Weekend Wedgies

Well, so far “we” have studied fractions, whittled sticks, exhausted the dog, worn out the PawPaw, and tried the patience of the Ma. BUT we have also stepped on toes, led ‘em by the nose, and given a couple of wedgies. Does the big grin on my face show?

Apparently these two could live on fried or scrambled eggs, root beer, and Ma’s pancakes for at least two or three days. They don’t eat anything called casserole, veggies other than carrot sticks, or chicken that didn’t come in a McDs little ten piece container. Somehow I feel as if I am paying for MY raising and that of my children as well! Yes, Mother, I remember the English peas. Maybe if they had been on Daddy’s plate….

Tomorrow we all will meet at the nursing home to visit MIL. Maybe she will remember the daughter. She didn’t remember our oldest son last time, but she knew she liked him for some reason. Shaking my head . . .

The parents attended the grave site rites of one of the last of their old time friends. They called him Boomer. He was a sweet fella, if a bit homespun. He was buried in his farmers’ overalls. His overalls pretty well set the tone for the way everyone else was dressed. All the women except Mom were in pants—and her navy blue dress was pretty warm on this September day.

Dad seemed to think that it was a pretty interesting coincidence that he and Ralph met during the Pioneer Reunion over in Henrietta when they were boys of 10 and 11. They didn’t know each other’s name, but they got to be friendly that day and attended a movie called “Boomtown.” The next time Ralph saw my dad he waved and said, “Hi, Boomer.” Only my parents called Ralph Boomer—except for the children and grandchildren. Anyway, yesterday during the Pioneer Reunion, the parents went over to the funeral home to say goodbye to their friend, so Dad thought it was quite a coincidence that they met and said goodbye both times during the Old Settler’s Reunion.

Dad always has some good stories from our family history to share. He told one recently about Mother’s grandfather going to town to get some gasoline for his old car. He came in and told his family that he had gone to buy some of that Marie No Kick for the car. Not many younger people have ever heard of “Ethel No knock.” That was the name one fuel company gave to their gasoline. The ethel was supposed to reduce or eliminate the engine knocks. But Granddaddy Major called it Marie No Kick. Sitting here shaking my head and thinking that some things must be hereditary . . .

Well, next weekend we will spend some time with the other two grandchildren. No wedgies in that forecast! Little Miss will probably expect a captive audience while she parades in her boas and heels—or maybe a participant in another of her tea parties. The boy will have his own time pretty well allotted to his own interests. He doesn’t usually need to be entertained. Their parents can have some alone time together. Or not. We enjoy them just as much as we do the kids. It just seems like we don’t see all of our kids together very often. Maybe Thanksgiving . . .