Month: January 2017

Not Far From the Tree

lbeth1950's avatarNutsrok

imageI recently asked my son if he’d pick me up in the airport upon a return flight if I came into Dallas instead of Shreveport, since  I’d been fortunate enough to find a forty-seven dollar ticket.  Thinking what a good son he was, since I hadn’t seen him in a few weeks, I happily purchased the cheap ticket, telling him I’d email him the gate and time details later, knowing he’d already agreed to the date.  A few days later, completely out of the blue, I got this text.  “Mom, we are at the airport.  Which gate is it?”

I was horrified.  Dallas is two and a half hours from Shreveport.  Surely I hadn’t somehow given him the wrong date.  I tried to return his text.  No reply.  After a few minutes I got him by phone.  He was laughing hysterically, enjoying my panic.  Of course, he was just tricking me.

Realizing I owed…

View original post 45 more words

Andrew and Molly Part 8

Published out of order

Barton led them to their lodgings, a corner of the barn.  “Master Wharton says you’ll sleep here.  After our day’s over, I’ll help you get set up.  We’ll be felling trees if you want logs to fashion a room.  You can chink the cracks with mud and hay to make it tighter.  Fresh hay makes a fine bed.  My woman will bring you some ticking for bedding.  When it gets bitter this winter, you can layer hay over yourselves and sleep warm.  When Aggie and me move on, you’ll move in the house.  You won’t be bothered.  Jackie here won’t allow anyone on the place.  He skins under the door here to sleep in the barn.”  He scratched the ears of a large mongrel.   Andrew wasn’t altogether comfortable sharing space with the intimidating canine and hoped he wouldn’t object to company.  He turned to Molly.  “Go in to Aggie.  She’ll see to you.”

Molly found Aggie at the hearth scooping beans into a crockery bowl.  “Get the potatoes out of the ashes,”  she barked.  Molly didn’t see anything but several fist-sized rocks in the ashes.  Anxious not to get not to incur her wrath, Molly took a poker and rolled the dark lumps out of the ashes.

“Don’t stand there like a dunce!   Crack’em and get the taties on the table.  Here, I’ll not show you but once.”  With that, she whacked a lump with the poker, freeing a steaming yam from its clay coat.  Molly scurried to crack the other shells, releasing the fragrant yams.   She put the crock full on the table alongside the pots of honey and butter.  Aggie banged a stack of plates on the table and passed her a pot of stewed squash and pone of cornbread. Molly couldn’t keep her eyes off the pot of beans with  bacon floating on top.  She’d never seen this much food at one time in her life.  “You’ll eat well here.  Master knows the value of feeding his bondsmen.  He  eats with us when there’s no company, but don’t like gabbing at the table.  Keep quiet if he don’t speak.”

Barton and Andrew trooped in behind Master Wharton, only taking their places after he was seated at the head of the table. He dropped his head.  “Father, bless this food to our strength and give us grace to do thy bidding.”  With this, he raised his head and fell to, breaking off a piece of the cornbread, buttering and covering it in honey. Aggie heaped his plate with beans, squash, and yams before passing dishes to her husband. She was waiting to fill his mug with beer when his first mug was finished.  She and Molly hurried to replenish as his plates and mugs as the men ate.  Finishing  off his meal with a final serving of buttered and honeyed cornpone, he pushed back in his chair, patted his full belly, and burped his thanks.  ” Father, we thank thee for thy bounty.”

Abruptly, he rose from the table.  “Take your ease for a bit.”  He seated himself in a rocker in the front room and was soon snoring.  Bartles disappeared into his room as well. Andrew remained at the table with his wife and Aggie as they ate. It was so satisfying to have all they wanted.

 

 

 

My First Ever Book Review

Andrew Joyce's avatarAndrew Joyce

2016-07-15-14-48-40

This book was recommended to me by a friend and I must admit that it’s not my usual kind of read. But I thought I’d give it a chance. Right off the bat, I had two favorite characters, Abby and Sam. The author drew me in with good writing, excellent pacing, and an antagonist that had me turning pages at an alarming rate. I had to find out what the dastardly villain would do next!

Our hero, Abby, has a lot to contend with. Her mother has died some time ago and her father has now disappeared. She is shipped off to a new town where she’ll have to start a whole new life. All this in the first few pages. But then her problems really begin.

My only regret is that I don’t have a young daughter to share this with. This is the perfect book for young girls…

View original post 83 more words

Andrew and Molly Part 7

img_1779Master Reeve’s bondsman gestured for Andrew and Molly to follow while he bundled their order. He wrapped cord around the linsey-woolsey so it could be packed more easily.  The rest of the items went into a neat paper-wrapped bundle of a weight Molly could manage, talking to the all the while.  “I am Jeffers and bound for six more years.    Wharton seems a hard but fair man.  I hope to see you in town sometimes, or on Sunday when our time is our own.  I wish you Godspeed.”  With that, he hoisted and settled the heavy bundle of yard goods on Andrew’s back and loaded Molly’s arms with her parcels.

The two labored under their burdens as they made their way along the rutted track.  The morning sun was already hot, the air muggy.  Andrew hadn’t gone far before the weight of the pack ate into his shoulders.  He rested his weary back by leaning against a tree a time or two, knowing he’d never get the pack back on if he took it off.  Molly shifted her bundles frequently as she fatigued.  After a half a mile, they rounded a curve to see the Wharton farm in a stump-filled clearing.  A hearty stand of tobacco took up most of the cleared ground, a patch of corn and a kitchen garden the rest.  Clearly, tobacco was the major crop.  Early on, the colony had nearly perished when farmers opted to plant all their ground in tobacco, the lucrative option, rather than food crops. A law was passed requiring each farm to provide a portion of corn to the community storehouse, enabling them to feed themselves, rather than rely on England to import food.

The cabin was strictly utilitarian, a modest one-story dwelling of rough timber, a well in the dooryard.  The garden plots crowded up to the house, no cleared ground wasted.  A rough outbuilding stood to the rear of the house.  The stumps attested to farmland wrenched from the forest.  Andrew got a glimpse of his future beholding the forest eager to reclaim the cleared ground.  Master Wharton would be granted an additional fifty acres each for paying the transport his servant’s passage to the colony, a good deal indeed.  The colony was desperate for cheap labor to work the farms, relying on the indentured and enslaved.  Sadly, only about forty percent of the indentured lived to work out the terms of their service.

Master Wharton was waiting as they walked up.  A gray-haired woman and an emaciated man in his fifties stood with him.  “This is my bondsman, Bartle and his wife Aggie.  They are about to work out their time.  He will be teaching you smithing and your woman will work under Aggie.”  If he knew their names, he didn’t bother using them.  “They will show you to your quarters and get you started after supping.”

Mithuth Thmith(favorite joke)

lbeth1950's avatarNutsrok

imageThe crowds had been packing the traveling “tent revival”  every night that week, grateful offerings filling the pockets of the evangelist.  Cure after cure was enacted in the sweltering heat of those July evenings.  Emotions were at an all time high on the last night as the last two afflicted souls reached the evangelist at the front of the tent..

Struggling up the steps on her crutches poor Mrs. Smith hobbled up to the evangelist.  “Heal me!  I haven’t been able to walk without crutches in twenty years.”

“Yes, Sister!  You will be healed!  Go behind that curtain and wait with the others waiting for healing.”  Mrs. Smith slRepostowly and painfully made her way behind the curtain.

Johnny Jones was the last in line.  “I have a lifth.  It hath made my life awful.  Pleath heal me of my lifth!”

“Yes, Brother!  You will be healed!  Go behind the curtain with all the others and…

View original post 116 more words

The Very Best of the Evening Jokes Just for You

lbeth1950's avatarNutsrok

biological 2biological clockbiological 5biological 4 

Patty was quietly minding her own business, eating her soup alone in her booth at a local eatery, when a voice startled her from behind.  It was the guy in the booth behind her.  “Not so loud!” he said.  “What?” she questioned, as she took another spoonful of soup.  “I said not so loud!” was his muffled reply.  Embarrassed at being told she was slurping her soup, she pushed away her bowl and started her grilled cheese sandwich.  “How was your day?” questioned the man from behind once again.  “Pretty good” responded Patty, confused that this stranger would care.  “Did you pass the exam?” came the next question from behind.  “I don’t know, I didn’t get my grade yet” replied a thoroughly bewildered Patty. “I’ll have to call you back when I’m out of here”, came the voice from behind once again, “some nut job is answering every question…

View original post 793 more words

Andrew and Molly Part 6

img_1746“Come with me.”  Master Wharton led them across a dusty street to a store fronted by a long verandah.  “Caleb Reeves, I am back to do my trading.  I left off two smoked hams, a side of bacon, a bushel of yams, five pounds of nails, and that bale of tobacco over there with your man on my way in this morning. I am ready to settle up and I’ll take one hundred pounds of flour, two pounds tea, a pound of salt, a pack of needles, six spools of blue thread, and twelve yards on of blue Linsey-Woolley.  My goods ought to cover it, by my reckoning.”

“Master Wharton, that won’t cover all you ordered.  I’ll take all the nails you can bring me.  Your hams and tobacco are good.  I don’t get that much call for bacon or yams, but I’ll take them as a favor to you, anyway.  The way I figure it, I’ll need seven pounds of nails to settle your order.”  Caleb Reeves studied Master Wharton expectantly.

Wharton stared him down.  “Have you found another source for nails, then? I can get my price elsewhere if you don’t want to do business.  There will probably be a ship in from England this summer with all the nails you need.  You can pay the English price instead of mine.”  Reeves winced.  The law forbade manufacture of iron products in the colonies, so with the tariff, the English price was far too dear.  It was good to have a source who was willing to take the risk.

“No need for that.  You are beggaring me, but I’ll take your trade.  Pearson, measure up his twelve yards of the blue.  No, make it fourteen.  I’ll not be known as a miser. ”  Pearson carefully measured fourteen yards of the blue reserved for indentured servants, the same blue of his rough garments.

Master Wharton addressed Molly.  “Woman, do you knit?  If you are to have stockings, you’ll make them”

She addressed him.  “I knit well, sir.  I can make all the stockings the house needs.”

“That’s good.  Reeves, give her enough black yarn for two pair for me and two pair of blue for them.  That should outfit them as required.”

“Thank you, Sir.”  Andrew told him.

“You needn’t thank me.  It’s my duty and your due, no more and no less.”  Turning to Reeves he instructed him without introducing the two men,  “This is my new bondsman.  If I send him with an order, fill it, but keep careful count.  I’ll not be swindled by any man.”

“”I always take care in my accounts.”  Reeves appeared offended.

Master Wharton addressed Andrew.  “Load the flour behind my saddle.  You will carry the rest.  My farm is a half mile on the right.  I’ll go ahead.  You won’t be trying to escape.  There’s nowhere to go.  If you run, the Indians will get you if the swamps don’t ”  With this, he urged his horse home, leaving the two to make their way with his parcels.

 

 

 

”

 

Ironing and Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder

vintage-care-instructions-from-a-vintage-bookIt’s terrible how things from your youth manage to creep up on you as you are older.  Ironing, for instance.  After all the mountains of ironing I did as a kid, I swore when I got grown I’d never iron.  Then the miracle of permanent press and dryers came along.  Voila!  For forty years, I wore clothes hung up straight from the dryer.  Those items that required a bit of pressing were hung in the closet and passed over time after time till I just had to wear them, like to a funeral, wedding, or special event.  A dress or blouse might spend five years in the dark only to be discarded when I tired of reaching over it.  I had no problem wearing polyester or blends if they spared me ironing.  Of course, as a nurse, I wore non-descript scrubs, so work clothes weren’t an issue.

Then when I hit my mid-fifties, something terrible happened.  I became obsessed with cotton.  I only wanted cotton shirts and jeans.  Worse yet, I craved the crisp, starched creases of my youth.  It was awful.  I found myself starching and ironing jeans and cotton shirts.  I even got a few cotton dresses, and yes, I put in time ironing every week.  I couldn’t stand to see them sitting in the laundry basket.  I went to work as I took them out of the dryer.  Worse yet, I felt compelled to iron Bud’s jeans and shirts.  Jeans that have never before seen an iron.  I even bought him cotton button-up shirts.

As time went on, my disease progressed further.  Now, I feel compelled to iron in repetitions of five, or until I complete the pile.  As soon as I take items out of the dryer, I fold a stack of five and hang the rest up.  Though my back aches before I finish the third piece, I know I have to do five, so I alternate easy and demanding items.  Example, a long sleeved shirt with collar and pocket flaps is about as much work as a pair of jeans, so I can’t do them in succession.  I start with jeans and follow with a simple sleeveless, pocketless shirt.  The problem comes in if the items don’t line up right.  If the laundry wasn’t organized properly, I could have three pair of jeans and two complicated shirts that have to be done.  This is brutal, since the rule requires five pieces completed.  Another dilemma to face if eleven pieces are in the ironing pile.  I HAVE to do cycles of five, but I am not supposed to leave ironing for another day.  That means I have to iron five pieces the first go round, but knowing I will have one left over complicates things.  This means I have to come up with a plan.  I can substitute to simple pieces for one difficult piece and it only counts as six.  For example.  I could do two jeans, two long-sleeved shirts with pocket-flaps and two simple shirts or a simple shirt and pair of shorts.  Those six would round off to about five, however, the adjustment must be made with first session or I won’t have room to correct a possible miscalculation.

Ironing Exchanges:

Long-sleeved shirt with cuffs and pocket flaps                                                       1

Long-sleeved shirt with cuffs, pocket flaps, and air vent in back                         1.5

Jeans                                                                                                                                1

Pants with cuffs, thigh pockets with or without flaps and back pocket flaps     1.5

Simple short sleeve or sleeveless shirts with no pocket flaps                                0.5

Shorts with pocket flaps or cuffs                                                                                 1

Simple shorts                                                                                                                  0.5

Dress                                                                                                                                2  +/-  0.5 

As you see, it takes some managing to make each ironing session equal five.  I try to do difficult calculations first.  Should it be entirely too much ironing for one day, I have to leave my ironing board up as a pledge to come back the next morning.  It upsets me to not have pieces amount to five points per session.  If it looks like that might happen, I have to throw in another wash.  I hate it when that happens.

Then there is the mending, a story for another day.

Sally’s Cafe and Bookstore – New on the shelves – Almost Human by Kenneth L. Decroo