I don't mean to brag but . . .

I can still fit into the same earrings I wore in high school. :-))

The earrings on the left were among the first ones I ever bought. I hadn't had pierced ears very long. I was in the 7th grade.

 

I had been bugging my parents for a long time to let me get my ears pierced. The answer was always the same: No. Even though "all the other girls" were doing it, I wasn't allowed to have holes in my ears. I think I must have finally worn them down because one day, to my surprise, the answer was different. They told me (knowing how squeemish I was) that if I did it myself, I could pierce my ears. It wasn't the answer I wanted but it was permission nonetheless.

 

I finally got up the nerve to do it when they were both gone. I gathered my supplies: sewing needle, thread, alcohol, and ice cubes. I threaded the needle then sterilized both needle and thread with alcohol. I held the ice to my ear lobe, first the front then the back, until it was numb. I stood in front of the mirror and took a deep breath. I stuck the needle into the center of my ear lobe. Blood! Not much though so I didn't faint. I continued pushing the needle but it wouldn't break through the back side.

 

Nervous, in tears, and with a needle sticking out of my ear, I was not about to be outdone. I put more ice on the back side and gave the needle another shove. Success!! I pushed it all the way through then cut the needle off the thread. I tied the thread ends together so it made a loop. I proceeded to pierce the other ear. After both were done, I realized the holes were not exactly even. No matter - it was done.

 

When my parents came home, they were both shocked. Daddy said, "The only reason I said you could was because I never thought you'd have the nerve to do it!"

 

For the next several weeks, I changed the thread periodically, wet it with alcohol daily, and pulled it back and forth through the holes so they wouldn't get infected. By the way, I did not get strange looks at school because there were several of us who had to pierce our own ears.

Sunday Morning Coming Down

I waited on the porch early Sunday morning at Daddy's while he got ready to go to Hardee's for his favorite biscuits and gravy breakfast. I sat in the same chair that Papaw had used many years ago when he chewed tobacco so he could spit into the yard or when he taught a kitten to climb the leg of his overalls and sit in his lap. It was the same chair in which Mom had sat as she broke beans that were freshly picked from the garden or bounced a grandchild on her knee. Daddy sat in this chair late in the evenings while playing his guitar and singing cowboy songs such as "Patanio the Pride of the Plains" and "Bury Me Not on the Lone Prairie." It's where I sat on weekday mornings and watched for the school bus to pass so I'd know it was time to go wait at the road for its return.

The air lay thick and heavy in the valley on this Sunday morning. Wallens Ridge was almost obscured by the dense fog and I could feel the mist against my arms. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of something moving. I looked to my left and saw a deer grazing alongside the road. Oblivious to the human just a few yards away, she lazily continued up the hill, enjoying her morning meal before turning and disappearing into the woods. My attention returned to the front of the house where I saw a rabbit come out of the weeds across the road. His cotton ball tail stood out against the green and brown grasses as he circled a fence post and scampered back to his hidden home. A leaf loosed its hold from the oak tree in the corner of the yard and began its descent, twisting and turning before finally landing in the grass. The silence of the morning was broken only by the occasional call of a crow.

For a few moments, I was transported back in time to my youth. I was home.

Cookie Crisis

I hadn’t eaten since 1:30 and dieting leaves me constantly hungry. I am accustomed to eating something every three hours. I snack on fruit or yogurt between meals so the lengthy gap was taking its toll. I got Daddy a dinner at Long John Silver’s on our way through town. I stopped at Subway to pick up something for me. I opted for a 6” ham and turkey sandwich. As I approached the cashier, I picked up a bag of Baked Lay’s. They’re baked . . . that’s healthy, I reasoned. The perky little cashier asked if I wanted a meal and I told her no. She rang up my purchase and cheerfully noted, “Did you know that for one penny more, you can get a meal?” No, I did not know that. I had a freshly mixed bottle of Crystal Light water in the car so I didn’t need a drink, however Daddy didn’t get a drink with his meal. Oh, why not? I paid her, got a cup from the dispenser, and filled it with Sprite. I wrestled with the lid to the drink cup, running my fingers around the rim in an effort to get it to fit.

 

“What kind of cookie do you want?” asked the cashier. Cookie? The word got my attention away from the lid. “It comes with the meal,” she continued. I heard myself ask, “Do you have Macadamia Nut?” She reached the tongs into the display and retrieved a golden brown cookie. My eyes followed as she placed it in a paper sleeve and then slid it into the bag with the sandwich and chips. I hoped it wouldn’t get broken as she lifted the bag and handed my supper to me. I put the bag into the back seat of the car. I planned to eat the sandwich and chips on my way home. I was unsure about the cookie.

 

After Daddy was settled at his house, I got back in the car and brought the Subway bag up to the front seat beside me. I opened the chips and unwrapped the sandwich before pulling out of the driveway. By then I was starving. It was dark and I could barely see what I was eating as I drove toward home. When tidbits fell from the sandwich onto my lap, I just picked them up and plopped them in my mouth. If you’ve ever seen a movie where a king is depicted sitting at a table laden with meats, fruits, cheeses, and wines, remember the part where he picks up the nine-pound drumstick and gnaws at the meat. I imagine I looked very much like that king, minus the beard and crown. I had scarfed down the sandwich in time that would match any pie eating contest champion. I finished off the chips by turning the bag upside down and shaking the crumbs into my mouth. That left only the cookie.

 

Why was I born so weak? There was a cookie in my car and I was helpless against it. I tried to resist, honestly I did, but to no avail. As I pulled the cookie from its paper envelope, I knew I was about to sin but the little red devil on my left shoulder had beat the socks off the little white angel on my right. I took a bite and, as the sugary sweetness swept over my taste buds, they jumped for joy. I chewed slowly, holding onto each morsel of macadamia nut mastery. I would have closed my eyes had I not been driving. Bite after delicious bite I continued, savoring the flavors for as long as possible. Then it was gone.

 

My taste buds shouted in unison, “More! More! More!” I had nothing with which to appease them. I could stop at the supermarket and get a bag of cookies, I thought. My mouth watered as my salivary glands were whipped into a frenzy with anticipation. No! I had to get a grip on myself. I bared my teeth and passed the grocery store without stopping. I took a drink of raspberry water hoping it would satisfy my taste buds’ cry for sugar. It worked . . . for a few moments. Then the craving started again. There was a convenience store just up the road. They would have little packs of cookies. I clinched the steering wheel then took another drink of water as I tried to clear my head. Water – if I drank enough water, it would drown those evil taste buds. I continued on, taking a drink each time I got the urge for a cookie.

 

The water bottle was empty by the time I got home. Let me say that in another way: I drank a pint of water right before bedtime. I was up twice during the night but the cookie crisis passed. I was able to stop after just one cookie. It may be a small accomplishment to some, but it was a giant victory for me.

All I needed was a new chair . . .

. . . but what I got was a whole new corner.

The vinyl on the stool I had used for several years was split in a couple of places and, to be honest, the thing never was comfortable anyway. It came with my keyboard and the price was right (free) so I had made use of it. I decided now was the time to treat myself to a new chair so I could work on my scrapbooks and surf the net in comfort. I checked around for prices and styles. I especially liked the ones that reminded me of the teachers' chairs when I was in school. However, that style was expensive. I looked on theEclassifieds.com [shameless plug for our website] and found a chair - with a matching desk and filing cabinet - that I could afford. I called the person who had placed the ad and made arrangements to go look at it. My mind was already made up, provided it was as nice as the photos suggested. I would have paid for the chair what she was asking for all three pieces.

If I bought the set, I would need to make room for more furniture. I had used an old drafting table for a desk so that would have to go. I didn't have much storage space for my scrapbooking supplies. While I was cleaning out my corner, why not go ahead and de-clutter? One thing led to another and, before I knew it, Keith and I were at Lowe's buying shelving. We measured, marked, and mounted. To my surprise, the shelves came out level . . . almost . . . well, let's just say things don't slide off.

The week prior, Amanda had reorganized her room and somehow had a chest of drawers left over. (I still haven't figured out where she put all her stuff but now I'm afraid to look under her bed.) Keith and I dragged the chest into my room. I put my scrapbooking paper and embellishments in the drawers. I loaded the wall shelves with the remaining supplies and filled the empty spots with knickknacks. I had a place for everything and everything was in place. I could hardly wait to get the desk and chair.

Keith was working the day the seller and I had planned to meet so I took his truck and drove to her house. The furniture looked just as I anticipated so I paid her and she offered to help me load it in the truck. It's a good thing because it is much heavier than it looks. It took all our muscle to get that desk hoisted into the truck bed. After wrapping the furniture with a quilt and tying it down, I headed home. Amanda, who won't weigh 90 pounds soaking wet, helped me unload it. We rolled the chair and filing cabinet into my room but we could only manage to get the desk into the garage. It had to wait there until Keith got home so he could help me get it into the house.

I was pleased with the way everything fit into the corner. The filing cabinet drawers open all the way without hitting the chest. While it doesn't match exactly, my old filing cabinet blends in well enough. I even treated myself to a mousepad customized with one of my favorite photos from our trips out west. The larger desk drawer is intended for a keyboard but I put my makeup in there so it now doubles as a vanity. I hope I can keep things this organized but, knowing me, it won't look this way for very long. I decided I should take a picture of it while it is still tidy. Now I'm ready for my next project. I need to move the tv but that would mean taking everything off the tv stand so I might as well upgrade to a Blu-ray player while it's disconnected . . .

Shake Shack

We traveled through the little town of Monticello, Utah, on our recent trip. There weren’t many restaurant choices so we decided to give Shake Shack a try. Jim and I went inside to see what was on the menu. While we were gone, Gloria watched as a couple of deer tried to cross the street in front of where the car was parked. After not being able to maneuver around traffic, the deer gave up and walked back to the nearby field.

Meanwhile, Jim and I were looking over the menu and noticed something called a "Shack Attack." It is an eight-patty cheeseburger, fries, and large milkshake. If you can eat it in half an hour, your next regular meal is free. A wall board displays photos of people who have tried. Several have been successful but many have not. They are called the "Hall of Fame" and the "Hall of Shame." A young boy ordered the Shack Attack while we were there, but he got it "to go" so we will never know if he ate the whole thing.

I placed my food order and asked for a cheeseburger with lettuce and tomato only. The clerk told me, “It comes with everything on the side.” When I ordered Gloria’s and Daddy's food, I again had specific requests for accompaniments. The clerk repeated, “It comes with everything on the side.” Jim, who had been reading the menu and not paying attention to the clerk, gave his order and asked for no tomato on his sandwich. The clerk, in a higher pitched voice and through slightly clenched teeth, told him, “It comes with everything on the side – no matter what you order.”

Once the food was ready and we were preparing to leave, a herd of 8-10 deer came back from the field. They walked down the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street from where we were parked then disappeared into the darkness.

My cheeseburger, fries with dipping sauce, and pineapple milkshake were delicious!

The Medicine Wheel

We took Medicine Wheel Passage (US-14A) eastward from Lovell, Wyoming, toward Sheridan. When we saw the sign that pointed to Medicine Wheel National Historic Site atop the Bighorn Mountains, I told Jim and Gloria what I had read about the rock formation. It is a wheel-shaped structure made of stones. Measuring 80 feet in diameter, the wheel has 28 spokes. It is assumed to have been constructed by indigenous peoples of North America for astronomical, ritual, healing, and teaching purposes. I had it on my bucket list but I didn’t think there would be enough time to stop on this trip so it was not on “The Plan.” Gloria said she would like to see it. Jim turned onto the unpaved road and drove the three miles to the parking lot.

There was a gate across the road leading to the site so Daddy was going to wait in the car while we walked the rest of the way. We met a couple on their way back and we asked them how far it was. They told us it was about 1½ miles. Gloria and I knew we couldn’t walk that far. The couple suggested we open the gate and drive on out. They said persons with a handicap were allowed to take their vehicles to the site. I walked to the gate as Jim brought the car around. I ducked under the telephone pole-sized gate to get to the other side and released the hasp. The log was so heavy and it swung open with such force that I barely had time to get out of the way. Jim drove through and, with a struggle, I closed the gate and got in the car.

It didn’t take long for me to realize I wasn’t going to enjoy this ride. The road was wide enough to pass a pedestrian but probably not another car, there was no guard rail or shoulder, and it was on the side of a mountain. I said, “Jimmy! I don’t know about this!” He asked, “Do you want me to back down?” I looked behind us at the narrow dirt road. I told him to keep going. I turned my head toward the bank on the left.

We finally reached the Medicine Wheel and Jim got the car turned and parked. He, Gloria, and I walked over to the rock formation which was enclosed by posts and rope. We walked around the circle to the left, as the sign instructed, so we wouldn’t disrupt any karma. We wondered what ceremonies might have been performed here by ancient peoples. Other visitors had left mementos, such as scarves, beadwork, and amulets, on the rope. As a show of respect, I sometimes place trinkets at places I visit so I decided to leave something here as well. Remembering that I had broken the charm off my bracelet the day before, I went to the car and retrieved the chain. I squatted down to wrap the bracelet around the rope and fasten it. Jim said he felt he should say something and began chanting, “Mekka lekka hi mekka hiney ho.”

Gloria said she was going to pray for me because I was dabbling in spiritism. She said, “Jehovah God, forgive her because she knows not what she does.” At that very moment, a great wind blew from the north, pushing me off balance, and I fell flat on my behind. I was startled and embarrassed at first, but when I realized I couldn’t get up, I started laughing. Jim and Gloria stood there laughing at me until Jim finally felt sorry for me and helped me to my feet. Gloria said she was glad to see me get my comeuppance. Was I being punished for “dabbling in spiritism” or for leaving a broken bracelet at this sacred site?

A Day in August

The August day dawned hot and muggy in much the same way as the one before it and the one before that. Like their neighbors, the young couple was trying to scratch out a living from the southwest Virginia dirt. They eagerly anticipated the birth of their first child but, times being what they were, the mother-to-be kept working in the field even though her due date was fast approaching. From all indications, this might even be the big day.

By late afternoon, she was sure it was time. She sent her husband to fetch her sister and two sisters-in-law who lived nearby. She rested on the bed – the same bed in which her mother had spent her final moments on earth six years earlier. There would be no trip to the hospital. The birth would take place at home. Once the three ladies arrived, her husband was all but banished from the room. He took up a position in the kitchen to wait for the blessed event – and to be nearby in case the request came for boiling water like it always did in the movies.

The evening wore on with no word of any progress until one of the ladies came and told him to call for the nurse. There was no phone in their little four-room log house so he walked half a mile to the nearest telephone. He called the nurse who agreed to come right away. Once she arrived, she disappeared into the room with the other ladies.

After some time had passed, the nurse came out and said the doctor was needed. He walked up the hill once more to the house with the telephone. He called the doctor and told him of the nurse’s request. The doctor wasn’t familiar with the area where they lived so he asked the husband to meet him and be his guide. They decided on a location and he went back to inform the others. The next thing he had to do was figure out how to get to the meeting place since they had no vehicle.

He went to his brother-in-law who readily agreed to let the fretful father-to-be borrow the only mode of transportation available. He then headed up the road as fast as the farm tractor would take him. By that time, it was pitch dark, a thick fog had developed, and he could barely see the way. He reached the designated location and waited for the doctor to arrive. An hour elapsed between the time the doctor had been summoned and the time they reached the little house.

The doctor allowed the nurse to leave and he assessed the situation. By now, the mother was tired, weak, and in excruciating pain. He decided the best course of action would be to let her rest. He administered the ether and she drifted off to sleep. The combination of oppressive heat and humidity added to the daunting task ahead of him. Two lives were in his hands. With the mother asleep and unable to assist, it would be a difficult delivery. The three ladies stayed tirelessly by his side.

Finally, at 3:45 a.m. on August 3, 1956, the baby girl was born. She never cried nor even whimpered, yet she appeared healthy in all respects. After she was cleaned and swaddled, her aunt carried the newborn to the kitchen to her waiting father. She was gently placed into his outstretched hands and she lay there quietly. He looked into her eyes and, at that instant, she became Daddy’s little girl.

The mother recovered quickly and was soon able to go about her daily routine. They continued to live there in that little log house.

That’s the story of how we became a family as related to me by my dad and my aunt.

Colorado for Coffee

“Where’s the nearest Dutch Bros. Coffee?” That question got my attention.

“Lemme look,” I replied. Jim was surprised that I didn’t have it memorized. We had both got hooked on their coffee while we were in Oregon last year. A large blended Caramelizer sounded good.

Colorado Springs seemed to be their closest store with two located there. “Colorado for Coffee” – it had a nice ring to it. I couldn’t get Jim to commit. He kept telling me it would be an unplanned trip. We both took off some extra time on the Fourth of July weekend. I picked up Daddy and we headed to Jim’s.

We left the Nashville, TN area around 7:00 pm CDT on Thursday, June 30 with the trip meter set at zero. We stopped and got supper then took I-24 westbound through Kentucky. Jim played the music on his phone through the car’s radio and we sang until I got hoarse. We entered Illinois at 9:53 pm. We took I-57 northward and stopped in Marion to get a motel room but none were available. The Miss Illinois beauty pageant was being held there that weekend. We continued on to Mount Vernon where we stopped for the night. It was 11:45 pm and there were 252.5 miles on the meter.

We left Mount Vernon, IL at 8:05 am CDT on Friday, July 1. We took I-64 westbound to St. Louis and then got on I-70. We ate lunch at 87 Diner in Boonville. We bypassed Kansas City on I-435 and then took I-29 northbound. Extreme flooding of the Missouri River had caused closure of I-29, US-136, and IA/NE-2. We had to detour onto US-136 eastbound and then took US-59 northward into Iowa. We got back on I-29 and then took I-80 westbound through Omaha. We stopped for supper at Runza just east of Lincoln. We do like our “regional favorites” and no trip through Nebraska is complete without a Runza. We continued westward until we reached Gothenburg. It was 11:28 pm and the trip meter read 1,030.3.

We left Gothenburg, NE at 8:40 am CDT on Saturday, July 2 on I-80 westbound. We ran into rain near North Platte and it continued to rain off and on for several miles. We hit the Mountain Time zone at 9:54 am at the Keith County line. Near Big Springs, we exited onto I-76. We entered Colorado at 9:36 am MDT. We exited onto US-34 and stopped in Greeley for lunch at JB’s Drive-In, a classic from the 1950s. We continued on US-34 through Big Thompson Canyon to Estes Park where we arrived at the Rocky Mountain National Park entrance at 3:00 pm. We drove across the Rockies via US-34 which is also known as Trail Ridge Road. The scenery was amazing but I sure felt the effects of the altitude. We exited the park near Granby where we got on US-40 which took us to I-70. Daddy wanted to see Denver so we drove up I-25 and then down Colorado Blvd through town. Back on I-25 southbound, we stopped in Castle Rock for supper at Red Robin. We spent the night in Colorado Springs after driving 563.2 miles.

We left Colorado Springs, CO at 8:54 am MDT on Sunday, July 3. I had overslept – that was 10:54 my time! Our first stop was at Dutch Bros. Coffee. We had driven over 1,600 miles and it was well worth it. We took US-24 toward Manitou Springs and started up the Pikes Peak road. There was construction and traffic was backed up so Jim turned around at the North Pole (a tourist attraction). We had attempted to go to the summit of Pikes Peak in February 1977 but were stopped then because the road was closed due to snow. I am determined to try again in another 34 years, if Jim will take me. We went to Garden of the Gods and enjoyed the splendor of the red rock formations. After leaving there, we drove through Old Colorado City and back to the second Dutch Bros. location for another coffee. Jim and I had drunk coffee all the way from Tennessee. By this time, I was in caffeine overload. I could only take a few drinks and had to throw away the rest of it.

We took I-25 southbound to Pueblo and exited onto US-50 through La Junta. After lunch at Carl’s Jr, we stopped at Bent’s Old Fort National Historic Site. Jim and I both collect National Park Service passport stamps and neither of us had this one. We continued on US-50 and entered Kansas at 4:16 pm MDT. We hit the Central Time zone at 4:45 pm at the Kearny County line. Before reaching Garden City, we stopped for photos of the Santa Fe Trail wagon ruts. It began to rain near Dodge City but we still stopped at Boot Hill for some photographs of the famous Front Street. We got supper at Taco Tico then took US-400 eastward through Pratt. We could see their fireworks display for several miles and it was rather impressive for a small town. We reached Wichita around 11:30 pm CDT and the trip meter read 2,108.0.

We left Wichita, KS at 8:45 am CDT on Monday, July 4. We took I-35 northbound until we came to the exit to the Flint Hills Scenic Byway. “There’s stuff to see in daylight. We can stay on the interstate after dark” was Jim’s way of thinking. We drove on KS-177 past gentle rolling hills and entered the Tallgrass Prairie National Preserve. To our surprise, there was a visitor center – with an NPS passport stamp! After getting our stamp and photos, we continued to Council Grove where we took US-56 eastward to I-335 and Topeka. From there, I-70 eastbound brought us through Kansas City and back into Missouri. Jim and I decided we were going to have a late lunch / early supper at Lion’s Choice, which is only available in the St. Louis area, so we got Daddy a hot dog in Oak Grove and we just snacked until we got to O’Fallon. We retraced our route to Mount Vernon, IL through Paducah, KY and into Tennessee. We arrived at Jim’s house at 11:25 pm. The trip meter showed we had driven 2,885.3 miles to Colorado and back. Not counting the partial day on Thursday, we averaged 658.2 miles and approximately 14.75 hours per day.

Some – actually many – people tell me they couldn't travel like this. They question why I take Daddy on these trips. The truth is I wouldn't want to travel any other way and Daddy wants to go any time the wheels are rolling. Give us about six weeks and we'll be on the road again.

Ten Years

It was on June 2, 2001, that I told my mom good-bye for the last time. She was surrounded by her family as the angels came to take her home. My heart still aches as I remember it. I think about her every day.

 

Sometimes when I look at my hands, I think of hers. She had strong hands and they were always moving. I’ve watched her hands while she peeled potatoes, stitched a quilt, set tobacco, squeezed out cat-head biscuits, planted a garden, or played “Rooster, Pullet, Hen” with an unsuspecting child. If you’re not familiar with that little game, it went like this: She would touch a youngster’s forehead and say, “This is the rooster.” Then she’d touch his nose and say, “This is the pullet.” She would touch his chin and say, “This is the hen.” She’d touch his nose once more and ask, “What’d I say that was?” When he answered “Pullet” . . . she would.

 

She could tie the prettiest hand of tobacco. She tied backwards, but the hands were neat and tight. After Daddy packed them on the basket, it was almost a work of art. Daddy told me that he never once asked Mom to go help him on the farm. She would ask him every night about his plans for the next day. She would be up the following morning and ready to go by the time he got out of bed. She loved to work, whether it was in the field or in the kitchen.

 

Mom was the best cook I’ve ever known. It was old fashioned country cooking, much of which came from the garden, either fresh or canned. New potatoes, fried corn, green beans, peas, sliced tomatoes – I can taste them now. Sometimes she didn’t even have to go to the garden, for example when she cooked dandelion greens or fried poke stalk. She would bake a pan of cornbread every evening. When there was work to be done on the farm, she made a big breakfast, including biscuits and gravy, so they would get a substantial start to the day. I can’t imagine cooking breakfast, packing lunch (which was called “dinner”), working all day in the field, cooking supper in the evening, washing dishes, then doing the household chores – and never once complaining about it.

 

I don’t know how many quilts Mom made. It seemed every winter she would piece a new top. She and other ladies in the neighborhood would set up a quilting frame in an empty room or even a vacant house. They would then meet to put the quilt together. I was amazed at the way Mom’s hand rocked back and forth as she made the quilting stitches. The stitches were so tiny, they looked as though they had been done on a machine.

 

Mom loved to sleep so she could dream. That was the only time she could see. If all the things above weren’t amazing enough, she did them even though she was legally blind. During the last several years of her life, she could only distinguish light from dark. As she held my newborn daughter on her lap twenty years ago, she said, “I can see the light shining in your eyes.”

 

Mom started losing her eyesight just a few years after I was born. It never stopped her – it just made life more challenging for her. If she wanted to see your facial features, she would “look” at you with her hands. If you were a man with a beard, you could expect to have it pulled as she felt of your face. When the electricity goes off and I’m groping around in the dark trying to find a flashlight, I think about how her every waking moment was like that. I don’t think I could ever be as brave as she was.

 

I admire my mom for her perseverance, her strength, her love of hard work, and her love of family. I miss her so much and I still love her with all my heart.

Classic Commercials

The “See the USA” commercial on Glee reminded me of other classic television commercials that I miss. Once I got started making this list, it was hard to stop! How many of these products can you guess from the slogan? It helps to be older’n dirt, like I am.

1. See the USA in a __________.
2. It’s the real thing.
3. Double your pleasure, double your fun.
4. __________ tastes good like a cigarette should. (Yes, they once advertised cigarettes on tv!)
5. The music goes “Zoom zoom”; the drummer goes “Boom boom”; and everybody shouts “Hooray for __________.”
6. Oh, __________ I’m glad they put real borax in you.
7. Hold the pickles, hold the lettuce, special orders don’t upset us, all we ask is that you let us serve it your way.
8. Does she or doesn’t she? Only her hairdresser knows for sure.
9. The quality goes in before the name goes on.
10. It’s not nice to fool Mother Nature!
11. No one can eat just one.
12. Ancient Chinese secret, huh?
13. Is it live or is it __________.
14. __________ has a better idea.
15. Taste that beats the others cold, __________ pours it on.
16. Stronger than dirt.
17. __________ is your kind of place.
18. Come to where the flavor is.
19. I’d like to buy the world a __________.
20. Fill it to the rim with __________.
21. You’ve come a long way, baby.
22. Plop, plop, fizz, fizz; oh, what a relief it is.
23. From one beer lover to another.
24. __________ melt in your mouth, not in your hands.
25. Strong enough for a man, but made for a woman.
26. When you’re number two, you try harder.
27. Reach out and touch someone.
28. Look, Ma, no cavities!
29. Put a tiger in your tank.
30. Good to the last drop.
31. Sometimes you feel like a nut, sometimes you don’t.
32. When you’re out of __________, you’re out of beer.
33. __________, __________ tastes great. Wish we had some, can’t wait.
34. Wouldn’t you really rather have a __________?
35. In the valley of the jolly, “Ho! Ho! Ho!”
36. Aren’t you glad you use __________? Don’t you wish everybody did?
37. You can trust your car to the man who wears the star.
38. Get a little closer, don’t be shy.
39. Bring out the __________ and bring out the best.
40. You’ll love those tiny little tea leaves in __________ tea.
41. Nothing says loving like something from the oven.
42. My wife, I think I’ll keep her.
43. Everybody doesn’t like something but nobody doesn’t like __________.
44. Fly the friendly skies of __________.
45. The dogs kids love to bite.
46. You’re not fully clean unless you’re _____-fully clean.
47. Us __________ smokers would rather fight than switch.
48. You get a quick tan, a double tan, when you use __________.
49. Please don’t squeeze the __________.
50. So complete, all you add is love.
51. No more ring around the collar.
52. If it says __________, __________, __________ on the label you will like it, like it, like it on your table, table, table.
53. Tastes so good, makes you feel like a king.
54. Sorry, Charlie, __________ doesn’t want tuna with good taste. __________ wants tuna that tastes good!
55. There’s always room for __________.
56. Nothing beats a great pair of __________.
57. Take __________ tonight and sleep. Safe and restful, sleep, sleep, sleep.
58. All of my men wear __________ or they wear nothing at all.
59. Raise your hand if you’re __________.
60. Be careful how you use it.

Here is a bonus for the locals:
Stop, shop, and save at the sign of the shears and the name __________.

Grandma's Bed

It's old. It's too small for today's mattress sizes. The finish is scratched and worn. It belonged to my grandmother. I wouldn't part with it for anything. I was three years old when she passed away. Grandma always wore a headscarf, she dipped snuff, and she was living in the house with us. I once thought my head was stuck between the rails of our stairs. I cried and screamed until Grandma told me to straighten my head and pull it back out.

 

Grandma enjoyed playing with me and my kittens. I would bring a kitten to her and she would swaddle it in one of her scarves. One day, she was sitting in her rocking chair, trying so hard to wrap my kitten but her hands just weren't able to get the scarf folded correctly. I looked up at her face and she was staring straight ahead. A little bit of ambeer was trickling from the corner of her mouth. Even though I was only three, I knew something was terribly wrong. I ran and got my dad. Grandma had suffered a stroke. She passed away in the hospital sometime later.

 

My cousin once told me that when she gets really lonesome for her mother, she takes her mom's sweater from the closet and puts it on. It still has the faint aroma of her mother's favorite perfume. This gives her the feeling of being wrapped in her mother's loving arms. When I get sad, I lie on this bed, close my eyes, and let the memory of my grandmother's love console me.

Since When

When was the last time you heard someone say . . .

Regular or high-test?

You go turn the antenna and I’ll holler when the picture is good.

I can’t do laundry today – it’s supposed to rain.

How many are on your party line?

Bring in a bucket of coal.

It’s a brand new 45 and it skips.

How long is your gum wrapper chain?

Don’t forget your earmuffs.

We’re almost out of lard.

Bank the fire before you go to bed.

I Vaguely Remember

This is the type of winter we had when I was growing up: snow after snow after snow. Oh, how I enjoyed making a snowman, eating snow cream, and taking turns riding Randy’s and Larry’s sled. I have fond memories of my childhood but I don’t have many of them and the ones I have aren’t detailed. I blame that on Butch Harless.

I was in the second grade at Flatwoods School. Flatwoods was actually two schools in separate buildings. The older building was the elementary school (grades 1 – 7) and the newer building was the high school (grades 8 – 12). There was no kindergarten back in the olden days and I had only heard of “junior high” in books. The driveway for buses and cars made a loop between the two buildings. I once got hit by a car as I was coming back from buying ice cream in the high school building at recess. That doesn’t have anything to do with my poor memory – just my poor judgment.

 

Elementary and high school shared the same principal, Mr. Samuel Chester “S.C.” Hobbs, and his office was in the high school building. There were different rules for the elementary students than for the high school kids. For example, the boys in high school were allowed to carry pocket knives and they could smoke at the gate out back. This helps explain my confusion when the song “Smokin’ in the Boys Room” became popular. “Everybody knows that smokin’ ain’t allowed in school” so why didn’t they just go to the gate?

 

Butch Harless and his buddy, Mack, had failed a few grades. They had been “held back,” as it is called nowadays. They were the only students I knew who drove to school . . . in the seventh grade. Mack was taller than the teachers so they had long since stopped trying to discipline him. Paddling was out of the question for either of them. When they got in trouble for smoking at the gate with the high school boys or for playing mumbly peg, they were sent to the principal’s office. It was common for one or both of them to be expelled for three days.

 

It’s not surprising then that the rule against running in the halls was largely ignored by Butch and Mack. During recess on that fateful day, I had gone to Mrs. Bertha Taylor’s room. The bell rang and I headed out the door to get back to my own room. Just as I stepped into the hallway, Butch came running in from the outside where the usual gang had been playing ball. He knocked me down and the back of my head hit the tile-covered concrete floor.

 

Have you ever seen or heard something that reminded you of a dream you had the night before but you can only remember bits and pieces of the dream? That’s the way it is with my memory of this event. My BFF, Lucy, walked me to our classroom as the tears streamed down my face. (Of course, we weren’t called BFFs back then but we had made a pinky promise to be friends for life.) I started going blind so someone got my cousin, Bunny, since I have no brothers or sisters, to come help me. While I was sitting in the classroom, the other kids were testing me with “How many fingers am I holding up?” or “What kind of book is this?” to find out if I really couldn’t see them.

 

Someone called my aunt Emma and told her what had happened. We didn’t have a phone at our house so I assume either Emma or J.C. went down to tell Mom and Dad. Meanwhile, I got sick at my stomach so Bunny had to lead me to the girls’ restroom. I didn’t make it in time. I wonder how many sick school kids our janitor, Mr. J.B. Horton, had to clean up after. I still recall the smell of that red compound he would push up and down the halls with his dust broom.

 

When Mom and Dad got to the school, they took me to the hospital at Pennington Gap. My sight slowly began to return. They did a skull X-ray at the hospital but, back then, the results weren’t instant like they are now. Since I seemed to be doing better, they sent me home. Three days later, we got the report that there was a hairline fracture in my skull. There you have it – dain bramage.

 

The story you have just read is true. Some of the names were changed to protect the innocent. More accurately, they were changed to protect ME in case “Butch” or “Mack” ever gets wind of this.

A Walk Down Memory Lane

Daddy moved back home a few weeks ago after staying with us for 20 months. He had been trying to get me to agree to let him stay by himself for several weeks. With much trepidation, I finally gave in.

We got about 2" of snow on Christmas Day. The roads were in pretty good shape so I headed down to Daddy's to take his gifts and his medication refills to him. Daddy lives on a dirt road and as soon as you turn off the paved road, you go down a steep hill. I was afraid I wouldn't be able to get back up the hill in my car so I parked it at the "head of the lane" and walked the last 1/2 mile to his house.

Of course, I had my camera in hand. Like I had told Keith, if I have a wreck, I'm gonna get some good pictures of it. I snapped photos as I walked along -- weeds in the snow, the old barn, the gate, turkey tracks -- and thought about all the times I walked or rode my bike down that road in my childhood. As I neared Daddy's house, the fog began to lift from Wallen's Ridge. After I took some shots of it and turned to continue down the road, I remembered there was once a path worn through the yard where we would take a shortcut when walking from the barn. Even though it was covered with snow, I could still find the path.

As I walked through the yard, I could almost see my Papaw sitting on the porch in a straight-back chair, wearing overalls, and chewing King B Twist tobacco. I could imagine my Grandma inside the house in her rocking chair with a kitten on her lap. Mom would be cooking a big dinner like she used to do, waiting for me to arrive so she could hug me and give me a loud kiss on my cheek. She would make me warm my hands and feet at the Warm Morning stove that once stood in the living room.

I walked slowly because I knew none of them were there. Daddy was the only one waiting for me inside the house. Oh, how lonely he must be with no one to keep him company except for memories.

The Miracle Cake

I haven’t made an Orange Slice Candy cake since before my mother-in-law passed away. We made one together many years ago and I just hadn’t felt like trying it again. I decided Amanda and I would make one this year. I found a recipe in a church cookbook that belonged to Mrs. Nichols. I assumed it was the same recipe we had used. I read through it several times and realized the instructions were somewhat lacking. It included the ingredients and the order to add them, but that was about all. I told Amanda it would be a miracle if we could figure out how to make it, but we’d give it a try anyway.

We got out mixing bowls, mixer, measuring cups and spoons, flour, sugar, eggs, butter, candy, nuts, coconut, and dates. We lined up everything on the countertop and got to work. We creamed and combined until we got to the part where we were supposed to add the baking soda to the buttermilk. I can “make” buttermilk by adding vinegar to regular milk, but . . . baking soda? I only use baking soda to deodorize the fridge. Who uses plain flour anymore? I keep some on hand for pie crusts but I use self-rising for everything else. I contemplated opening the ceramic penguin and removing a teaspoon of baking soda that had been absorbing refrigerator odors for the past month but decided the onion and garlic aroma might overpower the orange candy. I talked Keith into going to the store. While he was gone, I made another batch of fudge.

When he returned, Amanda and I got back to work on the cake batter. It was when I was ready to add the buttermilk mixture alternately with the flour mixture to the creamed mixture that I realized I had the latter two in the wrong bowls. I dug out another bowl and made the swap. Finally the batter was complete. Now all I had to do was add the candy, nuts, and fruit. After I got about half of it incorporated into the batter, I realized I was running out of room. It would be a miracle if the mixing bowl would hold everything.

After carefully stirring the last of the coconut into the batter, I was ready to place it into the Bundt pan. I could barely lift the bowl! I hefted the bowl underneath my arm and held it like a bagpipe. I told Amanda to turn the cake pan as I raked out the dense mixture. I said it would be a miracle if it ever got done all the way through. The instructions said to bake for 35-40 minutes.

An hour and a half later, a skewer inserted in the center came out clean. I took the cake from the oven and set it on a rack to cool. I later made the orange sauce, poked holes in the cake crust, and poured the sauce over the top. Some of it puddled in the center next to the tube. I doubted that it would ever soak into the cake. I set it in the refrigerator to “rest” overnight as instructed. It would be a miracle if this thing ever came out of the pan.

The next morning, I removed the pan from the refrigerator and, oddly enough, all the sauce had been absorbed into the cake. I ran a knife along the outer and inner edges of the cake then turned it upside down onto the plate. Nothing happened. I turned it back upright again and repeated with the knife, this time gently lifting up until I could see the cake begin to move. I inverted it onto the plate once more and this time I felt the pan lighten as the cake was loosed from its Bundt prison. How much of it had stuck? I was almost afraid to lift the pan to see. Success! I was amazed that very few crumbs had stuck to the pan. I covered the cake plate and headed off to work. It would be a miracle if the cake were edible.

I arrived home after work and couldn’t stand the suspense any longer. I lifted the cover, cut a piece of cake, and noticed how moist the orange sauce had made it. I took a bite and, to my surprise, it was not only edible – it was delicious. Miracles do happen!

Looking For a Rain Cloud

Every weekend that we can, Daddy and I like to get out and ride around. On this day, I decided to take his truck. We drove down to his house and then hit the highway. I stopped at a state park and took some pictures. He told me he wanted to not go home until he had seen a rain cloud. (He kept a written record of the weather for over 50 years so watching the sky is one of his favorite pastimes.) The sky was almost clear so we might be gone a while. After we reached the interstate and I got the truck up to speed, I heard something hitting against the cab of the truck. It was loud enough that Daddy heard it, too. I pulled onto the shoulder to see what in the bed might be blowing around in the wind. There was a mop handle lying sideways so I figured it was rattling around. I took it out and put it inside the cab of the truck. I pulled back onto the interstate.

It wasn't long before the same knocking sound started again. Daddy told me to pull over and see if it was the box (milk crate) hitting against the cab. I didn’t want to stop on the shoulder again because I hadn’t felt safe the previous time so I told him I would wait until we got to our exit. After we got off the interstate, we stopped and got lunch. I took the milk crate (which contained an empty Sprite can and a butter bowl) and his cane out of the bed of the truck and put them in the cab. We headed down the highway once again.

A few minutes later, the noise was back. I found a side road and pulled over. I took the only thing left – a case of Sprite – out of the bed and put it in the cab. Even though it is an extended cab, by now it is getting crowded inside the truck. I had to move the umbrella, afghan, atlas, camera bag, pocketbook, travel box (that’s a story in itself), emergency kit, water bottle, mop handle, milk crate, and quad cane in order to make room for the Sprite.

We hadn’t gone more than a mile down the road before the knocking started again. Now that we’ve eliminated everything from the bed of the truck, the noise must be coming either from under it or on the roof. I had looked underneath the truck earlier and didn’t see anything conspicuous. I listened carefully at the banging and realized it was indeed coming from the roof. “I know what it is!” I announced. Several days earlier, when I washed the truck, I had noticed the gasket around the windshield was loose. I told Daddy I bet the gasket had come off and was whacking the top of the truck. The thought occurred to me that we must look mighty silly going down the highway with that gasket flapping in the wind. I knew I couldn’t stand that noise the rest of the day. The gasket had to go. I would cut it off.

A few years ago, Daddy would have reached in his pocket and handed me a Case knife. Nowadays he doesn’t carry a knife or nail clippers or anything at all in his pockets. Although on a couple of occasions when I have been getting ready to do laundry, his guitar pick has fallen out of his pants pocket. I needed to find a knife soon because that noise was really getting on my nerves. A road sign told me there was a town about two miles ahead. Perhaps there would be a store there where I could buy a cheap knife. I took the exit toward town and saw a Wal*Mart sign. Perfect! I parked and started to get out. Daddy said I had better make sure it was the gasket that was the problem. I looked at the windshield and, sure enough, half the gasket was draped over the cab. I’m only 5’3” so in order to reach it, I had to stand inside the door and stretch across the windshield. The truck is not made in such a way that I can lean against the doorway and balance myself so I had to hold onto something with one hand. There was no way I could cut the gasket with a knife if I only had one hand free. What could I cut it with?

I wrestled my pocketbook from its cane/crate/camera bag prison and headed into Wal*Mart. I went to the housewares section and selected a pair of kitchen shears that stated they were “Heavy duty for a variety of uses.” I paid for the scissors and walked out the door.

In the foyer, a voice yelled, “You wanna buy sum’n’ from th’ boy scouts?” I looked around and saw a young boy lying on the bench and holding up a piece of paper. “No,” I told him. What I really wanted to say was, “Get off your sorry butt, act like you’ve got some sense, put a little effort into it, and I might consider buying something from you,” but I didn’t have time for a lesson in manners. I had to cut a gasket.

I got back to the truck and took the scissors from the bag. I looked at the clamshell packaging which I now realized I couldn’t open because . . . I didn’t have a knife! I burst out laughing at the insane irony of the situation. When Daddy found out why I was laughing, he suggested that I try bending the plastic back and forth until it broke. I know that works for wire but I didn’t think it would work on hard plastic but I gave it a try. Nothing. I tried to tear it. I’ve opened jars that big strong men can’t budge so anything is possible. Still nothing. Think . . . think . . .

I looked up to see the couple that had been in line behind me walking through the parking lot. Their car was parked right next to us. As I got out of the truck, I hoped they remembered seeing me in the store. I walked over to them as they loaded their purchases into the trunk and said, “Excuse me.” I looked at the man and asked, “I hate to bother you but do you have a pocket knife?”

“Sure,” he answered. The lady also responded, “I’ve got mine, too.” As I handed the hermetically sealed kitchen shears to him, he smiled and said, “Every good hillbilly carries a pocket knife.”

I thanked him as he handed the open package back to me. I took out the scissors, climbed onto the side of the truck, and with one snip, the gasket was off. I put the gasket and scissors in the milk crate inside the cab. As we got back out on the highway, I realized I wasn’t too eager to find a rain cloud now that only half the windshield was sealed. We went to another state park and then drove around a while before I decided it was time to head home.

At 6:28 PM, we topped the mountain about 60 miles from the house and saw a rain cloud. We went through a few sprinkles but no heavy rain. The next time I’m at Wal*Mart, I’m going to buy a pocket knife and put it in my purse. This hillbilly will never again be without a pocket knife.

Lessons I Learned as a Child

Never hide from your dad and not answer when he hollers for you.

Honey bees leave their stingers in you. Wasps don't.

Kool-Aid and sugar tastes good without mixing with water.

A doll's hair won't grow back.

Don't stick your finger in a locking mechanism to see how it works.

Rabbit tobacco is better left for the rabbits.

If you tie the end of a string to a June bug's leg and hold onto the other end, it will fly in circles.

Don't sit in the back seat next to your cousin that gets car sick.

If your hands are really cold, don't try to warm them with hot water.

Your mother really can wipe that smile off your face.

Kitchen Timer

I received this smoke detector for Christmas. I was told it is a kitchen timer. I considered this to be a direct affront to my cooking skills. Now that I've had some time to think about it, maybe it's not unfounded after all. Ever since we married, Keith has serenaded me with "Something's Burning" whenever I putter around in the kitchen. In The First Edition's version, what was burning was love - in Keith's version, it is my cooking.

I was reminded of my culinary insufficiencies this past holiday. I have long since stopped trying to make breads and cakes from scratch, so the boxed Cinnamon Bread mix should have been easy enough to prepare. My temperamental oven turned into a blast furnace and, long before time to take out the bread, the aroma of burning crust filled the air. I managed to salvage most of it and Amanda concealed the top with glaze.

Then there were the Sausage Wads (what others call Sausage Balls). No matter how much time and effort I put into shaping them into perfect spheres, they always come out distorted. Let's not forget the Peanut Butter Fudge either. I had to answer the door during the crucial "stir until thickened" stage so the candy set up in the pan. I was barely able to scrape it into the dish. The top of it resembled corrugated cardboard.

So perhaps I should accept this gift in the spirit in which it was intended, but I will never forgive him for getting my dad a bicycle bell for his walker.

Winter Wonderland

I have to show you this shot of our driveway that I took yesterday. It sure doesn't look like this now. Keith went to work this morning then Amanda and I went shopping. When we got back, my car got stuck in the driveway. I'm not one to admit defeat so I tried every trick I could remember. I rocked it, went from reverse to drive and vice versa, backed up for a running go - it still stuck at the same place every time. After several attempts, sliding, spinning, and getting sideways, I managed to back up all the way to the road. I looked at Amanda. She was texting her boyfriend, perhaps to tell him Goodbye. I put the car in low gear and gave it gas. It spun all the way up the driveway but it kept its forward motion. The new load of gravel that we had put down last week is now scattered all over the top of the snow, but my car is at the house. I won.

Arthur Ravenel, Jr. Bridge

As we were traveling on US-17 north toward the eastern side of Charleston, I realized we were getting too close to this bridge. I told Jim we weren't supposed to cross the bridge before we exited. There was no exit. We had no choice but to go on over to Mt. Pleasant. We turned around at a service station. We crossed the bridge again and found a southbound exit to Morrison Drive which took us downtown. We toured the beautiful historic homes and had lunch at a local restaurant. On our way out of Charleston, we headed northward on US-17, crossing the bridge again to Mt. Pleasant. We visited Fort Moultrie and the Charles Pinckney plantation site. We were ready to get back on US-17 toward Myrtle Beach. Jim missed the northbound entrance to the highway so, once again, we crossed the bridge. We exited in Charleston and had to drive around for a bit before we found an access to US-17 north. Crossing the bridge for a fifth time, we were finally on our way to our supper destination.

Linda said when anyone asks her if she has seen this bridge, she's going to tell them she has crossed it several times and if they say, "Oh, have you been to Charleston a lot?" she is going to answer, "Nope. Once."