from the porches

thunderstorms

Since January 2011, I can honestly say we've had so little rain.  Since Truett has been wheelchair bound, I have not had to worry about him getting wet, but more honestly, about me getting wet from the Florida rains for at least a half dozen times.

Today, July 31st was an exception.  The rains poured!

. . .  and poured, forcing me and Truett to sit for thirty minutes in the car port before we could enter the house.

As I sat in the car I observed a banana spider rotating in its web, caused by the wind and rain.  Look carefully.  It's between the sets of trees.

When Truett and I managed to get in the house with minimal rain damage, I found Lily and Maggie huddled close to Mom.  (Lily, put your tongue in, please).

We all, in fact, huddled together this afternoon during the thunderstorms.

the false teeth caper

It was a hot summer day in Trenton, Tennessee.  I suppose I was around nine years old and generally I had nothing much to do except hang upside down in an old oak tree in our backyard.  One day the next door neighbor boy, Pat, wandered in the yard.  Now since I didn't like this young brat, I began screaming, "Go home!  Stevie's asleep!"

I stopped yelling when I saw what he held in his cupped hands.  He held the most perfect set of false teeth you could imagine.  They were perfectly mouth-shaped with light pink gums and pearly teeth.  I had never seen a set of false teeth out of a mouth before, so I flipped out of the tree and ran to Pat.

"What 'cha got?" I asked, grasping for the teeth.  Of course he threw his hand behind his back and hid them from sight.

"I got some teeth,"  Pat replied as he held them out towards me.  My first instinct was to back away because I didn't let Pat touch me with his grubby fingers; but, instead, I grabbed those teeth.

"Wanna trade?  I asked excitedly.

"What 'cha got? Pat asked.

"Got a knife," I said as I fumbled in my pocket and quickly pulled out a pen knife and held it out to Pat.

"Okay," he said as he snatched for the knife.  Then he turned around and ran through a path in the hedge toward his house.

I stood there looking at those false teeth.  My mind was racing.  "Do I or don't I"  I thought.  "Yes, I do!"  I ran straight to the house and up the stairs to the hall bathroom.  I tiptoed passed Sherry's room and quickly locked the bathroom door, all the while clutching the set of false teeth.

Knowing nothing about false teeth, I slipped them over my top teeth.

A little loose, but workable.  I turned around with my back to the mirror.

The teeth protruded out, and as I looked at their strange appearance, I took on a strange personality. 

"And how are you today, Miss Wigglesworth?" I asked of the image in the mirror.

"Ah, so fine . . .so fine," my reflection answered.  About that time I heard footsteps in the hall.  I yanked the teeth out of my mouth, stuffed them in my pocket and turned to face my mother.

"Do you have something that doesn't belong to you?" Mother asked.

"Who me?"  I answered with a sheepish look on my face.

"Yes, you,"  Mother replied.  "It seems that Pat's dad was napping and his false teeth are missing.  Mrs. Putnam called and told me Pat traded you the false teeth for a knife."  With that, she held out her hand demandingly.

"That's not fair!" I screamed.  "Pat's an Indian Giver!  Once you give something, it's yours  He can't do that!"

Well, Pat's dad got his teeth back and I refused to speak to Pat the rest of the week . . . that is until the next time he had something to trade.

 

hot feet

Merry gingerly tiptoed on the road home from the ravines.  She hopped on her right foot, then the left.  She jumped quickly to a patch of weeds for relief, sat down, and inspected her bare feet.  With a deep breath, Merry judged the distance to the town's city limit sign...her destination.  At least in town she'd be able to walk on manicured lawns with soft cool grass.

"Not far," she thought.  "Not far."

The shimmering asphalt stretched a half mile ahead.  Ripples of heat danced magically before her eyes.  Merry thought of nomads crawling on their bellies toward a mirage.  She was so hot and exhausted and her feet throbbed from the scorching road.  Even her hair was hot and limp. 

A sweat bee buzzed in her ears, circled, and landed on the back of her tawny leg.  She slapped at it, but missed.  "Darn!" she thought.  "He'll be back.  They always come back."  Her mom said it was because she was so sweet, and she guessed that was right.

Merry shielded her eyes from the sun.  Its white light caused her to squint her nose up in tiny wrinkles.  She had already walked two miles and had jut one more to go.  "I'm gonna' die just like the nomads," she thought.  She should never have gone to the ravines alone.  She should never have taken her sandals off to swing on grapevines; but she did and now her sandals were twenty feet lost in the pit.  She knew the boys would throw them in.  They always pretended to.  It was only a matter of time.

Merry worried about another thing.  Black racers.  She hated snakes more than anything, and she was afraid one would slither in front of her.  Then she'd have to put both feet on the road and run.  At least by hopping on one foot, then the other, both feet didn't burn at the same time.

Suddenly, Merry hatched a bright idea.  "I know," she thought.  "If I think about cool things, maybe it will keep my mind off my feet and the heat."  So Merry thought of ice cold watermelon.  She saw her teeth chomp into the cold rind.  She saw red juice stream down her forearms and drip from her elbows.

Next, Merry thought of the sprinkler in her yard.  She watched it rotate in sixteenth seconds around and around.  She imagined soft rainbows hanging in the air.  Rat-ta-tat-tat.  She heard the whirring of the sprinkler.  In her mind she saw squishy cool puddles hidden in green blades of grass.  She saw her toes step in the puddles.

Then Merry thought of homemade ice cream packed in a metal cylinder.  She remembered the sweet taste of strawberry ice cream.  She also remembered how cold burns just like the hot road if you touch your tongue to the side of the cylinder and leave it there too long.

Finally, Merry envisioned a cool summer night.  She saw fireflies flickering around her.  Then she imagined tearing the bodies off to make glowing rings for her fingers.  She saw her hand twirl in the dark as it made alphabet letters that streaked past her eyes.  A smile crossed her face.  Once more Merry judged the distance to the city limit sign and she decided to run as fast as she could . . . and that's exactly what she did . . . snake or not.

the alley

I saw the alley from Colter Street.  I pretend it's not there even though it's about a block away.  "Maybe if we all talk and hold hands . . . well, just maybe we won't notice it,"  I think.

I want to be a gypsy this year," I said to my twin.  "What do you want to be?"  I wonder if she's afraid of the alley too?

"Oh, I think a gypsy.  We can be gypsies easily.  Mommy's got all those pretty scarves and beads and earrings we can wear," Sherry replied.

I looked down at little Stevie's blonde hair.  It didn't shine as much at dusk.  Kind of looked gray, like the early night.  "Stevie, do you want to be a cowboy for Halloween this year?"

Stevie's little hand felt warm as he clutched mine. He looked up.  "Yes.  A cowboy!" he exclaimed.  Stevie had no idea when Halloween was.  For all I knew, he probably thought it was tomorrow.

The sky was dark gray.  Not really black yet, but dark enough that shadows of maple and elm trees in the alley transformed into creatures with long grasping fingers.  If one looked long enough at a shadow, it appeared to move.  It appeared to be waiting for three little children to amble up its way to be snatched into neverland.

We stop.  Three innocent children walking to town . . . at dusk.  Going to Red's Diner where we were to meet Mommy and Daddy for supper.  Sometimes we'd hang out at the shoe store until daddy got off work, or maybe Mommy would walk us home and Daddy would come home later.

I glanced at Sherry.  "How are we going to do this?" I ask.

"Let's all hold hands.  I'll count to three and then we'll run together," she whispered as we glanced up the alley.

Chillbumps ran up my spine and settled on my head.  My hair felt like it was standing on end.  "Okay," I said.  We looked at Stevie.  His blue eyes darted from me to Sherry and back to me.

"One . . . two . . . THREE!"  Sherry yelled.

We took off like a bullet, legs and hair flying straight back; but someone let go of Stevie's hand.  Was it me?  I think it was her.  Stevie was only ten steps away standing on the other side of the alley.

"Come get me!"  he cried.  "I'm telling!" he yelled.

"You did it,"  Sherry said pointing her slender finger in my face.

"DID NOT!"  I yelled back at her.  So hand in hand we darted across the alley, grabbed Stevie by the hand and drug him ten miserable steps . . . across the imaginary line signified as the alley.

the seance

The seance was about to begin.  Madam Ishbarr adjusted her veil and straightened the tiny pearl dangling squarely between her eyebrows.  She sat solidly in the wooden chair behind the scarf-laden table.

"Oooooo,"  Madam Ishbarr chanted.  "Oooooo,"  she wailed, sounding more like a sick dog than that of the wise Madam Ishbarr, Fortune Teller of the Great World.

"Come on.  Let's get started,"  Sherry shouted as she rapped her fingers on the table's top. 

Madam Ishbarr's eyes rolled toward the ceiling, her right hand jutted out, palms up.  "Thaaaat willlll beeee tennnn dollarrrrs,"  Madam Ishbarr wailed.

Sherry, the mystic's client reached in her dress pocket, flicked her wrist upward and placed imaginary money into Madam Ishbarr's hand.

Madam Ishbarr stiffened in her chair.  She placed both hands delicately on the cool fishbowl.  She always liked this part best.  The empty fishbowl was the best crystal ball Madam Ishbarr and her sister could find.

A sheer yellow scarf was stuffed in the bowl to simulate misty fog.  One end hung over the lip of the bowl and gently lifted and fell in sinc with the breeze from the window fan.  Madam Ishbarr waved her thin fingers over the bowl and once again began to chant.

"Abracadabra.  Abracadoom.  There's a ghost in this room."  She paused briefly, looked directly into Sherry's wide eyes, and shouted, "BOO!"

Sherry jumped straight up, shoved the rickety card table into Madam Ishbarr's ribs and shouted back,  "Don't do that!  You always do that!  I'm not playing with you ANYMORE!"  And with that, she stomped out of the room.

Madam Ishbarr grinner her wide slanted grin and jerked the yellow rayon cloth from the fishbowl.  She placed it gently to her tanned oval face and felt its softness against her lips.  "Indeed.  The world is not complete without the great Madam Ishbarr," she whispered to herself.

the strawberry

(When I was teaching I would often write stories while the students wrote theirs.  Eventually, I put a handful of stories in a book made by Studentreasures.  While Tina and Blaine were here, I read them my stories.  They are all based on true events and the book's title is Remembering Merry.) Now, on to "The Strawberry" story.

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    Sunday dinners are always special.  Roasts, mashed potatoes, gravy, and real dessert.  I couldn't wait to see what we were having today.

    As I rounded the corner to the kitchen nook, I spied the strawberry shortcake sitting beside the dinner plates.  "We've got strawberry shortcake!" I yelled excitedly to Sherry and Stevie, who were three feet behind me.  "Thank goodness it's not that pineapple upside-down cake Mom likes to cook," I thought.  I couldn't sand those burnt pineapples stuck to the cake like bricks in cement.  Plus, I don't want to eat anything "upside-down".  I think kids have a right to say whether they want to eat their food or not, and especially if it can be right side up, but Daddy feels differently.

    "Eat your food!" he bellowed at every meal.  "We're not wasting food!  Your mother and I work hard to give you kids a decent meal!" 

    I thought of all the poor children around the world starving at this very moment; however, I hated cleaning my plate, but if it meant we had to gag down hominy in order to get strawberry shortcake, then I ate hominy.  Usually, I hid disgusting food in my napkin, or sometimes I'd just mix it in with the mashed potatoes and swallow real fast so I couldn't taste the horrible taste.  Today, anything was worth eating to taste strawberry shortcake with a soft mound of fluffy whipped cream.

    Sherry, Stevie, and I sat down in front of our plates.  I looked at my brother and a grin began in the corners of my mouth and spread over my face.  With my right hand, I plucked a fat red strawberry off of my shortcake.  I held it gently in my right palm.  Then I snuck my spoon into my lap with my left hand, placed the strawberry in the spoon, carefully raised it to the table's edge and pointed it at Stevie.

    Stevie was such a pest.  Always wanting to be around Sherry and me.  Always wanting what we had.  Always in the way.  I heard the sound of Daddy's footsteps in the hallway.  "Now," I thought.  "Right now if you're ever going to do it."

    I tilted the spoon back towards my chest like a slingshot, let go of the tip, and watched the strawberry fly.  "OOOPS!"  Sherry and Stevie and I looked up to the ceiling right above Daddy's empty seat.  The strawberry stuck to the ceiling directly over Daddy's chair, the pointy end aimed at Daddy's chair.  "Oh, please, God.  Don't let it fall,"  I silently praayed.  My eyes widened and I gritted my teeth together.

    "If it falls, I'm telling,"  Sherry whispered.

    "Me, too!"  Stevie mouthed silently.

    We ate our dinner politely that Sunday.  There was no giggling.  Stevie didn't jump around in his seat or kick his legs back and forth on his chair in fear the strawberry would fall.  Somehow we knew we'd all be in trouble if the strawberry missile landed on Daddy's head.  We listed to Mommy and Daddy talk about the hotel and Mom's black iris she was ordering from Burpee's flower catalog.

    Months passed and the strawberry became a wet, discolored stain on the ceiling.  I don't know whatever happened to the strawberry.  One day it just wasn't on the ceiling anymore.  I do remember years later asking Mommy what that spot on the ceiling was, just to make sure Sherry and Stevie didn't rat on me; but Mom never fully understood what I was talking about.

(Thanks to Sherry for the illustrations!)

the lake

Today I had decided to stay home all day long.  I had decided to go nowhere.  I needed to get my house in order for Truett's daughter and grandson, Blaine, to come next Wednesday.  I made my mind up early.  So, all morning I pretended to clean the house.  But, my mind and heart have been so disjointed lately, I really wasn't getting anything done.   I even ordered carry-out combination pizza subs from Hungry Howie's Pizza at the B&B here in Fort White for lunch.  So that meant we weren't traveling anywhere today.

You see, every day Truett and I go somewhere.  I take that back.  Every day I drive somewhere and it is usually 30-35 miles there and back.  I'm not really a math person, but that's at least 70 miles a day.  Every day!  And it's wearing me out. 

So today I made my mind up that I wasn't going anywhere!  Period with a capital "P"! 

Well, after Truett and I ate our delicious combination pizza sub sandwiches from the B&B here in Fort White, I got bored.  Truett wanted me to sit and watch TV with him at 12:30 in the afternoon.  Judge Joe Brown.  One hour going on two hours.  Ech!

All I could think about was cleaning my walk-in closet and bathroom.  Eventually, I said, "Hey, I can't do this anymore.  I have things to do."

"Like what?" he asked. 

"Well, grocerying," I answered.  And then Truett suggested we get it done.  So we did.  I drove to Lake City to Winn*Dixie.  Twenty miles up and twenty miles back . . . once again.

I took my Nikon and told Truett I had to drive around the lake at least.  It has been so long since I have photographed anything.  Heck, I was even ready to photograph a duck. . . and if you've read any of my previous blogs... well, then you know I have no attachment to ducks.  I don't know why?  In fact, I looked at all those duck faces today and thought, "Why don't I like you guys?"  Could it be because they have sex in public?  Could it be because their faces are all red and gnarly?  Forgive me ducks, please!

I was pleased with my bird shots around the lake.  It's been a long time coming.

After that, I got a motorized shopping cart for Truett so he could feel a part of our shopping trip: cat food, dog food, paper towels, windex . . .

But, in the end, I suppose the trip to Lake City was worth it. 

Mom and I say all the time, "It doesn't take much to make us happy."

Ducks . . .ibis . . . egrets . . .

Thank you, God!

 

sticky notes

I live my life by sticky notes: $ to Clay, saw chain, hose for vacuum cleaner, Ada's to pick up my slacks.

I took Truett to Shands Rehab at Magnolia Park today.  I made a conscious decision NOT to take my Nikon; but instead take photos, if possible, with my Canon, so my photos are not fantastic. 

The people at Rehab tell me I don't want to walk into the wetlands because of snakes.  So I listen to their advice.  Plus, it is so darn hot right now.  And humid!

Usually, while Truett is learning to walk at rehab, I go to Starbucks for coffee or I wander around the wetlands and take photographs.  But, I can't even do that right now.  It's just too hot and humid at 10:30 in the morning.

So, I check my sticky notes stuffed in my shorts pocket over and over and mentally check things off. 

Today, the only thing I checked off was pick up my purple pants from Ada's.  No money for Clay. . . No chain saw for Gary to trim our fallen tree, and no new vaccum hose for Deanna to vacum with next week.

I did, however after returning home:   do laundry, washed last night's dishes, cooked a tuna casserole, cleaned that mess up, watched TV with Truett until I couldn't take it anymore, checked my lotto ticket and realized we are NOT millionaires, dealt with puppies, and cats and Mom shrieking, "MERRY!" . . . only to find out she could not get her TV to come on. 

(But, in the end, all I had to do was flip her light switch on at the wall) and all was well. This, by the way, was NOT on my sticky notes.

Truett told me my life dealt around sticky notes, and I believe he is finally right about something!