There was a piece somewhere or other about how a writer made little notes to himself when he recollected a worthy emotion, and then he would refer to his votes when he finally got to his escritoire. In this way nothing escaped him, and he was always suplied with things on his shelf to write about. I never did that, but it seemed to me a spendid idea, and for a short time, now, I have been writing little notes to myself. I seem to have one problem: I am not sure just what some of my notes mean.
Here's one that says, "Does Michigan touch Lake E?" I find that Michign does touch Lake Erie, and am sure that is a good thing to know.
Here's note that the ABC news on the 7th of July said somebody had a degree but "it is honorary and not earned." Let me ask why the public should lend credence to a news service that would say anything like that? Anybody can get a degree by attending enough classes and passing in enough work, but when you see a doddering fellow stand up at his 64th commencment and get an honorary degree that he should have had 35 years ago, you are witnessing the true "earning" of a degree. Enough about that.
Does anybody remember the very early radio station of the Edgewater Beach Hotel in Chicago that sent personal messages to the folks in the far North? The factors and guardians and trappers and what-all who were at places like Pond Inlet would tune in that station in the wee hours, and their families back in civilization could have short letters to them read over the air. "Here's one for Corporal Thad MacPhee at Cape Columbia: Hello Mac, trust you are keeping warm. Father has the wheat in. Mother is going to visit with Auntie Jane for a week. Baby Bouncer has a new tooth. Lots of love from all. See you in June."
We used to sing a nursery ditty that went up and down the eight notes of the scale: Her lover was a handsome brute He worse a seven dollar suit.
My first suit cost $14. It had a vest and two pairs of pants. It was made in Cleveland, Ohio, and came by parcel post. Harvey Tuttle, who was agent for the tailoring firm, came to the house and measured me. The $14 included my choice of either a belt or galluses, but I can't remember which I took.
There's phonograph record on the TV that is called "I dreamed of a Hillbilly Heaven." You can send i your money to the address given, but the voice says, "Please allow four to six weeks for delivery." It occurred to me, and I made a note to that effect, that if I ordered any such a thing, I'd prefer to wait even longer than that.
Here's note about the Englishmen that heard the riddle: What does a golf ball do when it stops rolling? Answer: It looks 'round. So he asked somebody the riddle, and his answer was, I say, it gazes about, you know. Under this note is another: Golf tourn on TV, seventeen consecutive putts missed. I could miss seventeen in a row, too.
This note says: President's Council on Physical Fitness: ". . . one out of three are." I have no idea what I was supposed to do with that when I finally got to my desk, but losing the thought that way makes me think of Barney Smith, one of my Latin professors. When he lectured about Pliny the Elder, he always added, "He also wrote a history of the Germanic Wars in 40 volumes which, fortunately, have been lost."
Unfortunately, my notes gathered and everybody can see the advantages of writing little notes to yourself if you're a writer. This last one, which says butter, eggs, cheese, milk, molasses, ginger, black olives, puzzled me until I noticed it is not in my handwriting.