kids

Lou and Lynn Part 4 A Magical Rescue: Lou’s Adventure Continues

Lynn’s mother met her at the back door bouncing a crying baby on her shoulder. “I saw the barn doors open, so I knew….well, who is this?”

“Mother, this is Lou. She and her
Grandma were out riding and got caught in the storm. Is her grandma here?”

“No. Nobody’s here but me and the babies. I need you to rock the little baby while I start supper. Please don’t make noise and wake the big baby or we’ll have double trouble.” Lynn took the baby and plunked down in the rocking chair, looking disgusted. Sure enough the baby wailed till Lynn got the bottle in her mouth.

Lou looked down like she was going to cry. Lynn’s mother gave her a hug. “Oh Honey, Don’t cry. Grandma might have walked down the road looking for you. As soon as I get supper on, I’ll rock the baby and y’all can walk up to the neighbors and see if she’s there. Miss Betsy is probably taking real good care of her. She’s a nice lady.”

“Lou sniffled, “But Grandma’s gonna be worried. My parents are probably wondering where we are by now! We’ve been gone a long time.”

“I know Grandma’s looking for you, too. We’ll get y’all back together. It’s real quiet out here. Nobody would hurt you.” Lynn’s mother smiled reassuringly. “Go rest on the sofa while Lynn gets the baby to sleep.”

Lou sat on the sofa and dozed off to the creaking of the rocker. She wasn’t deep into sleep when she heard Grandma humming, “You are My Sunshine” like she’d done ever since Lou was born. She kissed Lou on the forehead and said “Goodnight, sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite”

“Oh Grandma. I must have had a bad dream. I thought we out riding and got caught in a storm. I couldn’t find you! I was scared!”

“It’s okay, Sweetie. You know I’d never leave you. It wasn’t a dream. You got jolted back in time by that lightning. Let me give you a clue so you’ll know what I’m telling you is true. Before dark today, you’ll see a turtle with a big yellow X on its back. Be brave. I am coming for you, but it might be a while.”

Lou was startled awake by Lynn tapping her shoulder and giving her the quiet sign. “The baby’s asleep. Mother said we could walk up to Miss Betsy’s to see if your grandma’s there.”

They tiptoed out the door, then down the long gravel road. Lou felt so much better thinking about her dream. “Maybe we’ll find Grandma.”

“Sure we will!” Lynn answered, skipping and singing in a falsetto voice. “You are my Sunshine” as loud as she could. Lou laughed and joined in.

To be continued:

You Poor Baby

vintage baby
I had no idea Cousin Carol was four years older than my sister Phyllis till she announced her marriage. It sounded like a joke. Less than two weeks ago she’d spent the night with Phyllis. Sixteen was ridiculously young to get married, but back as late as the sixties, many parents felt it was expedient to allow their teenagers to marry. Her sister, Sue, and I were the same age. We were constantly at each other’s house for the night. Their brother, Troy, was the age of my brother, so on weekends, holidays, and in summer, there was always a jumble of kids spread between the two houses. Carol was extremely spoiled for some reason, though I could never imagine why her mother favored her. With her fair skin, black, curly hair and startling blue eyes she would have been very appealing had she not whined, wheedled, and cried till she got her way. At our house, she just pouted and whined. Of course, us younger kids went out of our way to keep her blubbering, since you didn’t usually see that in a girl that age, expecially rewarding since she wore gobs of makeup and we liked to see it run.

Back to the romance, Carol had been going to the picture show with her older sister Yvonne who was slipping around with Donald Duck.(not a joke) Yvonne brought a sweetie along for Carol and they really hit it off. The sister’s romance with Donald Duck fizzled, but within weeks Carol was to be a bride. The whole thing puzzled me. How could she go from being a kid with Phyllis to getting married in almost no time? Soon there was to be another miracle! Carol announced her first pregnancy. From that moment forward, I don’t think I ever saw her not pregnant, claiming to be pregant, or with a newborn. Before she retired from her thirty-year delivery service, Carol had eleven kids and claimed to have had God only knows how many pregnancies. Her first marriage, lasted only long enough to produce three children. She kept hoping to reconcile, so she had about a three year vacation from babying. She was terminally lazy and a rotten mother to boot, so she spent this time convalescing in her parent’s home in South Louisiana, where they’d moved not long after her marriage. She inveigled Aunt Julie’s cooperation in making use of my Cousin Sue as a captive babysitter. If someone else didn’t change the babies, they just sat squalling in sodden, filthy diapers. Her mom still gave over to her crying, whining, and wheedling, much to Sue’s sorrow. My aunt and Cousin Carol would dump the babies on Sue, taking off for hours, leaving instructions to have the house clean when they got back.

We had the misfortune have Cousin Carol land at our house a couple of times after brief attempts at reconciliation with her erstwhile husband. After a week or two of connubial bliss, he’d dump her and the dirty babies off, saying he’d be right back with milk for the babies. (Carol was a slow learner. It happened twice) That milk must have been on Mars since he never came back. Carol figured it out after an hour or two and started blubbering. The baby or babies helped with the crying, since they were hungry. Already furious at being stuck with unwelcome and unpleasant guests, Mother had to dig deep to find money for extra milk, knowing we were stuck with Carol and her squallers for a day or two till her folks could make the trip back up from South Louisiana to get her. Carol was lazy and worthless to start with. On her arrival, all the baby clothes and diapers were dirty. “Linda, change Bobby’s diaper and give him a bottle. You’ll have to put one of your Mama’s diapers on him. Mine are all dirty.” She wasn’t lying about that. She had dragged in a foul bag of diapers and left it on the front porch. I looked to Mother for rescue. Accustomed to being catered to, Carol was offended when Mother expected her to do her laundry and care for her own babies. “I’m sick! I feel an athsma attack coming on!”

“I’ve got two babies of my own and more than I can do. If you are going to stay here till your folks can pick you up, you’re going to have to take care of your own kids.” Carol pouted, but she got up to put a borrowed diaper on Bobby. Poor Bobby hadn’t seen many clean diapers lately. His poor, burned up bottom looked like raw meat. There was even pus running from one sore spot. “Oh no,” said Mother. “that poor baby. You’re going to have to keep him changed. He’s starting to get infected. Linda, go put my diapers on the line so Carol can get hers in the washer right now. This baby’s got to have clean diapers. Here, Carol, put some of this medicine on his bottom.” Grudgingly, Carol washed, medicated, and diapered poor Bobby’s sore bottom.

Unaccustomed to such ill-treatment, Carol angrily dragged the stinking bag of diapers from the front porch, all through the house, to the kitchen eventually reaching the enclosed back porch to Mother’s washer, leaving a malodorous wet-diaper ammonia stream. Furiously, she pulled a mess of heavy, filthy diapers from the mix, dumping them in the washer. Turning it on, she left the rest hanging out of the open bag to perfume to back porch. The stench was pulled into the kitchen by the attic fan till Mother told her she’d had to put the rest in the backyard to wait. Only when the washer stopped did Mother realize Carol hadn’t bothered to rinse the well-seasoned lumps of poop from those diapers. It was all waiting for Mother when she opened the lid. She was critical!

To be continued

Lou and Lynn Part 3 Looking for Grandma

As the rain pounded on the roof, Lou looked all around. “Boy, I hope Grandma’s not out in this! It’s dangerous!” Her lip quivered, though no tears escaped. “I will not cry! I will not cry! I am not a cry baby!” Facing away from Lynn, she stiffened her back and clinched her fist.

Lynn put her hand on Lou’s shoulder. “Lou, I know you’re worried but your grandma’s probably up at the house with Mother. Look around. We’d see her if she was out here. As soon as the storm’s over, we’ll head for the house.”

That made sense. “But won’t your mom be looking for you out in this storm?” Lou sniffled a little, still fighting tears.

“Oh no!” Lynn laughed. “She knows exactly where I am. We always play in the barn when it rains.”

That caught Lou’s attention. “Who is ‘we’?” She asked.

“My brother Billy. He’ll be home after a while. He went with Daddy and my uncle to take a truckload of hogs to the auction.” Now it was her turn for a quivering lip. “I could have ridden in the back with the hogs, but daddy said I’d be so dirty he might sell me by mistake mixed in with the pigs. It makes me so mad to get left out because I’m a girl! It’s just not fair!”

Now, Lou felt sorry for her. “No it’s not.” She agreed.

They were’t the only ones escaping the rain. An enormous red cow with menacing curved horns loped clumsily into the barn. To escape the huge beast, Lou bounded up the stack of baled hay. “ Lookout, she’s gonna get you!” She shouted.

The cow ran straight at Lynn, bellowing and wagging her horns side to side. Lou hid her eyes behind her hands, not wanting to see the cow destroy Lynn. Then she heard laughter. “Bessie, you big old baby. When are you gonna learn to stay with the cows under the shed?”

Bessie leaned into Lynn, licking her face, then nudging her. “Stop it, Bessie! You’re about to knock me down!” With that, she pulled a pear out of her pocket. “Here. That’s all I’ve got. Bessie opened her big mouth and chomped the pear with one big crunch. Pear juice dripped out of her mouth. She bumped Lynn, hoping to shake loose another. “Nope, that’s it.” Bessie looked very disappointed at Lynn’s stinginess.

“You’re not scared of her with those big horns? Lou couldn’t take it in.

“No! We raised her on a bottle from a tiny calf. Her mama wouldn’t feed her. All you have to be worried about is , she might stomp your foot trying to get a treat. That hurts! Want to give her that other pear? Hold it out with your hand flat so she won’t crunch your fingers.”

Lou climbed off the hay and held the pear out to Bessie like Lou showed her. Bessie took in her mouth, gobbling it down in a big, noisy crunch, leaving slimy slobber on her hand. Then she licked Lou’s hand greedily, hoping for more.

“Ooh! That’s gross!” Said Lou., wiping her hands on her shorts.

“Yep. I never said she wouldn’t slobber on you. I just said she wouldn’t bite you,” Lynn clearly found it hilarious.

“Look the rain has stopped. We can go ask Mother if she’s seen your grandma. One thing, though. Don’t bang the doors as you go in. If you wake up the babies and get them crying, I’ll have to stay in and help take care of them. We’ll be stuck in the house.”

“Y’all have babies?” Lou was astonished. She’d rarely had a chance to be around babies.

“Yeah, a big one and a little one. I like the big one best. She’s cute and will play with you. The little one just sleeps and squalls and messes up her diapers. There’s not much fun in that.”

Lou’s ears kind of perked up. She didn’t want to get them crying but it might be fun to look at them. She sure didn’t want to be around for messy diapers. The best thing of all, Grandma was probably in the house, waiting for her! “Let’s go!”

Lou and Lynn Part 2 Adventure to Find Grandma

“I still need to find Grandma.” Lou remembered, reaching for her backpack. “Oh no! I left my phone in my backpack. How can I call Grandma, now? Can I use your phone?” she asked, reaching out to Lynn.

“We don’t have a phone. The lines don’t reach this far out in the country. When Mother has to use the phone she goes to Mr. Jones’s store and pays him fifteen cents.

“Your grandma is probably up at the house with Mama, anyway. There’s nowhere else to go, It’s a mile to the nearest neighbor.” Lynn bounced up and pulled down an old bag swing attached to a rafter. She gave a huge push and raced high up the hay. “Swing it again!”

Lou pushed it hard. Then again. Lynn and hopped onto the swing at its peak, her legs wrapped tightly. The pack of dogs went wild barking and snapping at the swing as it skimmed over their heads. Lynn flew high enough to kick the top of the open doors, scoring an exciting ride till it fizzled to a stop.

Jumping off, she shouted. “Your turn! Climb up on the hay!”

Climbing the hay was the easy part. Lou’s head almost touched the tin roof of the barn. The rain pounded just above my head. Lynn pushed the swing till it gained enough height for me to jump on it. The dogs anxiously waited for their turn to jump at her.

“I’m scared! If I miss, I’m a goner!” Lou complined.

“We do this all the time! You’re not gonna fall…..and if you do, you’ll probably land on a dog.” assured Lynn.

That made sense. There were dogs to spare. As she swung higher and higher, Lou grabbed the rope, held her breath, and jumped, wrapping her legs tightly. Wild horses couldn’t have pulled her off. That leap was the biggest thrill of her life. Laughing hysterically, she kicked the top of the barn doors wishing she could fly forever. Lynn pushed Lou over and over, then jumped on with her. The dogs joined in the fun, chasing and barking.

Though Lynn is lots of fun, Lou didn’t forget she needed to find Grandma as soon as the rain stopped.

Lessons from a 96-Year-Old Mother

My mother has reached the age where she has few peers. At ninety-six she is is a generation ahead of most baby-boomers. Several times when we’ve been out to eat, a gray-haired man has stopped by the table and asked to pay for her meal. They usually say they miss their mother.

people of all ages go out of their way to help Mother. Shoppers in the grocery store offer to get things off shelves. Neighbors offer to take out her trash or help in other ways.

Two little boys had stopped to visit Mother, then lingered to visit. She heard them talking outside her back door.

”Miz Swain’s old.” One remarked.

”Yeah, but she’s a nice lady.” the other replied.

”But she’s old. She’s just full of …..”He cast around for the right word.

”Oldness.” replied his friend. “She’s full of oldness.”

Don’t Worry, Grandma

My sister and her four-year-old daughter were visiting her mother-in- law when Grandma realized she was telling a story she didn’t want repeated.

“Now, Hayley. Sometimes people talk about things they don’t want repeated. You don’t need to tell anyone what Mommy and I are talking about.”

“I know, Grandma. Mommy talks about you and I never tell you.”

Growing Up in the Sixties: The Greedy-Gut Chronicles

Kids in the sixties reveled in hurling epithets that seem positively sanctified by today’s standards: tattletale, crybaby, sissy, titty-baby, chicken, dumbo and greedy-gut. Calling out anyone of these could get you in plenty of trouble at home or on the playground.  As one of five children, I have been known to be a greedy-gut, along with my gluttonous siblings.  As I went over this list with Bud, he said he was always glad to be called greedy-gut, since that meant he’d gotten more of the good stuff.

My cousins were “finicky.”  Their mama complained. “My kids won’t eat anything.”  I thought that sounded good.  Mother proudly answered, “I don’t have to worry about that.  My kids eat whatever I put in front of them.” It didn’t take a genius to see that we did. It was humiliating.  I yearned to be picky, but my appetite always got the best of me.

 

We never had cookies, chips, sodas, or snacks of any type lying around our house.  Should a bag of cookies or chips  find its way in, we’d all pounce on it, eat all we could hold, wait till we felt better, then check back to see if any was left.  There rarely was.  For after-school snacks, we had biscuits with peanut butter if we were lucky, or pear or fig preserves if we weren’t.  I  was never tempted to indulge  in Mother’s homemade fig or pear preserves.  Daddy insisted she sugar them heavily and cook them down till they candied with syrup the consistency of tar.  I’d sooner have eaten tar.  If Mother was flush with cash on grocery day, she’d buy a big bag of apples or oranges, which we’d fall upon and finish off in a day or two.  Sometimes the stores ran specials on canned peaches or big purple plums, which served as dessert for dinner.

 

Dessert was for special times, usually a yellow cake, baked in a Bundt pan.  Mother taught each of her girls to bake a yellow cake when they turned five, a proud accomplishment for the girl.  None of us was great on detail, so not uncommonly, we’d start a cake before checking if all the ingredients were available.  Sometimes we’d do without if we’d gotten the cake started first. It wasn’t unusual to substitute shortening for butter, or bake without milk, vanilla or eggs.  Sometimes a cake with one substitution is tolerable, but two or three render it inedible.  I have been known to use plain flour and not add baking powder powder, soda, or salt.  A cake like that makes a pretty good pot lid.  

Our greed set the stage for Mother’s humiliation. Daddy was a hypochondriac. At least yearly, he’d come up with a malady requiring hospitalization. His ailments ranged from flu to stomach ailments to a stiff knee. When a new doctor opened a clinic nearby, he realized he had a sore back. Naturally, the new doctor admitted him for tests, something doctors were able to do in the days before insurance oversight. He shared a room with Mr. Ivan Garvey, an affable fellow.  During a visit, Mother met his wife, Doris, and inferred they’d become friendly.  Mrs. Garvey  invited her to come by for coffee.

Some days later, Mother took Doris up on her casual invitation, dropping by by just as Doris was taking peanut butter cookies out of the oven.  They smelled heavenly.  Not realizing the calamity she faced, Doris set the plate before us.  Over Mother’s horrified protests, we decimated those cookies.  Mother tried to slow us down, but Doris said, “Oh no!  Let them have them.  I like to see kids eat.”  Naturally, we believed she meant it and wanted her to be happy, polishing off the batch.  It must have been the happiest day of her life.

Humiliated, Mother got us out of there as soon as she decently could, lighting  into us the instant we cleared the Garvey drive.  “I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life.  Y’all ate like hogs.  She didn’t want y’all to eat all the cookies….” Her rant lasted longer than the cookies.  We scattered as soon as we got home. We never went by Doris Garvey’s house for coffee again.  Too bad.

 

Little Kid Logic

Bud’s four-year-old nephew was a cute kid with a mouth! We were fortunate enough to be on hand when he initiated a conversation with his aunt, a proper church lady. She jokingly referred to her husband Mack as Macky Wacky Packy Sacky. Young Andrew had clearly been warned about his language prior to the visit. The warning was clearly heavy on his mind.

He rebuked her. “ Don’t say that. Macky Wacky Packy Sacky is an bad word.”

“No it’s not.” She said. “It’s a nickname.”

He studied her solemnly. “I know a bad word.”

She didn’t encourage him.

After a minute, he picked up where he’d left off. “You can’t say s—-. If you do, your mama will whip your a—!

Video

Sauce for the Goose

noteIt’s been more than fifty years and my brother Bill still has nose out of joint over a little goose bite that he suffered way back in first grade.  Hard to imagine holding a grudge against poultry that long.  Billy was Daddy’s shadow, making every step he made.  Though I was normally with them, somehow I missed this day.  Had I not discovered a note  very much like this he wrote to his friend, Donnie, I’d never have learned of his misfortune.

On this particular day, Daddy and Uncle Dunc swapped lies over coffee on the high front porch of Uncle Dunc’s place while Billy played with the twins, Fats and Little Boy on the hard-packed clay underneath. Despite the descriptive names, I couldn’t tell the boys apart.  The decrepit, unpainted house might have been sound at some point in the distant past, but it wouldn’t have withstood much of a windstorm now.  The corners perched crazily on stacked piles of iron-ore rocks, oxidizing to dust in the weather.  Chickens, ducks, and geese roamed freely over the yard and under the porch.  We were warned to watch for snakes in the shadows under the porch, but a far greater danger was the ever-present foulness left behind by the numerous fowl pursuing insects into the shade.

Daddy called out to Billy, “Son, go get me a pack of Camels off the dash of my truck.”

Unhappily for Billy, as he trotted toward the truck on his mission, he made an attractive target for an aggressive gander patrolling the yard.  Honking, the monster pursued Billy, chomping down on the backside of his jeans.  As poor Billy fled, the goose hung on tightly and flogged him roundly.  Of course, Daddy rescued him, but it must have seemed like it took forever, as the kids and adults all around him laughed at his misery.   He came home sporting a big bruise and a lifelong dislike of geese.