Also, some of those angels are not as nice as you would normally think angels would be. They don’t explain this in Sunday School, and Mama doesn’t like questions. They are just chosen, that’s all, and we don’t know why. But the ones who are chosen don’t seem to be all that good. The Devil and different angels appear to certain chosen ones of them. Especially brothers always wanting to be the favorite. The Bible stories are interesting, about families, problems, fathers and brothers always fighting or killing each other, or sending each other away. Then her tears dry up as she opens the Bible to the first chapter. When she puts me to bed at night, she tells me how they would read a Bible verse and a Saturday Evening Post story every night, and how she always wanted to be just like them, have a life exactly like theirs.
She tells me of the wonderful people as she’s feeding our dozen chickens and gathering our eggs, simple country people and yet so smart and creative out there in Brady, the Heart of Texas. She tells me about her cousins when she’s putting our clothes through the wringer, then hanging them out on the line one by one.
She tells me about their farm while she’s putting the carrots, the onions, the radishes, the tomatoes, and the strawberries into our “truck” garden out back. She tells how when she was a kid like me she used to visit Aunt Lee and Uncle Edward out in Brady, Texas, how Aunt Lee is Granny’s sister, how they had all kinds of animals, how they had the five tall sons, Mama’s cousins, such sweet men. I hate it when Mama tells me how she wanted a different kind of life. Sometimes Mama goes out and sits with the dogs, and sometimes I hear her talking to them, telling them how she feels, but in words I usually can’t pick out. Lately he is always yelling about this or that. Sometimes if I say something funny he gets this certain look in his eye, as if I hit the bulls-eye. Sometimes I almost forget to be afraid of him. Sometimes you can talk to him, ask him things. And anyone who’d own that big stupid breed of dog in the first place had to be a jackass, somebody he could never ever have for a friend, or even speak to, ever again.
He wants everything to keep away from him.Īt a friend’s house, their big dog jumped on him, long tongue slurping, and he fell reeling back onto the grass, then he clump-CLUMPed off to the car as fast as he could, and we all had to follow him, and then listen to his shouting all the way home that those people were idiots to have a dog not trained right. He used to like to ride horses, but he’s nervous and afraid of falling because of his war-injured feet and bad balance. Sometimes it seems that Daddy likes dogs too, but not in the house. “No, Dick, I was just about to put them out,” she says “You’re not planning to let that dog accidentally give birth in the house, are you, Jane?” He looks down at the dogs and at us on the floor. We thought he was still back there taking one of his long naps that last all day. She looks so happy saying six or more I’ll bet, and Tuck will need help since it’s her first time, and Mama says I can be there and watch when they’re born!ĭaddy comes bursting in the door and flinches when he sees us down on the floor. Nip lies nearby, the daddy of these puppies -even though they’re brother and sister Cocker Spaniels, which Mama says is okay for dogs. We try to count how many are in Tuck’s swollen belly. Her face looks so young when she gets down on the floor with them and starts telling me how babies are born. Mama loves to bathe, brush, train, and play with the dogs more than just about anything. Her face screws up and she looks at me with those begging eyes, and then it seems like everything might be about to turn into something else, and I don’t know what I will do if that happens.
0 kommentar(er)
