Tall Tells

Today I was reminded of Pam, a friend who at the time of this story taught pre-school. Her students were 4 years old. Pam invited me to her class for story time about a fish with glittering scales. When I knocked on the classroom door one of the boys opened the door, greeted me and escorted me to my chair. He sat in a smaller chair next to me. The boy explained that his teacher was going to tell us a story. The other children were sitting on the floor quietly waiting for the show to begin.

Pam wore a dark apron with a large pocket across the bottom. As she told the story she pulled cut-out pieces from the apron pocket and stuck them to the front of the apron. I later discovered that she had cut out the pieces and tape Velcro on their backs. She had also sewn Velcro pieces on the apron.

The children were so excited about the story and were eager to answer questions. I pulled out my pencil and notebook to take a few notes, but was nicely stopped by my escort. He politely put his hand on mine and leaned over to tell me that the best part was coming up and that I needed to watch. WOW!! This was not the first time that this class had heard and watched the characters come and go on the apron. They knew what was coming up and were excited about it. Of course I put my pencil down and watched with eager anticipation. The teacher as well as my escort won my heart.

Was this a class in a private school? No. It was a public school in a very small rural town. Only children needing extra preparation for kindergarten were allowed in the class. I wonder what these students are doing now? Maybe I should run an ad in the local newspaper asking students who remember having Pam as their teachers. Maybe a memory that they haven’t forgotten is the day that I brought giant Madagascar hissing cockroaches to the class. The kids were allowed to pet them. A parent who happened to be visiting that day was also invited to pet one of the 2 inch roaches in my hand. She looked hesitant but with all the children’s eyes on her she quickly touched the roach with the tip of her finger. She might respond to my inquiry. I doubt that she has forgotten the event.

As a kid I loved to swim and roller skate, but rarely got to do either. I got my first taste of skating while visiting Penny, my cousin who lived in the city. She had roller skates that strapped to her shoes. There was no such thing as protective gear. Our knee pads were the bandages covering multiple cuts inflicted when our skates stuck broken spots in the sidewalk and our knees struck the concrete.Don’t remember anyone dying from head injuries. It might explain why some of us are a little weird in behavior-ha.

Since I lived in a rural area with no sidewalks and dirt roads, roller skating was out of the question. But the problem was solved when my parents had carpet put in our house. That was my big introduction to physics and static electricity. Wow! If you had on socks you could rub your feet on the carpet and really shock someone. Of course if the person dodged and weaved long enough your charge weakened. So the best results was to catch them napping. YIKES!!!!

Rubbing our feet on the carpet evolved to sliding on the carpet. My bedroom led into the living room. I could get a running start and slide a long way across the living room. It didn’t take long for me to start experimenting to see just how far I could slide. The objective was to stay on your feet during the sliding. But all too often I fell and learned many lessons in friction. I tried different socks and even tied stuff to my feet. Waxed paper was the best but it was hard to get it to stay on my feet. The final solution was to lay a sheet of wax paper on the carpet, run and step on the paper to start the slide. It took talent to hit the paper just right and even the pro that became, there were many times that I slid with too many of my bare body parts in contact with the carpet. Mom called these wounds, “Rug Burns.” Slipping and Sliding on the carpet was a favorite sport in our house and we loved challenging visiting friends.

I officially retired this year and encouraged Wade to grow a large vegetable garden. Our plan was to grow veggies to eat fresh and freeze for later and maybe a little left over to share. We have never grown onions before and I didn’t have a clue how to store them. Anne, a sweet helpful neighbor and friend suggested that we store the onions in hay. She even supplied the hay, which still had a few onions in it. The problem was where to put the hay and onions that was cool. Our temperatures lately have been in the 90s and expected only to get higher. The only cool place is inside our house. Wade suggested our bedroom closet. YIKES!!! I did not want to spell hay or onions during the night. But his next suggestion was absolutely brilliant.

The onions are now in a cool place and the hay is contained. It was a bit messy getting the hay in place, and even though we both cleaned up the mess we left a small trail that Anne discovered. Curious about the trail of hay, she followed it and discovered our stash of onions. When she quit laughing she announced that people who store onions in a layer of hay in their bathtub must be related to the Beverly Hillbillies. I’d say that we bath in our cement pond, but at the present it is filled with tadpoles. Actually we have three bathrooms and take a shower in one of them. That leaves three unused bathtubs. A waste of space. So it was only logical to put the onions in one of the tubs. They are cool and I have easy access to them.

Since we live outside Riesel, a small Texas town, we must be the Riesel Hillbillies. My grandchildren will agree with this label, since we do not have a dishwasher. We wash our dishes in a small tub that fits in the kitchen sink. The dishwater is then poured outdoors. How about that for being conservative–maybe we are the Green Acres Hillbillies.
FYI–As soon as I get Wade’s Sunday-go-to meeting overalls washed I’ll take his picture next to the tub of onions.

Yard by yard
life’s hard,
but
Inch by inch
it’s a cinch

(author unknown)

The poem is simple, it’s applying it that is difficult.

I have creative moods that might last for days. During this time I generally have many different projects all going on at the same time. Since I mass produce what I create, I leave all the supplies out until everyone I know receives one of my new creations. This might be a Bible bookmark with a verse on one side and something I’ve painted on the other. (If you didn’t receive one of these just let me know and I’ll send you one—yea! sometimes I make more than I can give away.)

When my creative juices are used up the multiple messes that I have made look insurmountable. I start off with good intentions but the ending is always the same—the house, yard, car—any place I’ve been “working” is a big mess. Yes! it would be easier to clean up at the end of each project, but I never finish one thing before starting something else. My only hope is to remind myself that I can either get it all back in order if I do a little bit at a time—inch by inch. But then another possible answer is to move. UMM! Nah! That would be more difficult than just throwing all the stuff in my car and going to town and giving it away.

When Wade and I go any where, I try to get a departure time. If it is 10 am, this means at the stroke of 10 we should be in the truck with the wheels turning. Since he doesn’t hear as well as he should, he was obvious to my shouts that grandkids were hanging onto the open back door. Thankfully they were safely pulled in and the door closed. It has made us all more punctual.

While I consider myself punctual, Wade is all to often sitting in the truck honking the horn while I take care of last minute chores–such as going to the potty.

Today was an exception. We had planned to go to town–that means we drive 20 miles to Waco to shop and go to lunch. Wade was hanging around in the kitchen chatting instead of impatiently honking the truck horn. I was actually ready to walk out the door on time when I noticed that Wade had forgotten something. He was barefooted. I asked if he planned to go to town barefooted. He was shocked. He goes barefooted in the house all the time and even walks outside sometimes. He had actually forgotten to put on his shoes. I do wish I had not said anything. What fun it would have been to get to town before he noticed he was barefooted. UUM! Do you think he would have marched into Golden Corral barefooted?? YEP!! All he would need is a straw hat, overalls and a beard to officially be a hillbilly.

This beautiful rainy day work of art was created by Thomas Kinkaid. His work is always life-like but to actually see the falling rain is wonderful. I am always drawn into his work. My imagination is set free and I can can feel warmth of a glowing fire place inside one of his scenes of a snow covered cottage. This rainy picture causes me to slip back in time. I can still feel the excitement of dressing in my new red raincoat with a hood and those red rubber boots. Mom had bought this rain gear before school started. How many times had I tried on the coat and boots? Now I could actually wear them. The 6 blocks to the bus stop seemed too short as I walked skipped, hopped and kicked my way through each puddle. How I loved that red raincoat and those red rubber boots. I wanted it to rain every day.