Month: March 2018

All Wrapped Up

My friend Jean could fall in a bed of roses and come out smelling like cow manure.  Best of all, she couldn’t resist telling off on herself.  After having three babies in four years, she somehow decided she needed a little romance, though why anyone with three babies would encourage that behavior was a mystery to me.  She took the children to her mother for the night and hurried home to fancy herself up for a steamy night.   Having read an imbecilic article suggesting meeting your guy at the door with a  rose in your mouth wearing nothing but cellophane, she decided that was the very thing.  She showered, did a daring style and bit of a color job  on her nether portions and perfumed herself enticingly.   Just before her man was due home, she started at her ankles and wrapped herself in plastic wrap.  This was unfortunate, as it effectively hobbled her.  She waited by the door, rose clenched between her teeth.  Though her husband was usually punctual, this day he was late.  She waited in anticipation for several minutes till it was obvious he was late.  Tired of standing, she hopped toward the sofa, still clenching the rose.  Since she had toddlers, a malicious Lego was lurking in wait.   Propelled forward, nosediving the sofa arm.  Blood gushed.  She grabbed the nearest thing to staunch the cascade of blood and somehow got herself up on the sofa.  In agony, she lay there, trying not to scream as every heartbeat pounded in her damaged nose.  As the pain abated a bit, like any mother of three toddlers, she went to sleep.

She was awakened by her horrified husband standing over her.  “Oh My God!  What happened?

Icy Showers and Rotten Sausage part 2

We toodled happily through the hills of Virginia in high spirits for a couple of hours till Cousin Kathleen asked for a rest stop. She wasn’t feeling so well. Uh oh! Still fearing the onset of food poisoning, I wheeled into a service station and she scurried for the Ladies Room. We filled the car, took our break, and waited. She came out looking a little green around the gills. “I ain’t feeling too peart. Something must be going around. I have a feeling I knew what was going around, that rotten sausage rolling around in her gut.

“Do you think we ought to go back home? I don’t want to take you off sick.”

“I’m fine. I just kinda’ had loose bowels.” That phrase always gave me visions of a person walking along with their arms full of slippery guts that periodically escaped and slipped to the ground. “I think I am fine now. My stomach’s rumblin’ a little. Think I’ll have a little bite to settle it.”

The sharp smell of rancid sausage assaulted us as she unwrapped a sausage-biscuit she dug out of her purse. “I’m sorry I ain’t got enough for y’all, but I didn’t want to waste this last piece.”

We couldn’t talk her out of eating it, and she cleaned it up, even licking its wax paper wrapper. Around noon, we stopped at a rest area for our picnic, spreading it out on a table under a shade tree. Several other groups were picnicking close by. Cousin Kat wasn’t hungry, so she headed for the restroom, telling us “Y’all go ahead and eat. I need a few minutes to sponge off a little.” That sounded ominous, but I didn’t offer to go along, assuming she wanted privacy.

By the time she came out, she looked bad. At a nearby picnic pavilion a couple with three little children was putting out their lunch. Dad smoothed the red and white checkered cloth and corralled the kiddies as Mom laid out the matching napkins and dishes. It was obvious tradition meant a lot to these parents since the kid’s clothes matched and Dad pulled out a nice camera and set up a tripod. It was a beautiful day for a picnic and family photos until Cousin Kat walked up, leaned against one of the poles of their pavilion and started projectile vomiting in their direction. She continued retching as they hurriedly packed their things, apparently in no mood for a new tradition.

When she regained her equilibrium, drank a Seven-Up, declaring she was fine now. “Sometimes I just get real sick like that, then it’s all over. Let’s get on down the road!”

She must have had a constitution of iron. We couldn’t talk her into going home, so we headed on. All was well for a couple of hours, then she got nauseated. I pulled over so she could retch to her heart’s content. Reaching in the car behind her, she grabbed Mother’s brand new red fleece jacket to wipe herself up with. Mother is still griping about her ruining that jacket. We whipped into a hotel and got a room, so she could rest and recover. We loaded her with fluids. I tried to get her to go to the Emergency Room but she would have no part of it. You can’t make an apparently competent adult go to the Emergency Room against their will. Believe me, I tried. Every time she opened her eyes, I had her drinking fluids.

After a few hours, she seemed better. At her suggestion, the rest of us walked over to the hotel restaurant for dinner. When we got back in an hour or so, the room smelled like a charnel house after a fresh episode of diarrhea and vomiting. Worst of all, her hemorrhoid had flared up and started bleeding. There was a bloody, poopy mess on the toilet, the walls, and a trail back to the bed where she lay sleeping like a baby. We made sure she was okay, gave her more to drink, and got to work on the mess, calling for extra towels to clean up. We also had to wash her clothes, since she’d already messed up the two outfits she’d brought. Then we headed to the pharmacy for remedies and air fresheners. Just in case you don’t know, they don’t give that stuff away. It was not a good night.

Somehow, we made it through the night. The next morning, she’d won her gastrointestinal battle. Now all she had to deal with was agonizing hemorrhoids. Her generous descriptions of her progress and suffering did not make her a better travel partner. We did some anti-climatic sightseeing in Amish Country, due to her ailments. Naturally, she didn’t feel like getting out, so we just made abbreviated stops. The only place she got out was at a quilt shop, where she was outraged at their prices. She’d thought she might be able pick up a nice quilt for twenty-five dollars.

We headed out early the next morning, determined to drop her off and head home to Louisiana. We had no intention of ever spending another night at her house. I think she was happy to see us leave, especially since we left her pantry well-stocked.

Charley’s Tale Part 27

 

Mr. Grady had thoughtfully put his cow in with Ol’Bully before coming in for breakfast, an expedient decision, since Ol’ Bully would have kicked the fence to get to her in her enticing state. By the time the men got back, the deed was done and Ol’ Bully was bumping the gate, anxious to get back to the tall, sweet grass and his bevy of beauties. A fickle creature, he had no further interest in the fair lady he’d just won.

Though Robert was anxious to get to work, Mr. Grady pulled a can of Prince Albert Tobacco from the bib of his overalls. Stalling, he offered the tobacco and pack of cigarette papers. “Help yourself, Robert, lessen you got some ready roll you’d care to share.”

“No sir, Mr. Grady. I ain’t never got the habit. You go ahead. Me an’ the boys got to git to work. I hate I ain’t got visitin’ time today, but we got a long day ahead of us.” Robert had lived on the farm next to Grady for years and never been invited to call him by his first name, though Mr. Grady and his boys had always addressed him as Robert. It still stung a little, though it was the way he’d grown up.

”They is one more thing I need to ast you.  My old mule died and  I got to git my garden broke up. Kin I use your tractor, today?” Mr. Grady patted the fender of the red International parked by the barn.

”Mr. Grady, my tractor’s broke down.  This one here belongs to Miss Geneva’s farm an’ ain’t mine to loan, but I can loan you my mule.  I’ll catch him for you.  He kind of feisty since he don’t got worked a lot, but I know them big ol’ boys of yours can handle him.” Robert offered.

”Naw, that won’t help me none.   I done throwed my back out an can’t plow.  I can’t count on them boys.  Three ‘em is off workin’ somewhere’s, three’s a courtin’, and one’s down with toothache.   I can’t never keep up with them fellers.  I ain’t had time to teach young Tommy yet.  You real fortunate, a colored man with a fine place like this to work and fine equipment you ain’t got to buy.  Now, I ain’t saying you don’t deserve it, but you sure got a bird’s nest on the ground.” He didn’t look like he thought Robert deserved all that luck.

Robert knew where this was going.  He’d endured Mr. Grady’s whining before.  He had work to get to and knew it was best to stay on Mr. Grady’s good side.  “Tell you what, Mr. Grady.  I can be over about six in the morning to break up your garden, but if the boys show up sooner, just send them over for the mule.”

Things had worked out just as Mr. Grady  hoped.  “That’ll sure help me out.  Tommy, fetch that cow and we’ll get out of the way.  These folks has work to do.  My ole lady will have coffee when you git there.  Just tap at the back door and I’ll bring it out.”  He shuffled off with Tommy and the cow a few paces behind.

Charley held his question till they were out of hearing.  “Robert, why are you going to plow his garden?  Didn’t seem like he treated you just right.”

“Charley, it’s best to git along with folks if you can.  I end up plowing his garden ever’ year.  Neither Mr. Grady ner his boys is bad about workin’ and I hate to see his womenfolk do without.   You’ll see when we git there tomorrow.  Let’s git to it, fellers.  We burning daylight!”  Their day had started.

 

Oh Lordy!

Smorgasbord Laughter Lines – Sherlock Holmes and the Stars at night and Ginger… — Smorgasbord – Variety is the spice of life

https://youtube.com/watch?v=HaAVZ2yXDBo%3Fversion%3D3%26rel%3D1%26fs%3D1%26autohide%3D2%26showsearch%3D0%26showinfo%3D1%26iv_load_policy%3D1%26wmode%3Dtransparent

Time for some lighthearted fun… Sherlock Holmes and the Stars at Night. Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson go on a camping trip. After a good dinner and a bottle of wine, they retire for the night, and go to sleep. Some hours later, Holmes wakes up and nudges his faithful friend. “Watson, look up at […]

via Smorgasbord Laughter Lines – Sherlock Holmes and the Stars at night and Ginger… — Smorgasbord – Variety is the spice of life

Road trip, the Best Way to Torture Your Kids

lbeth1950's avatarNutsrok

imageWe tortured our teenagers once by making them take a three-thousand mile roadtrip through several national parks.  The main thing they mention now is that Bud wore those stretch nylon coach shorts and a couple of gay guys hit on him.

In Yellowstone, he stopped for about the fourteenth time to try to get pictures of buffalo one afternoon.  The thrill of watching him try to get the perfect buffalo picture had worn thin, so the three of us watched from the car.  He fussed, tinkered, and messed with his camera, tripod and lenses till we were hoping a buffalo would gore him just enough to distract him. He worked frantically till a car pulled up just in front of him. A flambuoyant fellow trotted up to Bud, obviously interested in getting acquainted.

“Oh my, that’s some nice equipment you’ve got there,”

Ever polite, Bud thanked him, snapped a couple…

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Charley’s Tale Part 26

The heavenly smell of bacon called out to the guys as they set their buckets on the milk shelf.  Bessie poured thick crockery cups with coffee beside each plate.  “Hurry and wash up.”  She was liberally buttering a platter of huge, lumpy biscuits, turning them bottom side up.  It was clear Bessie was used to cooking for men.  Her biscuits looked like they could have been pitched into the pan from across the room, nothing like Cora’s delicately cut delights, but Charley soon found them incredible, despite their misbegotten shape. A pitcher of thick cream, a sugar bowl, a jar of dewberry jam, and a bowl of homemade butter centered the oil-cloth covered table.  As they settled at the table, a grizzled old white man stuck his head in at the back door.

“Hey, Mr. Grady. Come on in an’ set down to breakfast with us. I forgot you was ‘sposed to bring your milk cow to put in with Ol’ Bully. Bessie, set a place for Mr. Grady and Tommy.” Charley noted Bessie’s dark look as the guests tracked up her clean kitchen floor. Bessie put a platter of crisp bacon with about a dozen fried eggs in front of Robert and hurried to set places for Mr. Grady and his gangly, tow-headed boy.

“If it don’t put you out none, we will. My boy is always hongry.” They all moved to make room as Mr. Grady took Bessie’s chair and Tommy took a place on the bench beside Freddy and Charley.

Charley was so hungry he could hardly wait till Robert finished saying grace and started passing the food around. Bessie brought a steaming pot of grits from the stove. Before she pulled in another chair, she set a glass milk before each boy.  “You boys drink up that milk, now. I ain’t having no skinny-legged boys at my house!”

Only the rattle of dishes and hurried requests for more eggs, bacon, and biscuits interrupted their attention to breakfast. As Robert pushed his chair back and took a deep breath, Bessie refilled the coffee cups. “Did you boys git enough? They’s plenty more biscuits and grits. Tommy, you take these last two eggs while I fry up some more.

“I weren’t gonna ask, but long as yer cookin’, I b’lieve I could eat some more eggs an’ bacon. These here is mighty good biscuits, Bessie.” Mr. Grady remarked.

Robert waved her off. “None for me, Bessie. I’m ’bout to pop. You boys need any more? Mr. Grady, you probably ain’t met Charley. He’s wantin’ to learn farmin’. You might remember his granny. He’s gonna be surprised how much he can eat when he gits to workin’ hard and builds up some muscle, ain’t he, Mr. Grady?”

“Lord, I reckon. Seems like I need to kill a hog a day to keep them seven boys o’ mine fed.

What I’ve Been Up To

My little granddaughter, Leda, has her priorities straight, dividing her time between Peppa the Pig, Spider-Man, Captain America, and numerous other superheroes.  She addresses Bud and me as Grandma and Other Grandma. Before going to preschool she put a bandaid on her shin and had me roll her pants leg up so it would show. Additionally, she applied a huge one to the center of her forehead just before getting out of the car. She was very satisfied by the fuss the kids made at her entrance. That evening at home, she plastered herself with about twenty and proclaimed, “I am so beautiful!” She was right!

It was so refreshing seeing the kids at her school. One morning a little guy met us at the door wearing a tutu and fireman’s helmet while a little girl danced around in a cowboy hat and hula skirt. After a day or two they all greeted “Grandma.”

Leda kept us busy. She had to have at least one Grandma at her side at all times. Other Grandma had to justify not being at her beck and call.

This friendly giant is our grand dog, Leda’s buddy.  He tries to stay between Leda and the grandmas all the time.  Below, you can see him wrapped in a shawl he snitched from my daughter.  He competes for Leda’s treasures, ferreting them out and cuddling them before chewing them up.

Croc with his grandpa.  He managed isolate him for a short time while Leda was running wild.

FEMINIST FRIDAY 2018 — Haddon Musings

LET’S HEAR IT FOR THE GIRLS! After the very sad events that happened in the school shooting in Florida and watching the young students organizing their protests and working for change, I decided that this month I would like to honor the very young women who sacrificed and worked to make changes in the […]

via FEMINIST FRIDAY 2018 — Haddon Musings