This story is one that I have pondered over in my mind for a couple of months now. I believe that it is one of those stories that possibly you would just had to have been there to get the real hilarity of it. I will try my best to do justice to the incident. As in most of my stories thus for, I have to tell a story or two in order to get down to the story that I actually want to tell, so please be patient in your reading, there is a story here....
Anyone near or around Bell City and knew my dad, knows that he liked his drink. Beer was his drink of choice, although he did usually keep a pint of peach brandy in his top dresser drawer (and that will be another story someday).
I wouldn't go as far as to say he was an alcoholic, he was a road grader man for Pike Township and worked every day that the weather permitted, but about every couple of weeks he would get up on Saturday morning and announce that he was going to get a 'haircut'. Which in short meant he was going to Vanduser or Hilltop, or to 'the beer joint' as mom used to call it.
He would usually stay all day and when he came home late in the afternoon he would be rather 'soused'. He never was mean to us kids or mom when he drank, rather the contrary. When I was sixteen and just got my drivers license, I would pray that dad would go drinking, because when he came home he would pitch me the car keys and $10.00 or $20.00. I have felt very guilty as i've gotten older when I remember this, not so much at taking the car as much as taking the money, I know that mom probably cringed when I would grab the money and run, because looking back, I know that it was money that they desperately needed.
When dad would go spend all day getting his "haircut" we all knew what was coming when he finally came home. Mom was waiting on him! He would sit down at the kitchen table and drink his coffee, and mom would fuss and fuss at him. Mainly about spending money that we needed. He would just sit there, and listen to her and not say anything at all. After a while of drinking coffee and listening to her rant he would get up and say "I have heard about all of this I want to hear" and go to bed. That would make mom madder than ever. I think if she would have had a gun she probably would have shot him right where he sat.
On this one particular Saturday, dad got up and made the announcement that it was time to get his haircut..... yep, he was going to the tavern. He, of course, stayed all day and when he came home late that afternoon, and made his way to the kitchen table, he looked at mom and me and 'tried' to tell us that he was trying out some teeth. (He and mom had both had their teeth pulled a few years before, and they always said they were going to get some false teeth whenever they could afford to.) But this pair of false teeth that he had in his mouth was way too big, and every time he tried to talk, they would go sideways, and nearly fall out. I thought I was going to die from laughing so hard at him. When asked where in the world he got these teeth he proudly announced that "Hank let him try them to see if he liked them." OH YES!! he had someone else's teeth in his mouth!!! Mom was furious with him for being gone all day anyway, much less coming home with someone else's teeth in his mouth. She would fuss at him a minute or so and then turn her back and laugh, fuss a little, laugh a little. Every time he opened his mouth these teeth would nearly fall out. He would say "damn things won't stay in." OH MY GOSH, I was nearly on the floor laughing so hard at him. This went on for at least an hour, while mom tried to keep a straight face while talking to him. He finally gave up, took the teeth out of his mouth, and put them in his pocket, and went to bed. Mom and I rolled with laughter. The story has been told, that the next day he got up early and went up to the 'pool hall' to have his morning coffee, as was his habit as long as I can remember. Hank comes in the cafe and sits down by him on a stool. Hank says, "damn,Goob! I don't know what happened yesterday, or what we did, but I've lost my false teeth." Dad starts laughing and reaches in his shirt pocket and says, "Well Hank, I think I found them."
'
Needless to say these two friends never lived this story down as long as they both lived. Dad left this world in 1974 still toothless. Before he died, he made his peace with the Lord, and even after the Dr.s told him that it would help his kidneys if he would drink a beer a day, he would not touch one. I remember thinking, how ironic, he has drank his whole life, and now that he is on his deathbed and it might actually help him, he would not have any part of it. Hank, or Henry, used to come in the cafe when Don and I owned it in the 90's and he still would laugh about the day when he and dad shared a pair of false teeth. Henry has been gone several years too.
Although, I think this sharing of the teeth was about the most gross thing I have ever witnessed, it was also the most hilarious moment of my childhood. Mom and I would talk about it for years after dad was gone and I still think about it quite often, it always puts a smile on my face. I will forever remember that proud look on his face as he showed us his teeth and also the despair on my mom's face. As mad as she was at him she couldn't keep a straight face either...........
As I said at the beginning of the story, I am sure the total hilarity can not be written down on paper, I am positive that you had to witness the sight in order to really appreciate it. It is a sight that I will never, ever forget........
draft
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
THE OLD GALLON JUGS
You know how it feels when you are so thirsty for a cold drink of water? Nothing else but water? No soda, no juice, just plain cold water. I found myself with this kind of thirst today at work. I don't know what brings on a thirst like this. Dehydration? Eating something salty? Or just the 85 degree weather that we have had the last couple of days. Never the less, I made my thirst known to my co workers. I noticed that one of the girls, 'Lora' left out of the room for a minute and when she came back in, she had this huge jug of ice cold water with her. She had filled it up that morning and put it in the refrigerator. She brought it in and flopped it down in front of me. AAAAHHHHH!!!! Thank you, Thank you, Thank you!!! I picked the jug up and drank directly from the mouth of it. So very cold, and oh soooo good. The water trickled out of the side of my mouth and down my chin and dripped on the table. I was immediately taken back in time, to another way of life, a very young age..........
My mother had several of glass gallon jugs that had these silvery looking screw on lids. I would call these jugs multi=purpose, for they were used for everything around the house. In the summer months she would make a gallon of tea every day in one of these jugs. Not this instant stir with a spoon stuff. She had this little metal tea bag that she would fill with loose tea, boil it in a pan of water on the stove top, then pour that in the gallon jug with a half a bag of sugar (joking) and then fill it up with water. The first thing that my dad would ask for when he got home from work on those hot sweltering summer days, was a glass of ice tea. By the time supper was over and time for bed the gallon of tea would be about gone, so the next day she would get up and make another gallon.
These jugs also had domestic uses too. I remember that she had one that was filled with buttons. Every kind of button you could think of. See, back in those hard times, you didn't throw things like buttons away. When a piece of clothing was totally outgrown by all the kids, and was no longer mendable, mom would cut the buttons off of the garment and rip out the zipper, if it had one. These were precious items that could be reused many times o'er. She would throw all of these buttons in a jug, when a button was needed for a shirt or dress, then WA-LAH!! She had just the button to fit the hole.
Another use for these jugs was to store garden seed. I remember packs or envelopes of tiny little seeds that she had savored from the plants themselves I suppose. I know that she bought some seeds from the local hardware store too. She would have this gallon jug of seeds sitting in a corner of the kitchen waiting until spring and time to put them in the ground. Seems like there was always a jug of seeds sitting there summer and winter.
The memory that my cold drink of water triggered the most though takes me back to when I was about 4 or 5 years old. This would be somewhere around 1957-1958'ish. From then, and until I was in about the 3rd grade or so, school was closed every fall for a few weeks for 'cotton picking vacation'. (The younger ones that read this will think this is crazy, but the people my age and older will totally relate.) This was a time before the modern machinery of cotton pickers and combines or whatever these farmers use these days. The cotton that was picked back then was done with 2 arms and 10 fingers. You had to pull a sack that was 6 to 8 feet long. It had a strap that draped over one shoulder and you pulled it behind you as you actually picked cotton off the stalk and threw it in the sack. It was just a given that most kids helped their parents work in the fields during this time. I remember that you got paid by the pound. However many pound of cotton that you picked in a days time you got so much money at the end of the day. Not only was this money used by the kids to buy school clothes and supplies, lots of times it was used to put food on the table and to stock up on dry good items, i.e. sugar, flour, lard, for the winter months. You could drive by a field of cotton and see maybe 20 or 30 people working in the field.
Now I got really lucky here. I was the 'baby' of the family and so I didn't see a whole lot of these cotton picking days like my older brothers and sisters did. I mostly remember laying on my mom's sack with my baby doll, after she got it about half full, and having her drag me down the field one little drag at a time, like I was the Queen of Sheeba or something. Every once in a while I would rise from my throne and pick a couple of 'wads' of cotton and throw them in her sack. Sometimes I would take a nap while the others worked. My main interest was what was waiting at the end of the cotton row. And yes, you guessed it. It was the gallon jug of water. Mom would always pre-plan what row of cotton that we were going to be in on the way back. You see, when picking cotton, you go down one row, all the way to the end, and sometimes that could be a quarter of a mile or so, and then back up another row before you ever got to that blessed drink of water. Mom would put that jug of water under neath a big leafy cotton stalk to keep the sun off of it. That would keep it as cool as was possible on a warm day without ice. When we would reach the end that held that water jug, we would all run and line up to get our drink. Who cared about being sanitary, just give me a drink. Water would run out of our mouths, down our chins, down our elbows and a dirty little splat of mud would hit the ground. Sometimes the boys would get in trouble for 'wasting' the water, because who could have a whole big jug of water in their hands on a very warm fall day without a little bit of a water fight. Of course, mom knew if the water ran out before the day ended then we were in trouble. Funny that thought never crossed our minds!! At the end of the day when the 'weighing' was done, all of the cotton sacks rolled up, and our lunch box all gathered, mom would say ' one of you kids get the water jug'. Most of the time it was an argument over who was going to carry it to the car.
Now, I am not saying that I miss those times in life, although they do make for good memories. I am thankful that life is much easier now. I wish that I had one of mom's old gallon jugs,I don't know what ever happened to them. Maybe they got broken through the years. Maybe she gave them away. If I had one maybe I would make tea in it. Maybe I would have a button collection. Maybe I would just have me a nice cold drink of water from it. But I am thinking that it doesn't really matter, that when you are hot and tired and you have an unquenchable thirst, whether it comes from a bottle from a grocery store, a faucet from a sink, or an old gallon jug, its the cool clear refreshing drink of only the water itself that satisfies the thirst......
My mother had several of glass gallon jugs that had these silvery looking screw on lids. I would call these jugs multi=purpose, for they were used for everything around the house. In the summer months she would make a gallon of tea every day in one of these jugs. Not this instant stir with a spoon stuff. She had this little metal tea bag that she would fill with loose tea, boil it in a pan of water on the stove top, then pour that in the gallon jug with a half a bag of sugar (joking) and then fill it up with water. The first thing that my dad would ask for when he got home from work on those hot sweltering summer days, was a glass of ice tea. By the time supper was over and time for bed the gallon of tea would be about gone, so the next day she would get up and make another gallon.
These jugs also had domestic uses too. I remember that she had one that was filled with buttons. Every kind of button you could think of. See, back in those hard times, you didn't throw things like buttons away. When a piece of clothing was totally outgrown by all the kids, and was no longer mendable, mom would cut the buttons off of the garment and rip out the zipper, if it had one. These were precious items that could be reused many times o'er. She would throw all of these buttons in a jug, when a button was needed for a shirt or dress, then WA-LAH!! She had just the button to fit the hole.
Another use for these jugs was to store garden seed. I remember packs or envelopes of tiny little seeds that she had savored from the plants themselves I suppose. I know that she bought some seeds from the local hardware store too. She would have this gallon jug of seeds sitting in a corner of the kitchen waiting until spring and time to put them in the ground. Seems like there was always a jug of seeds sitting there summer and winter.
The memory that my cold drink of water triggered the most though takes me back to when I was about 4 or 5 years old. This would be somewhere around 1957-1958'ish. From then, and until I was in about the 3rd grade or so, school was closed every fall for a few weeks for 'cotton picking vacation'. (The younger ones that read this will think this is crazy, but the people my age and older will totally relate.) This was a time before the modern machinery of cotton pickers and combines or whatever these farmers use these days. The cotton that was picked back then was done with 2 arms and 10 fingers. You had to pull a sack that was 6 to 8 feet long. It had a strap that draped over one shoulder and you pulled it behind you as you actually picked cotton off the stalk and threw it in the sack. It was just a given that most kids helped their parents work in the fields during this time. I remember that you got paid by the pound. However many pound of cotton that you picked in a days time you got so much money at the end of the day. Not only was this money used by the kids to buy school clothes and supplies, lots of times it was used to put food on the table and to stock up on dry good items, i.e. sugar, flour, lard, for the winter months. You could drive by a field of cotton and see maybe 20 or 30 people working in the field.
Now I got really lucky here. I was the 'baby' of the family and so I didn't see a whole lot of these cotton picking days like my older brothers and sisters did. I mostly remember laying on my mom's sack with my baby doll, after she got it about half full, and having her drag me down the field one little drag at a time, like I was the Queen of Sheeba or something. Every once in a while I would rise from my throne and pick a couple of 'wads' of cotton and throw them in her sack. Sometimes I would take a nap while the others worked. My main interest was what was waiting at the end of the cotton row. And yes, you guessed it. It was the gallon jug of water. Mom would always pre-plan what row of cotton that we were going to be in on the way back. You see, when picking cotton, you go down one row, all the way to the end, and sometimes that could be a quarter of a mile or so, and then back up another row before you ever got to that blessed drink of water. Mom would put that jug of water under neath a big leafy cotton stalk to keep the sun off of it. That would keep it as cool as was possible on a warm day without ice. When we would reach the end that held that water jug, we would all run and line up to get our drink. Who cared about being sanitary, just give me a drink. Water would run out of our mouths, down our chins, down our elbows and a dirty little splat of mud would hit the ground. Sometimes the boys would get in trouble for 'wasting' the water, because who could have a whole big jug of water in their hands on a very warm fall day without a little bit of a water fight. Of course, mom knew if the water ran out before the day ended then we were in trouble. Funny that thought never crossed our minds!! At the end of the day when the 'weighing' was done, all of the cotton sacks rolled up, and our lunch box all gathered, mom would say ' one of you kids get the water jug'. Most of the time it was an argument over who was going to carry it to the car.
Now, I am not saying that I miss those times in life, although they do make for good memories. I am thankful that life is much easier now. I wish that I had one of mom's old gallon jugs,I don't know what ever happened to them. Maybe they got broken through the years. Maybe she gave them away. If I had one maybe I would make tea in it. Maybe I would have a button collection. Maybe I would just have me a nice cold drink of water from it. But I am thinking that it doesn't really matter, that when you are hot and tired and you have an unquenchable thirst, whether it comes from a bottle from a grocery store, a faucet from a sink, or an old gallon jug, its the cool clear refreshing drink of only the water itself that satisfies the thirst......
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
A FLOWER NAMED SALLY........
Something about Spring just lifts ones spirits. When the temperature starts to rise and the sun is shining, the first thing that I want to do is clean house. Open those doors and windows and let the breeze blow away the winter smog, so to speak. Get out that old feather duster, and the pledge and start to work. That is where I found myself a few days ago. The temp was quite nice outside close to 70 degrees, and since Spring fever usually hits me pretty hard just about this same time every year, I was ready to begin my spring cleaning.
One of my favorite things, when I clean house is to move furniture. So, you never know when you walk in my front door which direction you are going to be facing on that day. I rearranged the living room a couple of times until I got things just the way I wanted it. When I was finally done with the furniture, then I started on the accessories. All went well, until I got down to Sally. I could not find the right spot for her. She just didn't look right no matter where I put her and I tried every available empty spot in my living room. I knew that she needed some sun and I knew that the most logical place was in front of the big window. Plus, a nice warm spring breeze would do wonders for her, I was sure. For you see Sally is a house plant. Some kind of Ivy vine that I am quite attached to. After much deliberation, a good drink of water, and some tweaking of brown leaves, I finally found Sally a spot in front of the sliding glass door in our living room. She looks really happy there.
Why would you name a plant? you asked?... Well, you see, I have to go to another story in order to tell this one. So here we go..........
My mothers name was Pauline, all of us kids and grand kids called her 'granny' after she got up in her older years. She ended up being 'granny' to the whole town I think. But I can remember growing up and being a kid, I thought her name was Sally. I can still here my dad yelling from the front porch "Sally would you bring me a glass of tea". Or he would say "Sally you better get these knick-knacks put up high before the grand kids get here, I'm not gonna listen to you yelling at the grand kids if they get broke". So, being a kid myself I just thought her name was Sally. Now granted, after I got older, I realize that 'Sally' was just a nick name that my dad had chosen for her, but by then it just kind of 'stuck'. So, as the years went by, if we didn't call her 'granny' then we called her 'Sally'.
Sally was like a precious green gem. She was strong, endured a lot of storms through her long life. She went through some droughts in life I am sure. When the winter would hit us hard, she would brace herself against the cold and try to keep us all warm and fed. By the time the cold months were over she would be withered and tired looking, but when spring came she would flourish with new life, plant her garden, and home can any fruit or vegetable that she could 'will ' to come up out of the ground. By summers end she would have hundreds of mason jars filled to the brim with the results of her hard labor. She would mend our clothes, the old winter quilts, and our socks. If there was a need for her to work in the fields, then she would fit that in with her daily tasks also. Yes, she was a gem.
So, I found it only appropriate to name my ivy vine after her, for my sweet ivy vine has endured some hardships also in her short life. In July of 2005, Don and my house caught fire, and we lost a lot of precious belongings that will and can never be replaced. The house didn't burn all the way down but the inside was gutted really bad and was totalled by the insurance company. A few days later, we went back in to access the damage and salvage what we could. While fumbling through the nasty black char and rubble I stumbled back to the bedroom, and there turned upside down in the middle of the floor was my favorite house plant. The pot was cracked, and the paint was bubbled up from the heat of the fire, and dirt was all over the floor, and even though it looked a little bewildered and pale it was still green and trying its best to keep on living. I picked it up and held it in my hand and promised it that I would keep it forever. This particular plant was always special to me. Some kind soul had bought this nice Ivy vine and sent it to my mom's funeral. After the funeral all of us kids picked out the ones we wanted and so I picked out this one. Ever since the day I found it almost at deaths door, right there in that charred, blackened bedroom I knew that no other name would suit her but Sally. When the weather gets a little warmer out, I will buy my Sally a new and bigger pot to live in so she can continue to grow and flourish. She is strong like her name sake. She endured the hardship of life, and even though she has moved and had several different homes since her near death experience, she has survived. I have to say that she now looks very hardy and healthy. I really don't know how long house plants can live, but when she gets to the point that she looks like she is ready to give up on life, I am going to clip a piece of her off and put it in water and start a whole new generation of little grand children vines for my Sally. Hopefully, there will be a part of Sally around for years to come. I am confident that she or a part of her will live a long, healthy life and flourish and give a bit of happiness, if, to no one but me, for she will always be my Sally, or at least my Sally's grandchildren....................
One of my favorite things, when I clean house is to move furniture. So, you never know when you walk in my front door which direction you are going to be facing on that day. I rearranged the living room a couple of times until I got things just the way I wanted it. When I was finally done with the furniture, then I started on the accessories. All went well, until I got down to Sally. I could not find the right spot for her. She just didn't look right no matter where I put her and I tried every available empty spot in my living room. I knew that she needed some sun and I knew that the most logical place was in front of the big window. Plus, a nice warm spring breeze would do wonders for her, I was sure. For you see Sally is a house plant. Some kind of Ivy vine that I am quite attached to. After much deliberation, a good drink of water, and some tweaking of brown leaves, I finally found Sally a spot in front of the sliding glass door in our living room. She looks really happy there.
Why would you name a plant? you asked?... Well, you see, I have to go to another story in order to tell this one. So here we go..........
My mothers name was Pauline, all of us kids and grand kids called her 'granny' after she got up in her older years. She ended up being 'granny' to the whole town I think. But I can remember growing up and being a kid, I thought her name was Sally. I can still here my dad yelling from the front porch "Sally would you bring me a glass of tea". Or he would say "Sally you better get these knick-knacks put up high before the grand kids get here, I'm not gonna listen to you yelling at the grand kids if they get broke". So, being a kid myself I just thought her name was Sally. Now granted, after I got older, I realize that 'Sally' was just a nick name that my dad had chosen for her, but by then it just kind of 'stuck'. So, as the years went by, if we didn't call her 'granny' then we called her 'Sally'.
Sally was like a precious green gem. She was strong, endured a lot of storms through her long life. She went through some droughts in life I am sure. When the winter would hit us hard, she would brace herself against the cold and try to keep us all warm and fed. By the time the cold months were over she would be withered and tired looking, but when spring came she would flourish with new life, plant her garden, and home can any fruit or vegetable that she could 'will ' to come up out of the ground. By summers end she would have hundreds of mason jars filled to the brim with the results of her hard labor. She would mend our clothes, the old winter quilts, and our socks. If there was a need for her to work in the fields, then she would fit that in with her daily tasks also. Yes, she was a gem.
So, I found it only appropriate to name my ivy vine after her, for my sweet ivy vine has endured some hardships also in her short life. In July of 2005, Don and my house caught fire, and we lost a lot of precious belongings that will and can never be replaced. The house didn't burn all the way down but the inside was gutted really bad and was totalled by the insurance company. A few days later, we went back in to access the damage and salvage what we could. While fumbling through the nasty black char and rubble I stumbled back to the bedroom, and there turned upside down in the middle of the floor was my favorite house plant. The pot was cracked, and the paint was bubbled up from the heat of the fire, and dirt was all over the floor, and even though it looked a little bewildered and pale it was still green and trying its best to keep on living. I picked it up and held it in my hand and promised it that I would keep it forever. This particular plant was always special to me. Some kind soul had bought this nice Ivy vine and sent it to my mom's funeral. After the funeral all of us kids picked out the ones we wanted and so I picked out this one. Ever since the day I found it almost at deaths door, right there in that charred, blackened bedroom I knew that no other name would suit her but Sally. When the weather gets a little warmer out, I will buy my Sally a new and bigger pot to live in so she can continue to grow and flourish. She is strong like her name sake. She endured the hardship of life, and even though she has moved and had several different homes since her near death experience, she has survived. I have to say that she now looks very hardy and healthy. I really don't know how long house plants can live, but when she gets to the point that she looks like she is ready to give up on life, I am going to clip a piece of her off and put it in water and start a whole new generation of little grand children vines for my Sally. Hopefully, there will be a part of Sally around for years to come. I am confident that she or a part of her will live a long, healthy life and flourish and give a bit of happiness, if, to no one but me, for she will always be my Sally, or at least my Sally's grandchildren....................
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Rolling on the Floor
Since Cardinal Baseball is almost upon us again, I thought that I would share my very most favorite Cardinal story with you.
Being from the small town that I grew up in and lived for 40 plus years, I never witnessed the electricity of living in a baseball town until we moved to the St. Louis area. Oh, there were always baseball fans and every once in a while, in the cafe there would be a minor disagreement on who was the best pitcher or hitter. There was always a game board made up during the world series, where you could buy a square for a dollar or so and pick the winning numbers. I even won it one time. I just happened to pick the right numbers, and at the time thought that it was a pretty easy $100.00. I myself, really don't care one way or the other. I suppose of all the professional sports out there, baseball would be the one I would have to choose, so I choose the Cardinals. But actually, the Cardinals have always been a part of my life.
My Cardinal baseball experiences started when I was a kid. I remember going to bed at night with the radio blaring!! Dad had that old box radio sitting close to his bed and turned up as loud as it would go. I would hear names like Bob Gibson, Ken Boyer..... and of course Harry Karry(sp)? Ever once in a while, he and mom would yell out something like "go, go, go" or may even an "ugly" word. Listening to the radio in the summer months was just life around our house.
I think I was somewhere around 10 or 11 years old in 1964 when the Cardinals went to the world series. I don't really know why I was not in school on this particular day, being that the world series always takes place in the fall of the year, but for some reason I was home with mom. During this time we were lucky enough to have an old television. Such a rare thing for us to have one, matter of fact I can remember NOT having one much more than I can remember having one. Now, being a kid at the time, I can't remember all the details that led up to this game, but I am thinking that the Cardinals were playing the Yankees. I am not sure, so forgive me if I am wrong here. Being the absolute Cardinal fan that mom was, she insisted that we watch the last game of the series on this old half worn on t.v.
Now you have to get a mental picture going. Women back in the 1960's wore dresses all the time. You never saw a woman in jeans or long pants unless they were headed out to the barn, or to a cotton field. Along with the dress comes the underskirt that goes underneath, better know as a 'slip.' The slip usually had (and still does) some kind of lace or ribbon on the bottom of it.
Well, here we were, mom and me, with me laying on the couch and her pacing the floor glued to the snowy, fuzzy, gray screen of the t.v. . Things must have not been going the way she wanted it to in the game, for every once in a while she would yell out something or other. I wasn't really paying a whole lot of attention to her until all of a sudden she let out a scream like a Banji Indian, and started jumping up and down, up and down, up and down and twirling around. Scared me to death. I finally realized that her 'team' had just won the World Series! Weeeelllllllll, during all of this excitement and her jumping and twirling, the heel of her shoe got caught in the lace on her slip. She ripped that baby down her legs and unto the floor. Still jumping up and down.and twirling.. her feet got tangled in the wad of underskirt now laying on the floor, torn in shreds, and the next thing I know ... "BAM" she hits the floor. By this time, I was FALLING off the couch laughing. That had to be the funniest thing on God's green earth that I had ever seen. By now, she, being ecstatic over the Cardinals winning the series, realized what had just happened and she just laid there rolling around on the floor laughing her.............off. We both laughed until we were in tears. When she finally calmed down enough to pick that underskirt up, we started laughing all over again. As much as she always mended and patched everything we wore, there was no 'fixing' that slip. She had done one fine number on it. She just took it and threw it in the trash.
As the years went by she and I had many laughs over her tearing her slip off of herself over the Cardinal ballgame. Not realizing it at the time, it made one of the most fondest memories that I have of her. She has been gone now for over 6 years. But I can still see that laugh on her face. It is burned in my heart and will forever stay there. And I know that if she were alive today, that anytime we thought of a Cardinal baseball game we would remember the day that we both were literally ROLLING ON THE FLOOR LAUGHING.....................
Being from the small town that I grew up in and lived for 40 plus years, I never witnessed the electricity of living in a baseball town until we moved to the St. Louis area. Oh, there were always baseball fans and every once in a while, in the cafe there would be a minor disagreement on who was the best pitcher or hitter. There was always a game board made up during the world series, where you could buy a square for a dollar or so and pick the winning numbers. I even won it one time. I just happened to pick the right numbers, and at the time thought that it was a pretty easy $100.00. I myself, really don't care one way or the other. I suppose of all the professional sports out there, baseball would be the one I would have to choose, so I choose the Cardinals. But actually, the Cardinals have always been a part of my life.
My Cardinal baseball experiences started when I was a kid. I remember going to bed at night with the radio blaring!! Dad had that old box radio sitting close to his bed and turned up as loud as it would go. I would hear names like Bob Gibson, Ken Boyer..... and of course Harry Karry(sp)? Ever once in a while, he and mom would yell out something like "go, go, go" or may even an "ugly" word. Listening to the radio in the summer months was just life around our house.
I think I was somewhere around 10 or 11 years old in 1964 when the Cardinals went to the world series. I don't really know why I was not in school on this particular day, being that the world series always takes place in the fall of the year, but for some reason I was home with mom. During this time we were lucky enough to have an old television. Such a rare thing for us to have one, matter of fact I can remember NOT having one much more than I can remember having one. Now, being a kid at the time, I can't remember all the details that led up to this game, but I am thinking that the Cardinals were playing the Yankees. I am not sure, so forgive me if I am wrong here. Being the absolute Cardinal fan that mom was, she insisted that we watch the last game of the series on this old half worn on t.v.
Now you have to get a mental picture going. Women back in the 1960's wore dresses all the time. You never saw a woman in jeans or long pants unless they were headed out to the barn, or to a cotton field. Along with the dress comes the underskirt that goes underneath, better know as a 'slip.' The slip usually had (and still does) some kind of lace or ribbon on the bottom of it.
Well, here we were, mom and me, with me laying on the couch and her pacing the floor glued to the snowy, fuzzy, gray screen of the t.v. . Things must have not been going the way she wanted it to in the game, for every once in a while she would yell out something or other. I wasn't really paying a whole lot of attention to her until all of a sudden she let out a scream like a Banji Indian, and started jumping up and down, up and down, up and down and twirling around. Scared me to death. I finally realized that her 'team' had just won the World Series! Weeeelllllllll, during all of this excitement and her jumping and twirling, the heel of her shoe got caught in the lace on her slip. She ripped that baby down her legs and unto the floor. Still jumping up and down.and twirling.. her feet got tangled in the wad of underskirt now laying on the floor, torn in shreds, and the next thing I know ... "BAM" she hits the floor. By this time, I was FALLING off the couch laughing. That had to be the funniest thing on God's green earth that I had ever seen. By now, she, being ecstatic over the Cardinals winning the series, realized what had just happened and she just laid there rolling around on the floor laughing her.............off. We both laughed until we were in tears. When she finally calmed down enough to pick that underskirt up, we started laughing all over again. As much as she always mended and patched everything we wore, there was no 'fixing' that slip. She had done one fine number on it. She just took it and threw it in the trash.
As the years went by she and I had many laughs over her tearing her slip off of herself over the Cardinal ballgame. Not realizing it at the time, it made one of the most fondest memories that I have of her. She has been gone now for over 6 years. But I can still see that laugh on her face. It is burned in my heart and will forever stay there. And I know that if she were alive today, that anytime we thought of a Cardinal baseball game we would remember the day that we both were literally ROLLING ON THE FLOOR LAUGHING.....................
Saturday, February 27, 2010
I Remember the Day I Was Born!!!
Well, that title got your attention didn't it?
It was a very cold, blustery December night way back in 1953. The old house we lived in was not what one would call 'energy efficient' by today's standards. I have been told there were cracks in the walls and a few holes in the floor. Wood was piled high by the front door, and the old stove crackled, sparked, and was red from the heat. Dad, mom, and their four children were huddled around it trying to stay as warm as possible. As those home fires were burning high, you would know, that I would choose the coldest, nastiest day of the year to make my presence known. Nervous, anxious anticipation, and yes, even fear were just a few of the emotions that were running rapid in that little country shack as time was drawing near.
Dad threw his coat on and hurried out to warm the old car, but of course this would be the day when it would not start. Christmas Eve, no less, just when I was giving my mother so much pain and agony. The time had come, I was ready to get on with life, so there was nothing else that could be done but for dad to run up the old dirt road to see if the neighbor could take mom to the clinic in Advance Missouri, or to see if he could borrow their car. Either way, he finally did get her to the clinic in time.
My brother next to me, AKA 'Pete" was 8 years old when I decided to come into this world and being the baby for 8 years and then being booted, just doesn't set to well. He was not at all pleased to have a baby in the family, especially if said baby was a girl. A few hours later when mom arrived home, and I was proudly presented to my new family, wrapped, red, and rosy cheeked, the first words out of Pete's mouth was, and I quote "Let's just take her to the pond and drowned her". Needless to say, jealousy to the max had just set in. We all know that if those words were to be spoken in this day, he surely would be taken off to juvy hall or somewhere that the experts could watch him and diagnose him with anger issues.
I guess looking back on the situation, I didn't choose the most opportune time to make my arrival. It was Christmas Eve, after all, but I thought I would make a grand Christmas present! The other kids, however, just really didn't think so. Matter of fact, I don't think they were too impressed with me at all. This little fat bouncing ball of joy! I mean heck, I couldn't ride a bike or play ball, or anything. All I could do was eat, sleep, and well you know........plus the fact that I was the only present they got that year other than a couple bags of candy that was brought to them by a local church . (Or so I have heard "stupid candy".) I've been told that mom was so busy making my gowns, bibs, and booties that she didn't have time nor money to even make the other kids any hand made items. So there is no wonder they were not happy to see me..... But at least I wasn't naked!!!
Now you are asking how I remember all this so vividly since I was just an infant. But the story is so real to me, for you see, every year at Christmas, when it is my birthday, my brothers especially, do not cease to remind me that I was the only thing they got for Christmas that year. Yes, I have heard this same story for 63 years, same ole same ole, so after many times of hearing it, I just know that I remember it all happening. I think over the years they have decided to accept the fact that what is done is done, and I am here to stay. But I also know that deep down in their hearts they wouldn't have it any other way. I was truly the baby of the family and they all let me know it. If I could go back in time, I might try and choose a different day to be born, because looking through the eyes of a child, I am sure they thought they had been cheated out of a present. After all "what" are you going to do with a real live baby girl??? (joking of course, I realize I had no control over my birth day.)
Now we are all grown with kids and grand kids of our own. I know that we all enjoy watching our families open their gifts, but every Christmas that comes is a vibrant memory of a day gone by. When times were back breakingly hard, meager, yet simple. Where the only excitement on a cold Christmas day was hearing the cries of a newborn baby. Yet in the midst of it all they survived. We survived, and it brought all of us to where we are today.
I do believe as long as my brothers and sisters are living that I will always remind them of those hard times, especially at Christmas. Hopefully there is a fond memory or two mixed in somewhere. I know for certain that for years to come they will still remind me every year of the Christmas when me and a bag of candy was all they got. This I know for sure also, that if God chooses to leave me here when they are all gone I will forever and lovingly remember 'The Day I Was Born'.
It was a very cold, blustery December night way back in 1953. The old house we lived in was not what one would call 'energy efficient' by today's standards. I have been told there were cracks in the walls and a few holes in the floor. Wood was piled high by the front door, and the old stove crackled, sparked, and was red from the heat. Dad, mom, and their four children were huddled around it trying to stay as warm as possible. As those home fires were burning high, you would know, that I would choose the coldest, nastiest day of the year to make my presence known. Nervous, anxious anticipation, and yes, even fear were just a few of the emotions that were running rapid in that little country shack as time was drawing near.
Dad threw his coat on and hurried out to warm the old car, but of course this would be the day when it would not start. Christmas Eve, no less, just when I was giving my mother so much pain and agony. The time had come, I was ready to get on with life, so there was nothing else that could be done but for dad to run up the old dirt road to see if the neighbor could take mom to the clinic in Advance Missouri, or to see if he could borrow their car. Either way, he finally did get her to the clinic in time.
My brother next to me, AKA 'Pete" was 8 years old when I decided to come into this world and being the baby for 8 years and then being booted, just doesn't set to well. He was not at all pleased to have a baby in the family, especially if said baby was a girl. A few hours later when mom arrived home, and I was proudly presented to my new family, wrapped, red, and rosy cheeked, the first words out of Pete's mouth was, and I quote "Let's just take her to the pond and drowned her". Needless to say, jealousy to the max had just set in. We all know that if those words were to be spoken in this day, he surely would be taken off to juvy hall or somewhere that the experts could watch him and diagnose him with anger issues.
I guess looking back on the situation, I didn't choose the most opportune time to make my arrival. It was Christmas Eve, after all, but I thought I would make a grand Christmas present! The other kids, however, just really didn't think so. Matter of fact, I don't think they were too impressed with me at all. This little fat bouncing ball of joy! I mean heck, I couldn't ride a bike or play ball, or anything. All I could do was eat, sleep, and well you know........plus the fact that I was the only present they got that year other than a couple bags of candy that was brought to them by a local church . (Or so I have heard "stupid candy".) I've been told that mom was so busy making my gowns, bibs, and booties that she didn't have time nor money to even make the other kids any hand made items. So there is no wonder they were not happy to see me..... But at least I wasn't naked!!!
Now you are asking how I remember all this so vividly since I was just an infant. But the story is so real to me, for you see, every year at Christmas, when it is my birthday, my brothers especially, do not cease to remind me that I was the only thing they got for Christmas that year. Yes, I have heard this same story for 63 years, same ole same ole, so after many times of hearing it, I just know that I remember it all happening. I think over the years they have decided to accept the fact that what is done is done, and I am here to stay. But I also know that deep down in their hearts they wouldn't have it any other way. I was truly the baby of the family and they all let me know it. If I could go back in time, I might try and choose a different day to be born, because looking through the eyes of a child, I am sure they thought they had been cheated out of a present. After all "what" are you going to do with a real live baby girl??? (joking of course, I realize I had no control over my birth day.)
Now we are all grown with kids and grand kids of our own. I know that we all enjoy watching our families open their gifts, but every Christmas that comes is a vibrant memory of a day gone by. When times were back breakingly hard, meager, yet simple. Where the only excitement on a cold Christmas day was hearing the cries of a newborn baby. Yet in the midst of it all they survived. We survived, and it brought all of us to where we are today.
I do believe as long as my brothers and sisters are living that I will always remind them of those hard times, especially at Christmas. Hopefully there is a fond memory or two mixed in somewhere. I know for certain that for years to come they will still remind me every year of the Christmas when me and a bag of candy was all they got. This I know for sure also, that if God chooses to leave me here when they are all gone I will forever and lovingly remember 'The Day I Was Born'.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Oh Beautiful Star . . . Shine On
This past Thanksgiving weekend, my husband and I went back to Southeast Missouri to visit family for a few days. We left on Thanksgiving afternoon, stayed for 3 days, coming back home on Sunday. Got up Friday morning and made our 'rounds'. Went to Dexter first to take a look at our house and see what kind of shape it was in and went to the little cafe there. Saw a few good friends that I hadn't seen in a while. Leaving Dexter, we then went to my brother's house in Bloomfield and visited for a few hours and ended up going on to our old home town of Bell City. Very 'large' community of about 400 people. Visited with my brother and x sister=in-law, and by the time we left it was already getting dusky dark. As we were getting ready to leave, walking out to the truck, my eye caught a glimpse of something bright and shiny up in the northern sky. It couldn't be...... but yes, it was. There on the top of what is known as 'Tyree Brown's Hill' was the Christmas Star. My heart fluttered. So many memories attached to that star. I remember as a child when you saw that star shining you knew that Christmas was near. Excitement would began to fill the air in that small town. Tyree's dad always put the star up the day after Thanksgiving. And didn't take it down till around the middle of January. I think later in years, Tyree himself but the star up. I am supposing that now Tyree's son or grand son puts it up..... who knows.
As a kid, we lived at the foot of that hill, in an old shackled brown sided house. My bedroom faced the hill with a window looking out. I would lay there in my bed with covers piled on so deep I could hardly move, and would go to sleep wishing on that star. So many things that I wished for, a real barbie doll, (which I never got) a shiny new bicycle (which I never got) lots of pretty clothes and shoes, and the list goes on and on.
Christmas for our family was always very sparse. We usually got 'a' present, but that was about it. Most of the time that would be something in the clothing line that we really needed... but I always knew that Christmas meant fun and family. I had one uncle that lived in New York and one that lived in Chicago. They always came to my Granny's house over Christmas and there was always a lot of food, lots of kids to play with, and a lot of laughter. My Uncle Hut brought me a fake Barbie doll one time for Christmas, named Genevieve. I didn't care that she wasn't a real barbie, she was good enough for me. I thought she was beautiful. Sometime during the next year my mom hand made me a whole bunch of doll clothes out of scraps of fabric that she had left from sewing quilts or our clothes. I was in heaven. I think I wore that doll out.
I loved that time with all of my cousins. Funny, I don't remember any fussing or arguing going on either. We didn't get to see each other very often and I think we probably savored each moment we got to spend together. Wonder where they all are now???? Wonder if they remember those days as fondly as I do?
As we got in the truck and began to leave, I took one last good long look at that star. 'Wonder how many kids in this town have wished on that star through the years? Wonder how many wishes have come true? Wonder if the kids that live here now even think about that star? Wonder if they notice it at all? Wonder if they even know what that star represents?? Wonder if they wish upon it as I did?? Wonder if the Brown family knows what kind of blessing that star has been to the residents of that small town?? There use to be an excitement among the town folk when the star went up. Wonder if there still is??
Leaving town I was thinking of the church song, 'Oh Beautiful Star of Bethlehem, Shine On'. Tears came to my eyes, for not far from where that star shines on that same hill, is a small cemetery, where my mom and dad, my granny, a couple of nieces and some other distant family lies. I could not help but start to hum the tune of that glorious song. I felt sadness and joy at the same time. Hopefully that star will continue to shine for years to come. It truly was and is a blessing to know that it is still there.....Oh Beautiful Star............. Shine On......................................
As a kid, we lived at the foot of that hill, in an old shackled brown sided house. My bedroom faced the hill with a window looking out. I would lay there in my bed with covers piled on so deep I could hardly move, and would go to sleep wishing on that star. So many things that I wished for, a real barbie doll, (which I never got) a shiny new bicycle (which I never got) lots of pretty clothes and shoes, and the list goes on and on.
Christmas for our family was always very sparse. We usually got 'a' present, but that was about it. Most of the time that would be something in the clothing line that we really needed... but I always knew that Christmas meant fun and family. I had one uncle that lived in New York and one that lived in Chicago. They always came to my Granny's house over Christmas and there was always a lot of food, lots of kids to play with, and a lot of laughter. My Uncle Hut brought me a fake Barbie doll one time for Christmas, named Genevieve. I didn't care that she wasn't a real barbie, she was good enough for me. I thought she was beautiful. Sometime during the next year my mom hand made me a whole bunch of doll clothes out of scraps of fabric that she had left from sewing quilts or our clothes. I was in heaven. I think I wore that doll out.
I loved that time with all of my cousins. Funny, I don't remember any fussing or arguing going on either. We didn't get to see each other very often and I think we probably savored each moment we got to spend together. Wonder where they all are now???? Wonder if they remember those days as fondly as I do?
As we got in the truck and began to leave, I took one last good long look at that star. 'Wonder how many kids in this town have wished on that star through the years? Wonder how many wishes have come true? Wonder if the kids that live here now even think about that star? Wonder if they notice it at all? Wonder if they even know what that star represents?? Wonder if they wish upon it as I did?? Wonder if the Brown family knows what kind of blessing that star has been to the residents of that small town?? There use to be an excitement among the town folk when the star went up. Wonder if there still is??
Leaving town I was thinking of the church song, 'Oh Beautiful Star of Bethlehem, Shine On'. Tears came to my eyes, for not far from where that star shines on that same hill, is a small cemetery, where my mom and dad, my granny, a couple of nieces and some other distant family lies. I could not help but start to hum the tune of that glorious song. I felt sadness and joy at the same time. Hopefully that star will continue to shine for years to come. It truly was and is a blessing to know that it is still there.....Oh Beautiful Star............. Shine On......................................
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