Archives

My Chinny Chin-Chin

Nov24

Gray clouds that had hung low in the November sky all day finally rolled away shortly before sunset. The blue sky looked gorgeous. Golden sunshine poured through the living room windows. Its Warm rays lapped across the room’s carpet, sofa and half way up the wall. Sitting on the sofa and blinded by the sun’s sudden brilliance, my husband Arnie folded the newspaper and set it aside.

I walked into the room and commented, “Have you ever noticed how when we have an overcast day, it often clears right before sunset?” The sunlight made Arnie’s black hair and ruddy skin fairly glow, as if he were on stage. Snuggling up next to him on the sofa, I said with admiration, “I love how your eyes look in bright sunshine. Ordinarily, they’re a light brown, but right now they look golden, like tiger eyes.”

Arnie responded, “Right now this tiger is hungry. When will you have supper ready?”

Leaning back on the sun-warmed sofa cushions, I lifted my chin and wailed, “That wasn’t a very romantic thing to say when I just gave you a compliment!”

My husband glanced at me and then leaned in for a closer look. I dropped my chin, but before I could ask what he was looking at, he ordered, “Put your head back again.” Taking a second look, he demanded, “Did you know you have one big, black hair growing out of the underside of your chin?”

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The Maid

Nov17

There was a long-suffering look in her eyes and a grim, resolute set to her lips. Arthritis had made her joints knobby and her fingers twisted. I didn’t think she looked very dependable.  I informed her, “I need you to wash my windows.”

The old lady sighed, and after a moment of silence whined, “Why don’t you ask me cook a meal for you instead? I don’t want to wash windows.”

I exclaimed impatiently, “Look, I know it isn’t fun to wash windows, but winter is coming. Dust, cobwebs and fly specks need to be washed off the glass. I want the windows sparkling clean so we can enjoy watching the beautiful first snow falls and birds coming to eat at the feeders.”

She replied, “Washing windows makes my hands and shoulders hurt. Also, I’m not as strong as I used to be. Some of the windows stick. What if I can’t put the windows back together after they’re washed?”

These were valid concerns. After a moment of deep thought, I announced, “Start with the easy windows. In the past, you washed every window in the house all in a day’s time. Just do a few windows today. Maybe tomorrow or the day after you can do a couple more. If you are unable to put the windows back together, it isn’t the end of the world. We’ll just wait until someone who can do it for us comes for a visit. Now, get to work!”

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Grandparent Orphan

Nov10
Grandpa Altmann walking in yard holding hands with my sisters Mary and Betty.
After this picture was taken, he developed gangrene and had a leg amputated.

He sat in the corner of the living room on the davenport, watching me, his wrinled face glowing from the light of the lamp. I plopped down on the cool gray linoleum and began to roll around acting silly. Mama stepped into the room to scold, “Kathy, stop showing off.”

Who was that man? In my mind he was someone important. The gray fog of forgetfulness fills my mind until the next memory.

I stood in front of the table in our eat-in kitchen. Mama was behind me at the stove preparing our meal. Daddy stood at the entryway door, holding it open as an old man on crutches entered. Suddenly, a crutch slipped on the linoleum and the man fell with a crash.

Something bad had happened. I wasn’t sure what, or even who the man was. The gray fog of forgetfulness fills my mind until the next memory.

Something prompted me to crawl out of the bed I shared with a sister. Wandering into the living room I crawled up onto the davenport. The dark house didn’t scare me. Feeling cold, I felt around for something to crawl under. What I found was thin and not very warm. I looked toward the front door window where the Christmas tree stood. The night sky was pale blue and I saw the shadowy outline of the tree.

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Sweat Potatoes

Nov3
Plump sweet potato tubers are supposed to be found directly below the vines. Not this year under my plants! The picture shows how most of mine grew. The skinny part was attached to the vine. The deeper it grew, the fatter it got. It broke off when I dug it up and I never found the rest if it.

A large, yellow and black bumble bee hopped from one catnip blossom to the next. I scanned the garden, happily breathing in its lovely, earthy smell. The unseasonably warm weather made the greenhouse garden look as if it was September. Nothing was frost damaged. In the first row, beautiful fat chrysanthemum bushes bloomed in, yellow, purple, and rust. The lavender plant, red and white geraniums, pink petunias and red tea roses were all blooming as if it was a summer day.

Whenever I had time the last week or two, I’d worked at preparing the garden for the winter. One day I pulled up the beans and cucumbers. On another day I took down the cucumber support fence and pulled up the pink flowering buckwheat. Today, I planned to dig my sweet potatoes and pick cherry tomatoes.

Progress is slow because my left knee has been hurting, and I’m a firm believer retired people should never be rushed. Out of necessity I’ve learned to work while sitting on a garden stool. Placing the stool firmly next to the first vined plant, I sank down on the seat. Not wanting to damage the irrigation line, I carefully inserted a small shovel into the ground alongside the sweet potato and pried up. Letting go of the shovel, I gathered all the vines near the loosened soil and pulled.

First came the disappointment. There were no large tubers attached to the stem, then came the frustration. The plant had long vines intertwined with every other sweet potato vine in the garden. Why I have a long-held dislike of digging potatoes came rushing back to me. It’s hard work with a low satisfaction rate.

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The Strong One

Oct27

Overhead, rain pounded on the rooftop as I stood in my childhood bedroom staring out the window. The heavy spring-time shower formed rivulets on the glass, turning the back lawn into a green blur. My upcoming high school graduation and this week’s job search meant my childhood was over. But I felt fragile and unprepared to be an adult. I didn’t know what kind of work I wanted to do, let alone, if I was able to do it.

Being the youngest child in a family of seven children had allowed me to stay cozily tucked into a pocket of prolonged childhood where I avoided responsibility, independence and practicing adult activities. Mom and Daddy were born in 1905 and 1906 respectively, an era when women didn’t generally find a job or leave home after graduating from high school.

A mere nine months ago was the first time I even walked into a store alone to independently pick out and buy a pair of slacks. Now I needed to get a job, find a place to live, and buy household supplies. How was I going to do all this? I felt like a delicate flower facing a frosty night.

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Fall Colors

Oct20

The leaves on the flowerbed apple tree were dull green. All leaves on the lilac bushes along the red barn were missing. A cool breeze gently tugged at the hem of my shirt as if to remind me of why I stood on the deck outside the backdoor. Fall was further along than I had thought.

In July and August, when everything was lushly green and growing, the summer’s heat and mosquitos had kept me indoors. I’d told my daughters, “Come September, the nights will be cooler and the days more pleasant. I’ll go outside more, then.”

The maple tree Arnie had planted along the road was still bright green. Through its branches, I spotted the red leaves of sumac growing on the lower end of my yard. I wanted a closer look. Walking toward them, I studied the grove, reflecting, “Sumac are slow to put on their leaves in the spring, but are the first to turn red in the fall.”

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A Garden Shunned

Oct13

Long, cool shadows covered most of my garden. I stopped hoeing the weedy pathway for a moment to rest. My daughter Tammie, sitting in a red chair next to my garden’s tea table, looked up from reading and asked, “Why don’t you let me hoe for a little while?”

Responding indignantly, I exclaimed, “No! You are visiting me and I will not put you to work! I love your company, though, and enjoy hearing the interesting things you share from the article you’re reading.

Sighing, Tammie admitted, “I wish I could help you, but realize it takes me so long to do things, it probably is easier for you to just do it yourself.”

I reiterated, “I love having you with me. If the mosquitos aren’t bothering you, all I want is for you to sit and keep me company.”

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By Any Other Name

Oct6

The older woman had white hair dyed pink. It looked pretty, but a tad unusual. She held out her right hand and introduced herself, “Hi, I go by the name Pinky!”

In my line of work, I felt free to ask personal questions. Glancing at her hot pink sweatshirt and black jeans, I questioned with interest, “Pinky is an unusual nickname. How did you get it?”

Grinning broadly, Pinky explained, “When I was a toddler, my Mama had a baby, so my sister and I stayed for a week with Grandma and Grandpa. One afternoon Grandpa wanted to take us to the park. My sister and I were excited but had to change clothes to leave the house. I insisted on wearing my pink pinafore, but Grandma couldn’t find it. I had a huge tantrum and refused to leave the house. It was the pink play suit, or nothing. For the rest of Grandpa’s life, he called me Pinky. Eventually so did everyone else. Most people don’t even know my real name.”   

I laughed, “I like your family story.” Looking at her pink tresses, I added, “I also like how you’ve embraced your nickname.” Pinky proudly patted her pink head.

A rose by any other name would still smell as sweet, according to William Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. But in the bible story about Job, chapter 34 verse 3, Elihu said, “The ear tests words, as the tongue tastes food.” That verse rings more to the truth to me.

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Life in a Bubble

Sep29

Closing the Window on my computer monitor, I spun my office chair around to face Tammie. I’d just taken in a fresh dose of news about the three-month-old COVID pandemic and felt poisoned. “When is this all going to end?” I questioned. “Every news report is more dire than the last.”

When this COVID craziness started, I’d asked my youngest daughter, who’s able to work from home, to stay with me. She looked comfortable sitting in her remote work station, my office recliner. A board spanned the chair’s arms to give Tammie a place to rest her laptop computer. She shook her head and commiserated, “Listening to the news once a day is enough for me, too.”

Leaning back in my chair, I relaxed and confessed, “At first, three months ago, I felt panicky when I heard businesses were closing and everyone was to stay home. But now, I’ve come to realize that I feel safe at home and there isn’t a thing we can do to change what’s happening out in the world except pray. I’m so glad I’m able to visit friends and family electronically. It sure beats snail mail.”

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Dinner on the Run

Sep22

Four of our largest kettles filled with water sat on the stove. The burners beneath them glowed red. Mom ordered, “Let’s hurry up and eat. The water will be boiling by the time we’re ready to scald the chickens.” I glanced at the stove after Daddy, Mom and I finished blessing our meal. I saw a small thread of vapor rise above one of the kettles.

In half the usual time it took to eat, Daddy put down his fork. Anticipation had taken away my appetite. As Mom began to clear the table, Daddy commanded, “You come with me, Kathy. I don’t want you underfoot when we carry out the boiling water.” He led me out into the farm yard where he had placed a large block of wood next to the driveway. He instructed, “Stay right here. Mama and I will be with you soon.”

The cotton scarf tied under my chin felt loose. I pulled it tighter and looked around. Clouds in the sky blocked out the sun and a cool wind made the day feel as if it wasn’t really spring. There were long stalks of browned grass along the barn and house foundations. They nodded and dipped with each breeze.

I felt sorry for my brothers and sisters, they were at school and missing out on today’s butchering of the chickens. It made me feel sad that next year I would have to attend school, too. Staring at the block of wood, I wondered what it was for and what Mom meant when she said she’d scald the chickens.” 

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