What?! Don't believe me? Think I don't know my alphabet or that I can't spell? Z. The letter Z. As in ZZZZZzzzzz. The universal sign for having dozed off. Sleeping. Snoring. Resting. And I rest my case.
April is the start of the April A-Z Challenge, of which I am once again a participant. I'm excited and looking forward to it. I prefer to use a theme for my A-Z posts. And this year my theme is more a point of view. I will be writing each post as if I were writing it to one or both of my children. It might be special memories, family stories, advice, scolding, etc. Something I've never shared with them, or something I have shared and want to record here to preserve. Since most folks have or will have children, or have been a child, or have special memories, family stories, etc. I do hope you will enjoy it.
The Z, being for sleep, means I never seem to have enough. And I get very little co-operation in getting more. In fact I often have to fight for it, and then I'm so wound up I can't sleep. It's symptomatic of my being very undervalued and under appreciated around here. I'm not supposed to have outside interests or things I like to do just because I like to do them. Unless they match "someone else's" like to do's. Then I have their blessing. So, I expect April will be a round, a row around my house. But I'm doing it anyway.
I have my tentative ideas for each days post scheduled on my calender, but I'm not writing them up ahead of time. One, I might change my mind as I go. I want to be fluid with it. Also, I prefer to write in the moment. So, I'll be writing as I go.
We are asked and encouraged to visit other A-Z'ers blogs during the challenge with a suggested 5 per day. Last year this was a real struggle for me. I expect it still will be this year. Seems one person in my home gets moody just seeing me sit at the computer, and another has a virtual horse farm they want to play and chat at. AND we are stuck on dial-up, living in the sticks with a limited income. My plan this year is to visit my suggested 5 while I eat lunch at the office. And drop by more of them as I can in the evenings, or while I drink my coffee on Sunday mornings. You can see the list of participants here: The A-Z Challenge 2013 List. Life & Faith in Caneyhead is number 626.
There is one thing I am extremely grateful for this year. Jeremy designed the theme for the badges and banners this year and added one for each letter we can place on the appropriate post. This way, if I want to post something that does not relate to the challenge, my readers can easily differentiate between challenge posts and my usual fair. Challenge posts will have the letter of the day badge and of course regular posts will not.
Enjoy your weekend and have a beautiful and blessed Easter. I'll be celebrating Easter at Wiley Mae and enjoying my precious Baby Ruth.
Showing posts with label April A-Z Challenge. Show all posts
Showing posts with label April A-Z Challenge. Show all posts
Saturday, March 30, 2013
Friday, April 20, 2012
R is for Radio
Fast forward ten years and the same radio is plugged into an extension chord and sitting on the tin roof of a shed at our house on 1122 so me and two of my friends, Sherry and Kathy, could listen to tunes while we sunbathed on our beach towels slathered in baby oil on top of the tin. There was Terry Jacks singing "Seasons in the Sun" and Edward Bear singing "Last Song".
Another ten years speeds by. Mama and Daddy and Sarah are gone. I'm married to Pete and Polk has moved out. But that same radio is still in the garage on 1122 playing things like George Straight with "Amarillo by Morning" and Alabama crooning "she's close enough to perfect for me."
Shift into overdrive. Another twenty-three years gone down life's road. Bubba born, grown and now with a family of his own. Living in that same house. The garage is falling down upon itself in the back. Time and the inattention of renters has took its toll. But the beige AM radio still sits perched on a shelf in the garage, chord plugged into the outlet.....I wonder...could it....still....play?
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
P is for Peanut Pudding
I suppose I still have Janie on my mind. Everyone knows chocolate pudding made from scratch or by Jello. And at least the Southern states are familiar with banana pudding. But Janie made peanut pudding.
It was delicious. Far better than chocolate or banana. I watched her make it. Helped a little. But I have never summoned up the energy to make it. First she'd take fresh peanuts and parch them. After they were roasted to perfection she'd shell her a small bowl full of the nuts. Fresh roasted always has the little red skin on the nut, so next she'd take and rub away all the red skin on the nuts in her bowl. Then she'd start chopping. And she'd chop and chop until the peanuts were halfway between the size of grains of salt and dust. Then she'd make and build and bake a puddin, just like you would a banana pudding, only with the fresh roasted and chopped peanuts in it. Heaven.
It was delicious. Far better than chocolate or banana. I watched her make it. Helped a little. But I have never summoned up the energy to make it. First she'd take fresh peanuts and parch them. After they were roasted to perfection she'd shell her a small bowl full of the nuts. Fresh roasted always has the little red skin on the nut, so next she'd take and rub away all the red skin on the nuts in her bowl. Then she'd start chopping. And she'd chop and chop until the peanuts were halfway between the size of grains of salt and dust. Then she'd make and build and bake a puddin, just like you would a banana pudding, only with the fresh roasted and chopped peanuts in it. Heaven.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
O is for Odie Mae
Odie Mae is what her closest friends and family often called her, but her name was Janie. She was short and round when I knew her, with a wide mischievous smile and eyes that twinkled. She was one of the original, consummate country women. If you entered Janie's home midday, you'd likely find her brushing her hair back from her face with her hand toward her bun and wiping sweat off her glasses on her apron.
Supper preparation would already be under way. At that time the least number of people who ate any meal at Janie's was six. And they almost always had from one to another half dozen or so stop in for lunch or supper. She'd cook a platter full of meat, five vegetable sides. Rice and pasta with most every meal. French fries always. And her fried cornbread. Janie could take spaghetti, a can of tomato sauce, a little onion and some seasoning and have you begging for another helping. They went through so much koolaide in a meal that she'd always mix up a double batch. And she didn't mind one iota handing you a bowl and tators to peel or some other task. If you walked into her kitchen, you had done enlisted. Of course it weren't no bother, as the conversation was always lively and you were finished before you knew it.
After everyone had gathered around the table, and said grace all the plate passing and bowl swapping began. Meals always had simultaneous conversations mingled with clanging dinnerware and clinking glasses. Then as each one finished, scraps from plates were immediately scraped off into a bucket for the hogs or the chickens. Dishwater was heated and the dinnerware was immediately cleaned up. Leftovers were stuffed into the icebox or covered and left out depending on their type.
Then with the rag she'd wipe off the table and towel dry behind it and if there were any four people in the house who knew how to play 42 dominoes, the box would come out and be set upon the table and Janie would pull out her chair. I enjoyed playing so very many domino games with them whether it was at the house on that kitchen table or at the camp in Bush Lake.
Bush Lake and Janie went together like butter and bread. She'd get up at dawn, squirrel hunt or deer hunt. Come back and cook pancakes for everyone and their brother. Then start working on lunch. After lunch she might catch a nap, or get her pole and head down to the aluminum boat to go white perch fishing. She loved perch fishing. Taught me the sport. Made me like it too. I haven't perch fished since Janie left us.
Me and her would load up in an black jeep Pete had jacked up by putting the springs on top of the axle. I could barely get one foot in the door to pull myself up with the steering wheel. Janie had to take a small wooden chair and step up on it and into the jeep. We'd throw the chair in the back. We'd run off and squirrel hunt or pick wild dew berries or whatever took Janie's fancy for that day.
Once there had been a very rainy, wet deer season. All the roads in and around Bush Lake were a mess. As likely to get stuck going and coming as not. Janie and I had been down the road for an afternoon hunt and headed back to the camp in the jeep. The fellows were headed out to go get on thier stands for the evening hunt. It was pouring rain. The road was narrow and a terrible mess. They met us in a 2 wheel drive truck and I got over into the messy part and let them have the good part of the road. Later when everyone was back at the camp they told the story and remarked how nice that person driving the big jeep was.....Pete hadn't recognized his own jeep in the rain and half fogged over windshield of the truck!
Janie was practical, impatient, forgiving, a fountain of wisdom. She died a number of years ago in a car crash. She was wrapped around her grand baby, protecting her. Now that I have one, I know why. But I miss her.
Thank God one day I'll walk down the grassy bank toward a shining river and find my friend sitting there with a cane pole in hand, shiner on the hook waiting for that heavenly white perch.
Barbara
Supper preparation would already be under way. At that time the least number of people who ate any meal at Janie's was six. And they almost always had from one to another half dozen or so stop in for lunch or supper. She'd cook a platter full of meat, five vegetable sides. Rice and pasta with most every meal. French fries always. And her fried cornbread. Janie could take spaghetti, a can of tomato sauce, a little onion and some seasoning and have you begging for another helping. They went through so much koolaide in a meal that she'd always mix up a double batch. And she didn't mind one iota handing you a bowl and tators to peel or some other task. If you walked into her kitchen, you had done enlisted. Of course it weren't no bother, as the conversation was always lively and you were finished before you knew it.
After everyone had gathered around the table, and said grace all the plate passing and bowl swapping began. Meals always had simultaneous conversations mingled with clanging dinnerware and clinking glasses. Then as each one finished, scraps from plates were immediately scraped off into a bucket for the hogs or the chickens. Dishwater was heated and the dinnerware was immediately cleaned up. Leftovers were stuffed into the icebox or covered and left out depending on their type.
Then with the rag she'd wipe off the table and towel dry behind it and if there were any four people in the house who knew how to play 42 dominoes, the box would come out and be set upon the table and Janie would pull out her chair. I enjoyed playing so very many domino games with them whether it was at the house on that kitchen table or at the camp in Bush Lake.
Bush Lake and Janie went together like butter and bread. She'd get up at dawn, squirrel hunt or deer hunt. Come back and cook pancakes for everyone and their brother. Then start working on lunch. After lunch she might catch a nap, or get her pole and head down to the aluminum boat to go white perch fishing. She loved perch fishing. Taught me the sport. Made me like it too. I haven't perch fished since Janie left us.
Me and her would load up in an black jeep Pete had jacked up by putting the springs on top of the axle. I could barely get one foot in the door to pull myself up with the steering wheel. Janie had to take a small wooden chair and step up on it and into the jeep. We'd throw the chair in the back. We'd run off and squirrel hunt or pick wild dew berries or whatever took Janie's fancy for that day.
Once there had been a very rainy, wet deer season. All the roads in and around Bush Lake were a mess. As likely to get stuck going and coming as not. Janie and I had been down the road for an afternoon hunt and headed back to the camp in the jeep. The fellows were headed out to go get on thier stands for the evening hunt. It was pouring rain. The road was narrow and a terrible mess. They met us in a 2 wheel drive truck and I got over into the messy part and let them have the good part of the road. Later when everyone was back at the camp they told the story and remarked how nice that person driving the big jeep was.....Pete hadn't recognized his own jeep in the rain and half fogged over windshield of the truck!
Janie was practical, impatient, forgiving, a fountain of wisdom. She died a number of years ago in a car crash. She was wrapped around her grand baby, protecting her. Now that I have one, I know why. But I miss her.
Thank God one day I'll walk down the grassy bank toward a shining river and find my friend sitting there with a cane pole in hand, shiner on the hook waiting for that heavenly white perch.
Barbara
Saturday, April 14, 2012
M is for Memories
Yes, M is for memories. And tonight it seems I've gotten lost in them. Reading old entries. Visiting with ghosts. Replaying favorite scenes. So I don't have much to write. But I do have a suggestion that you might enjoy waxing nostalgic, too.
Friday, April 13, 2012
L is for Livingston, Tx
For those that don't know it, that's a mouthful. Every so often as I grew up, we'd wind our way through the woods on two lane farm to market roads that had no shoulder towards the destination of Livingston, TX. We'd pass through such colorful places as Dallardsville, Soda (where daddy swore I could get all the free soda water I wanted), Segno and Camp Ruby. Camp Ruby is where the cemetery is. Where my daddy's mama and daddy lay along with other family members. I can remember going to family reunions held at the cemetery and the choir from the Alabama-Coushatta Indian tribe would sing for us. Not sure why, just know it was good music in that little board church with the hardwood floors.
But I digress, as today is about Livingston and what made going there special. Well my daddy's people cotton farmed right next to the Indian reservation in that area. When I was growing up, we had a several of my aunts who lived there (Ray, Meryl, Elsie) cousins, and my grandmother as long as she was alive.
So, we'd drive through the woods, passed bunches of old pumping units (horse heads) and I'd imagine that the red light on the top of towers was Rudolph's nose. Or get bored and ask for a hamburger. Which made daddy terribly mad, as he couldn't understand why I couldn't see we were out in the middle of no where and a hamburger could not be found.
Then we'd usually go to Aunt Ray's and Uncle Doc's. Everyone would congregate there because they had the roomiest house and a good large lawn. Many times these gatherings were called because the two sisters that lived the farthest away, Elena and Mitzie, had flown in. And the relatives would congregate. There'd be forty-two tournaments running full time in Aunt R.A.'s dining room. I remember how thrilled I was the one year they finally let me sit in on a game, thinking i was old enough to get it.
The kitchen would always have large pots simmering down something tasty and there would be a parade of pies brought in from a dinner down the street. Most of my time at these events was spent playing croquet with my cousin Gary who was older than me. Or when we got a little older he'd take me to town for malts or to the picture show to see free movies because he worked there sometimes.
I loved those gatherings at Livingston. There was no alcohol. No bedtimes. If we were there on a Sunday, we'd often all go to church with R.A. and Doc. Life seemed slow and good. Felt like a movie from the fifties. A time warp. One I'd go back to if I could.
Post Script: R.A. or Ray was married to Doc, and was Gary's mother. Meryl had once been married to a gangster. She had a son named Billy who became fast friends with my older sisters and at one time drove a race car. Aunt Elsie was married to Curtis and they lived on place that was like a farm. Had a barn. Big pond. Uncle Curtis was supposed to be a carpenter, yet they didn't get an indoor bathroom until I was in high school. They had an outhouse. I remember well having to go there when we stayed over. Aunt Elsie always had big old country mattresses on her beds and lots of quilts. Elena was married to a Jew, Uncle Dave, who owned Hofbrau Restaurants in Oakland and San Fransisco. I found it funny later in life, that he, a Jew, owned a restaurant with a German name and German beer steins. Then there was Mitzie. She had been a twin. Her actual name was Verlis and her twin brother had been Vernon. But sometime before I came along, Vernon stopped his vehicle too close to a train crossing and a loose hook on a log car caught his bumper and pulled him under the train. All together there were 14 children in my daddy's family that survived until adulthood.
Barbara
But I digress, as today is about Livingston and what made going there special. Well my daddy's people cotton farmed right next to the Indian reservation in that area. When I was growing up, we had a several of my aunts who lived there (Ray, Meryl, Elsie) cousins, and my grandmother as long as she was alive.
So, we'd drive through the woods, passed bunches of old pumping units (horse heads) and I'd imagine that the red light on the top of towers was Rudolph's nose. Or get bored and ask for a hamburger. Which made daddy terribly mad, as he couldn't understand why I couldn't see we were out in the middle of no where and a hamburger could not be found.
Then we'd usually go to Aunt Ray's and Uncle Doc's. Everyone would congregate there because they had the roomiest house and a good large lawn. Many times these gatherings were called because the two sisters that lived the farthest away, Elena and Mitzie, had flown in. And the relatives would congregate. There'd be forty-two tournaments running full time in Aunt R.A.'s dining room. I remember how thrilled I was the one year they finally let me sit in on a game, thinking i was old enough to get it.
The kitchen would always have large pots simmering down something tasty and there would be a parade of pies brought in from a dinner down the street. Most of my time at these events was spent playing croquet with my cousin Gary who was older than me. Or when we got a little older he'd take me to town for malts or to the picture show to see free movies because he worked there sometimes.
I loved those gatherings at Livingston. There was no alcohol. No bedtimes. If we were there on a Sunday, we'd often all go to church with R.A. and Doc. Life seemed slow and good. Felt like a movie from the fifties. A time warp. One I'd go back to if I could.
Post Script: R.A. or Ray was married to Doc, and was Gary's mother. Meryl had once been married to a gangster. She had a son named Billy who became fast friends with my older sisters and at one time drove a race car. Aunt Elsie was married to Curtis and they lived on place that was like a farm. Had a barn. Big pond. Uncle Curtis was supposed to be a carpenter, yet they didn't get an indoor bathroom until I was in high school. They had an outhouse. I remember well having to go there when we stayed over. Aunt Elsie always had big old country mattresses on her beds and lots of quilts. Elena was married to a Jew, Uncle Dave, who owned Hofbrau Restaurants in Oakland and San Fransisco. I found it funny later in life, that he, a Jew, owned a restaurant with a German name and German beer steins. Then there was Mitzie. She had been a twin. Her actual name was Verlis and her twin brother had been Vernon. But sometime before I came along, Vernon stopped his vehicle too close to a train crossing and a loose hook on a log car caught his bumper and pulled him under the train. All together there were 14 children in my daddy's family that survived until adulthood.
Barbara
Thursday, April 12, 2012
K is for Kellly
At age twelve, Bug became an aunt on Tuesday when Baby Ruth was born. She's a little excited but isn't totally on the bandwagon yet.
But imagine you're not even four yet and suddenly you have a niece. Well you can't even grasp the concept, but that's what Kelly Michelle was to me....my niece while I was still a toddler!
Through our growing up years it was more like Kelly was a play companion and we spent a lot of time doing things together and at each other's houses. Even once we were grown and with families of our own, I don't think we have had the same usual aunt and niece relationship. It's more like a cousin you love like a close friend.
But the adults in my life knew what the real relationship was and that meant when Kelly was riding my tricycle and the handlebars broke off, her grandparents were all like it's okay dear, it's not your fault, it was rusty. But I was sure if I'd have been the only one riding it instead that it would have stayed together much longer.
I remember sharing a tub bath with her at one point. A bubble bath. And I was horrified and shocked to find at the end of our time together there a brown log turd floating beneath the bubbles!
I know sometimes after her little sister, Paige Ann, was born I'd gang up with Kelly against Paige and at other times I'd feel sorry for that itty bitty girl and take up for her against Kelly.
We rodes horses and jenny together. We did wiener roasts together. We skinny dipped together in my sisters pond (sshhh..don't know if she ever knew that). We pranked people together. Helped my brother-in-law bail and pick up hay together. When I was little I envied that she had blond hair, that she took tumbling.
She could crank a motor that had a manual choke on it when she was still not much more than a toddler. But I taught her the finer points of driving a standard in my 1979 Mustang. In high school I remember threatening a good freind of mine who was interested in her about how I'd hurt him if he hurt her. And I remember my Senior year when a girl started a rumor about me being pregnant, Kelly stuck right up for me, then came to me later on the side and asked "you aren't are you?" No, I wasn't.
She's practical, creative, has a ball around folks, though she seldom seeks out a crowd. She's made a career out of being an elementary school secretary. She's got just that right mix of tough and love to do it. Raised two boys. Married my best friend's brother.
So, I don't know if I love her like most people love their nieces, but I do know I treasure her, count on her always being herself and don't get to visit with her half as much as I'd like to.
Barbara
But imagine you're not even four yet and suddenly you have a niece. Well you can't even grasp the concept, but that's what Kelly Michelle was to me....my niece while I was still a toddler!
Through our growing up years it was more like Kelly was a play companion and we spent a lot of time doing things together and at each other's houses. Even once we were grown and with families of our own, I don't think we have had the same usual aunt and niece relationship. It's more like a cousin you love like a close friend.
But the adults in my life knew what the real relationship was and that meant when Kelly was riding my tricycle and the handlebars broke off, her grandparents were all like it's okay dear, it's not your fault, it was rusty. But I was sure if I'd have been the only one riding it instead that it would have stayed together much longer.
I remember sharing a tub bath with her at one point. A bubble bath. And I was horrified and shocked to find at the end of our time together there a brown log turd floating beneath the bubbles!
I know sometimes after her little sister, Paige Ann, was born I'd gang up with Kelly against Paige and at other times I'd feel sorry for that itty bitty girl and take up for her against Kelly.
We rodes horses and jenny together. We did wiener roasts together. We skinny dipped together in my sisters pond (sshhh..don't know if she ever knew that). We pranked people together. Helped my brother-in-law bail and pick up hay together. When I was little I envied that she had blond hair, that she took tumbling.
She could crank a motor that had a manual choke on it when she was still not much more than a toddler. But I taught her the finer points of driving a standard in my 1979 Mustang. In high school I remember threatening a good freind of mine who was interested in her about how I'd hurt him if he hurt her. And I remember my Senior year when a girl started a rumor about me being pregnant, Kelly stuck right up for me, then came to me later on the side and asked "you aren't are you?" No, I wasn't.
She's practical, creative, has a ball around folks, though she seldom seeks out a crowd. She's made a career out of being an elementary school secretary. She's got just that right mix of tough and love to do it. Raised two boys. Married my best friend's brother.
So, I don't know if I love her like most people love their nieces, but I do know I treasure her, count on her always being herself and don't get to visit with her half as much as I'd like to.
Barbara
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
I is for It's a Girl!!
Today at 1:55 pm Hazil Ruth (Baby Ruth) entered the world weighing six pounds, ten ounces and measuring nineteen and one half inch long. A head full of black hair and dark blue eyes that she kept open most of the time immediately after her birth.
She's a doll, she's a dream. The sweetest baby you've ever seen. Mom and dad both did well. I'm so very proud of them. I found out the hard part of being a grandparent today....wishing so badly you could do it for your kids.
Time to feed us a late supper and make a last call to check on the new little family.
Barbara
She's a doll, she's a dream. The sweetest baby you've ever seen. Mom and dad both did well. I'm so very proud of them. I found out the hard part of being a grandparent today....wishing so badly you could do it for your kids.
Time to feed us a late supper and make a last call to check on the new little family.
Barbara
Thursday, April 5, 2012
E is for Edna
Edna is my sister. Actually my eldest sister. My only surviving sister. I don't know what it is like to grow up with a sibling. Edna was 18 when I was born. During my early growing up years my sisters were probably more like aunts to me. Young, pretty aunts.
Anyway, Edna is special. Just because she is a special type person. When I was a young woman, I'd shake my head and think Edna thought the world was like Walt Disney World. But now I know that Edna knows as well as anyone how far from Walt Disney the world is. But she tries to make it like that for everyone in her life. And that makes her special and a treasure to everyone who knows her.
For me personally, not having mama, daddy or our other sister since I was in my early twenties, Edna has been aunt, older sister, surrogate mother and friend to me. For my children growing up with only my stepfather on my side of the family for a grandparent, she has always been the aunt with the mostest. The most time. Remembering more occasions. With more surprises. More love, acceptance and support. Attending more activities. Going above and beyond to try to never let them feel the void on our side of the family. I don't think they have. Thanks to Edna, that's a void only she and I share.
Barbara
Please take my poll in the sidebar if you haven't yet!
Anyway, Edna is special. Just because she is a special type person. When I was a young woman, I'd shake my head and think Edna thought the world was like Walt Disney World. But now I know that Edna knows as well as anyone how far from Walt Disney the world is. But she tries to make it like that for everyone in her life. And that makes her special and a treasure to everyone who knows her.
For me personally, not having mama, daddy or our other sister since I was in my early twenties, Edna has been aunt, older sister, surrogate mother and friend to me. For my children growing up with only my stepfather on my side of the family for a grandparent, she has always been the aunt with the mostest. The most time. Remembering more occasions. With more surprises. More love, acceptance and support. Attending more activities. Going above and beyond to try to never let them feel the void on our side of the family. I don't think they have. Thanks to Edna, that's a void only she and I share.
Barbara
Please take my poll in the sidebar if you haven't yet!
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
C is for corn
You thought I was going to say "Caneyhead", didn't you?
No, today I'm talking about corn memories. Rows of corn growing in Daddy's garden. Daddy plowing the waist high corn with his jennie. Jenny trying to grab a bite as they went down the rows. Daddy stopping at the end of one to lean against the georgie stock and smoke a cigarette, while
rewarding a good Jenny with a niblet ear.
Once Daddy was sure there was a coon visiting our garden. Every day he'd find one or two stalks bent down and an ear peeled off. Nothing but a the green husks and some cob left on the ground. But we didn't live in an area that was home to coons. No real woods around. And he never could find a coon print or any other sign. Couldn't catch any in the field when he'd shine it at night.
One day, we found the answer. Our beloved Susie dog was found laying in between two rows, corn upright between her paws, pulling the husks down with her teeth so she could get to the golden kernels. Susie was my best friend. An alert dog. A snake dog. Daddy didn't mind at all if it was her enjoying the fruits of his labor.
In fact, Susie would nibble all sorts of delights from the garden. Green beans. Fresh peas, shelled the same way she peeled the corn.
She was just some little Heinz 57 mix that we had gotten from Aunt Norma when she was a pup. But we all believed her to be the smartest, best dog ever. She passed away when I was in 5th grade. I remember Mama picking me up from school and telling me the awful news. We got home to find Daddy cutting up his old wonderful marine tool chest to make her a coffin. Tears rolling down his cheeks while he worked. Mama made a lining out of an old sheet and a pillow. We lay my little dog down and put her to rest beneath a crape mertyl tree in the backyard.
Barbara
Follow me on twitter to never miss a post!
No, today I'm talking about corn memories. Rows of corn growing in Daddy's garden. Daddy plowing the waist high corn with his jennie. Jenny trying to grab a bite as they went down the rows. Daddy stopping at the end of one to lean against the georgie stock and smoke a cigarette, while
rewarding a good Jenny with a niblet ear.
Once Daddy was sure there was a coon visiting our garden. Every day he'd find one or two stalks bent down and an ear peeled off. Nothing but a the green husks and some cob left on the ground. But we didn't live in an area that was home to coons. No real woods around. And he never could find a coon print or any other sign. Couldn't catch any in the field when he'd shine it at night.
One day, we found the answer. Our beloved Susie dog was found laying in between two rows, corn upright between her paws, pulling the husks down with her teeth so she could get to the golden kernels. Susie was my best friend. An alert dog. A snake dog. Daddy didn't mind at all if it was her enjoying the fruits of his labor.
In fact, Susie would nibble all sorts of delights from the garden. Green beans. Fresh peas, shelled the same way she peeled the corn.
She was just some little Heinz 57 mix that we had gotten from Aunt Norma when she was a pup. But we all believed her to be the smartest, best dog ever. She passed away when I was in 5th grade. I remember Mama picking me up from school and telling me the awful news. We got home to find Daddy cutting up his old wonderful marine tool chest to make her a coffin. Tears rolling down his cheeks while he worked. Mama made a lining out of an old sheet and a pillow. We lay my little dog down and put her to rest beneath a crape mertyl tree in the backyard.
Barbara
Follow me on twitter to never miss a post!
Monday, April 2, 2012
B is for Dam B
A group of men were out surveying for an important building project. Henry said, "What are we going to call it?" About that time the boss was stung by a bee, and he exclaimed, "Damn bee!" To which Henry said, "It's not very imaginative, but I guess Dam B will do."
My daddy told me some such story long ago. Of course daddy was a great teller of tall tales, so I doubt if that had anything to do with the Army Corp of Engineers naming it Dam B. But daddy did come home from WWII and go straight to work as a heavy duty equipment operator on the building of the dam. He, like many others, came back with amoebic dysentery. And once while he was running his equipment up high on the structure, he passed out. Luckily a track hung on something large and he didn't plummet off. He went and saw his doctor and he happily told him that a cure had just come in.
I can remember stopping by the dam with family and picnicking under the trees at the rest stop at the top of the dam as a child in the 60's. And daddy walking me down to the dam, and me being amazed at what my daddy had built. ;o)
In the mid to late 70's I often spent the weekend there at Head Acres, as my best friend Mary Lou and her family had a camp there. Running the roads in a little orange VW. Swimming, water skiing, camp fires, boys, and sneaking into the nearby VFW hall to dance. Back then you could actually drive out onto part of the dam and turn around. And many would line the sides and fish there.
In the mid 90's once while on my way back from 4th of July celebration with my sister and her family, I pulled into the rest area and bubba and I walked down to the dam. I had told him how his pawpaw had helped build it, so of course he wanted to see it, especially since he was between 2nd and 3rd grade then. I had been going through the roughest time of my life for the six months before. As we turned around on the dam to walk back down the stairs and leave, there was the largest, most beautiful rainbow in the sky! I claimed it as my own personal sign from God that my trials would soon be over. Sure enough, immediately in the weeks that followed things got better and better and by my birthday in September, all was well once again. No....all was better than ever before.
Summer before last, we stopped by Dam B on our way back from our friend Jim's to rest, stretch and eat. I wanted to take Hannah down to see the dam, but a gate was across and locked where you used to could drive down. And it was posted that no one was to go on foot either. So, I couldn't share that experience with her.
If you'd like to find out more about Dam B and it's history, click the picture above.
And if you are enjoying yourself in Caneyhead, "Like" it on Facebook in my sidebar.
Barbara
My daddy told me some such story long ago. Of course daddy was a great teller of tall tales, so I doubt if that had anything to do with the Army Corp of Engineers naming it Dam B. But daddy did come home from WWII and go straight to work as a heavy duty equipment operator on the building of the dam. He, like many others, came back with amoebic dysentery. And once while he was running his equipment up high on the structure, he passed out. Luckily a track hung on something large and he didn't plummet off. He went and saw his doctor and he happily told him that a cure had just come in.
I can remember stopping by the dam with family and picnicking under the trees at the rest stop at the top of the dam as a child in the 60's. And daddy walking me down to the dam, and me being amazed at what my daddy had built. ;o)
In the mid to late 70's I often spent the weekend there at Head Acres, as my best friend Mary Lou and her family had a camp there. Running the roads in a little orange VW. Swimming, water skiing, camp fires, boys, and sneaking into the nearby VFW hall to dance. Back then you could actually drive out onto part of the dam and turn around. And many would line the sides and fish there.
In the mid 90's once while on my way back from 4th of July celebration with my sister and her family, I pulled into the rest area and bubba and I walked down to the dam. I had told him how his pawpaw had helped build it, so of course he wanted to see it, especially since he was between 2nd and 3rd grade then. I had been going through the roughest time of my life for the six months before. As we turned around on the dam to walk back down the stairs and leave, there was the largest, most beautiful rainbow in the sky! I claimed it as my own personal sign from God that my trials would soon be over. Sure enough, immediately in the weeks that followed things got better and better and by my birthday in September, all was well once again. No....all was better than ever before.
Summer before last, we stopped by Dam B on our way back from our friend Jim's to rest, stretch and eat. I wanted to take Hannah down to see the dam, but a gate was across and locked where you used to could drive down. And it was posted that no one was to go on foot either. So, I couldn't share that experience with her.
If you'd like to find out more about Dam B and it's history, click the picture above.
And if you are enjoying yourself in Caneyhead, "Like" it on Facebook in my sidebar.
Barbara
Saturday, March 31, 2012
I'm in for the April A-Z Challenge!
I've joined in the April A-Z Challenge (see link banner above) and I am so excited! Each day in April, starting with the first but excluding all other Sundays, will be assigned a letter of the alphabet. Participants have to make a post centered in some way around that letter. For my posts I'll be selecting a person or place from my past for a three reasons.
- Writing seems to come the easiest to me when I write about people or things close to my heart or etched into my memory, so the challenge won't be a chore.
- Second, I'll be creating a mini-history for my friends and family.
- Writing about this type of subject matter ought to create entries that are more interesting for all my readers, as my best writing seems to come when I write about subjects I can hear, see, touch, feel, smell, etc. Also, I have certainly known my share of characters in my day!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
