Oh the good old days… I remember watching Hee Haw as a little girl and dreaming about being on that, as well as the Barbara Mandrell show. Seeing clips of Hee Haw though doesn’t only bring up memories of my childhood dreams – becoming a famous country singer, it also brings up memories of us kids cussing. Quite often, we were left alone as little kids, so my sister, brother and I had a lot of time to brush up on our cussing skills. Although, I probably didn’t sling the cuss words out as much as my two siblings, I would belt out a bad word or two and laugh along with them, as we took a fake drag from our stick cigarettes while driving the stationary Lincoln Contenintals that were broken down behind our house, and pretending to be whatever our definition of “cool” was at the time.
When my mom was home and a bad word would slip from our mouths she would fill a cap of Tabasco sauce and make us drink it as punishment. Little did she know that over time, we grew to like the tangy, spicy taste of Tabasco.

One day, my brother, who is 18 months younger than I and probably only 5 or 6 years old at the time, decided to practice some of his cuss words on me. Being the orderly, responsible one of us three kids, I felt it was my duty to tattle- and I told on everyone quite often; so it was no surprise when I made it known to my brother that I would be telling on him as soon as our mom got home. I waited patiently, watching Hee Haw and singing along, but also practicing how I would say the words to my mom in a manner where I would not get myself into trouble. Unbeknownst to me, my brother was preparing to receive his punishment. When our mom walked through the door I started to tell her and in the midst of my telling, my little brother interrupted and fired out every one of the words and then some. To my amazement, he then held up a bottle of Tabasco sauce and drank it down. To this day, he rarely eats without adding Tabasco to his meal, but I think he might skip the cuss words beforehand.

My grandmother was an English teacher for many years before retiring. She was also an avid reader. With that, she had a habit of writing on everything with written text. Today, as I look at the Bible that used to rest in the center of the coffee table in the living room of their home, or sat propped open on her lap every Wednesday and Sunday, I am reminded of a funny story.

When my grandparents moved to Colorado, they had one bedroom in their home they designated as the “library”. They had many books that they collected and read over the years, from romance novels to books about the War that my grandpa and our relatives had fought in.

It never failed that nearly every time I visited them, they would try sending books home with me. My grandpa would say he’d read every one and that he was tired of looking at them. I would jokingly tell him to shut the door on the room. They also went to the library on occasion, but as my grandmother’s dementia worsened, my grandpa was nervous that she would take her habit of writing in books, out on the books that didn’t belong to them, so they stopped going.

Another habit that my grandmother had was grading the books as she read them, and of course, correcting any grammar or punctuation along the way. Often, if I opened up one of the books from their home library I would find a letter grade, A, B, or C. Sometimes she’d even go as far as to write a plus or minus after the grade they’d been given, just as a little extra bias. It was also not unusual to find both of their initials on the back cover of the books, to serve as a reminder that they’d read them. This served well to my grandmother’s failing memory, because she would open up the books, see her initials and know immediately that she had already read that book.

One day while I was over visiting, my grandmother asked that I take her to the library. My grandpa, who was very frugal and never believed in wasting money or time, wasn’t in favor. He said, “Honey, you have all kinds of books back there in the library, what do you need to go to town for?” She adamantly went into their home library, grabbed a few books and quickly opened to the back page. She pointed to her initials in an attempt to prove to him that she’d already read the books and, failing memory or not, she wasn’t about to read them again. She then quickly turned to the front of one of the books and said puzzled, “Well, I’ll swan” (my grandmother often used this term so as not to swear). “I gave her [the Author] a B on this one, why would I do that?! She is one of my favorites.” She then grabbed another book from the same author, flipped through it and saw that she had given this book an A. She then laid them side by side on the coffee table, face down and said, “Now I remember why I gave her a B on that one. You see how she grew her hair out?”, pointing to the back cover where the Author’s picture was displayed, “I don’t like her with long hair, if she would have left it short like she has it in this book, I would have given her an A.”

Thanks for joining me!

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton