Teardrop Fiction

[queeniejeanne]

The line of storytellers is getting longer, so all the better for all of us who enjoy a good read.

[Tumbleweed_Tex]

I SAW THE LIGHT

I've been...away. I've got a friend up on the highest ridge north of town. She's an older woman, she lives alone, and I ride up and check on her every couple of months.

After a really good home-cooked supper, and a good long set on her porch, I, being the part time gentleman, offered to sleep in her barn. She, being the full time lady, told me I certainly would NOT sleep in her barn. She put me on the sofa, got me an extra blanket to ward off the chill, tucked me in, and kissed my cheek goodnight.

Now...a few peculiars about one Antique Texas cowboy...

I simply cannot sleep in a pair of jeans, preferring, instead, to strip down to my long-handle underwear (which pair I happened to have on were stretched nearly twice their original size in the waist. (just hush…it's a guy thing).

Since Texas is hot during the day, and steamy at night, I tend to drink a lot of water. As a result, somewhere along about two or three in the morning, I wake up with a most powerful "urge".

And being born and raised "out-of-doors", when such an urge happens along, I much prefer to amble outside, under the stars, where I can just relax and let her fly, without worrying about trivial things like rememberin' to put the seat down. Besides, my aim is not so good any more.

Therefore, when I awoke on her sofa, in my long-handles, about 3 am, with one of those urges, I decided to leave the jeans where they lay, and ease on outside in just my skivvies, hat, and boots.

And so it was, under a dark moon, that I found myself in the side yard, doing my business, whistling softly under my breath, when Betsy, the old hound that sleeps endlessly under the porch, decided I was some alien creature come to drown the world. And as I was unsuccessfully trying to shush the baying, I heard the unmistakable click of twin hammers on a double barrel shotgun being eased back into the "you're in a heap of trouble, boy", position.

"Get your hands up, Mister."

Instinctively, I raised my right hand high over my head, at the same time realizing that in my left, I held about half of the stretched-out waistband of my underwear.

"BOTH hands...get `em up...or I'll fill your backside with buckshot. And turn around so I can see you."

A lot of things happened in the next few seconds. The dog stopped howling. I started to turn. I raised my left hand. The skivvies slid down to my ankles. I croaked out something about it being “just me, dearâ€

[High Desert]

reckon we could send you down some of the special home made horse liniment Tex. It'll have you feelin' finer than frog hair in short order, but the smell may leave you without much 'companionship' for a few days...

also keeps the bugs away

[Ratkity]

Hugs,
Ratkity

[Ratkity]

TRAILER PARK LESSONS

My graduate years in college weren’t all about learning microbiology (my major) or about how hard the written exams, orals and final presentation were to be. Living in Stribling’s Trailer Park offered many opportunities for an education (some serious, some not-so serious). One of the more serious bits of learning consisted of looking more closely at things to see their true value.

When taking my dog, Patience, for a walk I would frequently pass by the park owner’s mobile home/house hybrid. I learned a lot in those evening hours as the hot summer temperatures started cooling off for the night. At first glance, the little front yard looked chaotic and weedy. You could hardly tell there was a path to the front door because of the tall plants crowding the walkway. Without fail, the elder Mrs. Stribling would be working diligently in the yard. She would beckon me over to show me her latest find. She would point out tiny delicate flowers or interesting variegated leaves on another plant. Sometimes she’d have to push some of the larger plants aside to show me something that was blooming for the first time that season. She would patiently give me information about each plant and give its virtues. When seen up close this way, I realized there wasn’t one weed in the front yard. The plants weren’t in a “landscapingâ€

[Tumbleweed_Tex]

FURNITURE REARRANGIN’ 101

One of the first things a cowboy has got to realize is that a woman is not going to come right out and ask him to rearrange the furniture. Geez...women have evolved WAY beyond that point. No...what a woman will do is say something innocent-sounding…like Renee did yesterday. "Dear, would you mind sliding the recliner backwards a little so I can vacuum under it?"

The next thing a cowboy must realize is that there is a REASON she happens to be barefoot and wearing that tee-shirt...and no...it's not because you're irresistible, boy. Also realize she will never, EVER, say something like this late in the day, `cause she knows that proper furniture rearrangin' is an all-day affair...as you will soon learn.

Ok...pop quiz...how many different ways can a man arrange a sofa, loveseat, coffee table, and recliner in an average-sized living room?

WRONG!!! You forgot comments like..."I think I liked it better where it was"...or..."It works better back over there, don't you think?"

Which brings up another VERY important point...something a young cowboy simply MUST learn if he has any notion of becoming an OLD cowboy. DO NOT, under any circumstances, no matter how sexy she looks or how sweetly she asks...lose your composure and actually offer your opinion.

And don't sit down, dummy...furniture looks different when someone is sitting on it...which doubles the possible combinations for placement...as in..."Lets put it back where it was, and lets see how it looks with someone sitting in it".

Oh...and this is the one instance where it's perfectly OK to hope her mother will phone and talk half the morning. If this happens, you lucky dog, just remember...out of sight, out of mind. It's a good time to tear down that engine in the 4x4, or pull the transmission...you know...get all greasy and grimy and outside (ish). Use your head boy...

And for gosh sakes, forget about that tee-shirt...it’s not worth it.

Tex

[queeniejeanne]

These stories are so wonderful...I awake to read all the new ones each morning and have even told true writing friends of this thread. These folks write cowboy poetry, maybe he'll treat us to a few of his favorites.

We all have stories to tell, but it does take a special person to write so, you, the reader, actually can hear, taste, feel and see the words, lines, & paragraphs of said story. These are those writers we are reading every morning. Here's to all of you, who take pen in hand and the thought to lay it down on this thread.

Thanks

Queenie Jeanne

[Ratkity]

Thank you, Queen Jeannie

This is really my first time putting pen to paper. All because of Tex and his wonderful stories!

Hugs,
Ratkity

[Ratkity]

THE SCENT OF SUMMER

Ever notice that particular smells can act like a time machine and transport you back to another era? That didn’t start happening to me until after I left my North Carolina home.

I couldn’t wait to leave home as soon as I was able. I had an older self-righteous sister and two much younger bratty sisters, oppressive parents and well, there was a whole world out there waiting for me! I had it all planned. I’d do what I want, when I wanted. I’d have no one asking me when I was going to get home, or where I’d be or have to remember the house curfew.

I headed straight for college at the ripe old age of 18. Despite being ready for what the world offered, I found myself calling home a bit more frequently for advice than I thought I would. Calling home was a bit different in the early 80s than it is now. There was one payphone in the hallway of an all girls dormitory. The hall echoed and amplified sounds, so mumbling into the phone was par for the course.

Time went on and so did my college career. I found that doing what I wanted, when I wanted didn’t mesh with the brutal class schedules I seemed to make for myself. Oh, and there was still a house curfew at the dorm.

It didn’t hit me until a frantic Spring time of exams ended and I had headed home for the summer. What was that delicious smell? I inhaled deeply, following my nose after parking the old ’74 Mustang in the driveway. There it was! White and golden honeysuckle vines on the chainlink fence next to the house. Suddenly I was transported back to a time when all of us were thrown outside to play while Mom watched her soaps and did laundry. Someone had said the nectar of the honeysuckle flower was as sweet as its smell. My friends and I decimated the honeysuckle flowers by delicately pulling the bottom of the flower off so the remaining stamen had a single drop of nectar on it. We spent hours dropping nectar on our tongues.

I guess I stood long enough outside because Mom had to come out to see where I was. She saw me looking at the fence made a passing comment that the honeysuckle vines had started to grow out of control for some reason and Dad had been having a time keeping them from completely taking over the fence. I secretly wished he wouldn’t be successful as I stepped into the house and was welcomed home.

[steve smoot]

Well Ratkity, it may have been your first, but you sure have taken to it...sorta' like a duck takes to water...

[Ratkity]

Thank you! *quack*

Hugs,
Ratkity

[Ratkity]

MORE HOME MEMORIES

I have three sisters, one older and two younger. My youngest sister lives about 45 min away from me (not counting rush hour traffic). Despite being so close, we rarely are able to get together because of hectic schedules. Occasionally, we make a special weekend to go camping together. We plan a big supper for Saturday night and always set up a nice campfire (weather and restrictions permitting). By fire or lamplight, without fail, we start talking about growing up.

My baby sister is 6.5 yrs my junior. We grew up in the same house, with the same sisters and parents and did all the same things (including mistakes) while growing up in the ‘burbs of North Carolina. I shared my honeysuckle smell revelation with her and we started naming things we smell that reminded us of home. I found it funny that she absolutely hated some smells that I loved.

For instance, I love the smell of Murphy’s Oil Soap. I used it to clean paint brushes in art class long before Mom started using it for cleaning chores. My sis absolutely hates the smell because it reminds her of Mom’s impossible goals for our mandatory participation in Spring cleaning every year. I love the smell of charcoal lighter and she hates it. There was no one in the NC ‘burbs that could light charcoal in those little kettle grills to save their life. Every summer weekend, you could tell who was barbequing by the scent of charcoal lighter wafting in the air. Now charcoal lighter reminds me of watermelon seed spitting contests, chasing fireflies and playing hiding-go-seek in the dark in those rare nights were my parents allowed us to stay up after 9 pm. Little sis hates it because it means that Dad bought the cheap charcoal that didn’t light well and remembers the frustrating time to get the charcoal lit so everyone could eat. There are smells that we both liked to remember; like homemade bread and applesauce – slathered together and eaten when both were warm was heaven on a Sunday. Or how about Mom’s homemade hot chocolate mix with the little chocolate pieces in it. We’d both pick out the chocolate when no one was looking. There was snow cream in the winter: a delicious mixture of pure fallen snow, heavy cream, vanilla, egg and sugar. Snow cream and hot chocolate? Oh yeah, more drooling. Since everything stops in the south when snow falls (no matter how much), we were all usually in the house driving my parents nuts. The smells of sautéed butter, onions and herbs on Thanksgiving morning in preparation of the turkey stuffing. Fresh cut grass mixed in with the smell of wild garlic and onions. One particular smell we’d both run screaming from was Dad after he worked out in the garage or yard. He’d come in, all sweaty, looking for bear hugs from any available little girls looking bored on a Saturday afternoon.

Yep, I always look forward to camping with my little sis and sitting around the campfire. I love getting lost in the past as the words and light fade away. Time has a way of erasing the minor annoyances and fears of the day while bringing out the best of the moment. I can’t wait until our next camping trip!

[queeniejeanne]

Ratkity, really great story telling....dog vs cat ......you could say that!
No, Don't think kats like water at all really... but the kat is sure out of the bag....... Queenie Jeanne

[Facemeltingly Epic]

I'm just replying to this so I'll get the reminder via email that someone has added to this thread. It's been a very enjoyable read.

Maybe I'll even work up the nerve to make an addition of my own.

[Tumbleweed_Tex]

HOUSEWORK

Luckily for me, I rarely have to worry about any kind of heavy duty housework. I mean, keeping a nine-foot teardrop trailer spic and span just doesn’t involve that much labor.

Renee, on the other hand, is always sweepin' or moppin' or dustin'... the combination office and upstairs apartment at the campground attracting dirt like a magnet. And when she starts in on one of her serious cleanin’ kicks, me and Dog tend to make ourselves as invisible as possible, ‘cause bein’ male and all, cleaning just ain’t on the top of our priority list.

So naturally, when Renee asked us guys to watch the place for a day or two while she visited her sister in Abilene, cleaning never once crossed our minds. We basically moved right in and made ourselves at home, and it was only her impending return that made us realize there hadn't been a female in the place for almost five days, and things were getting’ a little “cowboy and his dogâ€