“I’ve a Story to Tell…”

By Bill Borel

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Crown Center Gingerbread Village, Kansas City, Mo. (Picture by C. Hedge)

(Headed off to a Christmas party?  Need a poignant story to share midst eggnog and presents, when we seem smothered in affluence?  Here’s a sweet reminder of the bigger picture.)

A story to be told to a small gathering of friends at Christmas.

It was turning dark as the little girl left the school.  She had stayed in the library until Mrs. Shuster had to lock up.  Then she spent the rest of the time helping Karl, the janitor empty trash cans.  When it was time for him to lock up and go home, he gave the girl his paper lunch bag that still contained a peanut butter sandwich, an apple, and a chocolate Santa.

She had a long way to walk to her home and the night was getting colder.  She wrapped her thin jacket around her and walked on the sidewalk under the lamp posts.  As she walked, she looked at the brightly lit houses with Christmas trees showing in many of the windows.  She thought of the people who lived there, but not about the parties or the presents they would be having. At the next corner she saw some of her classmates coming towards her a couple of blocks away.  She crossed the street and walked in the dark so they wouldn’t see her. But Billy did. He left his friends to cross the street and to wish her a happy Christmas and to say, “I’ll see you next year when school starts.”

Now the sidewalks had stopped so she walked along the side of the road until she came to the house where she and her dad lived.  She hoped he would not be there.  The house had belonged to her mother but she had passed away several years ago and her father had let the house go.  They had running water but the electricity had been turned off.  She entered through the door and realized she was alone in the house.  She found her favorite blanket, folded herself into the sofa and ate the lunch Karl had given her.  Soon the cold was too much so the girl found her way in the dark to her bedroom.  She tried to sleep but was unable.  Her cough and the cold kept her awake.  She didn’t know how long she waited until she heard her father stagger in the front door.  He looked in to see she was there but she pretended to be asleep.  He went into the bathroom and then disappeared into his bedroom where he passed out.  She cried, shivered, and let out a deep breath.

It was only a little time later that she was awakened by someone coming into her bedroom.  The person seemed to be carrying a soft light but she couldn’t see any lantern.  He came to her, told her not to be afraid, and she wasn’t.  He touched her and her body turned warm.  He said,” I want you to come with me. I want to show you a happier world.”  He took her hand and they seemed to fly without flying until they were high above the town.  She could see the lights and hear the music.  The angel showed her happy families and warm fireplaces.  He took her to see a sleeping Karl and he gave him a dream so he wouldn’t be sad.

And now, he has brought her here, to our party.  She sees how happy we are and she tells the angel, “They should tell each other how they feel.  They should shake the hand of the person next to them and say to that person, “Thank you for being my friend.”

The angel said, “I hope they will do that. I hope they will do that now.” (Do so! Ed. )

But the angel wasn’t there to take her to heaven.  He was there to show her what her life will be.  The next day her mother’s sister came to take her away to her home in San Diego.  Her father had asked the girl’s  aunt to come for her; and he even managed to put himself together once  a year  to visit his daughter.  She remained friends with Karl and eventually married Billy.

The End.

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Repost: Christmas Cookies

By Catherine Hedge

Cookies 2012!!

(I just finished doing this all over again.  The house smells wonderful, cookie crumbs are everywhere, and mailing boxes litter my front room.  I thought you might enjoy this repost that describes why I go through this every year!  Merry Christmas!)

Cookies 2012!!

Back in 1971, I was a broke college student.  We were having a BIG Christmas with my family of seven plus our boyfriends, grandmothers, and a whole bunch of favorite cousins coming from Canada.  I was frantic, knowing that there was no way I could afford to buy even cheap gifts for so many.  So what was the solution?  Make Christmas cookies.

I stayed up until six in the morning as it was the only way I could have the kitchen to myself. I made rolled anise cookies from six to eight inches long.  For each person, I created a design that I thought was perfect. I remember I gave my brother Chris a guitar, brother Bill a tin soldier, sister Francie a golden trumpet, and my Grandma Borel, a big red heart.  I think sister Celeste had a ballerina. Each was glazed with egg white mixed with food coloring which made vibrant enamel-like colors.  I wrote names on little tags, made hangers of curled wrapping ribbon, and hung the cookies on the tree.  All 18 of them.  I sat alone in the front room admiring them for a quarter hour before I collapsed into bed.

There was only one thing I forgot.

Everyone would awaken Christmas morning and head straight to the celebration around the tree.  They’d gleefully rip open presents, run to hug the givers, laugh, weep…all the while, their stomachs growling from hunger.   Mom would make sourdough pancakes and bacon, but not right away.

Now I know what it must have been like in the 1930’s when locusts devastated the fields of Kansas.  A roar erupted as siblings and cousins received the, “Okay, come on down!” from my parents.  They thundered down the stairs and I ran to join them.

I guess I expected to see everyone standing mesmerized by the artistic magnificence of my night’s labor.  Instead, all I saw was the quivering tree as a dozen pairs of hands grappled for the treats.  Someone exclaimed, probably my Auntie Ann, “Why, aren’t these pretty?”  But mostly, I heard crunching and munching.  Horrified, I watched my grandmother nibble away at her cookie.  The whole time, she was exclaiming, “Oh, this is so pretty! (Chomp) I really shouldn’t be eating this! (Chomp)…”

I stood frozen, doing everything I could with my twenty-year-old face to keep from crying.

I can’t remember if it was Mom or Dad, but one shouted, “Wait! Let’s at least look at them first!  I distinctly remember the silence as the hoard stopped mid-bite.  Whether it is my imagination wishing things had turned out differently or if it was real, I remember my siblings and cousins showing off their fancy cookies.  Legs and heads were missing and Grandma held up one-third of a heart.  I think the only whole one was the couple with their arms wrapped around each other.  The one I made for my parents.

Yes, it’s become one of Mom’s favorite Christmas stories, but at the time, it was awful!

You’d think I would have learned my lesson, but I’m still making cookies and sending them to my family.  That’s because there is one thing that is still the same as that very first night.   While I’m covering the table with clean papers, creaming butter and brown sugar, and dabbing a spot of vanilla behind my ear (a trick from my Grandma Hedge)   I imagine my brothers and sisters and parents and children and sweetheart around the table.  I see my son Joey asking for “Heavenly Hash.” My brother-in-law Clay waits for chocolate chip cookies with pecans while Celeste, his wife, wants them without.  Bill and Scott reach for peanut butter, as does Francie.  Hot out of the oven. Plain, criss-crossed with a fork.  Chris and Sharon, my daughter Amy, and Mom chomp on little pfefferneuse.   Dad isn’t with us anymore, but his spirit is the only one that can really be with me.  Every time I burn some a bit, I feel him leaning over my shoulder saying, “Save that one for me.”

I imagine my family way out in California, opening the packages.  I can almost hear them exclaim gleefully, “They’re here!  It’s Christmas now!” Then I know that they know that I love them.

That hasn’t changed from that first morning, either.

Merry Christmas, Everyone!  Love, Cathy

©Catherine Hedge 2012

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Thankful for Words of Wisdom, Part 2

Thankful for Words of Wisdom, Part 2.

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Get That Novel Going!

Get That Novel Going!.

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Book Release: A Carpathian Folk Song: Freedom, Love, Gold

Book Release: A Carpathian Folk Song: Freedom, Love, Gold.

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Words

Words.

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Repost: Opening Gifts

By Catherine Hedge

Today, I made significant progress in a novel revision and cookie making…two priorities in my life!   I decided to repost an old piece, knowing that you are all in the middle of holiday preparation.  (Hence…cookies!)  I hope you’ll enjoy this piece intended to remind us of the great gifts we have to offer the little ones we love!

Happy Holidays!   Cathy

Brother Bill, Little Sister Celeste, and Me (in red, of course!)

By Catherine Hedge

One of the greatest elements of being a significant part of children’s lives is that you get to watch them open “gifts.”  Not new plastic whiz-bangs from the latest video game, pop band paraphernalia, or pajamas from Grandma… I mean the gifts that are the very essence of an individual.

When you spend creative time with a child, you may witness that indelible moment when he or she uncovers a true talent or passion.  You can see it happening.   Perhaps you are playing together, dancing, doing schoolwork, running laps, plinking on the piano, spotting an owl, or digging in the dirt.  There are a million possibilities. But at the crucial instant of discovery, the child stops, frozen, and silent.  Sometimes he’ll hold his breath or she will gasp.  All his or her concentration focuses on the realization, “Hey! I’m really good at this!”

After that they will return to their normal selves and giggle, run around crazily, or chase the dog.  However, in the hours and days that follow, the repetition begins.  A hundred times you’ll get asked to throw the Frisbee.  Every night for weeks, you’ll have to clear the crayons off of the dinner table.  You’ll hear them read Pat The Bunny until the fur is rubbed off.  And you’ll grind your teeth and think, If I hear Fur Elise one…more…time!

But if the child in your life is lucky, you’ll be patient because he or she is taking the first step towards becoming unique.

Like gathering a bouquet of wildflowers, we collect pieces of evidence that we can think, sing, draw, dance, run, observe, invent, entertain, write, act, cook, remember, or imagine.  Then, we are no longer just one of seven billion others crawling across this planet.  We feel we are someone special because there is something we can do and do well.

When we were kids, my mom was always volunteering the five of us for some performance.  She was usually the president of a club.  When the Christmas show came around, she’d put us to work.   Being naturally shy, I hated it, but Mom would always say, “You have to because you have a God-given talent.” She made us feel that having an ability also meant having responsibility.

Even though I hid behind my cardboard pea pod in the Thanksgiving pageant and my little sister balleted around as an adorable pea, I still remember my feeling of satisfaction…perhaps relief…when it was done.  Yes, my mother forced me into it, but I made it happen.  Me with my front teeth missing, rag-curled hair, and freckles…I was the one who walked up on stage and said my lines.  Though it was not my passion or future, it was one building block of me.  I could be in front of others without collapsing.  So, I guess, after all, I have to thank Mom and the Moose Lodge for my happy career teaching middle schoolers.   Thanks, Mom.

So…when you’re worried about shopping for that perfect gift, know that you already have it.  It’s you.  With your knowledge, curiosity, time, and patience, maybe you’ll be the one to see that first painting, hear the first song, or find that first fossil with the ones who create our future.

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Round Three: The Last Words…”We Are A Good Team, Bro!”

By Bill Borel and John Borel

(The continuing saga of two fine brothers rediscovering they are two fine brothers while running after little white balls.   Please note: These letters were also written lovingly to two patient wives:  Danelle Borel and Phyllis Bader-Borel.  I imagine they’ll be hearing these stories forever! )

Bill:  6th day….As everyone knows, the fourth day together can get old. Funny quirks become irritants. The question, “Why did you do that?” becomes a reason to question one’s manhood. But on the 6th day, laughs replace sneers and the golf battle becomes reason to join forces and best the common enemy, the golf courses. Here is the most common view of John trying to find something.1112130624

John:  Day 6  We were beat to a pulp after playing two rounds of golf yesterday, but we really aren’t the worse for wear. We didn’t even try to go to the hot tub or swim pool afterwards. Just sat on our balcony and ate up the snacks in the frig, and listened to all of the goings on at this place. Someone was cooking steak and burned them. Gaa!

Of course, I think Bill is getting annoyed with me. He accuses me of picking fights, whereas I am merely attempting to impart some wisdom. On the golf course, he told the couple we were playing with that mother would have frowned on the bad shots I was making, or something like that. I forget what was said, actually. But I assure you he is trouble. Perhaps this sibling competition has gone too far?

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Joshua Tree National Park

Our second game was played at a course that wound through a huge development called Cathedral City. We had to travel miles of roads between holes, following little signs. It took a lot of guesswork. And the scores weren’t too good. In fact, Bill stopped keeping score, and I had a 112 in that second game. (I had a 102 in the first game, but we were given a really nice free lunch there.) I had to pay him $4, but he picked up the $5 tip.  Hmmm. I guess that means I paid most of the tip, but he also tipped the ball boy. This morning we’re off to Joshua Tree National Park and then, you guessed it, more golf in the afternoon.

John: November 14.  Hi, these are some photos of Hidden Valley in Joshua Tree National Park (where rustlers used to hide their contraband cattle) as well as a couple of photos of Bill and me. I’m not sure what he is doing in the golf course. We’re both tired- I was too tired to shop for dinner, but my hunger drove  me on. We didn’t even bet on the game today. We were just trying to survive. I had a score of 106. We went to the hot tub after dinner. We’re going to play two rounds of golf again tomorrow. We may go out to dinner, because we’re running out of food. The sunrises and sunsets have been beautiful, and we keep seeing exotic birds.photo f

John: Day 7 – early morning golf at Tahquitz, my worst game ever. We stopped keeping score. We blamed it all on the May-December couple we were playing with, who were racing around the course like maniacs, the older, successful businessman trying to impress the cute blonde…causing all kinds of mayhem as they raced in front of us while we were in the act of shooting. Most of the time we felt invisible. For both of us, it was probably the worst pairing with other golfers ever (along with being a pretty pitiful performance on our part). Fortunately I found more balls than I lost. Bill and I had time for breakfast and a Bloody Mary before the next group behind us came in. The Ranger had stopped to talk to us twice to say we were setting a speed record.

The natural environment here is special. Today, before our second round , at Cimarron Golf course, we sat on the veranda downing some soft drinks and watched a fox run across the golf course , perhaps checking out the rabbits. Migrating birds dot the fairways. A hawk flew over our car this morning.
And a postscript : after our second round, at Cimarron, one of the nicest couples we have ever played with – two days ago – came out on the veranda and we all enjoyed a beer together. They had been playing just behind us. What fun. Strange though, the golf the course restaurants and bars here shut down after the last golfer has come in. The door locked, and we left our glasses on the veranda. But what beautiful sunsets and sunrises.

Second postscript. Bill will write about this, but we figured it out – too late. The couple above wanted to leave us in the dust, but we were too rushed to even realize it. We should have told them to go ahead.

81° Sunny
Tahquitz Creek Golf Resort, Palm Springs, CA, United States

 John Borel:  We are free ! We are free! We will be making a lot of strokes today, but we’re a bit worried about the Big Stroke. Two rounds today, again, in 80+ temps. There’s no reason we can’t improve our golf and still have fun. We’ve been perfecting our bad swings, grooving our muscle memory. We’re having fun! We’re Free! We’re living our fantasies. It all reminds me of the joke about the poor golfer who can’t hit over a certain ravine. So he puts down an old ball on the tee but a voice comes out of the heavens and says “Use a new ball!’ He doesn’t see anyone, but he figures it must be providence and puts down a new ball. “Take a practice stroke” the voice says. So he dutifully takes a practice stroke and then lines up again to hit the ball. “Take a second
practice stroke ” the voice says. So he takes a second stroke. Then the voice returns, “Use the old ball. ” Well, that’s how our golf has gone. The moral here is that all of this golfing hasn’t changed anything. Intensive golf (9 rounds in 7 days) does not seem to improve our games. But we have given it our best shot.
Today we did play two rounds. And we have waited all week for two things – a birdie and a game in the low 90s. Today we got both. I scored a two on a par 3 for our first swig of brandy. And Bill’s score was 92. at Cimarron golf course. (I had a 102). Yes, we’ve had our troubles, but we have lived our fantasy. Golf, golf , golf. We don’t even think about food. And, yes, we aren’t great golfers. We either make old mistakes or invent new ones. These golf courses have been tough, but so are we! Me

48° Clear
84035–84037 Terra Lago Pkwy, Indio, CA, United States

John: November 15   It’s our last day. Friday. I’ve been reading this bad book all week. … But I’ve been tired after a day of golf and a couple of drinks. So, for example, last night when I finally hit the sack at 12:30 and picked up the book, I didn’t read one word. I woke up at 4:00 AM with the light on and the book beside me in bed. The book is only 275 pages long. I think I’m near the end. I know I can finish it.
We’ve finished our last game of golf at Eagle Falls, one of the most difficult but most beautiful courses we’ve seen. I like to learn something new every day, and I learned two things today.

One: I now have a much better idea of how to measure the difficulty of a golf course. I could probably get hired as a course rater.

And two: I am getting a better understanding of how to tell when I am tired. (I. E. I had no patience for grocery shopping yesterday, and I usually love to do it ; today on the golf course I went through a period of not being able to hit the ball. I lost six or seven, can’t remember, and had to pick up twice when my score got above 8 for a hole. )
My score was 111.

But we were playing with a very nice couple. She was as good as he was. Another Canadian couple, who live here four months of the year. He noted that golf is 90 percent mental, and the other 10 percent is also mental. Well, it was a beautifully landscaped course to play; pristine water, lush green fairways, desert jungles for roughs and deep, white bunkers to trap you wherever you are playing. We have this last evening and then our great adventure is over. More later.
Love ,
John

61° Sunny
Indio, CA, United States

Bill:  Day 9, sitting in a motel somewhere between Indio and Seattle on a day that started at 2 AM.

The idea of a brother reunion was hatched at a mini family reunion in Zion National Park 5 or 6 years ago. We both love golf and love to compete with each other. That is why we made it a golf week.

We didn’t know what to expect. We have only seen each other every four or five years, and only at family events. I left Arcata in1961, and he joined the Peace Corps to find many adventures around the world and he settled in New York. As kids we competed, but we were friends even though Mom always protected him. As kids John taught me many of the things I have used in life; and I always hoped to follow his example of experiencing as much as possible in life. I was lucky to be part of the renegades Mom called, “Oh, those last three, May, John and me.

But after all those years, and having different career and family paths, would we be able to survive in a competitive environment for a week? Would an off hand remark be cause for concern or harsh words, or even anger. Well, yes, of course. But it wasn’t. After 50 years we resumed the same relationship of friendly competition we had as children. The only difference being he couldn’t take advantage of my youth like he did when I was 10 and he was 14.

John has done a yeoman job of updating Pen in Hand and I have little of the daily events to add. We met incredibly nice couples (because we were a twosome we always were matched up with man and woman couples…almost all married couples). The one exception was a rude couple who raced around the golf course in record time and treated us as ghosts. It was only in our analysis over a beer after the game that John and I realized they were trying to get rid of us. Speculating why that would be, we considered the elderly looking rich guy was afraid his Viagra would wear off before he could get his young girl friend back home. Bad of me, I know.

I think Anna, the wife in the couple we played with on our last game summarized us best. She and her husband, Rick, were obviously very wealthy and travel around the world playing golf. But we had a great time with them. They were our best partners of the week, laughing at bad shots and giving compliments on good ones. On the 16th hole John and Rick had short drives to the left side of the fairway and Anna and I were standing by our carts on the right. Suddenly she put her hand on my shoulder, looked me in the eye, and said, “You are the nicest people we have ever played with.”  Not, “One of the nicest,…the nicest”. I felt humbled and honored.

We are a good team Bro.

Ps, she also said our wives are very lucky. It’s True 🙂

John:  Saturday morning, November 16,

Our adventure is over, and Bill and I both agree it could not have been more perfect. No illness or serious problems here or at home, no untoward incidents, only a few funny Borel genre mistakes, typically variable golf, beautiful weather, many unforgettable moments and lots of love. I give full credit to Bill for this crazy idea of writing contributions for Cathy blog, and you can also give him full blame for making you, our imaginary readers, wade through it. And thank you, Cathy, for making this possible to share with others. If we had tried to take notes and pen a story it wouldn’t have happened.

Bill is the best of brothers and the best of persons. Also he’s a better golfer than me, and he actually improved his golf during the week. Mother is up there smiling down on her two aging, sporty sons. And I finished my bad book; Bill found the word to describe it when I read him a paragraph: juvenile! And he was right on…but I did get a new appreciation of the life of spiders (lots of discussion of insects in this mystery “thriller”, and the bad guy gets stung to death by hornets. He’s allergic, and that’s also the solution to the mystery.) In retrospect I realize I may have starved a spider to death when I kept destroying his web in front of our door. Phyllis warned me not to bring my book home, but I couldn’t bear to leave it behind. One of the funniest stories on our golf trip came from a couple who said she knocked a nest of fire ants from a sand trap onto her clothing, and she couldn’t get rid of them until she got home. Well, dear reader, that’s about it. Thanks for sticking with us. I’m on my plane home to Saratoga Springs, and Bill is on his long drive to Seattle. Thank you.

John:  PS: When I got home, I was telling Phyllis about all of our interesting conversations.. Phyllis asked me an interesting question: “What did you talk about? ” I realized we hadn’t really put that in our blog. Our answer would take a book, and I didn’t really want to put all of that in the blog. It was a conscious decision. But suffice it to say, we talked about anything and everything; like we were joined at the hip. I’m the Time Bandit and tended to talk about and analyze the day’s events. Bill is the Shapeshifter and poses piercing –alright – pushy questions, which drove long deep conversations over a beer or scotch or wine about things that aren’t often talked about like mother, prostate cancer, politics, religion, sex, God, and opera. (I tried to tell him he should just try it.). We’d sit on the balcony watching all the kids and their parents cavorting around in the hundreds of pools and hot tubs, and if we had to we’d call our wives for information we were lacking. Turns out both of us had problems remembering anything, so you can imagine how interesting those conversations must have been. Se la vie.

52° Mist and Fog
Saratoga Springs, NY, United States

Bill:  Wrap up

So Dear trouble making niece, I see John suggested I do a wrap up of our conversations other than jokes and golf. I think we have taken too much of your space and maybe of your time so I will make this short…or at least as short as I can…by topics.

Family: On the fourth or fifth night we finally delved into the bottle of scotch and proceeded to love our siblings. We are so proud of them: Mary, the exciting intellect and undeniable leader of the pack. Ann, a woman ahead of her time, particularly on the environment and volunteerism. Joan, the consumate mother and wife, and adventurer. Gene, as good as it gets and no one loved our family more. May, unquestionably the most popular of all the Borels: pretty, smart, loyal, teacher and mom. And John and me, the competitive but best friend brothers.

God and religion: I think it was wine this night, but we did delve into the hereafter. And it is fitting we did not try to define God or the lack of God. Although a strong scientific case can be made humans are an accident of nature, there occur some unscientific events that do open the possibility of a force, or forces, that we simply cannot understand. And late into the evening we agreed to look at the act of dying as an opportunity to find ultimate knowledge.

Politics. We didn’t need anything to drink to discuss our frustration with our government and with the greed of those who control it. We know the only way this country can endure is to elect a government more concerned with the middle class and education than concentrating on tax benefits and laws for the wealthy. And we have a solution. It has never been suggested before to our knowledge, and we know it would take a constitutional amendment by the people to enact it because the politicians will hate it and fight it. I am prepared to give you, Cathy, a full description of this idea but not in this blog. But I am not trying to be secretive. The basic principle is campaign contributions can only come from individuals (humans only) who are in the immediate jurisdiction of the candidate. …The political parties can match the funds raised by the candidate, but not more. I know this idea is too big, but if it is a good idea it might start on your blog. We have to get the money out of politics.

Thank you again for giving us this opportunity to express ourselves. It has been a lot of fun.

©2013 Bill Borel and John Borel

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A Half World Away, A Half Century Gone: Afghanistan and President Kennedy

(As we honor the passing of President Kennedy, memories of that time become crystalline sharp.  We thought you might find touching reminiscences of one of the earliest members of the Peace Corps in Afghanistan. )

By John Borel

No Mountain Too High...Uncle John and Aunt Phyllis at Machu Picchu

No Mountain Too High…Uncle John and Aunt Phyllis at Machu Picchu

I was a Peace Corps Volunteer in Afghanistan 1963-65,  remaining another two years as director of the bi-national Fulbright Program in Afghanistan.   I had seen President Kennedy in a car caravan in San Diego.  (I was editor of a weekly newspaper, the Arcata Union, in Northern California). I was impressed with his call for a national volunteer service.  I had always wanted to experience other lands and cultures.

I happened to interview a girl going to Columbia with the first group of volunteers. She assured me that the volunteers did not have to know the language, they would be given instruction. That was enough for me.

I applied and was accepted for Afghanistan, training in Washington, D.C. During training I met Senator Hubert Humphrey and Bill Moyers. Our physical trainer, a refugee, had been the coach of the Hungarian Olympic team.

I arrived in Kabul in June 1963. I was assigned to teach ESL at Habibia college, actually the premier high school, where my students included the King Zahir Shah’s two sons, an eighth grader and eleventh grader.  I also coached basketball there, and was a member of a five-man team that marched in a parade and played the University of Kabul during their national independence celebration.

On November 22, 1963 I was walking to school when one of my students ran down the street to meet me and called out, “Your  President Kennedy has been shot!”  I was shocked. At the time Afghanistan seemed to be at the other end of the world.  It amazed me that the world had become a village already, and news had traveled so fast.

Later on, I was hiking in Nuristan, a remote part of Afghanistan and some shepherds sitting around a campfire pointed up at a satellite.  They told me it was America’s astronaut, Neil Armstrong.  They had heard it on shortwave radio.  That blew
my mind.

Another time I was working in Kandahar for the winter and was taken to Kabul by Sargent Schriver, the Peace Corps Director, who whizzed through to visit the Afghan program.  At the time, it was directed by Robert Steiner, who became one of the top administrators in Washington, and with whom I am still friends. I was a member of the second group to go to Afghanistan. We were a group of 26. The first group had nine members. When Schriver flew into Kandahar to pick us three volunteers up to bring to Kabul, he had not slept in 20 hours, and I don’t know when he did ever sleep.

(Addendum:  Uncle John along with Phyllis, his wife,  continues as a world traveler fascinated by other cultures.  I have on my shelf a beautiful indigo blue hand blown glass.  With great sadness, Uncle John told me that it is an example of a technology that disappeared in Afghanistan after the Taliban rule.  I hope it has been reclaimed.  C. Hedge)

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Round Two: Fighting for Our Mother’s Love…and for Golf Supremacy

 By Bill and John Borel

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Taking up arms in Paradise, Escena Golf Course
John and Bill Borel

(The continuing saga of two brothers battling rattlesnakes, road runners, and each other for eternal glory…or something like that.)

John:    Sunday, November, 10.

Here we are at Indio, which is seeming more and more like paradise. 80 degree temps, sun and beautiful golf courses. As I always used to say, this is the life. We tried to go to Joshua Tree National Forest today, but turned back when we discovered we were going west and the national park was east. Went 40 miles out of our way.

We played at Eagle Falls course today with a Canadian couple, who also were real golfers. They were very friendly and accepting of our pitiful imitation of golfers.

I lost my 5 iron on some hole (it was cart paths only, and you had to carry extra clubs out on the fairway. Since I can only count to five, I must have accidentally carried six clubs out and just left it.) Fortunately, some golfers behind us found it and brought it to us just before we were going to leave that golf course forever.

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Escena Golf Course, Photo by John Borel

The course was absolutely beautiful. Set in the middle of a desert. There were signs everywhere “Beware of rattle snakes in this area.” Made you a little afraid of looking for all of those lost balls. Losing the 5 iron was bad and that was a cause for mirth from everyone..”Why don’t you use your 5 iron on that shot, John?”

But I was having a good day and actually beat Bill, although he has not yet paid me the $6 he owes me. He put up a fierce fight, I have to say. He says he won’t give me a handicap tomorrow. He really isn’t terribly fair. I hope Cathy notes that in her blog. Gotta go.

I hear him getting near. Next time we will discuss our political views. By the way Danelle , I may have been mistaken…it may have been me (moi) who leaves things around messily.

Bill: Day 5 AM before golf

Day 3 golf went as planned. I won and pocketed the full prize money of $6 by winning front, back, and overall. I am not sure it is really winning when I had to buy the beer which cost $10. But there is a new scary development. John has improved his game. Had it not been for an attempt to mimic Keegan Bradley, an obnoxious pro golfer, he might have won the back nine. He did do a good impression of him though.

Since we are without our wives, food has been, “So what shall we eat tonight?” when it is 8 PM. I introduced John to In N Out, double doubles, which helped him solve his cramping stomach problem. This might have been a mistake because he might be able to concentrate on golf now.

And so it was. There is no way to describe golf Sunday but a total massacre. And since we played a golf game, which is appropriately called “skins game”, he left parts of my skin everywhere on the course. They will find me buried in sand traps, hanging from the scrub oak, under replaced divot holes, and probably being used as camouflage by the local rattlers. To add insult to injury we are playing a course named Cathedral Canyon in Cathedral City. I am glad we are not playing any courses named Tombstone. So, it is 5 am and we will be off and running soon. Catch you later if I have any dignity left.

John:  November 11, 6:32 A.M.   We haven’t talked about the effect on other people of seeing the two gray haired Borel brothers approaching. Bill has an infectious way about him and gets them smiling. In fact many times they start laughing at our approach. Even on the phone they start laughing. It is wonderful to have this kind of impact. Especially the golfers that we play with. They just laugh and laugh. Bill is afraid sometimes that we embarrass ourselves with a bad shot now and then. But I tell him my shots are bad all of the time. And who cares anyway? We’ll never see them again.

He has worked some wonders. He called a golf course and was told a fairly high greens fee. So he asked if they could do any better. The guy dropped the price by $20. Perhaps he was taking pity on us in advance.

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Escena Golf Course Photo by John Borel

John:  Nov. 11, 2:09 pm

We have just finished this beautiful course and are sitting down for lunch at their clubhouse. Soup and salad for me. Bill and I played with another really good golfer, a volunteer Marshall at this course.  He was a chatty fellow and a lot of fun.  We tied on the front nine, but Bill won the back nine. I was a bit off today, but I hope to get a second wind tomorrow….Absolutely beautiful place, set against the mountains.

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Escena Golf Course

Subject: Lunch companions

John: 3:15 Nov. 11.   We were joined for lunch by this roadrunner at the Escena golf course. He posed for us. Bill also convinced me (Mr. Gullible) that Reese Witherspoon is sitting down at the end of the veranda. But then he confessed that Danelle gets after him for mistakenly identifying movie stars and other celebrities who are in reality just people like you and me. That’s him in the picture. You can tell from his glasses.

John:   We played Escena golf course today. It was beautiful. But we were bushed at the end. The good-natured fellow who played with us, a volunteer Marshall at the course (who gets free golf in return) was very good. He advised us against playing  two rounds of 18 holes because of the heat. However, we are stubborn and are determined to play two rounds tomorrow. Anyway, we have already booked it. Bill beat me 102 to 100, winning  $4, but he bought me lunch at the golf course. That’s where we saw the roadrunner on the next table. I mean the bird, that roadrunner. photo b

We came back to the resort and went to the hot tub after a couple of beers (no dinner, just snacks tonight ) Believe it or not, we saw a stork here at the resort.  When we went to the spa, everyone else left. Maybe our charm is wearing off. We still plan to talk politics. My contribution is to publicize my sister Mary’s idea about football. In the old days when our dad was a star football player, they wore soft helmets and no one got concussions. Duh!  Nowadays, the players’ heads are protected by titanium? helmets, and they have no fear, no compunction about using their head as a battering ram. Don’t you think they would be more careful if they wore soft helmets? Soccer players don’t get concussions.  Well, that’s my two bits.

Bill:  Day ????, We played Escena so it must be Monday. Another great course and a third time hooking up with someone nice. We are having trouble with our image. Everyone says they enjoy playing with us…except the guy today was concerned about taking our picture because he gets squeamish when he witnesses violence.

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Uncle Bill, Wondering if winning is really getting him ahead…
Photo by John Borel

Retribution for yesterdays skinning was slow and hopefully painful. John managed a hard fought tie in the front nine, but wore down under the constant pressure of my double bogies on the back nine. Again my $4 winnings disappeared in the lunch tip, which lunch I also paid for. Now I know how John and Phyllis can afford to travel around the world.

We are sitting on a second floor deck overlooking a water world of pools, and witnessing a surreal scene of old and young sitting in clear inner tubes floating around in a circle around a phony island. They appear to be zombies, staring into open space with blank looks. One very large woman is walking the circular pool allowing the inner tubers to slip stream and draft behind her.

Tomorrow we play two rounds starting at 6:30 and ending at dark, or until one of us drops from exhaustion or cries, “uncle!”. Oh, that’s us, we will have to cry out for, “Niece!” so if this is the last you ever hear from us, know we went the way we lived, fighting for our mother’s love.

P.S.  Please join us next week for the stunning conclusion.  Meanwhile, Uncles, rest well, rub those tired legs…and hold on to your 5 iron!  With love, Your Niece, Cathy  

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