Day: November 21, 2024

Favorite Meals

What are your family’s top 3 favorite meals?

My family’s favorite meal was always roast beef in gravy with potatoes. If they didn’t polish it off at dinner, the kids cleaned up the leftovers for breakfast. Home fried chicken with mashed potatoes was always welcomed cordially. Another thing they loved was to come in from school and find soup simmering in the crockpot. They’d dive right in and have dinner then and there. Should they be patient enough to wait, they could have cornbread with it. I left soup going in the crockpot a lot, knowing the kids were always ravenous when they got off the bus.

More Travels with Mother

hotmama.https://nutsrok.wordpress.com/2016/01/05/the-low-down-on-lunch-with-mother/
Travels With Mother (Part 2)

The Most Fun You’ll Never Have, Kathleen’s Amazing Bathroom Tour!

It’s Not What You Tank!

 

God was with us.  We got to our destination, Hot Springs, Arkansas without a lot more drama.  We checked into our room, a nice suite with two king-sized beds and an extra bed for the fifth in our party.  For some reason, though it was 104 degrees, we freshened up a bit before going out to see the town, allowing us to start out with a less vintage sweat.  Within minutes, we were rank.  Not to be deterred by a little thing like heat exhaustion, we explored every shop on Main Street, till Mother found a little shop selling belly-dancing costumes. She wouldn’t be budged.  Now, as I’ve said before, Mother is tight.  She had no intention of making such a frivolous purchase, but had to admire herself in one. Every inch of the stifling shop was crammed with exotic outfits with no space devoted to dressing rooms. The proprietor obviously didn’t expect belly-dancers to be overly modest. Not to be denied, Mother just slipped her favorite on over her clothes, despite the heavy customer traffic. She is a little old church lady, after all.  I would never have expected so much business in a store selling belly-dancing costumes. 

Mother had us hold her things while she tottered and struggled into her racy choice, bumping customers at every turn.  They had to have thought her mind was gone and we should have looked out for her better, or that we were in geriatric sex-trade, pimping her out to some perverted creature with a fetish for demented, antique belly-dancers.  Neither choice made us look good.  Eventually, she pranced a bit and had us take a picture or two for her Sunday School Class, before being convinced to leave.  The store clerk was not amused by any of this, but I figured if she thought she was big enough to straighten Mother out, she could go for it.  I know when I am whipped. 

Bigsmilemotorcyclemama

An amused motorcycle guy and his girlfriend were taking all this in and invited Mother to meet their friends waiting on their bikes just outside. I think the burly guys exact words were, “She reminds me so much of my mama!” With him as Mother’s escort, we escaped the wrath of the store owner who was obviously thought it was past time we left.

Mother charmed his friends.  Her new friend invited her for a ride, which she refused, but she did climb behind him on his bike to get her picture made.  Regretfully, he helped her off, after telling her, “Ma’am, you don’t have to go home with these girls if you don’t want to.  We coaxed her away after she exchanged phone numbers and addresses with them, insisting they all come visit.  
Later that evening, we made it back to our hotel, only to find the air-conditioning and bathroom both out of order in our room.  Mother took charge, went to see the manager, and got us transferred to the only room they had left, the Presidential Suite, complete with a hot-spring bath.  I suspect the manager thought, “She reminds me of my mama.”  For once, a bathroom drama with Mother worked in our favor.

We enjoyed the rest of our visit.  On the way home, my sister Connie hung her purse strap on a toilet handle and broke the toilet in a station.  She takes after Mother.

 

Hard Time Marrying Part 12

She awoke to a murderous headache and a deafening roar in her ear, the warmth of  the flickering fire beckoning her.  Pulling herself to her feet by clinging to a table leg, she made her way toward it.  As she turned to warm her backside, she caught sight of the baby girl on the bed.

From deep in her battered brain, love for her baby sister nudged her.  Drawn to the bedside, she studied the baby, hardly cognizant of the other child.  Dropping to the edge of the bed, she tenderly touched the child’s burning cheek and tried to gather her to her bosom.

Unaware of the man who’d entered the room, her last thought was of her lost baby sister as she slid back into the darkness, barely aware of being ministered to.

She held little memory of the next few days, though her headache dulled and the roaring in her ear became less demanding.  When she could stay awake, she focused on the baby, a blue-eyed blonde, so much like her sister.  A small boy trailed the man constantly. Thinking still made her head ache, especially when she had the nightmare about a pistol and a man.  The Dream always slipped away like dark silk as shuddered awake, but left her in a cold sweat. In her dream, she was always trying to get away.

The man was busy but quiet.  He and the boy were rarely in the house, except to bring in milk, do chores, and eat.  He did nothing to threaten or disturb her, but she wanted nothing to do with him or any other man.  Had she been able to think more clearly, she’d have wondered about the mother of the children, but that was too onerous a task for her addled brain.

 

 

Wicked Chuckle

A couple comes up to a wishing well. The guy leans over, makes a wish, and throws in a penny. His wife decides to make a wish, too, but she leans over too far, falls into the well, and drowns.

The guy says, “Son of a… it works!”

Father O’Grady was saying his goodbyes to the parishioners after his Sunday morning service as he always does when Mary Clancey came up to him in tears. “What’s bothering you so, dear?” inquired Farther O’Grady. “Oh, father, I’ve got terrible news,” replied Mary. “Well what is it, Mary?” “Well, my husband, passed away last night, Father.” “Oh, Mary” said the father, “that’s terrible. Tell me Mary, did he have any last requests?” “Well, yes he did father,” replied Mary. “What did he ask, Mary?” Mary replied, “He said, ‘Please, Mary, put down the gun…'”

The old man had died. A wonderful funeral was in progress and the town’s preacher talked at length of the good traits of the deceased, what an honest man he was, and what a loving husband and kind father he was.

Finally, the widow leaned over and whispered to one of her children, “Go up there and take a look in the coffin and see if that’s your pa.”

In a dark and gloomy room, the fortune teller was startled by what she saw in her crystal ball. She looked up at her customer sitting across the table.

“There’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just be blunt. Prepare yourself to be a widow. Your husband will die a violent and horrible death this year.”

Visibly shaken, the woman stared at the psychic’s lined face, then at the single flickering candle, then down at her hands.

She took a few deep breaths to compose herself. She simply had to know. She met the fortune teller’s gaze, steadied her voice, and asked, “Will I get away with it?”