from the porches

Locked In

"What?  This can't be happening,"  I thought as I jiggled on the Books-a-Million restroom stall door.  I had had a hard time locking the silly door in the first place; but this was downright ridiculous.  Now I was locked in.

I grasped the sliding bolt and tried to push it to the right.  Nothing happened.  The silly bolt was jammed in the bolt hole.

"Stay calm,"  I told myself.  "Just stay calm."  And then I thought about my favorite TV show, Castle, and wondered how he and Beckett would get out of this situation.  Of course, Beckett would have climbed on Castle's shoulders and escaped through the tiles on the roof.  But, alas, I didn't have Castle or Beckett with me.

"Okay,  try again,"  I mumbled.

So I studied the bolt and wrapped my thumb and forefinger around it and yanked it to the right.

"Dang it!  This is the handicapped stall.  What if my ninety year old mother was in here?"  I could just imagine the panic in her voice as she screamed,  "MERRY!"  But, I doubt if anyone would have heard her, or me for that matter.

Then I glanced around looking for escape routes in the bowels of Books-A-Million.  There were none.  All I saw were a couple of dead roaches lying on their backs with their feet wiggling in the air.  "Gross,"  I thought.  "At least sweep the floors."

Then I wondered,  "Do I scream for help?  Do I bang on the doors?  What do I do?"

"Calm down,"  I reassured myself. 

So I took a deep breath and gently placed my fingers on the slide bolt.  "Here goes,"  I thought.

JERK!

And, magically, the stall door opened.

"FREE AT LAST!"  I blurted.  "THANK YOU, GOD!"

 

 

The Eavesdropper: . . . and like

Almost daily I take myself to lunch.  Today I ate at Chili's in Gainesville.  I am such a creature of habit and rarely stray from the normal club sandwich; but today I chose the babyback ribs and sweet potato fries.  I highly recommend them.

Meanwhile, three young women sat in a booth in front of me.  The waitress asked if they went to the  University of Florida.  One young lady answers,  "No, but like I want to transfer there after I finish with Santa Fe Community College."

Waitress:  "What will you major in?'

Girl 1:  "Like maybe science."  Then the waitress took their order while I kept eating my babyback ribs and eavesdropping.

Girl 2 to Girl 3:  Like where did you go last night?

Girl 3:  Like Bob and I went bar-hopping, and like we had a really good time.

Girl 1:  And like did Bob get wasted?

Oh, my word.  The and likes in their conversation was driving me crazy. 

When I left the restaurant I reflected on the last fourth grade classes I taught in 2010.  One little girl had written an essay about the Fall Festival.  "Hallelujah!"  I remember thinking.  "Now I have something to teach these kids."    The paper went something like this:

I went to the Fall Festival and like it was fun.  I like went into the haunted house and like it scared me to death.  And like this body in a casket raised up and like I screamed and like I ran out of that room, etc. 

I made a copy of her essay and flipped it on the overhead and began my lecture.  First off, I praised and rewarded the "writer" for writing the essay like this because it gave me the opportunity to teach a much needed skill:  the art of getting to the point.  By the end of the essay, I had successfully marked through 43 and likes or like.  Then I pretty much warned the class that if this continued in their essays, then they would like rewrite the whole essay.  Luckily, I never saw the and likes in essays the rest of that school year.

Now back to today's story.  I left Chili's with and likes twirling in my head.  Then I decided to stop at a B&B to get a Pay Day candy bar to take home to Mom.  And like I just changed my mind and like I bought Cheetos Puffs instead, and like they were sooo good.

I left B&B and climbed in the car and my brained screamed, "Stop it with the and likes!" 

So I hummed Christmas Carols and Easter songs the rest of the way home.  And the  likes and and likes evaporated.  Thank the Lord!

It's Not Easy Being a Twin

When it comes to being a twin, I'll tell you right now,  "IT'S NOT EASY!"

My friend, Beth is always saying,  "It must be fun to be a twin," or "I wish I had a twin just like you.  Then I would always have someone to play with."

HA!  Then with a quick little smile I quip,  "Are you nuts?  How would YOU like to have a CLONE living in the same house with YOU?"

No, it's not easy being a twin, especially when your mother dresses you in exactly the same frilly pink dresses with exactly the same frilly pink bows for your hair.  And all I want to do is yank that big bow out of my hair and toss it across the room into the fish aquarium because I want to wear jeans.  But, I can't because the twins have to dress alike.  I WANT MY OWN CLOTHES!

No, it's not easy being a twin especially when we go to Pop's Drug Store.  I walk in the drugstore with visions of a triple dip of Tutti Frutti ice cream floating in my head; but when Pop sees us, he automatically scoops double dips of chocolate ice cream into two cones and says,  "Here you go girls.  Twin scoops for twin girls."  That's when I think I like asparagus better than ice cream.

As my twin and I begin licking our ice cream, we pass a table where two silver-haired women are sitting, sipping vanilla milk shakes.  They look up and croon,   "Oh, how cute.  Twins . . . and you look just alike!" 

Well, I'll tell you right now, I didn't feel cute.  I felt like a freak.  How could I not?  All I had to do was look to my right and see me twice.  Yikes!  That's downright scary!    In fact, I just had an idea for a new horror movie called,  "The Clones"  featuring a good twin (me) and an evil twin (her); and the good twin exposes the evil twin by peeling her face back, revealing a green warty monster.

 No, it's not easy.  In fourth grade my teacher, Mrs. Smith, decided to play a trick on my twin's teacher.  I knew something was suspicious when Mrs. Smith said,  "Merry, I want to trick Mrs. Baylor."  So being an obedient girl, I walked to Sherry's desk and sat down.  Then Mrs. Baylor walked in and said,  "Children, get out a pencil and paper for you weekly spelling test."

Weekly spelling test?  It's only Thursday!  Everybody knows spelling tests are given on Fridays.  No, it's not easy being a twin.  That day I numbered my paper from 1-20 and prayed I knew the words a day earlier.  Then Mrs. Baylor called out, "Number 1 . . . extinguish.  And I knew I was doomed. Extinguish!  What kind of word is that?  I didn't know if it began with an x or an s.  My head was swimming and my palms were sweating. About that time, Mrs. Smith walked into the class and whispered to Mrs. Baylor,  "I believe you have the wrong girl in your class."  Then both teachers threw back their heads and laughed.  That's when I wanted to extinguish Mrs. Smith.

No, it's not easy being a twin, especially when I look at photographs and can't figure out which one is me.  Am I on the left or am I on the right.  Mama says I'm always on the left and my question for her is "Why wasn't my hair combed pretty like hers?  Why does my hair look like a rat's nest?"

It's not easy being a twin, especially when one is spinning too fast on the merry-go-round and her hands slip off and sends her sailing into the slides; and then she ends up with a broken front tooth.  "Now we can tell you apart," shout the mean kids.  "Hey, snaggle-tooth!"  And I want to stuff a rag in my mouth.

The worst thing of all about being a twin is having five other sets of twins in the same grade.  One day Miss Prizzle, the music teacher thought it would be cute to have all six sets of twins dress up like Pilgrims and sing their own special Thanksgiving song.  That's when I looked all all those faces in the audience and wanted to throw up because they're watching a freak show where everyone looks alike.  We may as well have all run away and joined the Ringling Brothers Circus.

It may not be easy being a twin; but I will say my twin is my best friend FOREVER!

In the Clouds

Dear Truett,

I decided to write you a letter to tell you how much I love you.  Four months ago today you passed away.  For four months I have been trying to adapt to a life without you.  I do pretty good most of the time; but then, out of the blue, a great sense of loneliness overwhelms me.

You would be proud of me taking care of business, things I never wanted to do.  Things that you always did like dealing with the computers and getting the phones working again after lightning strikes we've had.  I can hear you now saying,  "Just do it!"

I'll be seventy-one years old tomorrow.  Yep.  Just like you always told me I am the oldest wife you ever had.  Darn.  If you were still alive I would have asked for a Mercedes; and you would have bought me three.

I saw you in the clouds yesterday.  Do you remember how we would see animals in the summer clouds?  Well, yesterday I saw you in the clouds laying on your back under a fluffy comforter.  I just smiled until your form changed.

Sherry and I certainly miss you and Quinn .. . our best friends.

Love you, baby.

Merry

Remembering Merry: Hot Feet

"Ouch!  Ouch! Ouch!  Hot!  Hot!  Hot!"  I cried as I hopped on one foot and then the other.  Then I quickly jumped to a patch of weeds in a ditch for relief.  I sat down and inspected my bare feet.  With a deep breath, I judged the distance to the town's city limit sign.  "At least in town I'll be able to walk on manicured lawns with soft cool grass,"  I thought.

"Not far,"  I thought.  "Not far at all."

I stared at the shimmering asphalt that stretched a half mile ahead.  Ripples of heat waves danced magically before my eyes.  Then I thought of nomads crawling on their bellies toward a mirage.  I was so hot and exhausted and my feet throbbed from the scorching road. 

"Get away!"  I shouted as a sweat bee buzzed in my ears, circled, and landed on the back of my tawny leg.  I slapped at it, but missed.  "Darn!"  I thought.  "He'll be back.  They always come back."  Mom said it was because I was so sweet, and I guessed that was right.

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

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

Suddenly, I had a bright idea.  "I know.  I'll think of cool things."  So first I thought of ice cold watermelon.  I saw red juice streaming down my forearms and dripping from my elbows. 

Next, I thought of the sprinkler in my yard at home.  I watched it rotate in sixteenth seconds around and around.  I imagined soft rainbows hanging in the air.  Rat-a-tat-tat.  I heard the whirring of the sprinkler.  In my mind I saw squishy cool puddles hidden in green blades of grass.  I saw my toes step in the puddles.  "Awww, that feels good,"  I thought as I massaged my feet.

"Ice cream!" I shouted.  "Homemade strawberry ice cream churning in a metal cylinder!"  And then I 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.  I only had to do that once.

Finally, I envisioned a cool summer night with fireflies flickering around me.  I saw me tearing the bodies off of the fireflies to make glowing rings for my fingers.  I saw my hand twirling in the dark forming alphabet letters that spelled my name, and a smile crossed my face.

Slowly, I stood up and judged the distance to the city limit sign again and I decided to run for it.  "One . . . two . . .three. . . GO!"  I yelled and I took off and ran as fast as I could, snake or not. 

"Ouch!  Ouch!  Ouch!  Hot!  Hot!  Hot!"

Remembering Merry: 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, palm up.  "Thaaat willll beeee tennnn dollarrrs," 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 and 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 sync 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 is 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 grinned 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 caress  her lips.  "Indeed.  The world is not complete without the Geat Madam Ishbarr,"   she whispered to herself.

Remembering Merry: The Strawberry

Sunday dinners are always special.  Roasts, mashed potatoes, gravy, and real dessert.  Not fruit cocktail dumped in a bowl.  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 blurted excitedly to Sherry and Stevie.  "Thank goodness it's not that pineapple upside-down cake Mom likes to cook,"  I thought.  I couldn't stand 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 commanded at every meal.  "We're not wasting this food!  Your mother and I work hard to give you kids a decent meal."  Then I thought of all of 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 that horrible, slimy okra . . . or hominy.  Today, anything was worth eating so I could gobble up strawberry shortcake with a soft mound of fluffy whipped cream.

Sherry, Stevie and I sat down in front of our plates.  I looked at Stevie and a grin winked 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 my pesky brother.

Then, at that moment, I heard the sound of Daddy's footsteps in the hallway.  "Now,"  I thought.  "Right now if you're ever gonna do it."

So I tilted the spoon back towards my chest like a slingshot, let go of the tip and watched the plump, red strawberry fly.  OOOPS!  Sherry and Stevie and I looked up to the ceiling right above Daddy's empty chair.  The strawberry stuck to the ceiling, pointy end down, ready to fall.  "Oh, please God, don't let it fall,"  I silently prayed.  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 on Daddy's head like a missile.  We listened to Daddy talk about the hotel he ran, and we listened to Mom talk about a 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 there anymore . . . All that was left was just a faded red spot on the white ceiling.  

I need a man

I was worn to a frazzle as I entered Office Depot.  I asked to speak to a manager because I had to purchase new phones due to lightning strikes.  I explained my delimma.  "I just bought new phones on June 10 because of lightning strikes and I haven't received the email for the warranty gift card and I'm am so frustrated.  The girl said she would email me, but she hasn't.  June has been so expensive for me and I am distraught." 

The manager cooed, "Just calm down.  We'll fix everything.  You'll get your gift card.  They probably didn't put the order in until today since you called in on Saturday."

I sighed.  "I can't afford this anymore.  My husband died and I'm living on Social Security and retirement money  . . . and I can't wait two weeks to get a phone.  My mom has to talk to her daughter from England.  And . . . I'm NOT buying a warranty!  And I don't have internet and I can't blog and .  . . (on and on)."

Then the manager led me to the phones and I chose the same one I had bought just a few weeks ago.  Then she said I might want to purchase a surge protector for the phone.  I just looked at her and questioned,  "They have surge protectors for the phone?"  She nodded and led me to the aisle.  "Now, you put your phone cord here and you hook it up to your device and get a separate cord to plug into . . ." 

"Device?  What are you talking about.  What device?"  Be specific so I can get a picture of it in my brain."

"Well,"  she answers,  "The back of the phone, in the second slot."

That's when I shouted,  "I need a man!" and I glanced to my left to see a young man standing two feet away staring at me.  Blubber . . . blubber. . . blubber!  And I continued,  "No, I don't need a man.  I need my husband back to make these decisions because I am not a math person.  I need that logical brain of his to do these things for me.  You see, I taught writing and I don't understand what you mean when you say 'device'.  You have to be specific.

Well, eventually, I made my purchase and left.  Then I called two very special men to help me reconnect my new phone and my internet.  Thank you, Buzz and David.  I took careful notes about how to unplug my computers and modem/router to protect my computeres from these summer storms.  "Shut off.  Pull out big black wire.  Pull out blue wire."  And on the other computer, "Shut off, pull out big black thing and yellow thing."

I think I've got it now.

My Story: Part 22: Chickens or Ducks

"I don't care about the stupid ducks or the stupid chickens!"  I exclaimed as I shoved myself away from the table and stormed off.  "It's stupid!  It's always stupid!"

Oh, how Truett loved to try to build logic into our family at the dinner table.

"Okay.  Here's one for you," he said as we ate our meatloaf and mashed potatoes.  "A man has to get a fox, a chicken, and a sack of corn across a river.  He has a rowboat, and it can only carry him and one other thing."

I rolled my eyes and thought, "NOT AGAIN!"  But, Truett continued.

"If the fox and the chicken are left together, the fox will eat the chicken."

By now I'm getting a good visual of this . . .   poor chicken, feathers flying in the air and the head in a fox's mouth, blood dripping on the ground.  And I take another bite of meatloaf.  And Truett continues.

"If the chicken and the corn are left together, the chicken will eat the corn.  So what does the man do?"

"Please shoot me now,"  I thought. "Or better yet, give me a piece of paper and crayons so I can draw it out for God's sake." 

You see, I work from the right side of my brain most of the time so do not present me with logic problems because I don't want to be logical.  I want to be free, especially at supper!

But night after night logic problems became the 'main course' of the dinner menu.  Clay told a friend once, "I hate those ducks!  Don't ever eat supper at my house or you will have to answer questions about ducks!"  And it scared his friend because all he knew was that ducks had feathers and lived in ponds.  So the friend never came to dinner at our house.

Night after night the logic riddles poured out of Truett's mouth.

"There are 2 ducks in front of 2 other ducks.  There are 2 ducks behind 2 other ducks.  There are 2 ducks beside 2 other ducks.  How many ducks are there?"

Clay and I sat there at that dining room table in agony.  Meawhile, Merry Jennifer's brain was clicking away, coming up with the right answer.  And all I'm thinking was, "Give me paper and crayons and let me draw it out!"

Truett tried to make us all logical, bless his heart.  But some people are born differently and work mostly from the right side of the brain. 

I miss you, Truett.  You and your silly logic problems.  But I still loved you even though you frustrated me.  And hey, by the way . . . I still don't care about the chickens or the ducks!

My Story: Part 21: The Dad and the Snake

"Are you out of your ever-loving mind?  There's no way we're having a snake in this house!"   I shrieked.  But, that didn't stop Truett from giving in to Clay's wants.  He and Clay caught a red rat snake and put it in a terrarium in Clay's bedroom.  They put branches and rocks in the terrarium for the snake to slither on, a piece of plexiglass for the top cover, and a large rock on top of that to keep the snake in.

"Well, I'll tell you now, Clay.  I will NEVER go in your bedroom again.  That means YOU have to clean it . . . and you keep your door closed!"  I yelled.  My family plainly understood my fear of snakes, but that didn't seem to bother Clay or Truett.  "Oh, your mother is just being silly about this,"  Truett told Clay.  I didn't feel silly.  I felt afraid.

Several months later I drove home from school and found my whole family waiting on me in the front yard.  Truett, Clay, Merry Jennifer, the yard cats, the dogs, and Dixie chicken.  "Hmmmm!" I thought as I headed to the front steps.  I took a couple of steps up when Truett said,  "I wouldn't go in just yet.  We've got something to tell you."

I paused and glanced back at Truett.  "Okay,"  I answered.  "What?"

"Clay's snake has escaped . . . but we'll find it."

"I knew it!  I knew it!  I can't trust anybody around here!"  Then I opened the front door, ran to the big comfortable chair, sat down and  pulled my feet underneath me and stated,  "I'm Not moving until you find that snake!" 

The hours ticked by while Truett and Clay looked for the snake . . . but they never found it . . .ever.  I suppose my biggest fear from that point on was finding a snake skin.  You do know what that means, don't you?

I still loved you though, Truett.  Always did.  Always will.