My Mom used to say it like all you had to do was to live another day and the dollar would automatically show up. Not so!
When you live with my income you get to know the "value of a penny" (another one of Mom's sayings). I wish I had the same ability that she had to streeeeetch that dollar until it squeeked.
We talk about days when you could buy a pair of men's pants for 50 cents and a shirt for 25. Well, forget it, kid, because it just tain't like that any more.
I remember the first 'job' I had was weeding the beds in the neighbor's greenhouse. One dollar an hour. Felt sticky when we went in---too much moisture in the air. And before long I felt dizzy and funny. And my sister, Yvonne, looked over and I was'nt there. She somehow dragged me out and as soon as I hit the air I was used to breathing I was okay. But I never got hired again because I was "too fragile". Fragile, my foot! I could hang upside down as long as any other kid.
Being little and skinny was not the best. I remember being in gym class, the teacher would say, Okay, choose up sides. And I would just automatically begin counting. I knew I would be the one that was 'chosen' to be on the team that was left over. But in prison ball I was the star. That is as near the star as I could get, because I was so small it was hard to hit me. I was fast enough to dodge that ball as it came across and skinny enough that my shadow was all that was left to hit. So dodge ball became my game of choice. We all find our niche.
Telling stories was mine. Some of our teachers would let me take over a class with these horrible tales I made up. I have no idea where they came from because I never went to a movie in my young life, and at that point in my life my reading consisted of ferreting out another fairy tale I'd never seen before. But these stories were wild!! Drama, thievery, hidden treasures in long undiscovered holes, evil men, tunnels that were constructed by men that were evil and made to 'eat' people who stepped on the wrong side of nothing. If we were lucky these stories could last for hours and sometimes even through to the next class. I wonder if I had not become so involved with 'studies' if I would have continued in that vein. Horrors!
Love y'all. Write me your memories.
Ruth
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
Hi Grandma! It's a nice surprise to find you blogging. It's a nice banner Tami made for you.
I understand you aren't feeling great -- I was very sorry to hear that the cancer is back.
I love your story about being little (compared to the other kids in your class) and telling tall tales. I'm sure I probably inherited these traits from you, as did other grandkids, I'm sure. But I remember telling one particular tall tale in grade school. I stood in front of my class and declared that it had been a terrible summer because when our kitten clawed my mother's leg, she dropped the iron on the baby and the baby got burned.
NONE of it was based on any truth whatsoever. I hadn't even premedidated the plot. It just "jumped out" of me the moment I held the interest of my classmates. I must have thought I owed them a good one for their attention.
Of course my story fell appart when the teacher called my mother to ask about the baby.
Post a Comment