Guilty Nudes

We lived in a modest home on the corner of Summit and Norton Road in Springfield. Our house was primly perched on the leveled top of a small hill with a view out the front window of a pasture full of grazing cattle. And there began my sexual education. Being a child of 5 or 6 I can assure you that sex wasn't even remotely in my vocabularly or understanding but it was sharply slapped to the front of my head one day in church by my mother's loving hand. I had been given pen and paper to occupy myself during the service and scribbled around eventually producing a picture of one of the 'cows' that I saw frequently grazing across the street. Upon proudly presenting my rendition to my mother she grabbed my arm, a look of forboding on her face, and dragged me out of the sanctuary and into the ladies bathroom. My mother never said a word, only emitting various sounds of disgust and loud snorts as she whailed away at my bare nether parts. She then tore my drawing into tiny pieces and made me flush them down the toilet. It was obvious to me that I had drawn something terribly wrong but it was years before I figured it out and the residue of guilt stained my feelings for many years. It's still beyond me why my mother thought the drawing of a bull was bad thing.

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Same house. The street in front was little traveled so we kids were free to ride our bikes, playing chase or wear vegetable cans smashed around each shoe which gave off satisfying clanking sounds with each step. At the bottom of the hill was a double wide culvert under which a miniscule stream trickled. After a rain the stream would grow and pool under the culvert providing hours of splashing, cool fun. My brother and I raced that day wanting to be the first to arrive at the culvert pool. Before I got to the concrete edge of the culvert my brother popped up crowing and waving a magazine high above his head. I demanded to see at which time he dropped the magazine in the water and raced off. I rescued the sinking book and sat down under the culvert to read my new treasure. To this day I can see the image of a naked woman leaning forward, her breasts large, seeming to almost plump themselves off the page. And the caption read "her cups runneth over". I not only threw the magazine in the pool, I stayed to make sure it sank all the way to the bottom. My brother never mentioned the incident to me and I never felt the need to bring it up either. I did find it strange that the good Lord would be making a comment under such a picture.

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For some reason I still haven't figured out, I started first grade at the intrepid age of five. It was immediately obvious to both my teacher, Mrs. Beacham, and myself that we shared a problem that never seemed to improve. Although I found school interesting in general I frequently felt the need to chat with my near neighbors. I made many friends this way but one of them was not Mrs. Beacham. There was no such thing as PMS then in 1953 but I feel pretty sure that is what Mrs. Beacham was experiencing as she marched me to the storage closet. On the way she announced that I would be sharing space with spiders and snakes that lived there, quietly, in the dark. I found myself a spot against the far wall and sat down, watching Mrs. Beacham's feet disappear from view under the closet door. It seemed a perfect time to daydream since my glance around had confirmed there were no critters there to cause me any harm. After an indeterminate amount of time she reappeared at the door and asked sternly if I thought I could sit quietly at my desk. I thought a bit and then said "no. I don't think so". She slammed the door and it was some time before she came back. It's entirely possible that she intended to leave me there overnight. Although Mrs. Beacham and I couldn't claim a complete cure for my chatting problem I did settle down, mostly, to complete my first year of school. I can still view this experience with humor because I'm sure I enjoyed my time in the storage closet much more than did Mrs. Beacham.

But It's Too Early For Halloween

Ir's still too early for Halloween but somehow there are spooky things going on around here. I was in the living room this morning around 5:00 a.m. Della, Iyah and Mendilah (MeanMindy), my three doggy pets, were already fed and cozily tunneled under blankets. Except MeanMindy who continually pesters me. Continually. Anyhow, I'm watching the news while holding Mendy's meedle sharp baby teeth at bay when I hear.....THUD, THUD, THUD, THUD, THUD. These were rapid, solid thumps on my front door. MeanMindy jumps up, growling and staring at the foyer. I get up and look out the door window. No one there. I know it can't be my cat Camy because she only knocks on the front window when 1. she's out of food, 2. she wants in, or 3. she's conveying, get the heck out here, there's a stray cat about to attack!. Plus I don't think she can count to five anyway. So what to do. I could play spy lady and warmly wrap up in my wooly bathrobe armed with a flashlight, phone and fog horn lurking beneath my humongous moonflower plant while perched on a comfy cushion from the porch swing. But probably not a good idea because pre-Halloween only comes once a year and that would be a very long wait. So, Della, Iyah, MeanMindy and I will bravely carry on, occupying our living room with our morning routine until the next spooky thing happens. But I warn whomever is doing this. The next time I won't be so charitable because the next time I'm opening the front door and turning MeanMindy loose.

Just Another Day At My House

You know how it takes awhile being around others before you really, really get to know their true selves? Well, we're experiencing this right here at my house. Little tiny Mindelah (Mindy), all of two pounds, apparently has 3 personalities. The first two, Sybil and Eve, can be found in any psychiatry book, and then the precious, adorable Mindy who only enters that third personality when asleep. I have raised a number of dogs but never have I had to deal with a pup that whines wanting to be picked up and then growls fiercely and gnoshes on your fingers, hands, anything she can get her teeth into. She truly has her bluff in on all visitors, running to them and begging to be picked up while I secretly sneer at her fraudulent behavior. You would think she was a timid little thing in need of protection. Not so. Not so at all. While walking the other day Mindy demanded to be down. I didn't want to right then because there was a huge chocolate lab racing toward us. I could just picture the gore my little Mindy would become but then her growling and biting communicated to my nerve endings and I let her go. The lab's owners were screaming, I was screaming, as Mindy playfully approached that behemoth dog. And they began to frolic on the lawn, Mindy charming yet another group of people. Time to go and I pick her up to her growls and chomping on my thumb. I know those people think I mistreat this little heathen and I begin to explain and realize Mindy's precious puppy behavior would trump anything I would explain and make me look even more guilty. So I slink off, snarling puppy in hand, and plan to avoid that block for a very long time.

And then there's the time I was a bit frazzled with grandchildren's visit. Their mother walks in, sees the kids rowdy play and says "you have to play quiet, kids. Your grandmother has PTSD". Just another day at my house.

Angelic When Asleep

Can E. be anything but precious when you see the way he sleeps?

Hi,I Iz Mindy

I iz a girl so doan aks my age. I wuz lil when I moved in here and took over.These are the flowers I fell in the other day. Mom said I got pixie dust all over me.


This is a picture of me playing with my friend Samber. He may be big but he's really afraid of me.


This iz me on alert! Everyone else is asleep. This is when it fun to bite their toes!

An now the famous Mindy, fighter of great fights, biter of toes, the terror of the carpet set, even I haz to sleep.


This is Camy the cat leaving after I chased her to the door. I'z kidding. She was leaving anyway.




Doan blame me. I'z just a lil puppy. My Mommy iz smart, her just doan know what her's doin'.

Banking Is For The Brave

With interest rates rapidly rising on my credit card I realized I would be far better off to refinance my house and roll the credit card debt into my house loan. That made my trade from 23.9% interest to a tidy 5% a very practical move. Making that decision was the easy part but getting a mortgage loan ain't what it used to be. The lender will want to see at least 5 of your baby teeth (now, now, now no objections. If you want the loan you WILL come up with those teeth).You find two tiny teeth in your baby book and frantically call your mother, your favorite aunt, anybody who might have the remaining 3 baby teeth required. And they found those teeth, but I'm wondering now about these sick people that kept those baby teeth for 60 years! Are they nuts or what!(Just a note, you will have to pay for the DNA tests to verify that the teeth do indeed belong to you. I think they call it a processing fee). The lender will also ask for any and all crayon drawings of houses from your childhood. Preferably without any stick figure families. (I heard of one lady who submitted one drawing including the stick figure family. She was declined because her stick figure family appeared to closely resemble Hitler).

The lender will also ask for all cancelled checks on any debt remaining on your credit report even though said debt was deleted from your credit report 10 years ago. You're getting crosseyed now but still you dig through boxes and boxes looking for the missing checks and other forms that are being requested.
Never mind those hives that popped out about halfway through this process. You MUST get this loan. You can't eat, or sleep. Your friends and family have decided that you may have slipped quietly over the line into insanity. You huddle over stacks of paper, eyes glazed, hoping you'll locate those damn papers, ignoring the ringing of the phone, the door bell. Your little dogs cringe over in the corner and collectively decide they would be better off outside even without food or water.

And then, AHA! I found the cancelled checks! And things begin to fall into place. This makes for one very happy packrat, folks. Everything has been delivered to my mortgage banker, who has been very sympathetic through this whole process, and we wait. And wait some more. I think I don't care any more. Well, yes I do. 5% is 5%. And the answer finally comes.... I get the loan! I just don't get my baby teeth back.

You're a Baptist

While leading a group of 9 and 10 year old FAA students and supervisors through the Episcopal community hall and into the lovely old sanctuary, one young girl gazed breaathlessly around at the colored glass windows and heavy old world arches and said "I want to be married here one day". To which her mother immediately replied "you can't honey. You're a Baptist!".