memoir

It Couldn’t Be Helped Part 2

Daddy should have been a polygamist the way he laid out work for Mother.  His list might start, “Take the power saw by the shop in Springhill (22 miles away) on your way to the tractor place in Magnolia (24 miles beyond Springhill) pick up a magneto.  It ought to look like this.  (He’d dangle two broken pieces)  Mother wouldn’t have known a magneto from a mosquito.  On your way home, stop at Rusty’s and get some  catfish to fry tonight.  Eric is coming over after work to help me and I told him you’d fry him up some catfish.  Oh yeah, don’t forget to stop at the feed store in Cotton Valley and get a hundred pounds of grain.  That red cow is looking poor and I want to fatten her up.”

The entire round of errands was more than one hundred miles. Mother would do what she had to at the house, grab her two preschoolers and start her day.  Of course, she still had to “fry fish for Eric” at the end of this little jaunt.  Mother was a “good wife” and would never told Daddy to take care of his own business.  He was completely demanding and thought she was lucky to be married to him.  Add Mother’s regular routine to this and it was a mess.

Well, on the proud occasion of my brother Bill’s high school graduation, he was miraculously gifted with a suit. The whole family was thrilled.  My parents had been worried for months how they would come up with the necessary graduation suit.  A regular suit would have really stretched their budget, but Bill was tall, more than six feet-four inches.  West Brothers wasn’t going to be much help.  About two weeks before graduation, a box came in the mail, a beautiful blue suit.  It came with long, long unhemmed pants.  All the pants needed was hemming to make them perfect-the answer to a prayer.  Immediately, Daddy pronounced, “Kathleen, you’ve got to get busy right now and get those pants hemmed.”

“I’ll get it done, but not right now. I’m cooking supper.”  Daddy liked his food.  He couldn’t argue with that.

The next night at exactly the same time, “Kathleen, did you get those pants hemmed today?”

“No. Connie was sick and I had to take her to the doctor.  She threw up the rest of the day.  I didn’t get anything done.”

Now he was clearly not pleased. “Well, you better get it done tomorrow.  Graduation is only a week and a half off.”

Mother was mad now. “I know that as well as you do.  And I know he has to have a suit.  I would have done it today if Connie hadn’t gotten sick!”

Disaster fell that night. Granny Long died.  Mother had to help at the house and cook food for the funeral.  Mother and Daddy had to “sit” a shift with the body at the home that night, when they were asked if Billy could be a pall bearer.  “Of course,” said Daddy.  “It would be an honor.”

”Oh no! He’ll have to have a suit and I didn’t get it hemmed!”  thought Mother. It was after 2:00 A.M. when they got home.  The funeral was at 10:00 A.M. It never even occurred to Daddy the suit was not hemmed and pressed just like he’d delegated days ago.

“Come Hell or High Water” breakfast was the first order of the day.  Mother wasn’t about to mention the suit before she had to.   By the time Daddy was out of the way, Bill learned he’d been pressed into service as a pall-bearer. With a yet-to-be hemmed suit, tensions were high.  Every minute counted.  Mother told him to try the pants on so she could measure them for a hem.  Furious as only a hormone-ridden seventeen-year-old pantsless pall-bearer can be, he held them in front of himself and snarled, “Just cut them here.”

Sick of the attitude, Mother didn’t notice he was bending as he pointed. She cut.  He ran for the shower while she hemmed and pressed faster than I’d ever seen her move, glad to have dodged a bullet.

Minutes later, he strode down to hall where we all were waiting, Daddy included. Complete with jacket, tie, cufflinks, and beautifully shined dress shoes he made an entrance.  His new suit pants ended four inches below his knees, revealing six inches of hairy, white leg above his black socks.  He looked like Tom Sawyer whitewashing the fence.  His expression was unreadable.  There would be no saving his beautiful suit.  I was sure somebody would have to die!  Mother looked from him to Daddy and pronounced, “Well, it couldn’t be helped!”  We all exploded and laughed so long and hard a tragedy was averted.  Billy went back and put on his old black dress pants to do his pall bearer duty.  I don’t remember what happened to the graduation suit.  I guess it didn’t matter that much after all.

It Couldn’t Be Helped

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The picture above captures a frequent expression of Mother’s, usually after she has just opened her mouth and put her foot in it.

I am doing a post on crazy things my mother has said and done.  Mother was always a delightful ditz.  With a demanding husband and five wild kids it’s a wonder any thing ever went right.  After a fiasco, she’d often say, “It couldn’t be helped.”  She’s just turned ninety and is a real dynamo.  She goes to the gym twice a week, has a yard full of flowers, still drives, and is very active in her church, community, and the matriarch of a large family.  We all love telling the stories of her crazy escapades.

1.  She left her lights on, ran her car battery down, and asked a nice young police officer to “jack her off.”  She wasn’t arrested.

2.She doesn’t like it when someone asks how tall she is, so replies either, “How much do you weigh?  or How much money do you have?”  By the way, she is not tall.

3.  She once crashed  a wedding in cut off blue jeans, sitting in the first row on the bride’s side.  The family was not friendly.

4.  She was once locked in a museum and had to be rescued by the fire department, climbing over the fence on their ladder.

5.  She was locked in Windsor Castle. More on that later.

6.  She rolled up a car window up on a camel’s lip.  These things happen.

7.  She made change in the offering plate at church and came out twenty dollars ahead.

8.  She lost her bra at church one Sunday.  She never could explain that!

9,  When two intruders broke in her house, she made one of them help her into her robe before she would talk to them.  She gave them eleven dollars, telling them, “That’s enough!” They thanked her when they left, telling her to “have a nice day.”  She told the police officers later, “They were polite and had been raised right.”  Go figure.

10.  She threatened a rapist in her own living room.

11. She won’t say “Bull.”  That sounds crude.  She substitutes “male cow.”

I still don’t have the nerve to say “damn” in front of her.  God knows she tried to raise me right.

I decided to flesh these delightful stories after first clarifying.  Mother’s mind is not going.  Lots of these stories go back many years.  She’s a delight to be around and keeps family and friends in stitches, most often without meaning to.

#1.  “Officer can you jack me off?”

Mother is prissy to the point of being prudish, exchewing vulgar terms such as “butt” and “pee.”Dern” is as bad as it gets, except for one time I heard her say “Damn”  when she raised up under and open cabinet door. Life presents challenges for a kid growing up with such a restrictive vocabulary.  I have to admit, however, she may have had a closed-head injury when she said it.

Any way, Mother made her way to the local mall for lunch and an afternoon of shopping with her frinnds.  Much later she returned to her car and found a dead battery, courtesy of the lights she’d left on.  I suspect she may have said “Dern!”

Donning her best poor stranded woman look, she flagged down a Police Officer, asking if he could jack her off using her best Minnie Mouse squeak.  Maybe he ihad a grandma, but she didn’t get arrested.  (To be continued)  Note link to youtube channel below to see her.

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC0HAKC-qt-tJu7qWJLNgSYg

Open and Closed

Bud is mostly reasonable, but does have his moods.  One morning he got up and made me coffee while I dressed for work, which was a real treat.  I always got the kids’ breakfast on the table before turning it over to him to get them fed, dressed and on the bus.  He didn’t go to work till later in the morning so our paths didn’t cross in the morning that often.  Of course I didn’t have much time to drink it, so he fixed me a cup to go as I headed out the door before five a.m.  I grabbed my badge, coffee, bag, and  lunch and keys out of the fridge.  The only way I could remember my lunch was if it was with my keys.  Bud fussed, but it made perfect sense to me.  He didn’t have to get the kids off for a while so he settled back in his recliner to watch the news and probably catch a snooze.

I found it distracting to have Bud up and about as I left for work, so I was a little distracted as I hit the garage door remote.  The door had a little glitch where it sometimes edged back down a few inches instead of engaging at the top.  This was one of those mornings.  Bud had kept meaning to fix it, but you know how that goes.  I made one last check on things before starting my vehicle.  Backing up, I was rewarded with a whump and a nauseating schreech as I connected with the garage door.  Apparently, it had learned its lesson, because it returned to the correct position just as Bud burst out the back door, gesticulating and shouting!  He looked like he was foul mood so I hurried on my way, not bothering to stop and find out what he thought of the situation since he didn’t look like his morning was going well.  I never have understood why some people have to be grouchy in the mornings.

I called his job later in the morning to find out how much damage I’d done.  One of his buddies answered the phone eager to talk to me.  “Hey, I heard you backed into the closed garage door!”

”Yeah, but it wasn’t my fault.  Bud was supposed to fix it.”

”Yeah, he’s gone to get some parts now.  Do you want me to ask him to call you when he gets back?” He laughed.

”No, not really.  He was in a bad mood when I left this morning.”

 

 

Meet the Help

I don’t know how people get by without dogs.  We have two, Buzzy, an American Eskimo Dog, and Croc, a mastiff mix.  They shoulder a lot of responsibility around here.  Below, they are pictured helping Bud in the shop.

Buzzy is on weed patrol.

Croc valiantly keeps the Fed Ex man at bay.

They are both checking to see whether this pillow should be on the floor.

Serving as area rugs.  Notice the white fluff about halfway to the TV.  Croc thoughtfully pulled it out of Buzzy’s tail and left it there for me, just in case I was looking for some.

They also keep the floors free of snacks at all times.

Chicken Poop Tea For Two

Why don’t men just say what they mean?  Bud and I have been married forever and I still don’t know how he thinks most of the time.  You need a little history here.  My niece generously gave me a garbage bag full of chicken poop.  I’d been coveting her chicken poop for a while, but hated to come right out and ask for it.  If you’re not a gardener, you probably have no idea what a precious gift chicken poop is.  Ferns love it.  There is nothing better than a delicious dose of chicken poop tea for your flowers and vegetables.  They practically slurp when they get their weekly dose and seem to fairly jump up.  I hurried home with my prize before she could regret it, with the intention of making myself a big batch of chicken poop tea.  I dug around is Bud’s shop and found a nice five gallon bucket.  He agreed I could use it.  It never occurred to me to mention what I wanted it for.

I divided that precious poop between that bucket and one of my own and filled both three-quarters full, covered them and left them to steep, one on the front porch and the other near the back patio.  In a week or so, I had a strong brew.  The lid prevented the smell from permeating the area.  It was potent.  I doused my ferns and other hungry plants weekly.  They loved it, competing to green up and put on new growth.  Adding water each use kept it coming.  The stuff was all I hoped it would be.

Then Bud started badgering.  “When are you gonna pour that stuff out?  It stinks!”  You can’t keep it here in that bucket.”

I wasn’t getting rid of it.  “Hannah, gave me this.  I need it for my plants.  I’ll move it away from the patio, but I’m not getting rid of it!”

”That s—— stinks.!  You need to pour it out.” He had the nerve to actually call it s—-!

”I’m not pouring it out!”  He stomped off.  He better have the good sense not to mess with my chicken poop tea! 

This went on for three years.  Several times a summer, we discussed my tea.  He never quite had the nerve to dump it, though he threatened several times.  That was a wise decision.  Chicken poop doesn’t grow on trees.  By now, this was prime stuff, very valuable to me.

This May, we were having guests.  I was fatigued, having spent several days getting ready.  Bud started up again, seeing my weakness.  “What are you gonna do with this bucket of s—-?”

I lost my resolve.  “I guess I’ll  throw it out!”  I thought he’d be ashamed and stop me.  He didn’t!  I gave my plants a final treat and emptied the buckets on my compost heap.

Yesterday as we dawdled over Sunday coffee in his shop, I spied that same blue five gallon bucket by Bud’s saw, full of lumber scraps.  “Is that THE bucket?  I didn’t think you’d still use it after it stood full of chicken poop for three years.”

”Why sure.  It’s a good bucket.  Why do you think I wanted it back?”

“You mean all that complaining was over the bucket, not the chicken poop?”

”Well, yeah.  It’s a good bucket.  I needed it back.”

”Why in the world didn’t you tell me?  I would have gotten you another bucket and kept my chicken poop? Buckets are cheap!  Chicken poop is priceless!”  Was this the same man who agreed to share all his worldly goods only forty-eight years ago?  I guess that didn’t include “good buckets.”

Chcken s——-!

My patio

 

 

I am not an Animal

Croc and the Great Chair Monster

 

This poor dog suffered a terrifying experience today.  While I was watering my strawberries, I fastened his leash to a patio chair.  Bud drove up and my other dog,  Buzzy , sounded the alarm.  Croc forgot he was tethered and took off to greet Bud, dragging the heavy metal patio chair shrieking like a banshee on the concrete behind him.   Panicked, he fled, bashing a few flower pots as the chair monster pursued him, screaming its rage.  It remained in hot pursuit all the way down the drive where it attacked the travel trailer and Jeep in its fury, while never loosening its grip on Croc.  The beast clung to him, trying to hang him up on my berry fence.  Finally, Bud and Buzzy caught up with him, but not until he made a pass through my rose garden, uprooting a couple unfortunate bushes before hanging up on a garden bench  He was panting and trembling before Bud finally wrested him from the grip of the chair monster.  Naturally, Buzzy was barking wildly the whole time, sure that would save his friend.  He drank a whole bowl of water and slept for three hours straight once he got back under air conditioning.

 

Bud is going to try to fix the chair tomorrow.  The flower pots were a total loss.  I don’t think the Jeep or travel trailer were damaged at all.  I’d hate to have to explain that damage to an insurance adjuster.

Smorgasbord Laughter Lines – Last wishes, Quickies and Sports Injuries.

Phew!

Little Johnny runs into his house and asks, “Mommy, can little girls have babies?”

“No,” says his mom, “Of course not.”

After Little Johnny runs back outside, his mom hears him yell to his friend, “It’s OK, we can keep playing