Picky, Picky, Picky

imageAbout ten years after I got out of high-school, I got a call from an old friend I. Hadn’t seen since we graduated.  We had a lot to catch up on.  She had married her sister’s discarded boyfriend.  Sally wasn’t the sharpest girl around.  A couple of years after they got married, he was arrested for exposing himself to some kids on a playground.  Sally was waiting for him when he got out of jail.  She was sure the kids had lied on him.  After all that waiting, he left her for another man.  Sally thought maybe it was because she got fat while he was in jail.  She kept hoping he’d come back, but he died.

A year or two later, she met a guy at a bar.  They had a one-night stand.  A few months later, Sally went to help her Daddy cut corn.  She got dehydrated and passed out.  Three days later, she woke up in the hospital and found out she’d had a baby.  She hadn’t even known she was pregnant.

After that, she met a guy who was just crazy about her.  He worked on a road crew for the state.  She was kind of thinking about marrying him, but he his feet smelled so bad, she just didn’t know if she could stand him.  What did I think she ought to do?  I thought it might work if they slept with the windows open.

I Don’t Want To See The Faces Anymore


The Off Key Of Life

I’m tired of having the faces put up on a screen in front me by people looking for sensationalized ratings; faces that have taken so many innocent lives, who have been turned into fifteen minute celebrities at the expense of faces that will never be shown, lives that will never be discussed and futures that will never be realized.

I don’t want to see the Columbine shooters who killed 13 students and injured 24.

I don’t want to see the Virginia Tech shooter who killed 32 students.

I don’t want to see the Northern Illinois University shooter who killed five and injured 16 more.

I don’t want to see the Fort Hood shooters who killed a total of 16 and injured 48 more.

I don’t want to see the Salt Lake City or Omaha shopping mall shooters who killed 13 and injured eight.

I don’t want to see the Aurora…

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Annie and the Hinsons

Annie Lee Holdaway0001 (2)enlargedPictured is Annie Lee Holdaway 1941

Excerpt from Kathleen’s Memoirs of The Great Depression

To my great sorrow, Annie had finished all ten grades in Cuthand.  On Mr. Kinnebrew’s recommendation, she’d gotten a position as mother’s helper to Mrs. Hinson, his wealthy aunt who lived almost adjoining the Clarksville High School. Judge and Mrs. Hinson were one of the most prominent families in Clarksville.  They’d had only one child, Laura, who was “sweet but simple.”  They’d always doted on Laura, giving her a privileged, though very protected life.  Unfortunately, Mrs. Hinson was hospitalized for a while when Laura was about fifteen, leaving Laura in the care of the housekeeper by day and her father at night.  The gardener who clearly saw how they doted on Laura was able to woo and win her without her mama’s interference.  Naturally, she fell for the first man to ever allowed to pay attention to her, even though he was nearly fifty.  When he caught the housekeeper was too busy to notice, the old goat slipped her off to marry one afternoon.

He convinced Laura to keep the secret of their marriage until it was obvious a baby was on the way.  Not surprisingly, for the sake of decency and their daughter’s happiness, the Hinsons did their best for Laura and her family.  Laura wanted her useless husband.  He had enough sense to know which side his bread was buttered on, so was always good to her and the children, though he never worked again.  The Hinsons built her a nice house, adjoining theirs. Over the next few years, Laura had a large brood, but was never capable of keeping house or caring for the children, so Mrs. Hinson had a housekeeper to take care of the house and help with the children.  Annie’s job was feed and dress the school kids off in the morning and make sure they got their homework in the evening.  For this she got room, board, a small salary and generous bonuses.  She had to be there Monday afternoon through Friday morning.  It was a wonderful job for a high-school student.  It broke my heart to see her catching a ride in with the mail carrier at six am on Monday morning, but was the high point of the week when he dropped her back off Friday afternoon, full of tales of the Hinsons, high-school, or life in Clarksville.  She always managed to bring me a tiny gift or two, such or a damaged book or toy one of the kids no longer wanted.  Best of all, was a piece of Laura’s candy.

Any story Annie brought me from her time at the Hinson’s was golden.  Though Laura was simple, she had a gift for making candy.  Hotels, stores, and high end business competed for the confections she she’d learned early to make candy at the hand of the housekeeper who raised her.  Her husband was only too happy to serve as delivery man for her, selling all the candies Laura cared to make.  What a stroke of luck for him!  He’d married the goose who laid the golden egg!

Never Gonna Keep Up


Having attended a tiny rural high school, fearing I could never compete with those from large urban high schools, I was sensitive about my educational shortcomings. Expecting to be labeled a bumpkin and hustled back to the farm “with my own kind,” in my mind, I had gotten to college with little to recommend me but a good vocabulary, a love of Continue reading