Ruthi Postow Birch's Blog, page 4

CONSPIRACY THEORIES — MY SCARIEST CHILDHOOD MEMORIES

One summer afternoon when I was seven or eight I heard conspiracy theories for the first time. Aunt Esther was telling Mama that the communists were plotting to take over America!

She said there were communists all over America. They had been sneaking in for years and hiding. Now they were getting into big jobs in the government. When they took over there would be a dictator and we wouldn’t be free anymore. People who didn’t agree would be dragged to prison.

I was just a kid and still believed grown-ups knew everything. And Aunt Esther even had pamphlets to prove what she said was true. Suddenly my world was dark and scary. The communists could even be coming to Alabama!

Aunt Esther was Mama’s sister. She had come to visit all the way from California where they seemed to know about conspiracies. She was as different from Mama as night from day. Mama was day — plump, sunny, and jolly. Aunt Esther was night — thin, elegant, dark. And she was an expert on communism and its threats to America.

Aunt Esther’s Communist Conspiracy Theories

After the dinner dishes were cleared away, the grown-ups sat at the table with their coffee, and Aunt Esther talked about the conspiracies. Mama and Daddy didn’t notice me laying across the big green chair in the living room, a few feet away — listening to every scary word she said.

“You know Russia has the bomb. They could start a war, but they’re smart enough to know it would be better to take over from inside.  (The bomb part didn’t really worry me. I’d learned at school that if a bomb came, all we had to do was climb under our desks and we’d be safe.)

“They plan to take over our country little by little by infiltrating our government, schools, even some churches.  They’ve already started to put their people in powerful jobs.”

“Bulls*&%^,” said Daddy and laughed. “Esther, you can’t believe this crap.”

“It’s not bull-you-know-what. I can name two Congressmen who may be communists.”

I heard papers rustling and Aunt Esther said, “Here! Here’s your proof? This is an official report from the researchers at the John Birch Society. It has names of communists already in power. Read it for yourself.”

It must be true, I thought. There’s an official report.

Daddy snorted. “John Birchers! Bah! They’re as crazy as the communists.”

”Crazy as a fox — you’ve heard the expression? Well, that’s what they are — our foxes — our watchdogs. You have to read it. There are networks of spy rings in almost every State and most major towns. They’re everywhere and they are watching us, listening, and sending reports back to Russia.”

“This is bull*&%^,” Daddy said again. I heard his chair scrape across the floor as he stood up. “Esther, you’ve been hoodwinked. I’ve had my fill of conspiracy theories. Goodnight.”

She called after him, “I hope you don’t wake up one morning and find out you’re living under a dictator who controls where you go and what you think.”

I was wondering how they would know what we were thinking when Aunt Esther said, “Eva, you need to listen to me. I’ll tell you it’s happening. If we let them win, America will be just like Russia. You will live where they tell you and do what they tell you.”

She went on to describe the awful things that were going to happen to us. I wanted to stop listening, but I couldn’t — like when you’re in the most terrifying movie ever and you’re really scared but don’t want to leave.

When They Take OverThere will be a dictator and we will have to do whatever he says.We won’t have good clothes or enough food to eat.They will close the churches and we won’t even be allowed to pray.If somebody disagrees with the government, they’ll be thrown in prison and tortured — even if they just think it (again, I wasn’t sure how they’d know what we were thinking).

Mama said, “Esther, I don’t believe this stuff. You get yourself all worried over things that are never going to happen.”

“Hah! Unless people listen and take action they will happen— not all at once, but they’ll happen. I guarantee you there are already communists at work right here in Mobile — maybe even in your church. They look just like us so you don’t know. One could be preaching from your own church pulpit, and you wouldn’t know.”

I jumped off the chair. “We don’t have any communists in our church, Mama. Do we?”

Uh-oh! I’d given myself away.

Mama turned to look at me. “No. There is nothing to worry about. Aunt Esther is just supposing what if. You shouldn’t be in here anyway. This is grown-up talk. Now, why don’t you get your bath?”

I whined, “I don’t want to go. Please. It’s too early.”

First They Brainwash the Children

Aunt Esther said, “She’s at the very age they are coming for. First, they put their teachers in the classrooms to brainwash our children with their lies. Make no mistake — it won’t be easy to tell. They are wily and trained to fool you. You don’t know — her teacher could be a communist right now

Mrs. Green is not a communist!” I whined under my breath because I didn’t want Mama to make me leave.

But Aunt Esther heard me. “How do you know she’s not? You wouldn’t know if you were being brainwashed.”

I still didn’t believe Mrs. Green was a communist but I kept quiet.

“It happened in Russia, and it can happen here. They take the children away to their own schools where they brainwash them to believe in communism. 

Then they tell them it’s their duty to watch their parents. Children turn in their own parents. Then the secret police come and drag them away to prison.”

I ran to Mama and jumped into her arms, crying, screaming, “No! I won’t do it, Mama! They can’t make me. I’ll never tell no matter what they do to me. I won’t let them take you to prison.”

“You would if they brainwashed you,” vowed Aunt Esther.

By that time my crying had brought Daddy back in and he was mad.

“Esther, that’s it! Stop talking about communists.”

Mama said, “Norvelle is right. No more conspiracy talk — period! When Mama said “period” she meant business. It put an end to Aunt Esther’s conspiracy theories for that visit.

But I remembered.

Conspiracy theories, like war, are not good for children and other living things.

Until Aunt Esther brought her conspiracy theories, my only serious fear was that Mama could die. Aunt Esther elevated my fear into a recurring nightmare —  the secret police could come into our house and drag Mama away to prison — and it would be all my fault.

What were your greatest childhood fears? What do you think our children will remember as their greatest fears — Evil conspiracies? War? The government? Bullies? Bad people with guns?

The post CONSPIRACY THEORIES — MY SCARIEST CHILDHOOD MEMORIES appeared first on Life(F)unscripted.

WHAT BASEBALL FANS TEACH US ABOUT TRUE LOVE

Want to know if it’s true love? Give it the baseball fans test.

I discovered this test for true love one Sunday in a surprising place — church. It was Washington Nationals Day. As I walked in the door I knew something felt different — there was a buzz of excited anticipation in the room. On a closer look, I saw that this was no ordinary Sunday.

The buzz came from the preacher and his congregation of baseball fans, all decked out and logoed in Nats’ red, white, and blue. They were going to see their team play baseball!

The sermon was about — what else? Baseball! Baseball, baseball fans, and what we can learn from them about devotion — or true love.

To understand where this is going, you need to know that at the time the Nats were coming from a seven-game losing streak.

The preacher stood to give the sermon. But he didn’t start with the 2022 team. He harked back to another team — the 2019 Washington Nationals.

Remember them? Who wouldn’t love them? They won the World Series! They hugged. They were adorable. They had the Baby Shark.

And that was the point — they weren’t the test of the fans’ devotion — or of true love. 

True love’s test

The true love test came with the 2020, 2021, and 2022 Nats — the team that finished fourth in the National League in 2020 and dead last in the National League East Division in 2021.

After the fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh losses, the merely infatuated fans didn’t pass the test. True love is steadfast. True love made that congregation dress up in Nats regalia on this steamy D.C. day and climb to their seats in the ozone of Nationals Park. They wanted to be with their team.

And the Nats lost. It was sad, but the fans didn’t lose faith. There’s always next time. Their team would be back. For true baseball fans, it’s a game of faith and hope as well as love.

After a few baseball references, I have to admit I drifted off into my own thoughts.

I went to memories of my husband, Ronnie who died last March. He was a true baseball fan and my true love.

Sometimes love is easy

When we met, Ronnie was like the 2019 Washington Nationals. He was at the top of his game as an attorney and litigator. And he was adorable — the man of every dream I’d ever had. He was tall, handsome, exciting, and elegant. That was one of the first things I’d noticed about him. Ronnie didn’t merely walk — he danced. And he was funny. I could listen to his stories forever and never get bored. I fell in love.

Ronnie fell in love too. He told me I was beautiful, clever, and quick — he even said I was almost as much fun as a guy. Of course, I was young then, my hair was perfect, and I had on a really cute dress.

Most of the time love was easy — times of travel, rides in limousines to Broadway shows, dining on real caviar.

Even life’s challenges were easy and we laughed at them — like the low tree branches in the garden that always took Ronnie by surprise. It was like we were playing and winning our World Series over and over again.

Sometimes love isn’t fun

Soon enough, Ronnie found out loving me wasn’t always fun. Being anywhere near me when I have a cold is not fun! It’s way less fun than sitting in terrible seats and watching the Nats play their eighth straight losing game. When I have a cold, I look a hundred. My hair is a rat’s nest plastered to my head. My eyes are red and wet. And there is no makeup to tone down my neon-red nose. Plus I’m grumpy.

Ronnie first saw me with a cold when I came downstairs, wheezing and whining, and wearing a sloppy stained bathrobe. But he was there for me. Even though a baseball game was on, he left the television and came to me. “Poor baby,” he said, “Come here.” And he came with open arms. Even I wouldn’t have hugged me.

“Stop,” I whined. “It’s too hot in here. You turned up the heat, didn’t you?” I pushed his arms away and fanned the front of my ratty robe.

“And don’t look at me. I’m ugly!”

He laughed — he had such a sweet laugh. “Come here. You’re not ugly. You’re beautiful.” And he held me in a hug that could only come from true love.

We played as though we believed we could win

Our love was steadfast through colds, heart bypasses, knee replacements, and pneumonia. We knew we could win. Then we met an enemy we couldn’t laugh off or beat — emphysema, a mean, degenerative disease — a thief empowered by Ronnie’s years of smoking.

It was weird. Soon after we met, I had a dream. In my dream, Ron was standing outside of his office building as he often did when he was thinking through some complex legal issue. And he was smoking, as he always did. I walked past him, proud, almost prancing, my head high, my skirt bouncing. He looked at me and flicked his cigarette away, but the wind caught it. It hit me and I broke into pieces, but not messy shards. I broke into surreal panes that stayed vertical as they slid slowly to the sidewalk.

But that wasn’t going to happen! I wouldn’t shatter. We kept on playing life as though Ronnie was the 2019 Nats and I was his steadfast fan. We gave living everything we had. We played to have fun. We played as though we could win.

Ronnie rode in a wheelchair, held his oxygen tank, and we lived. We toured galleries and museums. We went to zoos. We fed flamingos. We played with Mr. Magoo, our dog. We sat in the garden, had picnics, and played scrabble or poker (I cheated).

When he couldn’t go out to the garden anymore, we sat together on the couch, held hands, and watched Jeopardy or old movies on TV.

In time, the mirror made him sad. But he could look through my eyes and see the man he’d always been — a man who didn’t merely walk but danced.

True love is the answer

If you’re not a baseball fan, you may think the fans are crazy to go out in the heat, scramble for a parking space a mile away, and sit in the heat to support a team that’s losing. True love is the answer. Win or lose, they are happier in the stands watching their team play, even in ozone seats in the sweltering heat, than anyplace else.

Sometimes Ron worried that I did too much. He said I needed a break. We should get help. No. I was too selfish. Whatever I did wasn’t just for him. It was for me. It made me happy because happiness was being with Ron Birch — even if it just meant doing nothing but sitting on that couch beside him. That’s how you know it’s true love.

So, that’s how I learned what baseball fans teach us about true love — from a sermon — although I’m not sure this was exactly what the preacher was going for.

August 1, 2022

 

 

 

 

The post WHAT BASEBALL FANS TEACH US ABOUT TRUE LOVE appeared first on Life(F)unscripted.

FUNNY JOB INTERVIEWS — MISTAKES CAN HAVE HAPPY ENDINGS

Have you ever come out of a job interview miserable, sure you’ve blown it? You went in so professional, so prepared. You knew all the right answers. Then something happened. Alas for preparation, your self-control went out the window. You can’t believe what you did or said next. Don’t beat yourself up yet. The mistake that torments you might actually have made you more real and likable. Josie, Sara, and Al thought they’d blown their job interviews. But what the interviewers saw were their authenticity, enthusiasm, and poise in carrying on. Here are their funny job interviews — that turned out great.

She Danced Like a Ferret

Sara was normally upbeat and easy-going but on her way to her interview she was all nerves. The job was the perfect fit for her experience and she really wanted it.

When she saw the executive offices she was more uptight than ever. The place looked like money — stark, serious, no-kidding money — straight lines and sharp angles,  no curves or soft surfaces, not even the chairs. Even the colors were serious — from ash gray to gun-metal. Nothing about it seemed to invite Sara’s lighthearted personality.

Be serious, she thought. Don’t make jokes. Show them you’re what this serious business needs.

The two executives who could be Sara’s next bosses looked as starched as the straight-edged office. But they surprised her. They were warm and friendly and told her about the company and the position. They even made little jokes about themselves.

But Sara stayed uptight and serious, answering their questions in a manner that was business-like — and stiff.

Thrown For a Loop —

Then they asked a question she hadn’t expected or prepared for.

“Sara, your experience is impressive. So, tell us a little about Sara. What are you like?”

“About me?”

“Yes. What’s Sara like?”

“Okay. Well… uh … I have a pet ferret.”

“A ferret?” I didn’t really say that, Sara thought, but she was on a roll and couldn’t stop.

“He’s so funny. He loves to play. His favorite trick is to steal my socks. I swear he laughs at me. And he does this funny dance — leaping and twisting and waving his legs. We dance together — like this.”

Sara threw her arms up in the air, almost tipping over her chair. She waved her arms wildly and kicked her legs in a mock ferret dance.

The executives must have been looking for someone not so serious because Sara got the job.

Granny’s Advice — Have Faith

It was Josie’s first-ever interview for a real job. She got up early, shined her shoes, ironed her dress, combed her hair, and checked the mirror — she looked totally professional. She knew she had the skills the job required. But there was the job interview — with strangers. What if she blew it. She asked her devoutly Christian granny’s advice.

“My job interview is today and I’m scared.”

“Can you do the job?”

“Yes, ma’am. I know I can, but what if they don’t like me?”

“Pshaw! Have you taken it to God in prayer?”

“Yes ma’am. I prayed but I’m still scared.”

“Honey, God loves you. Jesus said if you want something that’s good and right, claim it in His name and He will answer. Trust God.”

“I’ll try.”

“Don’t worry. Just put your confidence in the Lord. Claim the job in the name of Jesus.”

Josie took Granny’s advice.

Josie’s interview was even scarier than she’d expected. The man who interviewed her was stiff, starched, and intimidating. He didn’t show any emotion as he fired questions from a checklist and made a note after each answer. Josie hoped her answers were okay.

Then she remembered Granny’s advice and followed it — to the extreme. She slapped her hand firmly on the desktop and declared, “I claim this job in the name of Jesus!”

The banker’s eyes popped open. “What?”

She hadn’t meant to follow Granny’s advice quite in that way, but she closed her eyes and said again, “Uh, I claim this job in the name of Jesus.”

The rest of the story –

Later that day the banker told a colleague about Josie’s interview. “She’s a nice, bright young lady. She has good skills and seems willing to learn. But in the middle of the interview she slapped her hand on my desk and said, “I claim this job in the name of Jesus!”

“What did you do?”

“What could I do? I hired her.”

It’s all in the handshake

Al went to his job interview overflowing with enthusiasm — and nerves. He really wanted that job. He’d made it through two rounds of interviews. Now he was back for his final interview with the company president.

He sat on the edge of his seat in the president’s office, careful not to wrinkle his freshly dry-cleaned suit. On the table beside him was a crisp, new copy of his resume in case the president needed it. He was ready.

Finally, the president came in. Al leapt to his feet, his hand out ready to shake. In a voice louder than he meant it to be, he said, “Wow. It’s such an honor to meet you!”

So, as this most important job interview was just starting what was in Al’s mind? I can’t believe I said, “Wow.” But he recovered and the interview went well. By the end of the interview Al was feeling a little more positive. He shook the president’s hand and expressed his appreciation and interest.

“When do you plan to make your decision? I’d love to have this job. This is a great company and I really hope you will hire me.”

Was that too much? He worried. Did I come on too strong?

Then, he backed up and fell backward over the table.

Al’s face was crimson, but the president was laughing and helped him up. His enthusiasm paid off. Al got the job.

Sara, Josie, and Al were qualified to do the jobs they wanted. But they worried that they’d blown their chances with their funny job interviews — doing the crazy ferret dance, taking Granny’s advice to the extreme, or falling all over themselves trying too hard. But that’s not what happened. Each person had the skills, but it was their mistakes that showed the interviewers the more important qualities that beat out the competition —  genuineness, authenticity, and enthusiasm.

The post FUNNY JOB INTERVIEWS — MISTAKES CAN HAVE HAPPY ENDINGS appeared first on Life(F)unscripted.

TEN LIFE LESSONS I BLUNDERED INTO LEARNING

1. Wishful Shopping

No matter how cute they are, if the pants are too tight in the store, they’ll be too tight when you need to wear them. “But if I lose five pounds….” You won’t! 

2. Perfect color is not a shoe size.

You’re going to kick them off midway through the play and get dirty looks when you have to fish for them under the seat in front of you. 

 

3. Thumbs up

You cannot button skinny jeans with a broken thumb. I know!

4. Don’t fight the fight you can’t win!

You can’t win an argument with a passive-aggressive person. They will have a comeback or excuse for whatever you say.

Do these sound familiar?      

“You told me to do it like that,” 

“Nobody told me to do it — or not to do it.”

“It’s not fair — everybody else does it and they don’t get in trouble.”

“You never listen to my side.”

“You just don’t like to hear the truth.”

“You don’t care how I feel.”

 

5. It takes all kinds. BUT WHY?

At every meeting, the one person who has the least of value to say will say the most and talk the longest — especially when you have somewhere else to go. AND then there’s the guy who doesn’t tell you he has a cold until AFTER you shake hands.

 

6. Formal dining.

The family that comes into the restaurant with an out-of-control child will be seated next to you.

7. Oops!

As soon as your street is paved, the city will dig it up again. Oops! We forgot the utility lines!

8. Don’t count on things you buy looking as good as they did in the pictures.

Those shiny stainless-steel faucets in the store will never be as shiny in your kitchen. Water spots are forever.

9. It’s a war you can’t win.

Those squirrels are not frolicking in the garden. They’re watching you and making maps to where the bulbs are planted. 

By the way, mousetraps don’t get rid of mice. They only amuse them. And that fly is NOT trying to find a way out of your house.

 

10. Be careful what you wish for.

Do you ever yearn for the old days and simpler times? You can relive the fun of defrosting your freezer. Just leave two cans of soda overnight.

The post TEN LIFE LESSONS I BLUNDERED INTO LEARNING appeared first on Life(F)unscripted.

Life After Death is No Laughing Matter – To Ronnie

Life after death is no laughing matter. I know it for a fact. You died. I’m alive. That’s not funny. 

You should be here, damn it! There are things I need to ask you — Who do we use for the generator? Where are the passcodes to the alarm system?

There are things I want to tell you — They’re going to reopen Restaurant Eve as a steak house. They’ve renewed The Rookie for another season. 

And there are things I need to show you. Look we do have red camellias — a spit in the eyes of those squirrels that chewed up the buds all winter and spit them out — red confetti on the patio. 

And the apple blossom trees — they’re more beautiful than they’ve been in years. I knew it was a good idea to prune them. And see? You were worried that I was going too far. I didn’t kill the Japanese maple either. 

I’ve been going through our pictures and printing my favorites. The desk is papered with them.

I keep printing more — but not this one. Not this one. You look too handsome, too happy, too impish, too much like you’re about to tell a story that will make me laugh even if I’ve heard it a dozen times.

 

Missing you hurts too much. I don’t want to do this grief thing. I don’t even know how. “It’s a process,” they tell me. The church, the temple, and hospice gave me books and pamphlets. But they’re sad, so I didn’t read them.

 Whether I want it to or not grief takes over sometimes. It doesn’t matter where I am or what I’m doing, suddenly, I’m crying. I can keep myself from sobbing or wailing, but tears pour down my face, and a scream strains to get out of my throat.

For example, yesterday, I was okay, having a relatively good day. I took Mackie for a walk. We passed a cherry blossom tree, and without warning, I was crying. Stop it! I thought, or did I say it out loud? “Stop! I don’t want to feel this right now! I don’t want to!” 

Mackie misses you too. Twice I forgot to feed him. I’m still trying to train him not to jump on people.

I tell my children and friends, “I don’t want to be a burden.” It’s a lie. I’m fine with being a burden. I want my kids to call me every day — twice maybe — and have dinner with me five nights a week. And I want my friends to have lunch with me. I need people around to talk to me — which really means listen to me ramble on, bouncing through a mish-mosh of topics that always come back to you. 

 “I don’t want to be a burden,” means I don’t want you to think I am — or let on if you do.

Television should be a distraction. I look through the list of recorded shows. No. Not these — you didn’t like them. And not those because you did. So, I turn on a show neither of us liked. It doesn’t matter. I can’t focus anyway.

Living without you is hard. I’m working at being disciplined like you — a fanatic. I write every appointment, every minor to-do on your calendar, just as you did. In the afternoon, I go to the door every twenty minutes and check to see if the mail has come so I can write checks for bills that aren’t due for a month. 

I haven’t changed much in the house.  Your dresser is still crowded with pictures and the little yellow bear, the first present you gave me. Your toothpaste is still by the sink. Everything reminds me of you.

I left your wedge pillow on the bed too — the one I bought to help you breathe. It’s there to catch me when I roll over so I can forget for a minute how alone I am in our bed. 

I keep to the routines I had when you were here. I wake up in the morning, fix my hair, put on my makeup, and go downstairs — where you aren’t there to see me, to smile, to tell me I’m beautiful. Are you somewhere? Do you see me?

That question haunts me. I pray, please, God, be real. Please have a Heaven with Ron in it. And let me be good enough to come too. It’s a good thing faith isn’t perfect. If I had perfect faith that I’d be in Heaven with you, I’m afraid I’d go now.

Of course, you and I were both married before. So, how does that work? Block that thought. 

Think about the garden. I’m sitting here, under the awning you bought for us, then remember that you never even got to see it. Stop! I don’t want to cry right now. I don’t want to hurt right now. Think about something else. Or write something funny for the blog. But I can’t. 

Being married to Ron Birch was my honor, my happiness, my laughter. You’re gone. And life after death is no laughing matter.

The post Life After Death is No Laughing Matter – To Ronnie appeared first on Life(F)unscripted.

MY SCARY RICH AUNT — HOW I LEARNED RICH PEOPLE AREN’T LIKE US

I was seven the first time I met Aunt Esther. She’s rich… scary rich, and rich people aren’t like us. She came to Mobile all the way from California — on an airplane! It was my first up-close look at an airplane and the first time I ever went to an airport. I’d never even known anybody who’d flown in a plane. And I for sure had never known anybody like Aunt Esther. She didn’t dress like us or talk like us. And she didn’t have the same rules. 

IT WAS LIKE YOU SEE IN OLD MOVIES 

We stood at the airport window. The silver plane got bigger and bigger ’til it glided to a stop just a few steps away. Men bustled out with carts and rolled metal steps up to the plane — just like in old movies.

Then the door opened. People came out all dressed up in suits and hats like they were going to church — and it was a Tuesday. For sure, I thought, those rich people aren’t like us. Then Aunt Esther came out and she looked like the star of the movie. 

Her dress was gold jersey and soft so it hung like drapes. It had big brown buttons coming down from the shoulder, and everything matched! Her gloves and purse and shoes and the bow on the side of her hat matched the buttons on her dress. And she had a real mink stole hung over her arm. She was the most elegant person I’d ever seen in real life.

She stopped on the top step and looked around the crowd. Then she saw Mama and waved her gloved hand. 

“There she is, cool as a cucumber,” said Daddy.

No, I thought, it’s Mobile in August. She’s gonna be hot. 

“GUSSIED UP ENOUGH TO EAT FOR CHRISTMAS DINNER” 

Aunt Esther rushed in and hugged Mama, then me. 

When she came to Daddy, she stood back, looked him up and down and said “Well, Norvelle, I see you haven’t changed a bit. I do believe that’s the same shirt you wore last time I saw you.”

I looked to see if she was smiling. 

He flicked the fur of her mink stole and said, “Esther, we’re just plain folks down here. You’re gussied up enough to kill and eat for Christmas dinner.” 

“Thank you, Norvelle. I’m sure that’s a fine compliment coming from you.”

Then he grinned and held out his arms. “Come over here, Esther, and give me some sugar.” 

“Not for a million dollars,” she said holding up her hands to block him. But then she laughed, gave him a half-hug, then held out a paper. “Norvelle, the baggage claim.” It sounded like she was giving him an order. I looked to see if he was still grinning. I never could tell if they really didn’t like each other or were teasing.

Mama looked around and asked, “Where are your boys?” 

“Oh, they’re back in California with Mama. This is my vacation. I’m meeting Raymond in New York when I leave here. I couldn’t enjoy myself with them underfoot.”

I’m glad Mama doesn’t go on trips without me.

Mama said, “Well, we’re glad you’re here. Let’s get your suitcases and go home. I have fried chicken, potato salad, and biscuits waiting.”

“That sounds grand,” said Aunt Esther. I’d only heard people in movies say “grand” like that.

RICH PEOPLE LIVED IN CALIFORNIA WHERE THE HEAT WAS DRY

We walked out of the airport into Mobile’s summer. Aunt Esther almost fell over as if the air had punched her. 

“Augh! People die in weather like this.”

“You’ll get used to it,” said Daddy. 

“I’m certain I won’t.”

“California gets every bit this hot,” he said.

“Yes, but it’s a dry heat,” she said and looked like she might faint. “I may die from heat exhaustion.” 

And all that was before she found out our car wasn’t air-conditioned! 

“Turn on the air”, she moaned, “I’m suffocating.”

Daddy said, “There’s plenty of air outside. Open the window. You’ll get a breeze.” He was still grinning.

RICH PEOPLE — DIFFERENT RULES

I had rules Mama and Daddy taught me. Think before you speak. And don’t brag about what you have. And if you can’t say something nice…. But I don’t think anybody told Aunt Esther — or maybe rules didn’t mean rich people.

Aunt Esther took one look at our ten-year-old Plymouth Savoy and made a face. She touched the handle with two fingers as if it was dirty and would rub off on her. 

It’s a good thing we aren’t in Daddy’s old blue pickup truck with the broken spring and rusted-out fenders daubed with yellow Rust-Oleum paint, I thought.

IF IT WEREN’T FOR RICH PEOPLE WE’D NEVER KNOW HOW POOR WE ARE

“Norvelle! You’re still driving this old car? They make new ones every year, you know.”

Daddy just said, “This one drives fine.”

“So does a mule wagon but I wouldn’t want to ride in one.” She laughed at her joke. I thought a mule-drawn wagon sounded fun.

“Raymond just bought a new Cadillac. You should look at one. I know you don’t have the kind of money we do, but you could buy it on time.” 

“Nope. If I up and bought a Cadillac, folks would think I was getting uppity.”

“You think so?”

“Yep. And nobody likes uppity.”

“Really. You need a car with air conditioning. Get a used car if it’s all you can afford.”

“You know, Esther, I’m sure glad to see you come visit — or I’d never know how poor we are.” 

Mama always defended Aunt Esther when people got mad at her. “Esther doesn’t mean it. It’s just her way.”

AUNT ESTHER AND THE PAPER MILL ASSAULT 

When we got home, Aunt Esther opened the car door, fanning herself, and sucked in a big gulp of air. But she blew it right back out, coughing and holding her fur to her face. 

“What is that smell?”

“The paper mills.” We lived less than three miles from two paper mills. If you’ve never smelled a paper mill, it’s something like an outhouse. If you’ve never smelled an outhouse, just imagine.

“That is the foulest odor I’ve ever smelled.”

Daddy said, “After a few days you don’t even notice it.”

“Yes. I will.”

RICH PEOPLE AND PICTURES OF THINGS

After supper Aunt Esther brought out pictures to show us. Except for one, they were all pictures of things — tables, chairs, lamps, curtains, wallpaper. She even had pictures of her stove and refrigerator. 

Mama took pictures with her Brownie camera but we didn’t have any pictures of our things.

The first picture was of, “little Zack. And that’s our new Cadillac he’s standing by. And this is our living room with the new piano by the fireplace. You can’t imagine how difficult it is to decorate around a grand piano. But it turned out fabulous.”

The fireplace had plants growing out the top. I wondered why they didn’t burn up. 

She picked up another picture. “These are the new art deco lamps.”

I said, “They look like they’re raining pieces of broken glass.” 

“They aren’t broken. They’re prisms. The lamps are imported from Europe. They’re expensive and very fragile.” 

Mama stared at the next picture. “The glass flowers are a nice idea. They won’t die.”

 “They’re ashtrays — from Italy.” 

Mama said, “You let people put cigarettes out in them?”

Aunt Esther laughed. “Of course.”

Mama said, “All these beautiful things — I’d be afraid they’d get broken with two little boys in the house.”

“Oh, the boys are never allowed in these rooms except to practice the piano. And they know not to touch things.”

I thought to myself, I wouldn’t like living at Aunt Esther’s house.

AUNT ESTHER LIKED BEING RICH

Aunt Esther liked being rich because rich people had better everything — better, newer cars with air conditioning, rides on airplanes, finer clothes, bigger houses, and better food. (I didn’t believe that part about better food. Nobody had better food than Mama cooked.) 

Rich people even had better weather — at least in California where most of the rich people seemed to live. That’s why it was better to be rich.

AUNT ESTHER FELT BAD THAT MAMA WAS POOR

Aunt Esther sure loved Mama. She felt bad that Mama was poor, so she brought things for her — fancy things, like a set of ivory steak knives and Irish linen napkins. Mama put them away so we wouldn’t mess them up. I found them, safe, sound, and unused, in Mama’s trunk after she died.

She gave Mama clothes too — a silk crepe dress and matching jacket, a leather purse, a pin, and one of her old mink stoles. Mama loved the dress and wore it to church. She wore the stole a few times too, but it was a bother to keep on when she was carrying her purse, Bible, and Sunday school books so it hung in the closet.

WAVING GOODBYE TO RICH AUNT ESTHER

Three days later we were back at the airport waving goodbye to Aunt Esther. She looked more movie star than ever, wrapped in her fur, and wearing a furry hat. 

I guess I don’t mind that rich people aren’t like us, I thought. I don’t want to wear church clothes every day or wrap up when it was hot. And I don’t want to have to stay out of rooms in our house and not touch our things. 

Out of the blue, Mama said, “Seeing Esther makes me sad. I feel sorry for her.”

“Why?” I blurted. “She’s rich.”

“She has money and fine things but she’s not happy with herself. If you’re happy with who you are, you don’t have to talk about what you have. Esther is always trying to prove she’s as good as other people. It’s sad.”

I thought maybe Aunt Esther didn’t like rich people rules either.

The post MY SCARY RICH AUNT — HOW I LEARNED RICH PEOPLE AREN’T LIKE US appeared first on Life(F)unscripted.

Singing Old Folksongs With Grandma — Childhood Memories

Some of my best childhood memories are about singing old folksongs with Grandma and playing funny games.

When I was a kid we didn’t have iPhones, iPads, or tablets to bring games and entertainment to us wherever we were.  We had to figure out what to do when there was nothing to do — like on long, dreary car trips. 

What? Hours and hours in a car with no video games?!

I remember, I was ten or eleven, and we were going on vacation. I was all excited. We were going somewhere. Somewhere was just to Chattanooga to spend a week at my brother’s house where his children would bother my things and mess up my drawings. But it was a vacation. And Daddy promised to take me to a real cave to see Ruby Falls.

GETTING STARTED BEFORE DAWN: MY CHILDHOOD MEMORIES

It wasn’t yet five o’clock in the morning when we set off down Petain Street in our old Plymouth Savoy. We started out when the sky was still black as pitch. Why? To get a head start on the South Alabama heat because our car wasn’t airconditioned.

Mama drove because she said Daddy’s driving made her nervous. Grandma and I sat in the backseat. She dozed. I wasn’t even a little bit sleepy but I lay back on the bed pillows imagining the new things I’d see. It would be at least an hour before I’d start whining that I was bored. 

SUNRISE OVER MOBILE BAY

We were halfway across the Causeway before the orange-ball sun blasted into the black sky over Mobile Bay like it was shot from a rifle. 

It was an awesome sight. It would jump out no bigger than a balloon. Then, as I watched it, it would get bigger and bigger, and whiter and brighter until I couldn’t look at it anymore. And it all happened in just seconds. That was it — the highlight that marked the first hour of our nine or ten-hour drive (back then the interstates were only finished in some places). 

I thumbed through the coloring book. I didn’t want to color and I’d already connected all the dots and done the mazes. “When are we gonna stop? I have to go to the bathroom.”

 

 

“We just left home,” Mama said. “Play with your toys.”

“I tried to play with the Colorforms but the pieces keep falling off the board.”

I jumped and pointed. “Look! There’s a place we can stop.”

“We are not stopping until we need gas,” snapped Daddy. 

“I can’t wait that long.”

 

OH, WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN, BILLY BOY?

Daddy always said my mouth got me in trouble. It was just about to get do it again, but Grandmama stepped in. “I know what. Let’s sing.”

“I don’t want to sing it’s boring,” I whined through my pout.

“Well, I’m singing,” and she started —

Oh, where have you been, Billy Boy, Billy Boy?

Oh, where have you been, Charming Billy?

I have been to seek a wife. She’s the apple of my eye.

She’s a young thing and cannot leave her mother.

I tried to look bored, but by the time she got to, “apple of my eye,” I was swaying and singing. 

Can she make a cherry pie, Billy Boy, Billy Boy?

Can she make a cherry pie, Charming Billy? 

She can make a cherry pie quick as a cat can wink an eye,

She’s a young thing and cannot leave her mother.

How old is she, Billy Boy, Billy Boy?

How old is she, Charming Billy?

Three times six and four times seven, twenty-eight and eleven,

She’s a young thing and cannot leave her mother.

Daddy turned around laughing. “That’s not so young,” he said. “She’d better hurry up and marry Billy before he

gets away.”

I didn’t like the interruption. I turned my attention back to Grandma. “Let’s do William A Trimbletoe.”

“All right. That’s a good one.”

WILLIAM A TRIMBLETOE

I clapped my hands and started chanting,

William A Trimbletoe

He’s a good fisherman

Catches hens

Puts ’em in the pens

Some lay eggs, some lay none

Wire, briar, limber lock 

Three geese in the flock

One flew east

one flew west

One flew over the cuckoo’s nest

O-U-T spells out.

When we said, “O-U-T spells OUT,” Grandma and I both pointed at the back of Daddy’s head and laughed.

“Let’s sing another one, Grandma?”

“Let’s see … How about we sing Go Tell Aunt Betsy?”

I started with gusto and she had to catch up.

GO TELL AUNT BETSY

Go tell Aunt Betsy, go tell Aunt Betsy,

Go tell Aunt Betsy the old gray goose is dead.

The one she’s been saving, the one she’s been saving

The one she’s been saving to make a feather bed.

Go tell Aunt Betsy, go tell Aunt Betsy,

Go tell Aunt Betsy the old gray goose is dead.

She died a squawking, she died a squawking 

She died a squawking with a toothache in her head

Go tell Aunt Betsy, go tell Aunt Betsy,

Go tell Aunt Betsy the old gray goose is dead.

 

We sang it through three times and each time I played up the drama on, “She died a squawking,” till it was almost opera.

Daddy said, “That’s enough of Aunt Betsy. Ma, why don’t you sing Old Dan Tucker? I haven’t heard that in a long time.”

“All right. Sing it with us.”

OLD DAN TUCKER

Old Dan Tucker was a fine old man

Washed his face with a fryin’ pan

Combed his hair with a wagon wheel

And died with a toothache in his heel

Get out the way, Old Dan Tucker

You’re too late to get your supper

Supper’s over and breakfast’s cookin’

Old dan Tucker just stands there lookin’

Old Dan Tucker come to town

Riding a billy goat, leading a hound

The hound dog barked and the billy goat jumped

And landed old Tucker on a stump

Get out the way, Old Dan Tucker

You’re too late to get your supper

 

“Whew!” Grandma said when we finished. “I’m all sung out.”

“Just one more. Please!”

“All right. A little one.” 

JOHNNY WANTS A PAIR OF SKATES

Johnny wants a pair of skates

Katie wants a doll 

Suzie wants a storybook

And that’s the best of all

“Now I’m done for sure and for certain.” Daddy said, “I’ll sing you a song.”

“Not a bad one!” said Grandma.

“Not a bad one. Here goes.”

FROGGIE WENT A’COURTIN’

Froggie went a’courtin’ and he did ride uh-huh uh-huh

Froggie went a’courtin’ and he did ride uh-huh

Froggie went a’courtin’ and he did ride 

Sword and pistol by his side uh-huh uh-huh uh-huh

He rode right up to Miss Mousie’s door, uh-huh uh-huh

He rode right up to Miss Mousie’s door, uh-huh

He rode right up to Miss Mousie’s door

Where he had often been before uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh

Uncle Rat laughed and shook his side uh-huh uh-huh

Uncle Rat laughed and shook his side uh-huh 

Uncle Rat laughed and shook his side 

To think my niece will be a bride uh-huh uh-huh uh-huh

The idea of a “bad one” had stuck. “Sing another one, Daddy,” I said — “a bad one.” He laughed. “No, your mama would shoot me. I’m done. You sing awhile.” I did. For the next fifty miles, I did my repertoire of hymns and spirituals. My delivery was something between a camp meeting and Broadway — Swing Low Sweet Chariot, Steal Away and Jesus Loves Me.

DO LORD

Do Lord, oh, do Lord, oh, do remember me,

Do Lord, oh, do Lord, oh, do remember me,

Do Lord, oh, do Lord, oh, do remember me,

Look away beyond the blue.

 

For my finale, I sang — “Jesus Loves the Little Children.”

 

JESUS LOVES THE LITTLE CHILDREN

All the children of the world

Red and yellow, black and white

They are precious in His sight

Jesus loves the little children of the world

I sang it not just once, but over and over and over again until Daddy screamed, “Stop! Read a book. Color. No more singing.” 

CHILDHOOD MEMORIES

Singing old folksongs with Grandma are some of my best childhood memories. Sometimes when I’m cooking or driving I pull them from my memories and belt them out again. 

Thinking back about those car trips, I wonder if Grandma wanted to come or if Mama and Daddy made her come even if she didn’t want to — just to keep from hearing nine hours of whining, “I’m bored. There’s nothing to do. When will we be there?”

 

(By the way. if you Google some of these songs, you’ll find differences, like “Go tell Aunt Rhody” instead of “Betsy”. But I know Google is wrong because my grandma said so.)

The post Singing Old Folksongs With Grandma — Childhood Memories appeared first on Life(F)unscripted.

MY HUSBAND HAS A COLD & A GROWN MAN WITH A COLD IS A BABY

He’s a grown man, a brilliant man, but when my husband has a cold, all of a sudden, he’s a baby. And today my husband has a cold. It’s not just any cold. It’s a COLD! A cold so fierce that it knocks him back in time. So, I’m married to a three-year-old with a cold.

This man-becomes-boy thing seems to be ancient and universal. My husband’s Grandma Rubin had a favorite expression that she’d learned as a child: Es di Zelbe a zibn a zibn aun zibetsik — a man is the same at seventy-seven as he was at seven. This was a woman who had nursed a man with a cold!

THIS MORNING’S NEWS — MY HUSBAND HAS A COLD

I’m downstairs in the kitchen making coffee. He’s in the bathroom. But thanks to the magic of Alexa, he can talk to me wherever I am in the house. 

Alexa chimes and I hear throat clearing, then, “Ruthi. Hello. Hello. Can you hear me?” And a scream, “Ruthi!”

“I hear you. Stop yelling. I hear you. Ron, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“No. My head hurts. Do we have any aspirin?”

“Yes. In your medicine cabinet.”

“Are you sure? I don’t see it. I think we ran out.”

“We did. I bought a new bottle last week.

“Where did you put it?”

“In your medicine cabinet.”

“It’s not there.”

“It’s there. It’s still in the box. Look for the yellow box.”

“Oh. I was looking for a bottle. Where’s the thermometer?”

“In the same cabinet.”

“I can’t find it.”

“I’m coming up.”

I go to the bathroom cabinet and take the thermometer from the shelf below the aspirin. “Are you getting sick?”

He holds the thermometer to his head. 

“I am sick. Look — it’s ninety-nine point five. I think I have the flu.”

(Remember, before COVID, when the flu was just the flu?)

“Then you should go back to bed.”

“I don’t want to go to bed,” he whines.

DOWNSTAIRS — RED-EYED, UNSHAVEN, AND PITIFUL

My husband, leaning, almost laying, on the counter, rasps, “Do we have any coffee?”

I hand him a mug of coffee and the milk.

“Do you want some cereal?”

“No. My throat hurts. Look at it.” He points his open mouth at me. “Is it red?”

I look. “A little red — not too bad.”

“Are there white spots. Look for white spots. They mean strep.”

“You don’t have strep.”

“I could. You don’t know.”

“Would you like eggs?”

“No… I don’t like eggs.”

“Since when? Oatmeal then?”

“Okay. I’ll try that. Do we have brown sugar?”

AFTER BREAKFAST — MY HUSBAND AND HIS COLD ARE ON THE COUCH IN THE DEN

“I’m freezing. Can you turn up the heat?”

I look at the thermostat. “It’s at 80 now.”

The thermostat must be wrong. Can you turn it up anyway?”

“I’m turning it up. I still think you should be in bed?”

“No. I want to watch the game down here.”

“Fine. I’ll make you some tea.”

“I don’t want tea.” 

“I’m going upstairs to work on my blog. Do you need anything else before I go?”

“No. Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.”

I’m halfway up the stairs when I hear, “Where’s the clicker?”

“I don’t know. Look by the television.”

“I don’t see it.” 

“Look again.”

“I found it.”

“Anything else?”

“No. You just go do your work.”

TWENTY MINUTES LATER

I’m at the computer, struggling with a paragraph in a story I’m working on. I think I have the right words when Alexa chimes again, and the words evaporate. 

(Why did I put an Alexa in every room?)

“Ruthi. Can you hear me? Ruthi!”

“I hear you,” I try not to bark.

“Do you know where my sweater is?”

“Isn’t it in the hall closet?”

“I don’t know.”

“Can you look before I come down?” 

The seven-year-old thing is wearing thin.

“I found it. Do we have any Kleenex?”

“They’re in the closet too — on the shelf.”

“Are you coming back down here?”

“I can if you need me.”

“I’m lonely.”

I give up on the blog and go downstairs. He really does look pitiful. “Do you need anything else?” I ask.

“No. Just you. I need you sitting beside me.”

Okay, that’s sweet. I hug him and sit beside him.

“It’s too hot in here. It’s stuffy. I can’t breathe.”

I get up and turn the heat down. I sit back down.

“Do we have anything I can eat for lunch?”

“There’s leftover baked chicken. I can make you a sandwich.”

“Can you make chicken broth instead? And add pasta? I think I can eat a little tortellini en brodo.” 

I get up. “Okay. I think we have tortellini in the freezer. I’ll start the broth.” 

I’m in the kitchen cutting up the chicken, and he calls.

“Ruthi, what are you doing?

“I’m making your soup.”

“Can you come in here a minute? I need a favor.”

“Not right now. I’m cutting up the chicken. What do you need?”

“I need you to wash my glasses.”

(Really?)

“Okay. After I finish this.”

“Can you do it now? I can’t see out of them.”

“No. My hands are greasy and the water is about to boil.”

“But I can’t see a thing.”

“Then close your eyes and remember what things used to look like when you could see!” 

I wash my hands and go to the den. I give my big baby a hug. We laugh.

My husband has a cold. He’s a baby. He drives me crazy. But he’s the only man I want to be with, to hold hands with, to laugh with, to make soup for, to kiss. I thank God every day that I wake up and he’s there beside me — even when he’s a baby with a cold.

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FIRST DATE — HOME RUN, STRIKEOUT, OR POP FLY TO CENTER FIELD?

What do a first date and baseball have in common? 

You’re finally up at-bat — you’re swinging for a home run, but you hit a foul, strike, or a pop fly to center that’s caught — and you’re out. 

Everything starts with a first date — job interviews, meetings with possible future in-laws, and actual first dates. It’s where the stories begin — or end in a loss. So how do you hit a home run on the first date? The common advice is, just be yourself. That’s true, but maybe not quite ALL of yourself. Wait for the ball. Too much of you too soon and you’re out.

FIRST DATE STORY — NO FROGS PLEASE?

On your first date, the 5 th inning may be too soon to be revealing your surprise for the second date.

Sharon and Sam both liked country music. Their first date was a Brad Paisley concert. It started out great. Then, at intermission, out of the blue, Sam asked a strange question. 

“Have you ever had frogs’ legs?”

Sharon looked at him. Was he serious, she wondered? No. He must be joking. After all, they were at a country music show. So she went along with the joke using her best country accent.

“No sir. Never have I had the pleasure of eatin’ any part of a frog.” 

“Well, then you’ve missed one of the world’s great treats.”

“I reckon I have.”

“Then you’ve never been frog gigging either. There’s a trick to it. You have to catch them young so they’re not stringy.”

“No. Stringy’s no good. That’s what I always say.”

“When you’re frog gigging, you can’t rush. You have to take your time to find good-sized frogs with meaty legs.”

“No doubt about it! Meaty legs sure do matter when you’re hungry.”

“I promise you’re gonna love them.”

“I’ll just bet I will.”

“I tell you what. Next Saturday night, I’m picking you up at six. We’ll go to the creek, gig us some frogs, and I’ll cook you the best frogs’ legs you’ll ever in your whole life taste.”

Sharon’s eyes got as big as saucers. “You’re not joking!?”

Sam was looking good till he hit a pop fly directly to the center fielder and he was out.

*More about Sharon and Sam and bad first dates in an article, Funny Ways to Flop First Dates.

A COMFORTABLE FIRST–DATE STORY — TOO COMFORTABLE 

Has this ever happened to you? You’re on a first date and — glory be — you’re hitting it off. You’re getting comfortable — too comfortable.

Jill was waiting for a National Geographic lecture to begin when a handsome man spoke to her. “Is the chair next to you taken?” It wasn’t. He sat. Jill and Frank chatted and enjoyed each other. They stayed after the lecture, still talking, laughing. Before the day was over, they had planned their first date — dinner at an Italian restaurant that was a favorite of both.

Jill was excited. “This isn’t going to be your typical first date,” she thought. “We already know we like each other. This is going to lead to something good”

They went to dinner and it looked like Jill had been right about this date. Over a glass of wine, they picked up where they’d left off at National Geographic. Jill couldn’t believe how at ease she felt — so comfortable that she didn’t pick up Frank’s signals that said she had crossed into his discomfort zone.

“This eggplant parmigiana is amazing — even better than their usual. You have to try it. Have a taste.” 

“No thanks. I have plenty here.”

“Really, it’s wonderful. You have to,” she said, thrusting a forkful at his face.

“Uh… No, really …. Thanks.” 

She jiggled the fork and poked it at his mouth playfully. “Don’t be shy. You’ll love it.”

It was either get stabbed or eat. He ate. Sauce dribbled to his chin. Jill wiped it away with her napkin and laughed. 

“Is that the best eggplant you’ve ever tasted, or what?”

Frank grimaced. His face was red. He muttered, “What?” But Jill missed it. She was running on high and went right on sharing, “Your rigatoni looks great too. It looks firm. I hate limp pasta. How is the sauce?” She reached over and helped herself to a bite.

It wasn’t till after several unreturned voice mails and texts later that Jill decided Frank must have issues.  

Strike one, two, three. And Jill was out.

AFTER THE JOB INTERVIEW / FIRST DATE — TOO SOON TO ASK QUESTIONS?

James’s job interview had gone so well he knew he was in.

It was a great job, and by the end of his first date/job interview, James knew it was his. He could tell he’d made a hit with Pete, the vice president. Pete had actually told him, “James, you have the qualifications we’re looking for and I think you can be a good fit for us. I just want you to meet my partner before it’s official. Will you be available next week?”

James was available. They set up the meeting for the next Tuesday. Pete walked James to the door, gave him his card, and said, “If anything comes up in the meantime or if you have any questions, please call me.”

AND James did —

It was 2 a.m. Saturday night. Pete’s phone rang. He mumbled, “Hello.”

“Pete, this is James.”

“Huh? Who?”

“James. We met last week. I interviewed with you. I’m the one you said is a good match for your company. I agree. You said to call if I had a question. I do.”

Too groggy and confused to be angry or even wonder how James got his home number, Pete grunted, “Okay. Thanks for calling,” and was about to hang up. But before he could, James went on.

“Anyway, Pete, I know it’s late but something has come up and I have to ask you a question. I’m in a bit of a jam. If you’re hiring me, can I get an advance on my salary? And can I get it tonight?”

James was thrown out of the game. 

There are lessons we can take from these first-date stories. For one thing, stay away from frogs. You’d be surprised at how many people wouldn’t be up for a second date that included frog-gigging. Likewise, force-feeding your date may not work. And asking questions is tricky and if you’re asking for money you can count on that first date being a shut-out. A good rule to follow is to think before you speak or ask a question, so you don’t strike out saying: 

Are you really going to eat all of that? How many children do you want? You’re nothing like I expected a person from Alabama to be.

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A NINE-YEAR-OLD ON A TRAIN GOING TO DISNEYLAND

I was nine years old and I couldn’t sit still because I was going to Disneyland! Actually, I was going to California with Mama to visit my grandmama. We were also going to see Mama’s sister, my scary, rich Aunt Esther. But the main thing for me was we were going to Disneyland! That’s what filled my thoughts through the five-day train ride from Mobile to Los Angeles.

Mama loved riding the train. “Look out the window,” she said. “It’s just like we’re riding in a movie — you can see the whole country passing by.” 

I looked out but what I saw were light poles racing by. Soon, that view faded to the one I saw in my mind’s eye — me riding the rides in Disneyland. 

“Mama, did you know there’s a ride in a teacup!  It’s called the Mad Hatter’s Tea Party. I saw it on the Mickey Mouse Club. We get in a giant teacup on a big saucer. It goes round and round and we can make our own cup spin at the same time.” 

She grinned and I could tell she was excited too. “We’ll have to ride it. We’ll ride them all.“ She was always up for adventures.

We had no way of knowing that Aunt Esther would cast a dark shadow over our fun.

GRANDMAMA, AUNT ESTHER & A DARK SHADOW OVER DISNEYLAND

Grandmama and Aunt Esther met our train in Los Angeles. I didn’t know what they’d be like because I’d hadn’t seen them since I was a baby. But I loved Grandmama right off. She was warm and fun like Mama — and she hugged great.

Aunt Esther was rich. She wore fur coats and had her fingernails polished — and she wore Sunday clothes every day of the week. I thought she looked like a movie star.

Aunt Esther and Mama were as different as night and day. Mama was day — plump, sunny, jolly, and fearless. She always made things fun. Aunt Esther was night — dark, stylish, proud — and suspicious. She saw threats everywhere.

THREATS AND CONSPIRACIES

It turned out Aunt Esther even saw threats in the Magic Kingdom.

We had dinner at her house the night before we were going to Disneyland. I couldn’t stop talking about it. Aunt Esther told me dinner was the adults’ time. But I didn’t think that meant I shouldn’t talk, so I babbled on.

“Let’s go to Fantasyland first. That’s where they have the Dumbo ride and Peter Pan’s flight and Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride, and the Mad Tea Party! Let’s do the teacups first. Okay, Mama?”

Mama said, “Okay. 

Aunt Esther put down her fork. “They’re too dangerous,” she said. 

But Mama didn’t take notice. “There’s another ride I read about — the skyway. It will take us over the park from Fantasyland to Tomorrowland so we’ll see everything.”

“Eva!” Barked Aunt Esther. “No! Don’t you get on that thing!” 

“I will, too, get on that thing,” said Mama, sounding like a little kid mocking her big sister. 

“Eva, it’s nothing but an open bucket held up by a thin wire. You’re not going to take your child hundreds of feet off the ground in an open bucket. If falls with you ….”

“We’re not going to fall,” cut in Mama. “Esther, it’s Disneyland. The rides are safe.”

“I certainly don’t trust that to be true. It’s a deathtrap. And the teacups you want to ride are just accidents waiting to happen. Do you know what holds them to the platform? Nothing except a few small metal bolts, and bolts wear down every time someone spins a cup. Eventually, they snap. What if you’re spinning around like a mad person and the bolts can snap? Then you, teacup and all, will sail into a pole or a wall and be killed.”

I was getting scared. “Mama, can that really happen?”

Mama gave Aunt Esther a look, and said, “No.” Then she laughed.  

“Do you think Mr. Disney lets children go flying willy-nilly around his nice park?”

I giggled, but Aunt Esther cut my giggling short.

“Don’t laugh. It happened! A boy was spinning the cup when the bolts broke. He was flung into a pole and broke his back. That boy will be in a wheelchair the rest of his life!” 

 “Esther, stop it.” She looked at me. “That’s just a story. I’d have seen it in the news if some child was hurt.”

“Of course not. They covered it up. Disney brings a lot of money into California. Money can cover up anything. But it happened. A women in my club knows the boy’s family.”

“Please! It’s just gossip.”

“Eva, I can’t talk sense into you.” Aunt Esther started clearing the table. Then she smiled. “You’ve never grown up. You’re still that stubborn little girl with muddy knees playing marbles with the boys.” 

Mama laugh. “I won the games, didn’t I?”

I went to sleep with a picture in my head of Mama playing marbles with the boys.

The Magic Kingdom

The next morning, when Mama and I walked into the Magic Kingdom, Aunt Esther was forgotten — for the moment. There was so much to see. As we walked down Main street, my head was shot back and forth as I tried to take it all in. 

We reached Fantasyland, and there it was — the Mad Hatter’s tea party, the ride I’d dreamed about. We were buckled into a pink teacup and the platform started going around and up and down. Mama grabbed the little wheel and turned it. Our teacup started to spin.

Suddenly I froze.

I gripped the wheel and held it so tight Mama couldn’t budge it. 

“Let go. Let’s spin around,” said Mama.

“No! It will break. We’ll be killed! Or crippled!”

“That’s silly! Let go.”

OTHER CUPS WERE SPINNING. OTHER CHILDREN WERE LAUGHING. 

Mama tugged at the wheel but only managed one slow spin. 

Then the ride was over. And I’d missed it — I’d missed the ride I’d been most excited about. I started to cry. “Mama, I wanted to spin the cup. But I didn’t want to die.”

IF YOU LOOK FOR THEM, YOU CAN FIND REASONS TO BE AFRAID

We sat on a bench and Mama held my shoulders. “Now, you stop this. We weren’t going to die! You have to ignore the things Esther says. She looks for things to be afraid of. Some people are not happy unless they can find something to be unhappy about. I feel sorry for Esther.”

That was funny, I thought. “Sorry for Aunt Esther? She’s rich.”

“Yes. With all her money, she doesn’t know how to have fun. She always finds reasons to be afraid. But her silliness is not going to mess up any more of our day. Let’s ride something — Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride.”

I felt better. We bounced through Mr. Toad’s world in our jalopy, laughing, then rode Dumbo. After, we had lunch on the pirate ship, Mama got in line for the Skyway. Aunt Esther popped into my head — “hundreds of feet off the ground in a bucket hooked to a thin wire?” I looked. It was a bucket. And the cable really did look thin. 

“Mama, I don’t want to go.” She ignored me, pulled me into the bucket, and off we sailed. I held Mama’s hand for dear life and closed my eyes until Mama said, “Look. Snow White and Goofy look like ants. Open your eyes.” I looked and they really did. 

We walked every inch of Disneyland and rode most of the rides. Mama wasn’t afraid of anything and she never seemed to get tired. It was like she was the kid, insisting, “Come on. One more ride.”

MY ONE REGRET

Going to Disneyland with Mama was a blur of fun and firsts — Marching bands, Mickey Mouse, Goofy, ice cream sundaes, my first corndog, and rides in canoes, trains, and jet airplanes. Still, I was left with one regret — that I didn’t spin that teacup! If I ever make a bucket list, the Mad Hatter’s Tea party will be on top. I’ll go back to Disneyland and I’ll get in that teacup and I’ll make it spin so fast it sings! And when it’s done, I’ll hear Mama say, “Come on. Just one more ride.”

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