Vernon Foster’s cows while the county brought in front-end loaders to clear the road.  It was the storm where WJZ came back in 4 wheel drive to interview us for the evening news–the last house in Baltimore County to get plowed out.  John drove to Lancaster in eight inches of snow in the middle of that storm to get a part for the tractor.

“John, that was seventeen years ago.”

“Really?”

“It could be the starter motor.”

“I guess it could.”

So, for  all of you people who are desperate for a snow day, this is your chance.  Light your snow candles, put your pj’s on backwards, throw those ice cubes out the window, flush the toilets at 9 pm, and do your homework.  You have from now until John gets a new starter motor to work your snow magic.  Betsy is doing her part.  Now it’s up to you.

Kathy Harp – She can also be found at her personal blog Maywood Living.

 

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The Women In My Life

Recently, a special friend has returned to my circle of life and it started me thinking about who had the greatest influence on the direction I traveled and why I consistently chose strong women as good friends. 

I am not an aggressive person but as a man, I think I have succeeded beyond the expectations that most had for me when I left the nest.  I loved my father dearly, and respected him for what he accomplished, given his family background, and his struggles just to provide a home and family setting for the six of us – all during a time in history when even the well-to-do were leaping from the heights for reasons he would have probably thought trivial.

Having said that, I am sure that the first 10 years of their marriage and the first 10 years of my life would have been less secure had it not been for the spirit and courage of my mother. A great part of that spirit and courage came from her having to overcome a world of total silence that she was forced into at a time in her life when the world should have been a flower ready to be picked. 

I admired her because she never complained to anyone, except maybe to God, about that silence and constantly searched for ways to get friends and relatives past her deafness and not treat her as handicapped. She was forced to drop from High School after two years and was totally deaf at the time of her marriage.

There were times, as a child, I cried in frustration for my mother. She almost completed 44 years  as our anchor and we are all so much better off having had her here. She was the first strong woman I loved and the first big influence on my path.  What I am today is largely a  product of Agnes Miller Langrehr.

The next strong woman and the greatest love of my life was my wife, Joan, who had the most influence on my path during the 58 married years of my 82 years on planet Earth.  It has been said that men tend to marry their mother.  Joan was strong like my mother, Joan had the same moral character and was also soft and could be hurt like my mother.  One of the big regrets in my life is that the two of them never had the chance to meet and “gang-up” on me. 

I have hundreds of male friends who I have made over the years in fraternal organizations, the volunteer fire company, golf club and my employment for 40 years at McGraw-Hill but I made no “buddies”. Until father time intervened my 3 best friends were Joan’s sisters, Sally, Iris and Vera. Iris has left us, Vera is 86 and grounded and  Sally lives close by and we talk every day.

Be it good fortune or good luck or the good judgement of our two sons, I am blessed with two daughters-in-law who are also strong women with moral courage and conviction.  Seeming like a script for an upbeat TV sit-com, both girls are dedicated teachers and both teach special needs children.  Robin teaches in the Baltimore City School System and Jennifer teaches at the John Archer School in Harford County.

There were people in my life  from the time I was 12 who were good friends when they were guiding me and a few of them I still trade Christmas cards with but the most admirable leader I ever had was Kate, a strong, young girl. She left McGraw-Hill for greener pastures about the time I retired and we kept in touch. Time and old age pushed me in one direction  and she was busy with family, kids  and the new job.  We never did do that golf at Winters Run but thanks to the new “social networking” we are back “talking” by wire and we fulfilled that date for lunch at our new restaurant on the Rumsey Island Canal.

And again, thanks to the Internet and “social networking” and a new neighbor,  Amanda (another strong young woman), I again have a purpose.  Her sister, Jennifer, who I have the good fortune to now call friend has this magazine. She invited me to contribute my limited talents on a regular basis and this makes me feel like a fulfilled and very happy person again.

I do not know how I became the beneficiary of so much good fortune but it may still be the gentle hand of Agnes Miller Langrehr and her guiding words spoken long ago back on that 10 acres along the Gunpowder…“It can’t be just  good looks, there has to be substance”.

All of these women have the good looks and the substance.  Happy Valentines Day to all the ladies in my life…

Don Langrehr

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