memoir

Nurse Jokes

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St. Peter and the Three Nurses

Three nurses died and went to heaven, where they were met at the Pearly Gates by St. Peter.

To the first, he asked, “What did you do on Earth and why should you go to heaven?” “I was a nurse in an inner-city hospital,” she replied. “I worked to bring healing and peace to the poor suffering city children.” “Very noble,” said St. Peter. “You may enter.” And in through the gates, she went.

To the next, he asked the same question: “So what did you do on Earth?” “I was a nurse at a missionary hospital in Africa,” she replied. “For many years, I worked with a skeleton crew of doctors and nurses who tried to reach out to as many peoples and tribes with a hand of healing and with a message of God’s love.” “How touching,” said St. Peter. “You too may enter.” And in she went.

He then came to the last nurse, to whom he asked, “So, what did you do back on Earth?” After some hesitation, she explained, “I was just a nurse at an HMO.” St. Peter pondered this for a moment, and then said, “Okay, you may enter also.”

“Whew!” said the nurse. “For a moment there, I thought you weren’t going to let me in.”

“Oh, you can come in,” said St. Peter, “but you can only stay for three days!”

Rectal Thermometer

A nurse walks into a bank totally exhaustedafter an 18-hour shift. She grabs a deposit slip, pulls a rectal thermometer out of her purse, and tries to write with it. When she realizes her mistake, she looks at the flabbergasted teller and, without missing a beat, says, “Well, that’s great…some asshole’s got my pen!”

Speaking of Rectal Thermometers…

Q: What’s the difference between an oral thermometer and a rectal thermometer?
A: The taste.

Ten Quarters

I had to take my son to the hospital after he swallowed ten quarters. He was rushed to surgery. After half an hour I saw a nurse so I asked her how he was. She said, “There’s no change yet.”

Three Wishes

A nursing assistant, a floor nurse and a charge nurse from a small nursing home were taking a lunch break in the break room. In walks, a lady dressed in silk scarves and wearing large polished-stone jewelry. “I am Gina the Great,” stated the lady. “I am so pleased with the way you have taken care of my aunt that I will now grant the next three wishes!” With a wave of her hand and a puff of smoke, the room was filled with flowers, fruit, and bottles of drink, proving that she did have the power to grant wishes before any of the nurses could think otherwise.

The nurses quickly argued among themselves as to which one would ask for the first wish. Speaking up, the nursing assistant wished first. “I wish I were on a tropical island beach, with single, well-built men feeding me fruit and tending to my every need.” With a puff of smoke, the nursing assistant was gone.

The floor nurse went next. “I wish I were rich and retired, and spending my days in my own warm cabin at a ski resort with well-groomed men feeding me cocoa and doughnuts.” With a puff of smoke, she too was gone.

“Now, what is the last wish?” asked the lady.

The charge nurse said, “I want those two ambitious nurses back on the floor at the end of the lunch break!”

“WTH!”

Q: Did you hear about the nurse who died and went straight to hell?

A: It took her two weeks to realize that she wasn’t at work anymore!

Family Drama: Confiscated Secrets and Sibling Rivalry

Mother and Daddy were bipolar, as a couple, not individually. Daddy was generous with tales of his life on the wild side intended to edify and occasionally entertain.  In his youth, he’d selfishly used up the family quota of sin, carousing, drinking, gambling, fighting, and honky-tonking to his heart’s content.  Reforming after marrying Mother, he put all that behind him so he could rest on his laurels, be a good example, and watch us like a hawk.  Knowing the bad apples probably wouldn’t fall too far from the tree, he was suspicious of the crop he was reaping.  Mother, on the other hand, apparently had always had an over-developed sense of guilt and expected we’d just naturally behave well.  When we did mess up, she was “hurt, not mad.”  With five kids, it’s a wonder she survived the casualties.

Once my brother Billy managed to snag some girly books and hide them under his mattress. Mother found them and righteously confiscated them.  Lecturing him in her squeaky Minnie Mouse voice, she plunged them in the trash destined for the burn barrel.  Connie and Marilyn, our younger sisters enjoyed the whole production off to the side, always glad to see Billy in trouble.  Pained at the loss of his valuable property, Bill tolerated her complaints while he considered a better place for his next treasure trove.  Mother went on about her housecleaning and foolishly sent Connie and Marilyn to burn the trash.

What a bonanza!  While the rest of us had had to rely on conjecture and misinformation from our ignorant friends, these two had been blessed with a virtual illustrated encyclopedia of forbidden knowledge and filthy jokes.  Life just isn’t fair.  Mother was always was partial to them!

Awful Friends Part 4

The barnyard turned out to be just a bedraggled fence enclosing a chicken house with a row of nesting boxes.  The chicken house had seen better days and leaned crazily to the left.  Someone had thoughtfully propped it up enough so the eggs didn’t roll out of the boxes.  Jamey picked up a pencil-marked egg and slung it against the barn.  “You’re not gonna believe this, guys!” It exploded with a nauseating sulfurous smell and resounding pop, whereupon Jamey explained, “ Them ol’ rotten eggs explode just like a bomb!” it had been left for the hen to “set on” and had rotted.  

I was familiar with the concept of “setting hens” and knew not to touch precious eggs.  Mother had made it clear eggs were precious, not playthings.  Nonetheless, Jamey took an egg from another nest and hurled it.  It also exploded and turned the air to sulphur to the delight of the party-goers.  Kids started flinging eggs madly.  Knowing they were older and wiser, I joined in.  Before long we’d exhausted the supply and moved across the road to the pig pen.

My parents had frequently complained about the malodorous pig pen, but in a rural community, only consideration governs location of noxious livestock.   “I ought to call Sheriff Copp on JP, but he ain’t gonna do nothin’” Daddy complained “He don’t have to smell that porcine excrement.”(paraphrased) Fortunately for the Awfuls, a vacant house with an enclosed back lot stood between our place and theirs.  They had wisely appropriated the abandoned back lot for their pig pen.  It was much closer to our house than theirs, a wise decision on their part.  The small pen was home to a couple of sows, their extended families, and millions of flies. Due to their wise location of the pig lot, we undoubtedly got a lot more effect than they did.  My mother, in particular, was offended.

Jamey, our fearless leader climbed on the rails.  The smaller of the sows and her babies fled, squealing.  The larger sow the size of a sofa, didn’t seem too disturbed from where she lounged in a muddy wallow across the pen.  The baby pigs were so adorable! Jamey was generous “Let’s git us one!”Jamey was a wonderful host, dropping into the pen in pursuit of a little pig, followed by me and a couple more kids.   I was pretty lucky. My dress tail caught on a fencepost, hanging me upside down from the top rail.  

“Help! Help Git me down!” By this time I’d noticed Mama wasn’t taking any of this well.  She lunged directly under me with a guttural growl, “Rrrrroofff!” running them back over the fence.  Fortunately, suspended above the action, adrenaline saved my hide, though my fancy dress was done for.  I wasn’t the only one who suffered wardrobe loss. As Jamey sailed over the fence, the mama pig got one of his new birthday tennis shoes.  

“Oh no! Mama’s gonna git you about that shoe!” Bugeater assured him, collapsing in merriment. Clearly he anticipated his brother’s trouble amiably.

When we got back to the house, Mrs. Awful little into him. “ You little devil! Your daddy’s gonna tear you up when he gets in! We just got them @83”&$! Shoes! You ain’t had ‘em a day yet! Now you dang kids get out there so he can open them presents and get this )@/$!! party overwith!” I rarely got to hear such language.

As I said, this was my first birthday party.  I was proud of the flashlight Mother had wrapped for me to bring to the party and couldn’t wait to get it back.  Mother showed up just as I learned I was expected to leave it for Jamey.  I wasn’t falling for that one.  I was wrestling with Jamey for possession of the flashlight just as she walked in the gate.  My behavior, coupled with the destroyed dress, put an end to the coffee-klatch.  Mother dragged me home bawling without the flashlight, my tattered dress tail dragging in the dirt, my first big social fail. She had plenty to say.

Bungarendeen

Of course, our family has familiar phrases we use a lot. We have been known to get so comfortable, we forgot to mention to the kids the terms were nonsense. One such word was “bungarendeen” which Bud commonly used to describe the potential for harm. For example: “Don’t eat that potato salad that’s been sitting out too long. It might give you Bungarendeen!” Another:” Let me clean that cut and put Neosporin and bandage on it. You don’t want to get Bungarendeen.” Again: Always wash your hands after going to the bathroom. You don’t want Bungarendeen!”

After a lifetime of indoctrination, one of our kids was in college biology class. The instructor was covering pathogens and neglected to mention the all important Bungarendeen. The unfortunate student raised their hand, “But what about Bungarendeen? You didn’t cover that.”

The response was sadly predictable.

Jamey Awful’s Birthday Party Adventures: Tales of the Mean Turkey and Bugeater

Awfuls chasing turey
Awfuls chasing turkey

 

Awfuls in Pigpen
Awfuls in Pigpen

(Continuation of story of Jamey Awful’s birthday party, without a doubt, the most fun I ever had in my life.  If he gave a party today, I’d be there!)

Jamey’s birthday party was incredible. There was no sappy “Pin the Tail on the Donkey”, no party hats, just fun, fun, fun. Mama Awful didn’t concern herself with us, leaving us on our own.  Of course, we ran wild, ripping through mud puddles, jumping out the barn loft, and robbing chicken nests.  We splatted eggs against the side of the barn and climbed into fig trees breaking off a branch or two. My sandals were long gone and the skirt of my dress ripped from the waist band.  The sash ties were mud-caked.  From the look on Mother’s face when she walked over to get me, I could see she was not happy, not even going in for coffee like she usually did at neighbor lady’s houses. “I ought to tear you up for running wild like that, losing your shoes and tearing up your new dress.”


“But Mama, we was just playing.  We didn’t mess up nothing in the house!” I protested.  I usually got in trouble for meddling with people’s whatnots when we went to visit, a terrible wrong.

“ Don’t dispute my word!” she hissed through clenched teeth.  “”You’re never going over there again!”  My heart fell.  Surely she didn’t mean it!

I figured Mother would forget after a few days, but no……….No visits to the Awfuls. If they noticed they were being snubbed you couldn’t tell. We were always ready to play with them if they rambled through our yard on the way to bigger and better things. During this time Daddy brought home a huge, mean turkey, to fatten for Thanksgiving. He was a monster jumping, spurring,  and flogging us with when we had to feed the chickens and gather eggs. He even got bolder and started flying over the fence to attack us in our own territory. We stayed as far away as we could, but he ambushed us if he caught us off guard.

My personal favorite among the Awfuls was Junior who enjoyed a special claim to fame. He ate bugs and other strange items. He ate his first bug on a dare and liked it, saying it tasted like peanuts. From that time forward, he was generally known as Bugeater. The kids in the neighborhood took pride in finding the biggest, strangest bugs for him to eat. Bugeater did have standards, refusing to eat worms.

Before too many days, we were lucky enough to have Jamey, Bugeater, and Davey pay us a call. “Where’s that bad turkey?  I wanta see it.” demanded Jamey.  

“He’s out in the chicken yard but you better leave him alone! He’s real mean!”  I pointed out.  I watched them head for the chicken yard, wanting no part of that turkey.

Sure enough, that old devil turkey flew at them, ready to do battle. They screamed and ran like crazy, but not in the cowardly way we had. “Whoo whoo!  Turn turkey run!” they shrieked, chasing him all over the chicken yard, flogging him with their caps and sticks.  The terrorized turkey finally escaped up into the trees and stayed there till they sauntered off.  

“That ol’turkey ain’t so bad,” Jamey said as they banged the gate shut on the way out.

”Wait, where are you going?  Don’t you want to play?”  I liked them even better now.

”Nah, We’re going crawfishing over in Donnie Parker’s ditch.”  Jamey replied, ruining my day.

That turkey’s spirit was broken.  He never bothered us again. I liked those kids even better than ever after that.

I gave Mother a little time to forget before asking to go to the Awfuls. One golden day, she had a headache and wanted to rest on the sofa until her head felt better. We played quietly for a few minutes till she went to sleep. “Mother, can I go play with the Awful’s?” I whispered.  She didn’t say no, so off I went.

The Awfuls had the best place in the neighborhood. Overgrown bushes tangled into the fence so the yard was a jungle, a great place for adventures. Tall grass and junk in the yard made it easy to hide. We chased the sleeping hound dogs out of the abandoned cars and played cops and robbers. We pulled broken boards off the barn for fort-building. Best of all, there was a big tree with low-hanging branches by the front door. “Look at this!” Jamey shouted.  I followed  the boys up the tree and through a window into the attic. From there, we dropped through a hole into the living room ceiling and sneaked behind the furniture into a back bedroom where daft, old grandma was in the bed.

“Aigheeeeeeee!” she screeched, clutching her blankets like she’d seen a ghost. 

“Y’all git out’a there!  Don’t git your Granny stirred up.  I got a headache” yelled Mama Awful over the TV.

They showed us a secret way out through a hole in the floor of her closet. Pelting each other with dirt clods from their bare yard, I’d never felt so free.

Eventually, Mother came stomping over.  “What are you doing over here?  Don’t you ever go off without asking!” she said.  “I’m gonna tear you up!”

“But Mama, you said I could go!” I whined. dreading a switching.  “ I asked when you was layin’ on the couch.” I told her.  

I could see she remembered. “You knew I was asleep.  Don’t you ever pull that again.” she threatened. Sadly, that was my last visit to the Awful’s house.

Not too long afterward, the Awfuls showed up with little Becky Awful in tow. She was about three and overdue to join their traveling show. Daddy was unhappily cleaning out a clogged septic line, bailing nasty stuff into a wheelbarrow.  Not in a great mood, he sent the Awfuls on their way, not noting that Becky had remained behind playing quietly off to the side. She was making mud pies with clean white sand and septic drain sludge. As soon as he saw her, he howled for Mother. “Kathleen, get this kid out of here!  She’s playing in this excrement(paraphrased) and nasty as a pig!  Do I have to do everything?”  

“Bill, I didn’t know she was out there.”  Mother washed Becky a little under the hose and led her home.  Becky was so filthy and smelly it would probably have been easier to get another little girl than to try to clean her up. As it turned out, that wasn’t a problem. Becky showed up two days later in the same malodorous outfit.

Since we couldn’t visit the Awfuls anymore, we had to make do with whatever crumbs of joy they tossed our way. My parents had their noses out of joint because Mr. Awful had shut his pigs up in a small lot between our house and theirs. Not surprisingly, it really, really stunk. Mother had us helping her hang laundry on the line when we heard a huge ruckus next door. It seems Mr. Awful had noticed Jamey’s missing birthday shoes.  “You boys get out there and find them shoes or I’m gonna tear you up.  We ain’t got money to waste on shoes.”  he roared. I could have told him where one of them was, but Mother shushed me up. The boys made for the pigpen, wading around, looking in the muddy black hog-wallows seeking the lost shoes. Of course, it wasn’t long before Bugeater slipped and fell, then Davey, then Jamey. They forgot about the shoes and were streaking through the pig mud. Mud showered everywhere. The beleaguered pigs cowered in the corners, trying to save their bacon. Eventually, Mr. Awful came out in the yard to check the progress of the shoe search. Finding them in the pigpen meant big trouble. He pulled a spring of grass and threatened to switch them if they didn’t find the shoes.

“No don’t whoop me,” whined Jamey. Then the other boys chimed in.

“He backed down. “ Well, I won’t whoop you, but you gonna have to git a bath before bedtime.

It did my heart good to see they could get in trouble. It’s hard to live next door to kids with a perfect life.

Old Lady Borden: The Meanest Christian | Opinion and Troublemaker

witch 2 Old Lady Borden was a saint! We had it on good authority, hers. She had been widowed longer than anybody knew. Hateful as she was, had I been her husband, I would have claimed to be dead, too. Though she was devout in another denomination, she was in attendance at our little country church every time the doors opened. Her own church was twelve miles away and she didn’t want to bother anyone for a ride to services so far afield. It was much more expedient walk a few hundred feet and stir up no end of trouble closer to home, inserting herself fully into all matters related to church business, be it financial, theological, or just some sinner in need of her hateful opinion.
Mother was very particular about our language. We would have never been allowed refer to Ms. Borden by the B word, but she turned a deaf ear when we referred to her as an Old Bat. Old Lady Borden played a vital role pointing out flaws that might have gone unnoticed for a while, a pregnant bride, a baby with a crossed-eye, a child who stuttered, a woman who’d gained weight, or was a bad housekeeper. She begrudged any good fortune coming to a neighbor, such as good crops, or getting a good job. They were “gittin’ uppity.” Should a church member appear too prosperous, they were probably “gittin’ in the c’lection plate.”
Old Lady Borden was the first to the home of the bereaved, making sure to crowd the younger women out at the kitchen sink, then complaining loudly about how “lazy them gals was. “ Any one unfortunate enough to be handed a drying towel would be treated to her acid tongue about what a pitiful job they were doing. Nothing excited her more than a tragedy. Long before the days of cell phones, or even many house phones in our rural community, the school principal got the word that Mr. Barnes, the school bus driver’s father had collapsed and died a few minutes after his daughter Becky left on her bus route. The principal got in his vehicle, hoping to catch up with her before she home and found a shocking scene. When she stopped to let off Old Lady Borden’s grandson, the old woman rushed out to meet her at the bus stop with the horrible news. “Becky, yore daddy just dropped dead. He’s still a’ laying out in the yard a’waitin’ for the coroner.”
Naturally, Becky and her young children were distraught. There were still a half-dozen other children, some of them relatives, on the bus who’d heard the whole thing. They became overwrought at hearing the news of Mr. Barne’s death. Becky had no idea how to manage till the principal caught up to comfort and relieve her. He had to finish her route with her and the upset children still on the bus, since there was no other way to get them home. It was a shocking situation but at least the old bat had the pleasure of delivering the terrible news.
Old Lady Borden kept trouble stirred up.  She made every church business meeting to  make her opinion known, despite the fact that she wasn’t a church member and could not vote.  She bullied everyone she dealt with and tried to dominate her Sunday School Class, making it clear she had God’s ear and wouldn’t hesitate to use her influence.  She was the meanest Christian I ever met.

My Favorite Comfort Food

My favorite comfort food is biscuits, buttered hot from the oven. Mother made twenty-seven biscuits every morning. I’d wake to the squeal of the oven door and the scraping of the pan just before she called out, “Biscuits are in the oven.” That was our cue to hustle out of bed. The bedrooms were frigid in winter, so we’d jostle for space to dress in front of the kitchen space heater. When I was little, it was solid comfort to slide into clothes Mother had just warmed before the flames. Once dressed, we’d tie into breakfast with that pile of biscuits, the little guys draped in towels.

Ingredients

  • 3 cups all-purpose flour
  • 1/2 tsp salt
  • 4 tsp baking powder
  • 1/2 tsp cream of tartar
  • 3/4 cup COLD butter
  • 1 cup evaporated milk
  • Preheat oven to 450 degrees.
  • The secret to excellent biscuits is COLD BUTTER. Really cold. Many times the biscuit dough gets worked so much that the butter softens before the biscuits even go in the oven. Try cutting the butter into small pieces and stick back in the fridge pulling out only when ready to incorporate into the dough.
  • Combine the dry ingredients in a large bowl. 
  • Cut cold butter into flour mixture. Mix will be a bit lumpy.
  • Add in the milk and mix just until the ingredients are combined. The dough will be sticky but don’t keep working it. You should be able to see the butter pieces in the dough.

To roll out, turn mix on to floured surface. Sprinkle with flour and turn two or three times. Cut with biscuit cutter.

To hand roll, dust with flour and roll in flour dusted hand two or three quick turn to smooth a bit.

Brush tops with melted butter and bake 10 to twelve minutes till tops brown. Yields 12 Wrap in damp paper towel to reheat 15 seconds in microwave.

Tiny Dog and Her Big Personality: Rescuing the Unforgettable

I was glad for the garage that sleety morning as I started out for my day shift. At least I wouldn’t have to stand in the cold and scrape ice off my windshield. As I headed cautiously out my slippery drive, I caught sight of a tiny red Chihuahua hopping down the middle of the street in the dark. Knowing how Chihuahuas suffer from the cold , I knew someone’s precious baby must have slipped out. Surely, no one would have intentionally left such a fragile creature out, so I stopped and called out. The grateful dog jumped in my car as soon as I opened the door. She looked like a red Chinese Crested Hairless Chihuahua at first. Shivering, she was chilled to the bone. I called work, letting them know I’d be late and took her back home. Upon inspection, I found her flea collar had slipped to fit bandoleer style, pulling her front leg out of line. Cutting the collar off, I saw chafing under her left front leg. This pitiful beast had been abandoned. Flea-infested and starving, she had horrendous breath, the result of muscle breakdown, After hand-feeding and watering her, I put a heating pad in a small box and wrapped her like a mummy. She buried up head and ears, still shivering and coughing. Bud hadn’t gotten in from his night shift so I left him a note and went to work. I worried about her all day.

I needn’t have concerned myself. When I got home that afternoon, I found her enthroned on Bud’s lap, cozily wrapped in a blanket, her food and water bowls at hand. She was crawling with fleas but Bud was unconcerned. I gave her a warm flea bath, which she welcomed, removed a few ticks, and treated her chafed leg. The next day, we took her to the vet who put her on antibiotics for her cough. She weighed four pounds six ounces.

We nursed her back to health before worming and vaccinating her. Her cough cleared. By the time she’d reached her target weight, her golden coat grew in. She turned out to be a beautiful, honey-coated Pomeranian, the sweetest little dog possible. This little rescue was so grateful for her home. Her personality blossomed. She got bossy, trying to get us to go to bed at eight every night. Ruling the roost over our bigger dogs, she pushed them out of their beds and confiscated their toys at will. She particularly loved Bud, who’d wrapped her in a blanket and cuddled her all day, her first day home.

If you are thinking of getting a dog, consider a rescue. They are likely to already be house trained. They are definitely grateful for their home. No one need buy a dog when there are so many rescues waiting. Even if you have your heart set on a particular breed, you can usually find one. People often buy purebred dogs thoughtlessly, then turn them in to shelters.

Our Awful Friends

Freedom at the Awful’s  Illustration by Kathleen Holdaway Swain

Mother was a cruel beast of a woman who rarely allowed us out of our own yard.  I felt so deprived when free-range children passed our house in pursuit of adventure.  Sometimes we were able to tempt them in with our tire swing, zip line, or huge barn, but invariably greener pastures called and we were left morosely watching them amble off to Donnie’s or Joey’s house.  Sadly, we’d pine as the motley crew and their retinue of dogs disappeared down the dusty road.  It wasn’t that we didn’t have wondrous opportunities on our own place;t we just hated being left behind.

Once we accepted our sad abandonment, we didn’t waste time whining to Mother that “We don’t have anything to do.”  I only made that mistake once and Mother set me to hanging out diapers, dusting, and washing woodwork.  In fact, she was mean enough to assign jobs to break up fights.  It’s terrible growing up with a mother who turns human nature against innocent children.

At any rate, a family neighboring us raised their fortunate children with a complete lack of supervision.  Those kids roamed long after dark, before daylight, dropped in for meals all over the neighborhood, drank out of from the neighbor’s faucets, rode the neighbor’s cows, and generally led a charmed life.  Though their name was Offut, I misunderstood it as Awful.  In her frequent dealings with these children Mother reached the conclusion Awful was an excellent name.  She was particularly offended when we came home from town and found them in the house making Kool-aid.  The Awful’s had little understanding of private property and had often had Kool-aid with us, so of course they felt free to help themselves, even if Mother had been careless enough not to leave it in the refrigerator.  Her attitude baffled our uninvited guests.  I think the syrupy floor and Jerry’s standing on the counter helping himself to a pack of Daddy’s cigarettes off the top shelf also ruffled her feathers, but she was the crabby type, after all.  The loss of cigarettes were of particular concern.  A carton cost two dollars and eighty cents, a significant portion of her fifteen dollar grocery budget.  At any rate, she took an unreasonable stance and forbade them to enter the house again when we were gone.  I don’t think they found it particularly disturbing since a couple more packs of cigarettes went missing before Daddy found a better hiding place for his stash.