Seaside friends are fondly remembered, and firefighters sponsor seafood dinner

<p>Claire Lovell</p>

Saturday, March 16, was the annual seafood dinner at the fire station. Once again, I was invited as the guest of Ansell Morehouse.

It’s always enjoyable for me to bring the crab home because it takes so much fiddling with, and no, we didn’t have fiddler crabs. I like to pick out the meat at home, wash my hands for the second time and make my own Crab Louie.

We also had shrimp, clams, oysters, scallops, steak, salad, soft drinks, beer, crusty bread and probably more. Chris Dugan went after coffee for Morey and me, which I wish could be available for everyone. Sometimes it’s really cold in the fire station. Those guys don’t like even a little smoke and open every door.

One day I was looking out my window and saw a crow behaving like an ant. First he helped himself to a good supply of food; then he took another tidbit from the pile of stuff I’d tossed for the birds. He flew up into the maple tree and deposited it on a low, heavy branch. After that, he pulled several tufts of moss from the tree, covered his food and waddled away. I assume he came back as hunger set in.

A memorial service for Beverly Cadman, conducted by Pastor John Tindell, was held March 21 at the Seaside United Methodist Church. Bev died on March 10. She had been in failing health for quite a while.

Her husband, Ben Cadman, and sister, Nancy Osterlund, gave us a few anecdotes of their lives with Beverly. Laurel Adelman sang “His Eye is on the Sparrow.” After a short biography, Pastor Tindell gave a comforting sermon, there were songs and prayer followed by lunch in the Fireside Room.

Beverly was a sweet lady and will be missed. She was loved by many. She and I were once employed at the Seaside Clinic at the same time, Beverly in the office and I on the nursing staff. We offer our deepest sympathies to Ben and their family.

Holy smoke! It was finally white over the Vatican at about 7 p.m. on March 13, following five ballots of the gathered cardinals. It was surprisingly dark to me at that hour. It had been raining all day, they told us, but the crowd was jubilant, the bells rang, the rains descended, and there was a seagull sitting on the chimney between smoke sessions. I would rather have seen one of my doves but the bird that came was a nice diversion, announcing the choice of Pope Francis I.

What an awful surprise to learn of the death of Willard Keene so long ago. He called me somewhere around that time, either in December or January, and might have done it just to say goodbye, although we talked fairly often. I’ve written about Willard before; we had known each other forever, and he told me many tales of his fantastic days in the service, island hopping in the South Pacific.

He was about the only other person left besides me who knew how to pronounce Wahanna. His biggest claim to fame: He was the first boy I ever kissed — about 1936. Go with God, Willard!

David gave me this story about the differences in how we respond to cold. It all began with Noah. One day on their journey, the Ark sprung a small leak, so Noah sent one of his dogs below to fix it. The dog put his nose in the hole and stopped the flow of water.

Soon, however, the spot enlarged so this device didn’t work any longer. Mrs. Noah came to the dog’s aid and put her hands up to the hole, again stopping the leak.

After a while, water began to erode the spot, and it oozed again around the damage, so Noah was called. He backed into the hole and stopped the flow. This tale was told to explain why a dog’s nose is always cold, women warm their hands facing the flame and men always turn their backsides to the fire.

Here’s a hypothetical for you: What if all the kids in New York took a 20-ounce soda to school the same day? The administrator would have to suspend them all, and the teachers would get a “snow” day. Snowed by their mayor! Think of the money they’d save.


Claire Lovell lives in Seaside and can be reached at (503) 738-7215.

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