family stories

Prosthesis Wardrobe

My son learned to his sorrow not to try to rescue a piece of chicken his two Akita’s were fighting over. Unfortunately, the lesson cost him a finger.

Fortunately, John is eccentric and sees the bright side. He said the biggest problem was having to convert from a base ten counting system to a base nine. One day at work a woman chastised him! “Stop doing that! You’re creeping me out trying to make it look like your little finger is missing!”

“My little finger IS missing!” He told her. John has really enjoyed crafting all types of prostheses for his finger as well as decorative ones for holidays. I doubt any are functional, though.

This is his favorite, with a small hook.

This one is for drinking tea.

This gold digit is for Mardi Gras

This one is for making a good impression in gloves.

The collection, The orange finger in center has not been perfected yet. It is articulated with strings to make it move.

John and Watson

Grandma and Minnie

Grandma and Grandpa lived next to Minnie and Amalie in Austin, Texas.  Minnie and Amalie had immigrated from Mexico fairly recently and spoke very little English, but that didn’t hamper their friendship.  Grandma and Minnie had coffee every morning, chatting over recipes, patterns, housework, and their shared garden plot.

It didn’t matter that Grandma spoke not a word of Spanish and Minnie knew little English.  They’d check out each other’s tomatoes, peppers, and flowers, chattering like nobody’s business. Though I was a small child when we visited there, I remember fondly that Minnie trusted me push her pretty, black-eyed baby around the yard in her stroller.I was so proud to be a big girl.

Sometimes I followeed Grandpa and Amalie  around as they smoked hand-rollled cigarettes and worked at some project in the yard or dug in the garden.  One day they made me a chair by nailing two apple crates end-to-end.  I sat in that chair as long as I could squeeze into it.  I learned my first Spanish when Amalie hammered his finger and cursed in Spanish.  Though I didn’t know Spanish, cursing in any language is cursing. I admired cursing and was always on the  alert for a tasty tidbit, since I didn’t get to hear it at home.

I was intrigued at hearing Minnie and Amalie talk, my introduction to a foreign language.  I’d jabber along, thinking, I was speaking Spanish, stopping periodically to ask Grandma or Minnie to interpret what I’d said for me.I wish we all got on with our neighbors so well.  We shared a lovely meal of Grandma’s greens, pork chops and cornbread and Minnes’s tamales and beans one special evening.  I didn’t care much for the greens, but I’ll never forget the bite of Minnie’s spicy tortillas.

Hard Time Marrying Part 5

baby-bottle

Though he considered himself unfit for human company, Jack and the barn cats didn’t concur and worked their way in next to Joe, slipping into the snug cocoon of the hay-covered saddle blanket and his heavy barn jacket.  The breathing and occasional stamping of the milk cow and the horses in their stalls eased him. This bit of his life was unmarred.  Comforted by the company of the beasts, he slipped into exhausted sleep.  Upon awakening to Ol’ Sal and her kittens purring, his spirits rose and he felt better about himself.  He lay in his nest enjoying their company till he turned to settle back in for a few more minutes.  Reaching up to feel slime in his hair, he found Ol’ Sal had rewarded him with the gift of a dead rat.  He sprang up, flinging the nasty rat, startling Jack and set the kittens to every way, his reverie ended. 

He dawdled as long as possible over the milking, spraying milk into the mouths of the dancing cats.  Rosie’s waiting calf lunged at her when he released them in to the feedlot. When the little heifer had gorged on her mother’s milk, Joe separated them, letting the cow out to graze.  Rosie ambled off without a care, leaving Baby Blossom bawling behind her. She’d be back lowing to be milked before sundown.  Joe chuckled thinking he must have looked a fool getting rid of that rat.  Tossing a clean towel over the milk, he passed out some hay and grain to the horses and opened the barn door to the corral, making sure the water troughs were full.  After tossing a few ears of corn and watering the hogs, he could no longer delay going back into the cabin.  If the kids had lived through the night, they’d need feeding, too.  If the sick woman couldn’t nurse the baby, he’d have to feed her using the bottle and some of that canned milk the town had provided before booting them all out of town.  The light was just breaking in the East on a cold, clear, windy West Texas day when he headed toward the house.

The fire was no more than embers. The small cabin reeked of urine, excrement, and fever.   He dreaded looking, but saw the boy lying to one side of the woman who’d turned to face the wall.  The child’s rapid breathing was shallow, snot crusted around his nostrils, his cheeks flaming pink.  There was no doubt about the scarlet fever.  He’d come uncovered and must have been near frozen in his sodden clothes.  Joe hastily covered him and turned to make up the fire before investigating further.  He’d have to get some food into the child and get him into a clean, warm bed to have any hope of saving the him.  He took care not to disturb the others as he heated water and looked for something to serve as clean bedding and clothes should the woman and girl be alive. Living alone, he’d never bothered with the niceties of bed-linens, settling for a simple straw-filled tick and a couple of quilts.  From the fetid smell, it was clear this one would have to be boiled and re-stuffed.  While the water heated, he brought a load of hay from the barn, along with his old barn coat and a couple of the cleaner burlap bags.  He pulled a couple of ancient quilts from a shelf, not even wondering what hand might have made them.  He’d often thought of tossing the ragged bedding, but was glad now his housekeeping had been lax.

In readiness for the tasks ahead of him, he opened the parcels, finding a baby bottle, four flannel gowns, a few cans of peaches,

some crackers, two bars of soap, in addition to several cans of milk, a bottle of Dr. Marvel’s Wonder Tonic, two rough towels, and the bolt of flannel.  In a moment of tenderness, someone had added a couple of peppermint sticks.  He warmed a pain of milk, poured some water into a wash pan, and laid out the towels and soap.  He tore off a few strips of flannel to use for diapers.  For now, that would have to do.

milk-label

 

 

Hilarious Road Trip Adventures Through National Parks

imageWe tortured our teenagers once by making them take a three-thousand mile roadtrip through several national parks.  The main thing they mention now is that Bud wore those stretch nylon coach shorts and a couple of gay guys hit on him.

In Yellowstone, he stopped for about the fourteenth time to try to get pictures of buffalo one afternoon.  The thrill of watching him try to get the perfect buffalo picture had worn thin, so the three of us watched from the car.  He fussed, tinkered, and messed with his camera, tripod and lenses till we were hoping a buffalo would gore him just enough to distract him. He worked frantically till a car pulled up just in front of him. A flambuoyant fellow trotted up to Bud, obviously interested in getting acquainted.

“Oh my, that’s some nice equipment you’ve got there,”

Ever polite, Bud thanked him, snapped a couple of random shots, grabbed his gear, and made his escape. He got no sympathy in the car! Finally, something good had happened!

“Dad, that guy, really admired your equipment! Ah ha ha ha ha!” For the rest of the trip, they worked equipment into the conversation at least ten times a day.

We stopped at a lodge that night.  As Bud was getting a room, he had a chance to make another friend. A friendly guy checking in at the same time told him, “I know you must put mayonnaise in that gorgeous beard.”

“Nope,” Bud snapped, turning to the kids. “Now get your mother so we can all go to dinner.”

How to Navigate Directions: A Guide for the Directionally Challenged

            I’m not good with directions.  In fact, I’d have to improve considerably to even be bad.  Useless terms like left, right, North, South, East, and West annoy me.  If people actually expect me to get somewhere, they need to be more specific.  “Turn off the interstate at exit 5.  Go the opposite direction you’ve been going and go three streets past Brookshire’s.   Drive just a minute or so and you’ll see a restaurant with the big cow in the parking lot.  Don’t turn there.  Drive to the next red light and turn on the street that turns between the WaWa and that hardware store with the inflatable lumberjack.  Watch for the ugly house with the silk flowers in the bucket of that tacky wishing well.  Pass it up, but now you need to start driving pretty slow.  You’ll see a big, old white house with a deep porch and all those ferns, kind of like the one Grandma lived in at Houston, the one where the woman living upstairs tossed her dirty mop water out on my head when I was sitting on the sidewalk playing. Boy, did Grandma have something to say to her!  Remember, it was just across the street from that big, old funeral home.   I just love those old houses, but I’ll bet they are expensive to heat.  About six houses down on the other side, there’s a little, blue house. I believe it used to be gray. If you look hard, you’ll see an old rusted out 1950 GMC like Aunt Ada and Uncle Junior used to drive, up on blocks way off to the side of the shed.  Remember how they used to toodle around with all those mean boys bouncing like popcorn in the back?  Anyway, our house is the yellow one with the big shade trees just across from it.  You can’t miss it. There’s a bottle tree out front.”

            Now I can’t miss with those directions.

My Proud Introduction to the World of Opera (Sorry Pavarotti)

I have been described as spaced out, happy go lucky, and sometimes eccentric.  Suffice it to say, I am uninhibited, finding joy in little things.  Most recently, I was described as Pavarotti but I fear it was in jest.  My husband Bud and I, along with Bud’s cousin were making a little trip.  It was a beautiful, sun-drenched day and my spirits were high.  Mid-morning, we stopped in a rest area.  While “resting” I admired the native stone used in its construction and noted the remarkable acoustics of the building.  I immediately channeled Pavarotti, bursting into an amazing rendition of “O Sole Mio.”  I sounded GOOD!  I waxed melodious for a few strains, till a confused lady walked in, interrupting my reverie, fearing she’d interrupted a insane, transgender opera drop out.  I excused myself and left her musing on the madness.

When we got back to our vehicle, Bud said he and his cousin had had a good laugh.  When they were in the men’s room, they’d heard some man, somewhere, singing opera at the top of his lungs and it actually sounded pretty good.  Bud’s cousin did remark the guy sounded happy.

I’ve never had a prouder moment.

Hard Time Marrying

This is a series I wrote in 2015. Not many of my current followers have seen it. I hope you enjoy it.


Their union had a bleak start.  Meeting at the train in the freezing rain, she clutched his letter.  They married minutes later at the preacher’s house, barely speaking as they shivered the two hours home in his open wagon.  In her letter, she’d not mentioned the two little ones, though with all fairness, the marriage was only one of need on both parts. They were proof she could bear the children he hoped for.  Burning with fever by the time they got to his homestead; dead by the next sundown, she left him with two little ones he had no taste for.  Barely reaching his knee, they toddled mutely in perpetual ,soggy diapers dragging to their knees, uttering gibberish only they understood.  As soon as he could get her wrapped in a quilt, he buried this stranger wife and headed back to dusty Talphus, Texas with the sad burden of her orphaned little ones.  The church or the town would have to do for them.  Loading them in a snug in a bed of hay, wrapped in a ragged quilt, hay heaped over them.  he pitied and grieved for them on the long trip back to town, knowing the hard life they faced.  Stopping several times to make sure they were warmly covered, he was relieved to find them pink and warm.
He hardened his heart against them, knowing only too well the life they were facing.  He’d never known family, just been passed from hand to hand.

Perfect Happiness

It is so easy to make Bud a perfect meal, I don’t know why I don’t do it every night.

There are several interchangeable choices. All I have to do is cook steak, chicken, roast beef or pork, ribs, or meatloaf with gravy. My second decision is between rice, stewed or mashed potatoes. The third decision is the side. Black-eyed peas, always Bud’s first choice, either pinto, lima, red, or green beans.

Of course, we need a bread. Biscuits, cornbread, or rolls are always fine. Should I feel particularly industrious, dessert is in order, preferably homemade apple pie or yellow cake with buttercream frosting.

I can throw all the salad in the trash. Oh yes, Bud always volunteers to make the gravy if its not cooked along with the meat.

Lou and Lynn Part 22 Exploring Old Boxcars: A Girl’s Adventure

Lou soon knew why Lynn liked Sue so much. Sue was good-natured and loved playing outdoors. They climbed trees and played in the creek as much as they wanted. Sue had no chores, so nothing interfered with playing. Aunt Julie wasn’t fussy about how dirty they got. She rinsed them off with the water hose before they came in.


The only low point was Aunt Julie made all the kids come in and take an afternoon nap. In reality, only Aunt Julie and the boys took a nap. She just made them all lie down. Lou hadn’t taken a nap in years. There was no way she could go to sleep in the middle of the day. The girls started out lying on Sue’s bed talking quietly. Of course, they soon got giggly, then rowdy. Aunt Julie kept rousing up telling them to be quiet. By the time they had a pillow fight and broke a vase, she was furious. She gave up on her nap and ran them outdoors.

Fortunately, she didn’t stay mad long and brought out popsicles. The girls had the creek and vine to themselves while the boys napped. In the late afternoon, Troy and Billy woke up and came out to play. Aunt Julie brought the rescue puppy. He was the cutest little guy. Once he got over his shyness, he got rowdy and played enthusiastically.

A railroad track lay in the woods not too far behind Sue’s house. Two abandoned boxcars stood on a sidetrack. “Have you ever looked in those boxcars?” asked Lynn. “That looks interesting.”

”Let’s go see what’s in them,” answered Sue. The girls took off running. The boxcars were a lot bigger than they’d looked from a distance. They had to boost each other up, then pull the last girl up. It took a minute for their eyes to adjust to the darkness inside the boxcars.

The walls of the interior were covered with graffiti. There were two huge dragons battling each other, spewing fire from their mouths. A huge Jesus covered the end with the giant word, “”Repent!”There were a couple of women with their clothes falling off. There were numerous poems the girls could never repeat. It would have taken hours to see everything but it was getting dusky. From the house, they could hear the honking of a car horn. Sue looked startled. “Oh no, I bet Mama’s looking for us!” They climbed out and raced back home through the tall grass.

Sure enough , Aunt Julie was waiting for them. “Where in the world have you girls been? Troy said he saw you headed for the old train.” she said. She looked upset!

”We looked in them,” Sue said. “You should have seen all the pictures on the walls!”

”Don’t you ever go around those boxcars again! That’s dangerous! There could have been hobos hiding out there. There’s no telling what could have happened to you. Lynn, if your daddy ever finds out you went in those boxcars, you’ll never get to come back. You’d better think hard about that! Oh my Lord. You girls scared me!”

Big-eyed, the girls exchanged glances. Thy knew they’d never tell!