Rolling Out the Barrel……...

 

It was one of those Saturday mornings you dream of…..dreaming!  Being young parents, we had cousin company until well after midnight and everyone had a truly fun time; lots to eat and lots of laughs.  The kids are finally old enough to play on their own and leave the grownups to their Dominos and their own conversation.  The relatives were up just as late as us and had gone home just as tired.  Surely, that would mean no early phone calls in the morning.  We had no events on the calendar and there was enough leftovers from the party to feed us without additional cooking….even donuts for brunch.  Irwin and the girls pitched in for a quick 10-minute pick-up session while I did a job on the kitchen.  Maybe, just maybe “manana” was going to be one of those mornings you dream of.

 Oh, how I love that first cool-snap of Autumn when the temperature will allow you to sleep with the windows open and even be able to pull up a blanket about 3 or 4 in the morning.  I did make a cover call about that time just to see that our girls were snuggled in….then trotted back to my own huddle.  My mind was as clear as my calendar which allowed me to fall quickly back into oblivion.

Suddenly, a burst of growling and barking jolted us all… and me from horizontal to vertical in one second flat…before I had a chance to get my eyes open!  It made the “racket that made such a clatter” from The Night Before Christmas seem like a ballet.  In unison, Irwin and I shouted, “What???” …..and as if by bat radar, we both made a bee-line for the girls’ room.  I don’t know what we thought the noise was coming from, but we both had the same thought, “Get it….and kill it!”  It would have been better if….

(1) … we had stopped to turn on a light.

(2) … we (Irwin and I) both ran at the same speed.

(3) … the hall did not have so many 90-degree turns.

(4) … the girls weren’t running in the opposite direction.

(5) … and they didn’t scream so loud that they could hear us yelling!

Oh, yes….and  (6) now we make sure the girls completely empty their bladders before going to bed.  We didn’t slip all the way to the floor because we had not gained full speed back after Irwin ran over me trying to run in the dark.   All, this and we still had not killed the “dragon”!

The growling had turned to barking.  Now, they (who’s ever, whatever) was barking furiously trying to get into the seasonably open screened window at the girls’ bedroom because of all the noise, banging, and yelling INSIDE the house.  Irwin took a very large bucket of water outside to throw on the “monsters” while I heated up a pot of cocoa to calm the nerves and tremors.

To break the fear-thoughts, I smiled one of Mommy’s favorite “I’ve got a great idea” smiles, “Let’s have a donut with our hot cocoa!”  About that time, Dad made his re-entry wearing as much water as the new neighbor’s dogs.  When he saw that the dogs had been dumpster-diving in our garbage cans, he had reached around for the broom beside the backdoor and upset his bucket of water.  He said that as he approached the angry dogs armed only with enough water to make them angrier, he thought that perhaps the broom would scold them a bit more severely.

Well, now that the girls were full of all tomorrow’s donuts and cocoa…..and our new neighbor’s dogs are full of our garbage….and daylight has found its way to Greenlee Street…. and the sound of the newspaper hitting the front door has captured Irwin’s attention; the alley cat has headed to the shower while I put on our early Saturday morning coffee.

The following Saturday, completed a full week of dining and entertaining the new neighbor’s dogs, plus there was a daily cleanup and re-bagging of our own nasty garbage. We had tried the water treatment, information exchange (with my sweetest smile) with the new neighbors, with no success.  Even contacting the animal control department (who said that we would have to catch the animals. Then, and only then would they come pick them up).  Wrapping them with a satin bow was my sarcastic addition.  I borrowed my brother’s toy B-B-gun, not intending hurt or harm to the dogs….just wanting to sting them into fear.

Our unfenced backyard had a gentle slope from the right to the left….giving enough height to get a good shot from behind the big Chinaberry tree if they returned.  NO! Not if they returned…but when! 

About 4:45 A.M., I heard the rumpus begin with the garbage cans and the two dogs quarreling over which one would get the prize pieces.  I immediately emerged at the back door with the mindset and appearance of Rambo.  Un-noticed by Grizzly or White Fang, I crossed from the backdoor to the Chinaberry tree.  A nip in the air had reminded me that in my haste I had neither remembered my shoes nor my robe….(Rambo never stopped to put a robe over his pajamas!) …after all, this couldn’t take longer than a couple of minutes.

“My precious little girls had to be protected!  My loving husband had to get his rest from these pests!” I whispered as I tried to convince myself that what I was doing was my civic duty as an upstanding citizen of Tarrant County, and of the United States of America! (….I didn’t have enough hands to carry a B.B.-gun and wave the American flag!)

By dawn’s first light, I planted my feet firmly and placed the gun in the fork of the lowest limb.  One of the dogs had both front paws over the edge of a metal trash can while the other already had his bag drug out of the can and was dragging it around the yard strewing garbage four feet on both sides of him as he slung the bag from left to right.  The dark one (which we called Grizzly) had his teeth in the bag ripping it into shreds….however; he was not yet proficient enough to pull the bag from the can.  Both were at an angle where I could not get aim at their rumps, not wanting to endanger their heads.

Judge stays inside his own fence....and I do love dogs.

As the sun’s first rays merged over the trees, I was still focused on the mischievous dogs, determined to ward off these two pests.  Finally, White Fang moved around to begin a second course, giving me a clear shot.  He lowered his head just inside the top of the overturned can and I squeezed the trigger hitting him square on the rump under the tail.   He jumped!!!  The angle of his head was so that the momentum of his jump took him into the can.  He was so frightened that he began to yelp and howl….INSIDE the garbage can.  He had no place to go and began to try to get out.  This thrust was enough to jolt the can into motion….downhill!   The can bumped across Grizzly back, frightening him into a tailspin.  He, too, began to howl, jump and yelp.  The can picked up momentum into a rushing rolling bulldozer…..a rushing rolling screaming bulldozer! 

The can bounced off the curb with a crash onto the paved street and kept rolling faster and faster with the dog running inside the can around and around; jumped the curb across the street; rolled across the neighbor’s yard; and down the next street.  White Fang was frantically chasing and barking, in hot pursuit of the big round “monster” that hit him on the rump.

My smile was back!  I turned to go back into the house and noticed that all the commotion had alerted every neighbor, in every direction.  Now, I had to transform this barefoot Rambo in pink pajamas, back into a sweet innocent Doris Day complete with singing “Que Sera, Sera” until I could cross from the Chinaberry tree all the way to the backdoor.

We don’t ever go back to our old neighborhood any more.

October Fields (chapter 2): The Neighbor’s Outhouse…….

     Cousin Oma’s large two-story white East Texas house was as cheerful as a postcard.  A full covered and raised porch went all the way around the house.  The windows were open and white lace curtains flagged in the gentle breeze.  There were at least 20 (I looked like a hundred) rose bushes right out in the playing part of the yard and they were all in full bloom….a rainbow of colors.  There wasn’t any grass, just sand with fresh rake marks making neat designs all through the sand.  Then, there was the clean white picket fence that skirted the edge of the yard, with a gate that opened onto a flagstone walkway that led right through the rose garden up to the steps to the porch.  There was a roof covered water-well between the house and the root cellar.  The well was taller than the cedar tree that stood next to it.  A narrow wooden trough ran from the bucket attached to the well, high over the rose garden, the picket fence, the dirt road and down to the barn; bringing fresh cool water to the livestock.  The cellar was about 6-feet underground with wall to wall seedlings,        cuttings, sprouts and plants for planting next Spring.  The                  Wedding photo of Granddad & Grandma
seedlings consisted of tomatoes, bell peppers, onions,
cucumbers, cantaloupe, watermelon, pansies, daisies, and 6 three-ft. tall Ponderosa lemon trees.  The cellar was covered with a couple of old glass paneled doors to allow in light for the plants but protected them from the freezing weather in the winter.  The doors were propped up and open for ventilation during these first cool days of October. 
       Before Granddad, Grandma and I could unfold our legs to get out of the car, Cousin Oma had pushed her way through the screened front-door and was pulling the strings of her apron…tucking it under the pillow-cushion in the wicker rocker on the porch.  “Cuzin’ Perry and Cuzin’ Ethel, you are a sight for these sore eyes.”  She grabbed and hugged each one of us, not letting go of one before adding the next. 
     A doll house with adult-size furniture welcomed us into Cousin Oma’s large, open parlor.  There was an array of hand crocheted doilies delicately placed about the furnishings with a lamp on every table.  The smell of bread baking filled the room.  “Sit down and get comfortable.  I’m going to fetch some lemonade.  Then we can do some catchin’ up on the past eight years.”   Cousin Oma vanished through the doorway into the kitchen.
       “Remember, Anne, if it’s not yours don’t touch it!” came a warning just above a whisper from Granddad, as I tip-toed about the room making my first general assessment of this new world.  A fascinating elaborate pump organ reaching almost to the 10-ft. ceiling, sat against the wall near the natural stone fireplace.  In the absence of city bustling was complete silence interrupted by the ticking of the ornate old family mantle clock seated in its rightful place. …then came the sound of tinkling of ice bumping against the glasses of fresh squeezed lemonade.  I made my way to a footstool at the front of the chair where Granddad had definitely “made himself comfortable.”
As Cousin Oma pulled up a dining-chair between Granddad and Grandma, the conversation began with the ‘almost scriptural’ run-through of the names of all the kinfolks and how they were doing.  It was amazing to me that all three adults could talk at the same time and still glean a healthy knowledge a generation of comings and goings….a gift gained from years of practice!  There was a bitter-sweet few moments when remembering those who had passed on.  Then the exchange moved on into a more lighthearted conversation reliving the memories of antics and some mischievous adventures of kids growing up in the country.
“Yo thar, Cusin Oma!” Blurted in Oma’s sister’s kid from the house down the lane, sticking his head in the door.  “I just dropped by to tell you that the visiting circuit preacher-feller will be at Sunday meetin’.  Word is that he’s really good.”  The awkward, tall, lanky kid turned and looked at Granddad, Grandma, and me with a startled look, stopped and whispered,  “Oops!  Pardon my blunder, Cousin.  Didn’t knowed ya had company.”
       “Hershel Woodard Walton!  Don’t lie to me here in front of my city-kinfolk!  You knowed we had folks come in from out of town….’cause I seen ya lookin’ at their new automobile and smearin’ yer nose all over the winder-glass.  And furthermore..…you did NOT drop by to TELL me NUTHIN’!   ’Cause I twer the one who told you about the new preacher-feller a comin’ to Sunday meetin’.  Now, mind yer manners, and come on in here and speak to yer Cusin’ Perry and his family…. But…first.. kick off them dirty work boots o yours before yer dirty up my clean floor…….And then  yer can go home and tell yer maw that if she wants to know who’s visitin’ at my house, she should come down here and take a look fer herself!”
       As the stories passed between the kinfolks, I hung onto every word.  It was fascinating to be a witness looking back into time before I was born.  And I am visiting the very roads where they grew up, played, worked, lived, …and died.    Like bringing an old photo album to life page by page.  The conversation volleyed back and forth like a ping-pong game.  It was a thrill to see them laugh until they sometimes doubled in half.  Tears from laughing that often turned to the sad ones.  It’s no wonder that Cousin Omi was so excited when we drove up….that she ran to us from the house with
open arms.                                                                                                    Cousin Oma's son and cousin in the Rose Garden
Not missing a word, Cousin Oma retrieved her magical apron from the wicker chair, swiped a little dust from the lamp table as she passed then tied her magical all-purpose apron around her waist and motioned for us to follow her to the kitchen.  “Guess you folks must have thought I wasn’t never gon’na feed ya dinner.”  (For those who didn’t grow up in Texas, that would be the time the family gathered for the evening meal.)  I followed Cousin Oma toward whatever had filled the house with that awesome smell baking in the kitchen.  Sitting on the windowsill was two beautiful pies topped with enough meringue that made them look like a couple of dishes filled with white clouds.  She opened the oven and lifted out a large pan of hot rolls, padding her fingers with her magical all-purpose apron, and set it on top of the stove next to a platter stacked high with fried chicken.  She nodded for us to sit around the big round kitchen table next to four big windows that overlooked the back yard where she had her wash (laundry) hanging out on the close-line.  “Oops!  Don’t let me get to gabbin’ and forget to bring in the fresh sheets fer yer beds.”  We had home grown green beans with new potatoes and chicken gravy to go with the hot rolls and fried chicken.
       As she began dishing up the lemon pie to take out to the front porch for serving, I asked, “Before dessert, may I use your restroom?”  Cousin Oma took me by my 5-year-old shoulders and ushered me to the back door where she pointed to a sweet little yellow house surrounded by beautiful cotton-candy pink oleander bushes, down a path that led through a gate.  I remembered the outdoor restroom earlier at the grocery in the little town.  Reluctantly I started down the much longer lonely garden path paved with picturesque flag-stone.     
       "Wow!"  Now, I was alone in a strange place.  This was so fearful to me.  This was actually my first time ALONE!  I was a middle child with two older big brothers and a brother 14 months younger.  I could not remember EVER being ALONE before.   Our family of six lived in the country in a two bedroom, 1,00-sq.ft., brick house.  All four children were in one bedroom with two sets of army surplus bunk-beds.  We all did our chores TOGETHER. We were a one car family and Dad took it to work.  If we needed anything we waited until Saturday night when Dad got off work and drove into downtown Fort Worth to do our grocery shopping….we ALL went together.  (In recent years, my preschool grandchildren have travel over a thousand miles across several states, alone in an airplane.  Also, kids today can order any meal and have it delivered to the front door and pay for it with his own credit card.)
It really helped that I could remember my bible school teacher telling about David in the Bible (1 Samuel 17^th chapter) who spent most of his time, as a young boy, alone in the fields caring for his father’s sheep.  The young boy carried his harp with him and sang to God.... “Maybe it would help me to sing to God!” So I began to sing and watching my steps on the beautiful stones ….completely oblivious of our omnipresent God. 
       (Reminds me today of a song the comforting words …”I come to the garden alone while the dew is still on the roses…And the voice I hear falling on my ear the Son of God discloses…(chorus) And He walks with me, and He talks with me,  And He tells me I am His own; And the joy we share as we tarry there, None other has ever known.”)
       The gate in the fence was a unique PPT gate (a people-pass-through in the fence)  that led into the next door neighbor’s field.  The PPT was installed as a convenience due to Mr. Jefferson’s “good neighbor” theory.  (At home, we call this Christianity!)  The County Health Department had ordered Cousin Oma to relocate her outhouse 20 yards downhill from her water well.  Her property line would not allow her to do this.  So, her next door neighbor, Mr. Jefferson, not only allowed her to move an outhouse onto his property, but he dug the latrine and brought his equipment over to move her outhouse over to his property.  Cousin Oma said, “He’s a quiet man with a big heart.  Sometimes he preaches when visiting preacher can’t make it.  He not only knows his bible… he lives it!”
       (“Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.”  - James 1:27 )
       (In your relationships with one another, have the same mindset as Christ Jesus: “Who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be used to his own advantage; rather, he made himself nothing by taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness.  ⁸ And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself  by becoming obedient to death—  even death on a cross!” ~ Philippians 2:6-8)
       (“Do everything without grumbling or arguing, ¹⁵ so that you may become blameless and pure, children of God without fault in a warped and crooked generation.”  Then you will shine among them like stars in the sky ¹⁶ as you hold firmly to the word of life. And then I will be able to boast on the day of Christ that I did not run or labor in vain.” ~ Philippians 2:14-16)
       So, as I began to focused on the shapes of the stepping stones, I was not aware that this strategic location for the outhouse in Mr. Jefferson’s field was also the home of two donkeys, about 8 goats, and one very large bull who was not fond of strangers….(that would be me in my bright red dress!)  I had just passed through the PPT gate when Mr. Bull decided to investigate the bright red dress approaching his domain.  Hearing the snorting of Mr. Bull, this young city kid did not demonstrate her most intelligent move, which would have been to retreat behind secure line (the fence).  I sprinted 15 yards ahead, straight down the lovely garden path paved with the shapely flag-stones, right to the sweet little yellow outhouse surrounded by oleander bushes.  It took a few minutes before I could catch my breath and was relaxed enough to do what I had come for.  Then, when I opened the door to leave, I saw Mr. Bull waiting with all four hooves planted right on the lovely garden path paved with the shapely flag-stones.  My mother had been told more than a few times, that could be as stubborn as a bull….now I know what she meant.  I slammed the door and began to consider my plan of escape.     
       Now, with no obvious plan, I sat back down on the only seat available and picked up the reading material left as a convenience… (around Christmas time we called this the Wish Book.  Needless to say, I had time to make out my complete Christmas list….praying I would get home in time to post it.)
Meanwhile, aside from the reminiscing, Granddad had noticed that my lemon meringue pie was still waiting on the serving tray.  He asked Grandma if she should go check on me.  She walked to the edge of the porch and announced, “Your neighbor’s bull is rigidly focused on your pretty yellow outhouse!” 
       Cousin Oma briskly marched straight down the flag-stone path, waving her magical apron as she scolding Mr. Bull.  He literally  wilted and backed away.  Cousin Oma yelled that it was safe for me to come out of the little yellow outhouse surrounded by beautiful pink oleander bushes.


(….continued down the road..)