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 |  It's all her fault. |
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| Here’s another story that was told to me, this one by my Grandpa, so hold on to your seat. Grandpa would gather us around on a stormy night or when we were out camping in the woods and tell us of things from long ago. This one involves him when he was in his twenties, and he lived to just two weeks shy of ninety-nine years, to give you an idea of how far back he could recall. I’ll do my best to tell it the way he did. “I had two jobs back then, one was part time at the C&O Railroad, the other was working in a coal mine. They didn’t have the machinery they do today for working in a coal mine. Back then we crawled on our hands and knees with just a pick axe and a carbide light on our hats, and we used our own two hands to remove the black gold from its dark tomb. I had younguns to feed and a wife to support and the dream of paying the bank off to keep my land so I could quit the other jobs and run my farm and be my own boss. “One time at the mine, quite a few men were out sick or had sickness at home that they had to take care of. All I could do was pray the sickness didn’t reach me or my family; there just wasn’t enough doctors to go around and some things they didn’t have any idea how to treat. Some folks died, including children. They asked at the mine if any of the men could work more hours and promised bonuses to those who could. I chose to be one of those men. I was working fourteen and sixteen hour shifts three days a week at the mine and six to ten hour days at the C&O for the other three days. I always took at least one day off from work each week just to rest and be with family. “There was one day that I worked from 10:30 at night until 6:30 in the morning and then pulled the next shift from 6:30 until 3:00 p.m. The only time I came up out of that mine was to eat, and while I was inside, I couldn’t tell if it was daylight or dark. At the end of the second shift, all I had on my mind was to get home. It was Saturday and the next day was my day off. Even though I had worked those hours, I still had a two-mile walk to look forward to before I got home. I lived about six miles from the mine and got a ride with one of the mine’s wagons to the end of the road where I lived, but it was still a two mile walk from there, carrying my lunch pail, water canteen, my hat with the lamp, and a small carbide lantern. “By the time I was dropped off, it was starting to get dark. The sun was slowly going down behind the trees and hills. I had walked this path many a time, but this time it just didn’t seem right. Something inside me told me to get a stick, so I took my handkerchief from my back pocket and tied my pail to the side of my bib overalls. I found a fairly hefty oak stick that was big enough to use as a walking stick and started walking again. As I was walking I could feel like something was watching me, could hear it moving in the bushes as I moved. I thought to myself, It must be some kind of animal stalking me, waiting to make its move. “I stopped suddenly and thumped the stick on the ground. Whatever it was stopped too. I couldn’t see it but I knew it was still there amongst the trees and bushes that ran alongside of the road. I looked around again, seeing nothing. “I started to sing.” What a friend we have in Jesus (Thump) All our sins and griefs to bear (Thump) What a privilege to carry (Thump) Everything to God in prayer (Thump) When Grandpa would tell this story, he would sing and play the song on his fiddle. With each “thump,” he would stop and strike the fiddle with his thumb (if we were outside) or stomp his foot on the floor (if we were inside). In that manner, he continued the story... “I picked up the pace, both walking and singing.” O what peace we often forfeit (Thump) ”And so did the sound coming from the bush.” O what needless pain we bear (Thump) ”It was getting darker.” All because we do not carry (Thump) ”Deep shadows of the trees were starting to cross the road.” Everything to God in prayer (Thump) ”Again I heard a voice inside myself.” Have we trials and temptations? (Thump) ”It was telling me I had to make it to the Corner Church.” Is there trouble anywhere? (Thump) “My pace became even more brisk.” We should never be discouraged (Thump) “I was starting to feel my legs grow weary.” Take it to the lord in prayer (Thump) “Whatever was in the shadows was keeping up.” Can we find a friend so faithful? (Thump) “My breath was getting short, but I felt like I had to keep singing.” Who will all our sorrows share? (Thump) “If I can just make it to the church.” Jesus knows our every weakness (Thump) “I prayed, ‘Lord, give me strength.’” Take it to the Lord in prayer (Thump) “I had to slow my pace down some.” Are we weak and heavy laden? (Thump) “Whatever it was, its pace slowed too.” ’Cumbered with a load of care? (Thump) “Now I heard this thing coming up further on the embankment.” Precious Savior still our refuge (Thump) “I could see the Corner Church ahead.” Take it to the Lord in prayer (Thump) “With the church in view, I found new strength and picked up the pace once again.” Do thy friends despise, forsake thee? (Thump) “Now I could hear the thing up on the road.” Take it to the Lord in prayer (Thump) “I didn’t turn around, I was too close to the church. I could hear it come up on the road and go back down again in the bushes.” In his arms he’ll take and shield thee (Thump) “Just a few more yards. I could feel the thing bearing down on me.” Thou wilt find a solace there. (Thump) “I spun around and swung the stick with all my might – and hit nothing but air. “I realized I was standing right next to the well right in front of the Corner Church. I was breathing hard, looking for the thing that had been chasing me for a little more than a mile. Darkness was about to take over with the exception of the two lights in front of the church, one in front of the sign and the other just above the door." ...To be continued... |
| . A Soldier Stands Alone A home was invaded, a friend was taken. This man who once fought for his country now again has been called to defend his home. This man fought a good fight, standing his ground alone as best he could, while the others continued to gather their forces. One man against many, to save his friend. Finally faced with too many to battle, he called a lone soldier’s plea. All soldiers, far and wide, will turn to see that no man is left alone to fight. No matter his past, he is committed to helping his own, even if it be just one he calls friend. Others will come to his aid. No Soldier Shall Stand Alone. * * * * * * * * Now there are posters. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** A light from the harbor glows brightly. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Heroes from the past return. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Even from distant lands, friends will stand to help. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** So many will come forward. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Those who start these things seldom think of the casualties… The dead… ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** …and the wounded. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** On April 18th, 2006, the first strike took place. Onlookers weep as literally thousands of bodies float to shore… ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** …retrieved from their watery grave by police… ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** …and civilians. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Where shall it end? Why did this terrible thing happen? And why should we come forth? Why? ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** A lone soldier stands for a lost friend. This lost friend… his name is Dirk. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Until his freedom is regained, I stand beside Tor and PartyDrunk (er.. I mean PartyDude) (Dude, you can drink coffee now, it’ll help you to sober up!) No Soldier Shall Stand Alone! P.S. Can I go back to writing my stories now?  |
| On April 18th, we took a little trip With David McClain  at the lead, we were lookin’ for a shipWe all had our boats and was a-headin’ full steam Out to catch Nada and her evil duck-team.Well, we caught that ship and the evil we were facin’ PartyDude let his critters do most of the chasin’ The ducknappers panicked, trying to leave the scene As Stinky Boy put a hurtin’ on the ship of Guano Queen Ol’ Tor called out, “Let’s take ‘em by surprise” Don’t fire your slingshots ‘til you see the quackers’ eyes” We held our fire ‘til we saw them quackers well Then we opened up with moose poo and really gave them... Well, We fired our slings till the bands all melted down Then grabbed us a rubber duck to fire another round We filled its head with moose poo and powdered its behind And when we touched the powder off, the ducky lost its mind. THE LST FOR THE KENTUCKY HILLFOLK CONTINGENT ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** A CLOSE-UP OF THE FLAG ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| Mr. Johnson listened as if he were spellbound, as I continued telling him what had happened when my Grandpa took me to my Aunt Rainy’s. “I was scared of her, too. She was mean-acting, even towards her own brother, which of course would be Grandpa. She told me to give her my hand and I did. She looked at it, then went into the house and came back out with something in her hand. She took my hand in hers and slapped it with some kind of salve. While she was rubbing the salve in, she kept on saying, ‘It’ll be alright, just got to take the fire out,’ over and over again. “As she was rubbing it, the pain went away. She took a rag and wrapped it around my hand. She told me and Grandpa to leave it on for two days, not to even wash it at all. “So I did as she told me to do and on the third day, Grandpa took the rag off. I couldn’t believe it, there was no sign of what had happened. I washed my hand and looked again – nothing! No scar, no scab, nothing. We went back over to thank her and she looked at my hand and smiled. Grandpa gave her a case of canning jars and she said, ‘We’re even.’ Mr. Johnson shook his head slowly, then looked over at my Uncle Hayes. “I guess I shouldn’t have paid any mind to what others said. She’s still mean-acting, but I guess she just doesn’t trust people anymore.” We agreed with that. The saddest part of this story is, my Aunt Rainy was given the gift of healing, but I guess she just wasn’t able to use it on herself. |
| Uncle Hayes spoke up. “Well, there you have it, boys, another legend born. It’s all how you take it, if you believe in something hard enough, it can happen. Now, don’t get me wrong, I think there is haints and may have run into a few myself, but some things are just foolishness folks make up or say about someone.” In case the word was unfamiliar, “haints” was the word hillfolks used for “ghosts.” My uncle continued, “Why, look, around the other side of this hill here at our Aunt Rainy. Sure, she’s a little different, she chose to live the way she does. She don’t bother nobody and she ain’t evil.” “You talkin’ about the witch woman on the other side of the hill?” Mr. Johnson asked. “Now don’t go saying that, Carl, she ain’t no witch. She just has the powers, a gift, that’s all. And I told you she’s my aunt, and she’s these boys’ great aunt.” “She’s still mean and ornery,” Mr. Johnson insisted. “I can’t even speak to her, and dang, how old is she anyway?” Uncle Hayes thought for a moment. “I don’t know, late eighties, early nineties. She just likes to be left alone.” We just sat there, listening to them going back and forth. “Back when I first bought this place,” Mr. Johnson said, “I thought I’d be neighborly so I went around the hill to introduce myself and before I even got a word out, she asked me what I wanted. So I told her I was going to be her new neighbor. You know what she said next?” We all shook our heads no. “She said, ‘That’s good. That there is your place and this here’s mine, so why don’t you head back over there?’” “That sounds like Aunt Rainy.” “Well, I stomped off, I even forgot that I had brought her a pie, thinking we could share it and get to know one another better.” Uncle Hayes nodded. “She don’t like to be given anything either, it makes her feel beholdin’ to a person.” “Heck, I’m afraid of that little old woman,” said Mr. Johnson. “Shoot, you know I ain’t afraid of no man, but that woman, she spooks me. I went over there another time, it was after I had my phone put in. I thought it’d be nice to let other people in the Hollow know I had it, so if anyone ever needed to use a phone, they could stop by my place. Well, I went to her place to tell her about the phone and she was out on her front porch. Standing up there, glaring at me, she looked so mad to see me that I kept my distance and just hollered up to her about the phone. I know she heard me because she hollered back that she didn’t need one. I thought maybe from that distance she didn’t recognize me, so I reminded her that I was her neighbor from around the hill. She hollered back, ‘I recognize you,’ then turned and went inside without another word.” “That’s our Aunt Rainy,” said Uncle Hayes. “What my dad told me about her is she wasn’t always like that. At one time many years ago, she was in love and was going to be married but something happened and it didn’t come to pass. The place she lives in, my Great Grandpa owned the ground and the small house was part of his wedding gift to her. They had plans to make it bigger as they needed it. Whatever happened, she moved in alone and just turned away from people.” Uncle Hayes paused for a moment, then continued. “I said she had a gift, she was born with the gift of healing. She was taught by her grandmother to know how to use all the plants in these here woods, to make healing remedies and salves. Sometimes, though, all she needs to do is touch a person. But now if she doesn’t know someone or if a person ain’t with someone she knows, she won’t have nothing to do with them. It’s a shame, some folks knew about her past, but now they only know what they see of her, so they call her a witch woman.” My uncle turned to me. “Show him your hand and tell him what happened, Mike.” I held out my right hand, palm up. Mr. Johnson leaned down to look at it closely. “I don’t see nothin’.” “That’s right,” I said. “One day I was working with Grandpa in his blacksmith shop and I was holding a barrel ring with tongs while Grandpa fitted the rivet in. Somehow the rivet came out of its place on the anvil and when Grandpa hit it with the hammer, it landed inside my glove, right in the palm of my hand. I let loose of the tongs and yanked the glove off and the rivet had burnt partway through the glove. It was red hot, my skin was burnt and a piece of my skin was missing, it came off with the rivet. Grandpa took me here to see Aunt Rainy, he said she could ‘take the fire out.’ ...To be continued... |
| There was a little problem – there wasn’t enough room for Mr. Johnson to turn his Jeep around. There were a few spots on that road where a person could pull over to let someone around them (barely), but if the vehicle was too big, one either had to back up to Mr. Johnson’s place or to the fork in the road to let the other car through. There were no guardrails either, the drop on one side was only about forty or so feet downhill – if a tree didn’t stop you first. We had to drive to the fork, but the Jeep didn’t seem to mind the mud at all. We turned around and headed back to Mr. Johnson’s place. When we got there, he parked as close to his house as possible. He lived alone out there in the woods but didn’t seem to mind the solitude. He’d lived there ever since he’d come back from the Korean war when he bought the land from the original Mr. Hensley. His place was small, four rooms and an outside toilet. He had a generator for electricity. There were small porches in both the front and the back and the living room was sparsely furnished with just a couch, a chair, two lamps and a TV. The TV got great reception because he had the antenna connected on the same tower as his ham radio. On the other side of the living room was a large room that had all his ham radio equipment in it along with a potbelly stove. I guess Mr. Johnson saw us looking around at his furnishings because he said, “I know it doesn’t have much furniture in it, but if someone needs to spend the night they could sleep on the floor or the couch, depending on how many there were, I guess.” His bedroom and kitchen were in the back. He had pictures on the wall of family and friends along with diplomas and his service discharge. He had decorated the room with a few military items, for example, there was a grenade on the hearth. All in all, it was a nice little house, but definitely a bachelor’s place. He proved himself a good host and offered coffee or colas. My Uncle Hayes and I took coffee and my brothers went for the colas. Mr. Johnson started looking through scrap books and picture albums until he finally found was he was looking for. “Here it is,” he said, “I knew I had it.” In his hand was an original newspaper clipping of the story of the tree. It was printed in 1903 and told about a dead man who was found by Mr. Hensley of Hensley Hollow. The dead man had been pinned against a tree, it appeared that he must have gotten lost and was trying to turn his wagon around just past the fork in the road. He must have fallen off between the wagon and the tree, and when the wagon slid in the mud, the hub of one of the wagon wheels crushed his chest. Authorities concluded that he had been there for a few days before he was found, because it had rained earlier that week and the markings in the road clearly indicated that the road had been muddy at the time the accident occurred. The article went on to say that the reason Mr. Hensley had gone up that way was because he had seen a team of horses, still tethered together, wandering on the side of the hill. In his search for the team, he came upon the grisly scene. The man was still unidentified and the body was being held at Carman’s Funeral Home. “Nobody ever knew who he was,” Mr. Johnson said, “and those markings on the tree have been there ever since. Mr. Hensley told me that the mark on the tree was where the hub of the wagon wheel hit the man, crushing him so severely that his backbone was stuck to the tree. As for the red, well, he said by the time he found the man, there was no blood left in him and guessed the tree sucked it up in the roots, ‘cause there was none on the ground, either. The other part that bothered Mr. Hensley was the fact that no animals had touched the man.” My brothers and I sat wide-eyed, listening in awe to such gory details. ...To be continued... |
| My next story here is for those who like the unusual. First I’ll tell you of one of my own experiences. When I was a kid, there were other means of entertainment, not TV or radio. Not music. There were stories. Some were passed down from one generation to the next, and they were vivid and caught the imagination to the fullest. There were happy stories, sad ones, and some downright frightful ones. Now, that’s entertainment to me. My favorites were the scary ones – some bad witches, devils or just a scary place. Of course a place you would know – like the big oak tree at the top of the hill in Hinsley Hollow. Local legend had it that on a rainy night, you could see blood come out of the tree’s bark where a man was killed by a wagon that pinned him to the tree. My brothers and I went to look one stormy night. It was pitch black with all the other trees around. Even if the moon had been out, its beams couldn’t have penetrated through the leafy canopy above. We had lanterns and they helped some, but only lit an area a few feet in diameter. Our Uncle Hayes took us out there and let us out at the bottom of the hill, telling us to walk up there and look for ourselves. Protected by our raincoats from the downpour, we started up that hill. The lightning flashes made our surroundings look even more spooky, and the tension between the three of us grew with each step as we ascended. The road was dirt back then, a river of mud that night. We stayed out of the ruts that were formed by the wheels of vehicles owned by those who lived in the Hollow. Funny how a little light in a dark place can change the appearance of a place that seems harmless and familiar in the daylight. When that scarce lighting is provided by lanterns, it makes things appear to be moving that one hopes are not. We slowly made our way up the hill. My twin brothers were five years older than me, so I was surprised to hear Lanny say, “I believe him, okay? We don’t really have to go the rest of the way.” “You’re not chickening out, are you?” asked Lenny. “Besides, Uncle Hayes can probably see our lanterns and so he’d know if we didn’t go.” Of course Lanny replied, “I’m not chickening out. I was just saying I believe him, that’s all.” Lenny asked me, “How about you, Mike? You going back chicken?” I turned around and looked at him. “I’m the one who’s in front. Look who’s callin’ who chicken.” Well, that did it, Lenny took the lead. I said to Lanny, who still looked a little nervous, “He can be first dead if he wants. I’ll just knock you down if you’re in my way,” and then smiled. I could tell that didn’t help him none.  We made it to the place where there’s a fork in the road. At that point, the two roads curve around each side of the hill and continue upward. We knew we needed to go left toward Mr. Johnson’s place, and right around the next curve, that’s where the oak tree was. With the rain hitting the hoods of our raincoats, it was hard to hear each other so we had to talk loudly. I hoped we weren’t so loud that we would wake the dead. We were slipping and sliding in the mud and our boots kept getting stuck. I hoped that my boots didn’t get pulled off. We just kept trudging forward and soon there it was, just a few more steps away, the big old oak. I’d been down that road many a time in the daylight, and had never paid much attention to that particular tree before, but now I saw that it was huge. It must have been forty-five or fifty feet tall, with enormous branches in all directions. We got closer then held our lanterns up toward it, looking for traces of the legendary blood. About five feet up from the base of the tree was a red spot. It was big, about two-and-a-half feet wide. Right in the middle of that spot was a divet. I’m tellin’ ya, it was blood red. My brothers suggested that I touch it. It wasn’t like I had a choice, once they’d suggested it. I knew if I didn’t, I would never hear the end of it. So I reached out and just when I was about to touch the red spot on the tree, lightning flashed the sky and a loud crack of thunder sounded. I jerked my hand back and paused for a moment. Lenny said, “Go ahead and see what’s it’s like.” I could tell by his voice that he was a little short-winded from being startled, which was pretty much like I felt right about then. I reached out again. Lightning or not, I was going to do this. As my fingers neared the mysterious red spot, someone yelled, “Don’t touch that!” We spun around and there was Mr. Johnson with a flashlight, just laughing to beat ninety as he had almost scared the water out of the three of us. I flinched away as I realized that my hand was flat up against the tree, the only support around to keep me from falling down the hill. I looked at my hand and couldn’t see if there was anything on it, but it was wet so I wiped it on my raincoat just in case. About then, we could hear laughter coming from the other direction. It was my Uncle Hayes. “Carl,” Uncle Hayes called out, “you sure scared them good!” Mr. Johnson called back, “Didn’t you tell them that if they touched that tree, they would be marked?” “Nope, I forgot about that,” my uncle said. I thought to myself, Great, I’m marked, whatever that means. So I asked. “Oh, that,” Mr. Johnson said, “That’s a part of the story that was added through the years, to see if anybody was brave enough to do it. It was said if you touch it you will dream how the person died, but you will be that person in your dream.” “That part is only a tale,” Uncle Hayes said, “but the other ain’t.” Mr. Johnson gestured in the general direction of his place. “Let’s get out of the rain, okay?” “Carl,” Uncle Hayes said, “I can’t get my truck up the hill in this.” “Neither could I. My truck is parked at the bottom of the hill, too, and I had to walk home. But at least I have that old military Jeep,” Mr. Johnson said, “it ain’t completely waterproof without the doors, but at least I can drive it through this mud.” We walked up a ways and there set his Jeep. “How long have you been out here?” my uncle asked. “Oh, I came out about fifteen, twenty minutes after you called.” We looked at Uncle Hayes and he just grinned. ...To be continued... |
| I went to see my doctor yesterday, and he gave me two shots – one directly into my elbow, and the other in my upper arm, scraping the bone. With each shot, he stabbed the needle in, dispensed one-third of the medicine, pulled out halfway, stabbed me again, dispensed a third, pulled out and stabbed me a third time. It was like getting six shots, all in my right arm. It hurt like hell, but this time I didn’t cuss at the doctor. Last night my arm hurt so bad that I didn’t get to sleep until 5 a.m. Cassie Reynolds called me in sick this morning, and I slept until about 8:30. By about 4:30 this afternoon, my arm felt a lot better. So what happens when I’m left at home all alone for a day? I wrote. It actually helped me to keep my mind off the pain. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Well, I’ll tell one more story about Uncle Clayt, then I’ll leave him alone. This is one that my wife, Cassie Reynolds likes.My brother Lanny and I were working at Uncle Clayt’s when we got news that we were going to have visitors, my Uncle Harold, his wife, Betty, and two of their kids, their youngest two boys. Now I’ll tell the way it was: I liked to see Uncle Harold (AKA Rain Crow); he was a lot of fun to be around. As for his wife, I never even called her “Aunt.” I never liked that woman, she thought her and her family was better than anyone else. Then there was John and Billy Joe, two of the most spoiled basta – er – brats (that’ll work and is nicer to say, too) I’d ever seen. John, you had to watch like a hawk. Billy Joe was a whiney mama’s boy that I couldn’t hardly take. What was Uncle Harold thinking, bringing them to Uncle Clayt’s? Unless it was to get rid of them. I brought it up so I might as well tell you. Uncle Harold had four kids total. He helped raise the first two and they turned out fine. They left home, I always believed, to get away from their mother. One is their daughter who lives in Texas, the other is the oldest son who is now a retired police officer from North Carolina, and I liked them both. Their mother didn’t approve of their choices of who they married either. She especially disliked the son’s wife because she’s Native American and Betty would say things about her heritage, hurtful things. So they didn’t get many visits from either of their grown children. Also, they didn’t mind when their Dad came to visit but when he brought her, John, and Billy Joe, their visits wouldn’t last long. As for Uncle Harold himself, he was a military man, stayed in for thirty-two years. If he was here right now he would tell you, most of it was to stay away from her and the other two. And just to show you what I mean, a retired Master Sergeant with that many years under their belt makes a pretty good pension. He lasted about three weeks after he came out before he found a job working eight- to ten-hour shifts at the cigar plant. So now you know a little bit about them. They arrived at Uncle Clayt’s around six p.m., having driven straight through from their home in Holiday, Florida. When they showed up, Uncle Clayt shook hands with Harold and patted him on the back, then turned and nodded to his wife, just to acknowledge her presence. As for John and Billy Joe, Uncle Clayt looked at them and asked, “How you boys doin’?” They didn’t even offer a handshake as they glared at him. Uncle Harold came over and greeted us with a warm smile and handshake and commented on how much we had grown since the last time he saw us. He asked us about our mom and told us how they were going to visit her next. Boy, I thought, Mom’ll be thrilled with those three coming to visit. Of course Aunt Lottie came out to greet them and hugged Uncle Harold and tried to greet his wife and kids with the same enthusiasm but received the same tension that Uncle Clayt had. I noticed a wall come up almost as soon as Uncle Clayt had tried. Betty and Billy Joe plopped down on the couch, and John went for Uncle Clayt’s chair. That didn’t work, he was told real quick by Uncle Clayt to go and sit down by his mother. Another rule in his house was that younguns stood while elders got settled first. Uncle Harold gave John a look and so John got up and moved. Billy Joe, you’d have to use a crowbar to get that sissy from his mother’s side. My brother and I still stood ‘til Aunt Lottie and Uncle Harold took their places. Uncle Harold tried to break the tension but Uncle Clayt didn’t like the disrespect he’d already felt from the wife and kids. I asked Billy Joe if he’d like to go outside, but got an immediate (and whiney) response of “It’s too hot.” I couldn’t help myself. I said, “You’re from Florida, it gets hot there, right?” My Uncle Harold laughed but his wife wasn’t amused. As she glowered at me, Uncle Harold said, “Naw, him, he stays inside in the air conditioning with his mother.” That’s when I noticed that both his and his mother’s complexions were white as sheets. At least John had some tan to him, so it occurred to me to ask John next. Before I even got a word out, though, Uncle Harold said, “John’s alright where he is.” He probably knew that if John was turned loose on the farm, there’d be trouble of some kind. My Aunt Lottie got up and said she just about had dinner ready. Lanny and I offered to help set the table. Surely you didn’t think my uncle’s wife and her Siamese twin Billy Joe would offer? Not a chance. We escaped into the kitchen and helped set the table, and my brother and I were amazed by how much food my aunt had prepared. There was everything from fresh out of the garden and smokehouse, and even fresh-baked pies. We were ready for a feast. We complimented our Aunt Lottie on all the work she’d done preparing the food. Her face lit up with a smile and she told us to grab a blackberry tart and to eat it quick before calling the others in for dinner. We knew not to look a gift horse in the mouth and to take it while the gettin’ was good, and boy, were those tarts tasty. I went in to announce that dinner was ready. As I walked toward the front room, I could still hear that the conversation was stilted and uncomfortable. I told them the good news and John jumped up and made a beeline for the kitchen, again showing no respect. When we came in, I saw that John had already taken his spot at the table without being told where to sit. Luckily he didn’t choose my Uncle Clayt’s chair. Uncle Clayt sat down at the head of the table where he always sat. John was sitting to his right hand. Uncle Harold sat on his left, and Betty sat next to John on one side and Billy Joe on the other. Aunt Lottie sat down at the foot of the table, so then my brother and I sat next to her. Uncle Harold complimented Aunt Lottie, saying everything looked wonderful. Billy Joe whined to his mom to help him fix his plate and she did, even cut his food up for him. (I would have smacked the tar out of him if I could have. For crying out loud, he was twelve years old!) I could see that Uncle Harold was embarrassed. My Uncle Clayt didn’t even look up. Then it was John’s turn to do something stupid. John sat there looking around at all the food that was before him, and said, loudly, “I don’t like none of this junk!” Out of all the things to say, out of all the places to say it. My Aunt Lottie, my brother, and I, with bulging eyes, looked at Uncle Clayt. We could see the veins raise in his temples. Before my Uncle Harold could say a word, John was about seven feet away from the table, flat up against the wall. Uncle Clayt had backhanded him and in the blink of an eye, the boy had flown backwards. My uncle may have been old, but he was very strong, and very quick. As John slid down the wall and slumped down onto the floor, Uncle Clayt was already standing. He got right up in Uncle Harold’s face, and pointed his finger at him. In a tight controlled voice he said, “You get that kid out of my house and don’t ever bring him back, ya hear?” Uncle Harold hurried over to John. Betty was trying to get up and Billy Joe was crying. We just sat there. My aunt had her hand to her mouth, either from the shock of what had just taken place, or to keep everyone from seeing her smile. I had a hard time too because I would have liked to have seen Billy Joe get smacked. He was probably only crying because of all the food he was going to miss out on. Uncle Harold picked John up and I saw that the kid had a bloody mouth, but he was lucky that he wasn’t spitting teeth. He did, after all, take the seat on Uncle Clayt’s right-hand side. Uncle Clayt was right-handed.  Harold led John out while his wife led Baby-Billy-Joe. Uncle Clayt was right behind them, then the rest of us followed. I stopped long enough to pick up the chair where John had been sitting. Out the front door they went with their kids. After they were back in their car, Uncle Harold came up on the front porch where Uncle Clayt was standing. He apologized for John. Uncle Clayt, speaking loud enough to be heard even by Betty and the boys out in the car, said, “You’re welcome to come back but don’t ever bring that kid with you, and if your wife doesn’t like it, she can stay with him.” Uncle Harold hung his head. “No, sir, I won’t bring them back and I’m ashamed of their upbringing.” Then he went out to his car and left. We could hear them arguing as they were going down the road, even from where we were standing in the front room. We scurried back to the kitchen before Uncle Clayt came back in. My aunt was cleaning the floor while we cleared the extra place settings from the table. I felt sorry for my Uncle Harold. He just wanted to visit family. What he should have done, was give his wife the keys and then stayed to have dinner with us. Uncle Clayt came back in and said, “Let’s eat before the food gets cold,” and that’s just what we did. I knew once they’d arrived, if they kept it up they would make Uncle Clayt mad. I did, however, hear from my mom that when Uncle Harold came to visit her, that John and Billy Joe were better behaved, even his wife seemed more friendly. Maybe it had something to do with what Uncle Harold told Mom. He told her that he had threatened them all that if they embarrassed him like that again, he would kick all three of their asses. After that visit, though, Uncle Harold just didn’t bring them along at all. Later when Uncle Harold died, John and Betty seemed upset, but Billy Joe didn’t even display a sniffle of grief. I figured he was happy that now he’d have his mom to himself. Last time I saw John he was selling drugs at a drive-in movie, still showing no respect for the rules or for the law of the land. Don’t know what happened to Billy Joe. His mom died, I wouldn’t be surprised if he went with her there, too. As for what happened at Uncle Clayt’s that day, well, if a person comes into a man’s house, shows him no respect, then has the nerve to call something that takes blood and sweat to grow and prepare “JUNK,” I myself would have thrown him out, too. Our kids don’t act like that. I was taught better, my wife was too. That’s why I believe our kids might just make it when they leave home. |
| Sorry, no entry tonight. Left hand fingers numb, right hand and arm too much pain. I will try again tomorrow. Mike |
| So now you know about one of the codes of the hills: Never keep a man’s daughter out all night. Back then, such an act brought shame to the family and was certain to make the girl’s father mad enough to kill, and with my Uncle Clayt, it did just that. My brothers and I would go and work on his farm from time to time; we even got paid. But the first thing we learned was that Uncle Clayt had rules. These rules were simple and enforced. You’re not allowed to speak at the table unless it was to ask someone to pass a plate. If you said grace, you kept it to yourself. No elbows on the table. Here is the one I know the wimmins are going to like: After everyone is finished eating, the men can go to the parlor to talk and the women have to stay in the kitchen. Even his nieces (my Aunt Lottie and my mother) would do just that. Also, kids were only allowed to speak when spoken to. Now you know some of the rules. We were working there, my brother and I. It was lunchtime, and we had been working out in the field and in the barn since five in the morning. My Aunt Lottie had a feast of a lunch prepared and we had just started to eat, when all of a sudden we heard a bull holler. Now bulls don’t make much noise unless it’s something serious like a rattlesnake or another bull wanting to fight for its claim to the herd. My Uncle Clayt’s head raised up and the bull hollered again. He got up from the table and out the back door he went. In a moment, he came back inside, cussing and mad. My brother and I looked at one another but not at him – we both knew it was best not to make eye contact with our uncle right then. He left the kitchen and came back with a rifle. My aunt asked, “What’s going on?” “Look and see,” he said, and back out the door he went. My aunt was very short and couldn’t see out the east window. My brother and I rose up from the table to look. We didn’t see anything for a moment, but then something caught our attention just as we heard a gun roar from the back. We couldn’t believe our eyes and both of us sat back down. My aunt kept saying, “What? What?” So we told her. We’d seen that there were two boys on the fence down aways in the pasture and as we’d watched, Uncle Clayt had shot them off the fence. Uncle Clayt came back in and sat his rifle down. My brothers and I stared down at our plates, again avoiding eye contact. My aunt asked him, “What did you do, Uncle Clayton?” Uncle Clayt sat back down in his seat and picked up his fork. “There were two boys down in the pasture with BB guns, shootin’ my bull, so I shot ‘em.” “Did you kill them?” It was clear that my aunt would not have been surprised if he had. “Nope,” he answered, “I shot ‘em full of rock salt. Right about now they probably wished I had.” Uncle Clayt added a few choice words as he stabbed his fork into the meat on his plate. “Now let me finish my lunch before the Sheriff gets here.” So there we sat, still eating. I glanced up to look at his rifle and it was his black powder rifle. Just like he said, as soon as he got done eating, he went out on the front porch and sat down to wait for the Sheriff. We went into the front room to watch. It was a while, but sure enough, the Sheriff’s car and another cruiser drove up. The Sheriff got out of his car and waved back at the other one, then turned and hollered up at the porch, “You don’t have a gun, do ya Clayton?” Clayton hollered back, “No sir, I don’t. Not with me, anyways.” The Sheriff walked up to the porch and took his hat off. To our surprise, he said, “Clayton, what do you think you’re doing shooting two boys like that?” “They were shootin’ my bull.” “What?” asked the Sheriff. “I didn’t know anything about that.” “Well, their guns are still laying down there in the pasture.” “But Clayton, you should have called us first,” the Sheriff said. “Yeah, and by the time you would have got here, my bull would have been a heifer, ‘cause that’s where they were shooting him at. And you know I have ‘No Trespassing’ signs up that say ‘Trespassers will be shot on sight.’” “Now, Clayton,” the Sheriff said, “don’t get all riled up,” and he waved for the deputies to come over. “Go down in the pasture and find those boys’ guns,” he ordered. Clayton spoke up, “Watch the bull, he’s probably still pretty mad.” The Sheriff turned back to Uncle Clayt. “I’ll tell the parents what the boys were up to and that you do have signs posted and such.” “They better hope my bull can still breed and if I catch those kids here again, it won’t be rock salt next time.” The Sheriff shook his head. “Clayton, if there ever is a next time, call us first.” The Sheriff put his hat back on. The deputies came back with the kids’ guns. They all got into their cruisers and left. We went back to work like nothing had ever happened. |
| Yep, there’s codes. This little story is about my Uncle Clayt. He was actually my Great Uncle, but we just called him Uncle Clayt (short for Clayton). He was raised in the old ways and lived them to the letter. He was the nicest man you could ever meet and one of the deadliest you could ever cross. By the end of this story, you’ll understand why we left the “Great” off of “Great Uncle.” Over twenty years before I was even born, Uncle Clayt's daughter fell in love with a young man. This young man was city folk, not country, and not smart on the codes of the hills. It seems he and Uncle Clayt’s daughter went out on a date and the boyfriend didn’t bring her home until the next morning. Uncle Clayt was sitting on the front porch, waiting when they drove up in his big fancy car. And this is what I was told by my uncle. Uncle Clayt walked off the porch and before his daughter could say anything, he unloaded a forty-four into her boyfriend, killing him and splattering his blood all over her. Then he turned the gun on her and squeezed the trigger, but it was empty. She jumped out of the car and tried to run in hysterics but he caught up to her and pistol-whipped her. He broke her tailbone and left her for dead on the front lawn. Uncle Clayt went back into the house and put his gun up. While his wife cowered in a corner with his other three kids, he turned around and went back out to the front porch and sat down. His wife told the oldest son to go out the back door and run and get some help. She looked out the window at the grisly scene, wanting to go and see if she could help her daughter, but was afraid to cross her husband’s path. After a while, the sheriff showed up and took Uncle Clayt. They took his daughter to the hospital where she recovered, at least from her physical wounds. Uncle Clayt was sent to a prison farm in Georgia, which was ironic considering that all he ever did or wanted to do his whole life was work on a farm. His wife died while he was there, so they released him to go home. His daughter caught wind of his impending homecoming and left never to return. As for Uncle Clayt, he considered his daughter as dead, as of that very day when he killed her boyfriend, and continued to think of her that way until the day he died. Understandably, I watched my step carefully when I was around Uncle Clayt. |
| Here is a little something to think about: What is in your own back yard? As a kid I always seemed to look for things that most people around me never thought of looking for, things that other kids or even adults took for granted, didn’t think about, or never thought to ask. This story is again about my hometown in Ohio, but then again, it’s about something that many home towns once had, though most people now wouldn’t realize it. Being the curious type, I found the location of my town’s “Bone Yard Hollow.” Never heard of a place like that? Your town may have one. Permit me to tell you about my town’s burial place for dead horses, mules, and other animals. Located in the hollow were two slaughterhouses, owned and operated by a local butcher at the turn of the century. It was these two businesses that first used the hollow as a burying place for the bones of steers, heifers, calves, pigs, and yes... for horses. During that era, there were at least a thousand horses in town. Streets were crowded with one- and two-horse delivery wagons. Some of the larger wagons of coal companies and wholesale firms had four horses. There were more hitching posts in town than there are parking meters today. Each grocery store had a delivery wagon pulled by horses. There were milk wagons, coal wagons, water wagons, and band wagons. Moving companies used wagons and the brewer’s big horse pulled a wagon, making deliveries of kegs all over town. The ice plant had a whole fleet of horse-drawn wagons, even the baker made his deliveries driving a horse. Each drayman drove his own horses with his flat wagon and the garbage carts were horse-drawn as well. So were the fire trucks, funeral cabs, hearses, hacks, and patrol wagons. Every doctor owned a horse and buggy to visit the sick, and there were many other privately-owned horses in town. A young man could even rent a horse and buggy by the hour to take their best girl out on a Sunday afternoon drive. This explains why a horse graveyard was necessary. As a young boy, I was curious about where all these horses went, so I started asking questions. The older men in town (including my Uncle Hayes) provided me with answers. Bone Yard Hollow was just east of the Kelly fairgrounds, in an area now known as Beachwood Park. More than fifty years ago, the city built a “pesthouse” there, a hospital for patients afflicted with infectious diseases such as tuberculosis. Later, the pesthouse was torn down to be replaced with the city incinerator. That, too, was abandoned years ago, and the grounds were made into a park. No one seems to wonder why the grass is so lush and green in that park. If you were to park your car at the Big Boy drive-in on Campbell Drive, which was once known as Old Oz Road, you’d be right where the gates uses to be, to the place once known as Bone Yard Hollow. So - here is a little something to think about: What is in your own back yard? |
| Another fish story. Yep just what you needed. My buddies and I were out fishing one day off the causeway, looking to catch a whopper. We had brought out the heavy rods - mine consisted of a 190-lb. class rod with a Penn 6.0 reel that looks like a baby winch with 250 lb. test line and 600 lb. steel core leader. Of course we brought small rods to use in case we didn’t run into anything big like shark, snook, or king mackerel. We were in my boat, about 300 yards from shore and the bridge that connects the causeway to Honeymoon Island. We had dropped our lines and let them drift, and were all just having a good old time catching grunts, pin, and catfish with the small rods. All of a sudden, my big rod started clicking. We stopped and watched the rod slowly start letting line out and then the top started to bounce. Everybody started reeling in their rods big and small alike. I picked up my rod, locked the drag, and waited. Wham! My rod jolted so I pulled back to set the hook. Whatever I had, it was big, and it wasn’t happy that I had it. Keith got a knife out, just in case he needed to cut my line to keep whatever I had from damaging the boat. It was even pulling on the boat. Good thing it was anchored, but still, what could have the ability to pull a 22-foot boat? The fight was on! I was pulling. It was pulling. We kept going like that for five minutes or so, then all of a sudden it stopped. My line went slack. I reeled in and on the other end was a fishing line so I started pulling that line and there it was: a new-looking fishing rod. That’s when Bruce busted out laughing. He said, “I was watching a guy on the bridge, he looked like he had something too. Now I guess I know what it was!” I looked at the bridge and could see an irate guy stomping away. As he made his way toward the causeway, he threw his tackle box off the side of the bridge into the water. I would have given him his rod back, but by the time we got to the shore, he was in his car, leaving in a cloud of dust as he sped out of the parking lot. I still have his rod. |
| David McClain suggested that I write about the town we live in now and some of the people I know, so I thought I’d give it a try. Cassie Reynolds and the kids and I live in a sprawling suburb in the Tampa bay area. When I moved here in 1978, it was a small town with only two paved roads. It’s changed dramatically since then.The post office was in the heart of town, on Florida Avenue, in the town’s main business district. It was housed in a small one-story building, maybe thirty feet wide. Now the post office is a mile away and takes up a whole city block. The old post office building is still there, but is a small dentist’s office. Here's the barber shop, which is pretty close to the dentist's office. Our boys go there to get their hair cut for five bucks. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** There was a small grocery store down the street from the post office, owned by a local man and his wife, and incredibly, the man’s name was Dewy. Dewy Adair. He and his wife lived in an apartment on the back of the building, just like Dewy Massey had, up in Kentucky. The Adair’s son ran an insurance company from an office upstairs, above the grocery store, and it wasn’t the kind of insurance setup they have now. Premiums were paid directly to him, then if the need arose, he would pay for repairs out of his own pocket. That building now houses a trendy cafe downstairs, and several business offices upstairs. Here's the building that used to be Adair's Grocery downstairs, the insurance company upstairs. Sometime after this picture was taken, the sports bar became "Eric's New World Bistro." I think it closed, though. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Also on Florida Avenue was a hardware store, filled from front to back, top to bottom, with every hardware-related item you could think to ask for. It was also owned and run by a husband and wife team. It’s still there, run by their son. Back in the 70’s, this sleepy town had industry: a packing house, a corner store, a thriving lumberyard, a nationally-known trucking company, a toothpick factory, and a large firm of electricians. Every single one of those businesses are gone now. The properties that they occupied are now either housing developments or strip malls. There was also a large construction company, run by a man who is in his nineties now. It’s still around and his kids run it. On the corner of Florida Avenue was a garage with three service bays and an old-fashioned full-service Texaco, complete with a glass case of cigarettes out there between the two pumps. The Texaco is now a SuperGas, and the garage now has six service bays. At the end of Florida Avenue was the Gulf of Mexico. Shrimp boats used to bring in their catches there. The Gulf of Mexico is still there, but now that area is a county park, surrounded by fancy three-story houses. This is the park that we go to for our evening picnics. Two pictures from the park mentioned here. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** From another nearby park. We had Kevin's birthday party in that shelter a few years back. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Up the coast a little ways is a small pocket of “old Florida,” populated with tiny houses that used to be summer cottages, overlooking the gulf. One of the older structures in that neighborhood is a church that sits right on the water’s edge. It’s no coincidence that my wife and I chose to be married there. The church we were married in, then another church in town. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** The house we live in is several blocks from the downtown area. When I first moved here back in the seventies, the house was on a dirt road, and across the street was a huge orange grove. People used to hunt for doves, squirrels, or rabbits out in that grove. Years ago, I used to wend my way through the groves to swim in the “Blue Sink,” an actual freshwater sinkhole. The water in that sinkhole flowed underground and emptied into the gulf just west of that church we got married in. Now those groves are gone, replaced by a multimillion dollar high school. Blue Sink is now fenced in and surrounded by a housing development which was ironically named “Hidden Lakes.” Once upon a time that “lake” was hidden, but with the grove gone and that big old fence around it, it’s not exactly hidden anymore. Behind the grove was an old cemetery. Right after I moved here, I built a platform up in the trees above the cemetery, just to have a place to be alone to think or read. The cemetery is still there, but there’s a YMCA right across the street. The cemetery. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** As for me, I’ve worked at the same job for 27 years, but I’ve also from time to time taken on second jobs. I worked in construction and was a mechanic. My friend, Brian and I, at one time, were the only two licensed master mechanics in our town. Along the way I also helped to run a music studio, recording shows for radio, like debates or church bible hours. We also recorded fledgling singers who wanted to see how they sounded on tape, even providing back-up music for them. As for me personally, I’ve had the same three best friends for over twenty years, a transplanted New York Sicilian named Tony, and two bachelor brothers that lived together, Jim and Bruce. Tony and his wife live several miles south of us and we still get together or talk regularly. Jim and Bruce were somewhat opposites from each other, Jim loud, rambunctious and outgoing, Bruce quiet, reserved, and brainy. All three of these men were gifted with killer senses of humor and have never failed to make me laugh. Unfortunately, Bruce died last year. It’s still hard to just say “Jim,” because for so long they were “JimandBruce,” as if they were a single entity. So that’s where I live and who I am. The highway that runs through town, just a couple miles east of us. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| Tonight I copied all of the blog entries I wrote about that Christmas spent with my Grandpa into a Word file. After doing that, here's what I found out: It took 33 separate entries to tell that story. When I started out, I had no idea it would go on that long. Single-spaced, the story is 48 1/2 pages long in Word. Altogether, the story totaled 29,727 words.  Wow!Again, my most heartfelt thanks to those who actually stayed with me through the whole thing. Now... what to write about next?  |
| Grandpa went into the parlor and brought the coffee pot out. As we all sat in the kitchen, eating our choice of pie, I thought to myself, Gosh, I’ve probably gained twenty pounds while I’ve been here. After we were done, Grandpa told us to pack up a lot of the food to take with us, that he couldn’t eat it all before it went bad, and he didn’t like to see food go to waste. As we divided the leftovers into bowls to take home with us, I wondered if we’d get to come back soon. After all, we need to bring him his bowls back. Mom suggested we sing some Christmas songs, “Just like old times when I was a kid, Dad.” My dad mumbled and groaned; he didn’t like to sing. He could play guitar and bass, though, and so could my mom. The two of them played guitar together at church. We all headed back into the front room. Grandpa said to my mom, “Hayes’ other guitar is in the closet in my room. Why don’t you go and get it, either you or Glen can play it.” My Uncle Hayes left one of his guitars there so he didn’t have to carry it back and forth with him when he came to visit. That, and you never knew when the music was going to start with Grandpa or down at Dewy’s. Mom went into Grandpa’s room and came back out carrying a guitar case. Dad said he would play it (so he wouldn’t have to sing). Dad took the guitar out of its case, placed it on his knee, and with a few strums and key tweaks, it was in tune. “Let’s warm up with Away in a Manger,” Grandpa said, “because it’s Christmas Day.” They started playing and we joined in singing. This went on for quite some time and everyone was enjoying themselves. Grandpa said, “It looks like it’s starting to get dark. You’re all welcome to spend the night here if you like.” Mom quickly looked out the window. “Oh, my, we have to get back,” she said. “We’re expecting Hayes to come by. He said he would be there around nine or so.” “Well, tell Hayes I said Merry Christmas,” said Grandpa, “and that I’ll see him on New Years Eve.” “Yes, Hayes said he was coming over to spend New Years with you.” “Yep, I’m lookin’ forward to it.” Dad put Uncle Hayes’ guitar back into its case and Mom took it back to Grandpa’s room while we went into the kitchen to get the food to carry out to the car. When we came back in, Mom had her coat on and was holding her box that contained a gift promised long ago. We went into our bedroom and got our suitcases, then back out to the car where Dad was waiting to put them into the trunk. Grandpa came out onto the porch, proudly wearing his new coat and hat. Mom was still there with him as the rest of us came back to say our goodbyes. My dad shook Grandpa’s hand and thanked him for everything and my brothers did the same. Mom kissed him on his cheek and I ran up and hugged him as he patted me on the back. I stepped back and thanked him for the very best Christmas ever. Grandpa said, “Thank you for making it mine, too.” I went out and got into the car, then Lanny and Lenny got in. Like always, I was stuck in the middle. We all hollered out of the rolled-down windows, “Merry Christmas!” and waved. Grandpa hollered back, “Merry Christmas! Happy New Year!” Dad put the car in gear and we backed out of the driveway. As we started to head down the hill, I looked out the back window. I could see Grandpa still there on the porch. As I watched, he picked up a stick, reached into his pocket, and sat down in one of the chairs. The Christmas lights around the porch, the tree in the window, and Grandpa breaking in a new knife: a picture I will carry with me always, just like his gift that I still carry in my pocket. The End (of this story anyway!) |
| Mom told Lenny to give Grandpa the bags from under the tree. “You didn’t have to get me anything,” Grandpa said. “Just having the boys over for Christmas was gift enough.” He turned to Lenny, “Hand them their gifts, Lenny, and then get the socks, yours and your brothers’.” Lenny handed Mom and Dad their packages then fetched our socks from where they hung on either side of the fireplace. He gave Lanny and me ours, then sat down on the floor with his own. Mom said, “Go ahead and open yours first, Dad.” Grandpa reached into the bag and pulled out a brightly-wrapped present. He unwrapped a box which contained a new pair of work boots. “Thanks,” Grandpa said, “now I have a whole new outfit, right down to my shoes.” “Well, open the other one,” my mom said. Grandpa reached into the other bag and pulled out a bigger box. He opened it and inside was a red and black flannel hunter’s jacket with a matching hat. Grandpa laughed, “Now I am complete! Thank you both very much.” He gestured to my dad, “Glen, go ahead now and open yours.” Dad unwrapped his gift and inside were six heavy duty white t-shirts, the kind he liked, and also a new wallet and belt. He thanked Grandpa and held up the wallet to admire it. Mom spoke up, “Well, I guess it’s my turn.” She opened her gift and just sat there, staring into the box for a moment. Dad and my brothers and I just looked at her. “What is it?” Dad asked. Mom had tears in her eyes as she carefully set the box down in her lap and reached inside. Gingerly, she pulled out an old vase and held it in her hands. “You found it.” Grandpa smiled. “Yes, I did.” His voice was soft as he continued. “Your mom hid that vase back when the other one got broken. She had put it way down in the bottom of the cedar chest, wrapped in cloth. I found it when I was getting out blankets for the kids to use and for the sleighride. I remember her telling you that it was yours when you grew up, so I’m guessing you still want it. Still holding it very carefully in her hands, my mom went over to give Grandpa a kiss. She then turned and held it up for all of us to see. I asked, “Was that Grandma’s?” “Yes,” my mom said, “but it was her mother’s first. There were two and they sat here on this mantle, but one day someone broke one, I’m not sure how it happened. All I know is, I thought they were very pretty at the time and mom said that when I was old enough and settled down, she would give them to me. And here it is, at least one of them.” Grandpa said, “It was your Aunt Lottie that broke it. She was trying to help clean and didn’t quite put it back on the mantle just right and it fell and hit the hearth. Both your grandma and your aunt were very upset, and that’s when she put this one up.” Mom carefully placed it back in the box which Grandpa had lined with cotton. She put the lid back on and kept it on her lap, as if she couldn’t bear to be parted with it now that she could finally call it her own. My brothers and I started pulling things out of our socks. There was an apple and an orange, a pair of gloves, a Lifesaver Story Book, and a new baseball for each of us. We thanked Grandpa and he smiled and said, “You’re welcome.” Grandpa stood and stretched. “I don’t know about you folks, but I’ve sat here long enough. There’s pie from Dot’s a-waitin’ for us if you’re ready.” We all agreed and headed for the kitchen. I watched Mom as she placed her box in a safe place behind her chair, then followed her into the kitchen, too. I’d been waiting for that pumpkin pie, it had been calling to me for a while. |
| She is doing much better.Sleeping. |
| We started putting things on the table and heating food back up. Before long, the table was ready with everything in place. On Grandma’s white tablecloth with hand-embroidered wreaths and bells all around and lace on the edges, sat the turkey on a large platter with carving knife and fork waiting next to it, bowls with covers, and white china plates with silverware next to them. It looked like a setting right out of the Saturday Evening Post, like a painting by Norman Rockwell. We went back into the front room and sat down. Grandpa said, “They won’t be too long, it’s getting pretty cold out there. Your mom never cared much for the cold and snow, she liked staying inside if she could help it. Looking out at the snow through a window was just fine with her.” Grandpa told more stories about our aunts and uncles and mom when they were kids. We sat there listening and were laughing about some of the antics they had pulled, when we noticed the sleigh pulling back into the front yard. We went outside onto the front porch to greet them. Dad climbed out of the sled with a comment about how cold it had gotten. Grandpa asked if they had a good time. Both Mom and Dad agreed they did as they hurried into the house to get warm. Grandpa turned to Lenny and Lanny, “You two, unhook Jack and take him back over to the barn. Mike, you get the bricks out and unwrap them and stack them up in the corner of the porch, then check and see if there’s anything else left in the sleigh and bring it in. Then the three of you can cover the sleigh back up so no more snow gets in it. Tom will probably pick it up tomorrow.” “Yes, sir.” We went back in the house to get our coats and hats on and came back out to do the jobs Grandpa asked. As Lenny and Lanny unhooked Jack and walked him toward the barn, I started taking the bricks out of the sleigh two at a time, unwrapping them and stacking them on the porch like Grandpa said. Soon I saw my brothers flinging snow at one another as they headed back from the barn. I went and got the broom off the porch and started sweeping the sleigh out. They walked right past me to go and get the tarp that was still beside the house, lying on the wood pile. Lenny and Lanny came around the house carrying the tarp and all three of us opened it up to shake it out. A gust of wind coming up the hill caught the tarp and lifted it up to where we almost lost it. The tarp slowly floated down on top of the sleigh. My brothers pushed up on the side of the sleigh so that I could tuck the tarp under the runner, then we did the other side. We went up on the porch and swept off our shoes, and they went inside as I finished sweeping the porch and steps again. I put the broom back, looked around once more, and went in through the front door. Everybody was in the front room, talking. “Is everything done, Mike?” Grandpa asked. “Yes, sir,” I replied. “Well, then, let’s eat before the food gets cold.” We all went into the kitchen and Mom and Dad were surprised to see how much food there was. Smiling, my dad said, “Look at that turkey.” Grandpa told them about when Uncle Hayes and he went hunting. “I was just lucky to bag one that big and Hayes got himself a nice sized one too.” We all took our places. Grandpa said grace and added that he was thankful for having us all together. He carved the turkey as we passed our plates to him, making sure everyone had enough on their plates, then we started passing the other platters and bowls to each other. Everyone enjoyed their meal and the mealtime conversation. Grandpa, Mom, and Dad went into the front room while we cleaned up the kitchen. While we were doing the dishes, Lenny said, “Once we get home, it’ll be like having another Christmas waiting for us.” “I wonder if they decorated everything,” Lanny said. I said, “I’m sure they did.” We had just finished the last of the dishes when Grandpa called us to come into the front room. Grandpa said, “It seems we have a few more gifts to unwrap and you boys haven’t got your stockings down yet.” |
| My wife, Cassie Reynolds and I haven’t been online much lately. She threw her back out - pulled muscle, pinched nerve, I don’t know exactly what’s causing it, but she can’t move, lean over, sit, stand, or lay down without being in pain. This happens every once in a while, but this is the worst I’ve ever seen it. She says if it’s not better by Monday morning, she’ll go see a doctor. In the meantime, there’s not much I can do for her, other than bring her drinks and food (and a heating pad) and let her rest. She wanted me to say hello to everyone. Hello, everyone. Mike P.S. I’m going to post this in both our blogs. |
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