Storytelling

Hard Time Marrying Part 7

spring-beauty-splashHe checked on the woman and children several times always finding them asleep.  The children’s breathing was regular and less shallow.  The pink of their cheeks faded as the fever dropped.  Twice more he fed and diapered them and assisted the woman to the pot.  The next two days were much the same, more feeding, more dosing with Dr. Marvel, more changing, and always, more washing.  The little boy rallied first, trailing Joe.  From time to time, he called for Mama, but overall seemed contented.  Joe looked forward to the woman regaining her strength and assuming her responsibilities.  She was attentive to the baby girl who still lay abed with her.  Thankfully, the baby finally got hungry enough to accept the bottle after a few tries.  It made it easier to get the Dr. Marvel’s in her, anyway.  The woman could barely stay awake long enough to feed the baby but kept it at her side.  On the fourth day, the woman began to eat regular food, though she mashed it first.  One day, she coughed and spit a cracked molar into her palm, increasing Joe’s guilt about burying her alive, though he still didn’t remember hitting her with the shovel.  Joe had hopes when she’d learn some English soon, since he didn’t understand a word she said when she did speak to the baby or cry out in pain upon moving.  She had picked up on coffee, milk, baby, hurt, boy, pot, and a few other words, but there was no conversation yet.  She never called him “Joe.”

Though there was no real talking between, Joe sensed a change.  The woman was able to leave the bed for longer and longer periods, and kept the baby on her hip as she padded around the cabin. Her bruises were fading and she was able to hold the baby with her left arm and feed it with her right. She was turning out to be a beauty, but looked so young to be a mother.  It warmed him to see the tiny girl laugh at her mother, though the boy clearly preferred Joe.  Joe had expected him to show more interest in his mother once she was out of bed, but he didn’t.  Maybe boys just liked men. Joe rigged a rough rope bed in the corner near the fireplace for the boy, thinking he could make a trundle when the girl was older. He was starting to think of her as “Anna” instead of “the woman.”  Anna only referred to the girl as “Baby” and the boy as “Boy.”  One day, he brought her the first Spring Beauty and she called him “Joe.”  Joe was glad of her and the children, glad of the life opening up to him.

That night the coyotes woke him.

Prosthesis Wardrobe

My son learned to his sorrow not to try to rescue a piece of chicken his two Akita’s were fighting over. Unfortunately, the lesson cost him a finger.

Fortunately, John is eccentric and sees the bright side. He said the biggest problem was having to convert from a base ten counting system to a base nine. One day at work a woman chastised him! “Stop doing that! You’re creeping me out trying to make it look like your little finger is missing!”

“My little finger IS missing!” He told her. John has really enjoyed crafting all types of prostheses for his finger as well as decorative ones for holidays. I doubt any are functional, though.

This is his favorite, with a small hook.

This one is for drinking tea.

This gold digit is for Mardi Gras

This one is for making a good impression in gloves.

The collection, The orange finger in center has not been perfected yet. It is articulated with strings to make it move.

John and Watson

Grandma and Minnie

Grandma and Grandpa lived next to Minnie and Amalie in Austin, Texas.  Minnie and Amalie had immigrated from Mexico fairly recently and spoke very little English, but that didn’t hamper their friendship.  Grandma and Minnie had coffee every morning, chatting over recipes, patterns, housework, and their shared garden plot.

It didn’t matter that Grandma spoke not a word of Spanish and Minnie knew little English.  They’d check out each other’s tomatoes, peppers, and flowers, chattering like nobody’s business. Though I was a small child when we visited there, I remember fondly that Minnie trusted me push her pretty, black-eyed baby around the yard in her stroller.I was so proud to be a big girl.

Sometimes I followeed Grandpa and Amalie  around as they smoked hand-rollled cigarettes and worked at some project in the yard or dug in the garden.  One day they made me a chair by nailing two apple crates end-to-end.  I sat in that chair as long as I could squeeze into it.  I learned my first Spanish when Amalie hammered his finger and cursed in Spanish.  Though I didn’t know Spanish, cursing in any language is cursing. I admired cursing and was always on the  alert for a tasty tidbit, since I didn’t get to hear it at home.

I was intrigued at hearing Minnie and Amalie talk, my introduction to a foreign language.  I’d jabber along, thinking, I was speaking Spanish, stopping periodically to ask Grandma or Minnie to interpret what I’d said for me.I wish we all got on with our neighbors so well.  We shared a lovely meal of Grandma’s greens, pork chops and cornbread and Minnes’s tamales and beans one special evening.  I didn’t care much for the greens, but I’ll never forget the bite of Minnie’s spicy tortillas.

Hilarious Road Trip Adventures Through National Parks

imageWe tortured our teenagers once by making them take a three-thousand mile roadtrip through several national parks.  The main thing they mention now is that Bud wore those stretch nylon coach shorts and a couple of gay guys hit on him.

In Yellowstone, he stopped for about the fourteenth time to try to get pictures of buffalo one afternoon.  The thrill of watching him try to get the perfect buffalo picture had worn thin, so the three of us watched from the car.  He fussed, tinkered, and messed with his camera, tripod and lenses till we were hoping a buffalo would gore him just enough to distract him. He worked frantically till a car pulled up just in front of him. A flambuoyant fellow trotted up to Bud, obviously interested in getting acquainted.

“Oh my, that’s some nice equipment you’ve got there,”

Ever polite, Bud thanked him, snapped a couple of random shots, grabbed his gear, and made his escape. He got no sympathy in the car! Finally, something good had happened!

“Dad, that guy, really admired your equipment! Ah ha ha ha ha!” For the rest of the trip, they worked equipment into the conversation at least ten times a day.

We stopped at a lodge that night.  As Bud was getting a room, he had a chance to make another friend. A friendly guy checking in at the same time told him, “I know you must put mayonnaise in that gorgeous beard.”

“Nope,” Bud snapped, turning to the kids. “Now get your mother so we can all go to dinner.”

How to Navigate Directions: A Guide for the Directionally Challenged

            I’m not good with directions.  In fact, I’d have to improve considerably to even be bad.  Useless terms like left, right, North, South, East, and West annoy me.  If people actually expect me to get somewhere, they need to be more specific.  “Turn off the interstate at exit 5.  Go the opposite direction you’ve been going and go three streets past Brookshire’s.   Drive just a minute or so and you’ll see a restaurant with the big cow in the parking lot.  Don’t turn there.  Drive to the next red light and turn on the street that turns between the WaWa and that hardware store with the inflatable lumberjack.  Watch for the ugly house with the silk flowers in the bucket of that tacky wishing well.  Pass it up, but now you need to start driving pretty slow.  You’ll see a big, old white house with a deep porch and all those ferns, kind of like the one Grandma lived in at Houston, the one where the woman living upstairs tossed her dirty mop water out on my head when I was sitting on the sidewalk playing. Boy, did Grandma have something to say to her!  Remember, it was just across the street from that big, old funeral home.   I just love those old houses, but I’ll bet they are expensive to heat.  About six houses down on the other side, there’s a little, blue house. I believe it used to be gray. If you look hard, you’ll see an old rusted out 1950 GMC like Aunt Ada and Uncle Junior used to drive, up on blocks way off to the side of the shed.  Remember how they used to toodle around with all those mean boys bouncing like popcorn in the back?  Anyway, our house is the yellow one with the big shade trees just across from it.  You can’t miss it. There’s a bottle tree out front.”

            Now I can’t miss with those directions.

Morning Giggles

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Dumb Laws in Texas

One must acknowledge a supreme being before being able to hold public office.

The Bluebonnet is the official song of the state flower.

It is illegal to sell one’s eye

A program has been created in the state that attempts to control the weather.

When two trains meet each other at a railroad crossing, each shall come to a full stop, and neither shall proceed until the other has gone.
It is illegal to take more than three sips of beer at a time while standing.
Up to a felony charge can be levied for promoting the use of, or owning more than six dildos.

It is illegal for one to shoot a buffalo from the second story of a hotel.
It is illegal to milk another person’s cow.
A recently passed anticrime law requires criminals to give their victims 24 hours notice, either orally or in writing, and to explain the nature of the crime to be committed.
Homosexual behavior is a misdemeanor offense.

The entire Encyclopedia Britannica is banned in Texas because it contains a formula for making beer at home.
City Laws in Texas

Abilene
It is illegal to idle or loiter anyplace within the corporate limits of the city for the purpose of flirting or mashing.
Austin
Wire cutters can not be carried in your pocket.

Beaumont
Collegiate football is banned at Lamar University.

Borger
It is against the law to throw confetti, rubber balls, feather dusters, whips or quirts (riding crop), and explosive firecrackers of any kind.
Clarendon
It is illegal to dust any public building with a feather duster.
Dallas
It’s illegal to possess realistic dildos.
El Paso
Urinating on the streets is illegal.

Appearing in public places wearing a “lewd dress” is prohibited.

Hard Time Marrying Part 2

“These young’uns is got scarlet fever. You ain’t leaving ‘em for this town to deal with. Jist take ‘em on back where you come from.”  The sheriff steadfastly refused responsibility for the children.

“But they ain’t mine.  I don’t even know their names.”

“Ya married their ma ago ain’t cha?  Then they’s yourn!  I hate it for ‘ya, but I ain’t gonna letcha leave ‘em here to sicken the whole town.  We’ll getcha some provisions to help out, but that’s it.  Ya got to git out’a town with them sick young’uns.  Pull this wagon out to that mesquite tree ‘n  I’ll git ‘cha some supplies.

Morosely, Joe waited on the edge of the sorry town as a wagon pulled up.  Shouting at him to stay back, a gimpy old geezer rolled off a barrel of flour, putting a burlap bag of beans beside it, and piling a few cans of milk, a bolt of material, and a few paper wrapped parcels on top of it.  He went on his way, leaving Joe to wrestle them into the wagon the best he could, stowing them so they wouldn’t crush the burning children.

Joe felt as low as he’d ever had, pulling up to his rough cabin. He knew nothing about children or the sick.   Maybe these poor wretches wouldn’t suffer too long.

My Proud Introduction to the World of Opera (Sorry Pavarotti)

I have been described as spaced out, happy go lucky, and sometimes eccentric.  Suffice it to say, I am uninhibited, finding joy in little things.  Most recently, I was described as Pavarotti but I fear it was in jest.  My husband Bud and I, along with Bud’s cousin were making a little trip.  It was a beautiful, sun-drenched day and my spirits were high.  Mid-morning, we stopped in a rest area.  While “resting” I admired the native stone used in its construction and noted the remarkable acoustics of the building.  I immediately channeled Pavarotti, bursting into an amazing rendition of “O Sole Mio.”  I sounded GOOD!  I waxed melodious for a few strains, till a confused lady walked in, interrupting my reverie, fearing she’d interrupted a insane, transgender opera drop out.  I excused myself and left her musing on the madness.

When we got back to our vehicle, Bud said he and his cousin had had a good laugh.  When they were in the men’s room, they’d heard some man, somewhere, singing opera at the top of his lungs and it actually sounded pretty good.  Bud’s cousin did remark the guy sounded happy.

I’ve never had a prouder moment.

Childhood Memories of Food and Family

Bud and I grew up together. He was raised like me, one of five. Like my home, there was plenty of food at mealtime but treats were rare. After school snacks were leftover biscuits, cornbread, or a grizzled flapjack left over from breakfast. Should a bag of cookies or chips miraculously materialize, ravenous kids would fall on it like a hoard of locusts. It brought new meaning to term, “first come, first served!”

Bud’s mom made cookies one evening. He ate all he was allowed before being dispatched to bed. Long after the house quieted, he lay sleepless, those cookies silently beckoning him from the cookie jar. He waited as long as he could stand it before slipping into the dark kitchen surreptitiously opening the cookie jar. Naturally, he was too wily to turn on the lights.

Slipping back into bed, he gobbled his bonanza under the covers. His appetite satiated, he laid back, finally ready for sleep. Moments later, Bud noticed a tingly, ticklish feeling on his hands. Upon investigation, he found them crawling with the remainder of the ants he hadn’t already consumed.

It was the same at the Swain house. I had some dainty little cousins. Their mother constantly worried that they wouldn’t eat. Invariably, Mother embarrassed me by remarking, “My kids eat anything I put in front of them!” Even a blind man could have inferred that by the smacking. It was hazardous to reach for the last piece of chicken. A slow kid might get a fork in the hand.

Anyway, I spent a few days with my non-eating cousin. Still smarting from Mother’s remark, I made up my mind to be a picky eater for the duration. Though it nearly killed me, I turned up my nose at every meal. I even spurned fried chicken and mashed potatoes and gravy, my favorites.

Aunt Bonnie tested me sorely when she emptied her freezer and offered up the remains of a carton of butter pecan ice cream before she tossing it. Along with her honestly snooty kids, I refused to consider it. I very nearly died of heartbreak as she rinsed the carton with hot water and ran the ice cream down the drain. I fear I would have lost my resolve and eaten out of the garbage if she’d left it in the carton in the outdoor garbage can.

By the time I got home, I was gaunt with hunger, having made a point to be pickier than her miniature children. Finally, my efforts were rewarded. The minute we got home, Aunt Bonnie claimed I was the pickiest eater she’d ever seen. I’d worried her to death!”

I was overjoyed! I rushed into the kitchen and snatched a dried out biscuit off Mother’s stove. I hid under the bed and ate it where Aunt Bonnie wouldn’t see me.

This is me and my cousin. We were about a year apart in age. Of course, I was the big one.