Storytelling

Dining With Mr. Floyd

Daddy had always wanted a place in the country, but was overwhelmed at the magnitude of work facing him on that totally undeveloped acreage.  It had been homesteaded and farmed shortly after the Civil War, but hadn’t been under production for many years, long enough that most of it was covered in mature timber.  A tangle of locust trees was matted over the old homeplace beneath three huge oaks.  Though we worked hard at clearing  and burning the growth, locust thorns worked up through the ground and pierced our feet for years to come, even through our shoes.

There was more work than one man could do so Daddy hired Mr. Floyd to help harvest the timber and clear the land for pasture. All that timber would finance the payments on the place and make improvements.  Mr. Floyd lived on the fringes of society getting by on odd jobs.  Mr. Floyd was unkempt, rarely bathed, and kept to himself, but had a reputation as a hard worker, He lived in a shack in the woods with his brother, who was not so successful.

Daddy couldn’t afford to pay Mr. Floyd much, so they worked out a deal on a small wage, meals, and lodging in our fine school bus camper. When Mother got a whiff of Mr. Floyd, she told Daddy the camper was dead to her after that. So, Daddy set the camper up on the far edge of his place.  Mr. Floyd moved in with instructions to leave propane off since there might be a leak.  There shouldn’t be a problem anyway, since he’d be taking his meals with us.  

Mother put some old bedding in the camper and Mr. Floyd moved in.  The next morning, he showed up for breakfast before daylight. He didn’t wash his hands, just dove in to the biscuits, grits, and eggs.  His manners served as lessons, thereafter.  “You’re eating like Mr. Floyd.”  He didn’t hog the conversation.  He was too busy with biscuits.

The men and Billy went to work right after breakfast.  It was early summer, but hot as blazes.  When they came in for lunch, Daddy pointed out the bathroom so Mr. Floyd could wash up.  He wasn’t worried about that.  He took the the chair nearest the window Mother had offered him at the breakfast table.  Daddy always sat at the opposite end of the table, the one that got the best breeze from the attic fan.  He sat downwind of Mr. Floyd just long enough to get a whiff of seasoned body odor marinated with the piquant aroma of fresh morning sweat the fan pulled over our guest before jumping up.  “Here Floyd.  Sit here.  It’s the coolest spot.”

Mr. Floyd also taught Mother to cut the cornbread before putting it on the table when he reached for the plate and broke off a big piece before passing it. Phyllis and I both declined cornbread and passed it right along.  I didn’t keep up with who else was feeling picky, but there was a lot of cornbread left after lunch.  None of us kids ever learned to enjoy Mr. Floyd’s company, but he was a necessary evil.

One night, over in the winter, long after work was finished, we heard what sounded like a sonic boom, which was surprising to hear at night.  A few minutes later, Mr. Floyd knocked on the door.  The boom had come from the camper. Mr. Floyd had run low on wood for the heater and opted to use the propane stove, instead, the very same stove Daddy had warned him not to use because he suspected a leak.  Mr. Floyd had lit up a cigarette before bed and came near burning himself up.  It’s bad he got some burns, but good he didn’t gas himself. He was done with the camper after that, so that’s when Daddy let him work out a deal for a 1953 Chevy Sedan Daddy could spare.

The camper was deemed unfit, not only because Mr. Floyd blew it up, but because his strong smell lingered.  You can’t get rid of a fifty dollar just because of that.  A farm can always use storage. Daddy pulled the camper up behind the house to use for feed storage and a place for the dogs to sleep. Mother was furious to have it so near her new house.  From that time on, whenever Daddy had no particular place to store something, it went in the camper. It wasn’t long before the dogs were crowded out of the nice smelly bunks.  Whenever they could, the chickens slipped in and helped themselves to the chicken feed and tried to set up housekeeping.  Rats also liked chicken feed.  Black snakes love eggs, so between the smell, spooked chickens, rats, and snakes it was fairly unappealing.

Rascal Boy

Charley’s appearance was deceptive. A slow-speaking, stodgy little guy, you could have been forgiven for thinking him unobservant. He used this to his advantage, taking in everything around him.

When he was about three, he noticed his dad emptying his pockets one day after work. “What’s that, Daddy?”

Daddy worked for the telephone company and often had to go in yards to do work when customers weren’t home. “That’s dog repellent. I use it if a dog gets after me. Don’t mess with it.” Both went on their merry way.

It just happens, Charley had history with Granny’s mean little dog. Boochie snapped at Charley every time Charley got close. I expect, not without cause. The next time Charley went to Granny’s, Boochie came after Charley, who was armed and ready. Boochie was heard squealing and made a hasty retreat out the doggy door.

Stodgy little Charley trudged out behind him. In a minute, Boochie was heard squealing a couple of more times in rapid succession. That got dad up to investigate. It seems young Charley had appropriated Dad’s dog repellent and was putting it to good use. He had poor Boochie on the run. All’s well that ends well. Dad confiscated the dog repellent. Boochie never interacted with Charley again.

Most Expensive Meal

What’s the most money you’ve ever spent on a meal? Was it worth it?

The most we ever spent on a meal was fifty dollars a person for my dear daughter-in-law’s birthday. She wanted an evening out with us and another couple she loved. The food was good and the company was wonderful. I loved that she wanted to share her birthday with us. We are so lucky she loves us.

Iced Tea

Iced tea was a treat reserved for Aunt Julie’s house. Mother felt the caffeine kicked us into high gear. However, dinner at Aunt Julie’s was a happy exception. While the adults sat at the table, us kids sat with our plates on the floor. Aunt Julie served us sweet, iced tea in large goblets. I have tasted better tea since. I could have skipped the meal and filled up on that rare treat, knowing I wouldn’t get it again before my next visit. I suppose Mother allowed it at Aunt Julie’s because Aunt Julie insisted. What a wonderful aunt! I still love her for that

A Hog a Day Part 2

We all piled in Daddy’s GMC truck and headed for Mr. Rose’s house as soon as my sister caught the school bus.  I was normally jealous she got to  to school, but today, I was glad to be going to the Rose’s. I was in hopes I’d get to ride in the back of the truck with its tall cattle frame but Mother shot that down.  Billy and I bounced along on the seat between Mother and Daddy, dust fogging in the open windows as we made our way down that red dirt road way back to the Rose’s farm.
Even though it was hot and hadn’t rained in days, its deep, dried ruts made for slow.going. From time to time, Daddy made a point to hit a bump harder, just to give us a delightful thrill. I was amazed to see a young doe and her fawn step out of the deep woods and cross in front of us.  I’d heard of deer, but never seen one.  I was hopeful Santa’s sleigh might be right behind her, but Mother assured me he’d only be around at Christmas.

Eventually the Rose’s neat farm and unpainted house came into view.  Billy and I trailed Daddy and Mr. Rose to the barn, where they were loaded up a few squealing pigs to take to the auction.  Daddy always did such fascinating things, while Mother stayed home to cook, clean, and take care of the kids.  It didn’t look like much of a deal to me.  I decided early on I needed to figure out a way to be a boy, an idea I abandoned later.  The pigs didn’t seem happy at all about their ride in the truck, even though they did get to ride in the back.

Pigs loaded, the men disappeared on their journey.  At the time, a trip to the auction with a truckful of squealing pigs seemed as epic as setting off to search for the Holy Grail, had I heard of such a thing.  Even though I’d been told I wasn’t going, my heart broke anew seeing them drive off with that load of pigs.  Life just wasn’t fair!  I needed to ride in the back of that truck with those pigs and maybe see another deer.

Heartbroken, I staggered back to the house where I found Mother and Miss Bessie having coffee at the oil-cloth covered kitchen table.  Salt, pepper, a jug of syrup, a sugar bowl, a jar of homemade jam, and one of those cute, tiny cans of Pet Milk sat in the center of the table.  My feelings were greatly repaired when Miss Bessie set a plate with a jam-filled biscuit and two slices of bacon in front of me.   Then, wonder of wonders, she asked if I wanted a cup of coffee.  At our house, no coffee or tea for children was a moral issue.  My parents frequently remarked how wrong it was that one of my aunts allowed her children sips of coffee.  Unbelievably, Mother allowed it, “Just this one time.”  Miss Bessie poured a little coffee, mixed in a lot of milk, and two teaspoons of sugar.  That was the best cup of coffee I ever had.  That heavenly elixir totally cured my heartbreak.

to be continued

A Hog a Day

Photo from Library of Congress. Notice images of mother and child, fashionable young woman and Santa Claus, and other papers papers on wall.

“I had to kill a hog a day to feed them boys of mine.”  I was impressed.  Mr. Rose’s boys were grown and  gone, but I couldn’t get that image out of my mine as I looked around at the house the old man  shared with Miss Bessie.  Kids have the luxury of not having the responsibility of conversation, so I could enjoy the whole experience of listening, hospitality, and looking at everything as much as I liked, as long as I didn’t touch anything.  Believe me, I was not tempted to touch with both my parents vigilantly looking on.  The room was fascinating, but I did wish I could see those boys who could eat a hog a day.

No rug covered the white pine floor. Old newspapers and magazine pages were tacked  on the exterior walls of the room with no regard for their orientation served as wallpaper.  The loveliest was a beautiful young woman with blonde curls piled high on her head.  She wore a blue gingham dress with ruffled sleeves and carried an equally beautiful ham on a large platter.  That gorgeous ham was crisscrossed with slashes and garnished with pineapple slices, maraschino cherries, and cloves.  I practically salivated at its loveliness.  Its charm was enhanced by the fact that the image had been tacked upside down.  Somehow, seeing it upside down made it more memorable.  Though I have tried many times, I have never prepared a ham so lovely.

A large fireplace made of red iron ore rock centered one end of the sitting room.  The brick hearth extended out a few feet into the the  room.  Miss Bessie invited me and my brother to sit on the hearth and warm up.  I sat flat at a safe distance from the glowing embers.  Its waxy-looking orange and yellow coals looked alive.  I couldn’t look away from the story they seemed to be whispering to me.  Though the conversation was fascinating, both me and my brother eventually nodded stretched out on the heat-soaked hearth before the glowing fire in the way only a small child could.  I know now, Mother had to have had her eye on me to keep me safe from the fire.

Before dozing off, I heard Mr. Rose tell of the night the house almost caught fire.  He must have thought I was asleep or he’d never have told of being naked, a thrilling tidbit..  “It was way over in January, the coldest night of the year.  I banked the fire real good like I always do.  We was in bed soon as Bessie got the kitchen cleaned up, right after dark.  Seems like the cold went right through me.  I just couldn’t wait to git under them quilts.  I always slept naked, I don’t know why.  I just got the habit early and never changed it.  Anyway, I was dead asleep and Bessie woke me up.

‘Grady, git up!  I smell smoke.  The house is on fire!’

“I jumped out of that bed!  Sure enough, I smelled pine burning.  I seen where a spark had done dropped down where some mortar had fell down n the back of the firebox between a hole in the bricks.  I clumb  under the house and found where it had set the pine sleeper that run under the floor on fire.  They warn’t no flames yet, but it was getting ready to bust out.  I called Bessie to bring me a bucket of water.  She come flying up and instead of passing it to me, she doused me with that bucket of water.  I mean to tell you I put that fire out!”

Happy Things

List 30 things that make you happy.

1. Family

2. Home

3. Dogs

4. Friends

5. Writing

6. Reading

7. Sunshine

8. Flowers

9. Being outdoors

10. Travel

11 Laughing

12. Cooking

13. Helping

14. Someone else cleaning my house

15. Summer rain

16. Wind

17. Lemon

18. Fruit

19. Witty kids

20. Cooking for loved ones

21. Making gifts

22. Visiting my children

23. The beach

24. The mountains

25. Folk music

26. Classical music

27. Good friends

28. Good times

29. Ice cream

30. WordPress

Surprise at the Surprise Party

Surprise party

Illustration by Kathleen Holdaway Swain

Connie and Marilyn were adorable little girls, born a little over a year apart. Born fouth and fifth of five children, we all doted on them, with the exception of my brother Billy, who was displaced by all that cuteness. Mother dressed them in pastel shades of the same style dresses as much as she could. Connie was fair and blue-eyed with cotton white hair; Marilyn olive-skinned, brown-eyed with darker hair. Naturally, they were inseparable. Connie, the older, was protective of Marilyn and invariably gave over to her, calling her “Myrnie.”

As Mother rocked Connie, it was obvious the sweet toddler was deep in thought. After a bit, Connie asked, “Mommy did God give me to you and Daddy?”

“Yes,” Mother answered.

Connie thought, “Did God give Myrnie to you and Daddy?”

“Yes.”

“Why? God didn’t want no kids.?” Connie puzzled.

Like most large families, we all had responsibility. Phyllis and I helped to care of the little ones. I was very scatterbrained, so whichever one Phyllis took care of got a better deal than my charge. When they were three and four, both were invited to a birthday party one Saturday afternoon. Phyllis and I dressed them in their little party dresses. Both were ready with one small exception. I left Marilyn’s little ruffled panties in the dryer till the last second. As they sat in a chair to stay clean, Mother came through and was delighted at the sight of her precious little girls. She took their little hands and led them to the car. Mother was running behind and hadn’t really had time to dress up for the party, so she just sent the girls in and went back home to fix herself up to socialize with the ladies when she got back.

On her return, as she pulled into the drive, the little party-goers were all gathered around the front steps. Marilyn was on the top step with all the children yelling for her to jump. As Mother watched from the car, Marilyn’s little party dress fluttered, the kids cheered. Mother was concerned, not remembering Marilyn having panties that odd nude color. Mother skipped coffee rushing the little girls to the car. She anxiously ran her hand up Marilyn’s leg. Just as she’d feared, Marilyn didn’t have any nude-colored panties. The ruffled panties matching her dress still waited in the dryer at home.

Mother was livid when she stormed home with Marilyn and her bare bottom. You’d think Marilyn was the first girl who ever went to a party without panties. She assumed I was at fault and not ready to hear any excuses. As Mother said her piece, it finally struck her as funny. The more we talked, the funnier it got. When the hysteria crescendoed the preacher dropped by. Naturally, he was worried to find us all with tears streaming down our faces. Phyllis and I abandoned Mother to make her explanations.

This wasn’t my first or last mess up. I never knew why Mother considered me capable.
Connie and Marilyn's Toddler Pictures

Miss Tillie Tittilates the Heathen

imageMiss Tillie, my Sunday School Teacher held my attention like no other before or since, giving the class candy, bubble gum, and tiny little paper umbrellas if we learned our Bible verses. Mother thought she ought not to bribe us to do our lessons. I thought Mother ought to mind her own business. Miss Tillie had already taught Sunday School for thirty years by the time I had her in 1956. She still wore lacy dresses left over from her daughter’s high school days when she didn’t opt for gabardine suits with oversize shoulder pads from the forties. She showed up once a month with robin’s egg blue hair that faded over the next three weeks to a pale lavender. We always complimented her when it was at its brightest and she’d shyly say, “Can you believe I don’t even have to color it?” I couldn’t. She still wore seamed stockings long after the other ladies wore seamless. I always looked forward to seeing a special one with a mended run she wore every third Sunday. I got to know Miss Tillie before I was old enough to know she was a little wacko, so I admired all her differences.

Miss Tillie was so sweet I wouldn’t have wanted to misbehave. The naughty words in the Bible caused her a big problem. She couldn’t bring herself to say the bad words like lie, sin, Hell, and ass, so she made modest substitutions such as fibbing, doing wrong, the bad place, and donkeys. The lesson of Samson versus the Philistines was a challenge for her. Starting out fine, she described Samson’s great strength and glorious hair, reminding us of his obedience to God. Things were going well until the battle reached its zenith. With her modesty, she couldn’t possibly say, “Samson slew ten-thousand Philistines with the jawbone of an ass,” so after a great deal of obvious preparation and practice, she concluded the lesson with a flourish, “and so Samson picked up the assbone of a donkey and slew ten-thousand Philistines.” That lesson is still burned in my brain.