Toothless in a Fur Coat

Unknown-4

Hardly Saddler’s rolled up his wagon, pitched a tent and started up his Medicine Show. He told us about his elixirs and about how, if we bought them, they could treat most of our ailments. If he had an elixir for meanness, I would have bought a bottle right then and there, mixed it into a Pearl beer and taken it straight home to Dad.

Hardley Saddler had all kinds of shows to see and games to play. One of them was a contest to see who could hammer their one big nail the fastest into the wooden board. This contest was only open to girls, since there were other contests open for boys.

“Hey, look who’s enterin’ the contest,” Dorothy says , spitting a watermelon seed at my face. I spit one back and see Aunt Nolie and Genevieve, Dorothy’s sister, step up to the boards.

Besides Aunt Nolie and Genevieve, there were five other ladies lined up at the board. The whistle blew and there they were, those gals pounding their nails in such a hurry you would have thought they were putting up a church roof to keep Jesus dry before a storm. We were all cheering and a hollering for our favorite girl and wouldn’t you know it? I was still picturing Freezer’s eyeballs twitching and Aunt Nolie hammering something else.

Aunt Nolie got real close to winning, her face just dripping with girl sweat. But Genevieve slammed that nail in quicker than a racehorse coming out the gate.

After Genevieve was declared the winner, I couldn’t believe what the first prize was. Genevieve had won herself a brand new, over-the-knee fur coat. Even the folks who had rooted for someone else to win were hooting and clapping that at least one person in Rotan owned a new fur coat.

The next morning  peeked out the window and saw Lottie, Genevieve’s mother, standing outside her cabin, a cigarette dangling from her bottom lip, her bare feet in the snow. She looked over and waved to me like she does every morning. But on this particular day, she waved like she was the Queen of England except she was wearing nothing but a toothless grin and a brand new over-the-knee fur coat.

Ain’t that a pisser?

 

A true story from No Hill for a Stepper.

 

photo credit

via Particular

More than Nostalgia

The wonderful thing about writing down memories is keeping them. Because later, like me, you will find those written words.

I wrote this 26 years ago when my son was two years old:

scan0002

As grown-ups, we have learned much about life. But we learn much more by watching children experience and discover the world anew. I am about to be the grandmother of my fourth grandchild. I have much yet to learn.

Childhood and it’s atmospheric beauty!

IMG_1460

(my daughter’s first child — my second grandchild)

I am forever grateful.

 

 

 

 

via Atmospheric

Awareness

rené-magritte-untitled-(shell-in-the-form-of-an-ear)

Day One:

It poured on my parade of glee

a deluge in my eyes

the incidence,

no coincidence

Lost days, a sad demise.

Day Two:

Once again the morning comes

the sun makes its reprise

I leap in joy

’till learnt the ploy

in the snake’s unveiling eyes.

Day Three:

Hope knocks on my door and says

“Forgot we are allies?”

I turn and ear

from which I hear

“Self pity, so unwise.”

Day Four:

Rain or sun, it matters not

life’s twists and turns surprise

for if not so

we’d fail to know

the blessings in disguise.

 

 

Artwork by Rene Magritte

Daily Word Prompt: Coincidence

 

 

 

 

Yet She Rose

images

 

She believed in something greater

no concern for self or rules

nothing would abate her

as she fought for open schools.

She spoke of female rights,

opportunities, a claim

for education she would fight

but then, they learned her name.

 

On a dusty bus they found her

where she spotted weapon drawn

and everyone around her

thought the shot, her final song.

An unexpected outcome passed

forgotten sorrowed woes

as people of the world, aghast

Witnessed as she rose.

Yes, we watched her as she rose.

 

 

Photo credit of  Malala Yousafzai

 

Internal Lies

103509

 

Why, the mighty serpent,

lay coiled beneath the sea?

Malicious, angry, frightened

of an aimless destiny.

 

That breath of ire, that binding twist

all internal lies

The whip of tongue, the slash of swords –

veiled in mocked disguise.

 

How then, perchance, to come alive

in apathetic scales

To lighter states, to softer heart –

what happiness entails.

 

Unleash the truth and let it soar

to surface, past the churning

through honest waves of grace be found

a myriad of yearning.

 

 

 

daily post prompt: Mighty

photo credit