Everyone benefits!

Editor's Note: Commedienne Pam Stone writes her column for The Tryon Daily Bulletin twice each month from her office in the "Unabomber Shack" on her Gowensville farm. Want a chance to respond to this column?
Go to Pam’s blog at www.tryondailybulletin.com.
God and I have this deal. Well, let's just say I offered God this deal and I'm assuming he's OK with it; I haven't received a memo.
I feel downright blessed about my life in many respects: through my work I've had the opportunity to travel the world: skiing in New Zealand (Oh, all right, a lot of falling in New Zealand), riding horses across southern Ireland, spending Christmas in Salzburg, drinking in the views from Capri and hoisting many a pint in the English countryside. Stateside, there's been trips to the Grand Canyon, Yosemite, Muir Woods, Bean town, Wrigley Field and embarrassingly finding myself on a nude beach in Sarasota. Can I just say that I've always wondered why the people you least want to see naked insist on being naked? In public? There's something very disconcerting about walking behind a naked person to whom gravity has been unkind and wondering why, besides foot prints, you also see shallow trenches on either side? But I digress....
Because I have lived a life which can only be described as full time Adult Recess, I mentioned to God that to thank him, I would do my best never to turn down performing at benefits to help raise funds for worthy charities. And so I answered the call countless times in Los Angeles: Concerts for Battered Women, AIDS, the Humane Society, Muscular Dystrophy, Amnesty International, the Homeless… I can't even remember half of them but felt a desire and moral obligation to be a part of them all.
Moving to Landrum several years ago, I became aware that there are several worthwhile charities in this area as well. I also became aware that, unlike Los Angeles, where a charity has its pick of literally thousands of performers to choose from, I was pretty much it. Perry Como had died just after I moved here and I don't think he felt, at that point in his life, up to doing much performing, anyway. I'm quite sure I was soon programmed into several speed dials:
"Hello?"
"Yes, we're having a benefit to raise money for Habitat For Humanity... would you mind doing headlining a Comedy Concert?"
"No problem."
The calls came fast and furious: Red Cross of Polk County, Cancer Survivors, Crop Walk, Animal Shelters, Domestic Abuse Shelters, AIDS, Therapeutic Riding Programs... truly, I've been happy to oblige. The problem is, I try gently to explain to the callers, is that this is a town of just over two thousand people, the point being, well, everyone has seen my act by now. They're sick of me! Talk about saturating the market... even new jokes become old after a couple of months. And while I realize that each and every charity means something dear to someone, there's some that, quite frankly, I have to turn down...
"Yes, hello, we run an Alpaca Rescue service and we were wondering if you would agree to perform..."
"Alpacas?"
"Er, yes."
"The animals with the really bad perms?"
Silence.
I probably didn't make any new friends during that short telephone call.
That's also probably why each time I see an Alpaca, they always seem to be glaring at me.

God bless Mr. Linder

Editor's Note: Commedienne Pam Stone writes her column for The Tryon Daily Bulletin twice each month from her office in the "Unabomber Shack" on her Gowensville farm. Want a chance to respond to this column?
Go to Pam’s blog at www.tryondailybulletin.com.
Surely you know him. On a little road just off across from The Pizza Hut with a chain link fence and gate that politely informs you of business hours, Henry Linder is one of those Honest-to-Goodness rarities seldom seen these days: a shoe cobbler. If you think about it, a cobbler is as hard to find as a new shoe with an actual leather sole and heel. I suspect the rubber-bottomed ones aren't too good for business.
"That's true." he said. "But they don't last that long, either."
I first met Mr. Linder by following up on a recommendation by a fellow horseman when it came time to have my riding boots resoled. To my delight, not only could he replace soles, he could also (cue the angelic chorus) replace zippers! You have no idea what that means to a dressage rider. The zippers are generally on the inside of the boot, against the horse and are zipped and unzipped, depending on the number of horses ridden, as many as ten times a day. The factory in Holland where my boots originated are happy to replace them, for about the price of a Kia.
"I believe I can do that" Mr. Linder mused, looking them over. "Would fifty dollars be too much?" Seeing that was one-third of the price I had been quoted elsewhere, it would do nicely, thank you. Mr. Linder scribbled down my name and number and asked, as it was Saturday, if it would be acceptable if the boots were ready by next week. Are you kidding? Yes!
I love his shop. You can tell everyone who rides worships at the alter that is Linder Shoe Service. Along a shelf near the door usually sits four or five pairs of hunt boots like slightly slouching soldiers, shined, buffed, repaired, waiting to be claimed. On the rack behind the counter sits an amazing array of repaired shoes: pumps, brogues, evening slippers... Cast your eye around and you will see, awaiting your perusal, buckles, shoe polish and heel protectors, made by "Cat." The funny black cat logo immediately engulfs me with nostalgia.
As a town, we are simply blessed to have a man dedicated to a lost craft. I don't think Mr. Linder will mind me sharing that he recently turned 88 years of age and he is still working because he was simply too busy to retire and missed his customers. Each time I see him he gently smiles over the top of his glasses and asks about my mother and Paul's nursery. We chat about the weather, the war and my boots.
"Yes," he says again, "If that's all right with you, I can have them ready by next week."
Four hours later a message is left on my answering machine.
"Miss Stone? This is Henry. Your boots are ready. I reckoned you'd need them with all those horses you ride."
God Bless you, Mr. Linder.

Love your mother

Editor's Note: Commedienne Pam Stone writes her column for The Tryon Daily Bulletin twice each month from her office in the "Unabomber Shack" on her Gowensville farm. Want a chance to respond to this column?
Go to Pam’s blog at www.tryondailybulletin.com.

I write this as I look at a report from The Atlanta Journal which warns that “Atlanta Has Less Than 81 days of Water Left.”
Whew.
Video reports from nearly all southeastern lakes show several feet of red clay shore, boats, once floating and tethered, now lying on their sides in the mud. It’s a frightening time. Here in the Tryon and Landrum area, we certainly know first hand how bad it’s been. Those of us with livestock fret over the availability of hay and the fear that wells are drying up. “How sad is it,” my co-host, Ramona Holloway, remarked on our new radio show we are presenting on Sundays, “that I have to wait until an actual watering ban is implemented before it occurs to me to conserve water?”
How very, very true. During a normal summer, tucked safely into the pattern of rainy systems sucking up moisture from the Gulf and sweeping through every four or five days, I don’t think twice about watering my dressage arena. I leave the tap running as I brush my teeth. And when I fill the horses’ water troughs, I’m ashamed to admit that I have forgotten to turn off the hose~ once even for the entire night! But the water table was high, our well is deep.......excuses are terribly convenient, aren’t they?
One of the most inspiring sermons I ever heard Father Doty, our rector at Holy Cross, preach, was in regard to stewardship to the Earth. I cannot quote his text but of what I remember, he explained that when people hear the phrase that “Man was given Dominion over the Earth,” there is the tendency to understand that the word “dominion” has an aggressive feel to it. When we “dominate” someone or something, we think of putting it under our thumb. We rule it! We do whatever we want.
However, Father Doty informed us that the word “dominate” has its roots in divinity and stems from the word, “Dom,” which, in its Latin translation, means, “Deo Optimo Maximo: To the Best and Greatest God.” Keeping that in mind, if we then are given the Earth “To the Best and Greatest God” then how dare we foul it? How dare we take its precious resources without a thought of conserving? As a struggling Christian, I believe that Christ was very clear in that we are expected to serve each other and, of course, Him. His expression of serving was overwhelming.
How then can we, given “dominion” over His gift, not have a natural affinity to serve it? If we are given a thoughtful, lovely gift, should we simply rip off the wrapping paper, say, “Oh, yeah, thanks,” and then proceed to destroy it?
On our radio show, our third host, Sharon Decker, a lay minister, gave wonderful tips on how to conserve water: if you buy bottled water, don’t throw it away with water still in it – use that to water your plants then recycle the bottle. Keep a bucket in your shower and let the excess water fall into it also be useful in watering plants, even flushing your toilet!
Turn that tap off when brushing your teeth. Using your dishwater actually uses less water than washing by hand, but only if the machine is completely full....
There’s countless other things to do that I believe we have a moral obligation to undertake: recycling, driving fuel efficient cars, planting trees. Especially if you live in the country.
So many of us have moved to this slice of heaven in the desire of living closer to nature and breathing clean air. How then dare we to methodically and carelessly destroy and greedily remove its resources?
Shame on us for waiting to be told.