Category: Adventures with family

The air felt heavy. A light drizzle spotted the windshield but billowing gray clouds looked like they would burst open at any moment and release a deluge. I turned into the cemetery to visit my parents’ grave and made sure all the date plates were still in place and the flowers unfaded. I ran my hand over the edge of the tombstone engraved with stalks of wheat. Sheaves of wheat denote someone has lived a long fruitful life. It is also representative of the “first fruits”, with the promise of more to come. That was a message of hope, a hope of seeing them again on the day we will be reunited. Somehow, I always felt shortchanged, thinking they both died prematurely. I turned to go and said my goodbyes for another time. 

As I drove away, I told Daddy (who wasn’t beside me), “But, you were supposed to move to Montana with me.” A wave of loneliness washed over me. Well, it was not so much loneliness as it was a missing-my-daddy moment. At one time, I thought he was invincible. For twelve years after the passing of my mother, Daddy was my sidekick. He occupied the passenger seat of the car. We took many day trips and visited all kinds of places. We still had many miles to travel and many things to enjoy, but I am so thankful for the years I had a companion to share the scenic drives and visit with people we didn’t know and some that we did. 

 A 70’s mellow tune came over the radio. The artist sang words of the death of his father, and later his mother, “I cried and cried all day, alone again, naturally.” The tears were not the kind that people cry in their beer to drown their sorrows but the kind that comes from a heart of loneliness and loss of someone dear.

Whenever Daddy and I went on an outing, or a doctor’s visit, his favorite place to eat was Steak & Shake. Don’t ask me why – I don’t know. Sometimes I didn’t even ask him where he wanted to go, I just went someplace else. But, today, I drove into Steak & Shake and got a Daddy sized snack. When I pulled around the building, I saw the most beautiful roses – variegated peach and creamy yellow. Daddy would have liked them. I couldn’t help but smile. I told the girl who waited on me how gorgeous the flowers were and said, “They have brightened my day!” As I ate my snack of salty fries, I thought of the many hours spent with my sidekick. A salty tear escaped, and I wondered if it had fallen on my fries and added some extra flavor.

My destination was the quilt shop. I browsed a bit longer than usual, running my hand along many of the bolts of fabric, pausing to consider the textures and vivid colors. I thought of my mother who could piece a quilt together in her mind, each color complementing the other to complete her masterpiece.  

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The ride home was bittersweet. Mama would have asked if I knew where I was, but would have enjoyed the outing, and Daddy would have loved the back roads through the pastoral scenes on the countryside. What a blessing to have been granted many years to share those mountain trails, back roads and bolts of color. 

Blue sky pushed its way through the masses of gray. The sun shone on the bright yellow field, making the flowers neon bright. I gathered the sheaves of memories, held them close and made my way home.

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This morning while on my walk, I saw a few blackberries in bloom. That can only mean one thing here in the south: Blackberry Winter is just around the corner. In fact, cooler temperatures have been predicted for this weekend. Come to think of it, there were a couple of cooler days last week. Maybe that was Blackberry Winter, but the azaleas are blooming, and dandelions, and columbine, and daffodils, and the roses are budding. Maybe it’s one of those winters. I’m so confused!

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Before we had the weather channel or meteorologists to give us the twenty-four-hour weather report, we relied on the old timers to “read” the weather. They could look at the sky and tell us what kind of weather to expect. My ancestors recognized the signs by observing nature’s phenomenon. They took note of when trees and plants leafed out and bloomed, when birds appeared, habits of bugs and animals, temperature and wind changes. Farmers knew when to plant their crops and gardens, when to take cover for a coming storm, and when the seasons were about to change. Now we turn on the TV to get the latest predictions – ones that often do not come to pass.

As spring officially arrives, here in the south every cold snap is given a name. I have often wondered the validity of some of the “winters” in the South. There are “winters” when locust, redbud and dogwood trees start to bloom, and when blackberries begin to blossom. There is a whippoorwill winter when whippoorwills can first be heard before the break of dawn. (I love hearing the whippoorwills call out, “whippoorwill” as the last tone of their song lifts skyward.) There is even a “cotton britches winter” which was when the old farmers changed from their wool britches to cotton britches as summer hit full force. 

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We just had Dogwood Winter and the proof is in the dogwoods that are almost in full bloom. Blackberry Winter is upon us I guess and the anticipation of ripe berries in July when the June bugs appear makes my mouth water. Moms and kids will brave the chiggers to pick berries and by evening, they will be eating fresh blackberry cobbler with a scoop of vanilla ice cream.

I guess it’s about time to set out those tomatoes but first I have to figure out which winter this is. 

The technology deal these days can be a bit overwhelming. Every time I get used to something it changes. It’s no time at all before my computer is bogged down with data and I need more space. External hard drives are uncooperative. Sometimes I hit a button I didn’t even know existed and it changes filter bars or tool bars, or font sizes or adds additional screens or takes them away. It can be unnerving.

Do you remember the childhood mechanical drawing screen in the red frame with white knobs? I couldn’t drive it much better than these newfangled electronics. My brother was a master at drawing intricate detail pictures with the etch-a-sketch. I couldn’t even draw a straight line. He could create pictures of a rodeo rider hanging sideways on a saddle on the back of a bucking bronc, nostrils flaring and mane blowing in the breeze. I would say, “Don’t erase it!” But he did. He just grinned that evil grin, shook the contraption and voilà – it was gone. Magic! The only problem was, if he shook it again, the picture didn’t come back. There was no reset button. 

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The other day, I was typing in “Notes” on my iPhone. I deleted a few words and Shazam, it erased something I didn’t want deleted. Now what? There is no redo or undo button. So, what was the solution? That was a no-brainer. I Googled it and clicked on the first link. 

That couldn’t be right! Surely you don’t just shake the phone to reveal the box to select undo typing! I tried it and it was definitely true. The words I erased magically reappeared. 

Sometimes it would be nice to erase some things, and other times it would be nice to undo what we just did. 

…if only it was that easy…. 

Just as I suspected, the Tooth Fairy’s daughter did not get to keep her tooth in her mouth until her birthday. Let me tell you how that all came about.

The Tooth Fairy, in her normal day disguise, and the family went to a birthday party. It was not the party of a six-year-old, but rather, a birthday party for two seventy-year-olds. That makes one hundred and forty years (if you’re counting).  I guess if you can’t choose your own birthday to pull a tooth, a one-hundred-and-forty-year birthday celebration is even better!

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Looking in her daughter’s mouth, her mom thought the tooth should be extracted. The new tooth was already shining and trying to push the old tooth out. It was then that the Tooth Fairy (in disguise as the girl’s mother) went into action. After giving her daughter the chance to pull it, the Tooth Fairy took over, reached in and jerked out the offensive ivory. Voilá! It was out in a flash.

Now, as you may have deducted from my last story, I know the Tooth Fairy and she is quite the frugal tight wad, or a conservative spender if you prefer. When the little girl got home, she put the tooth under her pillow. The first thing in the morning, she checked to see if her tooth was missing. It was! And in its place was – guess what? – yep – a one dollar bill. What ever happened to inflation? I guess that’s better than the .25 cents I got as a kid.

That little girl was so excited. When she retold the story to me, she said, “And guess what I got. A ONE – DOLLAR – BILL! I know the Tooth Fairy is real!” You would have thought she was given a million bucks.

I told her to keep the tooth and show it to her mom and dad and grandparents and she just might get some money from them, too. Alas! Her tooth is no more. The Tooth Fairy took it. The Tooth Fairy might be cheap, but she is smart. She knew her daughter might try to cash in again.

So, if any of you have doubts about the reality of the Tooth Fairy, I have on good account from a five-year-old, soon to be six-year-old, that she is real. And that little girl knows, because the Tooth Fairy paid off!

I know the Tooth Fairy and I have proof of her identity. It is my neighbor. Ssshhh! Don’t tell all the toothless little kids and don’t be in a hurry to pull your teeth. The Tooth Fairy doesn’t fall for fairy tales.

One day my neighbor got a phone call. On the other end of the line was a little boy who wanted to talk to the Tooth Fairy and tell her “thank you” for leaving money under his pillow in place of his pulled tooth. My neighbor verified that she was, indeed, the Tooth Fairy. That settles it!

The Tooth Fairy has a little girl whose birthday is coming up real soon. The five-year-old, soon to be six-year-old girl, took it upon herself to plan her own party and make her guest list. She is excited and has planned a great surprise on her special day.

The other day, the little girl said, “Look at my tooth.” It was wiggly. When several people suggested to pull the tooth, she said, “No. You can’t pull it. I’m waiting for my birthday!” I thought she might like an apple to eat, but she won’t fall for that trick. Even yesterday, with her tooth laying sideways, she said, “I’ll take it out on my birthday.” I’m afraid the Tooth Fairy might have other ideas. That tooth might just come out before then. I hope the tooth doesn’t come out at night and get swallowed. Without a tooth to put under her pillow, she might just try to pull her brother’s tooth and use it as a replacement. 

I think the little girl is a bit dubious about the true identity of the Tooth Fairy, and thinks her mom is just her mom. She might think there’s a better chance of getting money for her birthday from guests than from the Tooth Fairy. I think she’s right – I know the Tooth Fairy!

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(by a five-year-old)

The five-year-old girl jabbered as we walked into the quilt shop. She looked at all the fabric, touching some of the bright cloth designs as we went down the rows. In her hand was her little pink “bag” with her treasures inside. When we had lunch earlier, she took everything out to show me what she had inside. One of the contents was some money and she was itching to spend it.

She looked around and said, “Where is the kids’ fabric?” I directed her to a little room that contained a selection of children and juvenile prints. She seemed a bit perturbed, “I don’t see any. Those are all big pieces.” Then I understood that she was looking for small pieces of fabric. “Oh, I see. I’ll show you the packets of cut pieces.” We both picked up various packages of colorful fabric already cut into squares. 

Her sweet little face looked sad. “I don’t have enough dollars and cents.” I replied, “Well, maybe somebody would let you have a bit more. Open your purse and let me see how much you have.” She had a two-dollar bill, a one-dollar bill, a penny, nickel, dime and quarter. I looked in my bag and pulled out two five-dollar bills and slid it into hers. “Now you have enough to buy your fabric.” That satisfied her.

We continued to look and she picked up a package of squares, “This is the one I want. It has rainbow colors.” When I asked what she was going to make, she said, “I’m going to make a quilt for my friend in Brazil.”

I went to the checkout counter to pay for my fabric and told the little girl who stood beside me, “You can pay for yours now.” The lady behind the counter smiled and said, “Oh, I thought your grandmother would pay for your fabric.” I said, “I did. I gave her ten dollars to pay for her fabric!” She had already rung it up so I told the little one, “You can pay for the ice cream in a bit.”

The little girl handed me her purchase to put in the back of the car with mine. She said, “I need my bag out of there.” Then she paused and I could see the wheels turning behind that cute face. “No, you can put it back there, too.” So, I did.

About halfway to the ice cream shop, she said, “I can’t buy the ice cream because I can’t get my bag.” Hmmm.. So, that’s the way it was going to be. So, guess who paid for the ice cream. You guessed it – me. Another ten dollars.

As we were leaving the ice cream store, the little girl’s mom said to her daughter, “Thanks for the ice cream.” I looked at her and said, “What? She didn’t buy the ice cream. I did. She duped me out of thirty bucks.”

And it was thirty dollars well spent! Fabric for a little girl to make a quilt that she gave to her aunt (instead of her friend in Brazil), ice cream, ten dollars for her to spend at another time, and time spent with my daughter and two granddaughters – PRICELESS!

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Daddy’s instructions were to pack for our trip. I gave him a list of restrictions for carry-on baggage in order to be TSA approved. Containers of liquids could only hold 3 ounces, no sharp items allowed, no ammunition, etc. We were up early, loaded our luggage in the car and headed to the airport. The line through security was short and we went through with no problem.

Our visit with family and friends passed all too quickly. Soon, it was time to take the flight back home. Once again, we had to go through security. Daddy was in different line than me. I got through, grabbed my carry-on bag and waited. 

Where was that little man? I turned around and scanned every line. There he was! The TSA agents had pulled him aside. I walked over to get a closer view. The agents pulled items out of his bag. What was that? A huge bottle of hair gel! That was definitely TSA Unapproved! They confiscated his big bottle of gel and sent him on his way. I couldn’t figure out how he got through security the first time.

Now why does one little man with a little bit of hair need a great big bottle of hair gel? 

I don’t know either. 

The next time we took a flight, I checked his bag before we left home. He made it through security without any alarms going off – TSA Approved.

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Story inspired by an old, abandoned Michigan homestead

Faded curtains flapped in the breeze through broken panes of glass.  I saw no other movement in the big old house. It stood empty except for the memories that lingered there. My mind wandered as I envisioned another time when laughter tickled the rafters and sweet aromas drifted from the cook stove, a time when hopes and dreams were alive.  

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The old shed that stood nearby was shy a few boards while others just barely hung on by rusty nails.  Rotting shingles hung precariously from the edge of the roof. Other outbuildings threatened to lean all the way to ground as they rotted into the soil. Stones lined the opening to the cellar, now forgotten as a larder for the family that once lived in the big house. Fields, long since plowed and seeded, produced a yield of briars and weeds among patches of broom straw waving in the breeze. Snow lay in dark recesses protected from the warming sun. A thin layer of translucent clouds hung like sheer curtains beneath billowing gray clouds drifting slowly across the sky. A gust of wind parted the clouds briefly to reveal a canopy of blue before closing tight again.  

As the wind blew across the open fields, I heard a door slam. The sounds of hurried footsteps echoed on the floor of the porch. The door creaked as it opened and slammed again. Voices mingled with sounds of running feet. Children’s laughter floated on the breeze. The humming engine of a tractor making its round in the field joined the sounds of the family. Little ones played in the yard as the lady of the house took towels and freshly laundered bedsheets from the clothesline. She folded them, placed them in a basket that she hoisted on her hip, and walked back to the house. Some children headed to the chicken house to gather eggs. The door of the coop slammed and the hens bawked in protest as their nests were disturbed. Two older boys strolled to the barn to do the evening milking. Metallic cow bells clanked as the milk cows headed toward their stanchions to be relieved of their excess baggage. The evening sun faded and cast long golden rays on the house. Dark shadows from scattered trees loomed large across the countryside.  

The sound of a bell on the back porch clanged as the clapper on the string was jerked back and forth.  Kids ran to the back of the house and up the steps. Boys emerged from the barn with full buckets of milk that sloshed and threatened to spill over the sides. The tractor spit and sputtered and came to a stop with one last lingering groan. Soon the sound of work boots could be heard on the wooden planks of the porch.  

Light streamed from the kitchen window. Everything got quiet just briefly before the sounds of laughter, light bantering, and clanging forks escaped the walls. Fried chicken, mashed potatoes, gravy, canned beans and biscuits with homemade butter and jam were placed on the table among all the plates. Egg custard sat cooling on the windowsill. There was lots of chatter. Kids talked about their day of adventure and told on their siblings for their misdeeds. The father talked with the older boys and gave instructions concerning the farm equipment, fields and the cows. The mother talked of the garden spot that needed to be plowed so it would be ready for the seeds as soon as the soil warmed up a bit more. 

Though I had envisioned life on the old farm, the abandoned homestead lay eerily quiet with an occasional creak and crack from the forsaken walls and floors of the old house. I took in the scene before me and wondered what had happened to this family. What had driven them from their home? The dad didn’t come in from the fields one day. He left his widow with all those kids. At least the bigger kids were able to continue to take care of the crops and livestock for a while. It wasn’t long before the kids had grown. They left one by one and found a new life in the big city. The mom could no longer care for the place nor did she have the heart to do so. She ended up in town in a home for the elderly. Now she was gone, too. The old homestead only lived in the memories of the kids who had grown up there. An old neighbor would reminisce from time to time and mention the family that had once lived down the road.

 As we turned around the bend, I heard a door slam one last time. I turned back for a final look. Through the dust I saw a fleeting shadow. A light flickered in the window just briefly – and then it was gone.  

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We had a horse named Hank. I have a brother-in-law named Hank. There is no relation (as far as we know).

Hank was a big brown horse that was relatively gentle, but he had a big-sized stubborn streak to match. He liked to be in charge. If he was chastised, he sometimes tried to take a nibble out of his rider. When prodded to go, he often would stand still and stomp his foot on the ground. It was in character for him to get a little too close to bushes or trees in an attempt to dislodge his rider. Hank needed to be ridden fairly regular in order to keep him compliant. Otherwise, he really got set in his ways and was as stubborn as a mule. He loved to be petted and brushed.

My daughter loved that horse and he liked her. The two spent countless hours together galloping through the pasture as fast as the wind and following trails into the woods. They brought smiles and memories of youth to the lady that watched them from her window.

In the mornings, we looked out the window and saw Hank grazing peacefully, not a care in the world. But there was something different about that horse. Among Hank’s other qualities, he was a magician. We weren’t aware of his magic powers until it was brought to our attention by one of our neighbors.

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One day, a neighbor said, “I’m afraid one night your horse is going to get hit on the road.” We were puzzled and my husband said, “He stays in the fence.” The neighbor proceeded to tell us Hank walked the neighborhood every night. That magic horse managed to escape at night but was sure to be back in the fence by the time we got up in the morning. How did he do that? He looked completely innocent, but he wasn’t.

A few days ago, my husband called upstairs and said, “Look in the garden.” I looked out the window and there was a big brown horse nibbling at the clover. Where did he come from? I said, “I wonder if his name is Hank.” We didn’t find out his name, but later in the day, someone came looking for him. 

Apparently, he wasn’t around when Hank was performing his magic tricks, or he would have learned to be in his fence before morning came.

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