Bud recalls helping his dad as he was growing up. Sometimes his dad might express frustration as they worked along.saying, “If you want a job done right, you’d better do it yourself.”
As smart alec kids sometimes do, Bud filed that tidbit in the back of his mind. It wasn’t long before dad left him instructions for a job he intended for Bud to do the next day. “I want you to do this tomorrow and I want it done right!”
Foolishly, Bud finished his sentence for him. “Then you’d better do it yourself!”
I have no interest in fashion or brands. I have no designer purses, shoes, or clothes. In fact, my wardrobe has one major requirement. Items must be made of cotton and have pockets, since I can’t be bothered with a purse.
However, on reflection , I realize I am loyal to one brand. I prefer Gold Medal Self-Rising Flour. It gives consistent results. Does that count?
That Barbie led a charmed life, raised by an adoring Mother who felt discipline damaged tiny psyches. While a screaming Barbie was gently extracted from a situation, she’d be pounding Cookie with her precious little fists. Billy and I stared wide-eyed, totally unaware a kid could attack a parent. I don’t believe Mother felt the least concern for the state of my psyche. She’d have warmed by britches in a heartbeat. We’d even get “the look” when Barbie threw a tantrum, tacitly reminding what would happen should we try such a thing.
One stormy afternoon, a thunderstorm raged. We’d been playing the skate/wading pool game on the front porch when we were forced indoors by the lightning. Barbie threw a fit, culminating in an asthma attack. Cookie dragged her off for medication and rest. While she screamed herself to sleep, Billy and I availed ourselves of her treasures. We set our loot up in the half stair closet, playing there all afternoon. It was magnificent having a ready-made hideout.
I believe I had my first encounter with fire ants at that house. I followed Grandma to the backyard, where she was doing some gardening. I saw a huge mound of dirt which I did not recognize as an anthill. Fascinated, I jumped into it. Of course, I was instantly beset by enraged ants. At my screams, Grandma snatched my clothes off and sprayed me down with the water hose. A fast learner, I’ve never been tempted to jump in another ant bed.
Where do I start? The very next thing I must do more of is gardening. My flower beds are weedy and overgrown, screaming for attention. Morning glories have totally taken over one bed. My flagstone patio needs grooming. It’s shameful how I’ve neglected it. This list could go on and on. It have promised myself and my flowers they’ll get the care they need as soon as the cooler days of fall arrive.
Before I started school, my grandparents lived communally on the ground floor of a formerly grand old house in Houston. Clearly the growing city was encroaching on the fading beauty.Cookie, Uncle Riley, and Cousin Barbie lived there too. It was on a busy street with nonstop traffic. The noise of constant traffic and honking horns intruded constantly. The air was never free of exhaust. A large grocery store stood catty-cornered from them and a funeral home directly across. An eight-foot wide sidewalk ran from the front steps to the sidewalk fronting the street. A stately porch ran around three sides of the house. Most intriguing of all, what appeared to be a closet enclosed four steps of a staircase ascending to nowhere. An old lady rented the second-floor apartment complete with an identical porch.
I desperately wanted to explore the second floor but Grandma shut me down. “We can’t go up there. Another family lives there.” Everyone I knew lived in a regular house. I’d never seen an apartment or house divided into apartments.
Grandma was overprotective. I was old enough to be trusted not to wander out in the street but she was convinced a passerby would snatch me off the sidewalk. Also, she was worried a speeding car would plow up onto the sidewalk. She stood guard nearby scowling with her trusty broom just in case a foolhardy kidnapper looked tempted. We were free to play on the enormous wrap around porch.
Cousin Barbie didn’t have to share. She screamed if we approached her inflatable wading pool set up in the porch. She kept her skates close by, intending to keep them safe from me and my brother. That was managed easily enough. While one of us skated, the other ran in and out of the pool. We kept her running and screaming till Cookie took her in for fear of an asthma attack. That worked for us.
One morning as Grandma worked in her flower beds, I was allowed to play on the sidewalk a few feet away. To my great surprise, the lady living on the second floor dashed her bucket of mop water onto my head. I thought it a delightful surprise for a hot day! Grandma was enraged. She tore into her upstairs neighbor while Mother whisked me in to wash off the mop water.
Agents selling funeral policies were a fixture in the rural South. Our budget was too tight for such luxuries, so Mother tried hard to keep us alive. Myrtle Harper sold policies for Jolly Funeral Home and Watkins products. She was a nosy do-gooder who carried sunshine from house to house, dispensing information about people’s financial situations
Betty Jones was three months behind on her six policies but thought she might be able to get the money from her mama, now that her daddy had drunk himself to death and Mama wasn’t stretched quite so tight. She shared health information. It’s a good thing, Bonnie Mercer bought that nice policy on her new baby. She might need it if the baby didn’t start looking better.
She shared all kinds of social matters. Bertha Willis had another black eye Another tidbit: No wonder Phil Parker ran around with everything in a skirt. Lucy kept a filthy house and her cooking wasn’t fit for the hogs.”
Even though Mother had repeatedly refused to purchase funeral policies, Mother occasionally bought Watkins Vanilla or Anti-Pain Oil for her headaches, so Myrtle kept optimistically coming by every time she was in the neighborhood. She inspected each new baby hopefully to see if it might look puny enough to tempt Mother into buying a new policy. When Connie and Marilyn were toddlers, they sat playing in the shade of a huge oak tree as Mother and Myrtle drank tea. Myrtle launched her latest insurance campaign. “Just look at those two little gals playing there. If you bought a policy for them right now, I could get them both a four hundred policy for just a dollar a month. If you wait till they’re thirteen, it would cost you at least a thousand dollars to bury them.”
Mother studied her babies thoughtfully. “Well, I guess we’d better bury them now. I wouldn’t want to miss out on a good deal.” Myrtle never even knew she was being strung along.
Sunshine gives me energy. There’s no better way to wake up than to birdsong and sunshine. It just gives me a feeling of optimism and timelessness, reminding me that I am just a part of something bigger. I am not responsible for everything, just my little corner of the world. I love that universal feeling.
Nutsrok 