Published: August 07, 2008 09:25 am         

In These Otsego Hills

We are happy to report that our mention of the fact that Erastus Bouton used to teach Latin is indeed the case. Alberta Bowes asked us about a week after the little piece about Erastus ran if we had heard anything else about it. We said we hadn’t although we thought Erastus’ nephew still lived in Fly Creek. Alberta called us later to report that she had spoken with Erastus’ nephew’s wife, Carol, who reported that indeed Erastus taught Latin somewhere in Sullivan County shortly after his graduation from Syracuse University. We thank both Alberta for her research and Carol for her information. Several weeks ago now, while in the midst of a sewing project, we were innocently pressing seams open when the cord on our iron caught on fire. We must say it was somewhat disconcerting to be holding an iron with flames blazing from the cord. Fortunately, we were able to blow the flames out and unplug the iron without any damage. The incident did, however, convince us that we might be well served to do an inventory of our irons.

We discovered we owned six irons. With the untimely death of the one we were using, we were down to five.

We then decided, without even testing them, that two more irons could be declared beyond their life expectancy. Thus we now have three irons in the garage, one completely dead and two questionable. This, of course, leaves us only three working irons, one for each ironing board and one just in case. Perhaps the wee-we is right, we do have too much stuff. The iron incident does, however, raise the question of whether irons can be recycled or are they considered to be garbage. We have not yet had time to investigate the possibilities so if anyone knows off hand we would appreciate a call or e-mail on the subject. And since the irons do not seem to be causing a ruckus in the garage, we think we will leave them there until we find out exactly what to do with them.

Last week as we were trudging to the post office to check a mailbox there, we noticed that someone had stuck what appeared to be a sticker originally found on merchandise on the post office’s handrail. Personally, we thought it rather uncalled for to stick such a sticker on public property, so we removed it. It was, we discovered, a sticker from a size 7- and-one-quarter fitted style cap purchased at a local establishment which shall remain nameless. After all, it doesn’t really matter where the cap was purchased. What does matter is that it seems to have been purchased by a completely thoughtless, if not to say rude, person. And while behavior modification is probably out of the questions in cases such as this, we would like to think that it might be possible for the local merchants to inquire at the time of a sale, if the purchasers of said merchandise would like to have any labels or stickers removed before leaving the store. It might seem to be a better choice than having such things stuck to handrails about town.

However, the stickers on the handrail pale in comparison with a recent lunch with a friend at a local pizza establishment. We drove into the parking lot of said restaurant on the heels of not one, but two, buses. Exactly why we proceeded into the restaurant escapes us at the moment. But we did, thinking either the buses only had drivers on them or we could beat the bus loads of people to the luncheon buffet. Our second thought turned out, in part, to be correct. The buses contained, in addition to the drivers, young boys who we assumed were from some camp somewhere. And while we did beat the bus riders in our initial pass through the buffet line, we had not thought to think of how incredibly noisy the experience would be. Conversation was difficult. And our friend’s attempt to get seconds on the pizza was nearly impossible. She did rise to the occasion however by arming not only herself, but the two unfortunate bus drivers, with spatulas and a plan that the three of them claim the next pizza that appeared on the buffet. And they were successful as they received a bit of help from a counselor who announced that the pizza in question was for the lady and the bus drivers. When we finally emerged from the restaurant, our friend said, “Listen to that!” We asked, “Listen to what?” “Exactly,” she said, “Just listen to the quiet.” Our recommendation would be to avoid restaurants with buses in the parking lot.

We are happy to report that our luncheon experience at The Porch at the Otsego Golf Club was a much more pleasant and relaxing experience. Dining on the wide porch with its view down the lake was absolutely delightful. The weather was divine and we quite enjoyed watching the golfers as they approached whatever green it was that we overlooked. All in all it was an experience we look forward to repeating again sometime soon. In closing, we fear that we must confess that we have been horrible stewards of a Mother’s Day Terrarium, which was given to us by the wee-we back in 1980. He made it as a kindergarten class project for Mother’s Day. For years the terrarium flourished. It traveled successfully from Grosse Pointe, Mich. to Cooperstown. There was a time when we actually had to trim the plants back as they were growing by leaps and bounds. However, sometime in the last few years, the terrarium fell on hard times. The plants started to die off. We made several less than successful attempts to revive them. But alas, the terrarium continued its decline which, unfortunately, was not helped this summer when we neglected to move it from the bow window in our family room to a less sunny spot. As a result, it appears we have successfully killed, by cooking we think, the one plant that was still hanging on. We are now left with the gallon glass jar, complete with hand painted screw on top, gravel and dirt and the little snail and frog statues that decorated the terrarium. We have considered asking the wee-we to replant the terrarium when next he is home. But we tend to think that he could no longer get his hand into the glass jar to plant anything. But not to worry. We will be keeping the jar, the dirt, the gravel and the statues just in case we figure out how to shrink his hand.

We remain,
In these Otsego hills,
The Ellsworths

The Ellsworths may be reached by mail at 105 Pioneer St., Cooperstown, N.Y. 13326, by telephone at 547- 8124 or by e-mail at cellsworth1@stny.rr.com.