Now that I have taken you into my confidence with “Confessions of a Curly Girl” and have embarrassed myself beyond measure by releasing photos that probably ought to have been burned, let’s tackle the real dilemma. What’s a girl to do without spending a fortune on products that end up in the trash because they make you look like a Kansas tumbleweed?
Who is this mysterious, wild-haired woman from my past? She still haunts me.
I’ve done it all. Moan with me if you’ve ever slept on juice cans or cut-up potato chip cans. Ever wrapped your wet hair around your head, securing it with long clips only to wake up in the morning with your hair still wet and creases to mark the placement of every clip? Ever had Big Sister or a friend comb segments of hair over the ironing board and smooth each one with a steam iron? A few tips on this: Choose a steady-handed operator, sit still, and make sure the iron is on a low setting!
I shy away from salon-trained personnel. Too many have sent me home in tears. Two objects, if wielded in my presence, still send me into fight or flight mode – thinning scissors and razors. Curly Girls – don’t go there!
Stylists with straight hair don’t understand the “spring factor” or the fact that different areas of your scalp are producing different degrees of curl. The top of my hair is curlier than the rest. If the top isn’t left longer, the spring factor goes into effect and I come off as Eunice, as played by Carol Burnett here.
Hair products pose another problem. I tried everything to tame and condition my dry and brittle hair, the result of endless efforts to get it to behave using dryers, irons, hot rollers – you name it. My attempts left me bearing a marked resemblance to the poor soul in Shakespeare’s Hamlet who, should he hear the frightful tale, find that his once knotted and combined locks were to part and each particular hair to stand on end like quills upon the fretful porpentine. I’ve had my share of porpentine days.
Around ten years ago, I spotted a woman across a crowded room who changed my life. We Curly Girls can tell the difference between a perm and natural curl in a nanosecond and hers was the real deal. However, each curl, smooth and defined, remained separated from its neighbor in a way that I can only describe as a masterpiece of style. I decided she would be my friend whether she liked it or not.
She knew the struggle. We dove into a hair discussion as though we were veterans sharing war stories. She made two recommendations. I pass them on to you now with alll the urgency I can muster.
Firstly, order the “Curly Girl Handbook” from Amazon. No kidding. This is a guide you need. It’s written by Lorraine Massey, whose hair is curlier than mine. Her chain of salons in New York cater to Curly Girls and she’s developed a line of products that do what we’ve all been longing for – tame, de-frizz, and define those curls.
Inside, you’ll find a DVD that is a must-watch in order for you to get a grasp on the instructions outlined in the book. It’s difficult for most of us to wrap our brains around leaving a lot of product in our hair. Didn’t our mothers tell us to rinse all that stuff out? This technique may not work with other products, but it works with her line.
Here are the products I’ve been using for years now. You can find them at Ulta or at a Deva Hair Salon near you.
Secondly (and this is so important), find an actual, for-real, bona fide Deva salon and get your hair cut there by a stylist who has been trained by the Deva professionals.
Deva haircuts are a whole new ballgame. Rather than having your hair combed out and cut while stretched, each individual curl is cut while curly. The cuts I got at Frontenac Salonin St. Louis not only changed the whole look of my hair, but they also trained me in using the products as well. You’re thinking this sounds expensive, but it isn’t. The cost covers cut, No-Poo (because there’s no poo in theirs), style and cut (yes, they always cut it twice before you leave). I found it to be a bargain considering that you’ll only be going three times a year. Yep! They train you in how to maintain your cut in between times!
Deva also makes a nice travel set so that you can try the products. The bottles sizes comply with TSA regulations and a microfiber hair towel is included because you’ll discover that you’ll never want another terry cloth towel to touch your head again. An old T-shirt also works well to keep from ruffling up your “do”.
I’m sure your travel set will look a little spiffier than the one in the photo. Mine has accompanied me on many a journey.
IMPORTANT NOTE: I’m about to share with you some issues that I’ve had with hair loss. Though I have always been an extreme “shedder” and I haven’t noticed an increase with the use of Deva products, I have done an online search and have found several folks who feel it has been an issue for them. I may take a brief hiatus (though I hate to do so) just to see if I notice any differences. Do your own experimenting and research – you’ll know best what works for you.
Concerning hair loss, let me just say that to minimize this problem is just plain wrong. Much of our identity and self-worth is tied to how we feel about our face and hair. One survey showed that when people were asked what they noticed first when meeting a new person, it was a toss-up between hair and shoes!
As I shared in“It’s Not the Heat, It’s the Humidity: Confessions of a Curly Girl”, I had to deal with hair loss through chemo years ago. It was no badge of courage for me. I had recurrent dreams about hair the whole time. I dreamed about my hair and everybody else’s for months. It returned in time, curls and all, and I’ve never wished my curls away since.
There are other things besides chemo, however, that can take away your hair. A few years ago, after burning my candle at both ends for too long a time, I fell into Stage 3 Adrenal Fatigue. When my body ran out of its much needed cortisol, everything else crashed along with it – thyroid and just about every hormone on the list.
I am not your doctor and cannot advise you, but I will tell you from personal experience that adrenal fatigue is real, there are lab tests for it, I have faithfully followed my doctor’s treatment and it has worked!
I lost a lot of hair. Since I’d already been there, done that and gotten my T-shirt at the Relay for Life, I had no intention of letting this get to the point of no return. Curls became a blessing as their fluff enabled me to hide how much hair I’d lost. There were tears – lots of them!
If you have hair loss, stop attributing it to age or other factors that you think are just part of life. Something can be done. See a doctor specializing in functional medicine who knows how to check your blood work, thyroid, adrenals and hormones in ways that “regular” doctors do not. Get some answers because the answers are out there! Don’t be afraid to ask what else can be done.
When my adrenals, thyroid and other hormones began to return to normal levels, I told my doctor that I wanted to get more aggressive in speeding up the return of my hair. She recommended these supplements from Elon Essentialsand I can’t say enough good things about them.
I take a capsule daily and apply the serum every morning to the areas where I’ve noticed the most thinning. This is a slow process as you wait through several shedding cycles, but I’ve gotten a lot of hair back throughout the two years I’ve been using it.
Curly Girls, may your days be filled with low humidity, definition and zero-frizz! May you have glorious curls and plenty of them! My former tumbleweed now looks healthy and defined while I’m waiting for more of my volume to return.
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Ah, September! Everyone has their own reasons for loving this transitional month, but the first thing that comes to my mind is the joy of having a passable hair-do again.
I have no idea what month of the year my Scotch and Irish ancestors arrived here, but it must have been in autumn or at the first greening of spring. They gazed at the rolling hills, lush foliage, sighed with relief and exclaimed, “Ah! Just like the old country!” I’m convinced if they’d arrived during one of our ice-encrusted winters or during a summer such as we’ve just had they would have kept right on moving. They’d have been justified in doing so if only to spare their children and grandchildren endless bad hair days.
One of the great mysteries of the universe is humidity. Hanging at one hundred percent day after day and holding moisture so thick you can feel it part like the Red Sea as you pass through, it does not nourish the clouds. It may not rain for weeks at a time. Anything that heavy and oppressive ought to give way to sheer gravity, wouldn’t you think?
All the straight-haired girls complain about the humidity’s affects, but I caution you – don’t do it in front of us Curly Girls. It’s the equivalent of hearing a guy say that his pain is worse than being in labor. On a good day, we Curly Girls will offer a weak, indulgent smile and keep our mouths shut, but once we’re about three weeks into Bad Hair Season, we are no longer responsible for our actions.
Some of us were blessed with curls from the get-go. For others, like me, it comes upon a person suddenly and without warning. There I was, going along through grade school, minding my own business, when the sudden change blindsided me.
It had never been perfectly straight. My mom or big sisters could wind my wet locks around their fingers and get it to turn up or under on the ends. My bangs, cut straight across my forehead, lay in an even line, behaving as bangs should.
Then, it happened. Within a matter of months, things spiraled (literally) out of control, resulting in a series of school photos unfit for the human eye. My parents and siblings, who may have shared a dozen or so waves amongst themselves, had no idea what to do about the walking bush they used to call little sister. I still remember being perched on a stool, surrounded my multiple siblings all offering advice to my scissor-wielding sister as she stood beside me trying to figure out where to start. Their hand gestures scared me to pieces.
If your hair is straight, humidity will reduce the volume and relax the curl. You may even get a frizz or two on top. My advice – take it and be grateful. I, on the other hand, can gauge the relative humidity by consulting my bangsometer. It’s readings fluctuate all the way from winter’s “sprayed-and-stayed” to spring’s “why-are-you-pointing-over-there?” to mid-summer’s “oh-for-cryin’-out-loud-I-used-a-ton-of-spray-and-they’re-actually-curling-FORWARD!”
When that happens, we Curly Girls bear it as best we can, along with life’s other injustices. However, it does provoke nasty looks when someone approaches with a camera.
I know what you’re thinking. I can hear you saying, “Silly girl, when it’s humid outside, just let it do its own thing!” Ah! Again, let me enlighten you. Curly bangs must be inches longer than straight bangs. Otherwise, they will bunch up next to the hairline in a wad. I refuse to post a picture of that sort of disaster here. Ever.
There are times when you just pretend that voluminous is glorious and smile anyway.
The squiggles you see in my little blondie’s hair were but a foreshadowing. She grew up to have some pretty sassy curls, too, and yes, they brought with them the trauma I’d expected they would.
Once a year, on my birthday, I throw caution to the wind and actually approach open flame with “the hair”.
You’re probably assuming that Smuffy is off-camera, stage left, holding a fire extinguisher, but no, I do it like Evel Knievel.
The nineties offered an opportunity to express myself. I loaded up on styling gel and while everybody else turned upside down to blow dry and spent a fortune on perms and hours achieving volume, I just air-dried and walked through doors sideways.
It balances out the shoulder pads and the wallpaper really well, don’t you think?
On really bad hair days, I could shove in a few pins and contain the mess on top (if you call this look “contained”).
A friend told me that this attempt at a “glamour shot” succeeded in making me look like Miss Kitty Russell, owner and proprietor of the Long Branch Saloon in Dodge City, Kansas. I took no offense. (I still have a crush on Marshall Matt Dillon.)
Photographic evidence does not lie.
Taken just one day apart, these photos show that just when you think you’ve got a grip on things, humidity and humility arrive hand-in-hand, causing your smile lose its natural ease and become strained. Please, someone tell me that I did not leave the house on Day 2! (These are not mug shots. We were testing lipstick shades, just in case you’re thinking I got arrested for that hair.)
Over the years, I stopped moaning, “I hate my hair!” Parts of God’s plan will always remain a mystery to mere mortals and He certainly performed a mysterious work on my head. I made peace with the fact that He knew what He was doing, especially after reading the words of the ardent lover in Song of Solomon. Remember him – the one who bounds over the hills like a young stag, pleading, “Arise, come, my darling, my beautiful one…”? One of the physical qualities that had him so worked up was the fact that his beloved possessed hair “like a flock of goats”.
I think I’ve offered enough evidence here to prove that this man would go wild over me! If there’s ever been a woman with hair like a flock of goats…I’m just sayin’.
Smuffy has embraced my curly look as though he’s Solomon himself and has come to the point where, if a wild notion strikes me to straighten it, he gives me the thumbs-down.
The struggle to come to the place where I could shout from the rooftops, “I love my hair!” came almost nineteen years ago when I walked into the chemo room knowing we would soon say good-bye.
Since then, all I can say is , “Love it! Love it! Can’t get enough of it!” But, golly, I’m glad it’s September!
If you’re struggling to embrace your curls, I hope my story has helped you appreciate them or, at the very least, smile a little and lighten up! Need a stronger remedy? You’ll find more on my “Laugh” page. enjoy Life, Laughter and Lemons here and, by all means, catch up on my exciting “Life With Smuffy”!
My little goats have been corralled and now behave themselves to a much greater degree. A lifelong search has brought me, at last, fabulous products that separate the curls and define them, making all the difference. Coming up: A review of my all-time favorite Curly Girl arsenal of products!
Subscribe so you don’t miss it! Leave a comment – I’d love to hear from you!
Today I am linking up with Anna Nutthall. For more inspiring posts, click here.
Go ahead. Sniff the air. Is that an autumn breeze passing by?
Well, no, not really. It’s hot. But it’s September and that brings hope that the worst is over.
We find ourselves directly in the path of Hurricane Gordon’s “leftovers”, which are due to bring us several inches of rain this weekend and perhaps some cooler temperatures. Highs in the 70’s and 80’s are better than the highs in the 90’s that we’ve been having ever since May.
I have just the thing to put you in the mood for cooler, crisper days. Take a look at September’s First Friday Freebie.
This beautiful scarf by MIXIT is just the remedy for that first urge one gets this time of the year to run out and tie one on! Get it? Tie. One. On. Oh, never mind. I am sometimes overwhelmed by my lightning wit.
As you can see in the photos above, the rose pattern speaks of summer’s end with soft ivory and brown tones to usher in cooler days. Subtle touches of metallic gold highlight the leaves and petals. The woven fabric is thin enough to wear at the first hint of cooler weather.
At 73 inches long and 26 inches wide, you’ll have plenty of room for tying it into multiple styles. Take a look at some of the ways my model wore it.
Of course, there are all sorts of unique and stylish ways to tie scarves, from twisting them into rosettes to leaving them untied and just letting then ends hang down straight.
To enter to win the MIXIT scarf, “Leave a Comment” on this post, saying, “I’m ready to tie one on!” (I know, I know – but humor me.) You’ll need to do that before midnight TONIGHT, September 7th, 2018!
Remember, you must be a subscriber to Midwest Storyteller in order for your comment to be entered into the drawing.
JCPenney carries a wide selection of MIXIT accessories and you can check out more styles from MIXIT here.
SHARE this post through Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, Pinterest or send the link in an email to all your friends so they can enter to win!
Take a look at past freebies on the “Freebies” where you can see the gifts subscribers have been winning.
Once again, a winner will be chosen at random from those subscribers who enter before midnight tonight by leaving a comment which says, “I’m ready to tie one on!”
And now, here are the complete rules:
First Friday Freebies are available to SUBSCRIBERS ONLY. That means if you have come to this post through social media or someone has emailed you a link to it and you haven’t become a subscriber yet, you’ll need to hop on over to the right sidebar and do that really quick. If you are on a phone or tablet, the easiest way is to go to the “About Me” page. All it means to be a subscriber is that you’ll receive an email each time Midwest Storyteller has something new, which won’t likely be more than once or twice a week. It keeps you from missing out on all the fun and FREE STUFF! And, I’m not sharing your emails with anybody.
IMPORTANT: After subscribing, you MUST check your email to confirm the subscription or it will not appear. Then, sadly, you won’t be eligible to enter.
To enter the drawing, scroll back up to the top of this post (or all the way to the bottom, depending on your device) and click on “Leave a Comment”. Subscribers who comment as directed before midnight on Friday will enter the drawing, provided they are already on the subscribers list and live within the continental United States.
Three simple steps!
What are you waiting for? Go! Go! Go! Subscribe if you haven’t already, confirm in your email and comment to enter before midnight tonight, September 7th!
Announcing the August Freebie winner! Let’s see who won the free gift –
Ruth from St. Louis, Missouri!
Ruth not only received the free cupcake kit, but also an “E” for effort! I think she’s entered almost every Midwest Storyteller drawing for months now and is finally a winner! All she had to do was comment on the August 3rd post, saying, “Come on, let’s party!” Her name went into the drawing for the adorable cupcake kit by MeriMeri. Smuffy chose a name from those who entered and there you have it
I’ve had a little delay in making this announcement, so it won’t be long until time rolls around for September’s freebie! If you haven’t subscribed, you’ll want to do that now because First Friday Freebies are for SUBSCRIBERS ONLY.
Take a look at our “Freebies” pagewhere you’ll see some of the other gifts subscribers have been winning.
Congratulations, Ruth! I know you’ll have fun making your favorite cupcake recipe cute with all the items in this kit.
You can check out more items from Meri Meri at www.merimeri.comwhere they have coordinating items for all your celebrations, including, baby, wedding, anniversary and more. Words cannot express how much I adore their Peter Rabbit themed party items!
The next First Friday Freebie drawing will be on Friday, September 7, 2018. As Ruth can testify, it pays to be a SUBSCRIBER.
Share this post with all your friends so they can SUSCRIBE and enter to win. A winner will be chosen at random from those subscribers who enter before midnight on the day of the drawing by leaving a comment as instructed in the post.
And now, here are the Freebie Rules.
First Friday Freebies are available to SUBSCRIBERS ONLY. That means if you come to the post through social media or someone has emailed you a link to it and you haven’t become a subscriber yet, you’ll need to hop on over to the right sidebar and do that really quick. If you are on a phone or tablet, the easiest way is to go to the “About Me” page. All it means to be a subscriber is that you’ll receive an email each time Midwest Storyteller has something new, which won’t likely be more than once or twice a week. It keeps you from missing out on all the fun and FREE STUFF! And, I’m not sharing your emails with anybody.
IMPORTANT: After subscribing, you MUST check your email to confirm the subscription or it will not appear. Then, sadly, you won’t be eligible to enter.
To enter the drawing, scroll back up to the top of this post and under the title, click on “Leave a Comment”. Subscribers who comment as directed before midnight on the first Friday of the month will enter the drawing, provided they are already on the subscribers list and live within the continental United States. Follow these three simple steps and subscribe now. Then, you’ll be ready for September. “Share”, “like” and “pin” this post! You’re friends will want to enter to win, too! Have an opinion on the Freebies? Leave a comment! If you’re on your computer, scroll back up under the title of this post and let me know what you’re thinking. On various devices, you may find “Leave a Comment” at the bottom of the post.
Smuffy returns soon: Need I remind you that I am not responsible for this man’s actions? Another landmark moment for the books is coming up! If you’ve not let Smuffy entertain you, click here.
Last time, we discussed how much our lives have changed over the centuries and took a fun, but realistic, look at a day in the life of pioneer women in the 1800’s. If you missed it, you may want to check it out here. We’ve acquired many modern conveniences and long with them a sense of guilt that haunts us if we aren’t constantly on the job or flitting to or from one.
While we long for the simplicity that comes with our ancestors’ uncomplicated lifestyle, few of us would return to it once we considered the hardships that went hand-in-hand with that simplicity.
We came home the other day from a writers’ conference to discover that our central air conditioning had gone out. It’s August. Though we did receive a refreshing rain and the weather cooled down, fixing the A/C moved to the top of our priority list. Another modern convenience, the weather app, tells us it will be 97 degrees this weekend. No pioneering spirit here, folks!
My faith governs my life and my world-view. I know that as a human being, I am designed for Garden of Eden living. That means that I am not wired for stress. Yet, due to the gift of free will, “stuff” happens. Just living on this earth means we need a break. We need restoration! People are imperfect – doggonit – and they’re everywhere! Situations, as science confirms, go from order to chaos – not the other way around. I’m not going to notice, for instance, that although I haven’t mopped the floor in weeks, my floors just keep getting cleaner and shinier. A farmer isn’t going to drive by his long-neglected field and discover that time has turned the tangled mass of weeds into neat rows of corn. Again – doggonit!
So, with everything cascading into a mess all around us and folks misbehaving left and right, it’s no wonder we need restorative rest.
In my last post, I suggested that each time you feel guilty for being “so far behind”, that you grab the timer and see just how long your tasks really take to complete. Did you discover that they all take longer than the few minutes you’ve allotted them in your mind?
I feel it’s necessary to mention the fellas as we look at how life has changed. Along with awareness that domestic chores have become much easier over the centuries, we must also acknowledge that men do help out more than ever before. The first time I saw a daddy wearing a cuddle sack with his tiny infant snuggled against his chest, going about his business like it was an easy-breezy part of life, my heart melted. I remember the day when such a thing would have been unheard of.
More and more men are involved with household chores and caring for their children’s basic needs without falling apart at the seams with a bad case of martyr syndrome because someone asked them for a little help. It’s a change that’s been a long time coming and, I believe, has not come about by any natural evolutionary processes, guilty consciences or increased introspection and self-awareness on their part. It took push and I’m proud of every woman who pushed.
My advice to all of you who are frustrated, stressed out and guilt-ridden was to fire yourself, re-hire yourself and give yourself a break! Emily Post gave me some perspective on this and I hope it helps you as much as it did me.
I know what you’re thinking. You’ve immediately lumped Emily into the same domestic category as Martha Stewart, Mary Poppins and June Cleaver. Believe it or not, I’ve had friends good-naturedly call me all those names over the years. I’m one of those people who likes to make everything “special”. Surprisingly, Emily helped to ease the strain because “special” takes time, effort and lots of clean-up.
I stumbled across an old volume of Emily Post’s “Etiquette” (1942, to be exact) at a yard sale, took it home and dove in. After all, inquiring minds want to know if they’re doing everything wrong. Right? Smuffy looked over at me one evening as we both reclined in bed with our books and said, “I’d be willing to bet money that right now, in this entire town, there is not one other person curled up in bed reading a two-inch thick 1942 Emily Post book of etiquette.” It probably would have been a safe bet.
What can I say?
I found it fascinating. Emily will teach you how to do everything. You’ll learn how to meet government officials (foreign and domestic), how to deal with your child’s clothing choices, how to set a perfect table, and write the proper invitations and other correspondence. Though you may not need the section on “Do’s and Don’ts for Debutantes”, you will learn how to teach your children not to be…well…mannerless, awkward clods.
The wonderful thing about it? It all made sense. She designs a world in which you make other people feel comfortable in any situation.
Hoity-toity, you say? Only in spots. Emily understands. She had a name for those of us who don’t have minions at our beck and call or a stack of engraved invitations waiting for our RSVP. She refers us as “Mrs. Three-in-One”. She acknowledges that this means most of us. Like it or not, most of us are cook, maid and hostess.
I fantasized my way through her chapter on “The Well-Appointed House”, giving myself a tongue-in-cheek reminder that I mustn’t forget “What the Butler Wears”. When I came to the section on the “House Run by One Maid”, I gave it a little more attention due to the fact that my house has one maid and I am she. That’s when I fired myself. Or did I quit? Anyhow, I knew it was time to start over with a new set of expectations.
I decided that, as Mrs. Three-in-One, I needed to re-hire the maid (me) using Emily’s job description. I surrendered all guilt, knowing that it would be unreasonable to expect more of myself than I would of the hired help.
This maid’s work “must be adjusted not only to the needs of the particular family by whom she is employed, but also to her own capability”. Understanding and flexibility are built into that statement. I realized that when I can’t – I can’t.
Emily states that, allowing for sleeping and eating, the maid has a remaining fourteen hours left in her day, “out of which she must find the time for recreation as well as for work”. Don’t be a tyrant, Mrs. Three-in-One! Do a little recreating.
The maid’s hours for housework should run from ten to twelve hours a day, perhaps more on special occasions. “From these hours there must, however be taken certain regular hours of time out.” Regular hours of time out during her ten to twelve hour day! Are you starting to think you’ve been a little hard on yourself? Career women, you can’t do it all. Stay-at-home moms, you might do it all, but you still need a cup of tea and time to put your feet up!
Then, Emily really starts speaking my language. “Normally every maid has her specified afternoons and evenings out.” Let me get my hat and coat! She goes on to say that if household requirements are unusually hard or confining, compensate for this as best you can. Women have used their creativity in dealing with this for centuries. I imagine this is how quilting bees came about.
The next section in the book provided a “Working Schedule for a One-Maid House”. I studied it, asking myself if I should expect any more of myself than I would of this woman I’d hired. Hypothetically, she is in charge of a seven-room house which includes a living room, dining room, porch, kitchen, maid’s room and bath, three bedrooms and two baths.
I balked at the first item, which suggested that I wash and dress at 6:45 a.m. OK, I’m open to it.
The second item felt more like my usual routine, which is to be downstairs by 7:00 a.m. to put the kettle on, start cereal and set the breakfast table. I’ve seen my mother “start cereal”. It involved the stove, a pan and such. For me, starting cereal consists of putting the box on the counter and parking a gallon of milk next to it. The “breakfast table”? My family has never known the table to be in any way connected with breakfast and I’m not letting the cat out of the bag at this stage of the game.
At 7:30 a.m., the maid is to cook breakfast, then eat her own breakfast. I’m just fine with the second half of that. Cooking breakfast is a term reserved for Saturdays only when, and if, all parties and circumstances are aligned and in agreement.
The family is to be served breakfast at 8:00 a.m. I can’t remember the last time this happened, but there may have been a high chair involved. Everyone around here is capable. That gives this maid a little more time to linger over her own breakfast and cup of tea.
At 8:30 a.m., the job description calls for the maid to clear the table, wash the dishes, pick up the living room, sweep the dining room, kitchen and halls. The mistress (also me) is to plan meals for the day and “order marketing”. There is an hour and a half allotted for this. I’d have no problem with this if I had gotten washed and dressed at 6:45 as directed, but…
Heading upstairs at 10:00, the maid makes beds, cleans bathrooms, sweeps, dusts and empties wastebaskets. Apparently this does not include the bedrooms. (See daily schedule below.)
Special work for the day is done at 11:00 and takes and hour and a half. One room from the list below is cleaned thoroughly. If it doesn’t take that long, the maid is to do whatever else needs to be done such as polish silver, make a cake or dessert or dinner or prepare vegetables. I can see a lot of us dispensing with that first item., though I do pull out all the stops when I’m feeling “fancy”.
At 12:30, Luncheon is prepared and the table is set so that lunch can be served at 1:00. This sounds like a real time crunch for someone as slow as my maid, if you get my drift.
I’m sure Emily is counting on luncheon being a very simple meal and these people saving their appetites for a more elaborate evening meal, for she suggests clearing the table at 1:30 and washing the dishes, I suppose whether they have finished eating or not.
After this, the maid has free time until 3:00 p.m. Yes, indeed, plum spang in the middle of the day, there she is, doing nothing. Well, it does suggest that she rest, bathe and change her dress.
Back on duty at 3:00, apparently all she does is hang around the kitchen as she is “on duty” there and be ready to answer the door. I don’t know who answered up until now. Perhaps there is a section on how it is rude to go visiting before 3:00 p.m.?
At 5:00 p.m., she rolls up her sleeves and prepares meat, vegetables, etc., for dinner. Of course, she sets a nice table.
Now, with the prep work done, the maid is ready to cook, which she does at 5:30.
At 6:30 p.m., dinner is served.
Apparently, this family doesn’t linger long, for at 7:00, she is washing dishes, putting the dining room and kitchen in order for the night.
By 8:00, this maid is finished. Nothing more to be done. Her plans for the evening “will be adapted to the household needs.” This is where it gets scary, don’t you think?
I’m sure you’re still wondering about that “Special Work for the Day” that occurs at 11:00 a.m. Here it is:
Monday – Clean the three bedrooms.
Tuesday – Clean dining room and polish silver.
Wednesday – Clean sun porch and do extra baking.
Thursday – Clean kitchen and maid’s room.
Friday – Clean living room.
Saturday – Polish brass, silver, furniture, etc. Bake cake for Sunday.
I don’t know about you, but this cleaning schedule doesn’t sound half bad. Clean the bedrooms – no problem. Not many of us are polishing silver anymore, so cleaning the dining room or area shouldn’t be overwhelming. Having a sun porch to clean is on my bucket list! With clean eating going on, the only extra baking involves some sourdough bread or maybe a lasagna to freeze. There is no maid’s room to clean, so I’m off the hook there. The living room always needs a going over. That leaves Saturdays to do something more interesting (unless I do decide to clean the furniture) because I rarely polish brash and I don’t bake cakes for Sunday.
Now let’s all pause and breathe! Are you like me? When I studied this job description, all I could think was, “I’m not sure I could do all this even if I got paid for it!” Yet, I saw that this maid got time off in the middle of the day, plus specified afternoons and evenings out. I’d been expecting myself to get all these things done and more.
I needed to be at Smuffy’s beck and call because his constant immersion in some project (or body of water). I needed to be sure my mom got to the store and to her appointments and got out and had a little fun. Nowhere on the list of maid’s duties did I find any mention of children and their schoolwork, scraped knees or need to play. Laundry didn’t seem to enter into this maid’s duties at all! I didn’t see any time allotted for being a good neighbor, volunteering at church, helping with community projects or taking the cat to the vet. I love making handmade gifts. Where’s the time for that? I’ve written three novels and have a blog to keep up with! All this and we, as women, are supposed make time to exercise and keep fit as well?
If I added all these things to the paid maid’s schedule, I wouldn’t even get to sleep! It’s tempting to give up.
Emily Post has set me free! I now know that I can’t do it all. I have to pick from the list and put things off until I can get around to them. You’ll have to do that, too, if you don’t want to lose your marbles, drain your body of cortisol and put your family through the ordeal of living with someone who is on stress overload. It’s true what they say, “If mama ain’t happy…”
We thrive when we live a balanced life. Honey, fire yourself! Re-hire yourself and give yourself a break! Let’s all make peace with the fact that we are Mrs. Three-in-One. That lady needs love, understanding and a nap!
Emily Post is not a thing of the past. She’s still got us covered. She answers all your questions about navigating life in today’s world with the lost arts – consideration, respect, honesty and etiquette atemilypost.com
If you’d like an “oldie” like mine and don’t want to cruise yard sales waiting for one, you might try Amazon here.
Need a gratitude adjustment, click here. Find 50 ways to make next year a better one here.
I dedicate this to all the women out there – wives, moms, grandmas, the ones taking care of aging parents and the ones who will be, the young women who are working away at jobs or studying day and night. I dedicate it to those who barely have enough domestic skills to make their own beds – those who’d stare at a steam iron or a potato peeler with their heads at a tilt before texting out photos to multiple people asking for help with identification. I can see their internet search box now – “antique hand-held sharp spinning thing” or “not quite triangular metal plate attached to handle with electrical cord”.
Let’s talk about guilt. I hate the stuff. I refuse to believe that I’m created to wallow in such muck. No one can thrive while in that pit. Guilt messes with my mind, making it more of an obstacle course than it already is.
The fact is, ladies – we’ve got it pretty cushy and we still need a break! And we feel guilty for it. I can’t tell you how that simple truth makes my head spin. I fight guilt when I take a break. I’m getting better, though. Several years back, I began asking myself, “If I were my own employee, what kind of breaks would I think I deserved?” Also, “If I were hiring someone to do what I do, what kind of schedule would I consider reasonable for her?”
I thought it would do me good to pretend I’d hired me, then fire myself for not taking the allotted time off, nodding off while on duty and rarely getting things done on time. Then, since no one else would likely apply for the job, I could re-hire myself, issue myself a new list of reasonable expectations and treat myself as I would any other woman I truly respected.
Hearken back to Mother’s Day. If you’re a mom, did you get a break? If you have a mom, did you give her a break? My daughter did. We were long overdue for a trip to the city to eat, shop and piddle. It was great. I was pooped! (I can’t say enough good things about the brunch at Lidia’s! Let’s just say that I skipped in and waddled out. Delightful!)
Then, things returned to “normal”. But, normal makes me tired. I get so behind at normal.
Someone once said, “Nobody fills out your calendar but you,” in an attempt to drive home the point that we all need to say “no” to some things and plan some margins into our lives.
I don’t know about you, but other people seem to be shoving the pen into my hand and making me write stuff all over my calendar pages.
Still, the modern woman, if she’s honest, must admit she has it pretty cushy. It helps to look at things from a different perspective. Over the course of human history, we have less work to do and a more comfortable environment in which to accomplish it than ever before.
Almost all of us now have a dishwasher. Even though we may opt to do the dishes by hand and say we don’t mind it a bit, most of us have lost contact with the idea of cooking three meals a day from scratch for a house full of people and then doing all those dishes by hand after each and every meal. I can still see Smuffy’s mom standing where she spent most of her time after feeding the husband and five growing boys.
I’ve had a copy of an old newspaper clipping for years and years. A Kansas pioneer mother had given written instructions to her daughter when she began running her own household. The family hung on to it. The El Dorado Times printed it in 1968 during their centennial to remind folks what life had been like one hundred years before. (Notes in parentheses are mine.)
How to Wash Clothes
Build a fire in the back yard to set kettle of rain water. (So, did you have to wait for a good rain before you could have laundry day? ‘Cause, I don’t think she means kettle – I think she means cauldron.)
Set tubs so smoke won’t blow in eyes if wind is pert. (Gee, thanks, Ma! You could have told me that before I filled them full of water! And…if the wind changes? How many of us have even considered smoke being a problem in getting the laundry done?)
Shave 1 hole cake lie sope in biling water. (So, I take a knife, stand over a giant “biling” cauldron and try not to cut my hand off as the cake of “sope” gets smaller and smaller and slicker and slicker? Sounds like a job for Smuffy. Oh, wait! He’s probably out somewhere behind the plow.)
Sort things. Make 3 piles. 1 pile white, 1 pile cullord, 1 pile britches and rags. (Britches=diapers? Guess so. What else would go in with the rags? Which reminds me – we’re doing up a whole batch of bad cloth diapers and other disgusting stuff here. I can smell this biling pot already. There are bound to be lots of rags while I’m waiting for paper towels and tissues to be invented.)
Stir flour in cold water to smooth, then thin down with biling water. (Flour? Huh? Oh, right! Almost forgot – if we don’t starch ourselves stiff, our Sunday-go-to-meetin’ clothes will be all limp and we’ll look bedraggled on the one day this week we get to see another living soul. Um…how much flour…water?)
Rub dirty spots on bord, then bile. Rub cullord, but don’t bile, Just rench and starch. (So much to remember? I guess this requires another, smaller tub, another cake of soap and the wash bord so I can sit down on a stump and pre-treat. I have a feeling that the ‘dirty spots” acquired out here on the prairie are more than just a few. My poor knuckles! Hope the fire doesn’t go out before I get all this done. Come to think of it, I don’t even know how to build a fire! Should have had Smuffy do that before he hitched Old Ruth to the plow and headed for the south forty.)
Take white things out with broom handle, then rench, blew and starch. (Now I’m losing track of the quantity of tubs. I hope we had a dandy rain! One for biling that I can allow to cool down before I drop in the cullords, one for rinse water, one with bluing added and one with starch added? There’s got to be a system for this to keep me from starching Smuffy’s union suit! Ma!”)
Spread tee towels on grass. (Now I’ve got to catch the cow and tie her up.)
Hang old rags on fense. (Easiest part of the whole day so far. Wait! Is there a clothesline in this picture at all?)
Pour rench water in flower bed. (When did I have time to plant all these flowers?)
Scrub porch with soapy water. (I knew I should have put those tubs closer to the house. I’m not saying the porch doesn’t need it, but is there any way this could wait till tomorrow?)
Turn tubs upside down. (If I must, I must. I’m tempted to take a refreshing dip in that rench water first. What time is it anyway? There seem to have been endless delays – milking the cow, stopping to catch lunch, cook lunch, nurse the baby and so on…)
Go put on a clean dress. Smooth hair with side combs. Brew cup of tea, set and rest and count your blessins. (That is, if those little blessins behave themselves.)
I read this and my heart goes out to all the women in history who had to do this (and so much more) the hard way. Even my own mom and Smuffy’s spent years doing their laundry with a wringer washing machine and large tubs. All the wringer machines really did was eliminate the washboard and some of the cramps in your arms.
That’s my Grandpa Albert helping my dad fix the washer. I wonder what Mom’s laundry pile looked like by the time they got it running again. If it broke down somewhere between the biling and the renching…Oh, dear! We really can count our blessings each time we walk up to that washer or dryer, plop the clothes in, push a few buttons and walk away.
Yet, the stress in our lives continues to grow. We get anxious and frustrated after we’ve driven to three or four stores that are miles apart, trying to find the bulb that fits in the refrigerator. We have this anxiety only because we’re blessed with a refrigerator and a car!
I will never cease to wonder how my mom did it! Yet, she did it – the house, the meals, the garden and all the canning that went with it, the chickens, the cows to milk and, oh, yes – the blessins! Take a look at her first three little helpers. With these underfoot, not to mention the other four that followed, you might think she couldn’t have done it with a sweet nature and a sense of humor, but she did – while making all their clothes and those cute little bonnets from scratch!
I suppose she lined them (and the puppies) up under a shade tree and hoped for the best while she turned her back on them long enough to hang the wash on the line.
So, how do we step back from our modern-day stress and at the same time ease the guilt?
I suggest you consider all your failures and fire yourself. Then, since the applicant pool is likely nil, re-hire yourself. Call yourself into your office and give yourself a realistic job description because, yes, ladies, our lives are cushy-er than ever but we still need realistic expectations of ourselves. It’s the first step in a guilt-free life!
I’m issuing a challenge. This week, each time you feel frustrated because you are “so far behind”, grab the timer. Actually time yourself completing a task from start to finish. Begin a realistic list of how long it really takes to clean the kitchen, prepare a meal, fold the laundry and put it away or make a “quick trip” to the store. If you feel the same level of stress at work, you can try this there also, but generally, I feel that though we may feel pressure at work, we feel less guilt when we are on someone else’s clock. Once you’ve accumulated a list of timed tasks, you may be able to lower your expectations of getting them all finished in half the time it really takes! There are, after all, only so many hours in a day and days in the 1800’s had the same number of hours as they do today, although sometimes I find myself questioning whether that can possible be true.
Here’s Smuffy’s great-grandma Margaret, after she’d put on a clean dress and smoothed her hair with side combs. She probably sat down in that chair and counted her blessins because at least she had the well and could draw her wash water up out of it in buckets instead of lugging it from the creek or waiting for it to rain. If she took a little rest, I doubt she felt an ounce of guilt.
Next up? A job description you can live with! Don’t forget to “like”, pin and “share” with all the women in your life who need a new perspective so they can join me here for Part 2 of “I Surrender All – Guilt”!
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And, if you’ve never attempted to “blew” your whites and wouldn’t know quite where to start, you might want to click here. My aunt Gladys Pearl will show you the ropes and put a smile on your face.
It’s easy to get tired of summer heat. Let’s enjoy it while we have it! In this neck of the woods, I start missing it once the crisp fall days give way to the ones that ice up my car and force me to cancel plans because I’m snowed in.
Not to mention the fact that ours is the damp kind of cold – the type that creeps into your bones and starts arguments over who gets to snuggle Phoebe June for a bit of extra warmth.
Summer’s hanging on, but so are the picnics, parties and celebrations that go along with it. The little added touches are what transform you into the hostess-with-the-mostess at your summer get-together.
The August Freebie will help you out with that. Let’s take a look –
This cupcake kit by Meri Meri contains twenty-four cupcake cases and twenty-four toppers. It’s all-over floral design is perfect for summer parties and events and don’t you love it when each cupcake has a flower sprouting out of it?
Come to think of it, why do we always dress up sweets? This might be a fun way to get your kids or grandkids to eat a healthier choice, such as a fruit-filled muffin! Spread the love – after all, it’s FREE!
To enter to win the Meri Meri cupcake kit, “Leave a Comment” on this post, saying, “Come on, let’s party!”
Remember, you must be a subscriber to Midwest Storyteller in order for your comment to be entered into the drawing.
You can check out more items from Meri Meri at www.merimeri.comwhere they have coordinating items for all your celebrations, including, baby, wedding, anniversary and more. Words cannot express how much I adore their Peter Rabbit themed party items!
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Previous freebies can be found on the “Freebies” page. Take a look at the gifts subscribers have been winning.
Once again, a winner will be chosen at random from those subscribers who enter before midnight tonight by leaving a comment which says, “Come on, let’s party!”
And now, here are the complete rules:
First Friday Freebies are available to SUBSCRIBERS ONLY. That means if you have come to this post through social media or someone has emailed you a link to it and you haven’t become a subscriber yet, you’ll need to hop on over to the right sidebar and do that really quick. If you are on a phone or tablet, the easiest way is to go to the “About Me” page. All it means to be a subscriber is that you’ll receive an email each time Midwest Storyteller has something new, which won’t likely be more than once or twice a week. It keeps you from missing out on all the fun and FREE STUFF! And, I’m not sharing your emails with anybody.
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Three simple steps!
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I hope you’ve had a chance, after Smuffy’s last adventure, to lie down with a cold compress and talk over your traumatic experience with your best friend or therapist, because our cliffhanger resumes today and we’ll soon find out what an apt term that is.
We last had a rear view as Smuffy rolled out of the driveway on his way to meet up with Steve. Yes, good ‘ol Steve – you can count on him once every twenty years or so to be on hand when Smuffy really does things up big.
This installment is the last half of what is known as a “two-parter”, so if you’ve not gone along with Smuffy in “Life with Smuffy (Episode 3): “That Sinking Feeling” (or, “The Wreck of ‘97”), then you’d better fix yourself a cup of tea, clickhereand do a bit of catching up because we’ve reached the part where things are about to go overboard.
In Episode 3, we learned that Smuffy (aka Captain Super Wonder Water Man) has no boundaries when it comes to water. It takes him back to his carefree childhood where fun overrides any possibility of getting a boo-boo.
Though I’d learned to endure, his wild river adventures were enough reduce me, as the saying goes, to a mere shadow of my former self.
I’d thought perhaps that the Wreck of ’97had been just the thing Smuffy needed to cure him of his illusions of invincibility. After all, he’d come within a hair’s breadth of killing his old college buddy, Steve, filled his classic wooden boat full of holes, thrown his boat motor overboard, journeyed down three or four rivers in the dark with no steering and had spent a week telling me he never wanted to be in a boat again as long as he lived.
Now, however, I stood at my back door watching my lunatic husband return to the scene of the crime.
It seemed all he’d needed was a little rest to recharge his super powers. He become convinced – no, obsessed – with the notion that he knew the exact spot where the wreck happened. I didn’t doubt it. You’d think it would be seared upon his little gray cells. With that vivid mental image, he also claimed to know the exact spot where his precious 1962 Wizard 7.5 horsepower boat motor lay at the bottom of the river. This led him to believe that he could not only recover the motor but disassemble it, dry it out and have it running again in no time.
Having vowed to never again be the wife who paced the floor in the wee hours wondering if she still had a husband, I’d issued every threat I could think of should Smuffy not return by dark. I promised myself to follow through on the one I thought would prove I meant business. At thirty minutes past sunset, I’d send the sheriff after him. I knew Smuffy well enough to know that the weekly report in our local small town paper, listing him amongst all the other characters in the county who’d shared an encounter with the law, would be an embarrassment to him. If this last ditch effort didn’t cure him, I’d have to throw a mattress out on the deck and change the locks.
Captain Super Wonder Water Man, believing that paddles are for mere mortals, had his canoe licensed and outfitted with the biggest motor he could without causing it to sink or fly.
His plan began with having Steve drive him all the way to the river access just above where “X” marked the spot. Steve, always such a help, would then drop Smuffy and the canoe into the river and come back home. Captain Super Wonder Water Man would then make his way downstream, dive for the motor, hoist it into the canoe and motor down one scenic river after another until he made it back to the river access close to home where his truck would be waiting. He’d assured me that his expert observances of the Missouri River, just a few blocks from our house, had indicated lower water levels. The motor shouldn’t be too far underwater.
It all sounded so simple to hear Smuffy describe it.
I moaned as Smuffy’s rear bumper disappeared down the street and went back into the house to do what I usually did when he’d lost his marbles. I cleaned. I cooked. I spent quality time with my young daughter. I prayed. I thought a few murderous thoughts and prayed some more.
After an hour’s drive north, Smuffy and Steve arrived at the ramp around two o’clock that afternoon. Though Steve offered to drive downstream and wait, Smuffy brushed off this notion as over-cautious and told him to head on home.
Steve did as instructed, probably due to the fact that he’d been knocked unconscious in the wreck two weeks before, was still giddy at finding himself alive and not in the river with Smuffy and lacked the wherewithal to call Smuffy an idiot right there on the spot.
A few minutes after he’d started home, Steve came to his senses. When he came to a bridge over the river, he pulled over and waited for Smuffy to pass beneath, knowing he’d have to allow him a little time to reach the motor and wrestle it into the canoe.
Sometime between three and four o’clock, my phone rang. Steve’s voice, calm and steady as ever, came on the line. I sighed with relief, glad to have any update on Mission: Insanity. I felt a numb sense of disbelief as he spoke, accompanied by a little voice that seemed to be asking what else I might have expected.
After telling me that he’d seen Smuffy heading downriver before driving away, Steve had waited at the bridge. In fact, he’d already waited over an hour before finding a phone and calling me. He’d kept a sharp eye out and seemed certain that neither man nor canoe had passed beneath him unnoticed. He asked me what I wanted him to do.
Do? The word perplexed me. What could he do? All my instincts screamed at me to tell Steve to go after Smuffy and not come home without him. All my logic counseled me as to the futility of it all. Steve had no boat, no life jacket and no other means of getting someone out of the river. As much as I hated the thought of Smuffy, out there all alone without even having someone nearby, just in case, I knew Steve couldn’t just keep sitting there. I told him to come on home.
Smuffy had been right about one thing – the water levels had dropped. After the rivers’ dramatic drop on the day of the wreck, they had continued to drop ever since. While he’d been aware of this and glad that it might help him spot his boat motor with ease and haul it up without a great deal of effort, he hadn’t been prepared for what awaited him around the first bend in the river.
The Missouri’s tributaries had emptied out. Two weeks before, they’d run high, wide and swift. After Steve drove away, Smuffy spent only a few moments motoring through this now shallow stream, gazing in awe above his head at the water line left by the previous flooding. Then, he hit gravel. The once rushing river that had allowed his wooden runabout to cruise along at full speed no longer held enough water to float a canoe.
Raising the motor, he got out and dragged the canoe until he reached a deeper stretch of water. Hopping back in, he started the motor and cruised on ahead. Then, he hit gravel. Another drag brought him to deeper water again and Smuffy began a cycle that would stretch over the hours and miles. He began to wish he’d told Steve to wait.
Smuffy’s map and his memory led him to the “X” and his prize lay in the exact spot he’d dropped it. The only problem seemed to be that the boat motor no longer lay at the bottom of the river. Shielding his eyes from the sun, he studied it as it lay fifteen feet above his head, straight up the riverbank, a clear indication of just how flooded the river had been on the day of the wreck.
Not one to let a slight hitch abort the mission, Smuffy summoned his superpowers for feats on dry land and, grabbing onto dead limbs and roots, scaled the heights and reached the motor. After an exciting descent with it clutched to his bosom, he deposited it into his canoe and shoved off. Then, he hit gravel.
The extra weight of the additional motor made hitting bottom all the easier and it soon became apparent that this would be the theme that shaped the day. Smuffy traveled on, alternating between dragging the canoe over the gravel riverbed and hopping in for brief stretches of deeper water.
The miles and the hours crept along and Smuffy decided he’d better make contact with me. His attempts to radio the local amateur radio club tower with a distress call failed, just as they had two weeks earlier. He hadn’t really expected to get through, as he now found himself walled in by the high banks, cutting off the reception even more.
After dragging the canoe over another stretch of gravel, Smuffy stopped to study his map, sighing as he faced the fact that when sunset approached, he’d be nowhere near home. In fact, he’d be nowhere near the Missouri River. There seemed to be no choice but to push (or pull) on, so he grabbed the canoe and heaved. It moved a few feet begrudgingly and as he stepped forward to give another tug, Smuffy slipped off the edge of the world.
He bobbed to the surface, thankful for his life vest, for he had no idea how deep the pool had been. Perhaps I’ve neglected to mention that Captain Super Wonder Water Man can’t swim. Pulling the canoe into the deep water, Smuffy climed back in, hoping he’d at last reached deeper waters that would allow him to start up the motor and keep on going.
Alas, it was not to be. The river now toyed with Smuffy, and as he had no other choice, he alternated between dragging the canoe over the gravel river bottom and stepping off into unknown depths. Even Captain Super Wonder Water Man shows a certain degree of peevishness after a few hours of that sort of thing.
Smuffy admits to one weakness – he needs his glasses. Keeping them dry and attached to his face soon became a problem, for no sooner than he accomplished this, he’d plunge without warning into the depths again, clutching at them. Since he hadn’t a dry fiber left in any of this clothing, he began drying them with the only thing that hadn’t become water-logged – his map.
As darkness fell, the sudden impact of stepping off into the wet unknown began to take on even more of what is known as the surprise element. Smuffy removed the flashlight from his dry-box and as he studied the limp, soggy map, he scanned the banks and the blackened sky for some landmark that might give him a clue as to his location.
On he went, with the map growing more lifeless with each use as a towel and the flashlight growing dimmer by the minute. Smuffy counted each bridge as he passed beneath, hoping that the map would hold together long enough to show him one that might lead him to a town within walking distance.
By now, Smuffy knew I’d be more than just a little worried. He stopped at intervals to crawl through the weeds, roots and mud, scaling the riverbanks in hopes that, once on high ground, he’d get a signal and make a distress call. No matter how many times he dangled from the edge of the bank, gripping the vegetation in one hand and the radio device in the other, he never got one.
Around ten-thirty that night, the faint outline of another bridge came into view. If Smuffy’s counting had been accurate, this road would lead him into nearby Keytesville, where he might find a telephone. He tied up the canoe and began the steep climb up the mud bank. Nearing the top, a soft sucking sound and a light rustling through the underbrush informed him that one of his shoes had disappeared into the blackness. Undaunted, he crawled onto the road and, hampered a little by a slight limp and glursh-ing with every other step, headed toward what he hoped would be civilization.
After half an hour or so, a dim flicker appeared in the distance and Smuffy made his way toward what proved to be a farmhouse. He began to be concerned that some of his earlier luster had faded to the point where its residents might shy away when he knocked at their door. Reaching up, he ran his mud-caked hands through his hair and gave his wet clothes a futile brush-over. He hoped the flashlight, so dim now that he’d barely been able to identify the bridge on the map, might ease the shock. He knocked on the door and, holding the flashlight over his head, turned it on.
The man who opened the door beheld the vision in round-eyed silence.
“I’ve had some trouble,” Smuffy explained. “Could I use your phone to call for help?”
After taking a few seconds to survey Smuffy from muddy face to missing shoe, the man spoke.
“Wait right here.”
Soon the door re-opened and the man shoved a cordless phone into Smuffy’s hand before retreating again, indicating that he was both a man of compassion and intelligence.
One would assume that, at this juncture, Smuffy called me. He didn’t. He called Steve. Perhaps he weighed his options and rather than adding a round of hysterics to an already trying day, he’d be better off making immediate contact with his rescuer.
When Steve called around eleven-thirty to tell me that Smuffy was alive, relief flooded over me, along with the astonishment that he was still miles away, near Keytesville. Steve assured me that he’d leave immediately and have him home in a few more hours.
The fact that I hadn’t called the sheriff remains a mystery. I can only say that I’d spent the hours since Steve had first called to say he’d lost contact with Smuffy in a numb fog. Steve’s wife, Darlene, had called from time to time for an update, to console me and to marvel at why anyone in their right mind would do the things Smuffy does. I kept up a brave face for my daughter in between sudden fits of sheer panic. These alternated with a strange sense of peace that kept whispering in my spirit, Give him time…Give him time…
I look back now and consider that I must have slipped into some form of shock. Not calling the sheriff had to be just about the dumbest thing I ever did.
Once Smuffy had given Steve directions to the bridge and given the phone back to the poor frightened souls inside the farmhouse, he headed back down the road to his canoe. That’s when the thunderstorm hit.
The thunder, lightning and rain had reached fever pitch as Smuffy returned to his canoe. He pulled it under the bridge, but opted against sitting in the metal canoe just in case God felt that the day’s events hadn’t proven sufficient at getting His message across.
I can’t recall much about the scene that unfolded when Smuffy rolled in at two-thirty the next morning. It went past in a blur of tears, exhaustion, gratitude and “never agains”. I do remember the poison ivy that followed. All Smuffy’s attempts to send distress signals, wrestle the canoe down the bank and climb out of the river to reach a phone had sent him crawling through endless patches of the stuff, multiplying the dandy rash he’d gotten after the day of the boat wreck. He spent the next couple of weeks slathered in calamine, mummified in gauze and oozing like a jelly-filled doughnut.
Poor Darlene – the wreck and its aftermath taxed her to her limits and she hasn’t been in a boat with Smuffy since. All she and Steve ever got out of the whole deal were two lovely hand-crafted Christmas tree ornaments that year made from fragments of the boat’s windshield that remind them, “I Survived the Wreck of ‘97”.
For once in his life, Smuffy had had his fill of water for a while. Thankfully, he had a boat to repair and a motor to dry out, so it would be a while before he could embark on his favorite pastime. Meanwhile he returned to one of his other passions and dragged out his model airplanes. I felt a sense of relief at seeing him engaged in something a little tamer.
I must have forgotten that when it comes to Smuffy, even a game of pick-up sticks can turn ugly.
Smuffy made it back from flying his planes in one piece, but each time he returned, I made a point to count his fingers and toes, remembering a few years back to a peaceful Saturday that took an abrupt turn when Smuffy returned early.
Entering through the basement, he dashed up the steps and into the bathroom. I didn’t give it much thought other than to assume that he’d found himself in sudden need of a little privacy. Soon, however, he called out a strange instruction.
“Bring me a roll of paper towels!”
“Paper towels?” I asked, reaching for the roll.
“Paper towels! And hurry!”
“Here they are,” I answered as I approached the closed door.
It opened a few inches and the towels disappeared inside before the door clicked shut again.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Nothing. Get me a roll of black electrical tape.”
“Black electrical… What are you doing?”
“Just get it!”
I ran to the basement for the tape, resolving that I would have to assert my personality to keep some unpleasant form of male nonsense from getting out of control. I brought the tape back to the door and, like the towels, it whizzed out of my fingers and the door shut again.
I didn’t have to be Perry Mason to conclude that the witness displayed evasiveness. I demanded to be told the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Smuffy finally admitted to having hurt his hand.
“How? And how bad?” I asked, placing my ear to the door.
“I stuck it in the airplane propeller.”
“What? Let me see.”
Love is the only explanation for my utterance of those awful words. Seeing was the last thing I wanted. I cringe when someone picks at the sticky tab of their band-aid. I don’t look at bloody wounds unless one of my loved ones needs me and no one else is there to take over the situation. Then, some inexplicable strength, along with rapid heart rate and a certain degree of clamminess, comes over me.
After more resistance on Smuffy’s part and more insistence on mine, he let me in. I took a deep breath and held it as he pulled away the massive wad of paper towels.
My knees buckled. I turned my head away. This was beyond anything I could handle. I stepped back into the hall.
“You need to go to the emergency room.”
“It’ll be all right. I just need to get it to stop bleeding and get it bandaged up.”
“It’s not going to stop bleeding. You need stitches – a lot of stitches.”
“I don’t need the hospital!”
The conversation continued along these lines until I walked away, muttering a prayer that I might say something that would get through to Smuffy. I returned to the bloody scene. I’d seen those fingers and they’d been filleted from the bones.
“What are you going to do if you do this yourself and it doesn’t heal up right and you can’t use your hand and then you can’t work?”
Smuffy stood silent. So did I, determined to let my words soak in. After a few moments of pondering and perhaps weakened by additional blood loss, Smuffy caved.
“Let’s go to the emergency room.”
Another difference of opinion sprang up when we got to the car and, yes, Smuffy drove.
They wouldn’t let me in the room when they started working on Smuffy. He, of course, displayed a keen interest in the whole procedure. He took note that the doctor discarded certain bits and kept others. He admitted to getting bored in his efforts to count stitches and giving up once the number passed fifty.
I sat in the waiting room, wondering if he might be better off in the river – until I remembered that boats had propellers, too.
We took poor Smuffy home and did our best to nurse him back to health. Again, he made it difficult for us to cozy up to him and dole out the sympathy. He’d been flying his planes in another area riddled with – uh-huh – poison ivy!
He made pathetic sight, our little invalid, propped in his chair – stitched, wrapped and trying not to scratch with the only hand he had available. Since these situations offer the opportunity to either laugh or cry – we laughed. We laughed a lot!
That’s my Smuffy. Thankfully, he has full use of his hand and no scarring. He’s gone on to more adventures and you’ll find them here at Midwest Storyteller.
Subscribe so you don’t miss one!
That reminds me – I don’t think I ever told you about the Big Boat Wreck of ’78. Yep – don’t let that sweet, innocent face fool you – good ‘ol Steve was around for that one, too!.
Comments? I’d love to hear from you. Just scroll back up and click on “Leave a Comment” under the title of this post. On a mobile device, this may appear all the way to the bottom of the post.
July’s Freebie winner has been drawn. Let’s see who won the free gift at Midwest Storyteller –
Ruby from Boonville, Missouri!
Ruby commented on last Friday’s post, saying, “I love the USA!” That’s all she needed to do to put her name into the drawing for three free copies of the US Constitution. Smuffy showed up for duty, as always, and chose a name from all those who entered by making the comment. This time, he opted for the pointing method. He likes to keep things fresh.
You just never know what freebie you might find at Midwest Storyteller. Gifts have included cozy winter gloves, home decor, sets of handmade Valentines, wood burning art and more. Take a look at our “Freebies” pagewhere you’ll see some of the other gifts subscribers have been winning.
This time, in keeping with the celebration of Independence Day, I thought it appropriate to offer these wonderful books which embody everything our nation is founded on. If you’re disappointed that you didn’t win or just want to be sure your family is grounded in this founding document that makes us free, just click here. Like almost everything else, it seems, U.S. Constitutions are available on Amazon at a great price.
Congratulations, Ruby! I happen to know that Ruby has children and grandchildren to whom I’m sure she wants to pass on her love of country.
The next First Friday Freebie drawing will be on Friday, August 3, 2018. It pays to SUBSCRIBE! Freebie offers are for subscribers only.
Share this post with all your friends so they can SUSCRIBE and enter to win. A winner will be chosen at random from those subscribers who enter before midnight on the day of the drawing by leaving a comment as instructed in the post.
It pays to SUBSCRIBE!
And now, here are the Freebie Rules.
First Friday Freebies are available to SUBSCRIBERS ONLY. That means if you come to the post through social media or someone has emailed you a link to it and you haven’t become a subscriber yet, you’ll need to hop on over to the right sidebar and do that really quick. If you are on a phone or tablet, the easiest way is to go to the “About Me” page. All it means to be a subscriber is that you’ll receive an email each time Midwest Storyteller has something new, which won’t likely be more than once or twice a week. It keeps you from missing out on all the fun and FREE STUFF! And, I’m not sharing your emails with anybody.
IMPORTANT: After subscribing, you MUST check your email to confirm the subscription or it will not appear. Then, sadly, you won’t be eligible to enter.
To enter the drawing, scroll back up to the top of this post and under the title, click on “Leave a Comment”. Subscribers who comment as directed before midnight on the first Friday of the month will enter the drawing, provided they are already on the subscribers list and live within the continental United States.
Follow these three simple steps and subscribe now. Then, you’ll be ready for August.
.“Share”, “like” and “pin” this post! You’re friends will want to enter to win, too! Have an opinion on the Freebies? Leave a comment! If you’re on your computer, scroll back up under the title of this post and let me know what you’re thinking. On various devices, you may find “Leave a Comment” at the bottom of the post.
I hope you all had a fabulous 4th of July and I hope that somewhere along the way, somebody called it Independence Day!
It’s so easy to fall into the habit of asking, “What are you doing on ‘the 4th?'” Every month has one, after all. I hope you truly celebrated the birthday of our nation with the kiddies, the grand-kiddos, the cousins, in-laws and others that you love.
It’s difficult to ignore at our house, as the USA shares its birthday with Smuffy. Yes, I’ve got a Yankee Doodle sweetheart and he’s my Yankee Doodle joy. I think Smuffy must have been nearly twelve years old by the time he realized the whole nation wasn’t having one big wing-ding all on his account.
When I married Smuffy, I had to get used to the fact that we would be up close and personal with fireworks. I’m still not, shall we say, “at my ease” until the whole thing’s over. As I’ve said before, his guardian angels (and there must be a squadron) have to take care of things while I look the other way and hum the national anthem. Check out a prime example of his escapades here.
This year, once again, we give thanks that we all have all our fingers and toes and have survived celebrating the fact that we live in the finest nation on earth. Now, we can turn our attention to July’s First Friday Freebie!
As I pondered an appropriate gift for you this month, I kept coming back to love of country and the things that make us great. The thing that came to mind, first and foremost, was –
The U. S. Constitution
Nobody’s perfect. Nothing this side of Heaven is perfect. But the U.S. Constitution is as near to a perfect document as has ever been crafted by humans (and, I believe, with Divine Guidance).
Most of us studied it in school, but, let’s face it – we did it to pass the dreaded Constitution Test, not because we were overly fascinated by it.
I’d love to send you these three copies of the U.S. Constitution –
Isn’t it about time you gave this little booklet another read? Look around the world at all those other countries – don’t you wish they had our freedoms? If nothing else makes it onto your summer reading list, make it this little forty page book. The United States Congress has designated September 17th of each year as Constitution Day to commemorate its signing on that day in 1787. Now your family can brush up on their “freedom knowledge” ahead of time!
There’s a copy for you, one for the kiddies (whether they be children or adults) and another for the grandkiddos or friends. If we do not teach the generations to value this precious document, we will lose it!
To enter to win all three copies, “Leave a Comment” on this post, saying, “I love the USA!”
SHARE this post through Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, Pinterest or send the link in an email to all your friends so they can enter to win!
Previous freebies can be found on the “Freebies” page. Take a look at the gifts subscribers have been winning.
Once again, a winner will be chosen at random from those subscribers who enter before midnight tonight by leaving a comment which says, “I love the USA!”
And now, here are the complete rules:
First Friday Freebies are available to SUBSCRIBERS ONLY. That means if you have come to this post through social media or someone has emailed you a link to it and you haven’t become a subscriber yet, you’ll need to hop on over to the right sidebar and do that really quick. If you are on a phone or tablet, the easiest way is to go to the “About Me” page. All it means to be a subscriber is that you’ll receive an email each time Midwest Storyteller has something new, which won’t likely be more than once or twice a week. It keeps you from missing out on all the fun and FREE STUFF! And, I’m not sharing your emails with anybody.
IMPORTANT: After subscribing, you MUST check your email to confirm the subscription or it will not appear. Then, sadly, you won’t be eligible to enter.
To enter the drawing, scroll back up to the top of this post (or all the way to the bottom, depending on your device) and click on “Leave a Comment”. Subscribers who comment as directed before midnight on Friday will enter the drawing, provided they are already on the subscribers list and live within the continental United States.
Three simple steps!
What are you waiting for? Go! Go! Go! Subscribe if you haven’t already, confirm and comment to enter before midnight tonight, July 6th!
