Reblog of previous Christmas post.
One year, the Awful’s made sure their parents had the most awful Christmas ever. Like the rest of us, they couldn’t wait for Christmas. As always, they starting finding their presents about a week before Christmas. Every day one of them showed up with something new. One day, Froggy had a brand new basketball. The next day, Jamey had
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Image from vintage postcard “Itchy, Scratchy Romance in the Hay”
Lloyd Wright wasn’t the first boy Cassie Merrill had let go that far, just the one Ma caught her with. Right off, Ma sent Jep running for the preacher. Lloyd’s hateful old mama raged, swearing Cassie had trapped her boy and yelling she’d heard plenty about her “wild streak” long before Lloyd took up with her. No matter. They had to stay with her till they could do better. Resentful at the forced marriage, Lloyd and Cassie battled from the first with Mama Wright putting her two cents’ worth in every chance she got. After the baby’s birth, things settled down and Mama felt hopeful when she saw how Cassie doted on the baby girl. Then, just like a candle extinguished, she lost interest in the baby. Cassie’s raging hormones kicked in. Four months after Baby Neeley’s birth, Cassie dropped the her off with her own mother and took off with the first of many boyfriends. It was four years before she got back to see her little girl. Neeley grew up calling Grandma Merrill, “Ma.” Cassie was simply “Cassie”, a sporadic visitor who passed through from time to time and visited for a few days. Of course, Neeley knew Cassie was her real mother, but she had Ma. Her father wasn’t in her life.
Neeley’s days were full with chores, school, and working along beside Ma. She fed the chickens, gathered eggs, helped Ma in the garden, churned, and all the other things little girls growing up in the early nineteenth century did. She and Ma needed each other. In the evenings, Ma sat in her rocker and crocheted or did mending while Neeley played at her feet. Neeley could hem and crochet a few simple stitches by the time her ninth birthday rolled around. With her black hair and strikingly blue eyes, she looked nothing like Cassie. Ma hoped Cassie’s wildness had passed her over, too.
So far, Neeley was a docile, loving child, content to spend her time playing quietly or following Ma at work, nothing like her wild mama. Long before Cassie had reached her age, she was a trial. She’d climb on top of the house to tell a lie when she could’ve stood on the ground and told the truth. Ma couldn’t make Cassie stay in school and finally just gave up, hoping she’d at least learn enough housekeeping to be a decent wife. Though Cassie would grudgingly work along with Ma, the minute she turned her back the girl was gone. Cassie’s rages and temper made life a misery. By the time she was fourteen, she slipped out her window regularly to meet boys. Her mother initially felt some hope when Cassie seemed to be a loving mother until the day Cassie dropped Neeley off for a “few days” that turned out to be forever.
Reblog from Bluebird of Bitterness
The same Christmas I got Rocky the Rocking Horse, the best Christmas present of my young life, and Monkey, my sidekick(until I left him outside for the dogs to chew up), I got a big hard, plastic baby-doll with molded hair. It came with a bottle, was dressed in pajamas and had exactly one diaper. That diaper was history once Mother demonstrated its amazing ability to pee its diaper. It made me mad when I saw the baby doll, anyhow, since I’d told Mother, “I don’t want a doll. I hate dolls.” The wet diaper was the last straw. I pitched it into the bowels of the toy box to keep company with Tinker Toys, broken crayons, and last year’s despised doll.
Before Christmas this year when Mother asked what I wanted, my list included a live pony, cowboy boots, pistols and holsters and a real…
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Reblogged Tess’s story from Solveig Werner.
Dolores studied the bedraggled excuse for a tree. Branches drooped instead of bouncing proud and wide. What once passed for needles, the sparse boughs presented bristles and wire. The bottom limbs collapsed tired and spent, sweeping the floor like broken wings. She had not bothered decorating for years, yet Dolores dragged the box out of the garage a week before Christmas as if driven. Husband long dead and children and grandchildren scattered over the map, she had no one with whom to celebrate. A hand to her cheek, she paused, lost in forgotten memories. What had come over her? Why had she hung on to this sorry fake? What did it matter? No one would see it but her. You’re a disaster. If it wasn’t so much trouble taking you down again, I’d trash you now.
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Re logged from Robert Goldstein.
The stocky little woman leaned on her cane as she picked her way gingerly toward the graves under the mesquites. She lay a few wildflowers on three rock-covered graves, one unmarked, one marked for Joe, and a third for their boy, Johnny. “I’ll be here sleeping beside you soon’s I can, Joe. I’m tired and the folks can get by easy without me now.” She thought back on the last eight years since Joe collapsed one morning at his milking. They’d had more than forty years and six children together. It wasn’t enough.
Little Joe had married and stayed on to farm with Joe. The cabin had become a seven room house over the years, filled first with their children, then Little Joe’s. Sally had married a a farmer and lived on the next section. She was so sweet, Anya couldn’t help being partial to her. Rose Anya had taught school till she married a storekeeper in Talphus. Her boy Jules was a preacher. Rose Anya had wanted her mother to come live with her in town after her pa died, but Anya couldn’t bear to leave the farm. Betsy come along just a year after Sally and married Emma’s grandson, making them truly family. The twins didn’t come along for five years. One of them farmed the hundred sixty acres Joe bought a few years after they married and the other was a lawyer in Dallas. He didn’t get home but a couple of times a year. Johnny, the one they lost came when she thought she was past child-bearing had struggled to breathe for three long days. Losing him nearly killed Joe.
Anya’s mind was fuzzy and she lived more in the past than present. It pained her knowing all she was good for was rocking babies, stringing beans, and peeling potatoes, though Joe’s wife, Mary, tried to fool her into thinking she was useful. Whenever she could, she slipped out to talk to her Joe.
As she stood talking to Joe, Mary caught up with her. “Mama, you had me worried to death. I didn’t know where you’d got off to. It’s blazing hot out here. Come out of the sun and let me git you a drink.”
“Joe’s gonna be in for supper at four. I better git in and make him some biscuits. He always did love my biscuits.” Anya told Mary.
“You don’t have to get started just yet. Let’s get you a cool drink.” Mary said, leading Anya to a rocker in the shade of the porch. “Just sit here and cool off and I’ll be right back with your drink.”
” I git so tired of her fussing.” Anya said to Mary’s big backside, watching her head for the kitchen. In no time at all she was nodding.
“Anya girl, ain’t you gonna cook me no supper?” Joe laughed as he touched her shoulder. He looked as he did when she first knew him, well-muscled and lean with a full head of hair.
“Oh no! I ain’t even started! You are early.” Anya told him.
“I’d say I’m right on time. Come on along with me. You need to see what me and Johnny’s been doin’ over here.” The years fell away as Anya took his hand and stepped lively as a girl, her fine blonde hair feathered by the gentle breeze.
My grandparent’s wedding picture, though this is not their story. I am posting an extra story today as an early Christmas gift.
The situation Joe had most dreaded had come to a head at Anya’s most vulnerable time. Making a run for it with two little ones and a newborn would be futile. He’d just have to face this situation straight on. No one was going to hurt Anya and rip his family apart after they’d struggled so hard to be together.
Seeing Anya’s joy in Rose Anya was bittersweet, knowing what he’d have to tell her, but he could let her have this day unmarred. Emma had left a pot of soup bubbling on the hearth. Joe decided to do nothing but necessary chores and store up the joy of this day. When Anya wasn’t holding Rose Anya, he was. The little ones played happily in the warmth of family.
Joe didn’t allow himself to think of the preacher and sheriff’s impending visit. The sheriff didn’t wait a few days, just showed up with the preacher the next morning, probably to avoid the problem of having to pursue them. Joe greeted them gruffly. The sheriff was a definite threat, and Joe had never known kindness, only judgment from church folk.
“I know why you are here. I ain’t gonna let you make trouble for us. My wife just gave birth to an early baby and she ain’t strong
“We need to talk to her. I just need the preacher to say if she’s the same woman you married. We won’t take much of your time.” The sheriff stood his ground.
The preacher rocked back and forth with his hands clasped behind him. “Lord knows we hate to bother you, but the sheriff says this has got to be done. I’d be obliged if we could get it over with so I can get back to town. I got a couple that wants marrying.”
Grudgingly, Joe showed them in. “Anya, this here is the sheriff and the preacher what married us. I know you remember him, even though you was so sick.”
Anya’s eyes widened in fear, taking the situation in. “Why shore I do. A woman don’t fergit her weddin’. Welcome preacher. I cain’t git up cause I’m nursing my baby. She’s a mite early an’ I don’t want to jostle her. She ain’t strong an’ needs to nurse.”
“Why shore, Ma’am. Good to see you again. That baby is a tiny little thing. I wouldn’t want to unsettle her. It’s good to see things working out so good for you.” Anya took heart from his kind words.
The sheriff took his cue. “Ma’am, I’m sorry I had to bother you, but I needed to git the preacher to identify you. I am glad ever’thing worked out so good. Joe, you take care of this fine woman an’ that purty, little baby. I got to be going.”
“Sheriff, if you can wait a few minutes, this little one needs christening. It’s a long trip to town an’ I can git the job done as long as I’m here,” the preacher addressed the sheriff.
“Why shore. I’ll just wait outside.” He left them alone.
The preacher faced Joe and Anya. “I don’t know how I done it, but I realized after y’all left that night I never gave you a certificate. I’d like to marry you again an’ make sure ever’thing’s right before I christen that baby if that’s alright with you. I disremember the date, but you can help with that. Then we can git that little feller taken care of. The Lord wouldn’t want me to leave a job half-done.”
A giant load was lifted off Joe’s heart.
Adapted from internet
No more panicking about what to wear to work.
No one would dare ask Santa Claus for a ride to work.
One big brown belt and you’d be accessorized for life.
Sensible footwear.
You’d never have to make the coffee.
No office politics; a hearty ho-ho-ho would remind everyone who is the boss.
Your children would adore you; even your teenagers would want to sit in your lap.
You’d never take the wrong coat on your way home.
You could grow a tummy the size of Texas and consider it a job requirement.
No one would ask to see your job description.
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