Susan Writes

Birthday Celebrations

Posted on July 29, 2015 by susanrray

Today is my birthday and I’m celebrating! I’ve never understood why anyone acts like having a birthday is a burden. Why not be happy just as your parents were when you were born? As you were when you were 5? When you are 21?

And why say, “Oh, we don’t have to do anything special.” Those who love you want to celebrate and are happy when you choose the way, like Cathy did on her birthday last October.

Cathy is Daughter’s and my friend. Her age hits right in the middle of ours. She and Daughter bonded during the years they taught 5^th grade in next-door classrooms. Cathy and I crossed paths at church, at social events, and as fellow teachers. Cathy loves Daughter’s children – in fact, she loves all children. So on her birthday, she celebrated with kids. Five of my Grands.

“Mom,” Daughter said in a phone call to me, “Cathy called and you might want to come by our house after lunchtime today. Cathy says she’d bringing stuff for her own birthday party.”

My Grands sat on their covered back porch watching for Cathy and they ask questions. Do you think she’ll bring a cake? What’s her favorite ice cream? Will she bring her own gift? Shouldn’t we give her something? How many candles will be on her cake? Can we help her blow out the candles? Is anyone else coming?

“I’m here! Let’s eat cake and ice cream!” Cathy shouted as soon as she opened her car door. She had made a one-stop shopping trip at the grocery store and she handed my older Grands, ages 7 and 9, packages to open. Birthday plates and napkins decorated with balloons. My five-year-old Grand put a candle on each of the dozen cupcakes. Six chocolate decorated with white icing. Six yellow, iced with chocolate. All with multi-colored sprinkles.

I opened the packaged individual ice cream cups. Chocolate and vanilla swirl. My three-year-old Grand put a small plastic spoon on top of each ice cream cup and Daughter passed out the individual packages of fruit drinks. This event had to be documented with a picture. I got my camera ready and Daughter, Cathy, and my Grands gathered close to each other.

“Wait!” said Cathy, “I forgot something.” She pulled two more packages out of a plastic grocery bag. Two packages with black looking hair. “They didn’t have birthday hats so I got mustaches!”

Mustaches. Black, fuzzy, stick-on mustaches. Cathy stuck hers on first. Then Daughter and four of my Grands, ages 3-9, and they all giggled and squealed. Once again they grouped together for a picture. “What about Micah?” asked my oldest Grand. Micah, age four months, sat calmly in Cathy’s lap amid all the chaos. And he wasn’t exactly happy about having something stuck right under his nose, but he and his brother and sisters wore their first mustaches – long enough for a picture.

“Happy Birthday” has never been sung louder or more off key. Every cup of ice cream was eaten. The icing on every cupcake was licked off and the cakes nibbled. Such laughing. Such a happy time. So much fun.

So, following Cathy’s example, I made plans for today. There’ll be children and cake and ice cream. No mustaches. Maybe a surprise or two. Surprises for those who celebrate with me.

Filed under: Birthday | Tagged: birthdays, Cathy, Grands, mustaches | Leave a comment »

Come to the FAIR

Posted on July 25, 2015 by susanrray

My calendar is marked with big red letters. F A I R! An arrow connects the dates. Thursday, July 30th- Saturday, August 8th. Sometime, and hopefully more than once, during those ten days I’ll get my Fair fix at the Putnam County Fair. A fix of memories, food, exhibits, seeing friends, and new experiences.

I always try to entice someone to go with me. “The exhibit building is air-conditioned. There are lots of mouth-watering cakes and candy and jars of pickles and beans. And all kinds of needlework. We’ll walk thru quickly, see everything, and then eat supper at one of the concession stands and then to the Country Store to buy homemade candy.” I don’t say that I also want to see the farm crops. From the largest watermelon to the best sheaf of yellow corn. And I can’t miss the photographs: Historic Tennessee to Tells a Story, even a Selfie. And I’ll check out the Lego models in the Hobby fair.

Then on to the concession stands. Time was that the choices were limited. Hamburgers, hotdogs, French fries, potato chips. Or a bowl of pinto beans with a hunk of cornbread. Now, there’s pizza, barbeque, chicken sandwiches – anything you want. Somehow, a Fair cheeseburger is better than any other, even one I hand press from expensive beef and Husband cooks on the grill. And every time I sit on a hard concrete concession stand bench, I see someone who I haven’t seen in ages. Someone, who I knew well in the past. Who will I see and catch up with while eating a Fair cheeseburger?

On to the Midway. Bright, blinking lights. The ferris wheel. The shooting range. The carousel. The smell that’s the same since I first smelled it in 1967. The huge metal slide. The slide, that my then five-year-old Grand rode down three years ago when I thought she’d get to the top of the steps, freeze, and cry. She waved to me, spread out a ragged burlap feedbag, sat down, pushed herself off, and grinned all the way to the bottom. She was my only Fair companion that Thursday afternoon and cotton candy never taste so good. We sat in the shade of the grandstand, watched tractors smooth the dirt in the arena for that night’s horse show, and we savored every morsel of the purple and pink spun sugar. That was supper.

And on my very first trip to the Fair, Husband and I, college sweethearts, rode the Tilt-A-Whirl. The weather was cool and the Tilt-A-Whirl jerked fast. I leaned under his arm when we were slammed against the side of the metal bucket, and he wrapped both his arms tightly around me.

For me, a Fair experience must include the barns to see the prize cows and pigs and chickens. The Master Gardeners displays. The commercial exhibits. And finally, to the Country Store for homemade fudge.

And then I always notice what’s happening in the arena. A Monster Truck Show. And I hear music from the Music Barn. So many choices and the Fair comes only once a year.

For more information visit the website, www.putnamcountyfair.org, or pick up a Fair book at a local bank, the Putnam Farmers’ Co-op, or the County Extension Office.

The Fair motto is “Come make a fair memory.” Making memories at the Fair – it happens every summer.

Filed under: County Fair | Tagged: FAIR, Make a memory, Putnam County Fair | Leave a comment »

Fingers and Noses

Posted on July 16, 2015 by susanrray

What is it about a kid’s finger and his nose? Evidently, an invisible magnet on the end of a child’s pointer finger attracts metal hidden deep inside that child’s nose. If this vision is repulsive, stop reading now. I understand. I don’t like it either. But not so long ago, Husband and I and two of our Grands laughed hard about fingers in noses, and then I thought of all the nose-pickers I’ve known.

My Grand looked downright cute wearing Husband’s TTU baseball cap. The cap bill slung low to one side and my Grand cocked his head. A perfectly innocent pose to capture on my camera phone. Click. I held the phone in front of Husband, “Look at this cute guy. I’m sending it to his mom.”

“With his finger up his nose?” Husband said and burst out laughing. My Grand’s finger was really close to – not up – his nose. But Husband’s comment gave my Grand and his younger sister, who stood beside him, an idea.

“Take another one!” my Grand said and he stuck his pointer finger second-knuckle deep inside his nose. “Me, too!” his sister said. She matched his pose. Their heads bumped against each other as they laughed. Husband’s laugh was a snort.

My two cute Grands. Wide open eyes. Mouths open. Laughing. With their fingers up their noses. I laughed so hard I could barely steady my phone for a picture. And yes, I sent it to their mother. Thankfully, she saw the humor in her children’s exaggerated poses.

As an elementary school teacher, I had at least one student in most every class who was a nose-picker, and I was always sure I could teach that child to stop. And it wasn’t just boys. Princess-like little girls dig for nasal treasures, too. I wish I had a nickel for every time I’ve told a kid to take his finger out of his nose.

At the beginning of the school year, I’d whisper in the child’s ear, “Take your finger out of your nose, please.” He (again, he could be a she) would duck his head and scrunch his exploring finger with his other fingers into a fist. By December, I’d stand in front of my entire class and say silly things such as, “So let’s review the steps of division, finger–nose. Divide, multiply, subtract, finger-nose, bring down.” The nose digger would slide his nose-picking finger over his lips, down his chin, along his neck, across his shirt, and rest it on his math paper.

By springtime, I’d give the culprit a wide-eyed stare and point my finger high in the air as I continued reading aloud about the adventures of Charlotte the spider trying to save Wilbur the pig. By then, nose digger simply rested his finger on his neck for a few seconds and then the metal inside his nose claimed the magnet on his finger.

Thinking back over my decades of teaching, I didn’t convince a single child to keep his finger out of his nose. I should’ve announced on the first day of each school year, “Give me a nickel every day you want to put your finger up your nose, and I won’t try to make you stop.”

I could’ve retired years earlier. And laughed all the way to the bank.

###

Filed under: Children, Kids Say Funny Things, School Stories | Tagged: Children, fingers, nose, nose picking, students | Leave a comment »

Ogham Stones

Posted on July 12, 2015 by susanrray

The tour bus sped along a narrow paved road in Ireland. John, the bus driver, manhandled the long 40-passenger bus as if it were a Volkswagen beetle. Over bumps, around curves. I hoped there wouldn’t be a vehicle from the opposite direction. The road, with no marked lines, was as narrow as the country roads I learned to drive on in Pickett County.

I leaned close to the Gordon, the tour guide, and asked, “Is there a reason we’re travelling on this back road?” Gordon didn’t understand. I tried again. “Why are we on this narrow road? Isn’t there a better road to get wherever we’re going?”

“Oh, yeah, but we’re driving by some Ogham (OH-ehm) stones,” Gordon said. I frowned. “They were used to communicate before Christianity. It’s markings on rocks that were stuck in the ground.” And with a simple explanation, I was hooked. “We’ll stop, but not get off the bus,” he said. I stared out the bus window and watched Ireland fields of green flash by. Herds of cattle. Flocks of sheep.

Finally, John slowed the bus and announced, “Ogham stones on the right. Get your cameras ready! One of the best collections of Oghams in this part (the southwest) of Ireland.” Six stones, the tallest about eight feet tall; the shortest, three feet. Twelve to twenty-four inches wide. With short carved lines around the perimeter. No letters I recognized. Just lines along the sides and the top of stones, which looked like tombstones. Lines like a Tennessee black bear scratches into the bark of an oak tree.

“So what do those lines say?” I asked. Neither John nor Gordon, both well-educated Irishmen, knew. “Probably someone’s name or maybe directions to somewhere,” Gordon suggested. “The writing usually started at the bottom left side and went across the top and down the right side.” Left to right – like we write.

Those stone tablets had been positioned in the ground close to the road for people, such as my twenty-one American travelling companions and me, to see. Located on private property near the Gap of Dunloe close to Killarney, these stones show the earliest form of Irish writing by the Celts and date back to third century AD. Because they were originally the roof of an underground passage that collapsed at the end of the last century, they were protected from exposure and are well preserved. (http://www.destinationkillarney.ie/dunloe-ogham-stones)

Those letters, formed only with straight lines, were carved centuries ago. Each of the twenty main letters of the Ogham alphabet, used for about 500 years, was also the name of a tree. The letters consist of one to five perpendicular or angled strokes, meeting or crossing a centerline. The number, position, and direction of the lines identify the consonants and vowels, and the vowels can also be written as dots. The origin of the Ogham alphabet isn’t known; it may have been adapted from sign language.

Seeing the Ogham Stones was a three-minute stop on a weeklong Ireland tour. They impressed me as much as the miles and miles of rock fences dividing pastures, flocks of Blackface Mountain sheep, the 700 foot high Cliffs of Mohr, Calla Lily gardens in tropical Ring of Kerry, and even Blarney Castle.

Here was a written language used by early Irish people. Simple lines carved on standing stones. If John hadn’t driven the long way around on the back roads, I wouldn’t have learned about the Ogham alphabet. And my trip to Ireland wouldn’t have been complete.

Filed under: Travel | Tagged: communicate, Ireland, rock markings, rocks, stones | 1 Comment »

Two Short Hours at the Pool

Posted on July 3, 2015 by susanrray

I wasn’t excited when Daughter asked if I’d like to take her two oldest to the community swimming pool for a couple of hours. I remembered when my own children were about the age of these two Grands, and I treaded water the whole summer while they jumped off the diving board. I was water-logged, hot, and tired

“Are they jumping off the diving board? The high dive?” I asked. Daughter read between my words and assured me that both Lou and David, ages 8 and 10 respectively, can jump from the low and high diving boards. I could sit on a lounge chair and relax. So I donned my cover-the-whole-body bathing suit, lathered my Grands and myself with sunscreen, and packed a bag. Water bottles. Granola bars. Towels. Sunscreen. A book. And off we went.

David said, “Gran, put your stuff on this picnic table. We’ll keep everything together.” My Grands helped me drag a metal and plastic lounge chair close to the table and before I’d even sat down, Lou was climbing the high dive ladder and David stood at the bottom. I wanted to shout, “Wait, I need to see you swim first!” I didn’t. They had jumped off this high dive three days earlier while their mother watched.

Lou looked at me as she stood on the very edge of the board, that seemed a mile above the water, and I plastered a smile on my face. She didn’t know I was thinking. “Are you sure you can to do that?” She waved and jumped. She surfaced before I had time to take a deep breath. My smile was genuine.

David walked to the end of the diving board, looked my way, threw a one-finger wave, and jumped. He too, quickly surfaced and I relaxed. Enough to step back three decades and notice that some things haven’t changed.

Two teenage lifeguards sat on tall wooden chairs. She twirled a red lanyard, attached to a silver whistle, around her hand. One direction, then the other. A rubber band encircled his open hand. He popped it with his fingers. Each occasionally shouted. “Walk! Don’t run!” “Move away from the ladder.” “No horseplay!” “Stay off the diving board until the other person jumps.”

A girl, about age 10, stood at the end of the high diving board. Then she turned toward the ladder. A woman, standing beside the pool under her, yelled, “You can’t come down the ladder. Jump! You can do it.” The girl’s curled fingers covered her lips. Her elbows tucked in her ribs. She turned, tiptoed to the end of the board, and shook her head. “I’m right here. You’ll come right back up,” the woman said. The girl’s shoulders swayed. The woman called, “On three, go! Ready? One! Two! Three!” The children, waiting in the diving board line, screamed, “Three!” One step and she splashed into water. She raised her hand high when she surfaced and shouted, “I did it!” Everyone applauded.

A toddler ran toward the pool. His mother grabbed his arm and lifted him into her arms. Three young boys played chase in the water. “Look at me,” a young girl called just before she ducked her face in the water.

Under a huge maple tree, I soaked up the filtered sun’s rays. In the pool, I played ‘keep away’ and raced across the pool with my Grands. Never opened my book. And hated that two hours passed so quickly. I just needed another five minutes.

Filed under: Grandchildren | Tagged: diving in pool, swimming pool | Leave a comment »

Speaking Their Language

Posted on July 3, 2015 by susanrray

“Gran, do you know where my Michelangelo is?” my Grand asked thirty minutes after I arrive for a week’s visit at his family’s home.

“No, but I’ll help you look,” I answered. “Tell me what it looks like,” I said. I was impressed that Dean who was almost 4 years old had a Michelangelo. Was I looking for a painting? A sculpture?

“He’s green. He’s got an orange mask,” Dean said. I nodded my head and frowned. “He’s got nunchuks,” my Grand explained. Nunchuks? Weapons?

“How big is Michelangelo?” I asked.

“Wait,” Dean said and held up his hand as if he were stopping traffic. He ran to his and his brother’s toy box and searched and then ran back to me holding an action figure that I’d seen Dean’s younger brother carrying. “It’s like this. This is Neil’s.”

“Oh! He’s a Teenage Mutant Turtle!” I said, feeling a bit silly that I didn’t realize that right away. I know the ‘turtles’ have been around for a long time. I don’t always remember their names.

“He’s a Ninja!” Dean said. A Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle to be exact. Dean and I searched his house. On the floor. In the toy box. And getting into the spirit of the hunt, I called, “Michangelo, where are you?”

“Gran, you can call him Mikey!” Dean said as he threw sofa pillows onto the floor. “I found him!” Dean held him with both hands and shoved him toward me. A six-inch tall plastic action figure with a broad smile showing a mouthful of big white teeth and wearing an orange shield and mask. And it had nothing to do with the Renaissance artist who sculpted David.

Dean sat in my lap and showed me how the tiny nunchuks fit in Mikey’s hand. “Aren’t there other Ninjas?” I asked. My Grand rattled off the names. “Leonardo and Raphael and Donatello.” He only had Michelangelo and there are lots of Ninjas, but these four are the most important. I mentioned that all these are famous artists and began to tell about Michelangelo. “I know. Mom told me,” my Grand said.

“I’ve got a Bumblebee,” he said and ran to his room. I didn’t expect a yellow and black flying insect and Bumblebee wasn’t. Dean put a good-looking sports car in my hand. “Bumblebee, that’s a good name for a yellow and black car,” I said.

“Look,” Dean said and he grabbed Bumblebee. He pulled and twisted movable parts and transformed the car into a fierce looking warrior robot. My Grand likes to play with balls and cars and play dough and blow bubbles and run outside, but he’s really into action figures and his and his brother’s birthdays were only a few days away.

I shopped for Leonardo, the hard-working, honest, fearless leader, and found a huge display of Ninjas. Leonardo hung front and center. Easy and fast shopping, except I needed identical Ninjas, one for Dean and one for Neil. Ffter searching through dozens of packages that kept falling off long metal display rods, I finally found and bought two Leonardos.

Dean jerked Leonardo out of his birthday gift bag and held it high above his head. “Look! He’s like Michelangelo! And you got Neil one, too! Gran, do you know where my Michelangelo is?”

I knew what I was looking for. Not a painting or sculpture. I’d become Ninja literate.

Filed under: Grandchildren, Kids Say Funny Things | Tagged: Leonardo, Michelangelo, ninja, ninja turtle | Leave a comment »

Father’s Day

Posted on June 18, 2015 by susanrray

In 1914 President Woodrow Wilson approved a resolution and declared the second Sunday in May Mother’s Day. In 1972 President Richard Nixon signed a proclamation making Father’s Day a federal holiday on the third Sunday in June.

Why was Father’s Day proclaimed a holiday 58 years later than Mother’s Day?

Two women campaigned for these two holidays. Anna M. Jarvis who lived in West Virginia, devoted six years of her life after her mother’s death, beginning in 1908, petitioning state governments, business leaders, churches, and community organizations for Mother’s Day. In 1909 a Spokane, Washington woman named Sonora Smart Dodd, one of six children raised by a widower, tried to establish an official day for fathers. Inspired by Jarvis’s work, she thought fathers deserved the same recognition as mothers. She went to local churches, the YMCA, shopkeepers and government officials to drum up support for her idea, and Washington celebrated the nation’s first statewide Father’s Day on July 19, 1910.

Slowly, the holiday spread. In 1924, President Calvin Coolidge urged state governments to observe Father’s Day in an effort to “establish more intimate relations between fathers and their children and to impress upon fathers the full measure of their obligations.” Tobacconists and haberdashers promoted Father’s Day. They advertised cigars and men’s clothing as gifts instead of roses, the flower that Dodd had proposed as the official symbol of Father’s Day. And the earliest greeting cards showed neckties as the perfect Father’s Day gifts.

So why did it take so long for fathers to officially have their own holiday?

Maybe because Sonora Dodd didn’t work as hard for Father’s Day as Anna Jarvis worked for Mother’s Day or maybe Dodd didn’t talk to the right people.

Maybe because, as one historian wrote, men “scoffed at the holiday’s sentimental attempts to domesticate manliness with flowers and gift-giving, or they derided the proliferation of such holidays as a commercial gimmick to sell more products–often paid for by the father himself.” (http://www.history.com)

Maybe because during the 1920s and 1930s, a movement arose to favor one holiday: Parent’s Day.

Maybe because the Depression derailed the effort to honor both parents and an attempt was made to de-commercialize holidays.

Maybe because, as a florist explained, “fathers haven’t the same sentimental appeal that mothers have.”

Nevertheless, a day to honor fathers unofficially continued. When World War II began, advertisers stated that celebrating Father’s Day was a way to honor American troops and support the war effort and by the end of the war, although it wasn’t a proclaimed holiday, Father’s Day was celebrated. In 1966, President Lyndon Johnson issued a public statement declaring the third Sunday in June the official day to observe Father’s Day. Finally, in 1972, President Richard Nixon signed a proclamation making the day permanent.

It is estimated that on this Father’s Day 80 million cards will be given. Half of those will say, “Happy Father’s Day.” One fifth will say, “To my Husband.” Others will be given to grandfathers, fathers, uncles, sons. But very few cards will feature a necktie – the traditional least favorite Father’s Day gift.

Maybe the necktie is why Father’s Day was proclaimed 58 years later than Mother’s Day.

Maybe because the powers who were, the congressmen and presidents, didn’t want to create a holiday that their children would give them ugly ties. Ties they would have to wear.

Happy Father’s Day!

Filed under: Celebrate, Family | Tagged: Father's Day, neckties | Leave a comment »

Grab Your Checkbook

Posted on June 11, 2015 by susanrray

“$450,000. That’s what we need. What we’ll raise! ” Ashley announced. I took a deep breath and struggled not to raise my eyebrows. I was surrounded by twenty young mothers and a few dads. Mothers with babies in arms. This was a meeting of people interested in building a new all inclusive Cookeville playground. Ashley had invited me to attend, and I was the only person there who had gray hair, except for the City of Cookeville staff member.

It was September 2014 and work had already been done. Ashley Swann and Kelly Swallows convinced the City of Cookeville to donate land and maintain the playground. And they had talked with Jeff Davidson, director of Rising Above Ministries, who had researched all-inclusive playgrounds for all age groups.

During the meeting, Kelly presented an update on playground designs from Leathers and Associates, a company that has built more than 3000 playgrounds in all fifty states. She shared pictures of playgrounds that are safe and provide physical and imaginative play. Then Kelly pointed to corners of the city council room for each committee to gather and make plans. Volunteers. Special events. Publicity. Fundraising. I dragged my chair toward the fundraising group, where Ashley thought I could provide suggestions.

“Ok, anyone got ideas how to get money?” Elizabeth Binkley, the committee chair, asked. The moms threw out ideas. Sell t-shirts. Collection canisters at schools. Golf tournaments. A gala. Again, I breathed deeply. My limited fund-raising knowledge told me that to raise $450,000 there’d be a plan to secure a donation of $100,000, two $50,000, and look for donors for $20,000 and $10,000.

“So how much money do you have now? What’s promised?” I asked.

“About $33,000. Money raised for a playground years ago,” Elizabeth said. Money raised by a Kids Kingdom committee and given to the City of Cookeville to be used solely for a downtown community playground. “We’ll raise the rest. We want everyone in Cookeville to participate and feel like this is their playground.”

Now it’s eight months later and these get-it-done mommas and their families have worked hard. They’ve called on stores, restaurants, factories, banks –most Cookeville businesses. Through an All in for Ten campaign, they collected $24,000, with some children giving ten pennies and most people giving $10. They held a Gangster Gala and raised $55,000. Fam Fest brought in $6,300. Churches have made donations: $90,000 and $25,000. The largest business or individual donation has been $24,000; the least, 10 cents. Another event, Touch the Truck, is planned for June 13.

Here’s the bottom line: $350,000 has been raised. Another $100,000 is needed by mid-July! The Heart of the City Playground will be built by volunteers, led by personnel from Leathers and Associates, at Dogwood Park September 29- October 4. It will be a 12,000 square foot fully accessible, all-inclusive enclosed playground where you will take your children and grandchildren. If another $100,000 is not raised, some play equipment will not be included.

It’s time for all of us – parents and grandparents – to grab our checkbooks! Contributions are tax-deductible and can be made at www.HeartOfTheCityTN.com or mail a check, made out to Cookeville Community Playground, to Cookeville Playground, 370 S. Lowe Ave, A-391, Cookeville, TN 38501. On the website or on Facebook (Heart of the City Playground), pick out something, such as a Pirate Ship or fence pickets, that you can fully fund.

I can’t wait until October to take my Grands to the playground! A playground that will be built because a group of young mothers raised $450,000 – their way. I salute these women and I’m writing a check. Let’s all jump on this bandwagon!

Filed under: Everyday Life, Games, Play | Tagged: checkbook, Heart of the City, Playground | Leave a comment »

Old Time Sayings

Posted on June 4, 2015 by susanrray

My lands alive! A firestorm of old expressions has filled my Facebook page. A couple of weeks ago in this column I wrote, “The very idea of paying good money ($125) to bring a rabbit across country on an airplane. Well, that beats all, as Granny used to say.” And then I posted on Facebook, “What are the sayings, the phrases, which your grandparents said and we no longer say?”

I pon my honor, it’s our responsibility to carry on our heritage, and that includes language for goodness sakes! My friends have shared more sayings than I can shake a stick at and I’m mighty proud to pass them on.

We all know of a man who’s tough as nails and Johnny on the spot. And when he married, he jumped the broom with his sweetheart. They made their home down the holler aways. Way back in the boonies. And if you took the long way to their house, you went around John Brown’s barn and back.

This young couple is probably as happy as a coon in a roasting ear patch. But the wife might be a bit scared – as nervous as a cat on a hot tin roof ‘cause she’d ain’t never lived in timbuktu with all the varmints. Sakes, alive! She ought to be happy. Their house is finer than frog hair and her husband, as honest as the day is long. Dontcha’ know he’s a right smart man. After all, he didn’t just roll off the turnip truck. Good Lord willing and the creek don’t rise this young couple will have a houseful of youngens. Maybe a towhead or two.

And we all probably know someone who doesn’t do diddley squat. His house is leaning toward Hodges and he got his haywagon catty wompomus in the barn. He can’t fix nothing right. He finagles his way out of problems. They say his daddy was the same way. You know the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Yep, yep, I’m satisfied that’s right.

When he was a boy and cried over spilled milk, his momma said, “Stop crying or I’ll give you something to cry about.” And when his momma had put up with his antics all day and had a snootful of him, she’d spank him and say, “This hurts me more than it hurts you.” Flitter, we know that’s not true. Poor little guy, he was always wishing for things and his momma told him, “If a bullfrog had wings, it wouldn’t bump its butt.” And if he ever said he couldn’t do something, his momma said, “Can’t never could.”

And we’ve all seen women who disagree over something that don’t amount to a hill of beans. They talk out both sides of their mouths or out their elbows. Mercy me! That’s when I’m glad I don’t have a dog in that fight. I’m like the little boy who fell out of the wagon, I ain’t in it. Whatever floats their boats or blows their dresses up is fine with me. I declare to my time some people will fuss till’ the cows come home.

Thank you, friends, for reminding me of many expressions that I pert near forgot. Such is life, for goodness sakes. And I learned a saying I’ve never heard before: I wish I may never, since here I’ve been. Say what?

Filed under: Everyday Life, Memories, Old Time Sayings | Tagged: old expressions, old time phrases, old time sayings, say what | Leave a comment »

A Refreshing Walk with My Grand

Posted on May 28, 2015 by susanrray

“Wots dat?” Neil asked and pointed toward white, feathery puffs of cotton that floated above his head.

“It’s seeds from cottonwood trees,” I said. He reached his hands high to catch the seeds, but they floated around him and onto the ground. He picked up a delicate seed and closed it inside his fist. When he spread his fingers wide, the seed seemed to have disappeared. He wrinkled his forehead, cocked his head, and picked up another seed.

Neil, my almost two-year-old Grand, seemed perplexed. He gathered several cottonseeds -one at a time- closed his hand, and when he opened it, he didn’t see the same white cotton puff. “Gone!” he announced and then began walking.

Neil and I were taking a morning walk. In his neighborhood, on the sidewalk, to a nearby park. “Wots dat?” Neil pointed to a white spot on the sidewalk. “Bird poo. Don’t touch it,” I told him and held his hand tightly. “POO!” he shouted and wiggled his hand free from mine. We had reached the park and Neil ran to and climbed upon a green metal bench. “POO!” he said and patted white spots on the bench.

A robin hopped on the grass, pecked at the ground, and raised its head. I held Neil in my lap and told him that the robin was searching for worms to eat. The robin flew low to the ground and Neil’s feet hit the ground running. Arms stretched in front of him, legs churning, Neil ran toward the bird. Mr. Robin stopped, pecked the ground again, and when Neil was only a few feet away, the bird flew. All around the open grassy field, the two played chase.

But, of course, Neil never came close to Mr. Robin. Finally, the robin perched in a pine tree. Neil ran to the tree and looked up. I pointed to the bird and suggested that he was full and ready for a rest. “Gone!” Neil announced.

Holding hands Neil and I walked along the sidewalk to the duck pond. “Wot dey doing?” Neil asked when we saw several ducks with their heads tucked along their backs. I said, “Probably sleeping.” Neil asked, “Why?” I explained that ducks get tired just like we do and, knowing that why questions never end, I veered our walk toward Neil’s home.

My Grand gathered short sticks that he gave me to hold and we talked about things we saw. Airplane contrails that crisscrossed the sky. White puffy clouds. A man who was power washing his driveway. A brown rabbit that hopped from shrub to shrub. A red pickup truck. Yellow tulips that Neil couldn’t pick.

“Wots dat?” Neil suddenly stopped walking. “It sounds like a fire truck,” I said. A fire truck that didn’t come within our sight, but kept Neil still long enough that he spotted ants, tiny brown ones, on the concrete walk. He squatted so low that his knees touched his chin and he watched the ants scurry to their anthill in the grass and then back onto the sidewalk. One ant hurried away from the others and Neil, still in a tight squat, shuffled his feet and followed it until it crawled into the grass.

“We’re home,” I told Neil. He rushed into his house and gave his older brother a treasure – one of his sticks.

There’s nothing quite so refreshing as taking a walk with a toddler. Everything is fascinating. Even seeds and ants and sticks.

Filed under: Grandchildren, Nature, Play | Tagged: Grandchildren, Grandparents, neighborhood, toddler, walk | 1 Comment »

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