Storytelling

Nostalgic Christmas Gifts: A Tricycle Story

I got a bright shiny, red tricycle like this one might have looked the Christmas of 1953. My older sister got the big kid version. It had a gigantic front wheel and step for an additional rider. That was fortunate, since in the manner of three-year-olds everywhere, I carelessly abandoned it where I finished riding, right behind the back tire of Daddy’s truck.

Of course, he backed over it, destroying it. Naturally, it scared the pudding out of him. In the manner of 1950’s parents, he wore my behind out for scaring him and making him ruin my tricycle. That was a wasted lesson. He’d already demonstrated what a truck did to a tricycle. To make it worse, the smashed tricycle lay near the front gate for a while before hitting the trash.

Fortunately, my sister let me ride behind her all over the yard. When she was otherwise occupied, I appropriated it and propelled it like a scooter. I remembered my previous lesson and didn’t park it behind Daddy’s truck.

In the prosperous days before my parents indulged begetting, we got bigger Christmas gifts. One memorable Christmas, I got a Radio Flyer Red Wagon, my second set of wheels. I convinced my parents to let me bring it to my uncle’s house on Christmas Day. My cousin and I got one unforgettable ride down a steep gravel road narrowly missing plunging into a deep creek before it occurred to my parents to set limitations on its use.

Fortunately, my precious red wagon wasn’t damaged.

Payin’ for My Raisin’

I used to hear that phrase a lot when I messed up as a kid. “You’re gonna have to pay for your raisin’.” Truer words were never spoken. At ninety-six, my mother lives quite happily in an independent living apartment. Well, she should be happy. She has friends, eats three meals a day in the dining room, has her apartment cleaned, and her laundry done. The only thing she does is make her bed.

This morning, I picked Mother up at nine am for her doctor’s appointment. I drooped her off right at the entry, parked the car, and escorted her to the office, got her seated and checked in.

“How long till they take us back?” she asked.

“Probably not long.” I told her. “We’re a few minutes early.”

“I hope not.” she grumbled. “It’s cold in here.”

They called her in at nine-thirty on the dot, her appointment time. “Right on time.” I said. “That’s good.”

They weighed her, took her to a room, and checked her vitals. A very nice medical assistant took her medication list and history. “I’ll be back to take you for a scan. she told Mother.

“I hope she gets right back. There’s no point in keeping me waiting. What else does she have to do?” Mother complained.

The woman was back in seven minutes. “I’m sorry you had to wait. I had two ahead of you.” she explained. She took Mother’s arm, carefully walking her to the scan. I relaxed, looking forward to checking my email while Mother was occupied. It seemed like they were back in less than five minutes.

“I’ll tell the nurse you’re ready.” the assistant said.

“How long will that nurse be?”Mother queried before the door closed.

“I don’t know. You saw the office was full. Maybe it won’t be too long. “ I said.

“They ought not to book so many.” She was kind of crabby. I reminded her she only has this big check up yearly and has to have a lot done. Last year we were here three hours.

“It will take as long as it takes. We’ll go to lunch when we’re done.” I reminded her.

“I’m already hungry. Oh yeah. I have to take my medicine!” She dug through her jacket and pants pockets fruitlessly. “Dern, I don’t have it. What’s gonna happen if I don’t get it on time? I’ve never been late before.”

That was news to me. I could have sworn we’ve been through this dozens of times.

“Mother, look again. I’m sure you have it. There it is! You can get a cup of water when the nurse comes in.” No such luck. I had to ask for a cup of water.

We waited. Mother fussed. “Where is that nurse? Did she go off to lunch and leave me waiting?” Mother is not usually fussy but she was wound up today.

“Mother, they have a lot of staff here. I’m sure they don’t go off and leave you waiting. They’ll be here when they get here. We just have to wait.” I tried to sound patient.

At eleven, the nurse saw Mother,and broke the news it would be a short wait till she could see the doctor as well as have an xray and go to lab. Mother smiled sweetly. When the door closed, I braced myself.

“We’ve been here forever. I’m ready to go!” She spouted.

“Well, we can’t till we’re done.” I told her. By noon we were out the door. Can you imagine how many times Mother lived through this scenario with five children?

Why Patient Assessment is Crucial in Nursing

One of my nursing instructors shared this story. I’m so glad it didn’t happen to me. I’m sure I’d have an anal sphincter malfunction.

Her cancer patient had asked for a pain shot. Of course she’d developed critical anxiety dreading giving her first injection. It took her forever to check and recheck herself in preparation. Eventually, the big moment came. Her instructor helped her position the unfortunate patient and guided her through the shot and repositioning the patient. She sighed with relief till her instructor told her to her to check the patient’s vitals. To her horror, she couldn’t find a blood pressure, heartbeat, or respirations. Having no confidence in her skills, she tried again. Nothing! Terrified she had just killed her patient, she looked to her instructor who spoke to her levelly. “Always assess your patient before you do anything. She died while you were gone to get her medication.”

I’m sure she never forgot that lesson. I certainly didn’t.

Battery Socks

My brother was an avid deer hunter. That Christmas Mother bought him a gift of battery-powered heated socks. This seemed like a great idea, since deer season fell during cold weather. Bill was up long before dawn, dressing for the hunt. Sadly, the Christmas budget hadn’t extended far enough for the purchase of hunting boots. Never fear. His new socks would keep his feet warm. He layered his clothes down to his fine, new battery socks. To ensure his comfort, he pulled plastic bread bags on over his shoes.

He set up in his deer stand, knowing he’d be comfortable. All went well for a few minutes until the heated socks encased in plastic bread bags made his feet sweat. It felt like ants were eating him up. Frantically, he stripped of bread bags, shoes, and his fine, new battery-powered socks, leaving him standing on the cold, cold ground with his sweaty feet. What a treat for a frosty morning!

Sew and Sew Part 4

I went to a tiny high school. There were only nine in my graduating class. All the girls had to take four years of Home Economics, the boys four years of agriculture. I benefited from the sewing instruction. I was horrified to learn what my sewing project was to be my senior year. We were to make a fully-lined wool tailored suit with lapels, welt pockets, bound buttonholes, and set in sleeves. The skirt had side pockets and a set-in waistband. The other concern was the extreme cost of the fabric. I’d never sewn fabric that expensive, not to mention it would be an extreme stressor to my family’s budget. Somehow, they came up with enough money, forty-five dollars.

I was terrified to put scissors to the fabric. I measured, pinned, remeasured, and could finally could put off the cutting no longer. I had the teacher check every step. Each day, I folded every precious piece carefully and put it in my sewing box, terrified one would slip into the trash and doom my project.

My anxiety increased exponentially when my friend, Mary, folded her scissors inside her jacket pieces. She was devastated the next morning to unpack her project and found her scissors had cut a one inch slash in the right front portion of her jacket. Naturally, she was distraught. The whole class was traumatized, seeing her disaster. She had no extra fabric.

The teacher comforted her, assured Mary there was a solution, and showed us all the pattern could easily be altered to put a pocket with a flap on both sides of the jacket. The change actually was more attractive than the original design.

That lesson amazed me, increasing my confidence. I was able to go forward with less reassurance, competing my project with pride. I wore that suit with confidence. It was one of the nicer outfits I ever owned. Mary’s suit turned out beautifully as well.

From that point forward, I knew that if I didn’t have the skills I needed, I could research and get the information I needed. Sewing has served me well. I bought a sewing machine and made everything the children and I wore until peer pressure made them insist on name brand clothes.

This is the exact pattern I used.

Sew and Sew Part 3

Home Economics in ninth grade pushed me a little harder. I had to make a two piece outfit with a collar, long sleeves, and cuffs with buttons. That meant lots of buttonholes since the blouse buttoned up the back. The skirt had to have pockets, a zipper,a set in waste band and a kick pleat. It taxed me. I ripped out at least half my stitches and redid them. Sewing a straight seam is harder than it looks. To make matters worse, the teacher assigned a home sewing project with the same specifications as the in class project due at the end of same grading period.

The home sewing project was a bigger challenge since I didn’t have the teacher casting her expert eye on every stitch I made. In theory, I would remember all the skills I’d learned in class and practice them on the home project. Sadly, I’d retained little. I struggled with every step. Of course, I didn’t get right on it, so my meagre skills diminished as each day passed. That project was a total misery, but I did finally get a barely acceptable product turned in. I was grateful for a c+ on it.

A couple of girls in the class turned in projects made by their mothers and got A s. I was so jealous!

I wore both those outfits till they wore out. After I struggled through that class, I had sufficient skills to start making my own clothes, though I still had a lot to learn.

Miss Laura Mae’s House Part 16

image

As Miss Laura Mae continued with her story of Myrtle and Little Jackie, he was about my age. Maybe he’d come to visit sometime and we could play.

“Myrtle like to threw a fit when she got back in the car, but I told her I didn’t want to hear no more about it. That boy told her he didn’ want no company. She could just hush up about it to me. She might be forty-five years old but I was still her mama and didn’ mean to listen to no fit throwin’.

She sulled up like a possum, but we went on to her sister-in-law, Judy’s. She sweetened right up when we got there, tellin’ ‘em what a fine place Little Jackie had. To hear her talk, you’d a’thought we got the royal tour. I had a real good time at Judy’s. She had a big ol’ pool. I didn’ wanna git in, but she fixed me up a cushion and I dangled my feet while the kids swam. I don’t think Myrtle liked it much when I stripped my shoes and stockin’s off in front of ‘em, but that cool water was just the thing on a hot day. Judy kept bringin’ me them icy lemon drinks. She tol’ me they was spiked a little but they sure was good. After a while, her husband got me in one a’them floatin’ chairs out in the pool with the rest of ‘em. Myrtle didn’ git in. She was just a’settin in the shade a’drinkin’ them lemon drinks. That floatin’ chair was a fine thing. I wouldn’ mind havin’ one to put in my pond, but I ain’t sure I could git in it by myself. Yes Siree. I had me a fine time at Judy’s. When I got out, Judy loaned me a nightgown and put my clothes in the clothes dryer while I took a nap. That clothes dryer was a handy thing, but I don’t know that I’d want one. Stuff just didn’ smell as nice as line-dried. We ended up spending the night since Myrtle wasn’ up to drive home. It wouldn’ a’hurt my feelings to stayed a week at Judy’s. That’s the best time I had.

Anyways, we headed home Tuesday mornin’. Me an’ Myrtle both kind’a had a headache, so we didn’ talk a lot on the way. When Jack got in Tuesday night, Myrtle started in, “Little Jackie wouldn’t even invite us in after me and his grandma made a special trip by to see him. I don’t know what is wrong with that boy. He thinks he’s too good for us since your daddy set him up in that furniture store.”

“Now, Myrtle, you knew when you went by there he wasn’t looking for company. You’ve tried to control that boy his whole life. Now leave him in peace. That’s the last I want to hear of it. When Jackie wants you to come see him, he knows how to invite you.”

After Jack left out, Myrtle continued. “I bet he had a woman in there and didn’t want me to know. No wonder he didn’t invite us in. Oh, I do hope he is getting serious. He’s such a good-lookin’ boy, I know he could get a girl. He’s a snappy dresser, too. Maybe he’s planning to get married. I do hope so. He worked so hard in college he didn’t have time to date, but maybe now since he’s working, he’s got a girlfriend. That was silly of me to go by there like that. Of course, he didn’t need no drop in company on the weekend.”

I didn’ think that was it, but I kept my mouth shut.

Thursday night, Little Jackie come over. “Hey, Mama. Hey Grandma. You’re looking good. How in the world are you?”

“Just fine as frog’s hair. You’re sure a sight for sore eyes. Tell me what you’re up to. I’m real proud your grandpa set you up with that nice store.” We talked all through supper.

Finally, Jackie faced his mama. “Mama, I hated I couldn’t invite you in last Sunday. You came at a bad time. I’ve been working a lot and I’d slept late. It wouldn’t have been a good time at all. You couldn’t have gotten through the place. I’m doing some work on it. I was going to tell y’all a little later, but now I’ll go ahead. That big old house is way too big for just me. It’s got six bedrooms……”

Myrtle burst in, “I knew it! I knew it! You’re getting married! I should’ve known there was some reason we hadn’t heard much out of you since you got that place.”

Jackie looked pained. “No Mama. Where’d you get such a wild idea? I am remodeling the house so I can take in boarders. I can rent those rooms out to single men and make a lot of money. I’ll still have my apartment downstairs and rent out the rest. Won’t that be a great idea! One fellow has already moved in and is doing a lot of the work. ”

Hogwagon

What is your all time favorite automobile?

This sounds like a bonafide hillbilly story but I’ll tell it anyway. When Daddy bought his farm, it was covered in trees which had to be removed to create pasture. He came up on a bastardized vehicle that had been cobbled together that was ideal for pulling stumps. An avid hog hunting neighbor had acquired a bizarre amalgamation of various vehicles that met Daddy’s needs perfectly. It was a cutdown school bus with no windshield. An ancient truck seat replaced the bus seat. It had a flathead v-8 motor that was geared low enough to pull tree stumps. Its most distinguishing feature was a wire cage on the back the former owner had transported wild hogs in. With tractor tires on the back and big truck tires on the front, boggy ground was never a problem.

Christened the “Hogwagon,” this vehicle was a wonder to behold. Of course it could only be used off-road. Daddy could hook it to a stump, pull the stump till the deep roots were exposed, maneuver around till he could cut deep roots with his power saw and eventually pull the stump out of the ground. It was amazing to see the stump finally lose the battle against the hog wagon. Daddy cleared forty acres in a few months. With that job complete, the Hog Wagon fell into disuse, It had certainly helped Daddy complete a monumental task in record time.

Sew and Sew

In the years after my big 4-H apron failure, I had little interest in sewing. Mother did take time to show me how to use her “new” second-hand electric machine enough to sew up rips. She was a barely adequate seamstress with only the basic skills to show me, even though she made most of our clothes. She avoided challenges steering away from fussy details.

Mother rarely took time for mending, so if I got a rip, I was on my own. Of course, I mastered sewing on buttons. I think one afternoon she guided me through making a simple gathered skirt on a waist band. The button at the waist had a wide overlap, making it ok without a zipper. The waistband had no interfacing to make it hold its shape. My stitching wavered. All in all, it was tacky and amateurish. It screamed homemade!

In the eighth grade, all girls had to take home economics. I made a flannel robe with a snap front. All went well till I had to sew braid down the front panel, covering the snaps. I had trouble keeping the braid lined up over the snaps. I broke several sewing machine needles by sewing too close to the edge of the snaps. I think the department was running out of needles, so my teacher did the last few inches. The robe was an improvement over the skirt I’d made at home with Mother’s help.

I was delighted to get a B on it, but I think the teacher had had enough! I wore that robe till it shredded. I felt like I’d learned quite a bit.