Diane Stringam Tolley's Blog: On the Border, page 92
April 15, 2020
Nasty Little Ball of Death



Published on April 15, 2020 04:00
April 14, 2020
16 People Who...

1. A beautiful, loving, clever mother who took care of me and everyone else in my world.2. A father who laughed and led. And also built ranches, raised cattle and horses and kids.3. A big sister who loved me, even after I was responsible for her getting trampled/broken.4. An oldest brother who patiently taught me how to drive the tractor, then bravely worked alongside. 5. A second big brother who was my friend/companion/champion during my long hopeless/stupid teenage years.6. A younger brother who taught me what sunshine-of-the-soul meant. Cause he lived it.7. A baby sister who brightened my every day with her joie-de-vivre. And notable monkeyshines.8. A sweet Husby who taught me the real meaning of ‘forever’. Then gave it to me.9. An oldest son who patiently taught me how to be a mother. In spite of me.10. A second son who arrived with a wicked sense of humour. And the ability to apply!11. A third son with a gentle soul who showed me how to care for the marginalized.12. An oldest daughter who proved to me that handicaps don’t ever have to be a handicap.13. A youngest daughter who showed me that courage can come in many various and hilarious forms.14. A youngest son who has always finished. Even when it wasn’t something he wanted to do.15. Precious grandchildren who steadily make me try to do more because they all think I can.
16. These are my people. Who make me believe in myself because they all believe in me.

Published on April 14, 2020 07:00
April 13, 2020
My Favourite

That time we met down by the lake,And dined—deluxe—on sirloin steak,Then gorged enough eclairs and cake,To give us both a bellyache!
Of maybe at that fried food place,Where we ate chicken by the case,With cobs of corn and chips to chase,Both munching fast like ‘twas a race.
That Uncle Burger meal you bought,With onion rings and gravy: hot,And apple pie, we sought and got,Washed down with the best shake, I thought!
You’ve taken me out for Chinese,And Greek and Turk, Vietnamese, And Swiss with lots and lots of cheese,Each one has made me more than pleased!
So what to choose, I cannot tell,Each was a coup of taste and smell,And satisfied my need as well,In diner, ship or grand hotel!
Then yesterday, you made for us,A simple meal of fresh bread, plusSome fresh tomatoes, sliced just thus,And nothing else superfluous.
And I decided then, you see,(I’m sure that you won’t disagree!)My favourite lunch in this precis,‘S the one that you make just for me!

JennyCharlotteMimi
This week we talked of Lunches, true,Next week our FAVOURITE SNACK. Woohoo!
Published on April 13, 2020 04:00
April 10, 2020
Brakes

I don’t know where he got it.And I'm certainly am not surprised things turned out the way they did.Maybe I should start at the beginning . . .Sally is home.This time—with the outbreak of Covid-19—she is here for the foreseeable future.Apparently movie stars are just as susceptible as the rest of us.Go figure.Woe be unto us.I should probably explain that there have been a few changes in our household. For one thing, the household.A couple of months ago, Sally—she of the handsomely-paid movie star job—bought a new, significantly larger house a couple of blocks from our old neighbourhood. Then begged Mom and I to move in with her. I will admit she captured me with the promise of my own bedroom.With my own bathroom.And a beautiful yard.We had just finished moving in when the call came to stay at home.This is self-isolating deluxe!Oh, also Mort is sharing our stay-at-home-i-ness with us. It had started as a week-long thing while his parents had their house renovated.And the timing was bad.He now has the basement suite.Can you believe I actually live in a house with something besides storage in the basement?Yeah, I keep catching Mom pinching herself, too.Anyways, back to this morning . . .Mort appeared from his sunrise walk with an ancient bicycle.Tandem.Apparently it had been rusting happily among the weeds of Little Pearl Creek for some years. With all this time on his hands, he decided he could give it the extensive care it needed.And a home.He spent much of the morning in the garage (yes, we have a garage!) fixing said bicycle. Greasing. Adjusting.I don’t know. Doing ‘bike’ things.Finally, he and his new friend emerged.One pedal was missing its rubber thingamee and had been reduced to the basics. Both the front and back fenders had to be removed because of possible tetanus-y stuff.In lieu of two fully-functioning seats, he had tied on a couple of towels.It was just as rusty and disreputable-looking, but now it had been ‘oiled’ and ‘upgraded’ (his words).“Sally!” he shouted from the front walk.I’ll tell you, she could be anywhere, doing anything (because she is, you know, Sally) but that girl could hear that boy’s call no matter what was going on.She appeared at the front door, with Mom and me close behind.We find it’s best to start any new adventure with our eyes on Sally.Let’s face it, it’s just safer.“Come for a ride with me!”While Mom and I were still gazing at the sad vehicle with something akin to horror, Sally squealed with delight and leaped aboard the drivers ‘seat’.Have I mentioned that girl is game for anything?Mort swung his long legs on behind and, with a quick wave for those of us with too much sense to even approach, they were off down the drive.Mom and I looked at each other, then shrugged and went back inside.I had been in the middle of creating a nice slow-cooker stew for supper and was soon happily absorbed in chopping vegetables once more.The handy little kitchen gadget was bubbling merrily, earning its keep, and I was tidying up when I heard Mom shriek.I dropped the dishcloth and ran.Hey. I live with Sally. Something dangerous and/or entertaining was surely happening . . .Mom was standing in the open front door, staring outside.I joined her.Sally and Mort were just coming up the drive.Both looked a little different than when they had left 20 minutes before.Sally was soaking wet.And Mort had sprouted leaves and petals.The bicycle was nowhere to be seen.“Are you hurt?” Mom asked.“Nope!” Sally said brightly.“Soooo . . . want to tell me about it?”They stopped at the bottom of the steps.“Nope!” Sally said again.
Mom turned to Mort. “Mort?”He brushed at some of his greenery. “Ummm . . . you may want to avoid that Mrs. Talent and her flower garden just to the east of us here.”Mom sighed, then cocked an eyebrow. “And . . .?”Sally broke in. “If anyone asks, we have no idea how the old flour mill got knocked into the creek.”Mom blinked. “The whole mill? Like, the building that’s been there since the dawn of time?”Sally nodded and headed past Mom and me into the house.Mort followed more slowly, then stopped and smiled, rather ruefully. “Funny thing,” he said. “Did you know that bikes need brakes?”

There’s more fun ahead:
Baking In A Tornado
Spatulas on Parade
Wandering Web Designer Part-time Working Hockey Mom
Sparkly Poetic Weirdo
Climaxed
Follow Me Home
Published on April 10, 2020 07:00
April 9, 2020
Mom

Published on April 09, 2020 10:28
April 7, 2020
Un-Safe

The one . . . umm . . . in town.
It was a whole different lifestyle for me.
I had a tricycle. A hand-me-down from three siblings before me.
Red.
Sturdy.
With a single plastic tassel hanging from one handle grip that waved in the breeze when I went really, really fast.
Which I did.
Often.
I was the master of the universe!
I could go anywhere!
As long as I stayed on the sidewalk.
The streets around our block were 'dangerous'.
There were dragons there.
Okay, so Mom described the dangers as speeding cars that would flatten me into a pancake, but I put my own spin on it. It was so much better.
So, back on the tricycle . . .
I rode it endlessly.
Doing laps of our block.
The different homes there were categorized according to points of interest and/or what foodstuffs could be procured on the premises.
Lodemier's house, where the baloney sandwich ruled supreme at snack time, and where best friend, Laurie, lived. Reese's house, where good cookies could be found at any time. Madge's house, another food emporium. Winter's house, with the cute, fuzzy Pomeranians. And so on.
It was paradise.
For me, anyway.
I'm not sure what they thought when Diane pulled onto their driveway on her trusty steed.
At least they were kind.
And polite.
All of this is just my long-winded way of saying there was nothing more interesting than the homes on our block.
Why would anyone venture out onto dragon-infested gravel street in search of anything else?
It just didn't make sense.
So I stayed on my sidewalk.
And was safe . . .
There was an alley running the length of our block. The back yard of every home opened onto it. It was a hive of activity every day as dozens of children ran and played.
Occasionally, it was used for vehicles. Our neighbour, especially, was known to park his huge grain truck there during harvest, to keep the behemoth (real word) off the street.
And that simple act diminished the safety margin by a factor of 100.
I don't know what that means, but it sounds . . . unsafe.
On this particular afternoon, our neighbour had come into town from his farm for lunch.
Having finished said lunch, he had strolled back out to his truck to return to work.
I had also recently finished my lunch. And was on my way to his house for a much-needed cookie fix.
For a short while, the two of us occupied the same general space.
But his vehicle was vastly superior to mine.
Okay, well, it was bigger.
I was just crossing the entrance to the alley, safely staying on my sidewalk as he was backing his truck up.
I should mention here that trucks in those days didn't have warning beepers or rear-view cameras.
In fact, they barely had mirrors.
Needless to say, my neighbour didn't see me.
Or my tricycle.
It could have been a disaster.
I pulled into the alley entrance.
And stared, transfixed at the enormous blue box of the truck backing, slowly but steadily, towards me.
Closer. Closer.
Hmmm. Something whispered that maybe I should get off my tricycle and move to the side.
I did so.
The truck kept backing.
Backing.
There was a tiny crunching sound as it ran over my tricycle, folding it in two.
Huh. There's something you don't see every day.
The driver kept backing, oblivious to what had just happened.
He waved at me cheerfully as he went past. Then, reaching the street, he reversed direction and headed out.
I watched him go.
Then looked at my tricycle.
Or the little mashed-together bits of metal that used to be my tricycle.
Sigh.
Dad would fix it.
I ran home.
Dad did fix it. And it looked even better when he was through.
Brighter red.
And two little tassells instead of one.
And I think he made it a little bigger.
Dads could do anything.
Soon I was back on the sidewalk again.
Conquering worlds.
Staying safe.
Published on April 07, 2020 10:41
April 6, 2020
Un-Seen

My terror's lasted all my life,E’en after I became a wife,Though I admit there's far less fearWhen someone else is sleeping near.
But still, the darkness frightens me.Still harbours scary things, you see.Into the darkness, I will stareFor thugs and villains waiting there.
Once, Husby took me out to seeA great new movie, just released.About a girl, so sweet and kindWho could control things with her mind.
That night, my world again askew,The light stayed on because I knewThe darkness, into which I stared?For certain, Carrie waited there.
And beings who would steal your mindPerforming tests on all mankind.Into the darkness I still stareAnd watch for aliens waiting there.
And so it’s been - the darkness wins,
The light goes off, and my mind spins.Creating creatures in the nightThat disappear by the morning light.
Last night I stumbled down the hallIntent on answering nature’s callAnd when I glanced into the mirror,My reflection was just one pale blur.
For my trifocals help me out,So I can see my way about.If in the darkness, I did stare,I’d not see anything waiting there.
Hmmm . . .What you can't see won’t hurt you, right?Shhh . . . I’m turning off the light.

JennyCharlotteMimi
Published on April 06, 2020 07:13
April 4, 2020
Discovering Gentlemen

And yes, that is a band-aid on my nose.
Sexy!I learned two things that summer.
1. Barbed wire gates are tricky.
2. Some young gentlemen, though they look strong, aren't.
Oh, and . . .
3. They're still gentlemen.
I was herdsman for my Dad. Had been for two years.
It was a simple job, now that calving season was pretty much over.
My duties consisted of making sure that all four-footed red and white creatures were safe and happy.
Much like a mother hen.
On horseback.
The perfect job.
The only difficulty lay in the fact that all summer, there had been gangs of young men between the ranch buildings and the fields. Seismic crews, more-or-less busy laying out lines and setting the charges that would indicate hidden reserves of oil.
The difficult part was in riding past them.
It made me feel rather . . . conspicuous.
Particularly if they weren't busy at the moment and had nothing, other than me, to watch.
On this particular day, in full view of about ten pairs of eyes, I slid off my horse and effortlessly opened the gate.
Feeling distinctly uncomfortable.
Sigh.
I smiled, then hurriedly pulled my horse through and closed the gate.
I wasted no time in heading to the far side of the field, hoping that, when I was done, they would have moved a little further down the road.
It didn't happen.
By the time I finished my sweep, they had finished their work and were standing around, just outside the gate, waiting for their data to be collected.
And with nothing to do but watch me.
Perfect.
I dismounted and opened the gate.
Again, the cynosure (real word) of all eyes.
I led my horse through.
“Can I help you with that, Miss?”
I turned.
One of the young men, obviously a gentleman, had stepped forward.
I looked at the gate post in my hand, then back at him. “Umm . . . sure. Thank you.”
I handed him the post and stepped back.
He stuck the post into the bottom loop, then pushed it upright.
It didn't come anywhere near the all-important top loop.
I should point out here that a barbed-wire gate is held shut by two loops of wire - one top and one bottom - on the lead post. If the bottom loop isn't high enough on said post, the gate is increasingly harder to fasten.

With the swat of one hand.
His manhood was now on the line.
He pushed while trying not to appear that he was pushing.
Still no progress.
He began to get red-faced.
He put his shoulder to the post and pushed some more.
Still a gap of two or three inches.
A mile in 'gate' terms.
I suggested that he push the bottom loop a little higher on the post.
He did so.
And was still an inch out.
Oh, man.
He had offered to help me.
And he couldn't.
I couldn't bear to stand there and witness his embarrassment.
I told him, “I have to get to the ranch. I'll just leave you with that. Thank you so much!”
And gave him my biggest smile.
Then I jumped on my horse and made a quick exit.
A short time later, when the crew had moved on, I went back and checked the gate.
It was fastened.
I don't know if the poor man did it himself, or if half the crew had to help him.
At least I wasn't around to witness it.
But I will always be grateful.
He was a true gentleman who personified my favourite expression: Nothing so strong as gentleness. Nothing so gentle as real strength.
You never know when you'll run into a true gentleman. Best to keep your eyes open.
Published on April 04, 2020 08:00
April 3, 2020
A Knowing Knose

Published on April 03, 2020 10:03
April 2, 2020
Waiting...

Published on April 02, 2020 08:02
On the Border
Stories from the Stringam Family ranches from the 1800's through to today.
Stories from the Stringam Family ranches from the 1800's through to today.
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