The Adventures of Fric and Frac: Adventure 48: Manhattan, KS/Post E

Used Lots of Propane

The warmest point today in Manhattan, KS reached 34 degrees. Crisp, dry, and penetratingly frigid, it felt much colder. That's the good news. Tomorrow promises to be even colder. We had no choice but to hunker down. Travel trailers at best are designed as three season vehicles. It's pushing limits to use them in winter. To prepare as much as possible, I've kept the heater running, the hot water heater heating, the fresh water full, and I've poured several gallons of anti-freeze into the holding tanks. As a final measure, I've wrapped the exposed drainage pipes with insulation and towels. In addition, I have a light bulb heating the underside of the drainage apparatus. Hopefully, these tactics will impress Mother Nature enough for her to ease her fury as she and her minions roar down from the frigid North. To mix my metaphors, maybe Mother Nature will see the blood red antifreeze (never mind that it's pink) as a sign of reprieve just as the Angel of Death did during the Passover. I remember when I was a junior in high school. Not only did we have one of those Spokane winters when snow falls profusely (96 inches that year), but we had the unusual condition of sub-freezing temperatures that lasted long enough to cause many mechanical things to express their displeasure by refusing to operate. I seem to remember the number was 28 below zero. The only way to keep the cars running was to hang a trouble light or attach block heaters to keep the engine oil at a cooperative viscosity. While it's not quite that cold here, and it doesn't promise to last as long as I remember (my recollection could be faulty), Frac is still braced for action. In the meantime, we've settled in comfortably in the Franz home where the fireplace licks the flue with a pleasant warm yellow hue, the comfort food steadily appears, and the elements outside seem distant. In keeping with the recent family theme, I called my Dad and stepmother today to congratulate them on their 50th wedding anniversary. Fortune had them married fifty years ago today, the day John F. Kennedy was shot. Even though I a seventh grader at the time, I clearly remember the little Karmann Ghia they drove at the time, and I also remember my stepmother's (Margo) luxurious red hair, which cascaded all the way to her narrow waist. We wandered through their memories on the phone for about thirty minutes. Now in their late eighties and nineties (Margo is 92), they still live on their own in a tiny little Oregon dust town called Madras. As for my own JFK memories, like everyone my age, I remember exactly where I was and what I was doing when the news that Kennedy had been shot came over the radio. It seems hard to believe, but fifty years ago at 12:30 Central Standard Time, I was sitting in Sister Francine's class at St. Anthony's Catholic school drawing pictures inspired by the classical music piping through the public radio station. We did this activity every Friday (It was my favorite time of the week). Now, as a retired middle school teacher, I know it was Sister Francine's favorite time of the week as well. I clearly remember the look of shock and dismay on Sister's face. Being twelve at the time, my appreciation for the event had only shallow awareness. I'm not sure (at times) that I'm much more aware now, but I do realize that JFK's death changed the course of history. Propelled by the new TV technology, he was our Prince. As I matured into my teens and twenties, I raged along with my "Hippy-Give Peace a Chance" generation. Now sobered, and a little less idealistic, I still believe in Kennedy's quest for peace, for equity, for acceptance, for opportunity, for future greatness. As a fortunate member of the American dream, I refuse to believe the experiment is at an end. Instead, I say to my kids and their kids. Dig in. Just because they killed our innocence, they'll never kill our hope, and that's what makes life good, especially today..