Author: lbeth1950

lbeth1950https://nutsrok.wordpress.comNow that I'm done with the bothersome business of workday world, I am free to pursue my passion, capturing the stories I've loved all my life. The ones you'll read on my blog are good old Southern stories, a real pleasure to relay. Here in the South, we are proud of our wacky folks. I've preyed shamelessly on my family, living and dead, friends, neighbors, and acquaintances, often changing the names to protect the innocent and not so innocent. My mother illustrates my blog. I come from a rollicking family of nuts, hence the name of the blog Nutsrok Enjoy.
lbeth1950's avatar

The Sad Saga of the Beakless, Tailless, Gizzard-bobbing, One-leg Hopping chicken

Being a farm kid is not for sissies and cowards. The dark side of the chicken experience is slaughtering, plucking, cleaning, and preparing chickens for the pot.  I watched as Mother transformed into a slobbering beast as she towered over the caged chickens, snagging her victim by the leg with a twisted coat-hanger, ringing its neck and releasing it for its last run.  We crowded by, horribly thrilled by what we knew was coming.  It was scarier than ”The Night of the Living Dead”,  as the chicken, flapping its wings, running with its head hanging crazily to one side, chased us in ever larger circles until it finally greeted Saint Peter at the Pearly Gates.  It looked horribly cruel, but done properly, a quick snap of the wrist breaks the chicken’s neck instantly, giving a quick death. Of course, this is my assessment, not the unfortunate chicken. The chickens always looked extremely disturbed.

Afterward, my mother grabbed the dead chicken, plunged it into a pot of boiling water, plucked the feathers, slit its pimply white belly, removed its entrails, cut off its feet and head, and prepared it for dinner.  I was repulsed  when Mother found  unlaid eggs in the egg cavity and used them in cooking.  That just didn’t seem right.  I was happy to eat the chicken, but future eggs….disgusting.  It kind of seemed like genocide, or chickenocide, to coin a new term.

Mother looked out one day and saw one of her chickens eating corn, oblivious to the fact that her gizzard was hanging out, bobbing up and down merrily as she pecked corn with all her lady friends.  Apparently she had suffered injury from a varmint of some kind.  Clearly, she wouldn’t survive with this injury, so Mother and I set about catching her.  At least she could be salvaged for the table.  Well, she could still run just fine.  We chased her all over the yard with no luck.

Finally, Mother decided to put her out of her misery by shooting her.  She missed.  She fired again and shot the hen’s foot off.  I knew I could do better.  I shot her beak off, then hit her in the tail.  By this time, we both felt horrible and had to get her out of her misery.  Her injuries had slowed the poor beakless, tailless, gizzard-bobbing, one-leg hopping chicken down enough so we could catch her and wring her neck.

All chickens didn’t end life as happily.  The LaFay girls, Cheryl, Terry, and Cammie raised chickens to show at the fair for 4-H, with a plan to fill their freezer with the rest.  Late one Thursday evening while their widowed mother was at work, they realized tomorrow was the day for the big barbecue chicken competition.  Mama wouldn’t be in until way too late to be helping with slaughtering and dressing the chickens.  After all the time and effort they had put in on their project, they had no choice but to press forward without Mama’s help.  They’d helped Mama with the dirty business of putting up chickens lots of times.  They’d just have to do manage on their own.

Cheryl, the eldest, drew the short straw, winning the honor of wringing the chicken’s neck.  She’d seen Mama do it lots of times, but didn’t quite understand the theory of breaking the neck with a quick snap.  She held the chicken by the neck,  swung it around a few times in a wide arc,  giving it a fine ride, and released it to flee drunkenly with a sore neck.   The girls chased and recaptured the chicken a couple of times, giving it another ride or two before the tortured chicken managed to fly up in a tree, saving its life.

Acknowledging her sister’s failure, Terry stepped up to do her duty.  She pulled her chicken from the pen, taking it straight to the chopping block, just like she’d seen Mama do so many times.  Maybe she should have watched a little closer.  Instead of holding the chicken by the head  and chopping just below with the hatchet, Terry held it by the feet.  The panicked chicken raised its head, flopped around on the block, and lost a few feathers.  On the next attempt, Cammie tried to help by holding the chicken’s head, but wisely jumped when Terry chopped, leaving the poor chicken a close shave on its neck.

indian-dress-and-henBy now, all three girls were squalling.  Cheryl tied a string on the poor chicken’s neck, Cammie held its feet and they stretched the chicken across the block.  By now, Terry was crying so hard so really she couldn’t see.  She took aim, and chopped Henny Penny in half, ending her suffering.   Guilt-stricken, they buried the chicken.  Defeated, they finally called their Aunt Millie, who came over and helped them kill and dress their chickens for the competition, which they won.  All’s well that ends well.

Why Patient Assessment is Crucial in Nursing

One of my nursing instructors shared this story. I’m so glad it didn’t happen to me. I’m sure I’d have an anal sphincter malfunction.

Her cancer patient had asked for a pain shot. Of course she’d developed critical anxiety dreading giving her first injection. It took her forever to check and recheck herself in preparation. Eventually, the big moment came. Her instructor helped her position the unfortunate patient and guided her through the shot and repositioning the patient. She sighed with relief till her instructor told her to her to check the patient’s vitals. To her horror, she couldn’t find a blood pressure, heartbeat, or respirations. Having no confidence in her skills, she tried again. Nothing! Terrified she had just killed her patient, she looked to her instructor who spoke to her levelly. “Always assess your patient before you do anything. She died while you were gone to get her medication.”

I’m sure she never forgot that lesson. I certainly didn’t.

The January Diet Resolution


’Twas the month after Christmas and all through the house,
Nothing would fit me, not even a blouse.
The cookies I’d nibbled, the eggnog I’d taste
At the holiday parties had gone to my waist.
When I got on the scales, there arose such a number!
When I walked to the store (less a walk than a lumber),
I’d remember the marvelous meals I’d prepared:
The gravies and sauces and beef nicely rared.
The wine and the rum balls, the bread and the cheese,
And the way I’d never said, “No thank you, please.”
As I dressed myself in my husband’s old shirt,
And prepared once again to battle with dirt,
I said to myself, as only I can,
“You can’t spend a winter disguised as a man!”
So, away with the last of the sour cream dip.
Get rid of the fruitcake, every cracker and chip.
Every last bit of food that I like must be banished,
’Til all the additional ounces have vanished.
I won’t have a cookie—not even a lick.
I’ll only just chew on a long celery stick.
I won’t have hot biscuits, or cornbread, or pie,
I’ll munch on a carrot and quietly cry.
I’m hungry, I’m grouchy, can’t fit through the door,
But isn’t that what January is for?
Unable to giggle, no longer a riot.
Happy New Year to all and to all a good diet!
~ Author Unknown



New Year’s Resolution Prayers


God, grant me the senility to forget the people I never liked anyway, the good fortune to
run into the ones that I do, and the eyesight to tell the difference.
Dear Lord,
So far this year I’ve done well. I haven’t gossiped, I haven’t lost my temper, I haven’t been
greedy, grumpy, nasty, selfish, or overindulgent. I’m very thankful for that. But in a few
minutes, Lord, I’m going to get out of bed, and from then on, I’m probably going to need a
lot more help. Amen

New Year’s Resolution over the Years
2019: I will get my weight down below 180 pounds.
2020: I will follow my new diet religiously until I get below 200 pounds.
2021: I will develop a realistic attitude about my weight.
2022: I will work out three days a week.
2023: I will try to drive past a gym at least once a week.



Football or Food
As in many homes on New Year’s Day, Janet and Jim, a happily married couple, faced
the annual conflict of which was more important—the football game on television or the
special meal.
Hoping to keep the peace, Jim ate lunch with the rest of the family, and even lingered
for some pleasant after-lunch chat before retiring to the lounge to turn on the television.
Some minutes later, Janet looked in to see how he was. She even graciously brought him a
cold beer. She smiled, kissed him on the cheek, and asked what the score was. Jim told her it
was halftime and that the score was still 0–0.
“See?” Janet said happily. “You didn’t miss a thing.”


©ActivityConnection.com – Funny New Year’s Resolutions & Jokes – Page 2 of 3
New Year’s Morning Lecture
Early New Year’s morning, Daniel was in no shape to drive, so he sensibly left his van in the
parking lot and walked home. As he was wobbling along, he was stopped by a policeman.
“What are you doing out here at four o’clock in the morning?” asked the police officer.
“I’m on my way to a lecture,” answered Roger.
“And who on earth, in their right mind, is going to give a lecture at this time of the night?”
inquired the constable sarcastically.
“My wife,” slurred Daniel grimly.

WordPress Time

I have been spending too much time on WordPress. Starting today, I will post on Mondays and Fridays.

Positive Relationships

What relationships have a positive impact on you?

I believe I have had the usual positive relationships. My parents, of course, teachers, and friends.

At a Loss

If you started a sports team, what would the colors and mascot be?

This prompt leaves me at a total loss. I have no interest in sports.

Sew and Sew Part 4

I went to a tiny high school. There were only nine in my graduating class. All the girls had to take four years of Home Economics, the boys four years of agriculture. I benefited from the sewing instruction. I was horrified to learn what my sewing project was to be my senior year. We were to make a fully-lined wool tailored suit with lapels, welt pockets, bound buttonholes, and set in sleeves. The skirt had side pockets and a set-in waistband. The other concern was the extreme cost of the fabric. I’d never sewn fabric that expensive, not to mention it would be an extreme stressor to my family’s budget. Somehow, they came up with enough money, forty-five dollars.

I was terrified to put scissors to the fabric. I measured, pinned, remeasured, and could finally could put off the cutting no longer. I had the teacher check every step. Each day, I folded every precious piece carefully and put it in my sewing box, terrified one would slip into the trash and doom my project.

My anxiety increased exponentially when my friend, Mary, folded her scissors inside her jacket pieces. She was devastated the next morning to unpack her project and found her scissors had cut a one inch slash in the right front portion of her jacket. Naturally, she was distraught. The whole class was traumatized, seeing her disaster. She had no extra fabric.

The teacher comforted her, assured Mary there was a solution, and showed us all the pattern could easily be altered to put a pocket with a flap on both sides of the jacket. The change actually was more attractive than the original design.

That lesson amazed me, increasing my confidence. I was able to go forward with less reassurance, competing my project with pride. I wore that suit with confidence. It was one of the nicer outfits I ever owned. Mary’s suit turned out beautifully as well.

From that point forward, I knew that if I didn’t have the skills I needed, I could research and get the information I needed. Sewing has served me well. I bought a sewing machine and made everything the children and I wore until peer pressure made them insist on name brand clothes.

This is the exact pattern I used.

Random Funnies to make You Chuckle

A policeman pulls a man over for speeding and asks him to get out of the car. After looking the man over he says, “Sir, I couldn’t help but notice your eyes are bloodshot. Have you been drinking?”

The man gets really indignant and says, “Officer, I couldn’t help but notice your eyes are glazed. Have you been eating doughnuts?”

One Monday morning a postman i…

One Monday morning a postman is walking the neighbourhood on his usual route. As he approaches one of the homes he noticed that both cars were in the driveway. His wonder was cut short by Bob, the homeowner, coming out with a load of empty beer and liquor bottles.
“Wow Bob, looks like you guys had one hell of a party last night,” the postman comments.
Bob in obvious pain replies, “Actually we had it Saturday night. This is the first I have felt like moving since 4:00 am Sunday morning. We had about fifteen couples from around the neighbourhood over for Christmas Cheer and it got a bit wild. We got so drunk around midnight that we started playing ‘Who Am I.'”
The postman thinks a moment and says, “How do you play that?”
Well all the guys go in the bedroom and we come out one at a time with a sheet covering us and only our “privates” showing through a hole in the sheet. Then the women try to guess who it is.”
The mailman laughs and says, “Damn, I’m sorry I missed that.”
“Probably a good thing you did,” Bob responds. “Your name came up four or five times.”

The following is supposedly a true story. To be included, besides being true, the story is most likely strange, weird, surprising, or funny.
December 18, 1992
In October, a cleaning crew accidentally tossed out an exhibit at the Museum of Discovery and Science in Fort Lauderdale, Fla. The exhibit consisted of 14,000 cigarette butts — the amount a smoker produces in a lifetime — crammed into coffee cans. Said the artist, in defense of the cleaning crew, “(The butts) didn’t smell very good.”

The following is supposedly a true story. To be included, besides being true, the story is most likely strange, weird, surprising, or funny.
February 17, 1993
Fort Erie, Ontario, Constable Paul Fletcher told reporters in December that a man armed with a club tried to force a woman to drive him home with her to get money for him, but that when he waited for her to unlock the passenger door from inside, she sped away.

Battery Socks

My brother was an avid deer hunter. That Christmas Mother bought him a gift of battery-powered heated socks. This seemed like a great idea, since deer season fell during cold weather. Bill was up long before dawn, dressing for the hunt. Sadly, the Christmas budget hadn’t extended far enough for the purchase of hunting boots. Never fear. His new socks would keep his feet warm. He layered his clothes down to his fine, new battery socks. To ensure his comfort, he pulled plastic bread bags on over his shoes.

He set up in his deer stand, knowing he’d be comfortable. All went well for a few minutes until the heated socks encased in plastic bread bags made his feet sweat. It felt like ants were eating him up. Frantically, he stripped of bread bags, shoes, and his fine, new battery-powered socks, leaving him standing on the cold, cold ground with his sweaty feet. What a treat for a frosty morning!