Children walk away from their parents and stop speaking to them.  Lack of any REAL communication.

My mother was/is one of those people for whom De Nile is not just a river in Egypt.  She has built one of the biggest barges I have ever seen and has probably been floating down that river  her entire adult life if not her entire life.  I sometimes wonder if she ever grew up at all.

She was the youngest daughter in a large family and was the Princess who could do no wrong according to her oldest sister who has a son nearly as old as she is. Spoiled rotten according to Aunt Cleo.

I used to go and stay with that Auntie in the summer and with a great Aunt on Daddy’s side. And of course with Grandmother who I started helping to take care of when I was just eight years old because she had corns and bunions on her feetand needed surgery on them.

My grandmother was very vain about her small and dainty feet but she probably ruined her feet with shoes that were too tight.  She was always  after me to put my shoes on and quit running around like a little heathen because I was going to runin my feet and not be able to wear nice shoes when I grew up but I didn’t listen to her anymore than I listened to my mother.  I don’t know if my Mother suffered from corns and bunions at Grandmother’s age but I guarantee you I won’t because I won’t wear shoes that don’t accomadate my short wide feet.  I buy boys shoes for running shoes because they fit better and I pay extra to get a wide shoe.  They aren’t pretty but I like chunky substantial shoes like birkenstocks so it’s fine with me.

I was Gran’s run-and-fetch-it nurse/maid and my mother came in to put her on the bed pan and change her clothes three or four times a day. It was OK because my other Grandparents lived one house and across the street. However, this is the Grandmother who had had several strokes since she was forty-two. Leaving her alone with an eight year old child after fairly signifcant surgery seems a bit irresponsible to me.

I wouldn’t leave and eight year old child alone much less leave them to take care of a 66 year old woman who can’t get out of bed or the chair she’s been transferred to. But then I’m bitter.

Don’t get me wrong, I loved Gran dearly and I was tickled pink to be her nurse maid but I shudder to think of what might have happened if I had set the place on fire making her tea on the gas stove or toast in her cantakerous old toaster.

And I was all alone there at night with a woman who couldn’t do a thing to take care of either one of us. That was far too much responsibility for a child of eight in the second grade. My Grandson has just turned seven and I look at him and marvel thinking of all the responsibilities I had at his age.

The Aunts I stayed with let me be a child when I stayed with them. Absolutely no responsibilities other than making my bed and helping with dishes but I loved helping my Aunt Cleo (Mother’s sister) with her chores because she was so cheerful and loved her animals so much. Both she and Uncle John farmed more so they could have a big petting zoo than because they wanted to make any money. Every one of their animals had a name–even the chickens and they had a lot of chickens since they sold eggs.

Their cows were so gentle we kids could ride them from the pasture to the barn.  Except for the bull.  We didn’t mess with the bull.  He was pretty mean.  I remember not taking Uncle John’s warnings seriously and getting chased by that bull once.  Once was enough.

Uncle John still farmed with a team of horses slear up into the mid50s when one of his horses just wasn’t up to it anymore and he was forced to buy a John Deere Tractor.  That was the end of an era and I don’t think he ever felt the same about farming after that.  It became work then when it was communing with anture before.  Just him and his horses out there plowing up the fields and being stewards of the earth.  I don’t think Uncle John ever quite came to terms with that John Deere.

See, I can write all this stuff about these other members of my family but where’s the stuff like this about my Mom?  What can I say about my Mom?  She locked us out of the house and sewed pretty dresses for me that I hated wearing.  She wanted a little princess and got a tomboy who wouldn’t stay clean and always had scabbed up knees.  But most of all she wante her dead son back and I couldn’t give her that.