7-24-09...MAMA'S BREAD
Mama made the best bread in the world. Daughter speaking? I'll admit that but just ask anyone who knew her. Nothing better!! Often when we were having a rough time of it Mama would say how she wished there was something she could do to help out. Daddy didn't think much of that idea either. “Kids need you Lucille”, was his answer to her.
One day a (I'll just say she was persnikity) person was at our house and Mama was making bread. I don't know why she was there but I think she purposely hung around during the rising and cooking process hoping she would get a taste. Of course when Mama took the loaves of bread out of the oven she offered the 'lady'? A slice of the bread slathered in home made butter. The eager smart elec grabbed it and proceeded to put a dollop of Mamas home made strawberry jam on it without it being offered. No thank you, no it was good, no nothing except to eagerly scoff it down her proper hatch. Rude, Rude Rude!!!
Now the 'lady'? had money it was plain to see. She had the nerve to ask my Mama for a loaf of that bread to take with her. I was indignant telling her we would eat it ourselves but Mama gave me The Look and made me apologize to the old heiffer. Then my sweet kind Mama standing there in her faded and patched dress, with red raw hands, proceeded to wrap a loaf of that bread in a clean flour sack dish rag and handed it to that ol' bat with a sweet smile on her face. She took it and was gone. I was madder'n'a old wet setting hen but Mama told me to let it go and don't worry about it because if that lady enjoyed it that much then she should have it because she probably didn't know how to make it for herself. “And besides”, she added “We have more”.
As the story spread friends and neighbors started asking Mama to make them a loaf of bread and they all paid her for it even though she told them if they would just bring her flour and yeast she would make it. No, they paid her for it. That kept up until Daddy was again on his feet. But remember the ol' bag who first got a loaf of bread without paying? You'd think she had a concious attack and came back to pay for bread wouldn't you? But Nope she came back all right and got bread often but the old battleaxe never paid a cent for it. Nope Not a cent!!!
Those friends and neighbors who did buy the bread were just trying to help us in their own way. Made Mama feel good and of course they liked Mamas bread. Yep! That is the way I was taught over the years. My indignation over that incidence is still fresh in my mind though now that I'm thinking about it. I think Mama hoped that the woman would learn from it and that is my hope too. She is gone now. I hope she is in Heaven with my Mama. Mama can teach her a lot. YEP!!!!!
Saturday, July 25, 2009
SPECIAL TIMES & SPECIAL MEMORIES
7-23-09...Special Times & Special Memories
When we were kids Daddy worked in the Coal mines in Oklahoma. Sometimes we would go with him and live there so we could be with him. Daddy usually stayed in a hotel in a room with three other men from Monday to Friday night. On Friday night after work they all came home only to have to leave again on Sunday evening and go back to Oklahoma for a week of work in the coal mines. Usually we went in summer when I was out of school but three different times I remember going during a school term. I didn't like the new school but I did like being with my Daddy.
The coal mine was Union operated and often came out on strike. At those times Daddy had no job so we came back to Arkansas. I don't remember what Daddy did to feed us then but I do know he did. If it was summer he went to the fields and worked to harvest whatever crop was in season. Berries, corn, spinach, peas, cotton, and others. As soon as my Brother and I could make a few cents we went too.
In Oklahoma we lived in an apartment. I walked 6 blocks to school morning and night with a High School girl who also lived in the apartments. Lots of other families were there from home for the same reason we were. I remember the Apartment had no fridge and furnishings were sparce. I don't remember taking anything with us except clothing and dishes for the kitchen. There was one bathroom for I think it was four apartments on the third floor where we lived.
My Uncle Claude lived in the Oklahoma town as did all his kids. We visited our Family while there a lot. That is where I got drawn in to music. We would go to Uncle Claude's house and they played music. Mama played harmonica (which we called a french harp) and boy howdy she could make that thing talk. Uncle Claude played the fiddle, Betty played a mean piano, and Leo's wife played the Guitar. Now let me tell you that little house rocked with country and gospel music and singing. Whooppee! The year I was seven I would join in the singing and from then on I was hooked. Some of those songs I still sing.
My Brother Norman was only two, three, and four at the time and he locked us in every place we went in, even locked himself in the bathroom once and the old janitor had to walk up three flights of stairs and take the Bathroom door down. Then again Norman locked Me, Mama , and himself in the apartment. I suspect that the locks were not very good in the first place.
On Friday nights when Daddy got home from work we walked down to the soda fountain in the Drug Store. Mama and Daddy got fountain cokes and I got a sundae or some other kind of treat. Norman got bites out of my ice cream and sips of the cokes. I'll always remember the special smell of that drug store. A smell I can't really describe except to say it was many smells blended together. I have never again smelled the same smell. I'll know it when I do. I do remember the sweet smiles on my Parents faces as they watched us enjoy our treats which I know now they really couldn't afford. A treat was really a treat to us because we didn't get 'stuff' any time we wanted it. If we had got everything we wanted like that we would have had no appreciation for it and I wouldn't be sitting here with tears in my eyes right now. I still treasure and appreciate all those special times and special treats after 60 years. How many kids today will have those memories?
When we were kids Daddy worked in the Coal mines in Oklahoma. Sometimes we would go with him and live there so we could be with him. Daddy usually stayed in a hotel in a room with three other men from Monday to Friday night. On Friday night after work they all came home only to have to leave again on Sunday evening and go back to Oklahoma for a week of work in the coal mines. Usually we went in summer when I was out of school but three different times I remember going during a school term. I didn't like the new school but I did like being with my Daddy.
The coal mine was Union operated and often came out on strike. At those times Daddy had no job so we came back to Arkansas. I don't remember what Daddy did to feed us then but I do know he did. If it was summer he went to the fields and worked to harvest whatever crop was in season. Berries, corn, spinach, peas, cotton, and others. As soon as my Brother and I could make a few cents we went too.
In Oklahoma we lived in an apartment. I walked 6 blocks to school morning and night with a High School girl who also lived in the apartments. Lots of other families were there from home for the same reason we were. I remember the Apartment had no fridge and furnishings were sparce. I don't remember taking anything with us except clothing and dishes for the kitchen. There was one bathroom for I think it was four apartments on the third floor where we lived.
My Uncle Claude lived in the Oklahoma town as did all his kids. We visited our Family while there a lot. That is where I got drawn in to music. We would go to Uncle Claude's house and they played music. Mama played harmonica (which we called a french harp) and boy howdy she could make that thing talk. Uncle Claude played the fiddle, Betty played a mean piano, and Leo's wife played the Guitar. Now let me tell you that little house rocked with country and gospel music and singing. Whooppee! The year I was seven I would join in the singing and from then on I was hooked. Some of those songs I still sing.
My Brother Norman was only two, three, and four at the time and he locked us in every place we went in, even locked himself in the bathroom once and the old janitor had to walk up three flights of stairs and take the Bathroom door down. Then again Norman locked Me, Mama , and himself in the apartment. I suspect that the locks were not very good in the first place.
On Friday nights when Daddy got home from work we walked down to the soda fountain in the Drug Store. Mama and Daddy got fountain cokes and I got a sundae or some other kind of treat. Norman got bites out of my ice cream and sips of the cokes. I'll always remember the special smell of that drug store. A smell I can't really describe except to say it was many smells blended together. I have never again smelled the same smell. I'll know it when I do. I do remember the sweet smiles on my Parents faces as they watched us enjoy our treats which I know now they really couldn't afford. A treat was really a treat to us because we didn't get 'stuff' any time we wanted it. If we had got everything we wanted like that we would have had no appreciation for it and I wouldn't be sitting here with tears in my eyes right now. I still treasure and appreciate all those special times and special treats after 60 years. How many kids today will have those memories?
NEIGHBORS
7-21-09...GOOD NEIGHBORS
Used to be a little community like I grew up in neighbors were just that, Neighbors. Now you are called a nosy old busybody if you try to be neighborly. Trust and mutual understanding all seemed to have blown out into the wind somewhere.
When I was a child everyone helped everyone and everyone knew when someone needed help. It wasn't because someone ran around with a sign on their backs proclaiming “I'm Hungry. Feed Me” or some such thing either. It was because people genuinely cared about their neighbor.
There wasn't much money anywhere but there were friends and neighbors who were there to help.
Food was a big thing. We grew and raised and processed, and killed, and gathered our food. And we shared. If someone was sick there was food brought and prepared for them. Your washing, your cleaning, your chores, and you, were tended to by neighbors. Whatever help you needed you got. In turn you did the same for them.
If someone had a big crop the work and the bounty was shared without question. If I had two pairs of shoes and yours got too small you got a pair of mine.
There was trust then too. I know there were bad people then too but somehow I guess I didn't know that then for some reason. Now seems like no one trusts anyone.
We kept our elders at home and cared for them instead of ripping them off like people are doing now.
No one was laying in wait to steal from you but to give you more.
I guess that was an advantage of small community living. I don't know because I didn't live in town but even small communities are not the same anymore either. Now you may come home and find you have been robbed or vandalized.
Three summers ago I had two peach trees just loaded with ripe beautiful peaches. I watched them and waited for the right time to harvest and get them all worked up for eating all winter. I had told several people they would be welcome to some because there were so many. I was willing to share them but not to have them done the way they were.
One morning early I was going to pick peaches. I knew there would most likely be at least two bushels. No one had took me up on coming to pick and share so I was planning to take some and give them away to several people.
I had two big grocery bags to pick in. The trees are down in the front and not close to the house. I walked down there and just stopped with my mouth open when I saw my peaches. Did I say Peaches? Well that was the wrong choice of words because there was nary a peach to be seen. Someone had come in the night and stripped every peach in sight. Not even a peach on the ground was seen. I mean those suckers had cleaned me out lock stock and barrel. YEP! Not even the smell of a peach was left. That was bad enough but when I looked over at the plum tree it was desecrated something awful. Someone had knocked the plums down on the ground and must have gotten mad because they were not ripe and started stomping on them. A few limbs were broken off the tree as well.
Now I would have give some peaches to anyone who asked be it friend or stranger. They could have had some peaches just for the asking. I had to many and didn't need all of them, I wanted to share, even tried to share, but this was too much for my simple mind to comprehend. I wasn't so much mad but more hurt. I don't know who did it but I hope they really used and enjoyed the peaches and didn't just do it for a lark. I will not believe it was someone I know.
It is getting harder every day to trust someone enough to call them a neighbor. Neighbor used to mean something. They were someone to count on, someone who was there for you, they were friends. I'm finding it very hard to believe that there is no one left who is a real Neighbor. Very hard indeed.
Used to be a little community like I grew up in neighbors were just that, Neighbors. Now you are called a nosy old busybody if you try to be neighborly. Trust and mutual understanding all seemed to have blown out into the wind somewhere.
When I was a child everyone helped everyone and everyone knew when someone needed help. It wasn't because someone ran around with a sign on their backs proclaiming “I'm Hungry. Feed Me” or some such thing either. It was because people genuinely cared about their neighbor.
There wasn't much money anywhere but there were friends and neighbors who were there to help.
Food was a big thing. We grew and raised and processed, and killed, and gathered our food. And we shared. If someone was sick there was food brought and prepared for them. Your washing, your cleaning, your chores, and you, were tended to by neighbors. Whatever help you needed you got. In turn you did the same for them.
If someone had a big crop the work and the bounty was shared without question. If I had two pairs of shoes and yours got too small you got a pair of mine.
There was trust then too. I know there were bad people then too but somehow I guess I didn't know that then for some reason. Now seems like no one trusts anyone.
We kept our elders at home and cared for them instead of ripping them off like people are doing now.
No one was laying in wait to steal from you but to give you more.
I guess that was an advantage of small community living. I don't know because I didn't live in town but even small communities are not the same anymore either. Now you may come home and find you have been robbed or vandalized.
Three summers ago I had two peach trees just loaded with ripe beautiful peaches. I watched them and waited for the right time to harvest and get them all worked up for eating all winter. I had told several people they would be welcome to some because there were so many. I was willing to share them but not to have them done the way they were.
One morning early I was going to pick peaches. I knew there would most likely be at least two bushels. No one had took me up on coming to pick and share so I was planning to take some and give them away to several people.
I had two big grocery bags to pick in. The trees are down in the front and not close to the house. I walked down there and just stopped with my mouth open when I saw my peaches. Did I say Peaches? Well that was the wrong choice of words because there was nary a peach to be seen. Someone had come in the night and stripped every peach in sight. Not even a peach on the ground was seen. I mean those suckers had cleaned me out lock stock and barrel. YEP! Not even the smell of a peach was left. That was bad enough but when I looked over at the plum tree it was desecrated something awful. Someone had knocked the plums down on the ground and must have gotten mad because they were not ripe and started stomping on them. A few limbs were broken off the tree as well.
Now I would have give some peaches to anyone who asked be it friend or stranger. They could have had some peaches just for the asking. I had to many and didn't need all of them, I wanted to share, even tried to share, but this was too much for my simple mind to comprehend. I wasn't so much mad but more hurt. I don't know who did it but I hope they really used and enjoyed the peaches and didn't just do it for a lark. I will not believe it was someone I know.
It is getting harder every day to trust someone enough to call them a neighbor. Neighbor used to mean something. They were someone to count on, someone who was there for you, they were friends. I'm finding it very hard to believe that there is no one left who is a real Neighbor. Very hard indeed.
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