Girls Without Shoes

May 29, 2009

Coffee In A Hick Town

Filed under: Humor,short pieces — girlswithoutshoes @ 5:18 am
Tags: , , , , , ,

I had a short career at waitressing and actually loved it.  I worked at a little Mom and Pop Cafe in a tiny little hick town.  The best place to be, I say is a “small town”.  Love the small town life, most of the time.

There was a particular elderly trio of friends whom I had waited on a few times and I remember thinking how cute these senior customers were.  It was a little gentleman in a suit accompanied by two very prim and proper ladies.  The ladies wore blazers and skirts  in tasteful colors with their hair done just so, along with pearls etc.   At first I  was a little intimidated by them as they seemed awfully, “hoity toity” to me.

Each time they would come into the cafe, they would ask for coffee and pie, and they would split the pie 3 ways.   When their coffee got halfway down in the cup, they would motion me over again saying, “More coffee please dear”.   Their manners were impeccable, the ladies acting as if they were having high tea with the Queen, actually lovely to behold.

Once after refilling their cups, one of the ladies took a sip of the hot brew and looked up at me and almost growled out in the most dignified way, “Aw, but that’s damned good coffee”.   Surprised, I laughed and agreed thinking these folks were the cutest I had ever met.

I also love small town cafes and well, any good old coffee diner will do.  I love to sit and drink coffee and shoot the breeze with my friend, or read the newspaper, just chill out and relax.  Until recently, I had forgotten just how much I loved it.

I hold my friend somewhat responsible for this coffee diner-cafe fetish thing, though, actually I probably should blame my Mom first.  She was a coffee cafe kind of girl herself, now that I think of it.

A memorable time for me that I shared with my Mother, when I was a kid, was a trip to the local cafe for my first real hot fudge sundae.   I am not talking about the kind you can get at a drive through now a- days, but the good old fashioned kind.    I watched as the waitress grabbed for a pretty glass dessert dish,  swirling that ebony wonderful smelling goo around the inside of the dish then adding hand scooped vanilla ice cream.   Another ladle  of the fudge followed.  I had never seen a sundae before, and was practically salivating as she swooshed on the spray whipped cream, followed by chopped nuts and a maraschino cherry on top.    She sat it down before me with a flourish saying, “There you go young lady” and just as I had expected, it was love at first bite.   As I sat there downing the decadent masterpiece, swinging my legs  from the stool and half twirling this way and then that, I could not understand how my Mother could only drink black coffee as she smiled at me eating this delicious concoction.

Later, I fell in love with the whole soda fountain, coffee shop type atmosphere, but it definitely got worse when my daughter was small and I was a stay at home mom.  I did not drive either so when my friend came along and said, “Let’s go for coffee”,  we would grab little Salli-o by the hand and haul her off to the local cafe, where we would drink countless cups of black coffee and smoke the heck out of our cigarettes and gab, gab, gab.   We would get interrupted seven thousand times by my daughter, and would get sidetracked trying to keep her from sneak drinking the little creamers.  She’d sneak one and just giggle.  Sigh, she didn’t really need the extra calories at that time either, as she was a pudgy little girl.

This became a favorite past time of ours often annoying our husbands as they thought we should be home doing women stuff.  This also became a time when my friend and I got to know each other very well and gained each other’s trust.  Seventeen years later  we still try to go for coffee now and then.  Not as much as we used to as our lives seem busier in some ways now.

Salli-O has grown up, (though she still would like to drink the creamers, I know her weak spots).   I am  now a grandmother and  care for my elderly Mom.  My friend is planning a wedding and we are both growing a little older, (we are sure we are still cute though).   Our coffee times have become scarcer than they were and somehow more precious.

Yes, our lives have changed, we have been through much and will go through more, but from time to time we get together to drink  coffee and ask for more.   I am almost always reminded of those dear elderly friends and look up at my friend as I say, “Aw, that is some damned good coffee”.  We smile and laugh and talk some more hoping that we will be doing this many times more even when we reach their age.

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May 14, 2009

I Am Not Kiddin’

I am an angry woman.  Bitter I tell ya.  My husband is a dysfunctional man whom is a cross between Fred Flintstone and Archie Bunker.  I could go on and on.  Yes I love- hate him

First I am mad at him because he thinks he knows more than a veterinarian, who has advised us that our dog should not eat animal products other than his dog food as he had an inflamed pancreas.   This Fred- Bunker man whom I love-hate decides to bring spareribs home for the dog.  I tell him “No no, he cannot have that.”  My husband responds intelligently to this with “Aw B.S.!”, literally.

Thus is my life with this man.  I then go out to the back porch and proceed to throw my body across the top of my washing machine to keep it from being off balance as nothing else seems to work.

It sounds like it is full of bricks and is going into a wild orbit which will lead it down my back steps.  Oops! I almost forgot , don’t have a back step either, just a decrepit ramp.  When griping to my friend on the phone , she queries, “What is that God- awful noise ?”,  so I explain.

She then tells me “You know they have little feet on them to level the thing.”   I tell her that I have heard such stories, but no one ever does that here.

Then I ask if she remembers the refrigerator that sat in my yard for way, way too long.  One day I got so upset at that thing and at  Mr. Bunker man that I love- hate for it still being there.

I began to plot and voiced out loud how I was going to push that thing, with the strength of a maniac into the road, and fire on it with a double barreled shotgun, that I do not own, but would get somehow.  My husband’s friend looked at me in alarm.  I just secretly smiled.

Thank God it never came to that.  It seems like I have to loose total control and go ape- shit for someone to get it through their head, over and over and over, that I do not want to live with appliances or junk cars in my yard.  No brother in laws either p-lueez…….. or cousins staying in the garage or the camper.

Sigh……….. Please God take me away………………..

April 13, 2009

She’s Only 22………

She’s only 22 and has 3 children under the age of 5.   Her Mother is raising them and has given up hope for her, well, almost.  She sent her back home to her family for help, for more rehab.  The 5th time she has been in a rehabilitation unit.  This time she walked away from it, didn’t even give it a chance, just detoxed and left.

I guess it had been at least 6 years since I saw her.  She was then a teenager with long dark hair, long legs and beautiful olive skin.  She was troubled looking casting her eyes downward when spoken to.   Her aversion to looking you in the eye was a by product of her years of abuse by her stepfather.

It all made perfect sense later when we found out the ugly, awful truth.  The quiet somewhat shy girl, who later could not look anyone in the eye even stopped laughing or smiling like she used to.  There was something about her, a feeling you got that you could not quite put your finger on.  A gut feeling that should have been paid closer attention to………..by all of us.

When her stepfather started keeping her contact with anyone outside of their home to a minimum it really made you wonder.  It was not long after that he was found out and subsequently sent to prison.  Good riddance you say and rightly so, however……….

The physical abuse stopped and she and her family moved away to another state.  Years later, her stepfather is back out in the world doing God only knows what while her life is in shambles………..still.

The promiscuity that followed seemed ironic to me,  yet I believe that may be  typical.  I am no expert on abuse and the aftermath, but from what I have witnessed, self- abuse stays on inside the victim.

The heavy drug addiction that followed should probably not have been a surprise, yet it was.  Why you wonder?  You get rid of the bastard, put him away and she is free to live her life.  Free to recover and heal and move on to the life that she deserves.  But, it does not happen that way.

She has ulcers on her arms, and scars on her once lovely face.  You can see the beauty that was there only a few short years ago.  Her teeth look like they are on their way out also.

It was quite shocking to see her.  I wanted to hug her and say what happened to you and why?      But instead I just hugged her and said, “Hey there, what are you doing? ”  I did not have to ask how, I could see how she was doing.

I knew what had happened without being in her life all of those years.  I did not want to be close to her, did not really want to hug her until I saw her.   Afraid of her addiction touching my life, as it was already touched by another family member’s addiction, there was no room for more.

But, when I saw her I felt like crying, the sadness weighs heavily on me now, even as I write this.

I realize that the abuser has served his time and is free, while the victim, my once sweet little niece has a destroyed life.  Her children do not have a mother that is whole.  All are affected.

It is sad that punishing the abuser does not change things, but there can never be justice for something of this nature.  It is just not possible.

Maybe she would have become a junkie anyway, even with a normal childhood.  I will never know the answer.

I do believe that there is a point where she has a choice,  to either nurture or punish herself, but it still angers me to my core.  This chain of events that he has set off.  This ruination of a life or her offspring’s lives.

It angers me that he is free while she may never be………………………………….

April 9, 2009

Please Tell My Jeans That I Am Not Fat, Only That They Shrunk

Step1

Put them on. This is sometimes easier said than done and may require lying on your back and wiggling into the things.

Step2

Make sure you can breathe and give them the squat test. If you squat down and the button flies off or they immediately rip, you may want to go a size up. If not, proceed to the next step.

Step3

Look in the mirror. Be honest. If you have love handles spilling over the waistband or your butt looks like stuffed sausage, you may want to pick a different pair of pants.

Step4

Pick the right shoes. Tight jeans with stilettos can be sleazy. Tight jeans with riding boots, combat boots, thick clunky sandals or flats can look cool.

Step5

Top them off with the proper top. Since the jeans are so tight, you may want to wear a looser blouse or longer top. It can still be sexy, but don’t make it skintight, have massive cleavage or otherwise make a giant statement. Your jeans are making statement enough.

 

 

I found the above post on e how.com, LOL>

52nd Cake and the Dog

Filed under: Humor,non-fiction — girlswithoutshoes @ 4:29 pm
Tags: , , ,

Oooooo, grrrrrrr, that dog, that damned dog!  He ate my birthday cake last night.  My daughter had made a beautiful white cake with homemade chocolate butter cream frosting.  We had one piece.

True story here, non fiction, real-time which is unusual for me.  I arrived at work yesterday late, as is my screwed up style.  I walked in to some lovely white chrysanthemums on my desk along with a cute card and cinnamon rolls from my co workers.  We love birthday week at work.

I slaved away for a few hours pushing paperwork until my soul sister came and rescued me.  We went to a lovely Chinese place where the spring rolls were not what they used to be, but oh hell neither am I.

After lunch, we went back and begged time off to play, which my supervisor said, “get the hell out of here”.  Yes, play time with my friend!

Since my birthday request to my husband was for a new patch of lawn in our front yard, (not much left there as two big dogs tore it up!), I needed to pick up a little soil-compost mix to take home.  My friend and I went and window shopped at all of the lovely cowgirl clothes which would look exquisite on her as she is tiny.  We tried on cowboy/girl hats and discussed the possibility of my becoming an old fat cowgirl with a rich rancher husband and laughed.  Next we tried on shoes.

Before we knew it,  time to go.  Picked up my mom from granny day care at my bro’s and headed home exhausted from my fun day.

I walked in to a house pretending to be clean along with the ingredients for the frosting that my daughter had requested I pick up.  We had Mexican food for dinner and a nice little piece of after dinner cake, delicious.

I settled down to watch some old episodes of desperate housewives and later my daughter and her friend had a piece of cake leaving the rest on the kitchen table.  She later came in accusing her father and I of eating all of the frosting off of the top of the cake!  Actually more than frosting was gone, almost every bit of the cake too.

Honestly, you’d think we were pigs the way she reacted, like we would actually eat all of the frosting from the cake.  Not us, but Bear the Retriever had to have the cake.

We did not kill the dog, nor did the cake, but I think he had a belly ache all night.  I hope he enjoyed birthday week.

mr-little-bear

April 4, 2009

Steaming up the Kitchen

I just want to know why when it is 100 degrees outside, why oh why, would John-Wayne want me to cook for him instead of going to dinner? It was hotter than the hubs of hell outside and if I cooked dinner it would be hell inside the house also. Hell for me, I can’t take the heat anyway. Our old house had a crazy old swamp cooler in the living room that worked great for that room. It was basically a fan with hay around it and a garden hose screwed into the side. The cool air never reached the kitchen area. So on this particular day, after a day’s work, no I did not want to cook, with a passion. It was against my law, against my being, against all of my beliefs.

Like I said before, I did not drive in those days, so just jumping in the car and taking myself and the kids to dinner was not an option. Damned John-Wayne, he just wanted to sit in front of the cooler, in his boxers, drinkin’ a beer and watchin’ the t.v. and have me serve him. How could he be so cruel? Did he not know that it would kill me to cook tonight? I told him. He just wanted me to cook. Damn.

I really did not think he cared about me, he surely could not love me. There was no brutality required here. I was a princess, darn him, did he not realize that? Maybe I would get my princess crown out and remind him of that fact. I mean geez, I was once Miss Tomato Queen in my teen years. Well that was an idea, why not? Maybe he would realize just what a prize for a wife he had and then he would take me to dinner.

I went up stairs to the hot bedroom and rummaged around in the back of my closet finding what I was looking for. Ah, there it was, the Tomato Queen dress and banner, along with the crown I kept in a box on the top shelf. I put on the dress made of red taffeta and green lace. It still fit, though barely. The skirt was so short, right up to my behind. Geez, it did not seem so short in my Tomato Queen years. The bodice was low cut showing cleavage. That’s alright, I thought, I still got it, why not shake it? I slipped the green satin banner across my shoulder and under my arm. The crown went on my head. I looked in the mirror, not bad for a twenty something wife and mother. On went the red high heels and down the stairs I pranced, sweating all the way.

J.W. just laughed and said, “Hey look at Ma”. Sally-O chirped, “You look pretty Mama”. I went and paraded in front of John-Wayne and the cooler to see the effect it had on him. “Well?”, I asked him. “It is such a shame to have to go cook dinner in this outfit, but off I go!” John-Wayne’s eyes got big and his mouth dropped open and he said, “hey baby”, but I just sashayed into the kitchen to begin the stupid dinner he wanted, thinking he might just stop me . Revenge is sweet sometimes. Even revenge on a big jack-ass like John-Wayne.

I pulled out pots and pans, sweating more and cursing under my breath, but trying to look and sound sweet, like the princess I knew I was. I began by filling up a big pan full of water and setting it to boil on the stove for iced tea. Next followed 2 more pans with water set to boiling for hot dogs and macaroni and cheese. I’d show that S.O.B., he could make me cook, but he would be miserable right along with me. Soon, the pans of water broke into a boil.

Steam filled the air as I added tea bags, hot dogs and macaroni, making a green salad on the side, ( I had to eat something cool didn’t I?}. I boiled that dinner at the highest levels possible, sweating like a porker as I was cooking, sweating all down the front and back of my Tomato Queen dress. At least the skirt being short was cool there, but that was it. The taffeta was sticking to my body. What an ass I was, thinking that the princess crown would make John-Wayne see me in a different light. All he wanted was a full belly, a beer, an cool area to watch his favorite shows, and maybe a little fun under the Tomato Queen’s skirt. He did not really care that I was killing myself in the kitchen with the steam and all.

Well if I was gonna be miserable, then so would he, though I felt sorry for the kids, none of this was their fault. Oh well, they were kids, they could handle it. It must have been 150 degrees in that blazing inferno of a kitchen, as I set the table. The ice in the tea glasses was melting faster than I could fill them. I slapped the sugar bowl down and went into the living room and announced sweetly, “dinner is served”. I would give him what he wanted, an obedient lovely wife. Haaa!

They all came in to fill their plates, the kids sitting down at the table while I helped them. I put some food on my plate, and turned to hand John-Wayne his iced tea. He said, “hey that looks good baby, but I don’t know why you wanna do them kids that way, making the kitchen so hot and all.” Instead of sitting down at the table, he turned and walked back to his swamp cooled couch with his plate of food, leaving me with my mouth hanging open and on fire at the kitchen table.

That is when I learned what passive-aggressive behavior was. I also learned that the revenge was wasted on John-Wayne, all it did was make me and my kids miserable. I finished up the dishes and traipsed upstairs to take off the Tomato Queen outfit and take a cool shower, thinking that I had tried more than one way to steam up the kitchen and John-Wayne both, but I was the one who ended up being steamed.

March 30, 2009

Confessions of a Motel Maid

This is not what you think, not that kind of confession. Definitely not an X rated confession, don’t even get that idea goin’ round in your head, I’m not that kinda girl. I had a job for a few summers at the local R.V. park/Motel Cabin place in our little town. It was called Shady Acres and had quite a few R.V.’rs and year long fifth wheels there . They also had 12 little cabin type motel rooms. Very clean, very cute in a 1940’s kinda way.

Since we were a river town, lots of tourists came through, and other than the K.O.A. , there was Shady Acres. It was their busy time of year and the owners needed part time help cleaning the rooms. That’s where I come in.

My husband John-Wayne (yes John-Wayne) had been out of work for a little while. After we moved down to the town from his folks’ mountain home, he had to look for an everyday job, rather than doing the stuff mountain families do for a living. He was in between jobs and we had run out of money, so our water bill did not get paid. The water of course got shut off.

For a while John-Wayne hauled water in a big old tank he had on top of his Chevy truck. I would fill the bathtub with some, to use for flushing the toilet, and store the rest for other uses. It worked, but I hated it. Mountain girl I was and could do laundry by hand in my tub if I had to, but dang this was not the dark ages. Action was needed here.

I walked down to Shady Acres and talked myself right into a job. I got the water turned on after a few days work as the owner paid me cash each day. Cool, I was a career woman. My next door neighbor Mimmi, babysat my baby girl Sally-O each morning for 3 or 4 hours while I cleaned motel rooms.

Each morning after dropping my baby girl off at Mimm’s house, I rode my bicycle down the couple of miles to Shady Acres to do the rooms with the owner’s wife Margie.

Margie showed me how to make the beds, tucking in the sheets and folding them down over the blankets so they looked nice. We did not always have to change the bedspread unless it was dirty, but sheets always. Nice to know that in case you ever stayed there, huh?

There was a certain way Margie cleaned the rooms, quickly and efficiently. She showed me her tricks, down to folding the end of the toilet paper in a little triangle. It made me feel that I was doing a little something extra and luxurious for people, kind of like putting the little mints on pillows. I should have made way more in tips than I did, as I put my heart into the job wanting everything to look perfect. Maybe the tourists thought that Shady Acres was not a tippin’ kind of motel. I mean there were no bell hops or room service, though we brought clean towels daily, made beds, and carried the trash out.

Margie and I would stop once in a while for a smoke outside of the laundry house. As we got to know each other, I liked Margie more and more. She was in charge of the motel rooms. Her husband Freddy was in charge of the R.V. Park. Every couple of months Margie would re-do one of the rooms. She would paint and change the curtains etc.. She always managed to keep the rooms fresh and cute with each one having a different color and sort of theme. I think No. 9 was my favorite, as it overlooked the river. I really liked the painting in that room also. It was of a huge pink flower. Later on I took No. 9’s painting home in my bounty of furnishings from their yard sale. I bartered by working for the furniture that I got from their sale. Me and John-Wayne slept on that old motel bed for about 10 years without a frame, right down on the ground. When we finally upgraded to a pillow-top mattress and frame we felt like we were sleeping up so high that we giggled about it. We had a lot of class John-Wayne and I.

Once when Margie and I grew tired of waiting for people to leave No. 8 cabin, she finally knocked really loudly on the door. The woman did not want to be disturbed. Margie finally knocked and used her key and later told me “that was really weird, she is so strange, I went in there and she was hanging upside down just like a bat”. I asked how in the heck she did that and Margie said she had a special kind of boots that made her do that for her health. I was just glad she wasn’t a vampire. The woman left behind a jug of Aloe Vera Juice and I took it to John-Wayne’s Uncle thinking maybe if he drank it his shingles would go away. All that happened was a bad case of diarrhea.

Still, there were some interesting things left from time to time in the rooms. Usually I was afraid I would find something gross or nasty like a condom. Thank God, not on my watch. One day someone checked out and left a brand new bottle of Mescal Tequila straight from Mexico. You know the kind with the worm in the bottle. Gross. I threw it in the dumpster, even though it had not been opened. John-Wayne and his brother Jiggs made me go back and fish it out. We all got drunker than a bunch of monkeys on that stuff. I can’t remember who ate the worm, I know it was not me though. Man those Mexicans made some dangerous booze. John-Wayne said it was ‘cuz they peed in it. I did not believe him.

Freddy and Margie had a little golf cart that I drove around from room to room with my cleaning supplies and linens and such. I loved driving that stupid thing as I did not have a driver’s license. I had driving phobia. Scared to death to drive a car. The one time I did drive, I got in an accident and got a suspended license. I did not drive for 13 years after that. I did like that little golf cart though. I would zoom around from room to room, cleaning, making beds, then hauling the dirty laundry up the hill in the cart.

One day when doing my rounds with the golf cart, the throttle got stuck. I don’t know why, it just stuck. I was zipping along one minute and then found I could not stop the darned thing. I went flying by the office yelling for Fred . “Help the brakes went out!” Luckily I pried the throttle up by leaning down with my hand and yanking it. I was very careful after that to not go so fast just in case.

Once in a while Margie would have a special job for me. Good chance to make extra cash. There was this long, older silver trailer. It needed cleaning badly. I got my friend to help me and we split the money. Margie forgot to mention that this trailer was from hell. The man that had lived there had chain smoked inside for 20 years and never once cleaned his oven. It took us days to finish. What a nightmare. Kenja and I could never look at one of those silver trailers again in the same way.

When we were done for the day, Margie would bring out a popsicle. She said it would cool us down. We’d talk a little more, have a smoke and I would head for home and my little girl. I’d pick up Sally-o at Mimmy’s house, pay her a couple of bucks and go fix Sally-O and myself some lunch. Then it was naptime. I always lay down with my baby girl. I would sing her songs and we’d both nod off. Ahhhhh, being a career woman could sure wear a person out.

March 28, 2009

Scrabble Love

He spelled out C  R  U  Z with his tiles.  She shook her head no and said it is not spelled that way, C  R U  Z , but rather C R U I S E .   The couple discussed this a little with much silliness and they decided that she was right.  They laughed and continued on………..

They had been through much together.  When they first met they were both suffering from love and life wounds.  Relief and healing were a long sigh away.

Beginning over again could be promising, but could also make one weary, oh so weary.  It could also make one scared.  Scared that their past would not let them begin again or would harm them.

She had felt fear, breath taking fear of her past knowing that that “climb inside of your mind and suck the soul out of you”  kind of love  was just that as twisted as it sounded  and not a sweet healthy love of the heart.   There was no peace in that kind of “love”, no rest, no comfort.  She was glad that it was over and continued on…………

Some men give you flowers but he gave her a Bible.  He gave her God’s beautiful words with her name engraved on the cover.  Very sweet, very touching, very life changing.

She found him to be a man of “dignity” with qualities that were important to her.

He found her to be “beautiful”  in ways more than just her physical attributes.

They went through Heaven and they went through Hell together.   They grew and changed and healed together, apart and back again coming into a place of rest and comfort and deep love.

He spelled out  “ M E R Y   M E   “ with his tiles.   She smiled and nodded and spelled back with her tiles  “ L U V     T U and they knew that it was right.   They kissed and laughed and continued on…………..

kiss-scrabble-letters

March 22, 2009

Cowboys, Not Injuns

“Nah, aah, I gotta be the cowboy and you be the injun  John-Wayne”  said my little brother Jiggs. Dang, I thought, here we go again.  If I told Jiggs the color black, he would say white. I know this to be true. He was used to getting his way.

“Okay, Okay Jigsy”, I said, then spotted some smoke over at the edge of our neighbor’s land. They were using their burn barrel to burn their trash. I got an idea ‘cuz I really wanted to be a cowboy, not an indian. The cowboys always wore white hats and chased the indians around. I got tired of Jiggs being the one to chase me around all the time, it got kinda boring, ya know? Besides, we didn’t have any toy bow and arrow, but we did have a toy cowboy gun and hat. Not that we could not make a bow and arrow, but enough with the indian thing already.

“Hey, Jiggs, we can both be cowboys today, see over there, see that smoke from the indian camp over there?”. Jiggs saw the burn barrel smoke and said, “oh yea! Let’s go get them injuns capytan!”

He kept the straw cowboy hat on and gave me the toy six-shooter and away we galloped our pretend horses to the burn barrel. Our neighbor’s who owned the cornfield, had quite a little fire going in there, you could almost see the indians dancing around the fire if you only imagined it. We snuck up quietly on their war party, planning on circling them first to see how many there were.

The flames shot up a little more, and Jiggs and I looked at each other and said, “Cool man!”. We forgot about the indians for a minute and went closer to the fire to check it out. It looked like a little cardboard was causing it to flare up , and toilet paper was trailing over the side of the barrel. Jiggs grabbed a stick and started messing around with the toilet paper. “Hey, be careful!”, I warned him, “you don’t want to cause a fire!”.

Jiggs of course did not listen and started flinging the toilet paper around with the stick, causing little sparks to drop in the dried grass. “Stop, Jiggs!” I yelled as I saw the sparks turn to tiny flames.

Too late as tiny flames gave way to a little bit bigger and snaked over to the neighbor’s cornfield. “Holy crap!”, I yelled as I started doing my own war dance jumping up and down on the flames trying to fight them and stomp them out. I kicked dirt on them, glanced wildly around for water nearby, none to be had. Jiggs’ hem of his jeans caught fire and I leaped on him rolling him in the dirt before he could get burned.

:He was scared, crying by now, “You stay put, don’t move an inch or I’ll clobber ya!” I was hollering at him now. I took off trying to stop the flames by beating it with corn shucks. The fire was bigger by me and I felt little burns on my body here and there happening.

The fire trucks came and put out the fire. About half the cornfield was saved, the other half, well, history.

Our mother tended to our burns, Jigg’s was not bad. I had blisters all over, but other than being scared to death, we were basically okay. That is , until the Old Man came home. He had over heard the news at the general store.

Our mother tried pleading with him, saying , “don’t spank them, they are burned!!”. He whipped me pretty good anyway, causing my blisters to break. We were in huge trouble, the neighbors would probably sue us for everything we had, that is what the Old Man kept saying.

We spent the rest of our summer doing odd jobs for those neighbors to try and make up for our mess. This was just one of the first of many messes that Jiggs and I got into……………

larry-rise-1951

March 17, 2009

The Bed Making Angel

Filed under: Uncategorized — girlswithoutshoes @ 5:40 am

That’s what my friend calls it,  my “bed makin’ angel”, as that’s what my angel helped me with, making a bed.  Sounds silly, call me crazy if you will.  I am not one of those folks who worships angels or anything.  Oh sure, I believe God sends angels to help out, just not sure how.  I believe there are angels all around us and they might come in different shapes and forms.  I do believe that when you “entertain a stranger, you might in fact be entertaining an angel”.  I believe, I just don’t think much about it, nor try to figure it all out.   For one thing, it’s not my business, it is God’s.

Now back to the bed making angel story.  My mother in law had passed away a few months before this happened, so somehow I felt it was to do with her.  Maybe she became my angel then, or maybe the angel came and helped me because of all of the stress in our family in loosing her.

It was an extremely horribly, sad and stressful time for us as I said.  My husband fell completely apart, darned near lost his mind, and almost made me loose mine after his mom died.  He really went off the deep end.  Did more drugs than ever before, and was just a huge mess.

I was a stressed out emotional mess myself, trying to work and take care of our 11 year old daughter and my elderly mom , who had moved in with us just a few months prior to my mom in law’s passing.  That alone was an adjustment for our household.   Add the husband mess and whammo, extremely exhausted woman was I, on top of all of it.

One night I was changing my mom’s sheets and felt like I was falling apart.  I felt like making this bed was such a huge tiring chore, I literally thought, “I can’t do this little chore!”

I reached to pull the sheets and covers up towards the head of the bed and then back down to make it look nice, and when I did, it seemed like I felt a pair of hands next to mine pulling them up and then down right along with me.   It was such a strange sensation that I actually turned to look behind me to see who was there.  No body there.  I chalked it up to my mother in law’s spirit trying to help me, as she used to many years ago when I was just a young woman.  She would come over and help me at different times. It was rather comforting.

That next summer, on my daughter’s 12th birthday, she started her first “woman’s time”.  That night I woke up and went into the kitchen looking for a snack and a drink of water and was standing at the stove snacking on something.  I thought I saw a whitish apparition-ish looking thing flit around the corner into my daughter’s bedroom.  There was a mirrored armoire facing her room and I saw the thing in the mirror first.  It looked kind of like a woman’s long white nightgown flitting by, kind of transparent looking.

It scared me a little, I thought of poltergeists, but instead felt it may have once again been my mother in law’s spirit trying to be close to my daughter.

I will never know, nor will worry too much about it.  I don’t sit around thinking about ghosts or spirits or angels as I said before.  I have never had any experiences such as this at any other time either.  Just these two isolated incidents.

As time went on my bed making angel and daughter’s protector became a comforting presence to me, in that I felt the love of my mother in law somehow through it all.

I just wish that bed makin’ angel would do the dishes too.

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