Footloose and Fancyfree (Part 2)

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True - Wedding Dresses for Pregnant Women

Even though the occasion of Bobo and Inez’s marriage preceeded my birth by a few days, Mother has told me the story so often, I feel I was there. Bobo showed up with his bride just hours after they married. No doubt, he was proud of her. He was twenty-seven; she, fifteen and visibly pregnant. Now, he’d be arrested. Quite a buxom lass, she was lovely. Continue reading

Footloose and Fancy-Free (Part 1)

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Cousin Bobo was footloose and fancy-free, unperturbed by the economic responsibilities of four children in three years. He doted on his child-bride, Inez, living quite happily with her and their family in an old unpainted, farm house on her mama’s place. Despite his aversion to a regular work schedule, he and Inez managed fine. There was no power to the house, so no bills, the wood stove and fireplace sufficing for heat and cooking. The house was abandoned when they moved in, so he tacked wire over the open windows to keep varmints out, shuttering the windows for bad weather. Mama was real proud he did the right thing and married Inez, so she wasn’t about to stir up trouble, especially after the young’uns started coming. Bobo plowed and planted Mama’s garden, later helping get the peas picked and corn cut. Except for the few days he spent plowing, and cutting firewood, he fished and hunted every day. He happily peddled watermelons and turnip greens out of his old ’49 Ford Truck. They never ran short of game or fish. Sometimes he’d help a neighbor butcher a beef or hog, bringing in extra meat. He wasn’t averse to helping family with a little painting or carpentry work from time to time, as long as it was understood that his labor included a few days’s hospitality for his family. He kept Mama’s freezer full. That along with Mama’s chickens and eggs, the cow’s milk and butter kept them going just fine. Getting clothes for the kids wasn’t a challenge. Inez was the youngest of six spectacularly fertile sisters. Their cousin’s hand-me-downs were plentiful. All those little blonde tykes lined up in overalls year round was awe-inspiring. Most of the time, they wore shirts under their overalls in winter. Plenty of old tennis shoes lay casually around, should any of the kids decide they needed footwear. Some even had mates. Size wasn’t an issue. Should a shoe be too big, it worked fine to slide-style and let it flop. The kids weren’t partial to shoes anyway, unless they were picking around in a trash dump with old cans or broken glass. Strings were scarce, but I never noticed anybody complaining.

I loved it when Bobo, Inez, and the kids showed up. Mother wasn’t always so enthusiastic, figuring they had run out of groceries and needed a place to roost for a few days. They did seem more likely to show up in bad weather, when a warm house was helpful. Sometimes they’d stay a few days with this relative, a few with that one, moving one before the tension got too thick. Mother complained about relatives giving them gas money to help them down the road to their next hosts.  I know I saw her slip Inez a little of her grocery money once, after Daddy went to work.  They moved on.  We ate gravy and biscuits till Daddy got paid the next Thursday.

to be continued

Getting Skinned at Lunch with Mother

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Lunch out with Mother always starts with an understanding.  I understand I will be paying unless she tells me otherwise.  Let me give you a little background.  She is a tightwad.  If we stop at McDonald’s for a cup of coffee, she always holds her little yellow change purse where I can’t see it, pretends she has no change, even though it’s bulging, and asks, “Can you pay for my coffee?  I hate to break a dollar for coffee.”  Technically, this is true.  She never said she didn’t have change.  She just hates to break a dollar for coffee.  If we went to a car dealership, she’d say, “Can you get this.? I hate to write a check for a car.”

Today was no different.  We ordered our lunch, had a nice visit, and Mother disappeared to the bathroom.  The check came while she was gone.  She came back, totally surprised to find me paying check.  “I didn’t know the check would come so soon.  I’ll pay you back later……..if you’re not going to eat that chicken, I’ll put in my takeout box…..and if you don’t want the rest of your salad, and that roll……..”

Today was no different.  We ordered our lunch, had a nice visit, and Mother disappeared to the bathroom.  The check came while she was gone.  She came back, totally surprised to find me paying check.  “I didn’t know the check would come so soon.  I’ll pay you back later……..if you’re not going to eat that chicken, I’ll put in my takeout box…..and if you don’t want the rest of your salad, and that roll……..and pass me four of those Splenda packets.”

Y’all Got a Snake in Y’all’s Tree!

eve and serpentIt’s not everyday one hears a dynamic statement like this! Melvin was the ex-husband of Mother’s old friend, Maggie. A good man, he’d gone just a bit “off the rails” and Maggie, had reluctantly left him as a result of his increasingly fantical religious leanings. Mother and Daddy had long been faithful congregants of their church, only missing services if unable Continue reading

That’s Their Problem

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Mother has three closets jammed with clothes.  Last time I counted, she had thirty-two outfits with tags.  Last Sunday when she stopped by to score a meal, she was sporting this stylish ensemble.  Since it was a tad nippy, she’d donned the purple, long-sleeved shirt I’d given her when she got caught without a sweater at my house several years ago.  As you can see, it’s extremely roomy. Paired with these charming cropped pants she’s been wearing for at least ten years, she was really styling.  For a finishing touch, she slipped into ankle-high nylons and loafers, accessorized by her pedometer, since her current obsession is walking.

I couldn’t help remarking, “Mother, you do know that’s a hideous outfit, don’t you?”

“I don’t care!  I’m old enough to wear what I want to,” was her reply.

“Okay, but you know since you’re past eighty, people may get the impression you have Alzheimer’s.” wasting some more conversation here.

“Well, that’s their problem!”

I need to find her a shirt that says, “Despite appearances to the contrary, I am not demented.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ghastly Wound

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My elderly mother had her foot on a stool the other evening when I noticed what appeared to be a ghastly wound.  I flew over to inspect it when she started laughing.  She had laid an elastic strip across the insole of the shoe and colored it with shoe polish, which later rubbed off on her foot, creating the wound impression.  Before you feel sorry for her, you should know she probably has twenty pairs of shoes, most in boxes.

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Brother Gobel and Lost Love

roseJust days after Daddy’s death, Brother Gobel, a Pentecostal preacher, paid a condolence call to Mother.  A Bantam Rooster of a man, he was bow-legged, bald and not much taller than she,  a stark contrast to the tall, handsome husband she was still mourning.  He drank coffee, prayed with her, as ministers on visits normally do, and took his leave.  Thinking no more of it, Mother was shocked to get a letter from him a few days later.  Even more startling, was the fact that it included an epic poem of love telling of his devotion and hopes for their future together,  followed up with a marriage proposal, and some appropriate Biblical quotations about the role of wives, remarking that he’d always admired what a dutiful wife she had been, waiting on Daddy hand and foot.  Wisely, she pitched the letter in the trash.  Unwisely, she told me about it.  One of my great regrets in life is that she never shared that poem with me.  It would have my life, and yours, so much richer.

Tale of the Hair of the Dog Sweater

Mother and BuzzyimageMy son John lives to torment my mother.  Buzzy, our American Eskimo Dog sheds incessantly, making up vacuum every day to stay ahead of him.  One day my husband Bud noticed a big paper bag on the mantle stuff full of Buzzy’s combings, hair pulled from his brush, and hair swept from the floor.  Amazed, Bud asked, “What in the world is this bag of dog hair doing up here?”

Mother chimed in, “Oh, that’s Buzzy’s hair I saved up for your sweater.”

This was the first Bud had heard of his dog hair sweater.  He thought maybe Mother had finally come unhinged.  “What dog hair sweater?”

“The one you’re going to get the woman at work to make for you out of Buzzy’s hair.”  Mother thought Bud was losing it.   “John told me to be careful to gather up all the hair I could find every time I came over so that woman you work with can spin it and make it into a sweater for you.  How long do you think it will take to get enough?”

Poor Bud had to break her heart.  “John’s been pulling your leg, again.  There ain’t gonna be no dog hair sweater.”

imageMy son, looking his best.

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Photo of hair I brushed out of Buzzy this morning, pictured next to pint jar.

You Used to Be Beautiful!

Kathleen Holdaway in flowered dress0002One warm afternoon in late May, 1960, Billy and I were lying on the living room floor as Mother reclined a few minutes with her feet up wearing the heavy surgical weight stockings the doctor had ordered.  She was  six months into a difficult pregnancy with her last child,and was supposed to be off her feet.  She had spent a good portion of the morning tying to keep an eye on her fourteen-month-old, Connie, while trying to coax twelve-year old Phyllis and me at ten to do a little housework, help with Connie, and even get a little work out of seven year old Billy, while keeping him out of trouble.  Phyllis was watching Connie.  We were all terminally lazy, slacking off at the first excuse.  None of us had any intention of doing anything we could avoid.

As we dawdled at her feet on the floor in the draft of the attic fan, one of us pulled out an old photo album.  I quickly found a picture of her made her senior year of high school, the peak of her youth and beauty.  “I graduated thirteen years ago today,” she remarked smilingly.

In my infinite wisdom, I proclaimed, “Oh Mother, you used to be beautiful!”

I turned for her smile, only to see a snarling, slobbering, swollen beast ready to pounce on me in rage! “”Used to be beautiful!  Let’s see what you look like when you have five kids in twelve years!  Put this stuff up, right now.  Linda, you take your smart mouth and get those dishes washed.  Phyllis, you put a pot of beans on for supper.   Billy, you…”

By the way, this is not the picture in question.  That one mysteriously disappeared