Thursday, January 21, 2021

It's a new day

It was 32 degrees when I got out of bed this morning.  The weather guys and gals are saying this is going to be our nicest day for awhile, so we'll try to enjoy it.  Cliff has been spending quite a bit of time in the shop, cleaning up and straightening stuff and doing a little cleanup on both of his John Deeres.  I kid you not, my husband is seriously thinking of selling the tractor he just got (at a profit) and looking for something else.  "The thrill is in the hunt," he tells me.  Whatever.  I'm done getting attached to any silly old tractors, because he sells them right out from under me.

The cat is sleeping in his cat tree and Gabe is wired, trying to get me outside.  I do need to go to the chicken house and give them their slop (mostly burned toast and sour milk).  They will be very happy to see they have something they like today.  However, I'm bound and determined to write a few sentences of gibberish, just so I can say I did a blog entry.  (After typing these words, I realized Gabe was NEEDING to go out, so I burned the trash, fed the chickens, and took care of Gabe's needs too.)  

Oh, here's something:  a picture of a little girl we used to babysit.  She's 8 years old now, but we remember her when.  I had baked a cake and let her lick the pan; yes, I know you shouldn't give kids anything with raw flower and raw eggs in it, but her parents were fine with anything we did with that child, and she survived our care, although she may have come out of it a little spoiled.  It's a wonder we didn't scar her for life.  She was the first baby we'd had in our care for many years, and we might have forgotten a few things we learned when our own children were that young.


  I still remember how much fun I had "licking the bowl" for my mom when she made cookies, cakes, or icing.  I remember watching her in the kitchen as she worked her magic with pies and cakes, although she never enlisted my help much until we moved to the city.  Considering she and my dad were responsible for connecting people on the switchboard so they could have conversations throughout the daylight hours, she never knew when she'd have to run to the switchboard.  Daddy often handled the switchboard at times when Mother was canning and cooking meals, although some people (of the female gender) preferred a woman taking care of their calls and grumbled a little when a man became "Central".  

Daddy made the garden and tended it, and Mother canned the produce he raised.  My dad also got kernels off ears of popcorn, shelled peas, and broke green beans on long summer evenings.  When there were high winds from a storm, sometimes telephone lines would get "crossed" and daddy would have to go out with a pole to uncross the wires; otherwise, people would hear folks talking on somebody else's line and couldn't hear their own calls.  I often rode along with him to uncross lines; Mother did all the driving when we all went someplace; Daddy hated to drive, so it seemed strange when it was just me and him in the car.  If my memory isn't tricking me, I believe I felt a little nervous with my dad at the wheel.  

When we lived in Eagleville, 1953 to 1956, I think it was, Daddy spent considerable time across the road gabbing with the guys at a filling station.  He still smoked during most of our time in north Missouri; he rolled his own cigarettes, and often lit one cigarette off the last one he was smoking.  He was a certified chain smoker, for sure.  As a kid, laying in my bed upstairs, I would hear Daddy coughing for quite awhile after he went to bed, every single night.  I didn't think anything about it at the time, but looking back, I'm amazed that he was able to finally quit smoking.  My parents listened to some radio programs in the evenings... we didn't have a television until 1956, after we moved to Kansas City... and one of the sponsors was peddling pills that would supposedly help a person stop smoking.  Mother sent off for a package of the pills, but when they arrived, Daddy was mad that she bought them and told her, "If I'm going to quit smoking, I'll do it without the pills."  And he did, but life was pretty hard for awhile.  Man, was he ever a grouch!  He chewed gum and sucked on hard candy and ate so much, he gained 20 pounds or more.  He did die of lung cancer eventually, but he was in his 70's when that happened.   

What I liked about my dad spending time at the station was that he carried change in his pockets.  If I ask Mother for a nickel or dime for candy or pop, I didn't always get it.  But if I walked to the other side of 69 highway to the station and asked my dad, in front of two or three other men, for a nickel, dime, or even a quarter, I was almost sure to be rewarded.    

As you can see, once I get lost in my memories, I can usually come up with something for a blog entry.

Yours truly,

Donna


I came to my she-room to finish this blog entry.  Here you see my two inspirational boys who didn't want me to be alone:  One is quite happy to rest in my presence; the other one just wants somebody to go outside with him, sooner rather than later.  Never mind the clutter you see around them, tattered old hymnbooks and a book about meditation that I may never get back to... but I might.  And there's my guitar, just waiting for me to get creative.   Oh, the possibilities!    

                                    


11 comments:

  1. I still love to lick the bowl. LOL.

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  2. I used to lick the beaters for my mom. In those days, we lived in happy ignorance of the dangers of raw eggs. My paternal grandfather had a gum bowl that he kept way far up; he had the green, the white and Juicy Fruit. I always wanted one of the mint ones. He also gave me a quarter now and then to walk into town to buy two comic books. I loved comic books!

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    1. When we lived at Eagleville, I read all the comic books at the little grocery-and-dry-goods store. The one lady who worked there saw me reading, but never ever told me to quit and go home.

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  3. My brother and I would fight over licking the bowl. My two girls are like meh, they could care less and so after taking a few swipes with my finger, the rest now goes down the drain. We evidently did something wrong the way we brought up our girls.

    I like the story of getting money from your dad. My dad never carried any money so I knew enough to not ask him. My mom however, was a pushover at the right times and I picked and chose those times very carefully.

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  4. Gosh... My mother never baked when we were young so that wasn't an option for us. Gee.. 70 sounds young now to pass away.

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    1. Actually, I said "in his 70's" when I should have said "almost 80". he was 79 when he died. But lung cancer made his last 3 or 4 years a living hell. He was either in pain or under the influence of strong drugs that made him sleep, during those last years.

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  5. I thought of the song...take me back country roads. I don’t recall “ lickin” ’ the bowl, but my girls enjoyed this. I suppose there were too many of us to lick the bowl. My mother didn’t bake cookies and very few cakes. Guess we were too poor to have this luxury.

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  6. Oh what a fun trip down memory lane this blog entry was, Donna. I so enjoyed reading it. Yep, my Daddy died of lung cancer too, at 69 years old on February 13, 1987. Both my brothers died of the same. All of them were smokers. It's good to quite the habit but most of the time it doesn't avoid the lung cancer, as the damage has already been done. I'm glad I never picked up the habit. My mother never smoked, just Daddy. ~Andrea xoxo

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  7. Thank goodness for the good memories that seem to get us through the rough times. You have been blessed with some good ones !

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  8. Donna, I love to read your blog. You always have something interesting to share. My mom chain smoked and died at age 68 of pulmonary fibrosis..s terrible death. My stepdad died first of lung cancer at 72. Smoking was a terrible habit and my sister and I both swore we would never take up such a dirty habit.

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