Two Hundred Stories Later.....

As I was writing another post yesterday morning, I noticed that it was number two hundred. I just can’t believe that I had that many stories locked up in my mind. I started rereading some of them, and if I do say so myself, they were pretty darn good. Lol
Stories from my childhood were especially good, as I reread those, I could actually see the characters, how we were dressed, the inside of the houses where we lived, and especially our voices, soft, yelling, crying and many other emotions such as laughing. There was a lot of laughing, very little anger or crying. There was anger when my uncle’s sheep ate up all of my mother’s peas that she had planted in the garden. They ended up being the best crop she ever had. The same way when dad cut down her climbing rose bush. She had more roses that year than she ever had had, however, she really let him have it when she discovered what he had done. He told me, “I’m in the dog house again, Annie.” That was his favorite name for me.
There was smacking of lips when I was little when we would stop at Mc Williams Drug Store for an ice cream cone after delivering Mother’s baked goods to her customers. We always ate them in the car, always the same flavor so it was easier to order and carry out. The flavor of the night was orange sherbet. While we ate our cones, our parents would say “Oh there goes so and so” sometimes they would say “Oh she looks like she has gained weight.” That was my mother’s favorite thing to say even to her family. My daughter and I were talking about that the other day.
After we finished our cones and tired of “people watching”, we would go home. Saturday brought it’s own work. There was shoes to polish for church the next day. Baths to take so we would all be clean for church also. As I have mentioned, the water would all have to be heated, etc.
I don’t remember all the other things that my parents did, but I do remember that the cows all needed milked twice a day no matter what day of the week it was, they had no calendar.
One thing my mother did not do was give my dad a hair cut. In those days each barber had a revolving sign outside their door that signified that they were a barber for men only. The hair cut was generally gotten on a Saturday unless it rained. If it rained, dad couldn’t work in the field so he got a hair cut and the rest of us went to Grandpa and Grandma’s. Hopefully she had baked her gigantic cookies that I can still see and smell. Yes, those were wonderful days, and unbeknown to me at that time would make wonderful memories.
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