Tag Archives: my sister

More Dead People

1 Nov

Hail, hail, the gang’s all here!

First of all, I was digging up a bunch of peanuts under the clothesline. Such a tiny plant, but there were hundreds of peanuts under it. I carried them into the house by making a basket of my skirt and was planning to put them in my sink, but my mother pitched a fit, and wouldn’t allow me to do so. “And look at your clothes! They’re a mess. Honestly, you can never do anything right.”

Even in my dreams she fusses with me!

Then I ended up in our own church, and my dad was saying Mass, accompanied by my sister, of all people, as his chalicist.  One of our daughters came in and sat beside me, and called me by the name my mum always used. I glared at her (I don’t know what girl is was) and she apologized. “They’ve saying that all day, and I forgot.”

Of all the characters in this little melodrama, only my daughter is still alive. This is the second time I’ve had this sort of dream, and – as I said before – I’m not making any long-term plans.

This is just plain creepy!

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I See Dead People

6 Aug

Not that I superstitious, but over the last couple of weeks, I’ve been dreaming about people who are no longer with us.

The first dream was about my sister. Our former rector, who is – as far as I know – very much alive, was hunting for me through a large building, perhaps the boarding school I attended as a child. She was calling and calling, but I wouldn’t answer, until she told me Lynn was looking for me, too.

A few nights later, my dad wanted me to hurry up and visit the Giffords, who were friends of his from St. John’s, before he went to Sewanee. Hugh and Carolyn died before my dad did, and Daddy died in 1999.

Last night, I was on my way to a hospital, to visit a fellow we always called Bowtie Bill.  He died about ten years ago.

Not that I’m superstitious, or anything, but I don’t think I’m going to start any new projects.

Food Fight

10 Jul

A friend gave me three huge yellow squash on Friday morning. “My husband and I will never eat all that. There’s only the two of us.” Well, there are only two of us, too. The squash were so large they oozed some sort of gluey juice when I cut them up to fry this morning.

And there, suddenly standing at my elbow, was my mum!

Mum and her dad had a good-sized garden on his farm. Luscious tomatoes, corn, string beans, and strawberries by the pound.

But mostly they grew squash. All kinds of squash. Patty pan, yellow crook-necks, zucchini, acorn squash. Squash grows fast and gets BIG. Being German, Mum insisted on always doing things the hard way. Potatoes were peeled standing up. So was that mountain of squash on the kitchen table. My sister and I peeled and peeled and peeled aaannnddd peeled. Because of the “glue” over sized squash exude our peelers would get clogged. Fortunately I’m left-handed and Lynn was right-handed so we would trade peelers from time to time. Nothing helped our stiff fingers or sore feet. Every once in a while we’d trot off to the bathroom to wash our hands – and sit down for awhile. I think Mum caught on, because she’d start to tell us to wash up at the sink!

If there was one food in all the world my sister loathed it was squash seeds. She’d try to cut some of them out of the center of the squash and bury them under the peelings, but once Mum caught on to that trick she’d sift through the compost and return them to the pot.

To make cooked squash more palatable (strictly a matter of her opinion) she would mix it with mashed potatoes, which was Lynn’s favorite food. The potatoes were very “loose” because of the liquid in the squash, and stringy, to boot. No point in pushing the seeds to the side of the plate, because they had to be eaten before the table was cleared. Even the fact that my sister threw up all over the table one night didn’t make any difference.

Mum was not only stubborn, she was cruel.