Archive | August 2025

Tammie’s Sweet Lamb

Aug27

Tammie texted me, “When are you having your hair permed?”

I responded, “My appointment is in half an hour.”

My daughter messaged, “I’ll talk to you later, when you’re a curly-haired lamb.” I chuckled. Tammie liked to compare me to a lamb with curly fleece whenever I get a perm.

 Before leaving the house, I peeked into a mirror. What I saw fully displayed what I hate about my hair. Baby-fine strands were lying limp, flat against the forehead, sticking to sweat-beaded skin. I grumbled, “I hate my hair right before a perm, especially when the weather is hot and humid! It’s hard to believe that just yesterday, I washed, moussed, and set my hair.”

At the appointed time, Lisa, my hairdresser, greeted me cheerfully as she ushered me into her salon chair. Looking at our reflections in the mirror, I wanly smiled and admitted, “Not feeling good because you’re having bad hair day is a real thing. For the last two weeks, I’ve been counting the days till my perm. I feel messy and unattractive.”

Lisa professionally examined my flat tresses and commented, “Your hair is thick and healthy, but very fine and has very little body. The ends of your hair show that you had a perm four months ago.”

Shrugging, I said, “I’ve had my hair cut three times since the last perm. I thought all of it was gone. But it doesn’t matter, because today I’m having another perm!” With a chuckle, I confessed, “I like feeling like a curly-haired lamb.”

Expertly wrapping sections of my hair onto permanent rods, Lisa asked, “Aren’t you and Tammie leaving for an Alaskan cruise soon?”

I eagerly responded, “The cruise is in two weeks. I enjoy traveling with Tammie, so I’m looking forward to it.” With all my hair wrapped around the curler rods, Lisa applied the permanent solution. The next step was waiting for nearly half an hour before the hair wrapped curler rods were rinsed and the second solution applied to my hair.

During the wait time, I thought about the cruise, hoping I wouldn’t ruin our fun by being motion sick on the ship. To prevent this, Tammie made sure our cabin was in the middle of the ship, plus I’d asked my doctor for Scopolamine patches.

Why would a person who suffers motion sickness go on a cruise? For me the answer was easy. I want to do normal, fun activities. Once, while on vacation with my daughter, we stayed at a hotel with a water park. I enjoyed floating on the lazy river. Then Tammie suggested, “We should do the water slide.” I glanced up. The entrance to the slide was towering four stories above. Like a lamb being led to slaughter, I meekly agreed, “Okay.”

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Fishing For Memories

Aug20
The best fisherman guide…ever!

Placing a box filled with family photos on the floor next to my chair, I assured my daughter, Tammie, “The picture you want will be in this box.” Reaching in, I pulled out an envelope marked “2006”.

Looking over my shoulder, Tammie shook her head and declared, “It’s not in that envelope. Those are from the fishing trip that Daddy, you and I went on after I earned my master’s degree.”

Quickly shuffling through the first few pictures, I slowed down to study ones that were taken while on the boat, right after catching fish. I sighed, “Weren’t those fishing trips to Canada with your Daddy wonderful?”

Sitting on the footstool next to my chair, Tammie agreed, “I loved the fishing vacations I got to go on with you. The place we stayed at was so beautiful, and we always caught fish!”

Chuckling, I pointed out, “I think Arnie took great pride in his fishing guide abilities when his wife and daughter caught fish.”

Studying a picture of herself holding a walleye she’d caught, Tammie asked, “What ever happened to that resort we stayed at?”

I shrugged and admitted, “I don’t know. The man who owned the resort was a bricklayer from Minnesota. Terry worked at home during the winters and then spent the summers in Canada at Moose Tracks Cottages. Around the time your Daddy died, I heard that Terry had sold the place.”

“Wouldn’t it be fun to go fishing again?” Tammie asked wistfully.

I nodded and admitted, “When I was younger, fishing seemed so boring. But the fishing trips we took to Canada were fun once I learned how to fish.”

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Elderberry Bush Gifts

Aug13

 Seeing Casper stand up to leave the table, Mom suggested, “If you’re going to walk down to the woods this afternoon, check the elderberry bushes for blossoms. They always blossom by the end of June. If they are, pick enough for me to fry for our supper tonight.”

I had already planned on spending that Saturday afternoon tagging after my big brother, but now I certainly didn’t want to miss the chance to help him pick elderberry blossoms! I jumped to my feet and announced, “I’m coming with you.”

Casper gruffly instructed, “Be sure to keep up with me.” As I followed him out the back door of our farmhouse, Mom handed me a brown paper bag to put the blossoms in. I had to run to keep up with Casper’s longer legs. We crossed the cow yard and started down the cow lane towards the woodlot and the small creek that ran through the back forty acres on our farm. I rested whenever Casper stopped to check who was using the birdhouses that were nailed to some of the cow lane fence posts.

Our hurried pace slowed as we came closer to the cow pasture near the creek. Birds I never saw near the house sat on reeds bobbing in the breeze. Butterflies flitted around wildflowers. Casper examined paw tracks in the mud. “Racoon,” he muttered for my benefit.

Mom was right. The elderberries were in full bloom. As we approached the bushes, a slight breeze made the delicate flowers flutter, reminding me of lacy handkerchiefs waved by a flirtatious, medieval damsel. We spent an enjoyable hour or more checking bird houses by the trees, seeing squirrel tracks while we walked through the woods, watching minnows and frogs in the creek. We returned to the elderberry bushes to pick the flowers on our way back home.

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Birthday Combustion

Aug6

Mom brought a cake to the table and set it down. A single unlit birthday candle stood tall and proud in the center of the cake amid chocolate frosting. I clapped my hands with happy anticipation. We were celebrating my nephew David’s first birthday. He was born March 27th, 1960, the year I turned ten. My brother-in-law had enlisted in the army amid the Berlin Crisis, so he and my sister, along with David, had recently moved away to an army base. Even though he wasn’t with us to celebrate his special day, I insisted Mom make a birthday cake for David.

Taking a wooden matchstick from a box, Daddy reached under his chair to drag it across the rough underside to ignite it. Suddenly, with an aggressive roar, flames shot out of the cold air-return grate next to where he was sitting.

Seeing large orange flames coming from inside the wall of my much-loved home, I jumped up from the table and screamed. As a ten-year-old, I figured that everyone was responsible for their own escape from the house. I ran from the kitchen, through the entryway, and out the back door. A few minutes later, my brother Billy found me standing on the sidewalk behind the house, sobbing. He said, “The fire is out. Everything’s okay.”

I returned to our supper table to find Mom had placed a serving of the birthday cake at my place. It was like nothing had happened. I felt confused and as though I needed to run around the block several times to get rid of the residual panic in my system. A few fork loads of frosted cake went a long way towards making me feel better. I hic-upped, “What happened? Why did the house catch fire? It happened so suddenly!”

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