My mother Edith taught 5th and 6th grade at Randolph School. She was also a musician and played piano for operettas and shows at the school, and the organ at St.Joseph’s church. She gave lessons on the piano and violin at home. For several years she was the town postmaster, and ran the postoffice out of the front of Lang’s General Store.
She was a modest, quiet, woman who was often deep in thought. Due to her strict German Catholic up-bringing, she was somewhat rule-bound and conscious of public opinion, the complete opposite of my father.
When Dutch blew into town riding his Harley she was completely and utterly fascinated by this handsome, reckless, devil-may-care individual. She had never seen anyone like that. She got a real kick out of some of his antics although she publicly disapproved and was embarrassed by many of them.
Mom was not a gourmet cook. The food was basic and healthy, but not much time or agonizing was spent in preparation. There was sometimes smoke in the house because she had forgotten about the food on the stove. When Dad would complain that the meat was tough, she would tell him it was “just chewy”.
She did bake very good raisin bread and we use that recipe to this day. One time she decided to try a new bread recipe, but she couldn’t get the dough to the right consistency. She would add flour, knead, add water, knead, more flour, etc. etc. She kept this up for quite some time. Finally she had enough. She wadded the dough into a big ball, took it out on the back porch, and gave it a mighty heave out into the back yard.
Housekeeping was not her specialty. We didn’t live in absolute squalor, but our house would never have made it into Better Homes and Gardens. She once said about dusting the furniture, “That dust can get off of there the same way it got on”. There were other things much more important to her.
The Button Incident
Mom also had an ornery side, and because of her quiet nature, her tricks would come as a complete surprise. One time I was sitting in church and became aware of an uncomfortable feeling in my crotch, some kind of a large lump. I reached down to find that someone had sewn a very large button in there. She laughed for weeks about that.
Sewing Project
When I moved to Brady Lake I decided to buy a sewing machine so I could fix my clothes, hem my pants, etc. I made the mistake of telling my mother and sister about it.
Several days later the mail man delivered a large package wrapped in plain brown paper. In it were a bunch of clothes in various stages of damage and disrepair, including a pair of ladies underpants without a crotch, a pair of mens shorts with several burn holes in the rear end, some bras with large holes cut where the nipples should be, and various other items that escape my memory. There was also a note from Mom and sister Ruth requesting that I use my new sewing machine and my prowess as a seamstress to repair those items. I’m sure they thought that since I was only a man untrained in the womanly art of sewing-machine-ship I would just laugh and throw the stuff away.
Wrong, thinks I. I will fix you guys. I went to Kmart, bought some maxi-pads, baby bottle nipples, naugahyde patches, and a few other sewing supplies and decorations. I patched the burn holes in the pants with the naugahyde and sewed the rubber nipples into the bras. I then made a large button hole in one of the maxipads using the button-holer attachment, and used it to build a crotch into the ladies underwear. I tried to use every fancy stitch on the machine to do the repair work. Then I sent the whole package back.
We all had much fun and laughs over that incident, and I acquired some new skills! It just goes to show that mothers and grade school teachers know how to motivate learning.
Shovel Spoon
When I was a small child I was fascinated by tablespoons. I called them “shovel spoons”. Much to the horror of my mother and grandmother, I wanted to use a shovel spoon to eat everything – cereal, potatoes, meat, fish, everything. They told me it wasn’t polite or proper and would make my mouth big. It didn’t matter what they told me I insisted on eating with a shovel spoon.
When the latest National Geographic magazine arrived, it contained a picture of a native African tribesman who had large wooden plates surgically installed into his lips which made them huge. I asked Mom what happened to his mouth. She told me that when he was a kid he ate with a shovel spoon.
I never used a shovel spoon after that.
The Watchbird
Mom subscribed to a magazine called “Children’s Activities” for my sister Ruth and I to read. She also used it in her classroom. In it were many stories, puzzles, pictures, projects, and other items of interest to children. Also to help guide us little devils in the right direction there were examples of good and bad behavior. One I remember in particular involved “The Watchbird”, which was a form of Big Brother for kids. The watchbird stories usually went something like this:
This is a watchbird watching Johnny stealing cookies from the cookie jar:
This is a watchbird watching YOU!
I’m sure you get the idea.
So when someone’s behavior went a little bit off the rails, the “watchbird” was often called into play.
The watchbird was OK for venial matters and light weight stuff like pilfering cookies, but for more serious offenses that the watchbird couldn’t handle, it was GOD who did the watching!.
