| In every family there are those 'do you
remember when' stories. Here's some of mine. The Chicken Story My family had just moved to Omaha from a small town in Iowa and until we could get settled in our own place, we lived for a short time with my mother's sister and husband. Aunt Opal and Uncle Fred were fun loving people - he more so than her - as was later brought out at their divorce. They were also very enterprising folks who sought many avenues of income making. This particular month, it was raising chickens. Uncle Fred, with no prior chicken raising experience, immediately became the voice of experience and the boss of the rest of us who he had commandeered to be "his" assistants. His job was to buy the chickens. That is to say, he gave his wife the money and told her to go pick them up. So chicken raising began with poor Aunt Opal picking up four crates of chickens, loading them in the trunk of her very large Buick, and bringing them home. I was told to go along and help her but I was very little help as all I could do was laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. As we would drive past a building window I could see this tiny 4'10" lady driving this enormous car, with four crates of chickens hanging out of the trunk and I'd crack up laughing all over again. By the time we reached the house my Aunt was fuming mad at me for laughing at her but I honestly couldn't stop. Once the chickens were accustomed enough to their new environment to begin reproducing, the chicken business was in full swing. Then came Uncle Fred's assembly line. Mother and Aunt Opal had basement duty where they boiled water and were to pluck the chickens, clean them, and ready them for the freezer. My Dad stayed in the house as he was having no part of this comedy of errors or of Uncle Fred's bossing. I and my cousin Joe were on the front lines in charge of catching and killing. Let me tell you, it's no small feat to fool a chicken into thinking you just stopped by for a chat and then nab it when it's back is turned. But we forged ahead, with of course Uncle Fred's directives ringing in our ears as he sat at his command post on the back porch. Seeing that we were obviously out of our element, my dad stepped in and showed Joe and I how to catch chickens using a wire coat hanger with a hook on the end. Then we would run around the chicken pen shouting and waving our hands until the chickens all backed into one corner. Aha, now we got em'. We'd reach out with our wire hook, snag one by the leg and then run like the dickens to the edge of the backyard where there was a ten foot embankment, and toss the chicken over, wire hook and all. By the time we climbed down the embankment, the chicken would still be dazed and we could pick it up before it revived. Then we would run like the dickens again and hand the chicken to my dad, who in spite of his reluctance to take part, was the only one who knew how to wring a chickens neck.   Aunt Opal and Uncle Fred Me and cousin Joe Saving Souls There was a funny side to my learning to write early in life. Because I was bedridden there was little I could actually do to entertain myself, so my dad put a radio beside my hospital bed close enough so I could reach the dials. I loved country music and would sing along. I also became intrigued with the radio preachers. I'd listen to them by the hour. After awhile I thought I knew how to preach so I wrote short sermons. Then I would line up all my stuffed animals across my stomach and preach the tar out of them. My mother could take only so much of my hell fire and damnation sermons and then she'd stick her head into my room and shout, "if I have to hear you save one more soul I'm going to go out of my mind".  Mother and Me The Sunshine Ladies When I was a kid, still bed ridden, there was a group of women called the Sunshine Ladies who came to visit once a month from a local church. The ladies, middle to elder in age, would come into my room and all stand around the bed. They would talk for a bit, asking how I had been feeling and what I had been doing. Then they would talk about Jesus and how much he loved me and was looking after me. After chatting for awhile they would bring out the gifts from their big purses. They always brought something to color or read, or my favorite, a follow the dot book. One talked more than the others and sort of told the others what to do. She would say, 'now Myrtle give her your gift'. And dutifully little Myrtle would lean forward, hand me her gift, and ask God to bless me. Then the others would follow suit. And finally they would close with a prayer. I loved it when the Sunshine Ladies came. It was like a room full of grandmothers. During the month they would send a get well card. I always knew that about a week after the card came the Ladies would come to visit again. Because someone, somewhere had put my name on the shut-in list. I wonder if that someone ever really knew what a ray of Sunshine those visits were for me. Page 1 | Page 2 | Page 3 | Page 4 | Page 5 Return to 'A Good Day' Site Map |