SEASONS

When I was a kid my favorite time of year was summer.  It stayed light until ten.  I loved the smell of newly mown grass and sneaking down to the creek with my siblings to fish, hang out or just explore.  The cicadas would sing their songs and we would gather their exoskeletons and attach them to our ears like rare jewels.  The nymphs would crawl from their holes in the ground, attach to a surface and emerge as an imagoe to sing their song and live their short lives looking for a mate.  I loved watching the sky, a bright blue accompanied by big cotton candy clouds billowing in the afternoons with the promise of a cooling shower.  Summer rains were the best.  The sky would darken and open up to pour a cool liquid on the steaming pavement and the thirsty lawns and fields.  It was a magical time of year, lazy days that seemed to go on forever.  We went on trips to the lake and swimming pools.  We made our own fun, invented games and made up our own stories.  We were free range kids. 

Houses would open up and young tanned bodies would explode into the street after bowls of sugary sweet cereal and glasses of Tang.  We would ride bikes, build forts and in the heat of the day hiding in and under big Mulberry trees napping and reading comic books.  Our knees were skinned and our faces dirty but we were content. 

Then came the early vestiges of fall.  Leaves dropped like tears on the tired brown lawns as the winds became crisper.  The rain came in the form of spitting cold razors cutting through sweaters.  The days were shorter and our time of being free range children came to an end.  We were cooped up in a classroom with the paste eaters and silent flatulence emitters.  Instead of foraging and exploring we were forced to sit by the window as the rain fell or the wind blew keeping its own company.  Walter Cronkite and Chet Huntly spoke of the protest taking place on faraway college campuses as the street lights illuminated the near-empty streets. 

The days started cool and crisp, frost shinning on the still green blades of grass.  We ran from our houses in sweaters with our Buster Browns laced up tight.  Our mothers packed lunches of bologna sandwiches and thermoses of Campbell's chicken noodle soup.  Room mothers invaded our classroom with ghost-shaped cookies and orange and black Halloween taffy and in an instant, we were making turkeys from the imprint of our hand and brown and yellow construction paper.  Then the time would crawl as we prepared for the annual Christmas program.  We learned our songs and routines while mothers sewed red and green felt outfits.  Our excitement palpable

            As an adult, I have come to appreciate those days when the leaves turn and the wind changes.   I love that the green begins to morph into yellow, orange and brown.  The crispness on the kiss of the wind is refreshing and the chill is an excuse to bundle up and wrap my hands around a warm mug.  I watch the squirrels desperately gather their acorns for their winter stash with fascination and feel the need to fill my own cupboard with hearty comfort foods. 

            The light fades earlier and once again I find myself sitting watching the rain fall on empty streets that glisten like diamonds.  It is the putting to bed of the summer, giving it a good rest so that in three short months it can once again rejuvenate and give birth to a new, brighter world and free-range children.

Happy Halloween From Leon Ray Livingston

Halloween was different when I was a kid.  I remember being a Hobo  three years in a row because it was a cheap costume comprised of items we had around the house.  A pint-sized Leon Ray Livingston if you will.  Wait!  What?  You don’t know who Leon Ray Livingston is?  He is the most famous of Hobos.  If you had been a Hobo for most of your trick-or-treating career, you would know this.  He became a Hobo at eleven years of age and Hoboed the rest of his life, stowing away on ships and hopping trains.  He wrote journals and became somewhat famous.  I digress.

            Nurse Meme would drag out the Maybelline black eyebrow pencil and draw big thick eyebrows on us, then she would smear it across our jaws and cheeks making little five-year-old Gladys look like she hadn’t shaved in a day or two.  Then she would dress me in Buck’s old flannel shirt and a pair of jeans that were twenty times too big, cinch them up with a swath of rope and hand me a bandana tied to a stick for a bindle.   That was it.  That was the costume.  It was in this fashion I would tag behind my big brother, Quirky Cousins, and Matilda going door to door begging for candy. 

Buck of course was Superman, Matilda was a movie star, the Quirky Cousins always had some kind of imaginative and quirky costume and then there was Gladys the Hobo.  Oh, don’t get me wrong, I didn’t care that I was a Hobo, it was just that I watched other kids in their store bought costumes with their plastic jack-o-lanterns full of Dum-Dum’s and Tootsie Rolls.  I envied their polyester Casper Costumes with the plastic mask with eye holes but no way to breath.

  I would long for the Cinderella costume that tied with three ties in the back and had scratchy netting for a skirt and again a plastic mask with huge eye holes but no nostril holes. This costume always flummoxed me, if you didn’t wear something underneath it you have a draft in the back, but if you did wear something underneath well then it just wasn’t Cinderella like.   We would pass each other on the street, little Johnny in his Casper costume complaining to his mom “I can’t breathe!” as his plastic Jack-O-lantern full of candy swayed this way and that spilling out little pieces of Bit-O’Honey and Laffy Taffy.   I would pause, stoop, and pick up the stray pieces only to find that Casper had melded into ten other Caspers none of which knew they were leaking Nik-L-Nips and Candy Cigarettes. 

            House by house we trudged up and down our neighborhood, ringing door bells and yelling the same old spiel “Trick or treat, smell my feet, give me something good to eat.”   Every house on the block would have the porch light on and some kind of goody.   The elderly lady on the corner always had candied apples and popcorn balls wrapped in cellophane.  The old man that lived at the end of the road had rolls of pennies.  My favorite house was the big house half way up the block who always gave out little packages of suckers on a string, candy corn and Double-Bubble gum with the cartoon wrapper. 

            We had to wait until dusk to make our rounds and before we went we had to eat our dinner.  ALL of our dinner.  Nurse Meme was no fool. She knew that if she wanted us to eat liver at least once a year, then Halloween was the night to cook it.  We would never miss trick-or-treating over liver.  We would try not to gag and choke down our strip of organ meat smothered in onions and gravy, slog down our helping of spinach and head out the door.  Buck pushing back his red satin cape, Matilda fluffing her hair and checking the mole she had painted on her face and little Leon Ray Livingston in her too big everything. 

            I guess I’ve come the long way around to tell you Happy Halloween.  Today’s Halloween are much more sophisticated with costumes that look like they belong in the movies and decorations that equal those of Knots Scary Farm.  I don’t ever remember adults dressing in costumes but today everyone was decked out in some type of get-up from Freddie Kruger to a life-sized singing Elsa.  Everyone was in the spirit from the guy at the DMV dressed as a sloth to the cashier in Wal-Mart dressed as a giant Snicker’s bar.  I don’t know if Halloween is better today or if nostalgia skews my view.  But I kind of miss seeing a bunch of kids using their imaginations to come up with original costumes.  Or even some who ended up being Leon Ray Livingston three years in a row.

KICKED OUT OF THE SEARS AND ROEBUCK'S

It is sad, so many of the icons from my youth are gone.  They are no more.  In their place stand empty buildings or empty lots.  I remember one of my favorite past times as a kid was when my mom would take us downtown.  We would wander through the big old department stores.  In my hometown it was Thornton’s, Grissom’s and Minter’s and of course Montgomery Ward and Sears and Roebuck’s. 

They had an elevator with an operator who would announce the floors.  They had perfume counters and glove counters they even had a special section with a clerk just for hats.  We didn’t have a lot of money but sometime when my mother needed something special we got to visit the downtown department stores.  Today I read where Sears is closing more stores.  J.C. Penny had already announced more closings.  I guess Amazon and Walmart have taken most of their business away.  Heck whatever you need you can get online.  But you can’t get a ride up the escalator to the Housewares Department or visit with Faye, the elevator operator, she announced you have reached Third Floor, Ladies foundations, lingerie and perfumes.  

And another thing, did you ever wonder what happened to Roebuck?  Did old Richard Warren Sears kick him out of the company?  Is he buried under the loading dock of a Sears in Spring Valley, Minnesota?   Or was he just the victim of a down turn in the economy which squeezed him out into bankruptcy.  Was he, like Trooper Bob, kicked out of the Sears and Roebuck’s? 

Oh, and I find it odd that a store that started out as a catalogue store is going out of business because it can’t compete with on-line catalogue stores. 

I digress once again.  Here is one of my favorite department store stories, told to me by a co-worker of mine.  I have never entered a Sears and Roebuck’s that I didn’t think of this story.

Martin and his wife, Letty, held the hand of their sweet little boy, Alfonso as they walked through the aisles of the brand-new Sears and Roebuck’s downtown store.  The floors were polished terrazzo, the walls bright tile.  A large grinding escalator stood in the middle of the store lifting patrons from one floor to the next.

 

Alfonso squealed with delight.  He burst loose from his parents and ran to the toy department.  Red Ryder B.B. guns, little green army men, Lincoln logs and stuffed Teddy bears filled the racks and invited the tot to play.  Martin caught up with his five-year-old son, promising they would revisit the toys once Mommy and Daddy had gone to housewares.  A little disappointed he reluctantly let his dad lead him away from his panacea.  He waved goodbye to the giant Howdy Doodie puppet suspended above the toys

.

Up the escalator they floated, Alfonso jumping up and down watching over the side as the people down below got smaller and smaller.  They exited to the third floor where he exited hoping to find new wonders.  He lagged behind his mom and dad when he realized all that was here was furniture and refrigerators. 

Letty ran to the large pink Cold Spot chest freezer.  She fussed over it, expounding on the color and how it would match her all pink kitchen.  Martin appreciated it ample size, commenting that the thing he looked for in a freezer was how many bodies it would hold.  Letty slapped his arm and told the horrified salesman that he was just joshing, but behind her back Martin mouthed no I’m not. 

Not wanting to offend the ominous looking man in the black suit and his wife, the salesman expounded on the virtues of the new frostless freezer.  He told of all the time Letty would save on all that tedious defrosting.  Then he asked if the couple had any children.  That is the exact moment Martin and Letty realized little Alfonzo was missing. 

Panic rose in Letty’s throat and Martin began scanning the area for his little dark headed boy.  The rushed from aisle to aisle.  Sales Clerks from all over the store rushed to aid in the search of the tike.  Thelma from lingerie blocked the entrance and exit off the escalator on the second floor.  Marge in accessories took time off from selling Mrs. Thibodeaux the most stylish hat she had ever seen to look under racks and in dressing rooms for the young man.  The store was in an upheaval.

Martin rounded the corner to find a crowd gathered around a display, a bathroom display.  The crowd was in various stages of disgust, laughter and amazement.  He pushed his way to the front of the crowd to find little Alfonzo happily sitting on the display toilet with his pants around his ankles and a picture book in his hands.  Letty showed up about then and let out a scream, “Oh my baby boy!  What are you doin?” 

“Why momma, I’m going number two.  You told me it weren’t good to hold it in.  It made me have a bad attitude” the little innocent replied.

That’s the day that Martin, Letty and Alfonzo were kicked out of the Sears and Roebuck’s.  And Letty never did get her big pink frostless Cold Spot Freezer.

           

A Platform on Which to Stand

Gladys leapt from the bed and made her way to the closet she shared with Matilda.   Being the little sister she often got her older sister’s hand-me downs, but not her shoes.  Matilda was a good four sizes bigger than her foot wise.  No she wasn’t four foot taller but wore a size eight and a-half where Gladys had a little foot and barely wore a size five.  She was diminutive.   Not in personality or energy but in stature.  Gladys and Matilda would talk their older brother Buck into driving them to the most fashionable store in town, Grigsby’s Rag Doll, that’s where Matilda’s clothes were purchased.

The Rag Doll was where all the cool girls shopped.  It was upbeat and smelled like leather and Dr. Pepper.  The sales clerks were cheerleaders and in Gladys’ eyes rivaled New York models that landed on the cover of Seventeen.  She would paw through the racks wishing something in the store would fit her, but it never did.  Matilda on the other hand could find a skirt or a top that was just perfect.  She would ask the clerk to put it on “hold” and then we would go home to beg Nurse Meme to go buy it next payday.  Matilda would use logic on Nurse Meme.  She would tell her what a good deal it was and of course she would share it with Gladys when she got big enough to wear it.  Gladys would agree and nod along with the argument Matilda made as to why said item was a good purchase.  Not thinking that she might be 50 before it would fit her.  It didn’t matter, someday she would get to wear whatever it was that was the need of the moment.  Gladys would argue that it was for both of them, that they needed said item or they would simply die of embarrassment for wearing the same old shirt, sweater, dress etc.  even though she rarely if ever got to wear the item.

This cool spring morning when Gladys made her way to the shared closet she didn’t see the green K-mart skort with the matching yellow top or the Kenny’s sandals she saw the cute outfits that were not her size.  There was no Marsha Brady jumper with the polyester wide lapel blouse hanging there, at least not in Gladys’ size.   She could live with that.  She could live with the homemade bell bottom pants Nurse Meme made her because the store didn’t sell them in her size.  She was used to things not fitting.  She would watch with envy as Matilda pulled on her Dacron blouse and her polyester pants carefully choosing a sweater vest to coordinate the pieces.  She would spray her Straw Hat cologne and then carefully apply her Maybelline mascara carefully separating each eyelash with a safety pin to get just the right starburst effect on her blue eye shadowed eyes.     She copied and imitated each movement of her older sister, trying to achieve that same look.    She would look at her unruly hair and compare it to the perfectly straight hair of her sister with just the right amount of curl on the ends.  How did she do it?  So perfect all of the time. 

She could live with all of that.  She could live with the fact that her sister was athletic, pretty and popular.  She could live with the fact that she could wear clothes from the cool stores.  She could even live with the fact that her sister was cheerleader material.  What she couldn’t live with was that her sister had a pair of Baretrap sandals.  They were all the rage.  Matilda had gotten a pair of Moxie’s  and a pair of blue suede lace up shoes that perfectly matched a blue velvet dress she wore to a banquet and though envious Gladys was okay with that.  It was the Baretraps that did her in.  Those brown three buckle wooden souled platform sandals the thing Gladys coveted. 

So on that spring morning when she went to the closet she didn’t see the plain old little girl sandals waiting for her but instead saw the Holy Grail of shoes.  She sat on the floor and slid her foot onto the cool wood sole and pulled the ankle strap as taught around her ankle as possible she grabbed the door handle and pulled herself up onto the shoes.  She stood a little straighter and a whole lot taller perched on top of the platforms.  She felt as if she were at the top of Mount Olympus.  She stood there in her shorty pajamas with her hair sticking up all over her head and decided she was going to borrow her sisters shoes and wear them to school.  She turned to tell her sister and promptly fell off of her platforms and right on to the floor. 

She landed with a thud which cause Matilda to stir from her place on the bed.  “What are you doing” she yelled at Gladys.  “Nothing” Gladys replied and again she stood and shoving her feet as far into the shoes as she could without sliding out the bottom she tried to walk toward the bathroom.  She took one step, then repositioned her foot back into the shoe and then tried to take another.  She was able to take two steps then three and then she hit the floor again.  She didn’t try to get back up this time.  Instead she removed the shoes from her feet and threw them at the closet.  Frustrated and jealous she stormed into the bathroom to get ready for school.  In her mind all she could thing was dumb old shoes.  I didn’t want to wear them anyway.  Now I have to wear my stupid little girl shoes.  I’m never gonna be cool.  I’m never gonna be glamorous like Matilda. 

Matilda appeared in the bathroom door “did you throw my shoes” she asked as she bent to brush her teeth. 

“Yes” snapped Gladys in reply

Matilda turned mouth foaming and cinnamon odor of Close-up toothpaste filling the room and said “well before you walk in someone else’s shoes you better make sure they fit.” 

Gladys learned a lesson that day and many times thereafter.  It isn’t always as glamorous as you think it’s going to be to walk in someone else’s shoes and that if the shoe doesn’t fit, it isn’t the shoe for you.

Gladys Gets A Big Old Howdy!

When you grow up in the south, as Gladys had, you were used to people waving at you when you passed in your vehicles.  She remembered being very young and asking her daddy, Trooper Bob, if he knew all those people who he exchanged waves.  Trooper Bob, thought a minute then responded “Reckon I do.  They are all our neighbors.  Even those people over yonder with the Yankee license plates, they’s our neighbors.”  Gladys leaned from the back seat over the front to see the big yellow Cadillac with Vermont license plate. 

“You mean those people over there with the Varmint license plate are our neighbors?  You know the capital of Varmint is Montecatipillar and their state bird is the Hermet Crab, no that ain’t right, it’s the Hermet Rush.  And my teacher says that the whole state would fit in our county with room to spare.”
 

Trooper Bob rolled down his window spit his chaw from his jaw and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.  “That right?  Well I Suwanee.” 

When you grow up in the south people waving at you from passing cars and talking to you in supermarket lines is common, but where Gladys now lived it was an anomaly.   This was just a fact.  If someone honked it wasn’t to say Howdy unless you start Howdy with and F and end it with a you.  Everyone always seemed to be in a rush to get to the next red light where they would rev their engines and try to beat one another to the next light.  It was all very confusing for Gladys who grew up in a friendly state. 

Gladys as usual grabbed her reusable grocery bags, her big glass of water, no bottles for her, and headed out to run her usual errands.   Even though she lived in this particular town for almost a decade she rarely saw anyone she knew, not even her sister Matilda.  Nope she normally went about her day speaking only to the salespeople or giving an occasional nod to a stranger in line at the grocery only to be turned away with a grimace or a growl.  She had become accustomed to the surly harried state of most people; but decided not to let it influence her she smiled and went her own way.   

Lately, she had noticed a change in some of the people in her town.  They were almost friendly.  She noticed that they would often wave at her while she drove past them.  They would make a point to put a hand out their window and wave with their whole hand and not just a single middle finger.  She would happily wave back thinking “now this is how it should be”.   She noticed more and more that when she took certain routes and saw certain vehicles they would wave.  Gladys smiled and thought maybe she did know these people.  Perhaps she had met them at a party or a dinner but quickly dismissed that thought as she remembered she didn’t go to parties. 

One morning as Gladys pulled from the drugstore parking lot and onto a busy thoroughfare a woman in a Jeep stopped and let her out into traffic.   Gladys, being raised to always be gracious, stuck her hand out the window and waved a big THANK YOU wave.  She lumbered down the street in her little Jeep Wrangler and pulled up to a red light where a man in a Jeep Renegade beeped his horn and waved.  It was then it dawned on Gladys, the people who waved at her were always Jeep drivers.  They would beep and wave and let you in or out of traffic.  They moved over so you could fit into parking spaces, instead of straddling the line. 

Gladys contemplated this as she drove into the post office.  What made Jeep drivers nicer than others?   Then it struck her.  The only answer she could come up with.  Jeep drivers were from the south.  So to all my fellow Southern Jeepers who hail from Bangor, Maine or Providence, Rhode Island, Chicago or Montecatipillar, Varmint, you must have a little bit of Southern in you because when you get behind the wheel of your vehicle you let your Southern show.  In the words of Trooper Bob, we’s all neighbors, so wave and say Howdy as you go by.

SWEET FREEDOM

Remember when Memorial Day meant your life was about to begin?  What was the song?  “No more rulers, no more books, no more teacher’s dirty looks”?   What a wonderful feeling those final days of school were.  The electricity in the air was palpable and anything was possible.  Heck this summer we might build a spaceship and fly to the moon or a ship and sail the seven seas.  Yes the opening weekend of summer, Memorial Day weekend, was the portal to adventure.  

Gladys awoke with a start.  It was here.  It was finally here.  She climbed out of her side of the bed being careful not to wake Matilda.  You see Gladys was an early riser.  She did not want to miss one single moment of the day.  She wanted to see the sun rise and drink in the very first day of freedom.  She slipped into the kitchen which was still dark and quiet.  Nurse Meme had not returned from her night shift at the hospital and Trooper Bob was in the shower preparing for his day shift keeping the highways and byways safe from interlopers.   She got the stepstool from the pantry and drug it to the refrigerator.   The door opened with a stiff tug and illuminated the room with the soft cold glow.  She reached in  pulled a carton of milk from the shelf, made a swipe for the pitcher of Tang and a couple of eggs.  The stool then was drug to the stove and pots and pans were pulled from their storage space.   Gladys wasn’t afraid of the stove, heck she had been cooking since she was a little kid and now that she was seven she knew how to not burn herself, well, most of the time.  She went about her business of breakfast making and poured herself a glass of milk and then gingerly pulled the glasses with oranges printed on the outside from the cabinet and unsuccessfully tried to pour her Tang without spilling, because Tang is what the astronauts drink in space.  They were adventurers and so was Gladys.

Trooper  Bob walked in just as she was sopping up the contents of the juice pitcher from the floor.  “What’s going on here?” his voice shattering the quiet of the morning. 

Gladys jumped and turned holding the juice soaked towel.  “Nothing Daddy, I jist tried to pour me some Tang and I spilled a little”.

 

Trooper Bob side stepped the puddle in the floor careful not to get his polished Tony Lama’s near the sticky juice.  “Well, you better git this mess cleaned up afore your momma gits home.  She’ll have a can-ip-shun fit.  Wipe it up with some Spic and Span so it don’t leave no stickiness, now you hear.”  He made his way to the percolator and poured himself a cup of coffee and turned for the door.    He stopped, took a long look at his baby daughter mopping up the orange goop.  “Gladys?”

Gladys leaned on her mop “yeah, Daddy.”

“What the hell are you wearing?” Trooper Bob asked pointing toward her outfit.

“My bathing suit” she replied smoothing down her red white and blue two piece.

“Did you git up and put that on first thing this morning?”  He chuckled.

“Naw sir.  I slept in it.  It’s summertime that means you can sleep in your swimming suit.” Gladys answered matter of factly.

“Yep I guess it does.” Trooper Bob said as the door closed quietly behind him.

So happy summer everyone and I don’t know about you but I’ll be sleeping in my swimming suit.

My Found Day

Not to seem ungrateful to all of you who have sent me birthday wishes but I feel compelled to correct you. Today is my “found” day. You see I was not born but instead my family unit found me under a rock many many years ago.  No really go read about it here.  I'll wait.  http://gladysspeaks.blogspot.com/2009/01/found-under-rock.html


Now you may recall from my earlier post about it that I might have been left by a circus that not-so-accidently moved on without me. This theory has long been Matilda’s explanation of my coming to reside with her family. You see for her it was the only way to confirm my enormous Dumbo like ears, brillo pad hair and my buck teeth.

Her theory lies in that I was in fact the love child of two circus freak performers and as such I was so hideous that even they didn’t want me. Trooper Bob and Nurse Meme being the giving loving people they were overlooked my hideousness and instead graciously took me into their home.

Matilda believed that they had in fact done this so that she would have someone to whom she could hand over her chores. Thus giving her more time in which she could separate her eyelashes and stroke her beautiful Marsha Brady hair.

Buck on the other hand was convinced that I had been left by an alien space craft which had unfortunately crashed upon the site. The alien baby seeking shelter crawled under the rock because it was similar to the conditions of its home planet.

In his theory there was a meteor which hurdled toward the earth burning and turning. It hit the earth’s atmosphere and much like Superman the meteoric like craft came crashing into an open expanse of desert. He tried to prove this theory by using me as his private laboratory specimen. I of course have had a fear of being struck by meteor’s my whole life not to mention I won’t go near kryptonite. Unfortunately the only “super” power I can report to is the ability to talk a person to death.

No really I can. I truly believe one of the reasons I have never been taken hostage is because terrorist take one look at me and say “No Fred, don’t take her. She will kill us with her words. Too many words.” Then like Dick Van Patton in High Anxiety they would be found dead on the ground with blood oozing from their orifices. I digress.

I believe I was explaining to you all that while “birth day” is appropriate for most normal humans, it does not relate to me. You see I am not a normal human. I am in fact the girl who was found under the rock. The anomaly, the mystery, the enigma of a being who never seemed to fit. I tried to talk like everyone else, walk like everyone else and even dress like everyone else. When Matilda got Farah Fawcett hair, I immediately went out and tried to replicate that but instead looked more like Gilda Radnor’s rendition of Roseanne RoseannaDanna.

When Buck excelled in math and science I too tried to understand the Pythagorean theorem but mistakenly understood that it had something to do with Pythons and I’m deathly afraid of snakes.

The whole point of this is to tell you thank you for celebrating my Found Day with me. You see every year on my Found Day I look in the mirror and celebrate the fact that I am. I don’t care that I was found under a rock. With each year I progress and learn to love my Dumbo ears and my Melissa Gilbert overbite.

Each year I age I accept the fact that I’m never going to be Stephen Hawking or Albert Einstein. I instead take the day of my Finding to celebrate me.

So are your ears bleeding yet?

Safety First Gladys

Gladys looked down at the stack of books on her desk and tried to listen as Mrs. Carter, her third grade teacher, instructed them what to do with their supplies. Gladys raised her hand and hopped up and down in her seat a little to make sure she would be seen.


“Mizzuss Carter, what are we supposed to do with this great big book? The one that won’t fit under our desk?” Gladys asked still hopping up in down in her chair.

Mrs. Carter reached over and picked up a large thick big book off her desk. She held it in both hands and declared “Class, and Gladys, this is the MOST important book in our stack. It is the one you will use the most. You will need to keep this book on your desk or under your desk at all times. So make sure you take great care when you apply your cover to your book. Write your name in LARGE printed letters on the front and back as well as our class room and your teacher.”

Gladys hefted the book in her hand and opened it to the middle. It looked well worn but pretty boring. She sighed shut the book and pushed it to the side of her desk. She looked around the room at her fellow pupils and saw that they too were nonplused by the bulky volume. She shrugged and took a piece of brown paper bag from her stack and began tightly wrapping the book. She took her blue green, lemon yellow, and magenta crayons and began designing her name in on the cover. She wrote out each letter in one color then outlined it in the next making sure that her name could be read while still having flair.

Mrs. Carter was groovy that way. She let them be artistic and let their creativity shine. She didn’t mind that Gladys drew horses on every piece of paper that was available or that she cut daisies out of construction paper like her cool older cousin Bird had taught her. All of her cousins were very artistic and creative. Gladys’ whole family was innovational. They were painters, writers, musicians, singers and creators. Gladys tried hard to immolate them. She knew she did not have their natural ability but that didn’t stop her she still tried. So she drew a few more flowers and then drew a horse eating the flowers for good measure.

The day wore on what with all the book covering and paste eating. Finally it was getting close to the end of the day when there was a squelch from the loud speaker the National Defense siren began to wail.

Mrs. Carter raced to the front of the room and announced sternly “Everyone, we will be exiting out the front door into the interior hallway of the main building next to the cafeteria. I want you to pick up your Social Studies Book, the big thick book under your desk, and bring it with you. Now we will start with the row the farthest from the door, quietly walk single file and do not stop on the way. Gladys, you need to make sure the room is clear since you are the last one on your row. Can you do that?”

Gladys stood up straight and tall and nodded in the affirmative. She furrowed her brow and watched as each of her classmates filed from the room. She shifted the large manuscript feeling it heavy in her hand. She walked to the door stepped out, then stepped back in and switched off the lights because her daddy taught her to always turn the light off when you leave the room. Ready Kilowatt didn’t like it when you wasted electricity.

She followed the snaking line of children pushing and laughing happy to be out of the classroom for even the few minutes that the emergency drill would take. Gladys looked up in the sky and noticed that it wasn’t the normal clear blue, nor was it even the gloomy grey that sometimes takes over the sunshine in September. It was instead a menacing green. The clouds churned overhead like a bubbling pot of stew. The air had a tinge of cold and the wind had started whirling and whipping.

She turned to see the wind catch the door of the portable classroom and nail it against the wall. It was blowing so hard that Gladys was glad she had the gigantic book in her hand to help weight her down.

She made it into the building in time to see Principal Ledbetter giving everyone instructions to huddle in the hallway and place their books on the back of their heads. Gladys fell in place next to her friend Esther and whispered “It looks bad out there. I think there might be a tornado.” As if on cue there was a loud clacking and banging on the roof of the building. They could see the lightening and the crack of thunder. A huge pop and poof the lights went out. Gladys cowered lower on the floor with the heavy weight of the book on her neck.

Mrs. Carter came and checked each student making sure they had their book on their head with their name and class visible. “Alright, class I want you to remain calm and quiet until we give the all clear.”

It seemed like an eternity that they crouched in the hallway but eventually the horn sounded and the announcement came to return to their classrooms. Once again everyone filed from the building and Gladys tailed behind. She was lost in her thoughts about what had just transpired.

Could it be that the only thing that stood between her and the torrent of Mother Nature’s turmoil was a binding of facts of faraway places? This large manuscript was her protector and benefactor. It was all so clear now. This is why they wrapped it tightly. This is why they wrote their names on it. It clearly had magic powers that protected her from anything bad. She knew then that she must possess one of her own to carry with her always.

That is why to this day Gladys still owns a very large manuscript with facts of faraway places as protection against all of life’s ills.

Brush Strokes

 “Good morning yesterday, you wake up and time has slipped away…”  Wait, What?  It is Thursday once again which means it is time for THEME THURSDAY.  This week’s theme is Brush.  Now I have to tell you the first thing I thought of was paint brushes but that is only because I have done more than my share of this lately.  I am not talking painting pictures here I’m talking painting walls.  Oh how I wish I could have been like Tom Sawyer and been able to dupe some poor unsuspecting soul into thinking how much fun it was to slather a layer of paint onto a surface.  Oh what fun!  What joy!  What Elation!  What a load of horse manure!  I had this whole thought process going on about painting walls and then another brush came to mind.  Yes this week’s theme is BRUSH and here is my contribution for others click on THEME THURSDAY and then visit with Brian, Julie, Roy and the bunch have to say about Brush.

Gladys sat on the counter as her head was being yanked back with each brush stroke.  “I don’t know where you got all that nappy hair” Matilda exclaimed as she drug the brush through her little sister’s unruly hair “must have been from them circus people who left you under that rock.”  Gladys wiped the tears from her eyes not knowing if she was crying because her hair was being yanked out by the roots or because she didn’t know who she really was.  It was a huge burden for a six year old to bear, being found under a rock and all.  She was brave and courageous and more than anything else jealous of Matilda’s beautiful straight hair. 

Matilda stopped brushing long enough to fluff of her coif and then went back to trying to tug the tangles from Gladys’ hair.   She stopped mid yank and looked in the mirror examining the reflection of her and her little sister.  “I could be Miss America.  I could walk down that runway just like those girls on the teevee.  I mean I’m just as pretty as they are if not prettier.”  Then she took the brush and held it up as a make-shift microphone in front of Gladys’ bucked tooth smile “announce me.”  Gladys giggled then replied “huh?”  Matilda pushed the brush closer to her mouth and demanded “announce me, stupid.”  Gladys’ eyes opened with understanding and she said “Ok I announce YOUR STUPID!”  That’s when the uncontrollable giggling began.  Unfortunately Gladys thought she was much funnier than Matilda did.  Matilda popped Gladys on the arm “no dummy, announce me like I’m Miss Texas being crowned Miss America!  You know just like Bert Parks.”  

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Gladys took hold of the brush and in her best game-show host voice said “Ladies and Gentlemen, the new Miss America is Matilda Lucille McGuilicutty.” Then in her lowest voice she began singing “There she is Miss America…”  At this announcement Matilda grabbed the brush from Gladys’ hand and laid it across the crook of her arm like a bouquet of roses and began her walk of honor. 

Matilda slowly stepped out the bathroom door and down the hall waving to her adoring fans.  She blew kisses and wiped the imaginary tears from her eyes.  Gladys jumped down from the counter continuing to sing “There she is our ideeeaaalll”.  Then not knowing the rest of the words Gladys decided to ad-lib.  “There she goes Miss America.  There she goes with big toes.  Here she is big and fat.  Here she is a blundering rat.  There she is a pooper head…” but she couldn’t get out the next verse.  The once delicate and graceful Miss America had pounded her way back up the hall and had begun tickling the reserved game-show host turned emcee. 

Matilda turned the brush into a sword and began dueling with Gladys.  Gladys grabbed the rat-tailed comb from the counter top and contre' parried.  She thrust and withdrew then ran squeezing past Matilda racing for the kitchen.  Matilda now acting as Zorro would have none of it.  She ran after Gladys and countered her thrust they dueled through the living room and onto the screened in porch.  That’s when they heard the voice. 

“What in the HELL are you two doing?  You better be getting ready for school!” came the shout from the laundry room.  “Matilda!  Did you brush Gladys’ hair yet?”  Matilda and Gladys both stopped mid-assuat.  Matilda poised the brush over Gladys’ unruly locks and replied “Yes, ma’am.  I’m brushing it out right now, but them Gypsies must have had Brillo Pads for hair!”

Chicken Little

I hate that I haven’t been on here much lately.  I have to tell you though; I have been busier than a one armed paper hanger.  I have been backed up like the septic system at the old folk’s home after the prune Danish cook-off.  I have been hopping like a one legged man at an ass kicking contest.   I have been running around like a chicken with my head cut off.   To put it bluntly I’ve been doing stuff.  

  I do have to admit, though, that brings to mind a story.  Oh stop whining, grab a glass of lemonade and just enjoy the ride.

Little Gladys loved her quirky cousins.  She loved everything about them.  She loved that they were rough and tumble.  She loved that they toted her around like a grain sack.  She loved that they made up little nick-names for her like Ga-nat and Heebee Geebee.  She loved that they would get down in the floor and play Babies and then dress her up like a Barbie.  Nope there wasn’t anything she didn't love about her cousins.  She knew they loved her too because they would pack her up and take her all kinds of places with them.  One of her favorite places they took her was to their other grandmother’s house.  Her name was Mamaw.  She was everything her name entailed.  She could cook and clean.  She could milk the cows, slop the hogs and chase down the chickens.  She had peacocks and peahens to keep the rattlesnakes away.  She had big sweet smelling quilts on her beds and sheets dried outside on a clothesline.  Mamaw was everything Gladys thought a grandmother should be.  Gladys didn’t have a grandmother since her sweet Nanny had passed away, but she wasn’t above stealing Mamaw from her quirky cousins. 

Mamaw lived on a little farm outside of town and it was heaven.  Gladys loved driving over the railroad tracks and into the farm yard.  The chickens would scatter, the peacocks would unfold their vibrant tales and the peahens would let out a screeching that sounded like a whole passel of children were being beat.  Gladys lit from the car and bolted toward the chickens chasing them until the rooster had enough and turned the tables and chased after Gladys.  The rooster puffed out his feathers lifted up his head and charged towards her at full velocity.  Gladys stopped dead in her tracks eyes wide mouth open as Fred the rooster charged her.  She ran screaming into Mamaw’s lap.  Mamaw was sitting in her chair shelling peas and shucking corn and Gladys climbed right up in the middle of all of it and stuck her nose into Mamaw's neck and breathed in that earthy scent of soap and sweat and maybe a little bit of Pink Sachet.  “Child you best not get that rooster riled he’s libel to spur you like a wild stallion” she warned and unpeeled Gladys from her neck and with one hand still shelling peas with the other.  She placed Gladys back down on the ground.  “Now you go on out there and gather you up some of them peacock feathers” she said as she gathered up her vegetables and headed into the kitchen. 

She entered the kitchen and within minutes the world’s best smells burst through the window saturating every inch of the yard.  Gladys hid under the fig tree where it was nice and cool while the older kids wrestled and gossiped.  When Gladys could no longer stand the growling in her stomach she eased her way out of the fig tree fortress careful not to disturb the five million wasps and snuck into the kitchen.  Gladys stood at the door watching as Mamaw performed the most beautiful ballet.  She sashayed and pivoted as the bacon was sliced and tossed into the bottom of the pan where it sizzled and crackled.  Then she tossed in the freshly shelled black-eyed peas.   She glided as she added a pinch of salt and pepper and her secret ingredient that came in an amber bottle.  She covered the whole thing in water and floated back to where she had her corn and potatoes.  She stood slicing up big fat juicy red tomatoes when her eyes rested on Little Gladys “you want to pick out a chicken?”  Gladys squealed with glee “YES Ma’am!  I would love to pick me out one of them chickens.  Can I pick any of them?”  Mamaw looked past her out to the yard and replied “Well, you can’t pick that old cock out there but you can pick any of them girls.  You know the difference?”  Gladys nodded her head in the affirmative and ran out to pick out her chicken.

She was so excited.  She had always wanted to live on a farm and now she was going to have her very own chicken.  She skipped around the yard looking at each and every one of the beautifully colored hens.  She had names for all of the them.  The big red one was Henrietta, and then there was the little brown and yellow one who she called 

Justcallmefay because she kind of reminded her of her new step-grandmother, JustCallMeFay.  Gladys hadn’t ever met anyone with a name like that but when her granddaddy introduced her to his new bride and she asked her name she said “Justcallmefay”.  Her favorite hen was the one she called Chicken Little.  

She liked the little white hen because she reminded Gladys of the book they read at story time about the little chicken that ran around yelling “the sky is falling, the sky is falling.”  Well Gladys loved that story and now she knew just which hen she wanted.  She marched right up the back steps and opened the screen door.  She wiped her feet and plodded right on into Mamaw’s kitchen.  “Mamaw, I know which one I want.”  Mamaw finished drying off her knife and wiped her hands on the towel.  “Is that right?  You know which one?  Was it a hard choice” she asked as she turned and headed out the door with Gladys on her heels.  “No ma’am.  I just thought about which one was my favorite and I figured if you didn’t mind that would be the one I wanted.”  Mamaw grabbed the little hatchet from the stump and looked around the yard “Which one is it?”  Gladys pointed toward the pretty little hen pecking at the dirt “Chicken Little.  I want Chicken Little.”  Mamaw crossed the yard in two steps reached out and grabbed the little hen up in one movement.  She turned and chopped off that chickens head like she was cutting through butter, tossed the head in the bucket and was back at Gladys’ side.  Mamaw didn’t believe in a lot of unnecessary commotion. 

Gladys stood mouth agape eyes the size of grapefruit.  She tried to scream or laugh or talk or anything but nothing was happening.  She had just watched a murder.  She was a witness to the murder of Chicken Little.  She turned and looked up at Mamaw mouth still wide open.  Mamaw wiped her hands on her dish towel and said “we’ll pluck the feathers just soon as she gets done rushin round spurtin blood.”  Gladys let out a little squeak.  Mamaw looked down at Gladys’ stricken face and realized that this wasn’t exactly what Gladys had in mind “you best shut your mouth afore the flies get in.”

So that is the story of Chicken Little and Gladys running around like a chicken with her head cut off.   Oh and just so you know, that was some of the tastiest fried chicken I have ever eaten in my life.

It is Theme Thursday and I just looked at my blog and realized I haven’t written in a week. I have been jonsing bad but I have been busy. I know you wonder what the heck could keep me away from you for so long. Honestly there is nothing more important than you. Well I have an excuse but it will have to wait until later because right now we must get out of park and put it into drive because this week’s theme is PARK. I know you know what to do. Read my story then click on the link back to THEME THURSDAY and go read all the wonderful other post. It is amazing how many different views there will be on the same word, Park.

Trooper Bob drove into the drive and slid the gear shift to “P”. He walked toward the house tired from yet another day of working the back roads and by ways. He unbuckled his Sam Brown and hung it in the closet and gratefully put on his well worn overalls. He knew there were a couple of little girls waiting to pounce on him.

He walked into the kitchen where Gladys sat at the counter doing her homework. “Hi Daddy” she yelled as she threw herself into him. “Whatcha doin? Whereyou been? Did anything funny happen today? Didju bring me sumin?” came rushing from his youngest daughter’s mouth. She never stopped talking, she even talked in her sleep. He laughed and grabbed her glass of tea and drank it to the bottom. “Naw, not much. Just a herd of elephants speeding out on FM603 but other than that a pretty slow day” he replied as he sat down the empty glass. “Hey” Gladys exclaimed as she picked up her empty glass and made her way to the tea pitcher. She carefully poured the thick sweat amber colored tea syrup into the glass and added water. She stirred the tea with a long silver spoon and handed the glass to her daddy “here have some more since you seem to be drinkin enough for them elephants.”

Trooper Bob took the glass and sat down next to her “whatcha workin on?” Gladys turned her big book full of numbers toward her daddy “fractions. I HATE fractions. They are soooooo lame. I mean it doesn’t make since turning numbers upside down and then figuring them by crossing out the others.” Trooper Bob eyed the book and looked at Gladys as if she had just spoke Martianese “yep, I guess they seem pretty lame if you put it that way but honestly I don’t know what the heck your talkin bout. Must be some of that new math.” Gladys took her number 2 pencil and scratched out a few more problems then stuck her paper into her notebook and declared “all done. What are we gonna do now?” Trooper Bob set his glass in the sink and looked out the window “guess we better get busy on that old Dodge out there. We ain’t never gonna be able to drive it if we don’t get it running.”

Gladys grabbed the step stool from the corner and scooted it toward the window “yep. She’s been parked out there way too long. I gotta run change into my play clothes then I’ll come help ya.” She ran from the kitchen before she could see her daddy shake his head and roll his eyes. He knew she meant well but she was like a bull in a china cabinet around anything mechanical. He walked out the door and onto the driveway where the old Dodge pick-up sat looking forlorn. He grabbed his tool box and noticed he was missing a screw driver or two. He made a mental note to check the plug covers in the house. Gladys had a tendency to screw and unscrew the covers from the wall. He grabbed a wrench and wiggled under the sturdy old truck.

Gladys hit the door running “I’m ready Daddy. What can I get you? Do you need a wrench? What size? Hey can I screw in the screws?” Trooper Bob jumped as she crawled in the cab and hit the horn. “Honey, can you go get me that left handed henway?” Now Gladys had been working on the old truck with her dad for several months and she had fetched hammers, tape, wire, wrenches, ratchets and washers but to her knowledge she had never fetched a henway. Gladys crawled under the truck got right in her daddy’s face and said “what’s a henway?” Trooper Bob bit back a snort and replied “oh a good one is about 6 pounds.” Gladys sat for a moment then he saw the light go on over her head “DAAAAAADDDEEEEEEE”. Bob finished replacing the oil plug and crawled out from under the truck “go get me that oil over there. We will fill this baby up then take her for a spin.” Gladys ran as fast as her PF Flyers would take her and grabbed the cans of oil. She lugged each one over to the truck and went back for the spout “okay Daddy, I got it all. Fill her up I want to drive.”

Once the Dodge was juiced up Gladys jumped on the big springy bench seat and planted herself squarely behind the steering wheel. “Scooch over Peewee” Bob told her as he climbed in the driver’s seat. “But you said I could drive” Gladys whined. “You can but I got to get it started up and work the pedals. You can’t see over the dash sitting on my lap much less work the pedals and see to drive.” Gladys knew he was right and relinquished her position. Bob fiddled and fussed and pumped the gas until finally the old engine roared to life. Gladys studied every move her daddy made knowing she would mimic each move. She watched as he moved the shifter from one position to the next and looked over his shoulder as he backed. She watched how he steered with the ball that was attached to the wheel, the one he called the suicide ball. She watched as he worked the foot pedals and glanced from mirror to mirror. She was ready. She could do this.

Trooper Bob stopped at the stop sign and signaled for Gladys to crawl over. She planted herself in her daddy’s lap and grabbed hold of the shifter. She nodded as he depressed the clutch and she moved it into first gear. She put one hand on the wheel and the other on the suicide knob as they eased into the intersection and she pulled the wheel to the right with all her might. The wheel barely moved. She grabbed the wheel with both hands and pulled with all her weight and still it barely moved. Then she took and deep breath and tried once again. Magically it began to turn. She thought it was from the extra muscles she was using then she saw that her daddy had helped her a little. She felt royal sitting up high in the old truck as they cruised down the road. She drove up and down the streets turning left and then right always with a little help from her daddy. “Hey we need to go pick up Matilda from the school. You wanna drive over there” Trooper Bob asked. Gladys looked up at him and replied “shoot yeah! Matilda will be so jealous that I’m drivin.”

They eased up to the school. “Just park right on over there in front of the school” Trooper Bob told Gladys as if she were the one really driving. Gladys held on to the wheel and turned and pulled and parked that Dodge truck right in front of the school house. She could see her sister and her sister’s best friend standing in the courtyard “Daddy, there she is. Can I honk the horn?” Trooper Bob saw Matilda look towards the truck and then away. “Sure go ahead. Maybe she doesn’t see us.” Gladys laid down on that horn and everyone in the school yard turned to look. Matilda looked stricken. She was red faced and began to run away from the truck. “Daddy, where is she going? I know she saw us. I’ll honk again just in case.” Once again Gladys pushed on the horn and allowed it to admit its obnoxious call. Matilda was nowhere to be seen now. Gladys was perplexed. Then she saw Matilda heading away from the school to the Park down the street. “Look Daddy there she is. She is going to the Park.” Bob started the truck and Gladys shifted into first gear the two of them working as a team putted down to the park.

There standing to the side was Matilda. She looked both ways then jumped in the truck. “Look Daddy let me drive all the way over here. Why did you run away when you saw us? Didn’t you know when you honk you’re supposed to come? Why is your face so red? Have you been runnin or something? Hey look see this thing right here? It’s called a suicide knob. Oh and see this the “R” means race and the “1” means slow and the “P”, well I don’t know what the “P” means but I got to drive. Hey can you look in the glove box and hand me that henway” Gladys said all in one breath. “Shut up” Matilda hissed “I have never been so embarrassed in my whole life. Everybody is going to think we are some kind of hillbilly or something. I can’t believe you picked me up in this nasty ugly old truck. I could have just died. DIED! Right there in the courtyard of Taylor Elementary School! DIED!” She sat back in the seat arms crossed seething.

Gladys looked at her daddy and then at her sister “what are you talking about? This truck in neato keen. It is just a little rough around the edges. You just wait until we get her painted up. She’ll be brand spankin new. What do you mean hillbillies? Like the Beverly Hillbillies? Movie stars…swimming pools, the next thing you know old Jed’s a millionaire, kin folks say Jed Move away from there.” Matilda started to get her color back as she watched her annoying little sister bounce up and down “Hey how come YOU get to drive” she asked. Gladys smiled “cause I helped Daddy fix his truck. I git to drive. Now can you git me that henway from the glove compartment? I can’t I’m busy driving.” Trooper Bob just watched as the older of the girls started rummaging through the glove compartment. Matilda removed papers and napkins and some little monkeys that they put on the side of your coke down at Kim’s Circus Drive-In. “What the heck’s a henway” she finally asked. That’s when Gladys and Trooper Bob said in unison “about 6 pounds.”