love

One Liner Wednesdays

This was one perfect day in my life.

One-Liner Wednesday – I love my neighbourhood

Elementary, My Dear Watson

Watson on my son John’s lap. Watson has no idea he’s too big to be a lap dog

Watson sleeping in the cool of the bathtub. When he snores it echoes down the drain and sounds like ghosts wailing.
Watson found a football and carried it everywhere till it got stuck in his food dish. Now he has a real conundrum.
Watson cooling off in his wading pool.
Watson with his precious Christmas Bone. He wouldn’t turn loose of it even to sleep.

Bumps in the Road Part 16

Update: Kathleen and Bill have just arrived at her parents to inform them of their marriage.

Kathleen felt a sudden pang of guilt about marrying without Mama’s and Daddy’s blessing but Mama had broken up an earlier engagement. She hadn’t wanted to risk that again.

“I know this is sudden but we didn’t want to wait or put you to any trouble “ she babbled. Mama had a stern look, pursing her lips. Was she about to denounce her? Daddy stepped forward and extended his hand to Bill. “Welcome to the family. We’ll be counting on you to take good care of our little girl.”

“Thank you, Mr. Holdaway. I sure will. I have a good job making good money. She won’t go without, I promise you. I know I’m lucky to get a girl like her,” replied Bill.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Daddy replied. “She has always been such a good girl.”

Mama thawed a little. “Can you stay for supper? I’ve got a fryer shut up to kill.”

Kathleen looked to Bill to answer. “ No, but I wouldn’t say no to a cup of coffee,” he answered.

Kathleen was relieved. She hadn’t looked forward to a long evening with them after announcing their uncomfortable news. Bill seemed to have read her mind.

“Come on in,” Mama directed. I’ve got a cake ready to frost. Roscoe, will you bring me in a bucket of water?” Kathleen followed Mama in the house while Bill went to the well with Roscoe. Bill looked so tall and healthy compared to Daddy’s frail frame.

Dreading questions, Kathleen volunteered, “Mama, we didn’t have to get married. We just didn’t see any point in waiting.”

“I wouldn’t have asked you that,” Mama returned, still pursing her lips. “I raised you better than that. How long have you known him?”

“Almost a month,” Kathleen answered, thinking it sounded better than three weeks.

“That long?” Mama scoffed. “Well, good luck. I hope you haven’t made a mistake. Here they are with the water, “ signaling the awkward conversation was done. She filled the kettle, put it on the stove, and poked up the fire. “Now, let me get this cake frosted. That’s a beautiful dress, Kathleen. Is it new?”

“Yes, Bill bought it for me this morning. It cost sixteen dollars!” She bragged, proudly, then suddenly felt ashamed, fearing she’d hurt Mama’s feelings, Mama who’d painstakingly sewn almost every dress Kathleen ever owned.

Happily, Mama’s expression softened. “Bill, I’m proud you can give Katleen nice things. We always wanted the best for her.”

The atmosphere warmed up after that.

I Never Claimed to be Donna Reed!

My daughter zoned in on the Donna Reed Show when I started falling short in the motherhood department.  In case you don’t remember, Donna Reed was the perfect wife and mother, always prissing around in cinch-waist dresses with petticoats, high heels and jewelry.  She played bridge, called her friends Mrs. So and So, and kept an immaculate house.  If Donna had slipped in the mud, she’d have fallen daintily and ended up with a charming smudge on her cheek, whereas, I’d have busted my butt, ripped my britches, and farted.  No one would have been able to help me for laughing.  I could have fallen in a rose bed, and come out smelling like manure.

When Donna’s children lapsed into naughtiness, she’d rein them in with an understanding, quizzical smile, knowing they’d fall at her feet and confess because she was such a good mother. They only got in cute scrapes, like maybe accepting two dates for the prom or losing a library book, never anything involving calls from the school counselor or requests for bail. The queen of her home, effortless meals appeared on her dining table out of the air, no budgeting, shopping, or messy kitchen to consider.  Naturally, her handsome husband adored her.  Even though he was a doctor, it was clear he’d married “up.”

Donna never lost her cool when her children announced they needed a million dollars for a school trip as she dropped them off for school.  I have been known to be annoyed.  Should Donna’s kids want to eat what she’d cooked, she’d coax them along in the name of nutrition. If my kids didn’t want to eat what I’d put on the table, I told them, “Fine, that leaves more for the rest. It won’t be that long till breakfast.”  Donna was vigilant about nutrition, whereas,  I figure kids eat if they get hungry.

I can lay so many of my motherly shortcomings at Donna’s door, but thank goodness, she’s gone and I’m still bumbling along.

It’s been a while

Bud and I have been together for 73 years. This is our first photo together. I am the baby on right in fitst row. He is the little boy behind me. The photographer has us facing the sun, so we are shielding our faces. I remember always being posed facing the sun. Who know the rationale behind that?

Bud’s mother came to help out when I was born. She often said she should have pinched my head off when she had a chance. Live and learn. Our families were friends, so we grew up playing together. He was a nice boy, never mean to girls, so I always liked him.

He first started coming to visit on his own when I was seventeen. Our family was generally confused as to whom he was visiting. My sister and I thought he was interested in her, so I went to my room and read. I was always looking for a chance to read, anyway, since Daddy kept us really busy on the farm. My brother thought Bud was coming to see him.

The matter was further complicated since Bud had bashed his left thumb with a 24 lb. hammer . The doctor pushed the ball of his thumb back in place until it was approximately thumb shaped, stitched it to his nail, and splinted it. One week to the day, while he was still splinted, a sprocket fell on his right foot, breaking it. Consequently, he was effectively disabled on the right and left side, though his job kept him on, probably out of guilt. He didn’t feel much like a suitor during this period.

The next week, he pitched his crutches in the back of his truck on the way to the doctor. They blew out. He retrieved them but one had suffered the loss of a rubber tip, not optimal for a lame guy with no grip due to a smushed thumb. Bud managed to hobble in the doctor’s door before hitting a slick tile. One crutch went one way, one the other. Pulling himself up on receptionist’s desk,he inquired “Is there a doctor in the house?” It must have been horrifying to the staff who were trying to remain professional.

So, he did finally live through the indignities of his injuries. All the while, I got a good bit of reading done while Phyllis and Bill courted him. I suppose I was inadvertently playing hard to get. When he eventually got off the crutches, he asked me out. I don’t know which of the Swain kids was most surprised, me, Phyllis, or Billy.

We got married two years later, while we were still in college.

Dear Auntie Linda, September 9 2015

I am reblogging an old post from 2015 when I used to do an advice column. I enjoyed it very much. Please address any questions or concerns you’d like addressed in comments or to my email Lbeth1950@hotmail.com Thanks

Dear Auntie Linda,  My mother is seventy-four and moved in with me and my husband four years ago.  She is in good health, still drives, and is active…

Dear Auntie Linda, September 9 2015

Kathleen Carries On or Breathing In and Out

Mother was widowed at fifty-four. A couple of widowers in their seventies called showing interest. One was an elderly Pentecostal Preacher who showed up with a three-page poem he’d penciled on pages torn from a three ring spiral binder. The kicker was, he’d admired the way she’d waited on Daddy hand and foot. He knew she’d make him a good wife, too. Hard to believe she’d turn down such an attractive offer.

After a time, Mother moved into town and developed a tepid friendship with a neighbor man, Maury. Unfortunately, Maury’s health failed, but not before Mother’s interest in him. She realized then she didn’t want another man friend. When another neighbor man, John, showed interest in Mother, intending to discourage John, she explained she had a friend, Maury, who wasn’t doing too well. Some weeks later, the Maury died. John stopped by a time or two to see how her friend was doing. Evasively, Mother told him. “He’s about the same.” I suppose he’s still “about the same.”

Afterwards, when asked if she’d ever thought of marrying again, Mother always replied,”No, the only thing wrong with men is they keep breathing in and breathing out.”

If you enjoyed Kathleen’s stories, check out her memoir on Amazon. Authored by Linda Bethea Illustrated by Kathleen Swain

Bumps in the Road Part 15

Bill was in a ebullient mood as he maneuvered Bobo’s borrowed truck off the blacktop onto the dusty red dirt road into Cuthand, Texas. His dainty bride squealed irresistibly as he centered a deep pothole, thrilling him to see her little girl reaction.

“Bill, slow down! You’re going to wreck us!” she implored.

“Hang on! I’ve driven in lots worse places than this!” He knew what he was doing.

“Bill! This dust is ruining my new dress!”Dust was fogging in the open truck windows. He looked down to see dust settling on the cuffs of the white shirt he’d just opened from the laundry.

“Oh Lordy! We can’t go to your your folks looking like this.” Enjoying her reaction, he’d not noticed the effect of the dust on their clothes. He pulled over. She took off her headscarf and they dusted each other and the truck seat. Satisfied with their appearance, he took her in his arms to kiss her.

She pushed him away. “Not here, Bill. She turned away as a car passed. “I don’t want people talking about me. I’m not that kind of girl!”

“You’re not any kind of girl,” he laughed. “You’re my wife and I want everybody to know it.”

“You’re so bad.” she giggled as her smacked her bottom, as she climbed in the truck. She felt delightfully wicked.

“You better get used to it.” he assured her.

Kathleen had butterflies in her stomach as they neared her parents home. She and Bill had been so caught up in each other they had barely touched on their families. She only knew Bill’s mother was a widow living in Louisiana with a couple of girl left at home. Her family was poor. She assumed from his looks and demeanor, she was marrying up. His family might look down on her.

Though she’d only been gone a month, she saw her home through Bill’s eyes as they pulled in. It was shabbier than she remembered. Her anxiety rose at surprising them with a husband unannounced. Mama was in the front yard working in her flowers. The hollyhocks towered over the paling fence. Rows of proud zinnias claimed dominance over the front yard. Bees buzzed around the bee balm and the sweet peas climbing the porch rails. The four o’clocks were just starting to open. Tall sunflowers nodded in the backyard. The scent of her childhood was heavenly. Daddy sat in a straight chair on the front porch, smoking and reading his Ranch Romance Magazine, just like he did every Saturday afternoon. Her throat drew tight with emotion.

Bill took her arm as he opened the gate. Mama dropped her shovel as Daddy walked down the steps to greet them. “Mama, Daddy, I want you to meet my husband, Bill Swain.” She flushed with sudden emotion, hoping they wouldn’t think she’d had to get married.

Mary Stocks Obituary

STOCKS, Mary Patricia (nee Morris) —

Pat Stocks, 94, passed away peacefully at her home in bed July 1, 2015. It is believed it was caused from carrying her oxygen tank up the long flight of stairs to her bedroom that made her heart give out. She left behind a hell of a lot of stuff to her daughter and sons who have no idea what to do with it. So if you’re looking for 2 extremely large TV’s from the 90s, a large ceramic stork (we think) umbrella/cane stand, a toaster oven (slightly used) or even a 2001 Oldsmobile with a spoiler (she loved putting the pedal to the metal), with only 71,000 kilometers and 1,000 tools that we aren’t sure what they’re used for. You should wait the appropriate amount of time and get in touch. Tomorrow would be fine. This is not an ad for a pawn shop, but an obituary for a great Woman, Mother, Grandmother and Great-Grandmother born on May 12, 1921 in Toronto, the daughter of the late Pop (Alexander C.) and Granny (Annie Nigh) Morris. She leaves behind a very dysfunctional family that she was very proud of. Pat was world-renowned for her lack of patience, not holding back her opinion and a knack for telling it like it is. She always told you the truth even if it wasn’t what you wanted to hear. It was the school of hard knocks and yes we were told many times how she had to walk for miles in a blizzard to get to school, so suck it up. With that said she was genuine to a fault, a pussy cat at heart (or lion) and yet she sugar coated nothing. Her extensive vocabulary was more than highly proficient at knowing more curse words than most people learned in a lifetime. She liked four letter words as much as she loved her rock garden and trust us she LOVED to weed that garden with us as her helpers, when child labour was legal or so we were told. These words of encouragement, wisdom, and sometimes comfort, kept us in line, taught us the “school of hard knocks” and gave us something to pass down to our children. Everyone always knew where you stood with her. She liked you or she didn’t, it was black or white. As her children we are still trying to figure out which one it was for us (we know she loved us). She was a master cook in the kitchen. She believed in overcooking everything until it chewed like rubber so you would never get sick because all germs would be nuked. Freezing germs also worked, so by Friday our school sandwiches were hard and chewy, but totally germ free. All four of us learned to use a napkin. You would pretend to cough, spit the food into it and thus was born the Stocks diet. If anyone would like a copy of her homemade gravy, we would suggest you don’t. She will be sorely missed and survived by her brother George Morris, children: Shauna (Stocks) Perreault, Paul/Sandy (Debbie) Stocks and Kirk Stocks, son-in-law Ian Milnes and son from another mother, John McCleery, grandchildren: Lesley (Sean), Lindsay (Lucas), Ashley (James), David (Tia), Brett, Erin (Brian), Sean, Alex, Courtney and Taylor and great-grandchildren: Connor, Emily, Ainsley, Tyler and Jack. She was preceded in death by her loving husband Paul (Moo) Stocks and eldest daughter Shelley (Stocks) Milnes and beloved pets Tag, Tag, Tag and Tag. All whom loved her dearly and will never forget her tenacity, wit, charm, grace (when pertinent) and undying love and caring for them. Please give generously to covenanthousetoronto.ca “in memory”. A private family ‘Celebration of Life’ will be held, in lieu of a service, due to her friends not being able to attend, because they decided to beat her to the Pearly Gates. Please note her change of address to her new place of residence, St John’s York Mills Anglican Church, 19 Don Ridge Drive, 12 doors away from Shelley’s place.