Storytelling

Lou and Lynn Part 1 Memorable Moments: Riding Bikes with Grandma

Grandma was old and slow but could be cool sometimes. She was funny, always ready to play with Lou. Best of all, when Lou they got to spend the night together, Grandma told her stories. Not the “once upon a time kind” but stories about when Grandma was a kid. She must have been a cool kid from the tales she told. The stories went on until Lou went to sleep.


Grandma was horrible at video games, so one day they decided to find something else to do.
Once they got outside, Grandma was worried about riding a scooter. She poked along on an old bicycle, wobbling every time she hit a little bump. “Whoa! Don’t go off and leave me!” It was hard to ride that slowly. Lou rode in circles so Grandma could keep up.

They didn’t get too far before Grandma needed a break. It must be exhausting being that old. Lou was dizzy from the circling anyway. As they parked under a tree and dug into their snack bags, a bolt of lightning split the sky, Thunder crashed all around them. Soon, it was raining so hard they couldn’t see as far as the road. Lou wished she was safe at home with her parents.

Grandma was upset. “There was’t a cloud in the sky when we left! How did this pop up?”

”What are we gonna do? Lou asked. “I’m scared!”

”I don’t like it either” Grandma said. Just then, another ear-splitting crash of thunder rattled the sky.

The next thing Lou knew, she was picking herself up off the ground, surrounded by fallen pears. Grandma must have been scared and run off. Lou was surprised. She didn’t think Grandma could get out of sight that fast, The sun came out. As Lou looked around, a girl fell out of the tree, almost on top of her. She dusted off her shorts and picked up a couple of pears. “Wow! You have a bike. I wish I had a bike! Do you want a pear?”
Lou had never had a pear straight from a tree, nor even seen a pear tree.

“Nah! I’ve got a juice box and some grapes in my backpack.” When Lou looked around, neither her backpack nor Grandma was anywhere in sight.

”Where am I? Where’s my grandma? She was just here.” Lou was confused.

”You’re on my family’s farm and I never saw your Grandma. We’ll look around for her. What’s your name? I’m Lynn. Come on!”

“I’m Lou and I have to find Grandma I don’t remember being this far from town. There’s not even a real road here.” Lou kicked a rock out of the dirt road.

“Come on, Lou. It looks like a break in the rain! Let’s get in the barn before we get soaked!” Lynn took off running, her ponytail bouncing. Her bare feet kicked up a dust. How in the world could she run like than on rocks?

Rain pelted the girls as they dashed in the huge barn doors. As Lou’s eyes got used to the shadows, she saw dust dancing in the sunbeams in through the big open doors. The strange smell made her sneeze. Huge stacks of hay were stacked high up the barn walls, reaching all the way to the ceiling. A few big dog flop-eared dogs burst through the open doors, barking like the they were having a contest. Jumping up on the stairs steps of hay, they rolled around drying themselves off. A big one jumped on a couple of puppies like she was going to tear them apart!

”Stop them’” Lou yelled. “That big dog is going to hurt those puppies!” Lynn didn’t act worried at all.

”Nah. That’s their mama. She’s just teaching them some manners. Here puppies.” At that, the puppies bounced down like rubber balls, licking Lynn for all they were worth. “These silly guys always think I need a bath.”

By now, the rain was pounding the roof so hard Lou had to shout to make herself heard. “Is this a tornado?”

Lynn laughed.”No. It’s fine. Haven’t you ever heard rain on a tin roof?

To be continued

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

Nurses’s Hands

Nurse’s hands are not known for their beauty. More than likely, they are dry, being washed dozens of times a day. Frequent use of lotion can not keep these skilled hands supple and dewy. Nails are most often short, since longer nails interfere with the sensitive touch necessary to perform care. Longer nails are a detriment to gloves essential to protect both nurse, patient, and the environment.

Here you see a man’s strong hands that have cared for so many critically ill patients. Their strength gives no hint of the arthritis he endures daily as he cares for patients. His patients never know os of pain.

This is my hand with its square palm and short ringless fingers. Even though I’ve been retired for years, I find longer nails interfere with my daily tasks. My hands cared for countless patients and charted thousands of words.

This young nurse’s hands are remarkable for their youth and beauty, showing her recent manicure. Nevertheless, as I watched her at work, I was grateful to see her compliance with gloving and handwashing. She professionally and expertly administered my immunizations.

A compassionate nurse comforts an aged patient here. That may be the strongest medicine she has to offer. Many times I sang or talked to my comatose patients, not knowing whether or not I was heard. Numerous times, I’ve had a dying patient call me “Mama.” I never corrected them, thinking perhaps they were seeing Mama.

I’m Pretty Sure I Used to be Cooler

Fifty years ago I’d never have enjoyed sitting around on a Sunday afternoon drinking homemade muscadine wine and eating cold cornbread. My standards have fallen! My little dog is helping with the cornbread. Oh, and it was only one glass!

Not Another One

Long before the advent of “Karens,” I was in a burger place with my kids many years ago and overheard a mother critiquing the burger her young son was half through eating. “Oh no! That’s not done!” Outraged, she asked for the manager. “This is disgusting. Look at the burger! You could kill somebody!”

The manager was polite. “Yes ma’am. Let me get you another.” He quickly replaced her son’s meal.

She sniffed her disdain and snatched the proffered burger. She presented to her little guy who dug in. Again, he finished off about half when Mom pronounced with outrage. “This one’s not done either.” She snatched his burger and tore into the manager.

Soon she was back with another burger. When she unwrapped it for her son, he beseeched her”Mommy, please take this one back. I can’t eat another one!”

It’s My Party

WC
Uncle Jerry drank a little. In fact, Uncle Jerry never drew a sober breath from the time he cashed his paycheck at the liquor store on Friday after work until he got back to the shop on Mondays with a killer hangover. One time he told Bud, “I get paid today and I gotta get drunk. I had the flu all week and feel so bad I cain’t hardly drag. I shore dread it.”
Bud, who’d never been initiated into drinking at the time asked, “Uncle Jerry, if you feel so bad, why do you HAVE to get drunk? Can’t you take a weekend off?”
“Oh no!” Uncle Jerry told him. “I always stay drunk on the weekends.”
He must have been concerned about his reputation. He was Aunt Myrtle’s second husband. At the time I knew them, they’d been married over forty years. If Aunt Myrtle stuck by Uncle Jerry, I can’t imagine what her first husband must have put her through.
Mother went over to visit Aunt Myrtle one Thursday morning, not realizing Uncle Jerry was on vacation. They went out to the garden first to admire Aunt Myrtle’s tomatoes and the green beans that were starting to put out, picking a few for Mother. When they made their way into the kitchen, they encountered Uncle Jerry down on his hands and knees in front of the icebox (not refrigerator). He’d pulled the drawer out and was eating onions and turnips raw with the garden dirt still clinging to them. Considering it was Uncle Jerry, neither one said anything.
He looked up at them and remarked. “This is my icebox and I’ll eat anything I G__ D____ please.” They got their coffee and took it out to drink in the shade.
“Don’t let Jerry worry you none. I forgot to tell you Jerry was on vacation when I told you to come over to get tomatoes,” noted Aunt Myrtle.
“Oh, that’s okay. It is his icebox after all,” Mother replied.

Prayers for Charley

Mother was a forty-year member of her Sunday School Class. She’d grown close to her class members and could be counted on to be in attendance. One Sunday as they made their prayer list, Mother asked for prayers for her four-year-old grandson , Charley, because he’d gotten his foot stuck in a cash register. That broke the composure of the class. Once they stopped laughing, she explained. He was playing with a discarded cash register from his other grandmother’s restaurant when he jammed his chubby little foot in one of the cash slots. His howls brought everyone running to extricate him.

Ewwwwww!

Not long after my cousin started dating Joey, she decided to treat him to her specialty, pancakes with sugar syrup. In case you’re not familiar with sugar syrup, it’s equal parts sugar and water boiled up and perhaps flavored with vanilla or cinnamon to taste. It’s actually very good on pancakes.

She served him up a tall stack of hot buttered pancakes, referring him to the pot of sugar syrup on the stove. He served himself and dug in, instantly spewing out the mouthful. “This is horrible! Is this some kind of sick joke!”

Joy was furious! “What was wrong with him?” Then she looked and saw he’d mistaken a can of bacon grease for the syrup. To make matters worse, he was Jewish.

Lazy

My house is messy. I can see the sun shining on dog hair in a couple of spots. It’s not pretty. There are two throw pillows on the floor by Bud’s chair. A plant has dropped a couple of leaves in the garden room. The plants are crying to be fed and watered. The glass table top is smeared.

Then there’s the kitchen table covered with mail. Croc has slopped water and food on the floor. I need to either mop or planr a garden. Something cooked over on the stove. The countertops and sink need scrubbing.

I’ve been devoting myself to whining and haven’t even made the bed yet. I think I might just make my side, so I don’t mess up my lazy streak. It’s such a mess I’m almost proud.

Worst of all, I won’t be able to get any help out of Bud. He’s working on his jeep. If anyone feels like cleaning house, come on over. I’ll make coffee and teacakes. We’ll have a good visit.

Oh well. I’d better get started.