A few years ago Mother got the thrilling news that her cousin Cookie’s daughter was getting married. When Cookie and Mother were young, they were dear friends, but time and circumstances had come between them. Now the wedding of a distant cousin’s daughter normally doesn’t make a widowed lady in her late seventies jump for joy, but Continue reading
Storytelling
Baby Blues and Green Parents
We were a good couple. Long before we got married, we agreed completely on important things..foreign policy, religion, life plans. Then we got married. Life was idyllic. We were both in college, working student jobs. Bud had saved over $500 and student loans covered my tuition. Continue reading
Old Wives Tales and Periods
I knew there was some kind of big, stupid mystery even before my “sometimes” friend Margaret Green broke the news to me in the fourth grade. My grandma had started badgering me not to go barefoot and had taken to sneaking peeks at my underwear when she was sorting laundry.
This is some interesting information and dire warnings I was given regarding health care of young ladies after the onset of puberty. My maternal grandmother hissed these warnings at me, though she was hazy on rationale Girls should never go barefoot or get their feet wet after they go into puberty. (She made no mention of how I was to wash my feet or bathe.). I must never bathe or get my head wet or ride a horse during my period. She offered as proof the fact that when my grandpa’s sister was only sixteen, she was riding a horse just before she got ready to take a job as a teacher in her first school. She got caught in a rainstorm while she was having her period and was soaked to the skin. She got galloping pneumonia and died before daybreak. I was never sure if all these variables had to be included for the situation to be deadly. Perhaps if she had been fifteen, walking to her job as a clerk in a store while she was having her period and broke out in chicken pox, she might have escaped with only a few scars on her face.
Also, Grandma warned me young girls shouldn’t ever go swimming. “Never?” I was appalled.
Then she told me of a stubborn cousin of hers who went swimming all the time. “Even when she was expecting! Everyone of her kids had epileptic fits!”
Mother had her own ridiculous rules about hygiene. Hair could only be washed once a week, and never during you period. That was a disaster for us with our oily hair. I’d try to slip around and wash it more often, but she watched us. She insisted on giving us hideous home perms. They were awful! I was so glad when Mother had to much on her mind to to to keep up with trying to enforce all her mindless rules.
The Coon Hunt
Notice the scarecrow man climbing the tree. This is my grandfather, Roscoe Holdaway. He must have been at least seventy years old at the time. The only thing that would have induced him to climb that sapling would have been the dead raccoon he’d just shot hanging on the branch high above his head. Note the rapt attention that coon is getting Continue reading
Fishy Funeral
When my grandson was about two, I went to babysit for a few days while his preschool was on break. While he was happy enough to have me visit, he wasn’t altogether satisfied with my babysitting services. I spent a great deal of time trying to find an activity that pleased him in the late afternoons before his mom got home. They lived Continue reading
Sweet Little Girl and Her Puppy
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
Dirty Deed
My grandson called his mom at work one day. “Mom, do boogers have germs?”
“”Yes.”
“You better clean the IPad screen when you get home.”
“It’ll Grow Back”
I’m sure the hairdressers among you, as well as victims of bad haircuts, can relate to this sad story. This is my sister Phyllis, over at Anchors and Butterflies. Note the beautiful blonde hair. Wouldn’t you just love to have hair like that? Well, many years ago, in a land far away, she was home from college for the weekend, complaining that she needed a haircut, bad. A person could be forgiven for thinking that she meant a bad haircut I was just the one for the job. I got right to work.
Like all jobs skillfully executed, hair cutting looks easy enough. I’d watched it plenty of times and knew just what to do. I wrapped her wet head in a towel and dragged a comb through her hair, despite her fussiness about a mole and her ears. I kind of parted and pinned and got started.
I did pretty well at first, then took a wild whack on one side, getting it really short. When I tried to make the other side match, it looked awful. It was a mess of gashes and ridges. Her scalp shone through in spots. It looked like I’d used rick-rack to cut a pattern. I felt horrible, but started laughing. For some reason, I still thought I could save it, but the laughing gave me away. She jerked the towel away, speeding to the bathroom to look. When I didn’t hear anything, I dared hope she liked it.
“Wah! Boo Hoo Hoo! I’m gonna kill you!” She came flying out of that bathroom gripping her hand mirror and hairbrush headed In my direction.. She chased me around the house three times before Mother got her stopped. Fortunately, I had a good start or I wouldn’t be here to tell the tale.
Mother tried to calm her with some worthless reassurances like, “It doesn’t look that bad.” and her old favorite, “It’ll grow back.” Personally, I’d as soon have my teeth bashed in as be reassured, “It’ll grow back.”
Phyllis left later that day puffy-eyed, wearing a scarf. Mother had scraped up ten dollars for her to get her hair repaired, reassuring her all would be well. Phyllis skipped her classes the next morning, hunting up a “good” hairdresser. He told her he had seen worse haircuts — but couldn’t remember when.
I would like to have included an after picture, but there wasn’t one.
Hard Times With Mettie Knight Swain
Five of Maw Maw’s seven children. My father, Bill Swain is the little boy with wet pants holding the cap. One more child was born after this picture was made. It is likely someone just happened by with a camera and snapped this shot. Continue reading
Nutsrok 