The Ash Creek Papers

I wasn’t sure what he meant.  Then Uncle Saul explained it:

“You see, Jimmy… it begins here.”

Uncle Saul pointed to the place between the eyes and just above the bridge of his nose.

“Here.  First the eyebrows get squinched in.  See?  Like this.  And then these vertical lines form here.  See?  These are called the ‘lines of conniption’.  It all starts here.  You know something is going to burst.  It drifts down to the nostrils.  See?  See how my nostrils move in and out?  That’s what Allosaurs did before gouging flesh from an Apatosaur.”

My eyes widened.  The nostril part gave me chills.

“Then the head gets gripped in firm, small emphatic shakes before the arm and hand gets lifted first to the sky.  A definite gesture to summon the force and authority of the Heavens, and then dramatically the hand is thrust down in the opposite direction, to the nether world…”

I didn’t like the sound of this.

“Then the arm is leveled in your direction.  Finger pointed.  And repeatedly shot forward, stabbing the air.“

With each of Saul’s “stabs” I recoiled.  A few of his stabs were accompanied by some foot stomps which caught me by surprise.  He hadn’t prepared me for the foot stomps.

“We are nearing the supreme moment.  Everything up to this is a mere ‘warm-up.’  First, she’ll tidy her hair, and then reach for a big book, like a copy of Michener’s Hawaii and bring it crashing down on to the table or the kitchen counter…”

The crash sounded like a rifle shot.  I shook.

“And if she didn’t have a Michener volume handy, she would chuck a teacup into the wall.  But only if the cup already had a chip in it.”

I had heard enough.  I now had a good idea what Aunt Meggie’s conniption fit would have been all about.  Something that, Uncle Saul advised me, would happen if I sat in Aunt Meggie’s Queen Anne chair in the formal “sitting room.”  I thanked my lucky stars that I rarely stepped foot into the sitting room.  I was more than happy to stick around the den and it’s adjacent hallways, closets and window seats. 

I had never seen a conniption before… Meggie’s or anyone else’s for that matter.  Saul’s vivid portrayal unnerved me.  Meggie and a conniption?  It seemed improbable.  Anyone who can make oatmeal raisin cookies like Aunt Meggie could… anyone who could give me a huge hug and a kiss after Nicky Ross, the Elkhound from next door, bit me… having a conniption fit?  I couldn’t see it.  Not that I was interested in bringing one on.  You couldn’t pay me to get within a yard of that Queen Anne’s chair.

But you can understand my overall concern.  “Uncle Saul… is there anything else that would make Aunt Meggie have a conniption?”

“Herschel peeing on the drapes.”

Herschel was their Mini Schnauzer.  Our entire family had dogs.  And when Saul and Meggie hosted a family cook-out in July, we all brought our dogs for an afternoon of food, drink and outdoor entertainment.  The dogs loved it as much as the two-legged family members.  They were free to explore the large open area in the back of the house and the adjacent wooded fringe.  The dogs had a blast, they knew they were part of the family.  All, except for Herschel.  Herschel remained indoors confined to his grooming crate.  Herschel didn’t get along well with his “cousins.”  Uncle Saul explained to me that Herschel wasn’t fond of Jews… or Jewish dogs.

I had to remind Uncle Saul, “But you’re Jewish…”

“Ssshhh!!! Ixnay!!!”  He looked around and then summoned me to him.  He whispered, “He doesn’t know it!”

Yeah, Herschel could be a bit of a “pill”.  Hard to believe that any one dog could bark that much.  And he threw everything into his barks.  His front feet would lift off the ground, his ears would snap back, and he would take a hop backwards like a howitzer after a discharge.  He tolerated  me because I always gave him some of my oatmeal raisin cookies.  And on rainy days we would play in-door hide and seek, a game he seemed to enjoy.  I would stash a couple of oatmeal raisin cookies and go running off to hide.  Invariably I would find refuge in the window seat on the landing between the first and second floor… One time I fell asleep in there for 20 minutes or so… my Mother and Meggie panicked when they couldn’t find me… but they finally figured it out when then saw Herschel curled up beside my hiding place.

I never did see Meggie have a conniption.  But when I got to the 7th Grade, our English Teacher Mr. Hirata got real pissed when Ken Wynne yawned in class.  In a blink Mr. Hirata winged a piece of chalk at Kennie; but he hit Marla Mogil by mistake.  Hirata was a helluva teacher; but he was a bad shot.  Maybe he was close to a conniption?  The incident put me in mind of Aunt Meggie who taught 8th Grade Science in Bridgeport.  Maybe she saved her real conniptions for the class room?

My story continues years later.  Both of my parents had passed on.  Uncle Saul had moved his game piece to the other side as well.  I went to visit Aunt Meggie in her home on the Cape.  She and Saul had bought a “retirement” house in Chatham… it perched on a small knoll that looked out on to the Atlantic.  I need to see water, it restores me.  I love my Aunt Meggie.  I went to satisfy both my need and my love.

Meggie was a repository for the “old stories”… and to hear the old stories re-told help fill in the ‘gaps’ in my understanding.  We usually chatted on the back patio.  This time the weather had turned bitter with nasty clouds forming over the ocean so we took our conversation inside, leaving the patio for another time.  There could be no better stage for Meggie’s stories than her den.  The room had the familiar pieces that made up the den in Woodbury. The standing globe, the Sharps buffalo rifle, the blue club chair and the famous hat rack… all fit nicely into the Chatham den.

But a piece was added.  The Queen Anne’s chair from Woodbury’s formal sitting room.  I couldn’t resist, “You know Meggie… Uncle Saul told me that if ever I sat in your Queen Anne’s chair you would have a conniption!”

“He told you that did he?”

“Yes.  And it scared the shit out of me.  I didn’t want to set foot in that room.  And I think I lucked out… I don’t think I ever saw you have a conniption.”

Meggie shook her head… and then smiled.  The smile turned to a chuckle, which then moved into a lengthy laugh.  “You know what would get me mad?  Real angry?  If someone called me Mirriam.”

“Mirriam?”

“That’s the name on my birth certificate: Mirriam.  You see, when I was in the 3rd Grade, my teacher, Miss Grudell didn’t like my name: Mirriam… so she changed it to Meggie.  She would only call me Meggie… and then all my classmates did it, too.  And what cinched the deal was when your Mother, who couldn’t pronounce ‘Mirriam’, started calling me Meggie.  Then that was that.  I was Meggie from then on… even in our home.”

Meggie paused.  The room fell quiet.  We both listened to the wind moving the chimes just outside the window.

“The only time I heard the name Mirriam was when my parents scolded me.  I hated it.  ‘Mirriam GO TO YOUR ROOM!!’  I couldn’t stand the name.”

“You know… it’s a really a pretty name.”

“Yes, I suppose so; but not if it is associated with punishment, derision and shame.  You know… one time your Uncle Saul called me Mirriam.  He knew I hated it.  We were standing in the kitchen.  We were having a discussion, and he called me Mirriam.  I got so mad.  I lost control and took a Spode tea cup and smashed it to the floor.”

She shook her head and allowed a small smile to take hold.

“The cup already had a chip in it.”

“Maybe that was an almost conniption?”

“Do you want to know from conniption?  I will give you conniption!  It was when Herschel lifted his leg on Saul’s precious blue club chair!  Oh my!  Saul had a conniption!”

We both laughed.  “Well… Meggie I’m not itching to see a conniption, I promise not to pee on the blue club chair… and to be safe I won’t sit on the Queen Anne’s either.” 

I glanced at my beautiful Aunt,  “It’s a shame about Mirriam, though.  Such a pretty name.”

When I talk with friends about life’s experiences and what we remember about family and growing up, I hear plenty about Uncles. “My Uncle taught me how to whittle wood.” “My Uncle took me fly fishing.” “My Uncle took me snow-shoeing.” “My Uncle taught me how to start a camp fire.”

At this point, I have to offer, “My Uncle taught me how to play Gin.”

Well… it’s true. Uncle Saul taught me how to play Gin. When other kids were learning the early lessons of casting or how to carve away from your hand, I was being instructed in the finer points of “four-of-a-kind” and “straight runs.” My hands were so small that it took both of them to hold all 10 cards.

The basics of the game aren’t hard. You have to accumulate cards in groups of no less than three. They can be all the same card – like 3 or 4 jacks, for example. Or in runs in the same suit – a 4,5,6 & 7 of Clubs, for example. You start with ten cards, arrange your hand appropriately into like cards or runs… and then begin drawing cards and discarding cards ’til your hand has 2 groups of three and 1 group of four before your opponent can do the same… upon completing this you say “Gin!” and you win the hand.

There’s more… “knocking” and “trash talking” among other things; but we’ll get to that in due course as my story unfolds.

My Father worked on Saturdays (except for the Summer), and sometimes for a change of pace Mom would take me up to Woodbury for the day to visit my Aunt and Uncle. Once Mom and Aunt Meggie went off for an afternoon of shopping and left me in the care of my Uncle Saul. We spent an hour or so outside the house raking leaves.  I loved to rake leaves… trying to create a pile worthy to jump into.  When Saul deemed that we had accomplished the task at hand we returned to the inside. The outdoor activity was merely a prelude for the more important activity to be pursued inside.

Uncle Saul cleared the table in the kitchen nook, took out a fresh legal pad, two sharpened pencils (one for keeping score, the other for doodling), and a deck of cards. He poured me a glass of milk and a glass of white birch beer for himself.

“OK, let’s see here.” He drew a line down the middle of the paper, “Jimmy. Uncle Saul. 25 points for gin, 10 points for under knocking. 200 points to win.  I’ll deal, and it will be your first pick.”

It took me longer to organize my hand. Uncle Saul knew this, he took a sip of his birch beer and began his doodle. Uncle Saul was a doodler. Aunt Meggie said, “a major doodler.”

“The knock card is seven.”

I was looking at a bad hand. Nothing is solid, no threes of a kind to begin, no runs of three. I do have the 3 and 4 of clubs, and the 6 and the 7 of clubs. Getting the 5 of clubs would be sweet.

“How’s school Jimmy?”

“OK.” Actually I hate school. This is an old story, and Uncle Saul knew this.  Uncle Saul discarded a 5 of spades and I blinked.

“Don’t blink Jimmy. It tells me that you needed the 5 of clubs. You have a club run because you passed on the 5 of diamonds.”

Nuts. I had a crummy hand. Saul knew I’m in a club run. And he reminded me how much I hated school. He had taken the advantage. He picked up my Queen of Diamonds discard. “Uncle Saul, I think I have a stomach ache.”

“Stomach ache? Nah! Maybe a little queasy because you have an open club run, you just gave me a present of the Queen of diamonds… you probably have other unattached face cards, I’m a card away from Gin… that’s why you have an ache.”

The stomach ache maneuver didn’t work as I had hoped. Saul had given me no sympathy. He picked up my Queen; but I thought he was speculating off the deck. I bet he was hunting for the Jack. I bet he had unattached face cards! If I could only draw the 5 of clubs off the deck!

“Uncle Saul… I bet Aunt Meggie is out spending a lot of money with my Mom.” Thinking back on it now… that was a low shot. But this was Gin, and Saul had taught me that you had to get an edge in the talk… particularly if you had a bad hand. He drew a card. No blink. He discarded a Jack of diamonds! OK, he wasn’t collecting a diamond run.

I drew a 10 of diamonds, scratch the card on the table and discarded it. Saul’s eyes lit up, picked up the 10, “Gin!!”

He was collecting Queens and 10s! “Let’s see… that’s 15, 21, 28, 34… and 25 for Gin! 59 for Uncle Saul! That’s a good start! I deal again!”

59, geeze… I just got killed on the first hand.  I had better cards on hand #2 and got some good draws off the deck.  I got antsy waiting for my Gin card to appear… and Uncle Saul kept drawing cards off the deck, re-arranging his cards with every draw.  I couldn’t wait any longer.  “I’m knocking with four.”

“Let’s see… I get to lay off my King of Hearts on to your Kings, the 9 of Spades goes to your Spade run… the 6 goes to your Diamond run.  There, four for the knock… that leaves 11.  Jimmy, 11.  You should have waited to go Gin, I had gornisht, you would have killed me!  You deal.”

Don’t ask me how.  I have always been a good shuffler of cards.  Not like I’m a shark or anything… but I could always shuffle a deck, even with small hands.  Other kids could run faster, smarter in school, handy with tools… I could shuffle cards.

“The knock card is 3.  Your pick Uncle Saul.  Ahhhh.  Uncle Saul picks up the lovely 3 of Hearts.  You always pick up low cards on the first pick.  Uncle Saul has 3s.”

“Just play, Jimmy.”

“That’s a good doodle Uncle Saul.  It looks like a Napoleon Cannon. I like the Civil War.  Uncle Saul doesn’t pick up the 4 of Hearts.  I knew he was collecting 3s!”

“It’s a 24 pound cannon.  You learn a lot in school.  Not into Kings this time?”

“I like books on the Civil War.  That and Dinosaurs.  If we learned good stuff like that in School maybe I wouldn’t hate it as much.”  I drew the deuce of spades to complete my Ace, 2, 3, 4 run.  I took the card, put it into my hand using my elbow to fit it snuggly into its proper place.  Saul taught me that… “Gin!! Ha-hoo!”

“You didn’t blink this time.  You’re learning.  You have my deuce!  Ach!  OK, you get five… hardly worth the trouble.  And watch the ‘ha-hoos.‘”

“Plus 25 for going ‘Gin.'”

“Plus 25 for Gin!  30… you’re getting closer!  OK, time for a snack.”

I would learn later that this ploy was meant to alter the momentum.  It’s like calling a time-out after your opponent goes on a 15-2 tear in basketball.  Saul felt I was getting a little too lucky.  Uncle Saul brought a greasy brown bag from the fridge and two small plates. He poured me another glass of milk, and poured himself a glass of milk, too.  From the brown bag he took out a white block of something.  He took out a sharp knife and cut off a healthy slab, divided that into two pieces, and placed one on each of our plates.

“What’s this Uncle Saul?”

“This Jimmy, is the staff of life.  It’s the perfect food!”

I smelled it.  “It’s doesn’t smell great.”  I touched it, “I doesn’t feel too good either, sorta oily. What is it?”

“Jimmy, this is halvah.  Nothing better.”

“What’s in it?”

“You don’t want to know.  This is the food of Kings!  Try some!”

“It’s sort of dry.  It’s sticking to the top of my mouth… like peanut butter.”

“That’s what the milk is for!  Have another bite… and have a good gulp of milk.”

I nodded, “Pretty good.”

“I bet they don’t give you this in school!”

Well, he got that right.  School lunches were the worst.  On that basis alone I would have to concentrate on this halvah stuff.  It had a strange fiberous consistency that I was getting used to (Ellen would say that it was like eating soap)… there was sweetness; but not an obvious sweetness.  And it made sense with the milk.  Filling, too.  “This is good, Uncle Saul.”

“Would I steer you wrong?  Jimmy, if you get trapped on a desert island and only had two foods, you could live well with only milk and halvah.  The New England Journal of Medicine wrote about it… it constitutes a perfect diet!  Now… let’s get back to the matter at hand… it’s your turn to deal.”

If you are curious… I didn’t beat Uncle Saul at Gin that afternoon.  He made a recovery after our snack break and took the next five hands and I went down to a sharp defeat.  I lost the next two games, too.  After the game he gave me his drawing of the 24 pound Napoleon.  I came across that drawing in a bunch of old papers a few years ago.

I don’t eat halvah all that much… but when I do I think of Saul.  I am not so sure about its health value.  Of this I am sure… that if you smear some halvah on your face, you can actually hear pimples growing.  And I tell you another thing: when I looked at Saul on the afternoon when he told me that stuff about the New England Journal of Medicine, he didn’t blink once.