I made this video at Mother’s independent living center at their monthly birthday party. At ninety- seven, she was the oldest one partying. Her best buddy, Chad, is such a party guy. He lives next door and makes sure she makes all meals and activities.
fun
Were You Born in a Barn?
I grew up in the fifties and didn’t expect much. I didn’t feel deprived, just understood the situation. All the family toys fit in a medium-sized box and were shared. We had mean cousins who regularly tore them up, so storage wasn’t a problem. If we realized they were coming and had time, we locked them in my parent’s bedroom, but nothing was foolproof. Those hellions could ferret out a steel marble locked in a safe and tear it up. No kid I knew laid no claim to a television, radio, or record player. We were free to watch or listen along with our parents and act as the remote control as a bonus.
Most of mine and my brother’s time was spent outdoors. We had the run of our property, including a large two-story barn, so we never had to stay indoors, even in rain or rare icy weather. “Get your jacket and shoes and socks on before you go to the barn.” I was more concerned about getting out than I was about bad weather, so I’d gladly have gone barefoot and jacketless, given the chance.
Mother, a pessimist, foolishly believed in hookworms, stray nails, and broken glass. I knew better, but she stayed on me. It was a real downer. If I got wet, I certainly didn’t come in to dry off. Most likely, I was wearing my only shoes.
Should Mother notice wet feet or muddy clothes, we’d be stuck indoors for the day or till our jackets and shoes dried I learned early that if you stay out in your wet things, pretty soon they lose that discolored, wet look. Besides if you play hard enough, you generate some heat.
Our barn was two stories with a gigantic open door centering the second where Daddy backed up his truck up to load or unload hay. It was a thrill to get a running start and fly to the ground eight or ten feet below. Dry weather provided the softest landings since thick, shredded hay and powdery manure make a decent cushion. Even the most determined jumper soon learned the folly of jumping on a rainy day. It was too easy to slide into something horrible.
Regular wet clothes aren’t too bad, but malodorous puddles and cow pies should be avoided at all costs. No one ever broke an arm or neck.
Playing on the square hay bales without damaging them is an art worth learning. Tearing up baled hay quickly got us expelled from the barn as well as plenty of trouble. It didn’t take long to discover which friend could be trusted to do right. Billy and I policed them and put a stop to tearing up bales. Daddy had a stacking method we knew not to mess up.
The cats loved the barn, busying themselves with the rats who also made themselves at home. I’ll never forget the horrible feeling of a rat running up my leg.
Knowing rats hid in our playhouse made them no less scream-worthy, though we weren’t afraid of them, often hurling corncobs at them. I don’t think I was ever fast enough to do any damage. Sometimes we were a little more effective with slingshots or a BB gun.
A covered area below the loft was intended for equipment storage. Interestingly, only the broken equipment was under the shed. Presumably, repairs were started and abandoned there. The good stuff sat out in the open. Very little space was taken up for feed. Mostly, it served as a repository for junk items.
One of the most interesting was a rough wooden box with filled with letters and personal items both parents brought to the marriage. We were forbidden to open that box on pain of death, so were sneaky as we prowled through it, enjoying the pictures and letters from old sweethearts, navy memorabilia including a gigantic pin used to close Daddy’s navy gear bag, six two-inch chalkware dolls in their original box, and two enormous carved ebony spoons featuring a naked man and a woman with pendulous bosoms.
I can only assume Mother was too much of a coward to hang those shocking spoons on her kitchen wall. Her sister, Anne, in the WACS had brought them home as a gift to Mother, a woman who wouldn’t say butt or titty, euphemizing with “your sitting down place “or “chest” if absolutely necessary. What a waste. If fondling ebony wood breasts makes a pervert, I signed on early. The man was not anatomically correct or the guilt would have undone me. The pity of it was, I couldn’t ask questions about any of those treasures since the boxes were strictly off limits.
Sadly, the rats devoured the letters long before I learned to really read cursive, though Phyllis bragged she got to read some. I prefer to think she was lying.
Lean-to sheds with stalls flanked the left side and back of the barn. We frequently snitched oats and lured the horse near the rail partitions dividing the stalls while the other slid on for a brief ride, then switch around for the other to ride. We badgered Daddy Incessantly to saddle the horse for us, until one fine day when I was about ten, he told us we could ride any time we wanted if we could saddle the horse ourselves.
We never expected that. Billy and I did the old oat trick and had the horse saddled in minutes. We rode any time we wanted after that. I know the horse hated what was coming, but could never resist the oats. When he’d had enough, he’d scrape us off by walking under the low roofed stall.
That barn was the most glorious play area any kid ever knew. We were the luckiest kids around.
Crochet Belt
I recently made this easy Crocheted Belt Project from yarn and craft scraps at no expense output. I gifted to a family member who seemed quite pleased. I will do another today from two strands of yarn to give it more body. It took me less than two hours
https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLEmTJCuIOToysaW6ufkBgMmcfM7kvVZna&si=BcxRttoGBmp-6DwK
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.
DIY Vacuum Box to Decrease Dust When Carving with Dremel Tool
Wood Spirit carved out of wild cherry. It has a Tung Oil finish. I like the way it seems to have a missing front tooth.
Bud stained this one and treated it with Tung Oil. These make nice gifts.
Vacuum box sitting on his work bench.
While Bud really enjoys carving with his Dremel, the dust was extremely problematic. He solved this problem by building a vacuum box. It’s just a 12×12 box with a 7×7 inset with 49 holes in the top with the vacuum attached to the base. He places the object he’s drilling on top and the vacuum pulls the dust right away. He still uses eye protection but his vacuum box virtually takes care of the dust problem making his dremelling much more pleasant.
Friend
Here you see my best friend in the LSU sweater I crocheted her. She is a rabid fan. She even dresses up in her LSU gear when she’s watching the game alone. We worked together for many years. I always knew it was going to be a good day when we worked together. She’s moved away now but we make a point to get together a few times a year. Even a bad day at work was a good day with her.
Christmas Revelations
We’d put away all the Christmas decorations weeks before. We’d finally gotten our eighteen month old, John, to bed after several unsuccessful attempts and had collapsed, totally whipped. Meanwhile, he’d been entertaining himself rummaging quietly through a dresser drawer we’d thought inaccessible. After a few minutes, he toddled into the living room victorious dragging garland, an ornament in each hand, announcing, “Santa Claus is coming to town. I’ll be damned!”
Icy Showers and Rotten Sausage
Cousin Kat was tight. We always took plenty of food when we went to visit, her in her cozy Appalachian cabin, knowing how “conservative” she was. She thought three rolls, three scrambled eggs, a little jam and a dab of butter was plenty for any number of guests there might be for breakfast. “I just don’t think there’s any point in folks being hoggish,” was her favorite phrase as she set out a meal. She was a devout believer and had probably heard that story about Jesus feeding the multitudes on five loves and three fishes one too many times.
A few days before our last visit, someone had given Cousin Kat some fresh homemade sausage. She’d eaten a bit and saved some for us. That sounded fine till I opened her tiny 1940 model refrigerator to get some water. The rank smell of bad meat nearly knocked me down. “Ooh, Cousin Kat, I think something’s gone bad in here!”
“Oh, it’s not bad. It’s just that sausage Barney gave me. It’s real spicy!” She answered, totally unconcerned. “I’m gonna cook it up for supper.”
I made up my mind then and there to eat popcorn. I’ve never smelled a spice that mimicked the smell of rotting meat so closely. Mother and Phyllis both found other options. Count Kat cooked that sausage and ate up all by herself, since she was determined not to let it go to waste. It stunk the whole house up with its nauseating odor as it cooked. We all told her it smelled like it might have “gone to the bad.” She disagreed.
We planned a road trip for the four of us to go into Amish Country and packed a nice picnic …no sausage. Phyllis and Cousin Kat decided to take their showers the evening before so The four of us wouldn’t be competing in the morning. Cousin Kat told her how she could run a bit of water in the tub, sit on the edge, wash her face, ears, neck, then her body before washing the best parts and her feet. That way, she could get by with just a little of that expensive hot water. Well, I do believe I heard the shower running while Phyllis was in there, despite her lesson. Cousin Kat perked up her ears, too. When Phyllis came out, Cousin Kat said, “I hope you stopped up the tub and saved your water for me. Just one person don’t mess up bath water none.” Shamefaced, Phyllis had to admit she run it all down the drain. Cousin Kat gave her a look.
We went on to bed. I snore and talk in my sleep, so no one would bunk in with me. I am always early to bed, so I took the small bedroom. Cousin Kat gave Mother an inflatable mattress her son had left there to put on the living floor. Unfortunately, he had taken the pump home with him, so they sent a great deal of time trying to inflate it with a small hand-held hairdryer, the wrong tool for the job. Eventually, it approximated a mattress, though it flattened out the minute Mother reclined on it. They hadn’t bothered to pad the floor with quilts, so Mother was freezing the minute she lay down that frosty October evening. She got up, dragged her covers tote old-fashioned bi-fold sofa and tried to warmup. It was hard, lumpy, and had a couple of exposed springs but it was better than the icy floor.
Meanwhile, things weren’t going much better for Phyllis in the large, unheated upstairs bedroom. She’d chosen it because she liked to sleep in the cold. She’d dawdled and was the last to get to bed. I was quickly asleep though I kept up a listen for retching during the night, expecting Cousin Kat to come down with food poisoning, but the next thing I knew, Phyllis was climbing in the small creepy bed with me. “I thought you were too good to sleep with me.” I reminded her.
“I am, but when I got upstairs and switched on that dim overhead light, and everything looked fine, but when I turned back the quilts, rice scattered all over the place. I couldn’t imagine why rice would be on the bed, like that. I turned on that little flashlight Cousin Kat gave me and saw the bed and floor covered in mouse pellets. Mice were scattering everywhere. I can’t sleep up there with all those mice. She was mad! I was laughing so hard the springs were creeping. We sounded like honeymooners.
As I mentioned earlier, I don’t sleep well, I talk in my sleep. In truth, it’s much worse than that. I curse and hurl epithets, language I’d never use during waking hours. Once I drifted off, Phyllis and I rolled up in that ancient mattress like a couple of hotdogs in a bun. She swears I shoved her and screamed at her to “get the f…. Out of here. I don’t remember a thing about it!
In a huff, she got up in search of a place to sleep. Seeing that Mother had abandoned the perfectly good air mattress, she gave it a try. Of course, it put her right on the floor. Not to be defeated, she folded it in half and stretched out. That was a little better. Just as she drifted off, it gave up the ghost and blew out. Hearing all the racket, Mother and I got up to help. I invited her to share my bed, but she was mad and wouldn’t have any part of it. Mother offered to share the bi-fold sofa, but there was no way that would work. She ended up spendinding the rest of the night wrapped in a blanket trying to sleep in a not-so-easy chair.
We got up early to Have breakfast and get ready for our trip. At the kitchen table, We chatted over breakfast and sipped coffee. Mother and Phyllis lied about the extent of their miserable night. Phyllis had to come up with an excuse about abandoning the mousy attic. Cousin Kat polished off the last piece of the rancid sausage with her breakfast.
I got the first shower, keeping it short, since I remembered Cousin Kat’s lesson. It was pleasantly hot, but Mother said Cousin Kat ducked down to the basement to “get something” while I showered. Mother was next in line. When she got in, the water was nice and hot while she soaped up, but in just a minute, an icy blast hit her. Obviously, Cousin Kat’s basement errand was to cut off the water heater. The water came from a spring, so Mother’s hot shower was over. She had to wipe the soap off with a wet washcloth dipped in icy water.
She was furious when she shivered out of her shower, accusing me of using all the hot water.
“Mother, I wasn’t in there but a couple of minutes. I didn’t use that much!”
All the while, Cousin Kat sat humming contentedly, finally offering, “Oh well, that water heater’s old. I guess it just gave out.” Only the day before she’d told us that her son had just put in a new one, over her objections. “I can heat what water I need on the stove and save the heating bill.” She made no mention of turning off the water heater.
Finally, the cold, sleepy bunch was ready to start the trip.
To be continued
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!
Nutsrok 