Have you ever been truly surprised?

We had been really busy that summer planning our wedding day.

The date that had seemed so far off, was only a month away.

The invitations had all been sent and the Church knew we were coming.

The location of the momentous event was Casper, Wyoming.

We had both been married before… ten years each, to be exact.

With two kids apiece (and three dogs)…our new home would be jam-packed. 

Kip called me at work on a day that everything had gone wrong.

He said there was someplace he had to go. Why didn’t I ride along?

“You won’t have a chance to change,” he said. “I’ll pick you up in a few.”

I really didn’t want to go, but there was no good reason not to.

As we drove, we talked about our day. I didn’t ask the destination.

When we pulled up into the driveway, I asked with some consternation,

“What are we doing here? This is where Carolyn (my boss) lives!

Are you doing an appraisal review? Come on…tell me, what gives?”

I knew her house had been for sale and Kip was a real estate banker.

“Does she know we’re coming for dinner? You apologize and I’ll thank her.”

I was laughing as she opened the door. I thought she’d be so surprised.

It turned out, the joke was on me. It was a shower she had organized.

(Carolyn caught this picture as a co-worker, Ann, opened the door.)

Heidi (13) Heather (11) Mason (8) and Craig (3) were all a part of two households. The youngest, Craig is now 40 and Heidi is ten years older. I love the picture of her sleeping at the end of the big day. She still had the baby’s breath in her hair. I joined Heidi, Heather, and Craig who were all asleep on a bed at the Ferguson’s who invited everyone over for a celebration after the ceremony. Mason and Kip were the last to give up. The other photos are of our first home together in Casper, and our first Thanksgiving there with Mom and Gus and Kip’s sister, Karlyce and her husband. (Come on Mary, I’m sure you looked lovely.) The last picture is of me with our first grandchild, Michael, born a few weeks before we moved from Colorado to Texas.

 

 

 

 

(The young woman and her new friend, Arf, continue their search for the future)

“I know the man who wrote this book. I recognize his name.

Is he the one orchestrating this senseless game?”

Arf didn’t move and he wasn’t sympathetic.

He looked at me as if to say, “I don’t do pathetic!”

“Okay, Arf!” I said. “Don’t look so perplexed.”

I’ll go along willingly, where do you want me next?

He went to the book and turned the pages with his paw.

I watched intently…not believing what I saw.

He started at the back and stopped at the beginning.

I saw the author’s photo. Now my head was spinning.

I’ll tell you this story Arf, since there’s no one else to tell.

I met this man the day I left somewhere I used to dwell.

He helped me board the train I took to some random destination.

He took the seat next to me and handed me a red carnation.

He asked me odd questions like, did I want to work or be a wife?

I said I hadn’t had a chance to plan the next stage of my life.

Before he got off the train, he handed me a book.

It was one he had written and he hoped I’d take a look.

I never read a word of it though I should have I suppose.

Did I leave it somewhere? Only heaven knows.

Would it have been of interest to this lonely waif?

Someone who spent most her life never feeling safe?

The writer said something I haven’t thought about in ages.

He said I would find my truth between the pages.

I remembered the photograph. Who was I dancing with?

And how was she connected to the gentleman wordsmith?

That day he left me on that train, I couldn’t hear all he said

As he removed his hat and slightly bowed his head.

It was when I heard the whistle, and when I heard the bell.

 I heard a man’s voice whisper, “I bid you a fond farewell.”

Now, I can recall… he whispered something more.

“I know your father loves you… now and forever more.” 

*************

I heard the whisper at the well say, “You’re ready to move on.”

Look back for just a moment to make sure the past is gone.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This is Ellie-Essie. My name is really Ellie, but Pearl calls me Essie, and if you know Pearl, you can’t change a single thought that goes through her head. She just can’t remember people’s names, that’s all. She even named her own dog after herself. She thought it would make it easier for everybody to remember the dog’s name, but now we have to go through all this, Pearl the human, and Pearl the dog, stuff so everybody will know who we are telling them about. That’s why I shortened my name to Lese.

Anyway, you are not going to believe what Pearl the human and Grace are up to, now. It turns out their six month lease on Pearl’s Busy Nest wasn’t redeemable. I’m glad I wasn’t there when the lady from the city came over to tell Pearl. I heard she pitched a fit and the lady fell in it, (figuratively speaking). Pearl can make you feel pretty beat-up with her words, even though she doesn’t curse. She doesn’t even have to yell loud. Pearl says the louder you yell, the less people hear you. She learned that when she had her beauty shop. I don’t remember the story, but I think it had something to do with a lady who yelled “What!” five times when she was under a noisy hairdryer.

Uh oh…here comes Pearl and Grace. They’re sure to interrupt my thinking. Oh, well. I have to take Pearl the dog outside, anyway.

Grace: But I don’t want to leave town, Pearl. I like living above the store, and you have to admit, we sure would miss Lese.

Pearl: Who is that?

Grace: It’s Ellie only you call her Essie, she’s referred to around town as Ellie-Essie, so she shortened it to Lese.

Pearl: Lese-Essie’s mamma works all hours of the day and night, and the poor girl is always with us, anyway. Besides, Grace, we’re only moving a little ways out of Murdo. I’m tired of the city life. I want to live on a ranch. I have a desire to let dirt run through my fingers…Just as long as it doesn’t ruin my manicure. I want to ride horses and eat fresh veggies from our own garden. (I like them lightly sauteed. Can you saute, Grace?) I want to know what it’s like to milk a steer and be out in the sunshine and fresh air for a couple of hours every day. Remind me to buy some stylish hats. What do ya think pardner? Are ya feeling the wanderlust?

Grace: Will I get to hear cockadoodledoo every morning at the crack of dawn? Can I have lots of roosters and collect the fresh eggs that haven’t been eaten by snakes and then go to bed early like the chickens do? …..I’m not doing that! No wanderlusting.

Pearl: Well, It’s too late! I already put a down-payment on a nice little ranch. You are just going to love it! It has its own little pond and a barn.

Grace: Really? What’s the house like?

Pearl: We are going to convert the hayloft in the barn…but never mind all that. I’m naming the ranch after you.

Grace: Really? Please don’t tell me you’re naming it Graceland!

Pearl: Of course not, Grace. We’re going to call it “Grace Place.” I think I can remember that. Now let’s start packing! I’m so excited, Grace! we are going to have almost a full acre of land! do you know how much land that is, Grace? Because I don’t.

How they see it, Pearl’s future loft?   How it is…I wouldn’t miss this.

Arf watched as I opened the book he had brought to me.

 I looked at the picture. “What do you want me to see?

The woman and the little girl danced their carefree dance.

You could see the love between them in their loving glance.

I didn’t know the woman, which seemed strange because…you see

 I knew the child…That little girl was me.

“I don’t understand, Arf. Why are we going back in time?”

And why do I keep hearing the whistle and bell chime?”

I’d heard the whisper at the well,  “You are ready to move on.

 Look back for just a moment to make sure the past is gone.” 

“I think maybe we should leave, Arf. The more I see, the less I know.”

He came to me and licked my hand. My tears began to flow.

My eyes went to the book, I turned it over in my hands.

 I saw the author’s name. I knew I had to change my plans.

First I heard the whisper. Then I heard the bell.

Something unknown gripped my heart. A fear I could not quell.

I heard the familiar whistling. The soft voice filled the air.

“If you want to get someplace, you have to leave nowhere.

My dad used to go around singing war songs. He was in World War II, but the songs he sang were WWI tunes. His mother was of the age that she identified with that war and taught the songs she remembered to Dad and his two brothers. They were fun songs like, “Good morning Mr. Zip, Zip, Zip, with your hair cut just as short as mine,” and “Be kind to our web-footed friends, for a duck could be somebody’s mother.”

(Grandma Connie Francis with my brother, Billy, 1943)

“Good Morning Mr. Zip, Zip, Zip, 1918”

We come from ev’ry quarter,
From North, South, East and West,
To clear the way to freedom
For the land we love the best.
We’ve left our occupations
and home, so far and dear,
But when the going’s rather rough,
We raise this song in cheer:

Chorus: 
Good morning, Mister Zip-Zip-Zip,
With your hair cut just as short as mine,
Good morning, Mister Zip-Zip-Zip,
You’re surely looking fine!
Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust,
If the Cam-ls don’t get you,
The Fatimas must, (cigarettes)
Good morning, Mister Zip-Zip-Zip,
With your hair cut just as short as,
your hair cut just as short as, your hair cut just as short as mine.

“Be kind to our web-footed friends”

Be kind to your web-footed friends
For that duck may be somebody’s mother,
She lives in a nest in a swamp
Where the weather is always damp.

You may think that this is the end,
Well it is, but to prove we’re all liars,
We’re going to sing it again,
Only this time we’ll sing a little higher.

(My dad and his older brother, John.)

I loved hearing Dad sing those silly tunes, but my favorite was, “They were all out of step but Jim.”

Jimmy’s mother went to see her son marching in a parade. He was wearing his uniform and carrying his gun. She came home and asked the neighbors if they had seen little Jimmy marching with the soldiers up the avenue. Then away he went to live in a tent over in France with his regiment. Were you there, she asked and did you notice? They were all out of step but her Jim.

Now isn’t that just like a mom?

Several years ago, when my Uncle, Chuck Francis, passed away, Nancy Parish, a very talented Murdo girl, sang, “They were all out of step but Jim,” at Uncle Chuck’s service in New York.

In my humble opinion, music brings back more memories than anything else in life…even photographs. I will hear a song and the feeling that has been assigned to it comes over me before the memory of the actual event does. It’s usually a good feeling, but a song can have all kinds of emotions tied to it.

I cry every time I hear my old school song…

An old reclusive aunt reaches out to her niece hoping to help her learn the truth about her family and herself.

Her niece makes the journey back to the family farm…a place she barely remembers. She has her new friend Arf to lead the way…

Should I pack up my belongings and travel down that road?

I couldn’t see another way to lighten up my load.

I wondered if they’d be there. This family I didn’t know.

When Arf and I walked through the gate, my steps began to slow.

Arf tried to hurry me along…then I heard a ringing bell.

The first thing he led me to was an old wishing well.

He pulled on a rope until a bucket reached the top.

He backed up to where I stood and let the bucket drop.

First I heard the whisper. Then I heard the bell.

“You can’t fill an empty bucket from an empty well.”

I heard the familiar whistling. The soft voice filled the air.

“If you want to get someplace, you have to leave nowhere.

You must escape the rope. Life on earth won’t last forever.

With a steady hand and prayer, you can put it all together.

Let your steps take you forward. You’re ready to move on.

Look back for just an instant to make sure you’re truly gone.”

What used to be the farmhouse was now more like a shack

I found a cot and fell asleep… too weary to unpack.

Early the next morning Arf walked over to a nook

When he returned, in his mouth he held a book.

Another message from my aunt? Arf began to pace. 

 I opened up the book and saw an unfamiliar face.

First I heard the whistle. Then I heard the bell.

I knew the woman in the book had a story to tell.

 

 

 

 

 

Our daughter and son-in-law were in Tyler over the weekend and decided to go to the movie. When they walked into the theater, three visibly upset, “older” (probably my age), ladies were running out. One rushed up to my daughter and grabbed her arm. She seemed terribly overwrought.

“What movie are you going to see?” She asked.

“Mamma Mia,” my daughter replied. “Did you come to the earlier showing?”

“No!” We came to see a spy movie, but we had to leave after five minutes. I don’t want my Lord to come back and catch me sitting in a movie like that!”

I told my daughter and her husband that I really enjoyed Mamma Mia. I finally admitted that I had gone to see the spy movie, too. I even admitted that I stayed for the whole thing…and I snickered slightly a couple of times.

It was probably the most offensive movie I have ever seen, but I didn’t want to appear rude to the others in the theater, not to mention I paid $11.00 for the movie, popcorn and a coke. I never leave without finishing my popcorn. I eat slowly.

When I was in college, my cousin and I took Grandpa Sanderson to a movie. We told him it was a western because it sounded like one to us. The name of it was, “They Shoot Horses, don’t They?” Have you seen it? It’s about several couples with identity problems who spend the entire movie trying to win a marathon dance contest.

We kept sneaking looks at Grandpa to see his reaction. It never dawned on us to get up and leave. Grandpa fell asleep twenty minutes into it. When we woke him up, he said, “Boy…that was the wildest thing I’ve ever seen, and I didn’t see one horse!”

Grandpa never said a bad word in his life unless he heard someone he admired say it and didn’t know it was bad. (We had to tell him a couple of times not to repeat things unless he knew what the words meant.) Dancing was not his thing either, but he did like horses.

I have to be honest. I hate to miss out on anything. Would I go to a bad or offensive movie just because all of my friends were going? Probably… but I wouldn’t follow them over a cliff. everybody has their limits.

Between you and me, I think a lot of the people I saw in that spy movie knew they weren’t going to see James Bond. It was rather funny watching them stumble out of the movie. It’s hard to see in a dark theater when you’re wearing sunglasses. I saw someone today still wearing them. It’s raining, but those rainbows can be bright! (It wasn’t anyone I know.)

 

 

 

The first sentence of that letter shook me to the core. Against my better judgement, I went on to read some more…

*****************

It said…

I know I’m not your favorite. I never tried to be. But never mind all that! You can learn from me.

So listen up my dear and I’ll tell you what it takes. It makes no sense for you to make all of my mistakes.

I had a noose around my neck for Lord knows far too long. It took me years to figure out exactly what went wrong.

I was a farmer…not a farmer’s wife… I figured that I had enough old goats in my life.

I had no time for family. No one  ever called me nice. You’re my only niece and I think I’ve seen you twice.

You threw away your family, too and ran your best friend off. I’ve given you a new friend. His name is Arf.

You know where the farm is and I’ve given you the key. There you’ll find the answers that will set you free.

Arf will stay right with you. He won’t leave you alone. But he’ll have to bring his favorite chewed- up bone.

********************

Arf came with me willingly. We were quite a pair. We headed for the farm….I wondered what would happen there… 

I heard the whispers in the wind and it comforted me somehow, but they had to do with then, and this was now.

And the wind will whisper your name to me,
Little birds will sing along in time,
The leaves will bow down when you walk by,
And morning bells will chime.

(Peter Paul and Mary)

To be Continued…

I was walking through the park and fighting back the tears. I had never felt this sad in all my thirty years.

My job was going nowhere and I couldn’t pay my bills. It seemed no matter where I turned, I was always climbing hills.

My best friend and I weren’t speaking. We’d had some silly fight. I had given up on sleeping. I just cried all night.

I hadn’t seen my family since many years before. There was just one, anyway, I truly did adore.

The sound of someone whistling broke through my  melancholy. I looked around but all I saw was a little border collie.

He was sitting near an empty bench. He appeared to be alone. He was guarding two possessions, a small bag and a chewed-up bone.

I felt drawn to the park bench. I was feeling so fatigued, but even more than that, I was profoundly intrigued.

I feared the little dog might leave but instead… he moved closer to my knee where he laid his weary head.

Several minutes later I opened my eyes to see that he had picked up his small bag. Was he giving it to me?

He dropped it on the bench and nudged it closer to my hand. I looked inside and what I saw I could not understand.

I found two things inside the bag…a letter and a key. The thing I could not believe? The letter was addressed to me.

I fumbled with the envelope and found a note within,  but before I could begin to read, I heard the whistling again.

Before I knew it, I was whistling along. Where could I have heard that familiar song?

***********************

Part 2 of Gone 2, next post…I promised you it wouldn’t be sad…Trust me.

I remember watching our granddaughter, Skyler, opening presents on her second birthday. When she got to a book, she opened it and pretended she was reading. “Once upon a time,” she read. Then she closed it and said, “The end!”

Skyler wasn’t interested in the story in the middle. It was more exciting to continue unwrapping all the other packages.

I feel gratified when you Murdo Girl readers go beyond the title of the blog and read the whole thing. I know it’s not all that easy sometimes. In fact, lately, I’ve been suffering from subject matter issues. I’ll admit, the HaHa Sisterhood got to be a little too much, and it’s so time consuming to cut and paste all of those pictures. I’ve given up on that one. Some thought the poem about the hanging was too sad or gruesome. I was going for a wild west type of story. Billy’s birthday songs were pretty well received, but Lav and I thought they were funnier than anyone else did.

The favorites this past week have clearly been the one about the decrepit playground and “Time Out.” Both these stories were about my old hometown of Murdo and the people who lived there many years ago. Sometimes I think if the first and last sentences had Murdo in them, and I threw in a picture, the blog would be a hit no matter what was in the middle.

Token Murdo pictures: Don Edwards and Mari and Eddie Jackson, 2016…Billy and I at the 1991 reunion

If I sound like I’m complaining, I’m really not. I enjoy writing and I love to try new things. The stories about my current life in Mabank, TX are popular as are the blogs I write while we are traveling. People seem to like the funny poems and anytime I write about real people and true life situations, I get good feedback.

I’m currently working on a project that has turned into a labor of love. I started writing picture storybooks about each of my grandchildren. It takes a lot of time, but I’m hoping it will be something they will enjoy and someday they can show their kids my picture storybook about my memories of them.

I’ve also started doing some volunteer work at the library, and we are going to be heading out on our trip the last week of September, so life is busy. More likely than not, I will only be blogging a couple of times a week until we go on our trip and I start writing about our daily travel experiences.

Below is an excerpt from Grandson, Mason’s book…

 

I hope this doesn’t sound to you like psychobabble.
But that young man was a whiz at scrabble.
I challenged the words that I was willing to bet,
He wouldn’t find on the internet.
It worked quite well since we had no dictionary,
But when the Internet went down, I was very wary.
“Would you cheat?” I asked and saw him grin.
 Or will you be a good boy and let your grandma win?
“Aw-Shucks,” he said. I’m not that kind of kid.
I can’t help that I’m as bright as a proplyd*.”
He won playing cards, and bought the board in Monopoly.
And how to hit a golf ball, is still a mystery to me.
(Look up proplyd on the internet.)
He couldn’t be having fun, I thought. He’s so good and I’m so bad.
I was about to give it up, when I heard him tell his dad,
“I like that Grandma plays with us, she loses without crying,
And she never, ever does give up. She just keeps on trying.”
You’re probably wondering what it takes to be an Aw-Shucks kid.
 I’ll tell you about the next few years. You’ll understand…..I did.

************************

Aw-Shucks kids are wise beyond their years.
They aren’t really looking for loud applause and cheers.
So if you see an Aw-Shucks kid, just know you can replace,
A pat on their back with a smile on your face.