My Shake, Rattle and Roll Grandma

In the days before television, entertainment was largely what you made it.  Out west, where neighbors were few and far between and visiting was hard to say the least, practical jokes were the choice of many.  They eased the loneliness and lessened the despair.

My Grandma Bertha was a master practical joker.  The offshoot of that was that her son, my Dad, Owen, was pretty good at it himself.  Of course, he had a perfect foil – my city-bred, inexperienced Mom.  How he loved to bedevil her.

Those were the days when generations of families lived together, so Grandma had a front row seat for most of Dad’s shenanigans.  Then, one breezy autumn day, she declared to my Mom, “Hattie, I’ve had enough.  Today we’ll get our revenge.”

Wide-eyed, my Mom listened to the plan and agreed it would work.

Pointing behand the wood stove, Grandma Bertha asked, “Do you see that RATTLE SNAKE EGG that Owen brought in so you could watch it hatch?”

My Mom looked at the egg that her husband had put behind the big black stove.  “Uh huh.  I see it,” she whispered nervously.  “Owen said when the little snakes hatch, they can keep the garden clear of gophers.  I don’t like snakes much — big or little.  I think I prefer gophers.”

“I think I do too,” chuckled Grandma, “but there will be no snakes hatch from that egg.  Let me explain.”  Grandma took Mom out to the porch and they made themselves cozy on the swing.  She continued.

“You do know what a joker your husband is, don’t you?” she asked.

“Oh yes, I truly know that,” laughed Mom looking rather chagrined.

“Never mind, Hattie.  Today, we’re going to put one over on that man if it’s the last thing we do.”

The ladies plotted for quite some time.  Their gleeful giggles and laughter floated over the valley.  Their eyes sparkled with devilment as they searched in the dirt for the perfect prickly pear.

Before long, Owen came in for his lunch and soon returned to the ranch chores.  As soon as he was safely away, the two women went to work on THE PLAN.

“First, we have to run up to see Gladys and pick up our supplies,” directed Grandma Bertha.

Mom cranked up the Model T and jumped in beside Grandma and off they went.  After sharing homemade cake and after perfecting their plot with Gladys, they gathered up the rattle snake rattles that she had boxed up for them to take home.  Gladys, you see, had rattle snakes but actually had none where we lived.  The altitude where our ranch was, too rarified at 7500 feet for rattlers.  But five miles down the mountain where Gladys lived there were more rattlers than she had ever wanted, and she was happy to share her treasures with us.

Upon arriving home, Grandma Bertha and Mom went right to work.

“Take this fishline, Hattie, and string it from the rocking chair to the SNAKE EGG.”  Even as they worked, their shoulders shook with laughter and they were filled with joy.  They attached the rattles to the Egg and then stopped wipe their tears of fun away.

The same day, after supper, as the family relaxed around the stove, Owen nodded off in his arm chair and the co-conspirators rocked away near by.

Suddenly, Owen bolted up out of his chair. “What is that?” He spun around the room like a top.

“Oh, Owen,” soothed my Mom, “it’s just the snake babies hatching out of that egg you gave me the other day.  Relax, dear.”

Quietly, Grandma and Mom patiently waited.  Dad settled down.  The rocking chairs creaked away once more.  The rattles sounded once more.  And once more my dad was on the lookout.

“There can’t be any babies hatching from that egg,” he told the ladies.  “So where are those rattles coming from?’

Shaking his head and peering into every corner, he searched all around the room.  At last, spying the fishline strung from Mom’s chair, he went over to it.  He followed it to the other end.

The ladies held their collective breaths.  Then my Dad let out a hoot.  He saw the rattles poking up behind that cactus rattle snake egg.  He bent down and took tight hold of the fishline.  The rattles stopped.  The rocking stopped.  But gurgles of fun erupted from both the young bride and her cohort.  Dad couldn’t help it and his gruff guffaw soon joined the laughter.

“GOTCHA!” they shouted.

It Was A Lovely Sumer Day

It was a lovely summer day

The wind on the willows just meant to play

And Vicki and Kelsi and Betty and I

Joined Mr. Starace on the river flowing by

The river did keep on moving

Somehow we did not!

But we slid under the bridge and scooted on up

North on the Hudson with to Aussie pups

1995

Retrospective Introspective – see also Reflective

Winter’s thoughts should be

Sort of “I wish I’d done”

“I’m glad I did”

“I should have done”

Are the thoughts that come rushing through.

But 1998, at the very end

Gave very little reason

To mull things over

It was much too mild a season.

To conjure up your inner self

Is best done deep in a storm

Then when the weather breaks

Everything’s back to norm.

So — unless 1999

Can work itself some snow

What I intended to mull over

I guess I’ll never know.

As I Drove Along Warren Street

As I drove along Warren Street

I could not believe the scene

Cars parked and people shopping

Like on a movie screen.

People greeting people

Smiles on faces large and small

Packages and bundles

I could not count them all.

I felt lost in space

As if I’d gone back in time

I’ll bet if I’d tried hard enough

I could’ve bought candy for a dime.

The shops were dressed so finely

Each one a bit unique

You may say that I am gushing

But it’s just the way I speak.

They Congregate

They congregate

To agitate

Sometimes inflate

Or to restate

They postulate

Perhaps prevaricate

Try to substantiate

Often just berate

To watch them gyrate

Express themselves

Ventilate

Someone attempts to moderate

Some seem to want to translate

Sounds more like

Mutilate

I anticipate

It will all abate

Wouldn’t that be great?