The Mary Poppins Nightmare

    This story is about my husband and to somewhat protect his identity, I am referring to him by his childhood nickname. When he was growing up, everyone called him Barry; some of his cousins still call him that. 

    Barry loves to tell stories as much as I enjoy writing and every once in a while, this story resurfaces to be told yet again. The following account is how he remembers it from years ago and how it all went down:

Wound Up

    Early one Saturday morning my husband rushed through the front door, into the kitchen and said he needed me to help him with a snake.

    Wait a minute. I set my cup on the counter.

    "You need me to do what?"

Japanese pie, anyone?

    When we lived on the farm in Gibsonville, we had Father's Day dinners out in the yard. Mother's brothers and sisters would come -- my uncles Clinton and Marvin, aunts Effie, Opal, Annie and Lucy and many of their children, too. Since there were eight of us kids, most of the cousins could find someone their age to pal around with. 

    My maternal grandfather and guest of honor, Grandpa Doss, lived in a small mobile home next to our house and Mother put the dinners together for him. The ones arriving came carrying a favorite dish or two. Bowls of potato salad and green beans, homemade biscuits and deviled eggs were spread across the tables outside. I remember white tablecloths which were probably bed sheets, for I doubt that my mother ever owned a fancy table covering of any kind.

A meditation about country life

    "In cities, no one is quiet but many are lonely. In the country, people are quiet but few as lonely." -- Geoffrey F. Fisher 

    That's because a cow's moo in the distance, or the hum of a neighbor's tractor, can often be as comforting as another's voice.