Making Snuggies

It was one of those moments when my daughter and her husband wished there had been a camera rolling. From their bed, they watched TV while the kids watched TV in the other room.
Suddenly, the bedroom door flew open and banged against the wall. Three-year-old Greg, undoubtedly destined to be an actor, stood there and piped, “What are you guys doing in here? Making snuggies?”
Later, his mother told me of the incident and Greg, hearing us laugh, jumped out of bed, ran down the hall to his parent’s bedroom, and repeated his door slamming performance four more times!

Worst Present- Email to my Daughter

Hey Martha,
The mirror was the worst Christmas present I ever got. I took it into the bathroom where the sun was streaming through the window and looked for the stray black hair I always get on my chin. I couldn’t see well enough, so I turned the mirror to the magnifying side.
What a shock! All kinds of new things showed up. I wondered about the brown spot on my cheek that I hadn’t seen before. Red streaks and puffiness lurked under both eyes and one eyelid sagged.
Further investigation revealed blotchy, dry skin and the stray hair. No, not one hair, but several which I quickly extracted with my dandy tweezers. Next, my eyes focused on my unruly hair that insisted on sticking out at the sides.
When I revealed my findings to the family, I was surprised at their response.
You know how Jimi likes to tease. He said, “Oh, I almost said something but decided against it.”
Not to be outdone, Holly piped, “Grandma, I tried to fix a paper bag to put over your head, but I couldn’t get the eye holes just right.”
Janet called Christmas Day and said she had phoned Dan after we left there on Thanksgiving and asked about me He said, ‘She looks great but has a little trouble getting up and down.’ I was feeling pretty good about myself until the mirror fessed up.  Oh, well, I’ll have to hang tough.  Of course, I’m joking. The mirror is great. I can see EVERYTHING. Thanks a million.

Love,
Mom

Tale of Woe

It was a stressful time in my life. My husband was seriously ill, and two of our kids were using illegal drugs. Raising seven teen-agers had proven to be tougher than I had anticipated.




When a friend asked how I was doing, my pent-up fears and frustrations came spilling out in a torrent of words like a bucket dumping water. My friend listened and nodded sympathetically. Finishing my tale of woe, I said, “I think I’m on the nerve of a vergous breakdown.”



My friend, trying to keep a straight face, answered, “Maybe you are!”

The Old Buck Sheep

In the 1870’s my great grandfather, William Smith, had an old buck sheep that had knocked over everyone in the family. The sheep chased Clara, his daughter, and fortunately, ran on past her when she stumbled and fell. William’s wife, Sarah, wanted her husband to get rid of the sheep after she had a run-in with the mean thing, but William said he couldn’t get anything for him and wasn’t going to give him away.
This particular sheep could buck without backing up to get a start. He would keep going ahead, bucking at every step.
One day, another daughter, Jen, had to carry a pail of milk out of the barnyard. She managed to lift it over the fence, then started to run for the gate. She had a stick in one hand when she saw the sheep coming. She tried to get the triangle behind the open gate and had the stick raised, ready to strike, but she blacked out.
When she regained consciousness, her shaker bonnet was in one spot and her switch in another. There wasn’t an animal in sight. She finally got back into the barn and when the family asked where she had been, she answered, “A person could be killed outside and you’d never know it.”
Another daughter, Maggie, was carrying two buckets of milk one day when the nasty old sheep got after her. She ran for the fence and was bumped at every step so that all the milk had spilled by the time she reached it.
The children got into the habit of running through the barnyard, and if their father didn’t meet them to chase the sheep away, they could climb up on the lower half of the cow stable door.
When the sheep finally knocked Father over the woodpile he was so sore he couldn’t walk upstairs. He was so angry, he said, “I’ll sell him if I only get 50 cents.”
His wife said, “It’s too bad that the old sheep didn’t strike father first."

Our Senior Moment

My husband of fifty-two years waited for me in the driver’s seat of our car, the motor already running. I hurried from the house and climbed in beside him. Because he had forgotten his wallet once before, I asked, “Did you remember to bring your wallet?”
“Oh, no. I forgot. I’ll go back and get it,” he said, getting out of the car. He started toward the house and felt his pockets. Flinging out his arms, he looked back at me. “I don’t have my keys.”
Grabbing my own keys, I got out and told him I would get his wallet and keys. “You better wait in the car since the motor is running,” I said.
He agreed.  In the house, I quickly found the wallet but not the keys. Then I said to myself, How did he start the car without his keys?”
As I walked down the sidewalk toward the car, I could see my husband’s embarrassed grin through the windshield. I couldn’t rib him much because it was a senior moment for me too. We couldn’t stop laughing.

A True Story About a Hair Trigger Rifle

Jim Smith, a 77-year-old retiree of Oroville, California, recalls growing up during the 40’s in Pleasanton, a small California town where nothing much happened, but if it did, everyone heard about it. Jim says that at age fourteen he had a frightening experience that had the town buzzing and left an imprint on his brain forever.
After borrowing a 22 rifle and being warned about its hair-trigger, he had begged his father to let him go target shooting with some friends the next day. They would only be going to the Sewer Farm, he said. The Sewer Farm, a stinky place abounding with tall weeds and mud hens, beckoned to a boy looking for some fun on a summer day.
Jim says his father explained the dangers of inexperienced and unsupervised shooting and refused to let him go, so he went on to bed. He fretted about how to tell the boys because his family, like many others, didn’t have a phone.
The next morning after his father left for work, Jim eased the screen door open and crept onto the big front porch with the borrowed rifle at his side. Knowing his mother was busy canning tomatoes he decided to go to the Sewer Farm and be back before she missed him. She was used to him spending hours in the fields behind the house and playing ball at the Elementary School across the street. Some days he wouldn’t come home until he was hungry.
He scampered down to the main road, pausing once to look back. Good. All was quiet in the two-story house on the hill. His mother hadn’t seen him. Continuing on his way, he spotted the 1932 Chevrolet flatbed pickup at the foot of the hill with all his friends stuffed inside. Jim says his heart fluttered with excitement. He handed the rifle to Ben, climbed into the flatbed, and the pickup started down the country road.
In a few minutes, the Chevrolet pulled over and parked next to the Sewer Farm. The boys jumped from the flatbed to the ground, Ben still holding the rifle.
Hearing a loud gunshot close to his ear, Jim says he turned around, ready to yell at Ben for shooting the rifle so close to everyone, then he saw blood shooting out of his own mouth. In one horrifying moment, he realized he had been shot in the head.
The boys turned in unison and stared at Jim, their mouths open. Steve shouted that Jim had been shot and another boy reported that blood was shooting out Jim’s neck.
Dazed, Jim heard Ben wail, “I didn’t even have my finger on the trigger. It went off all by itself when I jumped down!”
Steve ordered, “Get back in the truck. We’ve got to get him to the doctor!”
With shrieks, moans, and scared faces, the boys quickly climbed back into the flatbed, and Ben helped Jim into the cab of the truck. Steve made a screeching U-turn and the pickup sped back down Main Street.
Ben plugged his finger into the hole in Jim’s neck, but the blood spilled out of Jim’s mouth, onto the floor and seat.
“It keeps coming!” Ben screamed.
Fear gripped Jim as he choked on his own blood and shook uncontrollably Thinking he might die, he looked at Steve and gasped, “Tell my Mom.”
“I will,” Steve promised. In a few minutes the pickup skidded to a stop in front of the doctor’s office. Jim says his family and Steve filled him in later on what happened next. After the boys lifted Jim out of the car, Steve raced back to the Smith house on the hill. He bounded up the porch steps and shouted through the screen door, at Jim’s sister, “Jim got shot in the head!”
Jim’s mother raced from the kitchen, her face stricken with horror. “Is he dead?” she shrieked.
Steve said, “He’s still alive. Come on. I’ll take you to the doctor’s office.”
Jim’s mother ran down the porch steps behind Steve and attempted to jump into the pickup. Before she had completely seated herself, Steve, in his haste, prematurely started the engine, causing her to lose her balance. Slipping on the bloody seat prevented her from catching herself and she fell to the ground. In a heartbeat though, she sprang to her feet and heaved herself back into the front seat, slamming the door behind her.
Jim’s sister, her eyes wide, watched the unbelievable scene from the porch and screamed, “Mama!”
Back at the doctor’s office, Jim saw his mother rush in, looking like she had been rolled in blood and tomato juice and peppered with dirt. When the doctor put his hand on her shoulder and assured her that he would be all right, Jim felt immense relief. Up to that moment, he had his doubts.
Today, many years later, having faint scars on his cheek and neck to prove the accident really happened, Jim looks back on this horrible day and marvels that he survived being shot in the head without having any lasting complications and able to raise a family.
How was Jim able to survive? He says the bullet entered his neck under the jawbone, nicked his tongue, and lodged in the opposite cheek. Weeks after the accident, Jim complained of a knot in his jaw. X-rays revealed a tooth that had been knocked on its side during the accident. The removal of the tooth marked the end of a terrible but miraculous event.
Is there a moral to this story? Jim says, “You bet there is. First, you need training before handling any gun. Second, if your gun has a hair-trigger, think twice before using it. Third, carry your gun with the barrel pointed toward the ground, away from people. Fourth, listen to those who know more than you do. I wish I had listened to my dad."
Jim chuckles. “One good thing came out of it though. I get to see the expressions on my grandchildren’s faces when I tell them my story.”

Pitch White

My five-year-old grandson, Greg, put his tanned arm next to his mother’s and said, “Mama, your arm is pitch white!”

It Works Every Time

One day my granddaughter, Sherry, age four, went out to our back yard to play on the swing. In a while I heard her fuss a little then she became quiet. I decided to investigate and found her lying on the ground, barely conscious. She had jumped off the swing and it had hit her in the back of the head.  I carried her to the house and laid her on the couch. When she said she couldn’t see me, I panicked and called for an ambulance.  After the operator called for help, she told me to hang on while she contacted Sherry’s mother at work.
Later, in the Emergency Room, the doctor examined Sherry and said she had a concussion, but didn’t think it was serious.  Even though the doctor said she was all right, her mother and I still worried because Sherry said she couldn’t see the various items that the doctor held up.
Finally, the nurse held up a sucker and asked,
“What color is this?”
Sherry quickly answered, “Yellow.”
The nurse winked at us and said, “It works every time.”

Hannah Stories

Three-year-old Hannah jumped up and down for several minutes then sank to the floor and said, “My legs are dizzy!”

***********
When Holly announced to the family that her four-year-old daughter, Hannah, had made grilled cheese sandwiches all by herself, Hannah’s grandfather jokingly said to Hannah, “You didn’t make me a grilled cheese sandwich!”

Hannah replied, “I made you a boy cheese sandwich!”
***********
Sunday night we had peach cobbler and I asked to have mine heated up since it was cold from the refrigerator.  The next night, four-year-old Hannah passed out dishes of strawberry shortcake and asked if I wanted mine heated up.

Delicious Cake Makes Thrifty Treat

Got an old jar of apricots or peaches that has lost that blush of youth but still has a spark of life? Transform it into a cake good enough to set before a prince. This dessert is easy to make and will bring you compliments. Make plenty if you plan to serve at a ball. Like Cinderella, it disappears quickly.


CINDERELLA CAKE
Mash thoroughly or mix in a blender, 1 qt. Any kind of fruit. Put in large bowl. Add 2 c. sugar, 1 c. cooking oil, 2 eggs, 2 t. lemon juice, and mix well.

Mix together 4 c. flour, 1 t. salt, 4 t. cinnamon, ¾ t. cloves, 3 level t. soda, 1 ½ t. nutmeg. Add 1 c. raisins (chocolate chips, if desired) and 1 c. chopped nuts.
Add the dry ingredients to the fruit mixture and mix well. Put into greased and floured pans. Makes 1 pan (13x9 inches) and 1 loaf pan or tube pan. Bake at 350 for 45 min. to 1 hour. Done when toothpick comes out dry. Ice if desired.

Can't Fool Me

I served my family a poor man’s version of “Chicken Fried Steak,” consisting of a hamburger patty dipped in beaten egg, coated with seasoned flour, and fried. I had not made this before and asked my family how they liked it.

My teen-aged son said, “I don’t know, Mom.
It tastes like hamburger to me!”

Banana Nightmare

I keep having this recurring nightmare, but it’s not a dream. It’s real. It begins with my husband coming home from the grocery store and depositing a huge bag of ripe bananas on the kitchen table.
“Look at this,” he says, a grin spreading across his face. “I got this big bag of bananas for only 99 cents!”
Staring at the bulging bag, I hear myself say, “That was a good buy, dear, but what are we going to do with so many?”
The words echo in my head, having heard them before.
“Can’t you make some banana bread?” An innocent look masks my husband’s face.
“I guess,” I answer. Because the bananas are too ripe to keep, I know I have to start baking right away and postpone my other plans.  Later, I mash the bananas with a fork and plunk them into the mixer bowl along with the eggs and other ingredients. As the bowl turns, I ponder about my situation and decide to quit complaining. After all, my husband was only trying to save some money. He was a good husband.  The last time I made banana bread, I watched my husband slice one of the pretty golden loaves and take a bite. Seeing him smile and rub his tummy, I suddenly realized that he didn’t give a hoot about saving a few cents on bananas. He just wanted the banana bread!

See my recipe below.

NIGHTMARE BANANA NUT BREAD
½ c. cooking oil
2 c. flour
1 c. sugar
1 tsp. baking soda
2 eggs, beaten
½ tsp. baking powder
3 ripe bananas, mashed with fork
¾ tsp. salt
3 Tbs. milk
1 tsp. vanilla
½ c. chopped nuts
1 c. chocolate chips (optimal)

Mix liquid ingredients in mixer, reserving the milk. Mix together the flour, baking soda, baking powder and salt in another bowl. Add nuts and chocolate chips to flour mixture.  Alternately, add milk and flour mixture to the wet ingredients in the mixer bowl. Mix well and pour into two greased and floured loaf pans. Bake 350 degrees for about one hour or until toothpick comes out clean. Good with cream cheese.

Bad Night

Last night I had a bad allergy attack from eating something containing corn and woke up gasping for air. Poor Jack, startled and awakened by the noise, asked what was wrong. I managed to jump out of bed and say, “Can’t breath. Pray for me!” I ran to the bathroom, drank some cold water, and in a few minutes, recovered. All was quiet in the bedroom and I wondered why Jack hadn’t checked on me. Didn’t he care?

When I returned to the bedroom I discovered that waking Jack so abruptly had caused him to have chest pains. He said the only thing he could do was pray. I felt so bad because he had chest pains off and on the rest of the night.  I laughed and said to him, “What if we had been found dead? No one would have known what happened to us.”  He chuckled. “At least we would have gone together.”

Bad Dream Came True

While on our way down P Street to the hospital to visit a family member, my husband and I heard a loud noise that appeared to come from our car. My husband pulled to a stop at an intersection and got out to take a look. Getting back in the car, he reported seeing a lot of oil leaking onto the pavement.

A tow truck arrived in ten minutes and the driver determined that the differential had gone out. I walked the short block to the hospital and my husband rode home in the tow truck, confident that my brother, a mechanic, would be able to make the repairs.  The next morning my daughter called to tell me about a dream she had the night before. In her dream, she saw something leaking out of our car as someone hauled it down P Street.  She said the license plate of our car was 606you.
My skin prickled as I related the incident to her. “The oil leaked from the car as you saw in your dream,” I said. “The real trouble was the u-joint!”
My daughter gasped and we marveled that, once more, a member of our family had demonstrated psychic abilities.

Backward Steps

Family life is never dull. Below are some tidbits and memories of funny times, even some recipes. Enjoy!

When I get out of bed at night, I walk between the bathroom and my bed with my eyes partially closed. Sound funny? Because I don’t sleep well, I reason that if I don’t let myself become wide-awake I’ll get back to sleep faster.

One night, on my way back to bed, I turned around with my eyes closed as usual, planning to sit on the edge of the bed. I took a step backwards, expecting the backs of my legs to touch the bed. The bed wasn’t there. Realizing I had miscalculated the distance, I continued to step backwards.
Peering at me through the darkness, my husband asked, “What are you doing?”
When I explained, we both had a laugh. Then I really was awake.