Goosed!

The moral of this story is, Be careful about what you find funny; it may come back to nip you when (and where) you least expect it.

Although she has been a fixture of Skaneateles village life for some time, I first made "Lucy's" acquaintance last summer at my sister's behest. "You've got to see this," she said, turning up West Lake Road. "You've got to see Lucy; she's famous." A few houses in from Genesee Street she slowed in front of a pretty Victorian house, on the front porch of which stood a life-size white concrete goose of the domestic variety.

Nothing remarkable there, except the goose was wearing a bikini bathing suit, sunglasses, a sun hat, and had a swim tube looped over one wing. I thought she looked hilarious and said so.

My sister went on to explain that since Lucy's costume changes with the seasons and with the holidays, both locals and tourists periodically take the short detour off Route 20, Skaneateles's main drag, to see what she has on now. Teachers at the Belle Waterman Primary School walk their young charges down from State Street to pay calls on Lucy in nice weather. "She even gets fan mail," my sister declared. I thought that was funnier still.

During a later trip to Skaneateles in the fall, my niece and her children arrived at my sister's house to announce with some dismay that Lucy wasn't on the porch and hadn't been for some time. My sister (who knows almost everybody in town) found Lucy's owner's name in the phone directory and called: "We were concerned about Lucy---Is she all right?"

Lucy was just fine, the owner assured her, "but we needed to have the porch painted, so she's indoors for a while. If you look closely, you can see her peeking out the front window." We confirmed this the next day.

As it happened, it was during that trip that my plans to expand my back porch in East Aurora and to redo the front entry were coming to a head, so my sister and I spent a rainy afternoon roughing out alternative floor plans and placements for stairways. I left for home determined to sound out builders about getting an early spring start.

I made a quick trip to Central New York again for Thanksgiving but, because it was quick, I had no opportunity to scope out Lucy's holiday garb. Reportedly, she was dressed as a Pilgrim.

On the Sunday night of Thanksgiving weekend, my front doorbell rang, and I opened the door to find my sister's older son, who lives in Rhode Island but had spent the holiday with his wife's parents in Indiana. All he said was, "Get a jacket and meet me at the back door." When I did, I discovered him wrestling a life-size concrete white goose out of his car. It was stylishly dressed in a red cape with white faux fur collar and hat trimmed with holly berries.

My niece-in-law had been straddling the thing all the way from Ohio and was most relieved to be rid of her seat-mate. Since they were expected in Skaneateles for a late dinner, they stayed only long enough to explain that (a) the goose was a Christmas gift from my sister; (b) because the goose weighs 85 pounds and her neck is fragile, it was easier to pick her up at her place of origin and deliver her directly to me, than to pay to have her shipped. We agreed that what to name the goose would make a promising topic for the Christmas dinner table.

I called my sister after my nephew and his wife left to let her know that they were on their way and to tell her that the goose was a complete surprise. Who expects concrete waterfowl on their back steps on Thanksgiving weekend?

When she managed to stop laughing, she admitted she had been inspired by my plans for a more imposing front entry. What better way to greet guests and itinerant missionaries than with a costumed goose? I would become the talk of East Aurora, the cynosure of all eyes on Oakwood Avenue. For that to happen, I said, I would have to take up sewing again to keep my new companion fashionably attired, and there we left the subject.

Until Christmas.

During the family gift exchange the pile of boxes around my chair kept mounting and was at last topped off with an oddly shaped package. When I started opening them, I discovered that every last present was for the goose. As you see above, she is now dressed for winter, but as spring approaches, I can dress her in her yellow slicker with matching rainhat and umbrella. In more pleasant weather she might prefer her natty straw hat and sailor dress ensemble or her calico dress with apron and sunbonnet. For summer, she has---like Lucy---a bikini and sunglasses, but she also has a life vest and scuba gear.

My personal favorite is her fall outfit: the oddly shaped package turned out to be a mini plastic shotgun with which she can wear her hunting jacket and red cap with earflaps. Although what a goose would go gunning for makes one think...

As if these options were not enough, my sister presented me with the color catalog from Concrete Goodies in Cincinnati, from whence my goose came. For a mere 25 smackers I can get her a faux mink coat and hat; I can dress her as a cow, as an Amish farmer (complete with beard), as a biker babe in black leather, as Rudolph the Reindeer with a red nose that fits over the beak, or as an MD in mask and surgical greens. The permutations are almost endless, the potential price tag staggering.

Concrete Goodies aren't the sole purveyors, by a long shot. I entered "concrete goose" and "costumes" in Google, and came up with many hits. Along the way I learned that dressing up animal figures is apparently a Midwestern phenomenon that is goose-stepping its way across the nation. Lucy in Skaneateles and Gracie---for such is her name---in East Aurora are the opening wedge in the Empire State.

As are my sister's as yet unnamed two. Yes, two.

After we'd all had a good giggle at the goose gear in my packages, she opened hers. My nephew and his wife decided she wasn't to have the last laugh.

They may not, either; he's got a birthday coming up in July...

A Dollar and a Dream

I got another one of those e-mails the other day.

You know the kind: a favorite format of the conspiracy theorists, it's been forwarded several times to several people, and it purports to tell a tale of how the federal government (an entity never to be trusted) is taking the side of the godless atheists against the majority---we good, God-fearing, patriotic Americans.

The outrage this time? The new presidential dollar coins "were designed" to omit the motto"In God We Trust. " Fumed the anonymous writer, "Here's another way of phasing God out of America."

As usual, the people mindlessly forwarding this claim---which has been making the rounds for a year now, even since the first four coins were issued---never checked the facts. The phrase is there all right; it's inscribed on the edge. (See above.)

And, as per the Consolidated Appropriations Bill of 2008, Congress has instructed the U.S. Mint to move the motto to either the front or the back of future coins in the series, beginning in 2009. What ticks me off is, our elected officials apparently called for the change in response to the pious watchdogs of the Mint who didn't examine the coin the first time out. Your tax dollars and mine at work---and all for a flap over what appears on U.S. money.

Personally, I am far more concerned about how our currency and coinage gets spent, and what it is spent for.

I have a modest suggestion for those have taken offense over the perceived lack of national religious feeling as exhibited by the dollar coins:

Should you be so unfortunate as to receive one of these coins in change, why not simply drop it into your church's collection plate? (In addition to your usual generous offering, of course.) It's legal tender, the usher taking the collection likely won't refuse it, and you might even curry a little favor with the God you insist all of your fellow Americans must honor. (I wouldn't count on the last, though; my recollections of the New Testament---Render unto Caesar, Ye cannot serve both God and mammon, the rich man and the camel and the needle's eye, Jesus and the money-changers---lead me to believe that the Almighty is not best pleased by those who throw money at Him.)

If you wish to demonstrate, before God and everybody, what a faith-filled nation this is, here's another suggestion, less modest:

How about seeing to it that, in this obscenely wealthy country,

no one goes to bed hungry? According to America's Second Harvest, for 35 million Americans---about nine million of whom are children--- hunger is an everyday reality. One of those despised dollar coins would pay for 16 meals.

For me, the choice between putting God's name on a coin or using the coin to do His (or Her) work isn't even a toss-up!

Up, Up, and Away!

The happy little fellow at the right --- a fountain in the forecourt of the Cathedral Basilica of St. Francis of Assisi in Santa Fe --- welcomes you with open arms (wings, actually) to my blog. Known as "St. Francis Dancing on Water," he epitomizes the spirit of the Southwest that I found so appealing during a recent visit.



It was also during that visit that my daughter and traveling companion suggested that I write a blog where I could publish some of my personal essays and where, moreover, I could let loose with a rant or two to the world at large.



This, mind you, was just after Election Day, and I had been keening about the ever-increasing use of automated phone solicitations by political candidates which, in essence, turned my answering machine into a bully pulpit. And, I fumed, don't get me started on the "not-for-profit" telethons that mainly profit the telemarketing companies that conduct them. What part of " Do Not Call" does the FCC not understand?



"Blog," said Stacey.



So I'm blogging.



A word (or so) about the title:

I can't find the term "screeder" in any of my dictionaries, so I arbitrarily define it as one who screeds, a person who creates or composes a screed. That would be me.

All clear so far?

"Screed," on the other hand, has several different meanings:

Webster's Ninth New Collegiate Dictionary gives its derivation as from the Old English screade and Middle English screde meaning "fragment." Webster further defines "screed" as "1a. A lengthy discourse; 1b. An informal piece of writing. 2. A strip (as of plaster of the thickness planned for the coat) laid on as a guide. 3. A leveling device drawn over freshly poured concrete." (Imagine that---I've seen masons screeding sidewalks for years and never knew what to call their activity!)

The Encarta World English Dictionary, not to be outdone, says "screed" is a 14th century variant of "shred" and gives three of its four usages as pertinent to the building trades, as above. Its first definition, however, is "lengthy piece of writing: a long and often tedious piece of writing or speech." God, I sincerely hope not!

Finally, the redoubtable Josepha Heifetz Byrne, compiler of Mrs. Byrne's Dictionary of Unusual, Obscure, and Preposterous Words, opines that "screed" is both noun and verb, and as such, it may refer variously to: "1. A torn-off fragment. 2. A tirade or diatribe. 3. A drinking bout. 4. A tearing or scraping sound. 5. A tool drawn across fresh concrete to smooth it off." As a verb transitive, it may mean "1. Rip. 2. Say glibly, especially with 'away' or 'off.' 3. Smooth off."
As a verb intransitive it may mean "To make a sound like ripping cloth; to rip."

Somewhere among those many meanings is what I intend to do; indeed, my intent may switch from one to the other from week to week. Let 'er rip, say I, and stay tuned!