When the Bull Gets the Last Laugh

texas-longhorn

Maybe it was a low point for Dad but for me, it was anything but.

We were living at the Dennis ranch, when Dad came home drunk and decided it was time to act like a real rodeo star. I was standing outside the corral, where we kept one of our two-year-old bulls. Dad saunters over to me and slurs, “ Cono, grab that bull o’r yonder. Hold’em still ‘til I get on. I’m gonna ride this son of a bitch”

“Sure I will, Dad.”

It was better than watching a picture show. While I was putting the rope around the bull’s neck Dad went over and fixed Ike’s spurs to his shoes! Not to his boots because he didn’t even own a pair of boots, but to his shoes! Then he slapped on Ike’s chaps. I helped him get on top of the bull and stood there holding his rope.

“Whenever you’re ready,” I said.

“I’z ready,” he slurred.

I let go.

Dad put one hand up in the air and said, “High, ho, silv……”

That bull didn’t even buck. He just turned around real slow, like he was trying to see what kind of idiot wanted to sit on his back. That slow turn-around was all it took. My Dad fell right off that lazy bull and straight into the dirt, Ike’s spurs dangling from Dad’s shoes.

I turned around and looked in the other direction, so Dad wouldn’t see the laugh in my face. If he was paying attention, he would have seen my shoulders quivering with the same laughter.

He got up and staggered back to the house, mumbling something about killing steak for dinner. Some things sure were funny back then, but other times? You couldn’t find “funny” anywhere you looked.

 

Excerpt from No Hill for a Stepper by C. Dennis-Willingham

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The Rooster Produces

A little note from this all-over-the-map Rooster writer:

Yes, my blog post themes hip hops from poetry to politics, from novel excerpts to photography.

For this post, my former profession has returned. I have once again dipped my toes into that magical pond of childhood.

The following is one of many finger plays/songs in my repertoire.

When you share this with a young one, don’t forget the gestures and enthusiasm!

Bubbles 4

 

 

Now, the chances are pretty good you might see more future blogs for parents and teachers – or anyone who loves interacting with young children.

Note 2: author of this poem is unknown

via Bubble

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The Worry Wrestler

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Ike Dennis

Ike, my grandfather, ain’t mean like his son. Unless he’s breaking a horse or doing something else with purpose, he’s got a smile perched on his leathered face.

He stays cool as a cucumber even when times are hard. I hardly ever see that worry bubble dancing over his head like a cloud of Texas dust that most of us stand under.

He got rid of his worry a long time ago at the age of two when Great Grandpa Jim put him on top of a horse. If  T-R-O-U-B-L-E comes knocking on his door, he just wrestles it off until all that’s left is the T.

 

Excerpt from No Hill for a Stepper by C. Dennis-Willingham

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Do You Like Children?

Not everyone does, you know. Some adults think that those little human “beans” should sprout somewhere else, anywhere but in their close proximity.

Yes, children are loud and can irritate and inflame every nerve to the point where anti-inflamatories don’t work.

Children are curious to a fault – “How come?” “Why do I haf-ta?” “What’s that?” Those questions sometimes makes us grown-ups feel stupid because we don’t always have the internet at hand for research.

But I know that children are magic.

They help us remember what our long-ago years were like.

They remind us of that feeling of satisfaction when the “ah-ha!” moments pop out of nowhere land.

They refill our imagination bucket with all kinds of sweet nuggets of creativity.

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Three years ago and four grandchildren later, ribbons of creativity, once hidden in my DNA, have sprouted again. Thanks to those growing “beans,” the product of their influence is now available here.

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Thank you for taking a look.

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An abrupt rush to judgment

One thing I’ve learned over the years is to take responsibility for my mistakes. No, it wasn’t a big one, but still. Why was I so head strong that my first thought was, “damn, how could they have made me the wrong molds for my teeth?”

I made the call to the orthodontist’s office.

Receptionist: You need to come in so we can see why they don’t fit and do a rescan.

Me: I know why they don’t fit. You didn’t take into account my new crowns. But the ones before fit fine. I really don’t want to have to come in again. (continuing with more blah, blah, blah)

Receptionist: Can I put you on hold for a minute?

NEW receptionist: So how can I help you?

Me: (repeat, sigh and more blah, blah, blah)

NEW receptionist: We really should see you and we’ll make time for you at your convenience.

Me: (sigh) Today at 11:00?

NEW receptionist: Perfect. We’ll see you then.

Sitting in the orthodontist’s chair and ready for them to rectify their mistake, I became enlightened. I had pulled the packet of invisalign’s from an old box and had plunked the wrong set of invisalign’s in my mouthy mouth.

Me: (looking at the orthodontist’s assistant) So my other two boxes at home are the right ones?

Assistant: Should be.

Me: (thinking of time wasted on both our parts because of my blunder) Crap.

Assistant: (smile) Don’t worry. It’s happened before. If you have any problems once you get home and try them, feel free to email me.

And so I did. But not because I had a problem.

Screen Shot 2018-05-01 at 11.45.35 AMReminder: Admit mistakes and move one.

Note to self: check future emails for typos.

via Abrupt

Carolyn Dennis-Willingham2 Comments

It’s Your Song

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Are you comfortable with the company you keep?

the skin that you wear?

the decisions you make –

the great ones, the good ones

the bad ones and,

even the terrible ones?

Do you accept the wrinkles,

the imperfections,

the bones of your being?

I hope so.

This is your life.

Your song.

And only you can sing it.

 

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Discouraging but Deserving

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I like looking at my teach, Mrs. Alexander, at her nice smile and her fancy dress. I keep picturing my mother getting to wear a dress like that someday.

Right before it’s time to go home, Mrs. Alexander starts to teach us a new song called “Home on the Range”.

“Oh give me a home, where the antelope roam and the deer and the antelope play. Where seldom is heard, a discouraging word and the skies are not cloudy all day. How often at night, where the heavens are bright with the light of the glittering stars, have I stood there amazed and asked as I gazed if their glory exceeds that of ours. Home, home on the range….”

I like those words. They make me feel almost as good as when I’m riding on ol’ Polo, free and easy like deer and antelope playing together without any bickering.

I like it that she tells us what the words mean, words like “discouraging.” She says that “discouraging” means that you don’t like something much, like something makes you feel uncomfortable, something that spoils your spirit.

So now I can say, that “Home on the Range” is my new favorite song. I can also say that recess today, sure was discouraging. But damn, sticking that pocketknife in Tommy Burn’s bully thigh sure felt good. He’s deserved it for a coon’s age.

Maybe there are a few clouds today after all.

 

Excerpt of No Hill for a Stepper by C. Dennis-Willingham

 

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via Song

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