Georgia had shown me the dark service stairway a few days earlier. Shifting the beach towel and radio I was holding to firmly grasp the roof door’s latch, I gave it a quick turn. My reward was a loud click and a flood of bright sunlight.
The roof was flat, covered with small pebbles. I found a spot to spread my blanket and laid down. Sunbathing wasn’t one of my favorite things to do, especially alone, but I couldn’t think of anything else to do. Today was my day off. All my new friends were working. Turning the radio on, I closed my eyes.
The sun was warm, but a cool breeze kept it from being unpleasant. A song l liked began to play. A man’s voice mournfully crooned, “In the year 2525, if man is still alive, if woman can survive, they may find…”
I had graduated from high school during the first week of June. Two weeks later I moved to Wausau where I planned to attend summer school and work as a nursing assistant. Those were the things I’d planned. What I hadn’t planned was meeting a man who swept me off my feet and feeling unable to finish taking the summer school chemistry class.
My parents must be told about the class. I’d taken it because I was planning to attend college in the fall. The song on the radio continued, “In the year 3535, ain’t gonna need to tell the truth, tell no lies. Everything you think, do and say is in the pill you took today.” Obviously, college was not going to happen for me if I didn’t take the chemistry class and pass tests. Continue reading
The first page of the newspaper showed rioters breaking store windows and stealing merchandize. I read only enough of the article to know where, when and why. A few pages in was an article about the acceleration of climate change. Next, there was an article detailing the virus’ devastating financial effects on families. On the back page was a graph showing a rapid increase in new COVID-19 cases.
I pride myself on keeping a fine balance between knowing what is going on in this world and not allowing that knowledge to make me feel sick with worry. That day I felt poisoned by the news. I wondered if in the history of the world, there has ever been a time where so many things were messed up and going wrong.
It’s hard to find a proper, healthy perspective when looking at the world. I struggle with bad news, frequently asking myself, “Will things eventually improve, or is the world going to —- in a handbasket?”
Many people think all the good times are in the past and are unlikely to happen again. One man pessimistically grumbled, “… children now love luxury; they have bad manners, contempt for authority; they show disrespect for elders and love chatter in place of exercise. Children are now tyrants, not the servants of their households. They no longer rise when elders enter the room. They contradict their parents, chatter before company, gobble up dainties at the table, cross their legs, and tyrannize their teachers.” Who said that? Socrates, a man who lived over 24 centuries ago! Continue reading
Recently, I walked into my office and handed Tammie a cup of tea before sitting down to enjoy my own. Looking up from her work, my daughter thanked me and questioned, “Are you going to write today? What topic did you pick out?”
Shrugging, I admitted, “I haven’t even thought about it yet.” Swiveling in my chair to look at the computer screen, I changed the subject, “Did you know that an elephant has over 40,000 muscles in its trunk?”
Tammie laughed as she admonished, “You just don’t want to get down to work, do you? But no, I didn’t know elephants had that many muscles in their trunks. Overall, how many muscles do humans have?”
Being a true trivia lover, I knew the answer. “Humans have a little over 600 muscles in their entire body.”
I also like silly Mom jokes, so I decided to throw in one into our conversation for good measure. “I want you to know that I’ve entered into my snapdragon phase of life.”
My daughter questioned, “Really…what does that mean?” Continue reading
A weak breeze gently fluttered the sheets Mom had hung on the clothes line nearby. I lounged on the grass in the shade of a backyard tree wishing it wasn’t so hot. Leaning forward, I stared at the garden beyond the wet laundry. Pale green plants marked rows of tomatoes, beans and peas. All around them the soil was a dry, pale brown.
Behind me, I heard the farmhouse door open and Mom yell, “Dinner’s ready. Come and eat!”
The heat of the day made me feel heavy and sluggish. Although I looked forward to eating, I couldn’t make myself move quickly. As I slowly stumped to the house, Daddy joined me from where he had been working in the machine shed.
Noon meals were usually rewarmed leftovers. My mouth watered as I recognized the juicy roast chicken from Sunday, the day before. Mom was such a good cook; her leftovers were better than most people’s fresh starts.
After blessing our meal, Mom began to hand around bowls of chicken, peas and mashed potatoes. Daddy ate a few forkfuls before telling Mom, “The field corn is looking good, but it won’t for long if we don’t get rain soon.” Continue reading
The first week of quarantine I felt trapped and claustrophobic. During the second week I realized that I was safer at home rather than being, out-there-with-the-virus. By the third week of quarantine I began to think about changes I wanted to make to my office, which I was now sharing with a quarantine buddy, my daughter Tammie.
The futon in the office needed to go away. I wanted to replace it with a recliner. Supplies on wire shelving in the room were dusty and needed to be cleaned, organized and put into labeled boxes. A heater had to be installed. The room’s only heat vent was the furthest one away from the furnace, too far to warm the room above 59 degrees during six months of the year. It’s hard to be creative while freezing.
I wondered, “How am I to accomplish what I want? After all, I’m quarantined!” Once again, the sensation of being trapped and claustrophobic swept over me. When I told Tammie what was bothering me, her eyes lit up. She pulled out her phone with an enthusiastic invitation, “Let’s go shopping online!”
I ordered a heater and then called a local business man for installation, “after-this-is-all-over.” An order for a brown recliner we liked went out next. While we were at it, we made a big online grocery order. Following that my daughter purchased a yoga stool, clothing and craft supplies. I wanted garden supplies, a grandchild’s birthday gift and shoes. Tammie asked, “Did you know we can order our favorite restaurant meals uncooked and in bulk?”
Feeling like James T. Kirk, a science fiction spaceship captain, I pointed to her phone and ordered, “Make it so.” We both knew what we wanted. Continue reading
After yesterday’s chilly overcast weather, this morning’s sunshine made me want to spend time in my backyard. I paused at the backdoor to call out to my daughter Tammie, who was working in my office, “Do you want to take your break outside?”
While awaiting Tammie’s answer, my glance fell on a small splash of blood on the wall next to the door. Surprised, I thought, “Where in the world did that come from?” Then I spotted another small splash on the door, on the opposite wall, on the floor. There was even a minuscule splash on the ceiling!
Tammie found me washing the spots away with a washcloth. Looking perplexed she questioned, “Where did the blood come from?”
My answer sounded as troubled as I felt, “I wish someone could explain what happened.” As I went to dispose of the washcloth, I happened to look down and spotted a dead wood tick on the entryway floor. It looked as though it had been fully engorged when killed. “That’s weird”, I commented, “Is it possible that one of the cats had a tick on them and scratched at it hard enough to dislodge it and for the blood in it to splash around?” All afternoon that day, every time I went into the entryway, I found more and more small blood splashes. Continue reading
I pulled a picture from a box containing photos from the 1950’s. It showed me and two of my neighborhood cousins sitting on swings Daddy had made under two large cottonwood trees near the barn. I looked to be four years of age, which made my cousins four and five years of age. They were wearing shorts and sun tops, but I was in a floor length nightgown that was visibly soiled.
Holding the picture up for my daughter Tammie to see, I exclaimed, “Look at the adorable expressions on our faces. This must be one of the first times we played together. I’ll bet their dad Tony came to visit my dad and brought them along.”
Recently I have spent several hours going through childhood pictures, looking for just the right ones to put in the family history book I am writing. A glowing bubble of rosy, happy childhood memories enveloped me as I examined pictures of three-year-old me chasing a small flock of Guinea hens, two-year-old me on my belly watching how a kitty-cat eats and dozens of family line-up pictures. Worries about the pandemic seemed far away and in another world. Continue reading
Preoccupied by my thoughts, I sighed and absentmindedly began to clear the table. My garden was nearly ready to be tilled, but how was I going to get the tiller to start? I needed help but absolutely did not want to ask for help. Setting the stack of dishes and silverware on the counter next to the sink, I sighed again.
My daughter Tammie was standing at the kitchen counter mixing cake batter. She glanced over at me and setting down the hand mixer, questioned, “What’s wrong Mom? You’ve been sighing.”
I reluctantly admitted, “It’s time to till the garden and I know from experience that I can’t pull the starter cord fast and hard enough to make the engine turn over.”
Pulling a cake pan closer to the mixing bowl, Tammie advised, “List the people you could call for help. Decide which one you feel the most comfortable approaching. Then give that person a call and ask.”
With hands on my hips, I scoffed, “You’re a fine one to be giving advice on how to ask for help! You are completely stubborn about getting help. You’ve even admitted to me that you don’t want people to think you are weak and pitifully handicapped.”
Picking up a spatula, Tammie scrapped the cake batter into the pan as she defensively pointed out, “Some people only see me as a short-armed individual. I want everyone to see how many things I am capable of doing. Some things, like not being able to reach something on a high shelf are just physically impossible. But my not being able to do that, doesn’t define who I am!” Continue reading
Looking into the bathroom mirror at Arnie’s shaving-foam covered face, I stated emphatically, “You have to till our garden this morning before leaving for work.” It was more a demand than request.
Arnie slipped on his glasses and picked up his razor. After pulling the triple blade across his jawline once, he answered, “You sound like you’re in a hurry.”
Combing my hair, I sighed impatiently, “I am! “Today is my day off from the hospital. My next day off won’t be for another five days. The weatherman on TV last night said it will rain by the end of this week. I want to plant my garden today.”
Making eye-contact with Arnie in the mirror, I saw a twinkle in his eye. He said, “It won’t hurt to put the garden in next week instead of this week.”
Crossing my arms, I glared at his reflection for several seconds before grumbling stubbornly, “I don’t think you’re funny. I want to plant my garden today because I have time today.”
Using a washcloth to wipe away the last bits of foam from his now clean-shaven face, Arnie leaned down to give me a kiss and said, “Don’t get yourself into knots. I’ll get it tilled for you this morning.” Continue reading
Standing in line for a favorite food item wouldn’t sit well with my plans. I’d been on my feet for most of the previous six hours. All I wanted to do was quickly buy something to eat, then sit down to enjoy it and my co-worker’s company. Thirty-minute lunchtimes pass as quickly as the flash of a camera.
Stepping into the cafeteria, I discovered there was a long line of workers waiting to be served hot food. Only a few people were around the cold bar making salads. Salads always satisfied me, so I turned to pick up a bowl and make one for myself.
Barb, my coworker, nudged me with her elbow and hissed, “They’re serving shepherd’s pie!” In unison we turned to join the line. As we waited, Barb commented, Shepherd’s pie is supposed to have a spring mix of vegetables in it and not sauerkraut. The hospital just calls this meal, ‘potato-sauerkraut casserole’.”
Shrugging I confessed, “I prefer the kraut. Switching the ingredients should automatically require the dish to have a different name. Maybe it should be called, German shepherd’s pie.” A mental picture of a happy, tongue-lolling German Shepherd suddenly popped into my mind.
Barb grimaced in response to my comment as she reached for a dish handed to her by the cafeteria worker. It was heavily laden with mashed potato-topped sauerkraut with a satisfying bottom layer of creamy ground beef. Continue reading