If Men Had Babies

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Daddy loved going to doctors and taking medicines.  He walked through one morning as Mother’s friend mentioned she was seeing Dr Bert Mason, praising him to Mother. Upon hearing this recommendation of a doctor he had no experience of, his ears perked up.  Pondering Shirley’s recommendation as he went about his business, he did a total body assessment, trying to determine what imperfect body part might be most in need of attention.  Like most people over forty, at any time he could likely zero in on problem or two.  His knee was cranky, uncomfortable in foul weather.  Seasonal allergies were an ongoing problem.  Indigestion was a common visitor.  Maybe he should see Dr. Mason. He made a note to have mother call for an appointment when he got back in the house.

Two weeks later, they hurried in to the doctor’s office.  He settled in while Mother registered him.  They were the first ones to be seen after the lunch break.  As they waited, a couple of patients joined them.  In less than five minutes, the nurse called out, “Billie Swain?”  He was surprised to be called Billie, but followed her into the bowels of the clinic.  As Mother waited, the room quickly filled with patients.  Before long, Mother notice a commonality.  The patients were all women, mostly obviously pregnant, or nursing newborns.  Realizing there was nothing to be done, she settled back, looking forward to Daddy’s reaction to his visit with Dr. Mason, M.D., OB/GYN.

Within minutes, Daddy slipped out the door in the rear of the waiting room, signaling as he made his way out the door, hoping to escape notice.

Mr. Bradley and the Old Floozies

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Mr. Bradley died!! Mr. Bradley died!!

This was unbelievable! I had seen people get shot on “Gunsmoke,” but I’d never known anyone who had actually died. I knew I was supposed to cry when someone died but I couldn’t manage it. First of all, Mr. Bradley was an old grouch. He wore khaki pants and shirt and an old gray felt hat with oil stains around the hat band. He was really selfish. He had built us a chicken house. When I went out later to Continue reading

Superman and Grits

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This is me pictured with my cousin Cathy on a visit to their family in Baton Rouge. On this memorable trip, I was first introduced to grits.  It was instant love.  A year or two later Cathy told me Superman had killed himself.  I was sincerely devastated.  If Superman couldn’t deal, what hope was there for the rest of us?

 

Not a Small Matter!

Grandma young adult0007dentures by mail 1gum diseasefamily6Grandma was born in 1896. Very progressive, she employed higher standards of hygiene I do today, possibly because she’d barely survived typhoid in her mid-forties. Like me, washed her hands frequently as she cooked, but she scalded instead of merely rinsing her dishes, and boiled her whites, linens, and towels when doing her laundry with home-made lye soap in a huge cast-iron washpot outdoors until she got a washing machine. Continue reading

More Snotty Girls

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See this beautiful dead baby photographed outdoors in front of a black drape.  He was the cause of my first major social failure.  Before you get too outraged with me, bear in mind this child was my grandmother’s baby brother, stillborn in 1898.  Even she never knew him. From the time I could remember, whenever I caught Mother Continue reading

World Championship Foot In Mouth Award

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I am the World Champion at talking when I should have been listening.  More than thirty years ago, I had a dear friend in Nursing School who was valiantly struggling with morbidly obesity serious enough to interfere with ambulation and other life activities, not to mention the psychic and social pain she dealt with daily.  Working Continue reading

Blessings

I broke a tooth yesterday.  Thank God the dentist worked me in today.  I’m so grateful for good dental care.  It’s a blessing I can’t take for granted.

You Never Know

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Many years ago, I was on an hospital elevator with a minister I knew.  A somber man got on with us.  He looked straight ahead, deep in thought. Attempting to make conversation, the minister said, “Smile, it can’t be that bad.”

The man’s expression never changed.  In a low voice he remarked, “My son just died.”

The minister and I were both shocked.  As he stammered an apology, all three of us burst in to tears.  We hugged the man, offered shocked condolences, and offered to make phone calls for him.  The minister got off and went with him.

I’ve never forgotten, and suspect neither of them has either.  You just never know what a person is dealing with.

Get to the Point!

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Picture a skinny girl with boobs the size of fried eggs in this lovely lingerie.  Then add a curly, frizzy crazy old-lady perm.  Add a few sheer out-of-style dresses Grandma hand-picked for me at Goodwill.  Don’t forget the pimply back and cotton slip showcased so beautifully by those hideous dresses.  There you have the nightmare of style I sported in Continue reading