The Days of '47 Float

I only agreed to be on the float committee after Marci Purr asked me. She said I had been ignoring her, a manifestation of some type of misplaced judgment about her "relationship" with Tucker Wagtail a Golden Retriever who attended the singles ward in the next Stake.

The Days of 47 Parade was only five months away and our Stake had never entered a float before. Marci recommended me to the committee based on my extensive work as a designer. My work focuses primarily on custom made scratching posts, unique shapes and scratching materials designed to accent almost any decor, really no float experience at all, but I accepted as a favor to Marci who was in charge of the budget. The float money came from donations by Stake members, plus a few fund raisers like the dog wash in the church parking lot held by the Deacons Quorum. That created quite a rift between Tucker Wagtail and Marci. The implication that dogs need washing is just projection onto the canine world of the western cultures bathing obsession.

It was easy to see why a cat like Marci would be attracted to a dog like Tucker. Personally I think Tucker's relationship with Marci is just a liberal affectation. Dating outside his species was just his way of slapping his parents in the face. They couldn't even handle seeing him date someone outside his own breed. His former girl friend was a dachshund from Park City. Tucker's mother always referred to her as "that wiener dog."

Brother Richards the float committee head, a retired orthodontist from Pocatello had hoped I'd be able to sketch the design concepts, but I told him I worked best as a creative visionary, a catalyst to the design process. I didn't mention that without thumbs I couldn't hold onto a pencil.
The parade theme was "Pioneer Courage". Brother Richards suggested a fact-finding trip to Pasadena to consult with the Rose Parade folks, "learn all their tricks and secrets maybe get some killer deals on chicken wire and tinsel". Marci had several arguments with him over the budget strains caused by such a trip, and her conscience recently raised, shared a few choice words with him when he suggested another dog wash. She finally had to turn to Bishop Florsheim to mediate, but not before she had Tucker chase Brother Richards car after Sacrament meeting.

Brother Richards big idea was an elephant. "Let's have the elephant sitting at a computer reading his genealogy chart!" He'd have one leg lifted up in the air and underneath his foot would be a little mouse in a tiny Conestoga wagon also doing his genealogy. It all felt very Disney to me and I pointed out to Brother Richards that there wasn't a pioneer in site let alone a courageous pioneer. Faith Despain, one of the seminary teachers at the high school wondered if we were weren't moving into shaky theological terrain. She said if every animal had to trace their genealogy back to Adam, the millennium would never get here. Gretchen Knickers the only Shetland pony on the committee resigned with a snort. "Horses made their way across the plains; doing most of the work I might remind you. My great, great , great uncle was ridden by Porter Rockwell himself through most of Nebraska and I'd bet you a sugar cube they didn't run into any elephants."

Perhaps it was seeing Gretchen Knickers headed for the exit, her little hooves skittering across the cultural hall hardwood, but it was at this point I lost my enthusiasm. Fortunately for me I'm a quitter. I've never seen any virtue in persisting in something that was unpleasant or hard, no matter the goal. I still have friends who'll sit in front of an aquarium pawing at the fish for days at a time thinking eventually they'll figure it out. I'm pleased to say, that's not me.

Mrs. Boil Accepts a Calling

My earliest religious activity was my job as the choir director at the Mormon church down the block. It was my effort to be of service, to give back. My day job, which paid, was working as an operator at the phone company. When I tried to join the choir, my singing voice created consternation amongst the brethren. "Like a hinge" was the Bishop's description. So instead he called me as the choir director - "those who can, do - those who can't, teach". I accepted the calling on the condition "How Great Thou Art" was excluded from the repertoire. Elvis Presley ruined that song for me.

I liked to wear my mink vest to church when the choir was performing since I'd be at the front of the chapel, on the stand where everyone would see me. Marci Purr my best friend at the time (we lost touch when she became a Jehovah's Witness) thought the mink vest was excessive and she was against wearing fur, which was ironic her being a cat. Friends with low self-esteem can be so exhausting.

When leading the choir I liked to face the congregation. It allowed the choir to see my tail much better, which I used to keep tempo. Waving a baton is hard when you don't have opposable thumbs. Sister Purr said the way my tail flicked around it looked like I was very irritated. Sister Purr didn't support my calling. I knew she was very self-conscious of her singing voice (she'd had a shoe thrown at her one night when she was humming on her back porch) but she wouldn't even indulge me at least by moving her lips. She'd just sit there and stare with that stare only a cat can pull off.