Day After Thanksgiving Party

Time:  11am to 1pm  lunch BBQ (Music Man), Smoked Butt, slaw, broccoli cornbread, muscadine cobbler

           2:00pm Beer coolers okay, If weather is good, byoc (chair)

           5:00pm to 7:00pm  dinner

Drop in at your convenience, or stay the day. Please call or email by Wednesday, November 27 if you plan to be here. bonefrankie@gmail.com, 843-336-3027 home, 843-312-6661cell. Call for more information.

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Time:  11am to 1pm  lunch BBQ, Smoked Butt, slaw, broccoli cornbread, muscadine cobbler

           2:00pm Beer coolers okay, If weather is good, byoc (chair)

           5:00pm to 7:00pm  dinner

Drop in at your convenience, or stay the day. Please call or email by Wednesday, November 27 if you plan to be here. bonefrankie@gmail.com, 843-336-3027 home, 843-312-6661cell. Call for more information.

 

 

 

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Part III

·
Chapter 31 1957 Owen: slammin’ in tobacco field

I get home finally. I can’t wait to take
off the frilly dress, lacy socks, and patent leather shoes. I am not the frilly
type. I put on shorts and tee shirt and go outside. Carey and the boys are out
in the tobacco field celebrating my return. When I finally get there, the havoc
has already started. Everybody is pushing and slamming anyone they can into the
powder-soft earth. Leo knocks Matt for a loop. Gene gets Leo by a surprise side
hit. I leap at Gene, but he holds me away by a palm on the head, laughing at my
swinging fists. Matt has recovered and he wallops Gene, who reaches out and
takes Warren down with him. I get Allen, then we are so dirty we don’t really
know who we are slamming. This continues until we are out of breath. Left
standing are Edward and Warren, who usually stay down for a while when knocked
down. Warren tackles Edward, who pretends to fall over from the blow. We all
shout and haul Warren home over our shoulders.

When we get back home, we see Uncle Seth
and Aunt Olie leaving. Allen goes out and throws rocks, but they don’t reach
the car. He is, however, happy with the effort. We take a bath outside in a tub
of water warming in the sun. With a hot hose, we wet a spot of Tide in the
grass. We twist and turn our feet in the suds until they look clean. We take
turns in the tub, wearing only underwear. Supper is chicken bog with sausage. We
are starved. We do not have to be called to supper. While I am eating, Gene reaches
under my arm and grabs my biscuit.

Chapter 3

·
Chapter 3

I walk with my daddy, Tyson, by the hedge
and the station. He is smoking. His cigarette pack is rolled up in his sleeve.
He wears a hat. He wears green glasses. It is not scary here in daylight. We
get to Mama Grace’s and see two catfish as big as me tied to the bumper of
Uncle Smith’s Plymouth. Inside, there are only women in the living room. I go
into the kitchen where Mama Grace stands at the stove and only men are crowded
around the table. I crawl unnoticed among the feet under the table. I see one
pair of black shoes that tie. A pair of brown brogans with mud coming up. A
pair of tan brogans clean. And a pair of brown slippers with the back walked
on. Who is in the slippers? I find a field pea. I put it in the slipper. I look
for another pea.

Mama Grace says, “Tyson, where is Mike?” I
smile under the table. I am glad people call me Mike and not Michelle. I sit
surrounded by knees and feet, and nobody knows I am here. Uncle Carl is talking
about something he found in the yard. Uncle Smith grunts on occasion. Tyson stirs
his coffee. Uncle Smith nudges Granddaddy Al now and then, “Stir your coffee Al,
your cream’s gonna curdle.”

“I was walking in the yard and found this
thing that looked like a nose cone.” Uncle Carl says.

“What’s a nose cone,” Uncle Smith says.

“So I got it and cleaned it up and it just
fits.”

“Smith, the goat is on your car,” Mama Grace
says.

“Damn goat. What’s a nose cone,” Uncle
Smith says.

“Damn goat,” I say.

“Stir your coffee, Al. Your cream’s gonna
curdle.” Smith says.

“I
put it in my nose at night and it holds it open so I can breathe. It works so
good, I wonder why they don’t have them in the drugstore,” Uncle Carl says.

“Tyson, honey, have you seen Mike. I have
some lemon pie for her.”

At this, I crawl out. Mama Grace wedges me
in at the table between coffee cups and gives me a bowl of her homemade pie and
a spoon. The still-warm pie is the best thing I have ever tasted.

“You damn fool, you let it curdle,” Smith
says.

After pie, I slip out the back door. I
start home. I go by the front of the gas station and Mrs. Belekis comes out
calling me. She is a fat woman with a print dress, no shoes, and a bad cough.
She runs after me and picks me up. My feet are still going while she swings me
up on her hip.

“I want to do something with your hair,”
she says, lighting a cigarette. She hangs it between her lips and sets me on
the counter. I look at her kinky hair pulled back in a bun and I say “No.”

“It won’t take but a minute,” she says. I
turn over on the counter and dangle my feet trying to get away, but she sets me
up again. And she is right. It only takes a minute for her to cut my hair. I
can feel the scissors close to my head. She puts me down and I go home feeling
much lighter.

When I walk in the back door, Mama is
frying chicken. She turns around and looks at me for a moment, like she doesn’t
know who I am.

Finally she leans down and rubs my skinned
head. “What in the world happened to you?”

“Mrs. Belekis caught me,” I say. Mom lifts
me up and washes my hands in the sink.

“What’s that on your face?”

“Pie,” I say.

“Right here at dinner time.” She shakes me
and I think of my puppy.

Prologue

The following event may have occurred in a classroom long ago.
The professor inserts a toothpick into a turtle’s heart and projects the shadow onto a screen with a light. The heartbeat of the turtle is obvious to his students.
“Now we will inject the drug and the heartbeat will change, as evidenced by the shadow of the toothpick,” the professor says.
Unfortunately, the turtle dies mid-experiment. The professor puts his thumb on the turtle at the base of the toothpick and manually creates the expected effect.
“But wasn’t that a lie?” his assistant asks after class.
“I supported the greater truth.”
Perhaps, William James

It’s hard to get e. e. cummings off my mind today: up so many floating bells down–I think that was him. Many living writers I would love to meet, but I think my favorite is Donald Westlake. He has give me many hours of pleasure. His books are wildly humorous in a subdued way, if that is possible. I haven’t read them all yet, but I am working on it. But I am in a “floating bells” mood today. HOT and DRY here in Hellhole Swamp. Can’t wait for it to rain.

Family Memories

I have always enjoyed family stories that reflect how life was back in the “early days”. I will post some of my memories and hope friends and family will contribute. I would be thrilled if I found a diary of a great grandmother, for example, about growing up. I haven’t, but I can leave words that recall my past for the future children who may be interested and I hope you will too. The smallest memory or idea, even a sentence, will be much appreciated. This is a family oriented site. I am posting today one of my earliest moments. I hope to hear from some of you soon.