Tommy & Mary Stories

Tommy and Mary Stories

Installment #1

Much of our play time was spent out of doors. We loved crawling around on our hands and knees making trails and mazes in the timothy hay and alfalfa which Jim McCalligan, the farmer next door, planted in the fields behind our house. We lived in a 2-story 100-year-old house in Water Valley. (Water Valley is in Hamburg, New York.) Those fields occupied us for many happy hours.

One rainy winter the fields flooded then froze over forming a super-duper ice rink! Tommy and I each nailed one of Dad's great homemade skis (uh oh!) to our sleds-flipped-upside down. Sitting inside the sled-on-skis and using an old stick for a "pusher" we could glide our gondola boats streaking across our icy lake. Whoosh. Skidding crazily. Finding fun things to do was never a problem for Tommy and me.

Snow Ponies

That old field had a few fenced-in pastures filled with snow drifts and sometimes the nice wet stuff great for building snowmen, igloos and ponies. First we rolled giant snow balls. You remember how they leave that zigzag path of fresh green grass underneath? It takes about 2 biggies side by side and a smaller oblong one on top. With mittens on hands, sculpt a horse's head, mussel, two ears and eyes. It takes a bit of patience to attach a nice long horse head. If his head falls off you can make repairs pretty easily. Better give him a tail too. Oh these faithful mounts were quite rideable after a blanket from the house was fitted for a saddle to keep our bottoms a little warmer. We rode many a twilight evening on those old snow ponies off to distant foreign lands. I can still hear the blunted sound of winter's flakey air.

Cousins visit

It was such great fun that Thanksgiving when we were snowed in, company and all! Remember the sound of the cars crunching and spinning in the deep snow out there on Gowanda State Road as folks crept up and down the steep Water Valley hill. The electricity was out and so were all the kids--cousins. Our annual 7-foot backyard snowdrift had arrived along with a great snow squall just in time to assure a sleepover. Yippee! Dad showed us how to cut snow blocks and created a "real" igloo with rounded top just like in Alaska. We found that we could also dig a great "rabbit hole" and tunnel under the drift and, if it froze just right, we could walk on top of the tunnels. I don't think Mom really knew about that. Just be really careful if you make a snow tunnel. You could squish somebody down there. After hours of digging and once thoroughly frozen, we cousins trudged into the house with snow pearls attached to our stringy wet hair. As soon as the old wooden drying rack was layered in our soggy snow pants, mittens, hats and stuff, we played games and worked on some Christmas crafts the Moms had ready for us. Thanks to a gas stove the Moms managed to bake the turkey and prepared the classic feast. The cousins eventually had to go home when the roads cleared a few days later. Such unexpected fun we had together.

Castle Wars

That is no ordinary old farmyard driveway in the winter. Quiet Mr. McCalligan plowed the best no-man’s land between the castle walls you ever saw. His good ole horse team--Tom and Jerry--could plow snow deeper than their heads! Where IS that great picture of Tommy riding Jerry all bundled up in his snow pants, boots, mittens and coonskin cap? Tommy I mean.

In a good season the snow would be piled at least 100 feet high, or maybe it was 10. Walking between the snow piles might have seemed something like the Israelites walking between the red sea walls of water rising high above their heads. Anyway, up on top of our snow piles, we formed paths and walkways. You know the old fashioned kind of castle walls with turrets and protected walks above the courtyards. That kind. Better get stocked up with cannonballs! Hurry! War is about to be declared! Snowballs freckle the air back and forth from turret to turret. The sun has melted and twilight puddles on the landscape around our citadel. The war cries echo in the evening stillness, but hark! (That is a word my Gramma Markham often used which meant “children, listen up” please.) Hark. The back door of our house opens and all too well I know the interruption of that sound. From the door the inside lights cast their warm glow on the blue bank of snow. "Supper time" she calls. Aw, darn! War postponed. Mom's wonderful roast and potatoes and homemade custard pudding--rich smells pouring out the door coaxing the warrior children home. Okay, we’re coming.

To be continued . . . Well, what are you still doing here? Go eat your supper.

As above, So below

As above

“THE QUILT”

So below

A kaleidoscope of color flings itself into the air

then falls settling upon the foamy sea.

And beneath the frothy sea

Neptune’s deep dark secret still and stable holding all.

There now,

the layers come together at last--

Top, middle and backing.

A Quilt is coming to life.

Ladies chatter cheerfully as they gather ‘round the sea of color.

Their lives--heartbeats within the frame of life.

Do they think of the one for whom The Quilt is gifted?

Those quantum sparks of energy--each thought

an invisible stitch into the fabric matrix.

A greater gift than is realized perhaps?

Their essence tucked inside.

While at their feet, beneath their pretended tent,

the little ones picnic and play.

They too have their “chat”.

But little ears take in the sound and tempo of the ocean above.

They watch as thimbled fingers stitch

Up and down, up and down

each part of life.

And soon the child will come to the frame.

Ready. Adept. Anxious to experience,

Melding into her own masterpiece her sweet memories

of play beneath the feet.

ALL children uniquely tied together--

Quilted into the stuff of life.

This is life’s romance with herself.

Her eternal rhythm.

Up and down. Up and down.

As Above. So Below.

Mayhem at the Market

My mother-in-law wrote this about the experience her husband had at the store. We all thought it was pretty funny. I don't think he thought it was very funny though!

Mayhem at the Market

I headed to the market after I had fed the cows

To get myself some goodies and some Pepsi for my spouse.

I gathered up some peanuts and candy for myself

And a big 2-liter bottle of Pepsi from the shelf.

The check-out line was crowded as I stood in line to pay,

And my thoughts were of the ballgames

I would get to watch that day.

But as I stood a-waiting, from my lips there came a gasp,

As that big 2-liter bottle went slipping from my grasp!

It landed on the bottle cap! All jumped to the alert,

As that great big bottle started in to spin and spurt!

It spun around in circles and squirted to and fro,

And the ladies all were screaming, not knowing where to go.

‘Twas erupting like a geyser, leaving havoc in its trail,

And a bagboy ran in hot pursuit, alas, to no avail.

It whirly-gigged down aisle 3, a-building up in power,

And then returned down aisle 2 and sprinkled sacks of flour.

The children all were laughing at this astounding sight.

A little dog, outside the door, was barking with delight.

When at last the show was over, I stood in shocked distress.

All the shoppers legs were spattered with a brown and sticky mess.

The women were indignant. The men were just the same.

As I stood and prayed in silence,

“Please let no one know my name.”

The looks that I was getting made me fearful for my life.

If I get home in safety I will surely kill my wife!

I’ve had horses fall upon me. I have bailed out of a plane.

I’ve floated in a life raft upon the bounding main.

But the day that I’ll remember that brought the most distress

Was that day I squirted Pepsi up an old lady’s dress!

Carol Sagers 1987

How'd you get to be so charming?

It's those Hucklebug eyes!

Just Egg Cups

Just Eggs in Egg Cups

What was it I went to the storefor?
Oh yeah, and I eggs-citedly found
eggs-actly the perfect ones!

Friday I went to eggs-plore the mall
and I got quite the eggs-ercise as I
intended to eggs-pedite my
eggs-ceptional search.
With great eggs-pectation, I knew it
would be wise to eggs-pand and
eggs-hale as I tuned into my eggs-trasensory talents to find
these eggs-traordinary items.

I had no intention to eggs-aspirate
myself or to eggs-clude a single
possibility as I eggs-plored
and searched for these eggs-tremely
eggs-cellent items.

Eggs-ually, they turned out less
eggs-travagant than I eggs-pected!

So Happy Easter. Enjoy these cups.
They should fit size 12-C to 12-DD.
The eggs-piration date is 4-10-08.
(no eggs-aggeration!)
Refrigerate after eggs-posing.

Love,
MerriLee 3-08

Tommy & Mary Stories:The Stirring Hour

The Stirring Hour

Something is a-stir outside.

The screen door flaps and bangs insisting that some

“thing” is about to arrive.

The children sense it!

They can smell it!

They are enlivened by it!

The clouds would like to scream back— yes, yes

we are rushing, racing, hurrying as fast as we can.

The anxious clusters of maple leaves tremble in the warm updraft;

their pale Veined Underskirts quivering.

Some free ones dance—frenzied little dervishes swirling about the lawn.

Magically the maple exchanges her moss-colored old cloak

for a new-green one.

The air has turned an eerie hazy hue.

It is coming!

The sky blotches into an inky blue-black broiling mass

dismissing that eerie greenish air with contempt.

And the tempo mounts to a feverish pitch as the wind

howls crabby and mean.

The screen door smacks and keeps time.

They are coming!

Thunder claps!

Miss Maple takes her bow, stretching her arms

throwing kisses to her audience.

Inside the house lights blink on one by one;

such a cheery contrast against the moaning sky.

The street lamps think about it too.

Stage lights flash and silhouette the shrubs.

Soon raindrops clackety, clack in big splotches on the sidewalk;

drops slapping and plopping on leafy fronds.

The Children run gleefully from window to window

squealing with delight at each stormy outburst.

They say the angels are bowling up in Heaven now.

It is here!

The Stirring Hour is here.

They are coming!

The children are coming.

The Dad throws over his shoulders the old plaid cotton blanket.

Out to the porch he strides, posting sentry there on the steps.

They come flying. The children: Mary and Tommy.

They snuggle. Each child close under the Dad’s awning wing;

bright eyes peaking out of their cozy tent--

ready for the stories on the stormy stage.

Stories of olden times, of Uncle Philo, of Auntie Lane and all the others.

The story hour has arrived.

It is here!

20 Dec 2007 by Merrilee

"THINKS AND INKLINGS"

My blogg title may seem a bit strange, but not to worry. It fell into creation when combining the words "thinks" and "inklings". Thinks are just things I think and inklings are just things I inkle.
Inkles are more like Ahha's than thinks. Don't you just love Ahha's. When those inkles mix in with the thinks, well naturally they combine into "thinklings."