Posted on

Expressions

as told by my Daddy

Living in a horse raising environment favored SOME OF Mother’s expressions. One day when she was “feeling her oats,” a hearing aid man asked her how old she was, she replied, “Look at my teeth.”

Mother in her more feeble days when she was approaching ninety: “Don’t help me. I’ll fall down by myself”

Are you surprised? Then say, “Holy Cow!”

Some words change in meaning when they are passed down from one generation to the next, take “gay” for instance. Once it was a twin to “gayety.” Even the most proper people could get together and have a gay old time.  

“Whoopee” was word of great joy, a secular Hallelujah. “Making whoopee” is quite a different term. “Whoopee pants” referred to corduroy pants which made a “whoop, whoop, whoop” sound as you walked.

“Sneakers” were a soft soled tennis shoe that silenced your footsteps so you could sneak up on someone.

Little Sister Barbara, about three years old, held her own physically with a threat, “I’ll kick your slats in.” One time, when she was having a bad time, Daddy tried to comfort her. “Quit fussing and I’ll get you a pinto pony.”  She, at three, replied, “Like so much mud you will.”

Ernest Parker used some colorful expressions. He may have picked some of them up while working on a Canadian Merchant ship that went to Japan and China. Others may have been from his early years in Kansas and at lumber camps in Washington State. He said, “By the Great Horn Spoon,” and “Jumped up Jehoshaphat.” A rare happening was “Once in a blue moon.” I’ve heard other old timers use that expression.  I think that a blue moon occurred when there were two full moons in the same month.

My father used various quotes and misquotes from The Bible and from Shakespeare.  “Blood, thunder, and sudden death” was one of his common sayings. “To horse, to horse,” called someone on a riding task.  “Blood of the Lamb,” or “Red eye” might be used at the table if he wanted something red. 

Sometimes someone was “just standing around with their teeth in their mouth.”

At one of the Brannin family gatherings, where they ate frijoles and yate, someone might ask, “Pot,(Pat) where are you going?”  The answer would come back, “Watta my hoss, whatta you spose.”

A person needed to keep away from a snake with two legs.

In the West, one still hears, a goodly supply of “You bet” and “You betcha. ”

Posted on

An Invitation

Working with the public for 36 years, I’ve met lots of folks from different walks of life. Living in the South in an area steeped with Civil War history, some of those I’ve crossed paths with boast of great Civil War heritage.

One such sweet Southern lady openly spoke of her love of history. Her Southern drawl was as thick and slow as honey dripping from a cold spoon, and as proper as neatly creased and folded white starched napkins. She was a short stocky lady with a walk that indicated she was someone of social standing in the local societies with which she associated. When I was considering pursuing DAR membership, I asked her about the requirements, and she referred me to someone who could assist me.

Shortly after, she came to my desk one day and told me all about her UDC chapter (that is United Daughters of the Confederacy). An invitation was extended to attend as her guest to their meeting with the intent of trying to get me to join to the UDC.

I looked at the kind Southern lady briefly and mustered up the courage to say, “Ma’am, I don’t think you want me at your meeting. My Civil War ancestors were Union soldiers.”

As she walked away, she didn’t look quite so starched and proper.

Some time later, I applied for membership in the DUV (Daughters of Union Veterans).

Posted on

Wonderwear

Caring for someone who is hard of hearing is always an adventure. Daddy and I had great conversations. We would have two different topics going at the same time. I would ask him a question and he would give an answer that had nothing to do with the question. It was never boring!

Among his various doctor’s appointments, his Audiologist was one of our favorites. She was a nice, attractive lady who loved Daddy and thought he was cute and sweet (they all did). I loved to hear them interact. She was always glad to see him, and he always made her day. When we left, she was always enlightened.

One day, I took him to get a quick fix. That is, I took him to get his ears adjusted. She hooked him up to some machines and asked him a question. He answered but she didn’t understand. Since she didn’t know what he said, she assumed he didn’t hear the question. I assured her that he heard what she said but his response was in Dutch. 

As the exam continued, the Audiologist told Daddy she needed to send his hearing aids off for repairs and adjustments. She said, “In the meantime, I’ll give you one to wear.” 

Daddy’s face lit up! He said, “Wonderwear?” I guess he thought he was getting some superhero leotards of some kind.

I said, “Daddy, she said, ‘One to Wear.’” We all looked at one each and had a good laugh. 

Yep, he needed his hearing aids adjusted for sure! 

Posted on

Hospital Visits

Daddy was one of those preachers who visited his parishioners and others who lived in the community. One day he came home from visiting a man in the hospital with a tale to tell.

This particular man didn’t want to be in the hospital. He wasn’t very compliant with the hospital staff. While Daddy was there, one of the nurses came into the room to get the patient’s temperature. She stuck the thermometer under his tongue and said she’d be back shortly. He made no comment but as soon as she left, he looked over at daddy, grinned a bit, took the thermometer out of his mouth and stuck it in his hot coffee. Just before she walked in the room, he stuck it back under his tongue. Daddy laughed as he told about the nurse running around and calling for help for that poor man who had an astronomically high fever.

Whenever Daddy was in the hospital, the nurses all loved him. “He’s such a cute little man and he is so sweet.” Some of the nurses asked if they could take him home with them. One even said she wanted to put him in her pocket. One day, I questioned one of the nurses because Daddy had not had his scheduled therapy. She reported that when he was asked if he felt like doing therapy, he said, “I don’t think I can do it today.” The therapist said, “Awwww, that’s okay. We’ll try again tomorrow.” I took the nurse aside and said, “I just want you to know that cute, sweet little man is sometimes a liar. Don’t believe everything he tells you!”

On another occasion when Daddy was a patient in the hospital, I made my daily visit. He greeted me and smiled that smile that intimated, “I’ve been up to mischief today.” I questioned his look. He said, “I failed my first test.”

“What kind of test?”

“Well, the nurse asked me if I knew how to put my feet on the floor. I told her, ‘I just grab hold of the rail, twist around and swing my legs over the side of the bed and put my feet on the floor.’ She picked up the call button and said, ‘No, you push this button.’”

When I left him that day he said, “You might not find me better tomorrow, but you’ll certainly find the nurses more enlightened.”

Yep, that’s my Daddy!

Posted on

The Snake Handler

I slapped the alarm a couple of times, threw back the covers, lifted my legs to gather up momentum and flung out of bed. The plan was to get ready and leave a few minutes early so I could dash into the store for a few things before going to work. 

I gathered my stuff, walked down the hallway and turned to open the door. That’s when I saw it out of the corner of my eye. It couldn’t be! The hallway was dim so maybe what I thought I saw wasn’t what I saw at all. I dared glance again and sure enough – that was a snake. 

What? A snake! I stepped out of the house and closed the door quickly. Now, what was I to do? Ah ha! I called my son-in-law. “Hey, I need your assistance NOW! I’m in the garage. Get down here NOW!” I buzzed my husband and he didn’t answer. About that time my son-in-law pulled up. “What’s the matter?” “There’s a snake in my house.” “Where?” “In the hall.” “How did it get in the house?” “I don’t know, but I don’t want it there.” “Okay, come on.”

I opened the door and peeked in. “It’s gone. Wait, there’s its tail going in the bathroom.” On the way in, my son-in-law had grabbed a stick. He was trying to decide how to get the snake. He said, “What is it?” I’m pretty sure that’s not exactly what he meant. “It’s a snake and I don’t want it in my house.” He poked at it.  I said, “Stop. I need to take a picture.” Soon the snake was curled around the stick and they were both headed out the door. 

After a few more snaps with my phone, he carried the snake down the driveway. He didn’t like my suggestion as to what to do with the snake. The little slithery serpent fell off the stick and coiled up. I said, “Just leave it there. If it doesn’t move, I’ll just run over it on my way out the driveway.” How could he even suggest that my unwanted visitor should live? I waved my arms and hollered from the garage, “I can jump out of airplanes and swing from cliffs – but I don’t do snakes!

As the snake handler got ready to leave, he said, “I expected to find you had fallen and broke a leg or gotten cut and was bleeding or something.” My response was, “Do you think I’d call you for that?”

When I got in the car, it felt like beady little eyes were watching me from under the seat. What if there was something attached to those beady little eyes, waiting to curl around my ankles? One thing came to mind, “I should go in the house and put on my snake boots. Hmmm, maybe not – there might be another one of those slimy critters in the hall.” 

If any of you need ophidian removal services, I might know a good snake handler and believe me, he’ll add a prayer.

I sent the picture to my husband and the wildlife management expert.
It was identified as a Grey Rat Snake

Posted on

Trails to Somewhere

Wide open country stretched for what seemed like eternity. Though the rolling hills and flat prairies seemed uninhabited, there was evidence of life. Trails wound up and over the rising and falling grassy slopes, skirting clumps of sagebrush and dipping into coulees that promised a drink of water. The trails did not magically appear but were lifelines carved into the land. 

My mind took another trail following the footsteps of my dad into the mountains. I loved hiking or backpacking into the wilds with him because he knew where each rocky path led. Many of the trails that have stood the test of time were first forged by wild animals that dwelt in the mountains. Some were blazed by men and women seeking a route where few human footsteps had fallen. Each had its own story of where it had been, where it was going, and what it had seen.

I cannot even begin to remember every trail I followed through the woods or into the mountains. Many adventures were found along the way – paths though virgin forests and stands of ancient wooden sentinels, cow trails to abandoned homesteads, exploring and playing along lazy winding creeks and mountains streams rushing over rocky beds, high trails above steep shale cliffs, mossy boardwalks through rain forests, stone steps leading to jade colored pools, and hearing tales of times gone by. Some of the best pathways led to the home of friends or family where the door was always open and a cookie with a cold glass of milk awaited. 

All trails lead somewhere. Even as time fades, beaten paths are threatened by years of neglect and roots of overgrown trees. Still bits and pieces exist. Faint markers and blazes half swallowed by tree bark are evidence of life that once passed that way.

Yes, trails lead somewhere – if nowhere else but to my memories.

Posted on

What’s In a Name?

What’s in a name? To some, “Mrs. Ward” meant a good neighbor who had earned the respect of her community. “Niter”, so called by her little Englishman, was a woman who could throw together a meal in no time for whoever showed up at her table at mealtime whether it was the hired men, family, friends, or someone there to purchase lumber. Some called her “Mama,” a lady who could box a kid’s ears or dunk a sassy mouth in a bucket of water. She could make the kids walk a fine line or play with them like a kid herself. “Babe” was a beloved girl at any age who was endeared to family and lifelong friends. That was the name by which she was known before she even got her “real” name which came from two of her nieces. To me she was and is “Gommie.” 

Just the thought or mention of her name brings a plethora of emotions and memories.  It meant curling up next to her on her sofa whether sitting quietly or being rewarded with a story.  Her name meant lumpy gravy. It meant a cup of hot tea in a fine china teacup from her china cabinet. It meant a trip to her beloved mountains and a visit to her “cabin” and “Gommie’s Lake.” It meant a place of refuge, a place of safety, a peaceful place. 

It meant a trip to see Uncle Barney and the guaranteed story of wolf trapping days. Uncle Barney, aged, deaf, with blurred vision, would transform before our very eyes as the years melted away. Once again he stood tall, young and fit as his eyes lit up at the retelling of the same stories we had heard before though we never tired of them. 

Gommie was like a mama bear that dared anyone to mess with her kids and grandkids. Her compassions were stirred by the underdog and she would have taken any of them into her arms and her home. She was like a teddy bear, kind of soft and squishy, who offered a snuggly resting place. She sent money to help orphans and also helped meet the needs of those within her community.  Her black dancing eyes could pierce a proud tongue or shoot darts to stop unnecessary words. Those same eyes, black and soft, could look in the very depths of the soul and warm the coldest of hearts.

She lived by the motto “is it true, is it kind, is it necessary.” A short poem says it well, “I have wept in the night for the shortness of sight that to someone’s need I was blind.  But I have never once yet felt a twinge of regret for being a little too kind.” 

Yes, a name contains many facets that reflect a prism of memories and a rainbow of emotions. 

What’s in your name?

Posted on

Senseless Sensors

You might think I take the girls on adventures because they need to experience new places and expand their horizons. Well, that is partially true, and it is also true that I like to go on adventures, too. 

But there is part of this equation you might not know. Having a friend along is a great, and sometimes, dire necessity. 

The other day I was in the airport restroom while my traveling companions stayed with the luggage. I stood hopelessly at the sink trying to get the motion activated sensor to release the water. A stranger walked in. I looked at her desperately and said, “Help! I need a friend. Will you please get this water started for me?” She laughed, waved her hand in front of the faucet and, walla, it worked perfect.

Motion activated sensors are a bane to my existence. If I manage to get the soap dispenser to work, the water doesn’t. Sometimes neither do. I have soaped my hands and tried every sink with no satisfaction. If I manage to get both the soap and water to work, I feel pretty smug – that is until I try to dry my hands. It makes no difference if it’s the sensor paper towel dispenser or the hot air hand dryer – sometimes it’s the shirt tail for me.

Now if it was just the soap or the water or the hand dryer, that would be one thing, but when the auto flush toilets get in the act, it is purely miserable. I wait and wait and wait and wait and the blasted toilet won’t flush. I have to push the funny little button to release the whirlpool. The other day I was so excited. The toilet flushed when I rose from the throne. As I started to leave the stall, it flushed a second time. It’s all or nothing! Hah! I finally beat it! 

I walked to the sink with confidence, thinking, “The curse has been lifted. This is the day I claim victory and will overcome the sensor plague.”

It’s a good thing someone walked in so I could make my plea, “Help, I need a friend!”

I couldn’t tell you how many times my companions have had to help me start those annoying conveniences. If they aren’t around, just give me a bar of soap, a turn on faucet, a couple of paper towels and a toilet handle! 

Posted on

A Little Sister Tale

Daddy told me a tale about his little sister. It goes like this….

A lady and her daughter came up to the canyon. The girl was about Mary Jane’s age. They were playing and MJ got upset about something and decided to run away – all the way to the Brannin Ranch (which was a good hike away through the wilds of Montana).

Faithful, loving brother Buck, hopped on the horse and went to fetch her home. He rode into the Brannin Ranch yard only to be pelted with her throwing rocks at him.

“She could be a little temperamental at times. She did things that we would never have gotten by with,” says Brother Buck.

Maybe brother Buck shouldn’t have taught Mary Jane to throw the ball…..
Posted on

The Bear Tree

My guest author today is my Dad as he tells the story of the bear that climbed the “bear tree.” He was just a little kid, but it made a lasting impression.

Then came the episode with the bear.  Cousins Sydney and Margaret were visiting with Ellen and Barbara.  The girls decided to play in the hay shed, which was about 300 yards from the house and through a patch of woods.  Mother’s tomcat, Nimmy Not, followed them to the shed.  Sometimes they’d spook a mouse out of the hay for the tomcat.  This time they spooked out a bear!

A yearling bear had come down to the corrals to help himself to some awful offal that had been left over from butchering a beef. The bear saw the children, and the children saw the bear.  The bear ran for a tree.  The children hid in the shed and peered through a knot hole in the side of the building. When the bear came down from the tree, he started to grow. He sniffed his way toward the shed getting larger every step.  The children began to get nervous.  Our fearless cousin, Margaret, who thought that all cats were females, said,  “I know what let’s do. Let’s throw out Minnie.”

The girls pushed Nimmy Not out of the shed.  “Go get him,” they said.  Then they crawled through a hole on the backside of the building and circled their way back to the house.

“You threw my cat out?”  Mother asked when she heard about their adventure.

“She said to.”  Sister Ellen pointed to our fearless cousin.

The Bear Tree

A big tear came to Margaret’s eyes.  “We didn’t mean to, but it was her or us.”

About that time there was a yowling at the kitchen door.  It was Nimmy Not come home.  The girls picked him up.

“Oh, Minnie!”  Cousin Margaret exclaimed.  “This is your lucky day!”

It was really my lucky day.  If I’d have been at the shed, they’d have pushed me out instead of the cat.

When Daddy came home we walked over to the corral.  Spot came along.  When we saw the bear, Father said, “Sic ‘im!”

The hound raced across the meadow. The bear headed for the tree. Spot leaped in the air like he was catching a pancake.  He came down with a mouthful of fur.

The next morning the bear was gone. Likely Spot saved the day. No more bears came around the sawmill where a leaping hound snatched them bald on the wrong end.