TwoDaLoo

You can file this one under: Hey, why didn't I think of that? category.

"Retro" is in. Taking something from the past and modernizing it is the going thing now-a-days. Chevrolet is bringing back the Camaro and Dodge is bringing back the Challenger. Nostalgia is the new word.

When I was younger, I remember my dad talking about the outhouse (that was before they had indoor plumbing). He stated that the "in" folks had what was called a "two-holer". He talked about it in reverent and hushed tones — with a touch of envy in his voice. (Growing up in a family of 14 kids, I can see why.)



Not to be outdone by Chevrolet and Dodge. The plumbing folks have kicked in the ol' nostalgia and retrofitted the "two-holer" for modern times.


The TwoDaLoo is billed as the world's first toilet two people can use ... at the exact same time. It brings couples closer together and conserves our water supply all with one flush. The TwoDaLoo features two side-by-side toilet seats with a modest privacy wall in between. An upgraded version includes a seven inch LCD television and iPod docking station.

One year

It was one year ago today that my dad suffered a stroke. It has been an adjustment for him and us all.

His right hand still hangs to his side and he wears a brace on his right leg. He can walk a bit (with great effort) and with the aid of a walker. His speech is a bit slurred when he talks.

We tend to have the same conversations within a few minutes of each other, but that's okay. He's still my dad and I love him.

got milk?

As I related before, my grandfather had a dairy farm.…we on the other hand, had a cow. A single milk cow. We called her "Bossy" [and every milk cow we owned thereafter.]

My grandfather had the luxury of having electric milking machines. We milked ours the old fashion way…hands on. And whether you have several cows or just one, they all need to be milked twice a day — morning and night. Our cow produced 3/4 to one gallon of milk each time she was milked.

I know (if you’re like my kids) many of you think that milk comes in a carton that you get at the store. [When Bird was young I asked her that question and that was her answer.] End of story. And for some that is true. They have no clue as to where milk comes from. I, on the other hand, got my milk from the cow—no middleman was involved. Growing up there were none of those mamby-pamby multiple milk choices of 1%, 2%, skim, etc. There was only one choice at my house: 100% udderly delicious whole milk—with cream or without.

My dad was an “artist” at milking the cow. It seemed as though he could finish the job in 5 minutes flat. He used to entertain the neighbor kids by asking if they were thirsty. He’d tell them to open up their mouths, then proceed to squirt a stream of milk 15 or 20 feet at them. The neighbor kids were fascinated with the process. He would ask them if they wanted to help. He would hand them the cow’s tail and tell them to start pumping. The faster they would pump, the faster the milk would come out. Other times he would tell them if they pumped the cow’s tail then chocolate milk would come out. Never did get that one to work.

From time to time, whenever my dad was working out of town, the chore of milking the cow “fell into my hands” [no pun intended].

At age 10-11, your knee/leg muscles aren’t fully developed and it is very difficult to hold up the milk pail off of the ground between your knees as you’re concentrating on pulling at the “handles” on the udder. [hey, I’m trying to keep this a family oriented article.] First the closest ones, then the furthest, then the closest, and finish up with the furthest.

Often times, I would get tired and set the partially full bucket on the ground and try to finish up fast. A few times the cow would swish her tail and dried chunks of “foreign organic matter” would fall into the pail. I’d hurry and reach in and get it out as best as I could and figured “what you can’t see, can’t hurt you” with the rest.


When I was finished, I would take the warm fresh milk into the house and run it through a separator. It had a filter, two spigots, and a handle. You would pour the milk into a bowl at the top and as you cranked the handle (55 turns per minute) the centrifugal force would separate the milk from the cream.

Ah milk, it does a body good…and a little dried foreign organic matter from time to time didn’t hurt either.

Conversations on the phone

A while back, I had a reality check. Here is what happened. I was teaching a group of new apprentice linemen on construction standards. (Don’t tune out yet while I talk "shop".) We were talking about joint use (communication lines attached to the power poles) and I made reference to “Ma Bell” every now and then. One of the apprentices raised his hand.

Yes.

Who is this "Ma Bell" that you keep referring to?

AT&T.

Oh, you mean the cellular phone company that got bought out by Cingular. (And has since been bought out and changed its name back to AT&T.)

No. This was before cell phones ever existed. You may know them by the “Baby Bell” name they used for their regional company: MST&T (Mountain States Telephone & Telegraph) or Mountain Bell. Blank stares from the class.

How about, US West? More blank stares. Qwest?

Finally, some nodding heads of recognition. Boy, did that make me feel old.

Has it really been that long ago since AT&T (Ma Bell) was broken up by Congress? 1984 — I guess so.

Now, I am really going to go back into ancient history. Before cellphones and all of its craziness, I can remember when Mountain Bell owned all of the phones in your house. You only rented them. When you signed up for service, you picked up how many phones and what style you wanted to rent. The rotary phones were the “plain Janes”, then came “Princess” phones, and then touch tone.




Utah County was divided into 3 calling areas — North Utah County (Lindon, Pleasant Grove, American Fork, & Lehi), Central (Orem & Provo) and Southern (Springville, Spanish Fork, & Payson, etc). You could call toll free within the calling area, but it was long distance to call to the other areas.

Back then, you referred to your phone number as Sunset 5-2622. You only had to dial the five numbers if you were calling within your toll free area i.e. 5-2622. The “Sunset” designated the number as being in Pleasant Grove/Lindon. Some of the other cities I remember were: “Franklin” for Provo, “Academy” for Orem, and “Skyline” for American Fork. If you wanted to dial to a long distance area within the county, then you had to dial the first two letters of the call zone + the 5 digits i.e. a call from Orem to Pleasant Grove would be SU5-2622 or 785-2622.

As I mentioned, it was long distance to call from Lindon to Orem/Provo. When I was growing up, we had 2 white phones hanging on the wall side by side in our kitchen. My father worked in Orem and we lived four blocks away in Lindon. As a condition of his employment, he had to live in Orem because he was on call 24/7 and they needed to get in touch with him on an Orem line. He countered with the option that if he had an Orem phone line then would that suffice? (I’m certain that there was much more to it than that, but I was young and don’t know the details.) Anyway, they okayed it and my dad paid to have a line installed the four blocks from the Orem border to our house. Thus, the two phones. The one on the right was the Pleasant Grove/Lindon line and the one on the left was the Orem/Provo line. Needless to say, it was the topic of conversation whenever someone came into our kitchen for the first time and saw two exact same phones hanging side by side on the wall.

Why do you have two phones?

Oh, that. “His” and “Hers” of course. One for my dad and one for my mom.

Next history lesson: The demise of the typewriter. (What's a typewriter?)

Oxymoron

I’ve been learning the ins and outs of hospitals this past week. It all started last Monday afternoon when I got a call from mom telling me that my dad was suffering a mini stroke. (Now, that’s an oxymoron — mini stroke. There’s nothing mini about it and there’s not a more helpless feeling than when things are beyond our control.) His right side, arm and leg, were numb and useless, speech is okay. Anyway, we rushed him to the emergency room. Four hours later, he was admitted to the hospital. And that’s where he’s been until yesterday.

He was transported to the physical therapy and rehab center. There the therapists will work with him six to seven hours a day to try and get him functioning on his own again. He’s been living in a right-handed world his whole life and this is going to be a challenge for him to overcome; however, we’re optimistic about his progress.

Queen Of Them All

In his mid-twenties, my dad got a wild hair (to say the least). He entered the local Rodeo Queen contest dressed in drag. This was before the contest had the Q&A and luncheon parts. All it involved was riding your horse in the arena.

He had one of his sisters sign up, then he took her place in the contest. He wore a regular girl’s riding outfit including gloves and a right feminine-looking wig.

Overheard conversation from the judges:

1st judge: She certainly sits on a saddle well.

2nd judge: She sure is ugly.

1st judge: You're right, but she rides like the wind and outperforms all of the others. I’m picking her. Who are you picking?

2nd judge: I’m voting for her too…but…she sure is ugly.

And so the judges agreed, the contestant on the beautiful black horse was undoubtedly the winner. That is, they all agreed until the contestant threw off the wig and galloped out of the arena very obviously a young man. The judges had been had.

A quote from a September 1951 newspaper clipping states: This luscious number with painted lips and lacquered nails dashed into the arena on a shining black mount, displays charm and excellent horsemanship, gives the judges the glad-eye and gets ice stares from the other contestants.

Did I mention my father's birth order? He was a middle child…number 7 of 15.