“Hurry up and get your shoes on. We’re going to Mr. Grady’s house. You can play with his grandkids.” Daddy called behind him as he headed for the truck. “I ain’t waiting for you!”
I was near frantic as I tore through the house looking for the shoes I’d kicked off the last time I’d been made to wear them. Shoes were for school and going places. I’d never have worn them voluntarily. “I gotta find my shoes so I can go with Daddy. He ain’t waiting!”
Mother didn’t show proper concern. “You’re supposed to put them under your bed. Did you look there?”
I don’t know why she said stuff like that. I never put things away! This time, I was saved. They were tucked neatly under my bed where Mother had put them when she swept. “I found ‘em. Bye!”
”Don’t kick ‘em off and leave them somewhere. That’s your only pair. Are you listening?”
”I won’t! Bye!” Daddy was waiting in the truck with the engine running with Billy next to him. “I thought maybe I was gonna have to leave you.”
Mr. Grady and two identical-looking boys greeted us at the gate. “This here is my grandboys, Big Boy and Little Boy. Now, all you younguns go play while we go git a cup of coffee. Boys, I’ll skin you alive if I catch you chasing the calf again.” The four of us took off. I liked these kids, already.
“You want to see the armadillos?” one of them inquired.
”Okay.” I’d seen plenty of armadillos, mostly flat on the roadside, but never had the opportunity to get to know one personally. We trooped to a fenced in area back of the house where a herd of armadillos of all sizes rushed us.
”They think we gonna feed ‘em, “ one of the boys explained. “Pap’s always got a mess of armadillos shut up back here. We gonna fool ‘em today, though. We gonna eat one for dinner today. Want to help us catch one.”
The race was on. We chased those fast little rascals all over that pen but never caught one. Eventually, we gave it up for wheelbarrow rides. Two kids pushed the barrow while the rider claimed the privilege of riding till dumped over. I could have done that all day. Eventually, Daddy concluded his visit and we headed home. I was very disappointed to miss the armadillo dinner, but Daddy said we had to be moving on. Though I spent hours with them, I never did learn which was Big Boy or Little Boy.
When we got home, the first words out of Mother’s mouth were, “Where are your shoes? You’ve got to go to Bible School tomorrow.”
I wore sixty-nine cent flip flops for the rest of the summer.
(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.
John Smith is cleaning out his grandfathers home after the grandfather’s death at 90. In one of the grandfathers old overcoats pockets he finds a ticket for some shoes that the grandfather had left to be repaired in 1955. Out of curiosity, he checks online and is amazed to see that the shoe shop is still in business at the same location. John enters the shop and starts talking to the owner who explains that he is, in fact, the grandson of the original owner and has worked in the shop all his life. John gives the ticket to the shop owner who heads into the back of the shop just to see if the shoes are still there. After some time he returns from the back of the and exclaims “Amazingly I was able to find the shoes! They will be ready on Monday.”
“They’re in the dishwasher, but should be finished by now.”I told him.
During my errands yesterday, I got a phone call from Bud. “Didn’t you tell me you washed those jars of corned beef you canned? I was going to put them in the pantry and I can’t find them. Where did you put them?” He sounded totally bewildered.
“Why in the world did you do that? Oh, never mind!” He blustered.
We’ve been married more than fifty years, but Bud still forgets it makes perfect sense to me to wash jars of canned goods in the dishwasher. We paid a lot for that dishwasher and need to get full value. Why run a sink full of soapy water to wash them by hand and risk having a slippery jar crash and break? The dishwasher does a great job.
I’ve always felt appliances should be multi-functional. I’ve already done my own research and can tell you some pitfalls, but the idea is great.
Ovens make excellent emergency dryers, but don’t do your hair. Putting your head in the oven makes a bad impression. Properly done, ovens could be used for clothes, shoes, and other stuff you might not want, or be able to put in your clothes dryer. Also, the dryer might be on the blink. (Possibly from Multi-Function Appliance Use)I do have a couple of cautions, however. When drying your dainties in the oven, pre-heat it to a nice warm temp, then turn it off. Be sure to put them on a nice cool cookie sheet before you slide them in. When mine hit the hot oven rack they sizzled and melted. Long crosswise burns across the butt was not a look I could live with.
I ran into a little problem drying my son’s tennis shoes in the oven before I’d worked all the kinks out of my system. His only pair had to be dry for school the next morning, so in the oven they went. It’s a lot easier to set the temperature higher than you think, believe me. I forgot to set the timer. In just a bit, I smelled rubber burning. By the time I got to them, melted shoe soles dripped to the oven floor. Still thinking they could be salvaged, I worked the shoes free, hoping I could saw the drippy soles off smooth. Didn’t work. The toes curled up till the shoes looked like skis. We ended up making a flying trip to the store with him in his socked feet, getting there just before the store closed at nine.Bud was totally unreasonable about the whole situation
“Hurry up and get your shoes on. We’re going to Mr. Grady’s house. You can play with his grandkids.” Daddy called behind him as he headed for the truck. “I ain’t waiting for you!”
I was near frantic as I tore through the house looking for the shoes I’d kicked off the last time I’d been made to wear them. Shoes were for school and going places. I’d never have worn them voluntarily. “I gotta find my shoes so I can go with Daddy. He ain’t waiting!”
Mother didn’t show proper concern. “You’re supposed to put them under your bed. Did you look there?”
I don’t know why she said stuff like that. I never put things away! This time, I was saved. They were tucked neatly under my bed where Mother had put them when she swept. “I found ‘em. Bye!”
”Don’t kick ‘em off and leave them somewhere. That’s your only pair. Are you listening?”
”I won’t! Bye!” Daddy was waiting in the truck with the engine running with Billy next to him. “I thought maybe I was gonna have to leave you.”
Mr. Grady and two identical-looking boys greeted us at the gate. “This here is my grandboys, Big Boy and Little Boy. Now, all you younguns go play while we go git a cup of coffee. Boys, I’ll skin you alive if I catch you chasing the calf again.” The four of us took off. I liked these kids, already.
“You want to see the armadillos?” one of them inquired.
”Okay.” I’d seen plenty of armadillos, mostly flat on the roadside, but never had the opportunity to get to know one personally. We trooped to a fenced in area back of the house where a herd of armadillos of all sizes rushed us.
”They think we gonna feed ‘em, “ one of the boys explained. “Pap’s always got a mess of armadillos shut up back here. We gonna fool ‘em today, though. We gonna eat one for dinner today. Want to help us catch one.”
The race was on. We chased those fast little rascals all over that pen but never caught one. Eventually, we gave it up for wheelbarrow rides. Two kids pushed the barrow while the rider claimed the privilege of riding till dumped over. I could have done that all day. Eventually, Daddy concluded his visit and we headed home. I was very disappointed to miss the armadillo dinner, but Daddy said we had to be moving on. Though I spent hours with them, I never did learn which was Big Boy or Little Boy.
When we got home, the first words out of Mother’s mouth were, “Where are your shoes? You’ve got to go to Bible School tomorrow.”
I wore sixty-nine cent flip flops for the rest of the summer.
I am thankful I’ve achieved one of my life goals! I got Keds! All the snooty kids wore Keds when I was in school. Since there were five of us to shoe, Mother showed no interest in putting us on our path to snootiness. When the guy at the shoe repair shop gave her notice that shoes were beyond repair, she’d bring home a new pair, sized by the pencilled imprint of the lucky kid’s foot. She always went prepared, just in case. We were a one-car family and there was no possibility of a special trip just for shoes. We were whatever she brought home. There was no chance we could claim ugly shoes didn’t fit. She knew what she was doing.
Sometimes, one of us tripped Mother up by having a major shoe malfunction resultingin shoe acquisition that couldn’t be put off till Thursday, Daddy’s payday and her scheduled trip to town, in that miserable situation. On more the one occasion, she made a panicky trip to the dry goods store in Cottage Valley and bought the only shoes available. We hated these crummy sneakers, or “Tennies” as we called them, the ugly, red-headed stepchildren of Keds.
Girls got a style somewhat reminscent of Keds, usually white, wide in the arch, just right for duck feet. Bill got hightop, black basketball shoes with a white basketball on the ankle. Naturally, we had to wear theses lovelies till they fell apart. Mine were always dirty by the time I got to school, even if I were lucky enough they’d just been washed, and frankly, they weren’t washed that often.
My brother Billy got off the bus in one shoe after school one afternoon. Mother exploded. “Boy, where’s your shoe?”
He wasted some time trying to explain and she wasted more trying to make sense of the story. Finally, she got down to business and hauled him back to school to retrieve it from deep in a mass of brush on the wrong side of a hurricane fence. Undoubtedly, he’d pushed it deeper in his rescue attempts. Eventually, they showed up at home victorious except for scratches on her forearms and a tick or two.
I probably won’t have a lot of time for WordPress once I post this. Design and idea people will be beating a path to my door by tomorrow morning, or maybe even later today, once California gets this. Appliances should be multi-functional. I’ve already done my own research and can tell you some pitfalls, but the idea is great.
Ovens make excellent emergency dryers, but don’t do your hair. Putting your head in the oven makes a bad impression. Properly done, ovens could be used for clothes, shoes, and other stuff you might not want, or be able to put in your clothes dryer. Also, the dryer might be on the blink. (Possibly from Multi-Function Appliance research) I do have a couple of cautions, however. When drying your dainties in the oven, pre-heat it to a nice warm temp, then turn it off. Be sure to put them on a nice cool cookie sheet before you slide them in. When mine hit the hot oven rack they sizzled and melted. Long crosswise burns across the butt was not a look I could live with.
I ran into a little problem drying my son’s tennis shoes in the oven before I’d worked all the kinks out of my system. His only pair had to be dry for school the next morning, so in the oven they went. It’s a lot easier to set the temperature higher than you think, believe me. In just a bit, I smelled rubber burning. By the time I got to them, melted shoe soles dripped to the oven floor. Still thinking they could be salvaged, I worked the shoes free, hoping I could saw the drippy soles off smooth. Didn’t work. The toes curled up till the shoes looked like skis. We ended up making a flying trip to the store with him in his socked feet, getting there just before the store closed at nine.
Bud was totally unreasonable about the whole situation.
Sometimes I wonder if others are such life voyeurs as I? It seems stories just leap everywhere I go. I don’t just see a little girl walking with her dog down the street and move on. I watch as long as I can see her, the way she walks, her apparent mood. Does she stoop to play with the puppy? Is it on a string or a leash? Why is she wearing oversized sneakers? Did she slip off in them or have to wear them? Is that a happy or sad song she’s humming? Continue reading →
(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 the most fun I’ve ever had. There had been no “Pin the Tail on the Donkey”, no party hats, just fun, fun, fun. When my mother walked over to get me, I could tell she was not happy. She didn’t even go in for coffee like she always did at neighbor lady’s houses. Boy was I in trouble with my ruined party dress, lost shoes, and muddy self. She said I could never go to the Awfuls again.
I figured Mother would forget after a few days, but no……….No visits to Continue reading →
“Hurry up and get your shoes on. We’re going to Mr. Grady’s house. You can play with his grandkids.” Daddy called behind him as he headed for the truck. “I ain’t waiting for you!”
“Hurry up and get your shoes on. We’re going to Mr. Grady’s house. You can play with his grandkids.” Daddy called behind him as he headed for the truck. “I ain’t waiting for you!”
I probably won’t have a lot of time for WordPress once I post this. Design and idea people will be beating a path to my door by tomorrow morning, or maybe even later today, once California gets this. Appliances should be multi-functional. I’ve already done my own research and can tell you some pitfalls, but the idea is great.
Nutsrok 