RUNNIN' AND ROCKIN'

About 22 months after the arrival of my beautiful,  hairy little baby boy, my beautiful bald headed  little boy arrived,  weighing in at 8lb 11 oz.  His head look like a peeled onion, and his little round face and gorgeous blue eyes made him adorable.  He wore home made,  hand-me-down gowns and slept a couple of nights in the hand-me-down bassinett Momma made, just for show.    As with Jim, the bassinett was close quarters for my big babies and they quickly graduated into a full sized crib.  You know, the kind that they say are so dangerous now?    We named him Timothy Alan, after nobody.  I just loved the name.  So,  now we had a Jimmy and a Timmy.  That would prove to be a problem through the years, because I'd get the names mixed up when I was scolding them when they got into mischief.  That was often.  And because they were near the same age, people wanted to know if they were twins,  and couldn't remember who was who.  Sometimes I couldn't either.

Timmy was somewhat of a colicly baby.  No amount of singing, rocking, waltzing Matilda, pacifiers, or shaking rattles would stop the constant colic.   Now this was the day when Paregoric was a God-send.  I still don't know what the stuff is, but I think it is probably on the controlled substance list now, and I can tell you that it works!  I learned just the right amount of drops to put in sweetened water to knock him cold.  After about three months, the colic stopped.  He took up a new habit.  Rocking.

Jimmy was a little put out that he had someone taking over the limelight.   More than once, he conked Timmy on the head with his plastic shovel and swiped the bottle from his mouth, proceeding to "hide" under the crib sucking away.   I can see it now, with his little feet pushing up on the mattress from beneath, enjoying every drop of the formula until I could pull him out.  Timmy in the meantime, was crouching on all fours, rocking that crib across the room.  Each day I'd go and pull it back to the other side of the room where it was supposed to be, finding pacifiers, stuffed toys, and empty bottles in the wake.   That was his new tranquilizer.  He would rock himself into a stupor and fall asleep.   I did find some consolation in the fact that I wasn't "doping" him up.  But that rocking did get on my nerves, especially when his head was banging on the front panel of the crib at night.
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Later as the two little "menaces" grew into toddlers, Jimmy managed to bite the neighbors child on the cheek leaving a clear bite mark of all the teeth he had,  and discovered  a whole gallon of oil based white paint which he proceeded to use to paint the aforementioned child, along with himself. Not pretty.  It's a wonder I didn't kill him washing that paint off with turpentine!  That child's mother gave me a tongue lashing that won't wait and banned him from playing with her child until further notice. 

Timmy, learned to walk at 8 months old.  What he and his brother couldn't get in to hasn't been invented.  Together, they would get into my kitchen cabinets and go from one end to the other scattering pots, pans, stale cookies, old toast, and anything else that happened to be there.  They were just far back up in the cabinets that I couldn't reach them.  They giggled.  I yelled.   Nap time never came soon enough.  Tim rocked on.   We lived on a lake so Sollie had to build a little fenced area for them to play.  Occasionally, they would escape and since I was always watching out the kitchen window for such a moment, I would jump out the back door and scoop them up before they hit the water, thanking God I made it in time.  Chicken wire fences weren't made to keep little boys out of trouble. 

And there was the time when Jimmy poked newspaper up into the furnace in the basement and the house filled with smoke causing an embarrassing false alarm for the local fire department.  And who could forget Timmy climbing into the washing machine tub, and Jimmy turning the knob  "ON."  Or the time they played "war" on the red clay dirt mounds two blocks away, while I was frantically searching the neighborhood for them.  This earned them a switching and "time out" in the corner of their bedroom.  They cried themselves to sleep and when I found them, I almost cried because they looked so sweet with their tear stained, red dirt faces that only showed their eyeballs.

The sweetest moments of child rearing are when they come creeping in your bed in the wee hours of the morning,  just because they want to be close to you.  At the time, when you're cramped, two toddlers and two adults in a very small full sized bed with one above your head and another on your feet, you don't think it's so sweet.  Now, some 59 years later,  I yearn for the days when my boys just wanted to near Momma and Daddy and snuggle.

Wedding Bells to Baby Rattle

After the excitement and flurry of activity of the marriage ceremony was over, we settled down in our own little garage apartment.  We had a tiny kitchen, living room, bedroom and bathroom.  We had new furniture we had purchased with weekly payments.  We had a borrowed car. 

Around October, it became pretty obvious I was pregnant.  I was sick as a dog and wanted to throw up my toenails.  A visit to Dr. Brown verified my suspicion, and we proudly announced to everybody that would listen we were going to become a family.   Our friends the Lawson's were expecting as well.  They had married just a couple of week before us so we had lots to talk about. 

Since we had to climb about 18 steep stairs, we decided it wasn’t very safe and found a cute little bungalow off N. Main Street and moved in by Thanksgiving.  It had the same amount of space but was a walk in from outside, and we felt like we had our own little home.    

Our social life consisted of visiting with our friends, Martha Jane and Al, Jimmy and Shirley, and Buck and Bunny and playing bridge at each other’s homes and fish fry's at somebody's house.   None of us had much money but we had a lot of laughs and enjoyed sharing stories.  Those who did have children would bring them along and make pallets for them at their bedtime in one room and we would gather in another for a game of cards. 

I wasn’t much of a cook then, but I was willing to tackle anything.   Sollie, the great white hunter that he was, brought home a couple of squirrels and wanted me to fry them up for supper with some gravy.  I was pretty naïve, but if he wanted squirrels, he would get them.  He skinned them, and I floured and fried those little things in a pan of hot grease, making gravy just like my Daddy had taught me – flour and water.  It looked pretty good.  I’m not even going to try to explain what this stuff tasted like but, being pregnant and nauseous, I’m not quite sure how I made it through the process.    

Our heat, a little gas heater, was cozy and warm.  I scorched my nylon slip many times as I backed up to warm my buns.   During the day, I would get in our borrowed car and drive over to my Momma’s house playing with Charly or sit in the beauty shop while she worked,  thereby getting all the latest local news and killing time waiting for Sollie to get off from work.  

Around Christmas, or maybe a little later, my Daddy asked Sollie if he thought he would like to work at the shipyard in Savannah where he had worked during the war.  Daddy had a cousin who worked there and said he thought sure he could get Sollie a job there if he wanted to.  So, here we go off to Savannah leaving our little bungalow.  

Working in the shipyard was a downright dirty job!  All I could see was the whites of Sollie’s eyes when he got home, but he was proud of his job and was making pretty decent money for a couple of newly married young’un’s like us.    We found an apartment in Garden City which had two bedrooms, a living room, kitchen and bath.  Ours was on the second floor and the stairs were not too bad in the front.  The back was a different story.  Straight down to the clothes line. We didn’t have a washing machine or dryer so every day I would put Sollie’s dirty clothes in the bathtub with detergent, let them soak, wash them, wring them out and put the pants on stretchers.  Then, I hauled them down those wrought iron stairs to the clothes line to hang to dry.  If the wind was blowing the wrong way, I would be in trouble.  Anyway who has lived in that area in or near Savannah knows all about the soot from the Union Bag’s smoke stacks, not to mention the odor.   Many is the time that I’d bring in those clothes which had dried, but during the process accumulated enough black soot so that sometimes I’d have to wash all over again. But when you’re young, in love, and stupid, things like that don’t matter and you only know happiness and joy that you’re going to have a baby and be a family living in a vine covered cottage very soon.  Yeah, right.  

My days were spent washing by hand the sweet little diaper shirts, long gowns, and bibs that had been passed to me that Momma had made for baby Charly.  Then I’d iron them, fold them, sprinkle with baby power and place in the chest of drawers in anticipation of the birth of my baby.   We did have a small black and white television and I watch soap operas while I ironed.  We had no air conditioning, but a big box fan.  The floors were black asphalt tile and I mopped and waxed them to shiny perfection.  We had no friends locally.  I was lonely, but happy.

Since I had already started seeing Dr. Brown, I continued to see him after our move.  Daddy helped us find a car and we would drive back to Swainsboro for my doctor visits and Sollie’s National Guard duties.   When it was near my due date, I went to Momma’s and Daddy’s to stay until the birth of the baby.  Momma had made the most precious bassinet decorating it with white tulle, satin, and little tine ribbons of pink and blue.  It looked like a mini casket!    Bottles, nipples, rings, caps, pot for boiling were on hand so all I needed was to get the show on the road and have that baby.  And he was going to look exactly like my sweet brother, Charly,  who I thought to be the most beautiful little baby boy in the world.   I waited and I waited.  Two weeks, three weeks, and no baby. 

It was the middle of June and watermelons were ripe and I love watermelon!   Daddy brought home a huge watermelon one day, sliced it open and I ate watermelon like I’d never had anything to eat in my life.    About dark, I began to have the stomach ache from hell.  I thought to myself, now you’ve done it.   I huffed and puffed and waddled around trying to get comfortable.  Then, we all decided maybe it wasn’t the watermelon after all.  Duh. Maybe I was actually in labor.  A call was made to Sollie who was in Hinesville at summer National Guard Camp.  He jumps in our little red Ford and races to Swainsboro.  Somehow after he gets to Swainsboro, the pains just stopped.  I mean, stopped!  What the heck?  Now what? Sollie had driven 90 miles home at 100 mph for nothing.  He went on back to Hinesville. 

Sollie probably had not gotten out of town good before those pains came back with a vengeance.  I’m talking serious, stick stack, no take back, pains that left me knowing there was no doubt this was it.  By the time Sollie drives up to his barracks in the wee hours of the morning, they tell him I’ve gone to the hospital and he needs to come back.  OMG.  Now, he’s got to turn around and drive the 90 miles back in time to get there for the delivery.  God was surely with him because I’m sure the needle circled the dial and he drove like a mad man to get back to Swainsboro to see his baby be born! 

As it turned out, it was well after daylight, but sure enough, the beautiful baby we were looking for came into this world sporting a whole head of hair, hairy legs and arms, beautiful blue eyes, and all 8lbs 8 oz. of him looked nothing at all like Charly, but he was the most beautiful blond haired, blue eyed baby we had ever seen. 

As providence would have it, after all those times I had driven back to Swainsboro to have Dr. Brown deliver the baby, he had left for a fishing trip that week and Dr. Moye, a local doctor, brought my baby boy into this world.   Wouldn’t you know it?   

SATURDAY AFTERNOON MOVIES

We decided that today would be the day we would try to work our DVD player thingy  and watch a movie.  The DVD thingy is on the shelf under the television.  Teresa said all we have to do is put the disc in the "cup holder" and press play.  Sollie's standing by while I finagle with the buttons.  We can do this!

 

Any idea how hard it is to read little words under little tiny buttons when you wear trifocals?   I couldn't squat and lower my head at the right angle to read any of the words and symbols.  This means I'm gonna have to get down on the floor.  Oh Lawd!

Now getting down on anything isn't easy at my age, but somehow I managed to get myself down and get as close as I can to the thingy.  Stop.  Play.  Arrows.  Hummm.  I finally found the Power button on top.  Now, find the cup holder.  I press a button and magically it opens and I put in the disc.  Yep, I'm on a roll now.  Press play.  Grab your water bottle, get in your chair, here comes our movie!

I wallow around like a seal in labor trying to get up,  but no movie is on the screen.  Wait!  Give me the clicker.  Which clicker?  Ummm, maybe the one for the cable.  Nope.  Well, where is the DVD clicker?  Here it is?  Nope.  Now, it's time to call 1-800-TERESA. 

Teresa says, press something.  I press.  Nothing.  Press something else.  Nothing.  Where is the other clicker?  Which clicker?  The one that says VIZIO on it!  Wait a minute.  Here is the clicker that I used to use before we had cable,  but it doesn't say VIZIO on it!   WHERE IS THAT ONE?  I don't know.  Well,  I told you to write it down says my technician daughter when I hooked it up says my sweet daughter who is just waking up from a nap!

I have three clickers scattered around  in front of me and I can't find the one with the button she's telling me to click and I haven't even started on the thingy yet!  Finally, we walk through numerous scenarios and press buttons, stand on our heads, turn around three times, stick out our tongues, and something finally appears on the screen that isn't FOX News.  We be smokin' now! 

I said STOP!  This is the right place!  Now, the movie has been running for a while while we're figuring out the thingy's so Teresa says - now you got to press so and so and get back to the beginning of the movie.  WHAT?

Huffing and puffing and sweating, we finally got our movie.  Too tired to make popcorn.   I'm not real sure we're going to be watching any more movies any time soon.  I forgot to write all that down when we finally got the right button, plus I needed major pain meds for the wallowing I did on the brick floor, and I'd rather take a beating than call 1-800-Teresa!     And I hope Sol managed to find the right button on his tv to get back to whatever it is he wants to watch 'cause I'm gone!

SUMMERTIME AND THE LIVIN' IS EASY

After the Scooter craze left me, I became the proud owner of an Army jeep from WWII.  It used more oil than it did gas.  We’d pile in it and breeze out to the Hoopee to do some skinny dipping, fishing, and joking around.   There was never any alcohol, drugs, or even cigarettes.  We just had plain old fun!

Richard’s Daddy had a nice pond out in the country near Stillmore with a train caboose for a cabin.  He kept that pond stock with nice fish.  We helped him feed the fish.  Once, we put a couple of bags of feed in to help them get bigger, sooner.  We apparently thought they weren’t big enough for frying.  That got us into some pretty big trouble with the Doctor.   Later, when the fish did get bigger, we’d catch a bucket full and take to McKinney’s Pond to sell for gas money.  Our transportation at that time, was Richard’s Momma's big ole’ Cadillac.  If she only knew….

Now, the caboose was a great gathering place in the summer months for some serious fishing and frolicking.  Sometimes there would be a crowd of folks and sometimes just our gang.   Sometimes the Doctor would have his guests out for some fishing and always had a pretty good stock of food in the kitchen there.  Once, we opened up some Caviar and helped ourselves with some saltine crackers.   Dr. B was pretty upset over that one too. 

Water skiing was a big priority during the summer.  Groups of us would gather at Holloway’s pond, and spend a whole day water skiing.  Richard had a nice boat.  We had some good skiers too in our crowd.  Sumner's Beach was another good spot for water skiing.  It was the “country resort” in our day. 

One year, at Christmas, we decided that there were some families in the black community that needed some help with their meals.   It was a common practice in those days for the grocers to leave their produce out on the sidewalk overnight.  We would take just a little from each one, put it in a paper sack, and strike out for the homes we thought might have little children in need.  I was the getaway driver in my Daddy’s ’50 Ford, and the others would jump out and run put the sacks on the porch of the houses.  We were kind of modern day Robin Hoods.  

My Daddy always parked his car around back of the J. C. Coleman Hotel.  At first, I would go ask him if he would let me drive around town to see my girl or run an errand.  After I got legal, I got smart and had myself a key made so I could slip around the corner without him ever knowing and always get the car back by the time he got off work.  Once, I needed a part for my Scooter so I got a couple of boys and we headed off to Augusta with Daddy’s car.  I was doing my normal speed.  Fast.  We were way down the road when the right front tire blew out.  Major blast.  I handled myself pretty good and brought that car to a standstill just off the side of the road.  I put on the spare, made it back to town and took the tire to Flanders Tire Co., where I talked Mr. Flanders into giving me an old tire so Daddy wouldn’t miss the one that blew out.  The car was back in its spot when Daddy got off from work.  

I sold my scooter and my jeep for a fine and dandy little black ’40 Ford with a rumble seat in the back.  It was something fine!  I can see me and Rose now cruising Sam’s Drive-In.  Those were the days!

It's been a long time since those days.  Good times, bad times, funny times, and sad times.  Material things come and go, but a lifetime of good friends and wonderful family make life worth living and I'm so proud to have had both.

BOYS WILL BE BOYS

I was lucky to have great friends in my hometown.  Growing up in small towns in the 50’s was so different from today.   Friendships were bonds that will never grow old.  Even though many have passed on, my memories from those years will never leave.  

There were a group of us that kind of stuck together.  Partners in crime, you might say.  We’d gather either before school or after school and plot or plans.  Sometimes plans went haywire and we’d wind up in the office of our high school principal, Mr. Glenn.  John, Jack and I all had Scooters.  It was the 50’s version of a “hog.”  Mine was red. 

In the 50’s, having a bomb shelter was something many people thought about.  The threat was real.  Mr. D, Jack’s Daddy decided to build a bomb shelter.  It was basically a hole in the ground, with a 55-gallon drum for the entry way and had a lid for the top.  There was a ladder going down into the hole, which was stocked with some rations, water, a couple of cots and blankets.  It even had electricity.  Survival kind of stuff.   It was like a small room but with a dirt floor, dirt walls, and a ceiling reinforced with railroad ties, then tin and dirt.   It became our “hide-out”.  Or so we thought.  

One day, after we checked in at homeroom, we slipped out a side door and headed for our hide out on our scooters.  We scooted down the “hole” ladder, and began making our plans for our next venture.  All of sudden, a horn is blasting up top.   Somebody said, “shhhhh” and we all fell quiet.  Jack eased up the ladder, raised the lid, and right there stood Mr. Glenn.  Apparently he had followed up from school.  “Alright boys, I know you’re down there, come on out.”  He followed up back to school.  This earned us a few days of washing windows, taking out trash, and cleaning blackboards.  Got off pretty lightly that time.  

Another day, the three of us decided it was warm enough to slip out to Coleman’s Lake.  Once again, about the time we crossed the bridge kicking up dirt, we looked around and there he was again.  “Alright boys, where you think you’re going?”  He followed us back to school.  This earned more window washing, blackboard washing, along with a few days’ detention.   Mr. Glenn was a fine man.  He just wanted to keep his herd together and there were no lengths to what he would do to make sure we stayed in the herd.  We pretty much respected his judgement after that.   I’ve often wondered if he didn't  have a good laugh at the end of the day about our little adventures.

I do recall, however, that Mr. Gambrell, showed me what a paddle was used for and so did Coach Schwabe, but for the life of me, I can’t remember the offense.  I’m sure it was a similar circumstance that a few of us decided might work out for us, and failed.