memoir

The Journey to My First Bike: A Childhood Story

Despite not getting a one fot Christmas, I was obsessed with learning to ride a bike. In case you didn’t know, kids with bikes aren’t interested in sharing them. I couldn’t just borrow an hour of “bike time.” I felt sure that the hard part was getting my hands on a bike, not the learning part.

Finally, my hopes were realized. My dad decided to visit an old Navy buddy. Conveniently, the family had three boys in my age range, each with a bike. I was in heaven. There was a bike available to me at all times. I didn’t waste the opportunity. I’d push a bike alongside a fence, or porch and push off. In my frantic determination to learn, I could actually ride by to evening of the first day. I spent the remainder of that trip in non-stop riding.

My parents were impressed that I’d learned to ride. My success made me even more desperate. The following Christmas, I actually got a bike! It wasn’t the blue Schwinn Spitfire I’d been hoping for but a perfectly adequate used bike with a new paint job and new tires. I was ecstatic! It was a bike! I felt like I’d been given wings.

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.

Slight Confusion

imageMy nephew, Josh, came shrieking in the house looking for his mom and dad.  “Help! Help!  There’s a giant black weirdo in the front yard!”

Fearing he’d been accosted by a pervert or a child molester, they ran out ready to defend their little guy.  There was nobody there.

“Son, there’s nobody here!” his dad reassured him.  “Exactly what did you see?”

Excitedly, Josh pointed out a hole in the yard.  “A huge spider!  A black weirdo!  He ran down in here!”

 

 

Watson, the Great Hunter

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My granddog, Watson, managed a successful hunt, despite overwhelming odds.  He found this plush toy beside a trashcan.  After valiant pursuit, he was able to wrestle it into submission and drag its sorry carcass home.  At last report, he was still standing guard over it.

Watson and football

In the shot above, Watson has slain an unfortunate football that landed in his yard from the schoolyard across the street.  As you can clearly see, he has placed it in his food bowl in preparation for dinner.  He is not a catch and release kind of dog.  I am concerned that he will never be able to pass this ball even if he is successful in eating it.Watson in BathtubIn the shot above, you see Watson snoozing in the bathtub.  He sleeps with his snout at the drain where his snores can be amplified throughout the house.  He is like a two-year-old child.  He thinks he should get a bath anytime anyone else does.  Should they forget to lock the door, he pushes his way in to get in the tub with them.  If he gets in before they dry off, he wants to lick water droplets off.  He is not a good shower friend.

 

 

Young Boy Recuperating from Surgery Partially Eaten by Beagle (Kind of) Wouldn’t this make a great headline?

Many years ago, my young son picked his toenails till he got them infected. He also had an adoring beagle who made his every step, especially when John was snacking and likely to drop crumbs. I don’t think John ever had to pick anything up. In most cases, that’s good, but not necessarily since Spotty spent a good bit of her time dancing on his sore toes. Eventually, John required toenail removal. Surgery went fine, and in the way of small boys, John proudly saved the excised tissue to show his dad, once he got in. Spotty never left his side. John convalesced on the sofa with his poor foot on a pillow all afternoon, admiring his sore toe, his toe remnant, and calling out for games and snacks. As you might expect, long before his dad got home, he dropped his trophy. Ever faithful, Spotty snapped it up before it hit the floor. Both recovered, though John was heartbroken. To the best of my knowledge, that’s the last body part Spotty ever snacked on.toe 2<img

Evening Chuckle

exercise 1exercise 2

'Like it'll do any good.'

‘Like it’ll do any good.’

exercise 4

'I can help you develop your triceps, possibly beef up your chest. But to be brutally honest, you need to be erased and completely redrawn.'

‘I can help you develop your triceps, possibly beef up your chest. But to be brutally honest, you need to be erased and completely redrawn.’

Creation Duel

    In the beginning God created the heaven and the Earth. And the Earth was without form, and void, and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Devil said, “It doesn’t get any better than this.”
And God said, “Let there be light” and there was light. And God said, “Let the earth bring forth grass, the herb yielding seed, and the fruit tree yielding fruit,” and God saw that it was good.  And the Devil said, “There goes the neighborhood.”
And God said, “Let us make Man in our image, after our likeness, and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air and over the cattle, and over all the Earth, and over every creeping thing that creepeth upon the Earth.” And so God created Man in his own image; male and female did He create.
And God looked upon Man and Woman and saw that they were lean and fit.
And the Devil said, “I know how I can get back in this game.”
And God populated the earth with broccoli and cauliflower and spinach, green and yellow vegetables of all kinds, so Man and Woman would live long and healthy lives.
And the Devil created McDonald’s. And McDonald’s brought forth the 79-cent double cheeseburger. And the Devil said to Man: “You want fries with that?” And Man said: “Supersize them.” And Man gained 5 pounds.
And God created the healthful yogurt, that woman might keep her figure that man found so fair. And the Devil brought forth chocolate. And Woman gained 5 pounds.
And God said, “Try my crispy fresh salad.”
And the Devil brought forth Ben and Jerry’s. And Woman gained 10 pounds.
And God said, “I have sent thee heart-healthy vegetables and olive oil with which to cook them.”
And the Devil brought forth chicken-fried steak so big it needed its own platter. And Man gained 10 pounds and his bad cholesterol went through the roof.
And God brought forth running shoes and Man resolved to lose those extra pounds.
And the Devil brought forth cable TV with remote control so Man would not have to toil to change channels between ESPN and ESPN2.  And Man gained another 20 pounds.
And God said, “You’re running up the score, Devil.”
And God brought forth the potato, a vegetable naturally low in fat and brimming with nutrition.
And the Devil peeled off the healthful skin and sliced the starchy center into chips and deep-fat fried them. And the Devil created sour cream dip.
And Man clutched his remote control and ate the potato chips swaddled in cholesterol. And the Devil saw and said, “It is good.” And Man went into cardiac arrest.
And God sighed and created quadruple bypass surgery.
And the Devil canceled Man’s health insurance.
Then God showed Woman how to peel the skin off chicken and cook the nourishing whole grain brown rice.
And the Devil created light beer so Man could poison his body with alcohol while feeling righteous because he had to drink twice as much of the now-insipid brew to get the same buzz. And Man gained another ten pounds.
And God created the life-giving tofu.
And Woman ventured forth into the land of Godiva Chocolate and upon returning asked Man: “Do I look fat?”
And the Devil said, “Always tell the truth.” And Man did.
And Woman went out from the presence of man and dwelt in the land of the divorce lawyer, east of the marriage counselor.

 

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Amazing! You hang something in your closet for awhile and it shrinks two sizes!

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I know what Victoria’s Secret is.
The secret is that nobody older than 30 can fit into their stuff.

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The hardest years in life are those between ten and seventy.
-Helen Hayes (at 73)

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The Garlic Diet:
You don’t lose weight, you just look thinner from a distance.

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I’m so fat that…the back of my neck looks like a pack of hotdogs.

~~~~~

I drive way too fast to worry about cholesterol.

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Every time I get the urge to exercise, I lie down till the feeling passes.

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“At my gym they have free weights, so I took them.” — Steve Smith

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The only exercise I get is jumping to conclusions.

 

 

~~~~~

T’was 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 had to 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 do 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 fruit cake, 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 want only to chew on a long celery stick.
I won’t have hot biscuits, or corn bread, or pie,
I’ll munch on a carrot and quietly cry.

I’m hungry, I’m lonesome, and life is a bore,
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
Compliments of RTA

I Want It! I Want It!

imageI was an acute hemodialysis nurse for thirty years, caring for thousands of patients over that time.  The most important thing I learned was listen to your patient.  I’d cared for Miss Ann for many years, through numerous hospitalizations, surgeries, and procedures.  Prior to this admission, she’d told her husband, “I don’t ever want any more surgery.”

Unfortunately, this time she was in ICU on a ventilator and couldn’t speak for herself.  She appeared to be unaware of what the doctor was explaining to her, so he asked her husband for surgical consent.  Sadly, her husband refused, citing Miss Ann’s intention not to have surgery again.  Meanwhile, behind the two of them, Miss Ann was frantically waving her arms trying to get their attention.  She wanted surgery.

Miss Ann got her surgery, recovered, and did well for quite a while after that.

Liar! Liar! Pants on Fire!

So there was this Grandma who was late for a meeting. She is going 65 on a street where the speed limit is 40. A cop pulls her over and says “ma’am, can I please see your license?” She says “I’m sorry, officer, but I got it revoked two years ago for drunk driving.” His brow furrows and he straightens up. “Well, can I please see the registration of your car?” She says “I stole the car and I killed the driver; he’s in the trunk.” “Ma’am, DON’T MOVE, I’m calling for backup.” He mutters furiously into his walkie-talkie… Five minutes later, half the squad pulls up, the Chief of Police walks over to the woman’s window. “Ma’am, can I see your license?” he asks sternly. “Of course, officer,” she smiles demurely and pulls out a license from her purse. He squints warily at it. “This looks legitimate,” he mumbles. “Can I see the registration to this car?” She pulls it out of the glove compartment and hands it to him. “Ma’am, stand back!” He bangs open the trunk of the car and flinches: but it was completely empty… The woman brandishes a finger at the first cop and says accusingly, “And I’ll bet that liar told you I was speeding too!!”

Miss LauraMae’s House Part 15

nosy 2Miss Laura Mae was out of flour, so there was no biscuit for me, just toast. I didn’t like toast much. I had Ol’ Blue’s complete attention as I tossed him bits.  Chickens crowded around the steps, hoping to snatch a crumb. They didn’t enjoy a lot of success since Ol’ Blue snapped, causing one to to protest, “pluck!” flap her wings and flutter off a few feet, though none of them had much respect for his toothless gums.  Occasionally, he got up the steam to chase one and another was encouraged by a tiny reward while he was busy.  Even so, I did notice when the ladies lowered their voices.

“So, Myrtle insisted on dropping by Jackie’s after he said it wasn’t convenient?  That’s not right,” Mother whispered.

“Yeah, she’d been itchin’ to see Jackie’s place, an’ he kept a’tellin’ her it wasn’t a good time.  Well, that Sunday she just insisted on takin’ me to lunch at her sister-in-law’s in Dallas an’ said, ‘ as long as you’re with me, we’re just gonna drop in on Little Jack. I ain’t seen him in a while an’ I know you want to see his place.’  I didn’ especially care about  goin’ to see a woman I ain’t never met an’ sure didn’ want to go a’bustin’ in on Little Jackie of a Sunday morning.’  I’d a’heap ruther cooked at Myrtle’s and had a slow Sunday.  We’d been a’goin’ all week.

I told her ‘I’d love to see Little Jack, but I ain’t gonna be yore excuse for buttin’ in where I ain’t invited.  I’ll just wait in the car.  He’s coming over Thursday to see me.  Little Jack’s allus been standoffish an’ I ain’t goin’ in on nobody, grandson or not.’

‘Well, he’s a good boy an’ I wanna see his place.  Wait in the car if you want to.’

“She was purty het up,” Miss Laura Mae said.  “It was a real nice place, flowers in the yard, an’ all fresh-painted.  Myrtle prissed herself up to the front door, rung the bell.  She’s a hefty gal an’ looked plumb ridiculous in them high heels and short-tailed skirt.  You’d a’thought she could’a looked in the mirror before she left home.  Anyhow, Jackie come to the door in a robe an’ she pointed to me a’settin’ in the car.  They talked just a minute an’ Jackie waved to me an’ shut the door.  In just a minute, Myrtle was back in th’ car.  She moved purty fast for a tubby woman in high heels.  She was just a’sputterin’ when she got in the car.”

‘Well, don’t that beat all.’ Myrtle spewed.  ‘Little Jack said he was gittin ready for work an’ didn’ have time to visit.  That just ain’t right.  I know good an’ well he ain’t got to work Sundays.  He owns that store.’

“Well, I guess today wasn’t a good time for Little Jackie. neither.  I’ll just see him when he comes Thursday night for supper.’  Miss Laura Mae laughed.

“It kind’a ticked me after she tried to pushed in like that,”  she chuckled.  “You know he had somebody in there he didn’t want her to see.  After all, he is a man, full-growed.”

 

to be continued