memoir

Grandma’s Funeral and the Great Hat Feud

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hat 5

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I love this story my mother told me as a kid. I never met Grandma Perkins, who from all reports was an old war horse. Neither my mother nor my grandmother had a warm thing to say about her, so I feel no guilt in sharing this tale. Also, from what I heard, she had plenty of axes to grind with relatives she actually met, so surely she won’t bother with haunting me for speaking ill of her.

Grandma Perkins always said she loved a good fight. Well, she must have died happy, because she and her daughter-in-law had a whing-dinger going when she had a stroke and keeled over. Ruby Nell was a sweet woman and didn’t usually get into it with Grandma, but hadn’t been able to avoid her that day. Her sons, Dave and Harry, and their luckless wives, Ruby Nell and Ethel, had both built houses on Grandma and Grandpa’s place, so Grandma felt free “straighten them girls out” whenever they needed it. Ruby Nell was making pickles when Grandma decided to come over and straighten her out. If she’d given over, Grandma would have ruined the whole batch of much needed pickles. Enraged, Grandma threw a fit, had a stroke, and died on the spot. Of course, poor Ruby Nell felt awful.

Having been the object of Grandma’s temper many times, the other family members tried to console Ruby Nell, but she felt so guilty, she insisted she couldn’t possibly go to the funeral. Finally, her friends and family reminded her of how she been like a daughter to her, despite Grandma’s frequent fits. It could have been any of them that day. Ruby Nell had been the best of all to Grandma. Dave assured her, “Mama knew you loved her. You have to go to the funeral.” Then the clincher, “What will the neighbor’s think?”

After all this loving reassurance, Ruby Nell decided she had manage the funeral after all, but didn’t want to face the small-minded gossips to shop for a new hat for the funeral. She had a new, black bombazine that looked great on her, but she couldn’t show her face without a hat. Her friends, probably the same gossips she was hoping to avoid, showed up bringing all their best, hoping to spare her tender feelings. Hat after hat covered Ruby Nell’s bed: veiled black felts, sequined hats with feathers, cloques with wide ribbon bands. Though, Ruby Nell had never had access to such a plethora of millinery finery, she wisely chose the veiled, black felt, to best hide her tear-stained eyes.

Once Ruby Nell made her dowdy choice, her sisters-in-law Ethel and Maude, Grandma’s unmarried daughter descended on the delightful confection of frothy hats. Both immediately laid claim the loveliest of the lot, a forest-green fedora trimmed with a stunning green band and jaunty plume. It was unbelievable to find such a beauty on loan! They almost pulled it apart! Their argument got quite loud with Maude screeching “it ought ‘a be against the law for a fat little dishwater-blonde like you to be wearing a beautiful hat that, when I’ve got this beautiful red hair!” Harry got concerned about the neighbors seeing a “hair pulling” then and took Ethel out to buy her own new hat.

Smugly satisfied, Maude, proudly wore that gorgeous hat to the funeral. She was a vain woman, proud of her secretarial position down at the bank. Though the hats had been loaned to Ruby Nell, Maude scooped them up, taking them next door where she still lived with her father and recently deceased mother. Those lovely hats made appearances regulary over the next couple of weeks at the bank. Embarrassed in front of her friends, Ruby Nell finally had to have Dave go next door and collect them to be returned to her friends.

Miss Laura Mae’s House. Part 4

Aahouse

Once a month Miss Laura Mae caught a ride to the Piggly Wiggly with Mother so she could cash her check and get more for her money. “That randy ol’goat, Darnell won’t cash my check unless I trade at his store, an’ his ol’weavilly flour is way too high an’ ain’t fitten to eat, no how.” I was tickled when I found out she was going. As Mother and Billy went off to shop, I trailed her through the grocery store where we looked at things Mother never bought. She picked up jars of pickled pig’s feet, sweet pickles, vanilla wafers, tiny, little sausages, and Cheerios, considering them carefully before putting them in her cart. I admired the cute little cans of Del Monte Niblet Corn and Petit Pois Green peas as I turned up my nose at Mother piling her cart high with the ten for a dollar store brand canned goods. I decided then and there I’d only buy the good stuff when I got grown. Miss Laura Mae never failed to slip me and my brother Billy a little paper bag stuffed with B B Bats, Kits, and jawbreakers which we tore into the minute we were settled in the back seat.

Soon Billy was asleep and I was busy with my candy. I think the ladies forgot me as Miss Laura Mae launched into her story.

“That big ol’farmhouse over there reminds me of where we was livin’when Mama died. I was the baby, just turned fifteen. Mama’s diabetes shut her kidneys down an’ she did’n last a week. She just blowed up like a toad frog. Oly was married an’ livin’ way off in Carthage an’ Ory had just married Hugh Pearson. They was a’livin’ with his mama in a shotgun house on the Malley place. Miz Pearson was real hateful to Ory, claimin’ she “trapped” Hugh, even though it was over a year before the baby come. Mia Pearson swore Ory had a miscarriage right after they got married, but I know it was a lie. Mam sent sent me to charge her a box of Kotex at the shore so she wouldn’t have to be rinsin’ out rags in front of Hugh like we always had to. Ory was a’bawlin’ to Mama about gitten’ the curse the day before she got married, thinkin’ it wouldn’t be decent to hit married like that. Mama said they was nuthin’ to do but get married since ever’thing was all set. Hugh would just have to wait, so she could’n a been that away when she got married. They ain’t no way Ory could’a took me in.

I went to live with my sister Beulah after Mama died. Beulah was fixin’ to have a baby an’ was havin’ a good bit of female trouble. It seemed like the best thing, at the time. I had been a’goin’ with Floyd a few months before Mama died. He wanted to got married right off, but I still kind’a had my heart set on Bill Harkins. We’d been goin’ together awhile before, an’ I still thought a lot of him. I was kind’a hopin’ we’d make up. Anyway, about the time Mama died, the doctor put Beulah to bed till the baby come an’she had to have help with them other kids. I thought I caught Beulah’s ol’ man peeking at me through a knothole in the outhouse one day an’ then I was standin’at the stove puttin’on a pot of beans one day
when he sneaked up behind me an’ grabbed a handful of my behind. I popped him with the bean spoon. He claimed he thought I was Beulah, but I knowed it was a lie. Beulah was a’layin’ up in bed a few feet away, big as a house with his youngun. Floyd had been a’wantin’ to hit married anyhow, so I went ahead an’ married. At least I’d have a home.”

To be continued

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Don’t Start! Just Don’t Start

man with cigarGrocery shopping with Mother was a thrilling excursion. Until after I was three, Mother bought on credit at Darnell’s Store, the only store in our little neighborhood. Housewives danced around out of Old Man Darnell’s reach while Mrs. Darnell scowled from behind the counter. Her mean little Pekingnese ran out nipping at us every time we stepped in the store, seeming to prefer the tender legs of toddlers, while Mrs. Darnell snapped that he didn’t bite, even after he drew blood. Mrs Darnell’s bald spot was set off spectacularly by her frizzy-dyed black hair. Mrs. Darnell and that hateful little dog will always be burned in my mind as a witch and her familiar. Old Man Darnell always had a big brown stogie hanging out of his mouth, which I was convinced was a turd. Any urge to smoke died then and there. I could never ask Mother about the cigar since I couldn’t phrase my question without forbidden words. I would have had to substitute gee-gee for the much-admired doo-doo word my cousins tossed about so freely. Even, at three and a half, knew it wouldn’t do to ask why Old Man Darnell always had a piece of gee gee in his mouth.

Eventually, Mother learned to drive, freeing her from Darnell’s Store. She insisted on driving into Springhill, the nearest town with an A & P and a Piggly Wiggly. She had to agree not to spend more than twelve dollars a week, since “money didn’t grow on trees,” nor were we a rich two-car family. Unless Daddy caught a ride to work, on grocery day, Mother had to take him to work, come back home till the business day started, Attend to her business, then pick him up at the end of his shift. That was eighty miles of driving, not including in-town driving, all this in company of at least two and maybe three small children if Phyllis were not in school. A timid driver, Mother never went above twenty-five miles per hour and often pulled on the shoulder if she saw a car approaching. First we had to drive by Piggly Wiggly where Mother parked to read all the specials posted on on butcher paper in the windows. With that money-saving information firmly imbedded in her mind, off we headed to the A&P where her genius proved itself.

Piggly Wiggly

Piggly Wiggly 2
Before entering, Mother powdered her nose, put on fresh lipstick, combed her hair, then turned her attention to us. In the days before she “had so many children, she didn’t know what to do,” we were all dressed up. Mother was sure to remark later who she saw who “went to town without lipstick.” We’d be eating whatever was ten-cans-for-a-dollar, reduced for quick sale, or was on special that week. We always got a box of Animal Crackers to munch in the cart as Mother inspected every can, potato, and chicken for the best buy. When we’d start badgering her for cookies, candy, and cereal with prizes, she’d say, “Don’t start! Just don’t start!” While Mother was critiquing the chickens, I remember poking my finger through the cellophane into the hambones. I don’t think she ever caught me. No Kellogg’s Cornflakes for us. We got Sunnyfield, the store brand. Long after the Animal Crackers were gone, Mother finally let the bag boy load her groceries in the trunk. He needn’t expect a tip. If she had another nickel, it was going for the specials at Piggly Wiggly.

Not long before I started school, Mother unwittingly discovered a way to ensure good behavior the whole time we were in town. She’d say, “remind me to take you by the Health Unit to get a polio shot.” I was perfect till we passed the outskirts of town.

Onward to Piggly Wiggly, where she’d grab up their specials. Eventually, we’d head home with bags and bags of groceries: twenty-five pounds of flour, five pounds of dried pinto beans, a three pound can of shortening, twenty- five pounds of potatoes, five pounds of meal, three pounds of coffee, powdered milk, since it was cheaper. It seemed like it took a dozen trips to drag all those paper bags in. Invariably, a couple would break and have us chasing canned vegetables. She usually bought chicken, since that was the cheapest meat, but sometimes there’d be hamburger, roast or fish.

When I go to the grocery store with Mother now, I don’t get Animal Crackers, though I could if I wanted to. The other day were were headed into the grocery store when Mother laughed and said “Linda, will you buy me……?”

She does this as a joke every time we go in a store, now. As always, I answer back, just like she always did when I was a kid, “don’t start! Just don’t you start!” This particular day, an infuriated elderly gentleman heard the exchange, and inferred I was being unkind. I could have lost an eye before we made our explanations. It’s good to pay attention to what going on around you before opening your mouth.

Miss Laura Mae’s House Part 2

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Be sure to go back and read part 1

houseMiss Laura Mae’s stories always held my interest, though they certainly weren’t intended for my ears.
“The twins come about a month after Floyd left. To tell the truth, I was kind of glad he wasn’t there to get me “that way” again right off the bat like he done before. They was a few weeks early, so I was up all hours of the day and night a’nursing ‘em. Floyd’s mama, Miz Barker was gittin’ kind of childish, so I brung her to come stay so I didn’t have to try to watch her, too. Turns out, she was purty good help, a’rockin’ one of them babies all the time instead o’ tryin’ to run off all the time. Seems like it kind of settled her. She was a sweet ol’ lady.

The garden was a’comin’ in an’ we had plenty to eat without buyin’ much groceries. Miz Barker, Floyd’s mama told me I could git her pressure cooker to do the cannin’ and that shore helped, not havin’ to worry about my beans and tomaters goin’ bad no more. I had got a check or two, so I was able to get a kerosene stove and git rid of that ol’ wood stove. I got Joe Smith to set it up out in the yard so I could do my cannin’ on it. It shore was better not heatin’ the house up.

I had always took in ironin’ at a nickel a piece to help us over times when Floyd was drinkin’. I was real careful to go straight an’ pay on my grocery bill soon as I got paid so Floyd couldn’ git in my ironin’ money. Sometimes that was all that was comin’ in. I got Betty Lou, Myrt, and Glomie started ironin’ as soon as they was tall enough. I tried to let’em keep a quarter a week of the ironin’ money when I could. I’d let ‘em play about an hour after school, then soon as they was through with their homework, put ‘em to ironin’. We’d all listen to the radio while we was ironing long as the batteries lasted. Purty soon, they was savin’ their part of the ironin’ money for batteries.

Things was good till Jody got burnt. He follered Jimmy out to burn to trash and caught his clothes on fire. He was burned bad all over his back, big ol’ blisters everwhere. Doctor Garnett come out to see him and gave me some salve and pain syrup and told me to keep them burns covered. He couldn’t say if Jimmy’d make it or not. It was right in the heat of the summer. Pore little Jimmy suffered so. I had all I could do takin’ care of him and them babies. I don’t know what I’d a done without Miz Barker a’rockin ‘em like she done. With Jimmy so sick, I couldn’t nurse ‘em all the time like I needed to, so I got ‘em on the bottle some to help out. Mr. Jones down at the store let me run my bill up purty high a time or two when I had to keep Carnation Milk without complainin’ a bit. The girls kept right up with the ironin’, never passin’ a word when I couldn’ give ‘em nothing.

My sisters Oly and Ory helped the boys keep the garden goin’ and when it come in, they done most of the cannin’, leavin’ me to take care of Jimmy and the babies. Bessie an’ Joe Smith took to milkin’ the cow in the mornin’ so I didn’t have to get up before daylight after being up so much at night. I don’t know how I’d a’made it if I hadn’ had all that help. In a month or so, Jody was doin’ purty good. By that time, I had them babies purty much on the bottle, and I was able to pick my work back up. I don’t know what I’d a’done without good neighbors, but I was so glad when I could pick my ironin’ and my garden back up and take care of my own young’uns. I was proud for the help, but ever’body needs to make their own way and not be worryin’ other folks.

To be continued

Miss Laura Mae’s House Part 1

houseMiss Laura Mae’s kids were long gone. I loved tagging along with Mother to visit her since she always took time to talk to me a little before offering me a butter biscuit and glass of milk. I loved the biscuit, but refused the milk, repulsed by the thick layer of cream atop the fresh cow’s milk in the glass jar in her refrigerator. I thought the thick cream looked like snot as she carefully spooned it into her coffee. Most of Mother’s friends had a houseful of kids and shooed us out before pouring coffee. “The kids are out back.” Sometimes I got a hint of gossip, though Mother always hurried me out as soon as I got my biscuit. “Now, stay on the steps and don’t let that ol’ hound dog git your biscuit!” Miss Laura Mae always reminded me as I closed the screen door behind me. I knew from experience that if I didn’t stand on the top step and hold my biscuit out of his reach, Ol’ Boots would help himself, clawing me in the process.
jar of milk

From my vantage point, I listened in as Miss Laura Mae launched into her story. “Floyd was pretty good to me, but he never did hold a job long. I don’t know what we’d a done if we hadn’t lived in that old house on his Mama’s place. He always did plow and put a good garden in or we’d a’gone hungry. He’d work a little pretty good for a while, but then he’d go off on a toot and get fired. The only thing he was good at was knocking me up. I had six youngun’s in eight years. Seem’s like I got another one ever’ time he hung his britches on the bed post. Times was just gittin’ harder and harder, and Floyd got mad the last couple of times I told him I was that way. You’d a’thought them babies was all my doing, but Lord knows more babies was the last thing on my mind when I couldn’t hardly feed the ones I already had. We couldn’t even keep ‘em in shoe leather. I had Berry in 1941 just before World War II started and nursed her long as I could, hoping I wouldn’t get pregnant, but sure enough, when she was about eight months old, my milk dried up an’ I felt a baby kicking under my apron. I kept hopin’ it was just gas, but then I started blowin’ up and I knew it was another youngun’ on the way.

I dreaded tellin’ Floyd, knowin’ he was gonna git mad. Sure enough, soon as I told him, he lit out a drinkin’. That was on a Monday night. I waited till then on purpose. He got paid on Fridays and I didn’t want him to go off a’drinkin’ before I got my groceries on Saturday. Sure enough, he got mad, just like l was a’plottin against him and took straight off. I didn’t see him again till Wednesday evenin’ and was feelin’ purty low about the fix I was in, a man that didn’t work steady, six kids and another one on the way, stuck livin’ in a shack on his mama’s place. When he come draggin’ in, he looked kind’a hangdog and I figured he’d got fired again while he was layin’ out drunk.”

“Well, Laura Mae, I got something I got to tell you I know you ain’t gonna like,” he started, looking down at his raggedy boots.

“It don’t take no genius to see you got fired,” I told him.

“No, that ain’t it.” He went on. “I was a’ drinkin’ with some fellers and they was on their way to enlist in the army. I wasn’t thinkin’ straight and I went right along and enlisted with ‘em. I just got time to get my stuff.”

Miss Laura Mae paused a moment, saying more to herself than to Mother, “Turned out that was the best piece of luck I ever had. The army was the first steady pay Floyd ever made. He was put in the paratroopers. Right off I was gittin’ a regular check. Paratrooper was extra pay, and he got extra for the young’uns. The first month, I got shoes for all the kids. The next month, I paid down on a stove. The one in his mama’s house didn’t have but two burners. Inside of a year, I had saved enough to pay down on this house. This is the first place I ever had a’ my own. Floyd didn’t get home for four years. I

I mean to tell you, it was good not to be pregnant all the time. I must ‘a been going through the change, ‘cause I didn’t have but one more after he got home, and I was ready for another one by then. Things was better with Floyd workin’ more regular after that. Seems like having a home kind’a gave him a lift. You’d a’thought he done it all hisself.”

Miss Laura Mae’s House Part 2

He Ain’t Got No Morals

Mr. Sanger who taught the combined sixth and seventh-grade classes at our country school back in the 1960s must have been a frustrated preached. He went on and on about morals and the importance of doing the right thing.

One day at recess, a group of us were on the playground and happened upon a robin pulling a worm from the ground.

“Look at the bird pulling on the worm!” One of the kids exclaimed.

Ronnie Oaks shook his head as studied the bird. “Yeah, he ain’t got no morals.”

Who knows what he meant.

Grandma and the Wardrobe from Hell

Since we had such a big family, Grandma did her best to help out when she could. Sometimes I still hate her for it. Once she went to the Goodwill Store and bought me the ugliest coat in the world. I didn’t have a problem with Goodwill. It was ugly that bothered me. It was a knee-length brown hounds-tooth wool dress coat of the style not seen since movies from the 1940’s, trimmed with brown velvet cuffs and collar and huge brown buttons with big rhinestones in the middle. I had hoped for a parka with fake fur collar like the high-society girls in my class. I turned to Mother, hoping for salvation, but she stabbed me in the heart. Mother was ecstatic, probably because she’d wanted that very coat when she was little back in the 1930’s. She made me try it on then and there. Mother was even more thrilled. It had plenty of growing room!

Mother wasn’t faking her ecstasy. As soon as we were out of earshot, I started whining that I despised that ugly coat and wasn’t going to wear it. She shut me down before I got too far and told me it was a beautiful coat, and I was wearing it as long as it fit. Truer words were never spoken. I was stuck with it. I slipped out without it whenever possible, and if caught, I took it off as soon as I got out of sight of the house. I sat down and flipped it over the back of my desk and a kid pointed out a large rip in the lining. This coat humiliated me even when I wasn’t wearing it!! I tried to lose it, but Mother was ahead of me. I was stuck. I drug that abomination around for two years, until the cuffs were far above my wrists.

Finally, finally, it was time for a new coat. I was heartsick when Mother read us Grandma’s letter saying that she’d been back to Goodwill and gotten me a another “beautiful coat.” “I believe it’s prettier that the last one.” were her exact words. It would be hard to be uglier. I managed to put it out of my mind.

We loved getting boxes from Grandma. They were always full of wonderful things: animal shaped erasers, pencils with our names on them, wind-up toys, cars driven by cartoon characters, jumping beans, sticker books. She sewed well and always included something made especially for each of us. Grandma always packed the best at the bottom to build suspense. This box was no different. Mother unpacked it dramatically, examining each article fully before passing it around to be admired. I knew she had to be at the bottom when she held her breath and said, “Oh…this is just gorgeous!!!” When she finally pulled it out, it took my breath, too. Grandma had somehow managed to find the exact replica of the nightmare I had abhorred for two years, but if anything, it was worse, was green hound’s tooth, “with plenty of room to grow!” That was when I realized that even though Grandma looked and acted like a sweet little old lady, she was the devil incarnate.

imageThat wasn’t the worst of Grandma’s Goodwill gifts. When I was in the eighth grade and anxious to fit in, she hit the mother lode and stopped by Goodwill just after Shirley Temple cleaned out her closet. Grandma sent me several party dresses. Mother was overjoyed. They were exquisite and probably just what she had wanted twenty years earlier. Mother held up the worst of the worst, and reminded me, just in case I had gone into a coma and forgotten, I had a band concert coming up and had to have a new dress. I had been praying for a miracle, a box pleated wool skirt with a pullover sweater. Hope died. She held up a disaster in sheer lavender with a wide satin cummerbund. Mother made me try it on right then. It was so sheer, my ugly cotton slip, which Grandma had thoughtfully provided earlier, was perfectly showcased. (All the other girls had lacy nylon ones) It looked like a horrible joke. Better yet, its low cut back showcased off my pimply back perfectly. image However, as sheer as it was, a high back wouldn’t have hidden anything. It was a good three inches too long. Mother explained it was tea-length, just what I needed in a fancy dress, and cut me off when I suggested hemming it. It would ruin all that beautiful embroidery around the tail of the skirt. I was heartsick. “Mother, I can’t wear this. It’s embarrassing. Nobody wears stuff like this!”

Mother went straight for the big guns…guilt. “Well, I’d wear it if I could. I’ve never had anything this nice. I haven’t even had a new dress since…” She got teary-eyed, suffering the dual pain of an ungrateful brat of a daughter and not having a new dress since the forties. I knew when I was whipped and slunk off to ponder my upcoming humiliation.

I decided the best plan was to be sick. On Thursday before the concert on Friday, the band director shot me down. Anybody missing the concert without a doctor’s excuse would fail band that grading period. Fat chance of getting a doctor’s excuse. We only went to the doctor for resuscitation. I prayed for a miracle. I got a nightmare. I tried to getting out in another dress, but Mother caught me and sent me back to put the lavender nightmare on. “It was so beautiful.” As I turned for her inspection, my ugly cotton slip looked especially stunning under sheer lavender. Every pimple on my back pulsed with excitement at its chance to shine. Mother was enchanted.

“Oh, don’t worry about your slip. Those little bumps aren’t that bad. Let’s just put a band aid on this big one.” I realized she didn’t lack fashion sense. She was just insane.

Ignoring the fact that it was a hot May night, I considered wearing the UGLY coat over it. Instead, I grabbed a heavy pink sweater, need taking precedence over temperature. When I got to school, I rushed to the bathroom and tied a string around my waist, pulling the draggle-tailed skirt up and bunching it under the cummerbund. It might have looked a little better. My pink sweater hid the sheer bodice, ugly, old cotton slip, and my pimply back. I buttoned the sweater from neck to the waist, so it looked like I had bad taste in skirts as well confusion over what season it was. It was so bad, for a moment, I thought of trying to drown myself in the toilet, but it’s hard to get privacy in a school bathroom.

I convinced myself it was an improvement over that lavender humiliation. I sweltered through the concert in embarrassment and moderate anxiety, instead of total the social annihilation I had dreaded. As we filed out after the concert, I could feel the fabric bunched up under the cummerbund in back slipping free of the string, but I got to the bathroom before the entire skirt attained tea length. Only the back of the skirt trailed unevenly below my knees. All in all, the evening was a success. No one saw my ugly, old slip or pimply back. They only laughed as I walked off and I was used to people talking about me behind my back. Two out of three wasn’t that bad.

Grandma, I hope God forgave you for getting me that awful stuff. I’m still working on it.

The Thrill of the Catalog

Hot dog! The arrival of Sears and Roebuck Catalog always started a battle. In the fifties and sixties, it had everything: clothes, toys, appliances, tools, furniture, and almost anything else you could dream up.

As soon as I could wrest it out of someone’s hands, I’d go first to the kid stuff. Every toy imaginable was available. I’d flip straight past the dolls in search of skates, pogo sticks, and cowboy outfits. I just knew my life would be perfect if I could just get a cowboy getup….and oh, yes, a BB gun. My parents made it clear I would not be getting a BB gun, but as long as I could admire them in the catalog, it was always a possibility! Periodically, I’d meander away and a sister or brother would grab it and run. Occasionally, Mother would tell us to look together, and pages would invariably be torn in the ensuing tussle, ensuring big trouble and banishment. We learned to discipline ourselves to battle as quietly as possible to maintain possession.

Once I had sated my toy yearnings a bit, I’d move on to the swimming pool and swing set section. Though I’d admired the amazing models in the book, Mother was quick to burst my bubble about the Olympic-sized pools and towering swing sets the lucky kids frolicked on. “That pool is tiny. It would barely come up past your knees. It’s not even big enough for all you kids to get in at once!”

That burned me up! I could clearly see a dozen kids standing neck deep, swimming laps, or diving off their dad’s shoulders in that pool. Besides, Who cared if there was room for everybody. That pool would be mine!

Moving on from the pool, I admired the refrigerators with their wide-open doors, loaded with watermelons, pies, hams, turkeys, fruit, and molded jello salads. The freezer section was stuffed tight with ice cream and Popsicles. I coveted those refrigerators packed with endless culinary delights, so unlike our clunker with a few aging onions, a bowl of leftover pinto beans, a jar of fresh cow’s milk and a bowl of yard-eggs.

When the competition for the catalog abated a bit, I’d smuggle it to a quiet corner to try to get a little sex education in the ladies and mens underwear section. I never learned much, but I remained ever hopeful, snapping the pages shut should I hear approaching footsteps. When I discovered hernia trusses and maternity girdles, that was the biggest mystery of all. They were forever linked in my memory. To this day, I still hope to discover them in a shameless tryst.

Only a Matter of Perspective

cold kids 2We had a tight schedule when our kids were in school. By this, I don’t mean we scurried from one activity to another getting our kids to lessons and sports practices after school and on weekends. Bud and I were juggling just to get them fed, dressed, and to the bus stop in the mornings. We were both taking call at work, so it was a big job making sure one of us was there when they got home, got them started on homework, got dinner, and their baths. Throw in a few loads of laundry, a fever or sick child and it was sure to be exciting. Sometimes I felt overloaded.
“The science fair project is due tomorrow!” could make my blood run cold. A call from the teacher or bus driver, and there was no telling what changes we had to work in. No teacher ever called to say, “I just wanted to let you know your son is a delight to have in my class.” The kids thought it was a great idea to give us a note or let us know, “I need $50 today for the………. It’s the LAST DAY!”
I felt like we were stressed till we met the Ford kids who lived about a quarter of a mile down the street. They showed up at our house one frosty morning in shorts and overcoats. “Can we ride to the bus stop with y’all? We’re freezing!”
My kids were at the table eating pancakes and sausage. The Ford boys stared, open-mouthed.
“Are you boys hungry?”
“Yea!”
“Let me get you a plate. Do you want some milk?”
“Yes ma’am.”
I fixed them up. They licked their plates, literally. The next morning, they opened the front door and climbed right up to the table. We fed those boys for the next two years till we moved. It turns out, they were being raised by a single father who had to get their baby sister to the baby-sitter in time to be at work at seven. He woke the boys as he was going out the door, telling them to get some cereal. Our lives didn’t look quite so demanding.