school

Picasso’s Sneakers

My son got me again. He slipped his new school shoes out, getting them mud-caked the afternoon before the first day of fifth-grade classes.  I didn’t’the notice it until late in the afternoon. As we were indulging ourselves in poverty at the time, they were the only decent pair he had To wear to school.  Hurriedly, I threw them in the washer, then got ready to toss them in the dryer, thinking the day was saved.  The damned dryer died.  No matter. I’ve always felt appliances should be multifunctional.n I put the wet shoes on the middle rack of the oven, intending to turn it to two hundred degrees, set the timer for ten minutes, then turned it off.

Out of habit, I set it to three fifty. Everything could still have worked out if the phone hadn’t rung just as I was about to set the timer.

I am a busy woman.  I went about my business until I simultaneously smelled rubber burning and heard the smoke detector go off.  Though the shoes didn’t actually catch fire, the soles were dripping between the wires of the oven rack as plastic burned on the oven bottom.  They looked like high-heels by Picasso. I tried to snatch the melting sneakers out of the oven, burning my hand.  Thinking I might get away just cutting off the drips, I got my butcher knife, prepared to do the deed, when I noticed the shoes had curled up like horseshoes.

There was nothing for it, but to make a flying trip to the shoe store for a second pair.  I vainly hoped I might make it back home before Bud got in from working late.  We did procure another pair of replacement shoes, in the exact style.  I still cherished the hope Bud would never have to know.  He can be unreasonable when I explain about why I tried to dry shoes in the oven.  Fortunately, for the sake of my soul, I didn’t have to lie.  Bud had gotten home, smelled burning shoe soles, and tracked the smell to the melted sneakers hidden in the trash.  I do hate a suspicious man!  He complained even more than when I put my rolls in the dishwasher to rise, since it was so warm and moist in there.  I’d always done that without problems till I forgot and turned it on before taking them out.  Like I said, appliances really should be multifunctional.

Pushing Too Hard?

KidsAll the pressure for kids to succeed now must be really rough.  I suspect parents don’t know the toll their children pay for the pressure to “do their best” and “achieve.”  Remembering the relief of playing after school, homework and chores, I would have hated knowing I had to face more pressure in dance class, athletics, and tutoring.  As clumsy as I was, it would have been more stressful than school. Continue reading →

Bungarendeen

2009-10-10-Avoid-the-plagueWhen warning the children not to eat potato salad that had been sitting on the counter for a week, or the need to clean and dress a cut, generally instructing them in infection avoidance instead of going into the specifics Bud would say, for example, “Don’t eat that. You’ll get bungarendeen.”  He was a nurse, after all, and didn’t know better.

My daughter was in high school; her teacher was discussing various dread bacteria.  Never hearing the one she’d been waiting for, she raised her hand.  “What about bungarendeen?”

She was rewarded was generalized hysteria.  When the teacher quit laughing, she said.  “You must be John’s sister.  He asked that same question three years ago.”

You a teacher an’ you don’t know…..

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Johnny gave a big snort, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

Disgusted, his teacher sought to shame him.  “Johnny, what’s that on you sleeve?

“He looked at her coldly.  “You a teacher an’ you been to college an’ you don’t know what snot is?”

Readin’, Writin’, and Roebuck(From Kathleen’s Memoirs of The Great Depression)

SearsIf you haven’t read “I Quit” , that is precursor to this story.  Follow this link.  https://atomic-temporary-73629786.wpcomstaging.com/2015/01/22/i-quit-from-kathleens-memoirs-of-the-great-depression/

That night after supper, Daddy read his “Ranch Romance” while Mama hemmed a dress and John and I finished our homework by the coal oil lamp in the front room.  As soon as I finished, Daddy put out his cigarette, patted his bony legs and called, “Come here, Kitten.”  I crawled up and waited, knowing a treat was awaiting me.  We often begged for stories.  It was rare for Daddy Continue reading →

My Own Circus (Kathleen’s Memoirs of The Great Depression)

circus parade0002

Illustration by Kathleen Swain.  Story by Linda Bethea.

One warm spring day as the sun beamed brightly in the open window, Miss Billie read a story about Billy Boy and the Buffalos.   I loved to hear her read but was distracted by a couple of flies who had slipped in and were buzzing a vase of daffodils on the ledge.   Almost hypnotized by the droning, I caught an inkling of faraway music on the breeze.  Continue reading →

Death of a Mean Girl (from Kathleen’s Memoirs of the 1930s)

Vernell Mullins and Jessie Hollins cornered me as I headed out of the schoolhouse after school one terrible day, cutting me off from the troop exiting the building.  Backing me against me against the wall, they bent over and got right in my face. “We’re gonna pull your pants down and look at your tile.” (They pronounced it tile, but I know now they had to have meant tail) I was terrorized.  They must have been at least sixteen.  To have been singled out by them for such a horrific and shameful threat changed my life.  It had never occurred to me before that I had any such thing to fear from them or anyone else. We were so modest at our house that we didn’t even refer to our private parts or answer from the outhouse.  Thankfully, they had accosted me in a public place.  I could hear their vicious laughter as I fled.  My shame overwhelmed me.  I obsessed over it but would have never told Mama, feeling I had somehow deserved it.  I was quiet the rest of the day at home, dreading another such attack tomorrow.

The next day and every day thereafter, I gave them a wide berth, taking care never to get caught alone anywhere.  I felt like prey, about to be run down any time.  Coming in from school one afternoon, I got a biscuit and glass of milk as always, along with Mama’s usual admonition to change out of my school clothes and hang up my dress before I went out to play.  Mama was having coffee with Miz Reagan when I came back through.  “Oh did you hear the terrible news?” asked Miz Reagan.  “Vernell Mullins died today.  Her kidneys just shut down and she died!  They thought she just had the flu……a young person like her.  Isn’t that just the saddest thing?”

I was ecstatic!  After the fear I’d been living with the past couple of weeks, news of Vernell’s death was a blessed relief.  Then and there, I started praying for Jessie’s death, watching her hopefully for signs of developing illness over the next few days.  Even eighty years later, knowing Vernell’s death was not a judgment from God, in one little six-year-old corner of my heart, I can still remember the macabre joy with which I received the news.

Ascending into Heaven with Elijah and Big Three Firsts

ElijahThe picture above stimulated the first mystical experience of my life.  One of three first experiences in a twenty-four hour period for me.  Quite a record for a six-year-old I’d say, not to mention, my future husband was linked to one of them.  My mother and her dear friend Mildred who’d just learned to drive, decided one cold evening when their husbands were at work they’d like to drive over and spend the evening with Mildred’s sister, Mary, who many years later was fortunate enough to become my mother-in-law.  While we were there Susie, Miss Mary’s prissy big girl, showed us little kids the glorious pictures in the big family bible, complete with terrifying stories of angels, devils, fire reigning down on Sodom and Gomorrah, and Adam and Eve being cast out of Eden.  It was awesome.

Long after dark, we started home.  Naturally, all the kids immediately fell asleep as soon as the car got warm and dark.  The next thing I knew, I saw blazing lights as we whirled around.  I realized immediately we were ascending into heaven in a whirlwind of fire but I wasn’t to happy about it!  Howling kids were tossed all over the car.  It turned out to be a far less heavenly experience.  We’d been hit by a drunk driver but somehow escaped serious injury or a trip to heaven.  The last thing my mother told me the next morning was not to tell my class that Johnny Jones daddy got drunk and hit our car.  I had no idea it was Johnny’s daddy who’d hit our car

I had my next new experience first thing the next morning at school.  I was the first up at our class’s first and last Show and Tell the next morning.  I had a black eye to Show and plenty to Tell.  Despite Mother’s warning, I felt the first grade really would be interested to know Johnny Jones’s father got drunk and hit our car.  Miss Angie made me hush and sit down.  We never had Show and Tell again, ever.  Johnny Jones and I got in a fight at recess.  We had to sit in the hall.  The third first for me.

Just Jot It January – Pingback Post and Rules

Happiness! The Count is Coming to Town!

On the subject of happiness, some days start routinely no expectation of stumbling into pure joy.  One of my precious children, who shall remain forever nameless, experienced that life-changing thrill when they while searching frantically for an item to take to their class for a current events assignment on March 5, 1985 when this golden picture was printed in the local paper.  I expect neither the paper nor the proofreader were quite so happy.

God is good!