serial

You Poor Baby (Part 2)

vintage baby

part 1      https://atomic-temporary-73629786.wpcomstaging.com/2015/07/11/you-poor-baby/

Furious at finding her washing machine packed to the rim with freshly laundered diapers mixed with freshly- laundered gobs of poop, Mother roused Carol from where she snored on the sofa, oblivious to her miserable, bawling baby. “Carol, come here. Let me show you how to use this washer! You can’t just throw filthy diapers in it without rinsing this stuff out.” Mother got a tub, made Carol scoop the poopy diapers out and clean the washer, then sent Carol out to rinse the dirty diapers under the faucet before bringing them back to the washer. “Be sure you dump that dirty water from the tub behind the chicken house, not in the back yard. You may as well get the rest of this mess soaking.” She pointed to the pile of poopy diapers that had not yet had a ride in her abused washer. Carol looked furiously at Phyllis and me as she stormed off to do this demeaning task, clearly much better delegated to underlings like us.

We did have to tend her poor, miserable baby while she slaved over the diaper rinsing, but that was better than rinsing out poopy diapers ranging from rock-hard lumps to runny diarrhea, depending on the vintage. The stench was horrendous, as evidenced by Carol’s retching. I have no doubt Carol was sick when she came back in. She took to her bed(our sofa) to recover. Clearly accustomed to help with her baby, she was reluctant to leave her repose to wash bottles and prepare formula, preferring to call out for one of of kids to “bring me a bottle!” when he cried. The first time, Mother let the hungry little guy have a bottle, despite the fact it was an expensive, hypoallergenic formula prescribed for her own tiny baby. She quickly pointed the case of milk she’d bought for Carol’s baby, the kind Carol requested. “Oh this will be fine,” Carol said. “He likes it!”

“Carol, you need to fix your own bottles! I bought you what you asked for. This stuff is forty cents a can!” Mother explained.

Carol was clearly offended. She dawdled a bit after he finished his bottle, put him down, and shut herself in the bathroom for a good crying session. Eventually, she came out and made a collect call to her mother, insisting she come, NOW! Mama couldn’t come, NOW! More crying on the phone. We were stuck together till the weekend. Carol had no problems leaving his bottles lying about to sour after baby was satisfied. Should he cry out when a sour bottle sat handy, she had no qualms about trying to get him to take it.

The next three days lasted an eternity. At my parent’s insistence, Carol did end up giving her baby good care while they waited for Mama, but she turned him over to Mama as soon as she arrived. His bottom had healed, he’d plumped up, and even played a bit with good care. Poor little guy didn’t get much of a pass. He was soon back home to be joined by a brother and sister in rapid succession.

Alas, Carol’s marriage fell apart, but before long she found another man and launched into her addiction to having babies she had no interest or ability to care for, eventually delivering eleven sad children. At a family reunion once, I heard someone ask how long she was going to keep having babies. She replied, “As long as God wants me to.” It was heartbreaking to see her children suffer from her neglect and ignorance.

Lou and Lynn Part 4 A Magical Rescue: Lou’s Adventure Continues

Lynn’s mother met her at the back door bouncing a crying baby on her shoulder. “I saw the barn doors open, so I knew….well, who is this?”

“Mother, this is Lou. She and her
Grandma were out riding and got caught in the storm. Is her grandma here?”

“No. Nobody’s here but me and the babies. I need you to rock the little baby while I start supper. Please don’t make noise and wake the big baby or we’ll have double trouble.” Lynn took the baby and plunked down in the rocking chair, looking disgusted. Sure enough the baby wailed till Lynn got the bottle in her mouth.

Lou looked down like she was going to cry. Lynn’s mother gave her a hug. “Oh Honey, Don’t cry. Grandma might have walked down the road looking for you. As soon as I get supper on, I’ll rock the baby and y’all can walk up to the neighbors and see if she’s there. Miss Betsy is probably taking real good care of her. She’s a nice lady.”

“Lou sniffled, “But Grandma’s gonna be worried. My parents are probably wondering where we are by now! We’ve been gone a long time.”

“I know Grandma’s looking for you, too. We’ll get y’all back together. It’s real quiet out here. Nobody would hurt you.” Lynn’s mother smiled reassuringly. “Go rest on the sofa while Lynn gets the baby to sleep.”

Lou sat on the sofa and dozed off to the creaking of the rocker. She wasn’t deep into sleep when she heard Grandma humming, “You are My Sunshine” like she’d done ever since Lou was born. She kissed Lou on the forehead and said “Goodnight, sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite”

“Oh Grandma. I must have had a bad dream. I thought we out riding and got caught in a storm. I couldn’t find you! I was scared!”

“It’s okay, Sweetie. You know I’d never leave you. It wasn’t a dream. You got jolted back in time by that lightning. Let me give you a clue so you’ll know what I’m telling you is true. Before dark today, you’ll see a turtle with a big yellow X on its back. Be brave. I am coming for you, but it might be a while.”

Lou was startled awake by Lynn tapping her shoulder and giving her the quiet sign. “The baby’s asleep. Mother said we could walk up to Miss Betsy’s to see if your grandma’s there.”

They tiptoed out the door, then down the long gravel road. Lou felt so much better thinking about her dream. “Maybe we’ll find Grandma.”

“Sure we will!” Lynn answered, skipping and singing in a falsetto voice. “You are my Sunshine” as loud as she could. Lou laughed and joined in.

To be continued:

Lou and Lynn Part 3 Looking for Grandma

As the rain pounded on the roof, Lou looked all around. “Boy, I hope Grandma’s not out in this! It’s dangerous!” Her lip quivered, though no tears escaped. “I will not cry! I will not cry! I am not a cry baby!” Facing away from Lynn, she stiffened her back and clinched her fist.

Lynn put her hand on Lou’s shoulder. “Lou, I know you’re worried but your grandma’s probably up at the house with Mother. Look around. We’d see her if she was out here. As soon as the storm’s over, we’ll head for the house.”

That made sense. “But won’t your mom be looking for you out in this storm?” Lou sniffled a little, still fighting tears.

“Oh no!” Lynn laughed. “She knows exactly where I am. We always play in the barn when it rains.”

That caught Lou’s attention. “Who is ‘we’?” She asked.

“My brother Billy. He’ll be home after a while. He went with Daddy and my uncle to take a truckload of hogs to the auction.” Now it was her turn for a quivering lip. “I could have ridden in the back with the hogs, but daddy said I’d be so dirty he might sell me by mistake mixed in with the pigs. It makes me so mad to get left out because I’m a girl! It’s just not fair!”

Now, Lou felt sorry for her. “No it’s not.” She agreed.

They were’t the only ones escaping the rain. An enormous red cow with menacing curved horns loped clumsily into the barn. To escape the huge beast, Lou bounded up the stack of baled hay. “ Lookout, she’s gonna get you!” She shouted.

The cow ran straight at Lynn, bellowing and wagging her horns side to side. Lou hid her eyes behind her hands, not wanting to see the cow destroy Lynn. Then she heard laughter. “Bessie, you big old baby. When are you gonna learn to stay with the cows under the shed?”

Bessie leaned into Lynn, licking her face, then nudging her. “Stop it, Bessie! You’re about to knock me down!” With that, she pulled a pear out of her pocket. “Here. That’s all I’ve got. Bessie opened her big mouth and chomped the pear with one big crunch. Pear juice dripped out of her mouth. She bumped Lynn, hoping to shake loose another. “Nope, that’s it.” Bessie looked very disappointed at Lynn’s stinginess.

“You’re not scared of her with those big horns? Lou couldn’t take it in.

“No! We raised her on a bottle from a tiny calf. Her mama wouldn’t feed her. All you have to be worried about is , she might stomp your foot trying to get a treat. That hurts! Want to give her that other pear? Hold it out with your hand flat so she won’t crunch your fingers.”

Lou climbed off the hay and held the pear out to Bessie like Lou showed her. Bessie took in her mouth, gobbling it down in a big, noisy crunch, leaving slimy slobber on her hand. Then she licked Lou’s hand greedily, hoping for more.

“Ooh! That’s gross!” Said Lou., wiping her hands on her shorts.

“Yep. I never said she wouldn’t slobber on you. I just said she wouldn’t bite you,” Lynn clearly found it hilarious.

“Look the rain has stopped. We can go ask Mother if she’s seen your grandma. One thing, though. Don’t bang the doors as you go in. If you wake up the babies and get them crying, I’ll have to stay in and help take care of them. We’ll be stuck in the house.”

“Y’all have babies?” Lou was astonished. She’d rarely had a chance to be around babies.

“Yeah, a big one and a little one. I like the big one best. She’s cute and will play with you. The little one just sleeps and squalls and messes up her diapers. There’s not much fun in that.”

Lou’s ears kind of perked up. She didn’t want to get them crying but it might be fun to look at them. She sure didn’t want to be around for messy diapers. The best thing of all, Grandma was probably in the house, waiting for her! “Let’s go!”

Uncle Albutt Part 4

Uncle Albert had an interesting vocabulary.   Even when he didn’t get words right, he forged bravely ahead.  When his energy was low, he didn’t have much image.  When the doctor diagnosed him with emphysema, he referred to his ‘zema. Air conditioners were air positioners. He called my sister Phyllis, Phillips.  I liked that one.  I was Linder.  I didn’t like that quite so much. My mother Kathleen was Kathaleen.  He called Daddy “Willie”, his real name instead of Bill, the name Daddy gave himself once he left home.  

Daddy cringed every time he was called Willie. The only other person who got away with it was his mother.  I wouldn’t have wanted to be Willie, either.  For some reason, Daddy’s brother Parnell named his daughter Willie Carol.  She was a whiny, sullen kid, maybe because of that name. It makes perfect sense to me.

On occasion, we saw some of Aunt Jewel’s relatives.  Her sister, Lucille, who incidentally had married one of Daddy’s cousins, had the hairiest legs I’ve ever seen, man or woman. The wearing of seamed stockings only made it more obvious.  A good proportion of the wiry hairs worked their way through the stockings, trying to escape, while the rest were imprisoned flat against her legs.  I don’t know which fascinated me more, the swirling mass of flattened ones, or the wild escapees.  I never got to look enough, and certainly wasn’t allowed to comment. Mother warned us off when she knew we’d see Lucille.  Daddy swore her legs had gotten hairier because she shaved them!  That just sounded nuts.  How would hair roots know a razor threatened?  He was death on leg-shaving, ascribing to the old wive’s tale that shaving made hair grow back thicker.  I don’t know what planet he was from that made his daughter’s legs, shaved or unshaven, his business, but Daddy thought he was God and his wishes,  commandments.  More likely, he may have feared he’d be stuck with his girls forever should we sprout hair like that. 

Of course, Mother never volunteered the information that she shaved her legs.  I guess she didn’t want Daddy to know what was in his future.  Naturally, I shaved my legs as soon as I could get hold of a razor.  I can’t tell you how happy I was to get away from home.

Daddy’s methods did ensure he never had to deal with adult children boomeranginghome.  Times just didn’t get that hard.

Uncle Albutt Part 2

Uncle Albert was the only person I ever knew who never attended school at all.  He couldn’t write or read a word.  I remember seeing him bring documents for Mother to read and interpret and pen his replies.  He was the first person I ever saw make an X mark for his signature. Mother wrote his name afterward and witnessed it. I was filled with awe that a person had never attended school.  Mother filled out his income tax returns for him every year.

Uncle Albert was very shrewd in his accounts, despite his lack of education.  He handled his business affairs skillfully, requiring no assistance.  He was a skilled trader.  I remember hearing him tell Daddy how he left the house one morning with a goat to barter and after several trades, came home with a shotgun and box of shells.  I never knew him to hold public employment.   He farmed forty acres more than fifty years, providing a living for him and his wife.  He paid cash, bartered, or did without.  The whole time I knew him, he drove a nineteen forty-eight Ford pickup truck.  He and Aunt Jewel smoked Prince Albert Tobacco and rolled their own cigarettes when money was tight, and bought Raleigh cigarettes when they were flush.  Aunt Jewel saved Raleigh Cigarette coupons for prizes.  From time to time, she’d show off a fancy vase or pair of pillowcases. I never knew of them being without cigarettes of some sort.

Daddy was always honored when Uncle Albert and Aunt Jewel came to visit.  One evening, Mother cooked our favorite, fried chicken.  We never got enough of her fried chicken, particularly the crisp scrambles of flour that dropped off during the frying.  Knowing this, Mother scraped up every crisp bit and put it on the platter with the chicken.  After the chicken was devoured, she divided those scrambles among the kids.  They were delicious, a highly anticipated treat.  That evening, the chicken platter passed from on end of the table to the other several times.  Uncle Albert liked Mother’s chicken, too.  As he forked  the last piece, the unthinkable happened.  He tipped the platter up and poured all those beautiful scrambled bits onto his plate.  Our eyes were huge with horror.  Surely he hadn’t just scooped up all the best all for himself!  He had!  Mother shushed us with a look as he noisily crunched and chomped through the pile.  A more heartbreaking sound was never heard.   In just a few seconds, he finished off our stolen treat, then burped his appreciation, wiped his mouth, leaned back his chair and remarked, “That’s the best part of the chicken.  I ain’t never got enough.”

We knew just how he felt.

Tale of My Uncle’s Tail

imageWhen I got older, I found out Uncle Albert and Aunt Jewel weren’t dull; they were just worn out. Besides that, Uncle Albert had a fascinating physical attribute Daddy slipped up and mentioned one day, to his later regret. Uncle Albert had a tail! From that moment forward, my brother and I stalked him, probabably the first nasty little, voyeuristic kids in the word to molest a pitiful, worn-out old man. We kept hoping his worn-out old khakis would slide off his bony behind, giving us a glimpse of that tail. Eventually Daddy realized why we were pestering him and threatened us enough to put a stop to our tagging.

At any rate, once I got sly enough to ferret out family gossip, I found out Aunt Jewel had once been a very pretty, if not too virtuous, girl. Apparently, Uncle Albert brought her to his house to visit one evening when his wife, Mary, was out. Mary, came home early and found them together in her bedroom. Not surprisingly, she was unhappy. When she tried to get in the bedroom with them, Uncle Albert slammed the door on her arm, breaking it. He and Aunt Jewel became a couple after that.

It’s not surprising he preferred her to the unreasonable Mary. She was a very understanding woman. She told Albert’s sister,my grandma, “Albert has to have a woman! Fortunately, her three sisters and mother were all friendly women, of questionable virtue, willing to accommodate Albert’s needs when she wasn’t well. Uncle Albert and Aunt Jewel lived together over thirty years, becoming very devoted members of their local church the last ten years or so. They gave very good advice once they got too old to set a bad example.

Footloose and Fancy Free (Part 3)

breastBobo’s old truck rattled in one Saturday about four. White-headed kids in overalls piled out of the back, their bare feet kicking up a dust. Fishing poles dangled out of the truck bed. Grinning, Bobo slung a stringer of bream over his shoulder. Inez slid out of the front seat, wagging a newborn and helping her twin toddlers slide to the ground. One was diapered,one not. She laughed, explaining, “His britches stunk too bad for the front. Sometimes that busted glass works out purty good! The kids in the back didn’t care nohow long as the truck was a’movin’.”

While Daddy and Bobo cleaned the fish, Mother and Inez peeled potatoes. Long before the days of paper plates, we had to make do. The bigger kids got to sit on the kitchen floor with pie plates. Fried fish and French-fries were finger food. Toddlers sat at the table next to their mamas. As the adults started eating, I was amazed when Inez casually pulled out an enormous breast. Her baby rooted and snapped it up. I’d never seen anything so shocking. Mother was so modest, she triple-locked the bathroom door. I’d never even seen her in her panties. My mouth flew open, “Mother, that baby’s eatin’ its Mama!”

Footloose and Fancy-Free (Part 1)

overalls 2

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. Shoestrings were scarce, but I never noticed anybody really looking for any.

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 a comfort. 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

A Hog a Day Part 19

Image courtesy of Pixabay

I’ve got to end this series, since it is the basis of my next book and I don’t want to give it away but there are so many stories I want to share.  One is about a suicide and a mean Christian.

Mrs Rivers was as old as the hills. I believe she was born that way.   Widowed more than forty years, no one ever spoke of her husband.  It was impossible for me to imagine anyone could have ever wanted to marry her, as unpleasant as she appeared.  Still living in the house where  she raised her children, her son had built a house on her lot. My mother often remarked she’d be a trial as a mother-in-law as we drove  by and saw her dressed in a dark, long-sleeved dress and sun bonnet working her garden with a push plow. I’m sure she refused her son’s offer to plow her garden, because no one would have expected someone that old to plow.

Old Lady Rivers, as she was known, was a practicing Pentecostal, though she attended the Baptist Church just across the road from her house and interfered with its runnings as much as she was able.  While she didn’t have a vote, she did have opinions and battered the faithful with them as often as possible.  She was the first at services, wakes, and funerals, eager to share “how they took it” and why.  Never losing track of when a marriage was made, she was the first to predict should a baby appear to be coming “too soon.”

She was a skilled craftsman of gossip, eager to bear bad news or scandal. In the days before telephones were common in our rural community, it could be a challenge to get messages to people in a timely manner.   One sad day, a poor old gentlemen shot himself in the head out by his mailbox. His panicked wife called her son from next door for help.  The son covered his father with a sheet, but left the body lying awaiting the sheriff. A neighbor hurried to a local store to call the school principal to intercept his daughter, Alice Fay,  a school bus driver, before she left school with a bus load of children.  Sadly, they missed her by about fifteen minutes.  The principal summoned the coach and together, they hurried to catch up, hoping to spare her happening up on the grisly scene at her parent’s home, not realizing a couple of her stops had been eliminated.  He was behind her at every stop.

Old Lady Rivers heard the news before the bus was due.  She waited on the porch and puffed her way out to flag Alice Faye’s bus down.  The principal skidded to a stop behind the bus just as Alice Fay opened the bus door to see what the excited old lady wanted, Mrs. Rivers propped herself on her cane and announced, “Alice Faye, yore daddy done shot hisself in the head! God help him, he’s going to Hell for shore!”

Alice Faye reacted, as you might expect, erupting into hysterical tears as the principal and coach rushed up to comfort her and restore order to the traumatized children, three of whom were Alice Faye’s.  It was a horrendous situation.  The principal drove Alice Faye and her children home, and the coach finished the bus route on that awful day.  It was a shocking announcement of tragedy Alice Faye and her children could have been spared.