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Old-timers

By PAT WICK

© Another Day in the Country

Old-timers. As I walked to the office this morning, I was wondering about the definition of an old-timer. It probably means someone in their 80s. Most likely, it's someone who has lived here in Ramona for a long, long time.

One by one, the old-timers are leaving Ramona. Bert Schneider, was an old-timer in Ramona. She ran the grocery store in town for many years until 1988. After that, she lived quietly in her house on C Street until she had a stroke and needed additional care. She died this past week and her funeral was Saturday. It was a small funeral. Her contemporaries were mostly all gone. Her era, fast fading into history.

It's my mother's era. At 87, she lives in an age of push buttons and computers — nothing is simple. She's lucky to have four of her eight siblings still alive. And still sometimes she says, "It's time for me to get off the planet — the world is moving too fast." Sometimes it is no fun being an old-timer.

Over 4th of July weekend, I saw Erich — a longtime stalwart in Ramona. He's been in town since the year they had such a heavy blizzard in winter that he was snowbound for a week in the country. That was it — he moved to town. He's now residing at a care facility in Herington. We miss his red truck driving by.

Hank and Gertie were raptured Memorial Day weekend when their children took them to Colorado. Another set of old-timers exiting stage right. At least we can still talk to them on the phone. But it's not the same in Ramona without them. They had become town fixtures, someone who'd been here forever. And now I mention their names to keep them alive in our memories.

Tony is one of our old-timers although when I ask him for specifics on stories, he'd usually say to me, "Talk to Erich! He's got the good memory." It used to be that when I stopped by Tony's house in the afternoon, he and his friend Erich would be snoozing or watching TV. These days Tony naps on the couch with his yellow work gloves on. "My hands get cold," he says with a grin

Even though Tony routinely says, "What am I gonna do now that Erich is not here, rot in Ramona?" we know Tony and we know he'll not rot. His restless nature keeps things stirred up. One minute he's calling to elicit my help on an advertising campaign and the next he's got a dinner party cooked up. "I'm taking six women to dinner," he declares. "Do you think I can handle it?" and then he chuckles with delight.

Jakie was an old-timer and he is too long gone. His door was one we always knocked on when we'd come back to Ramona. We always wondered if he'd be there when we returned, year after year. "I'll probably be out there with Mama," he would say to us, "Now don't you sveethearts forget to pick those peonies." This year was not particularly good peony weather for some reason in our yard. I guiltily looked at the weeds in Jake's peony patch and said, "I've got to get these out of here before Memorial Day — Jake would be mortified to see weeds in his flowers." Jess took a bunch of his flowers out to the cemetery with a note, "To the Peony King." And yes, I'd gotten the weeds out beforehand.

Just as we paused on Saturday to honor a community stalwart, I pause now to reflect on those old-timers who are still with us though not always in our sight. In the country, it's just another day but today when I have bills to pay and lawns to mow, flower beds to weed and a bed of my own to make — please know how important you old-timers are to all of us!

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