Month: August 2020

Class Clown in the Class Picture

 

My brother Bill realized he was a comedian just as he had his school picture made.  All his friends loved it, but Mother had no sense of humor.  “I’m not buying those ridiculous pictures!” She fumed.

”Oh yes we are!”  Daddy put his foot down.  His family had never been able to buy school pictures, so he was rewriting his childhood.  He would not be shamed.

Daddy ruled the roost, so Mother seethed as she sent a check to school on the last possible day.   Billy wasn’t worried.  He’d already impressed his friends.  He had endured an impressive lecture and threat of grave repercussions should he pull that stunt again, but that was a condition he’d learned to live with, so it wasn’t a problem.  All his buddies wanted a picture.  He was flushed with pride.

It wasn’t long till the class picture came out.  His teacher opened her copy before she passed the envelopes out to the students.  She was livid, landing on him like an old wet hen.  He’d enjoyed so much success with his individual school pictures, that he’d repeated his trick in the class picture.  There he sat, sat prominently in the front row with his tongue out and crossed eyes. This picture would be in the yearbook!

The teacher was mad.  Mamas were mad.  I’m sure the photographer was mad since he wouldn’t  have sold many prints with a clown in the front row.  Needless to say, my parents didn’t buy one. I am sorry I couldn’t find one for this post, so I substituted my own first grade class picture.  I am the eighth girl in the second row, remarkable for the wild hair.

 

 

 

 

Update on Mother

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I have been AWOL for a while due to some family situations, so I have some updating to do.  First of all, I’ve always posted a lot about Mother.  She is fine at ninety-two.  We avoid getting out because of corona virus, so it was a treat to go blueberry picking a few days ago. We only saw a couple of other pickers far afield, as happy to avoid contact as we were.

The sky was a pure, crystal blue and mountainous, cottony white-clouds transformed above us.  Had I been nimble as a five-year-old, I would have stretched out in the grass watching clouds change from horses to gnomes, to a covered wagons. Six decades certainly interferes with the pleasure of prolonged cloud performance.  A slight breeze brought welcome comfort in the Louisiana heat as we lounged with lemonade at a picnic table shaded by a giant oak.

I do believe this cloud was working up to the Pillsbury Dough Boy.

 

 

Mother still works in her yard almost every day.  She  comes from long-lived stock.  Her grandfather lived to ninety-six, before succumbing to stubbornness.  He might still be with us otherwise. He had a numb leg from a Civil War injury. An iron bedstead did him in when he hung a toe on his iron bedstead heading outdoors to the toilet, tripping  and cracking his head..  A brain bleed did him in four days later.

Homemade Dutch Oven Table and Bean Pot Tripod

lbeth1950's avatarNutsrok

My husband constructed this Dutch Oven Cooking Stand out of an old aluminum  truck toolbox using an old bed frame to attach legs purchased from Home Depot for less than $30.  All other materials were from his shop.  It is light, folds up well for travel and storage and shows no signs of heat damage or wear despite several years of use.  The wind screen latches in place with small holes at corner.  I put my coals directly on table and use it for hours.  You can see it is very heavily loaded.  I bake bread and desserts in Dutch oven as well, using a cast iron trivet to avoid burning the bottoms.

He also built this fine tripod from scrap using the hollow legs of a rack from a truck.  The actual tripod connector is made of 5/8″ cold roll heated in his forge and bent into shape.  I love this…

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So… about that Merry Christmas…

This happens to special people!

barbtaub's avatarBarb Taub

Bright and early this morning, my husband took the dog out for a Christmas morning constitutional. Since it’s Scotland, that means pitch dark if it occurs any time before about 10:AM. A surprisingly long time later, he was at the door trying to call me without waking up the house packed with sleeping guests. “Um… YOUR dog,” he stammered.

SantaPeri

“Use your words, PhD!” I hissed back. (It’s a never-ending source of joy to me that Mr. Raised-Proper-In-Boston can’t say sh*t.)

“She’s had a…technical…difficulty. With her…er…her…” A look of pure desperation. “It’s stuck to her. YOUR dog. She’s your dog.”

Okay, so sometimes I take it too far. While I was going all schadenfreude on his panic, the dog shot past him and proceeded to try to wipe off the results of her failure. On the oriental rug in the hall. Then the other oriental rug in the hall. Then the one…

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So Horrible It Has to be Shared!

Have you ever had an experience so horrible it had to be shared? Maybe something smells or tastes so bad you cant leave it alone. ”Taste this! It’s disgusting!” Over your poor friend’s protests, you insist. “No really, you gotta taste this! It’s horrible!”

That’s why I have to inflict this story on you.

A few days ago, I got an early start, vacuumed, mopped, changed my sheets, and tidied up before settling into my comfy chair with my laptop to write. As I gathered my thoughts and awaited inspiration, Bud and Buzzy approached the patio door.

Buzzy, my American Eskimo Dog is sedate and well-mannered, so it startled me to see him burst through the patio door like a bat out of Hell before he launched himself half-way across the room into my lap. As Bud headed to his office, he nonchalantly mentioned Buzzy might be suffering from some abdominal distress. Sure enough, Buzzy rapidly spun three three or four rotations in my lap and on top of my computer. I tried to calm his nerves and was assaulted by the smell of feces and the nauseating sight of an excrement-smeared computer screen and filthy clothes. Wisely, as I struggled to dig out from under the tornado of a poop monster, Bud disappeared into his office feigning deafness.

Heartbroken by his poor welcome, Buzzy fled to a place of consolation, my fresh bed. Like his wolf-ancestors, before lying down he made two or three circles to prepare his bed. Miraculously, Bud had somehow become aware of the festivities, as had our other dog, a huge Mastiff mix, Croc. Not wanting Buzzy to have all the fun, Croc inserted himself into the melee. The curious one-hundred twenty pound dog jealously trying to stay between Buzzy and his pursuers complicated the situation exponentially. Croc had no clue what the concern was since he and Buzzy greeted each other genteelly with a sniff of the nether portions first thing every morning, but had no intention of being denied a good time. 

With a bit of a scuffle, Bud shut Croc out while  we progressed to the bathroom as Croc howled in outrage., “I poop a lot more than he does!  Where’s my party?” Not having had a chance to evaluate the situation, I wrestled Buzzy into the sink, but not before most bathroom surfaces took on a fine patina of poop. Holding Buzzy in place, I ran water and added soap for his bath. Very quickly, I became aware a sink-bath wouldn’t suffice. Taking him to a tub outdoors was out of the question, so he was destined for his first shower. Naturally, he could hardly be expected to shower himself, so I climbed in. Surprisingly, that was the easiest part of the ordeal. He behaved perfectly throughout the process.

Fortunately for the sake of our marriage, Bud didn’t get off too easily. While Buzzy and I showered, he cleaned the walls and floors, all the way back to where Buzzy had made his grand entrance. By the time the shower was over was over and Buzzy dried, the bed was stripped and the washer and hamper were full of disgusting laundry. As a special bonus, the sink was plugged with excreta and long, white dog hair, another diversion for Bud.

In the week before, I had intended to get Buzzy in for grooming. Much to his joy, I’d never made it. Though his coat is beautiful, particularly in hot weather, it benefits from regular brushing. I am especially careful to brush him thoroughly before bathing to remove loose hair and minimize matting. Sadly, Buzzy had not advised me of his plans. He was so matted after bathing, I wasn’t able to finish the job in one brushing. I’d brush a while , let him take a break, and pick up with the job, later. Some mats even required scissoring, something I’ve never had to do before. I think I’ve gotten enough hair out to upholster another whole dog. Sadly, all that brushing makes Croc even more envious. He’s required an inordinate amount of brushing, too.

Many hours later, things settled to normal.  Next time I am ready, I’ll be more specific in my search for inspiration.