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Posts Tagged ‘grandpa’

This Worthy and Wierd Quote is a little nasty but  it was so funny that I had to include it here.

I would guess that our boys were about 13 and 16 years old at the time it happened.  We were still living near Custer but were spending that particular day helping Grandpa S. get some things done around the ranch. 

Grandpa was known to everyone as ‘Bud’.  He had been born a cowboy and had lived his whole life at the ranch.  Bud was mostly a quiet man but he could get fired up on occasion when stuff broke down, the price of cigarettes went up or the football games he loved to watch didn’t turn out as he had hoped.  Basically, he was a tough old rancher with skin like tanned leather and a vocabulary that sometimes bordered on the – shall we say – spicy side of life?

This particular day had been a long, hot one filled with broken down equipment, skinned up knuckles and busy grandkids.  We had finally had all the ‘fun’ we could stand so had stopped for a cold drink at the kitchen table.  Grandpa was in the middle of telling a story – about what or who I can’t remember but our youngest son had obviously come in at the middle of the story because he didn’t know what or who it was about either.  Unfortunately, he was trying to figure out what Grandpa was talking about just as Grandpa was trying to finish his story.  My baby (actually a teenager) kept asking,

“Who?  Who are you talking about?  Who? Who?”

Grandpa had reached his last nerve and answered back,

“You don’t shit through feathers!”

It was one of those rare moments in time when the world and everything on it stopped mid-step and you pause with creased brow trying to process the words you think you just heard before asking, “What did you say?”

Grandpa was frazzled and our son was speechless (but secretly thrilled to quickly file these words of wisdom – complete with a 4-letter ‘sentence enhancer’ away for future use). 

The rest of us were practically worthless as we laughed till tears streamed from our eyes.  Everybody laughed about that one – even Grandpa and our boy.

I can’t blame HBO for teaching my children to cuss like sailors.  They were born ranch kids and since most ranchers have a colorful language you’re bound to pick up a few choice words that always seem to pop out at the most inopportune times.

(I’m still really, really sorry about that one time, Pastor Dave)

When our boys were little and throughly fascinated with those 4-letter words I finally had to make a deal with them – they could cuss but only when we were working cattle.  I figured this was OK since it seems to be the only language cattle understand. 

Now, you might think I’m a terrible mother but I must admit this arrangement worked out pretty well.  The boys actually watched their language at school and public places but on horseback, in a corral full of wild-eyed cattle they could blister the paint off the side of the barn. 

I always had to laugh when the neighbors would come to help work cattle – seeing the shocked looks on their faces, the boys were always quick to explain…

 “But Mom says that’s the only language cattle understand.”

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I’ve been working on my New Years Resolution.  You should be very proud of me – it’s only taken me till the 27th of January to get started on it.  I picked just one resolution this year because it’s a big one and it will probably take me at least 37 years, 5 months and 13 days to accomplish it. 

I have vowed to organized every last photo in our house!

I know – insanity runs rampant in my family but I have resolved to do this so I must get started. 

I decided it would be smart to start with the old photos – we have a lot of them – some from my side of the family and a bunch from my husbands’ family.  When my father-in-law passed away a couple of years ago we ended up with 6 VERY LARGE boxes of photos, newspaper clippings and a variety of other documents that desperately need to be preserved so being the overachiever that I am I decided the best thing to do would be to scan them and make CDs for my hubbys’ brothers, cousins, aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews, grandchildren, 2nd cousins twice removed and any neighbors and total strangers who want one. 

I can be so ‘Martha’ sometimes.

But tonight, before I even looked into the first box of my husbands’ family photos I found this one in my grandmothers’ old photo album.

This is the Meyer School.  It is where my grandmother – Lulu taught before she got married.  It was 6 miles from Huron, SD and these are the children who went to school there in 1934 – 1935 (at least that’s what it says on the back).  Since I was born in 1961 I don’t think I know any of these kids but I do know the school.  It was called the Meyer School because the Meyer family lived right across the road from it and I would bet real money they had a lot to do with building it.  This is where Lulu was teaching when she met my grandfather, Russell.  He was very handsome and he drove the horse-drawn road grader pulled by his team of horses back and forth in front of the school.  I’ve heard he spent a lot of time grading the road in front of the school.  In fact someone once mentioned that he just about wore that stretch of road out in front of the school.  I’m sure it was just because he took his job very, very seriously and that stretch of road must have needed work very, very badly.

Yeah – I’m sure that’s why he did it.

Here’s a photo of Grandpa Russell and Grandma Lulu on a date. 

Someone wrote on the back of the photo:  “Russell and his girl taking in his rye field.”

Exciting, isn’t it?  Grandpa really knew how to show a girl a good time.

“My, what nice rye you have, Russell…  It’s really…  tall.         Can we go now?”

Look at her.  She’s just about to throw her arms around his neck, kiss him passionately and roll around in that field of rye with him – isn’t she? 

OK – Maybe not.

But Grandma married him anyway and she moved to the sod house at the farm 1 mile from the school.  My Uncle Don and my father, Jim were raised there and eventually both were students at the Meyer School.  They married nice, young gals and raised their families next door to the home place (also 1 mile from the school).  My brother, sister and I grew up on the farm and when we got old enough to go to 1st grade this is where we went too.

I only went to country school for 2 years but I have some vivid memories of it.

My cousins were students there too along with the kids from several families near by but there were only 2 kids in my grade – a boy named Roger and myself.  He was weird.

We didn’t have running water just a cooler that was filled every day and placed on a table in the small coat room just inside the door.  It was cool.

Because there wasn’t running water we had 2 outhouses out back – one for the boys and one for the girls.  They were cool too – especially in the winter.

One day I went to the outhouse and found a huge garter snake stretched out and soaking up the sunshine in front of the door.  I just about peed my pants right then and there.  I ran back inside and told our teacher who quickly sent my big, strong and incredibly brave cousin, Marla (with a baseball bat in hand) out to take care of the snake.  The poor little snake must have been just as scared as I was because he disappeared before we got back.

We played lots of baseball during recess and rode the merry-go-round and swings too.  And we would take turns ringing the bell when it was time to come in. 

I distinctly remember a Christmas program where I had to recite a poem.  I was scared spit less but got through it without too many prompts from our teacher.  If I remember right.

I hadn’t thought about that for a long time.   Isn’t it great how old photos can bring back all those memories? 

Unfortunately, I now realize I’ve just spent the last 2 hours reminiscing and have only scanned 2 photos. 

Damn. 

I guess you better add a couple more years onto my timeline for this years’ resolution.  Help me Martha!!!

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When it comes to Christmas Eve, our family has several  traditions.

Growing up, Christmas Eve was always the night we would travel (OK – it was only 1/4 of a mile) over the river and through the woods (OK – there was one culvert and a tree strip) to Grandmother’s (and Grandfather’s) house we’d go.  This was the night my brother and sister and I had waited for all year.  This was the night we would get to open our presents.  

Now don’t get me wrong, our family wasn’t wealthy.  Far from it.  We didn’t get huge mountains of extravagant gifts but we never went without.  In fact Christmas was always the best time of the year because early winter was when the money came in.  Calves were sold and the neighbor who rented some of our land always paid at the end of the season so Christmas was the one time of year when we actually had real cash money in the bank.

Christmas Eve has always been filled with traditions.  My Dad’s side of the family would all go to Grandma & Grandpa’s house.  Grandma Lulu would cook a big meal and we would eat on her pink depression glass dishes.  Oh how I loved those dishes!  We would eat everything from prime rib to sloppy joes on those dishes and when people would comment on them Grandma would just smile and say “Oh, they’re nothing fancy – they just came in with the flour we bought”. 

After supper we would have to wash the dishes.  It took fooooooooorevvvvvvvvvvver!!!  I was sure we washed, dried and put away every single pot, pan, glass and dish Grandma had in her whole kitchen.  It was kind of like spring cleaning in the dead of winter.

When the kitchen was finally in order we would find a comfy spot in the living room and listen as Grandma read the Christmas story from the Bible.  I can still hear her voice and picture her, sitting in the corner near the huge Christmas cactus which was always covered with bright pink blossoms.  Grandma always did have a way with plants.

If we were lucky, Grandma only read the Christmas story.  But some years she would decide to read some (or all) of the Christmas cards and letters they had received.  What torture for small children!  I’m sure Grandma didn’t mean it that way.  She was a good, Christian farm wife who didn’t have a mean bone in her short little, arthritic body but I’ve always wondered if she didn’t secretly enjoy watching the kids squirm as she carefully read each letter, always taking the time to remind us which long forgotten friend or distant family relation had written it.

After every last card and letter was read and all the kids began to edge toward the pile of gifts my father (who incidentally always wore the same red, black and white Christmas sweater) would announce “I guess it’s time to go home now”.  He definitely had a mean streak! 

Everyone would laugh and at last, it was time to pass out gifts and rip our way through the wrapping paper.

The gifts were mostly practical with a few fun and frivolous ones thrown in.  Some years we had unusual gifts that would forever burn that particular year into our memories like the year Grandma sewed ties for all the guys.  The home movies Uncle Don took that year clearly shows every man in the room sporting the same wild tie over sweaters, shirts and even Grandpa’s bib overalls.  It was great! 

And then there was the year I gave my brother a pool cue.  It was cool – it came in it’s own case and had 3 sections that screwed together.  He loved it but ended up giving it to Grandpa because he had held it all evening and obviously wanted it more than anything in the world.  That was a good year.

Even though the gifts changed as we grew there was one tradition that we could count on like visits to the dentist and paying taxes to the IRS – the tradition of the ugly underwear.

We’re not sure where she found them…  Maybe she had a secret source that mailed them to her in plain brown wrappers…  Or a friend in the local department store who ordered them just for Aunt Korky.  We don’t know where they came from but they were there every year like the pink depression dishes.  Cleverly disguised with some wonderful gift like a box of hand-sewn Barbie doll clothes or the cutest little suitcases you ever saw – they were there.  Every year we received the wildest, most colorful and unusually printed underwear you have ever seen.  Thankfully, this gift was reserved only for the female cousins and my sister and myself.   I’m not sure what we would have thought if my brother had pulled out a pair of tye-dyed whitey-tighties.  Like the rising of the sun, there they were.   Every color of the rainbow condensed into a small pair of silk panties.  This was underwear to wear proudly.  Underwear that could turn any 8-year-old into a rebel without a cause – these were the ‘James Dean of undies’.  And a few select pairs of them will live on forever in the home movies we still watch.  They will haunt me till the day I die.

I don’t remember many of the gifts but I do remember the traditions that led up to them.  And thankfully the traditions continue. 

Grandma and Grandpa have passed on.  The farm has been split up and sold.  Now we go to my folk’s place and the tradition of reading the Christmas story has passed down through my mother who no longer is able to read it because of Alzheimer’s, to my sister and myself.  Thankfully, our children have grown up hearing the story every year that reminds us what the season is really about.  They too have endured the dreaded dish washing marathons and their Grandpa who still tells us its time to go home when it’s really time to open presents.  He still has a mean streak! 

And yes, the tradition of ugly underwear continues, only now we wear them on our heads for the annual Christmas photos.

And proudly display them even though we’re usually laughing so hard we can’t take a good picture to save our souls.

The traditions continue and this year we may have even added a new one or perhaps two.

 This will be known forevermore as the year my nephew brought his first batch of home-made beer.

And the year of the tape measures.

Perhaps this may  have added to what happened next – I wonder?

It started out innocently enough.  Dad purchased a 12 pack – a case of tape measures.

Within 5 seconds of passing them out this is what the livingroom looked like.

And it got worse.

As the evening went on records were set and broken:

Indoor Unassisted:  105″

Indoor Assisted – with up to 3 other tapes holding another one up:  139″

Outdoors Unassisted:  113″

We may have the making of a new Olympic sport.

Today they come to our house for Christmas dinner.

I hope they bring their tape measures!

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