Story Ava (Complete)
- Thread starter Kathy in FL
- Start date
Sammy55
Veteran Member
I've never had pickled okra. In fact, I don't think I've ever had okra, or even seen it, in any shape or form! Is that a sin? LOL! Just remember, I was born and raised in northern Minnesota. I don't know anyone who plants or eats okra. I do remember one woman who ate pickled pig's feet. YUCK!!
Thanks, Kathy, for the new chapter! This one makes me sorta, kinda, maybe want to try okra.
Thanks, Kathy, for the new chapter! This one makes me sorta, kinda, maybe want to try okra.
Okra is seldom available this far north for which I am glad. I've tried it fresh when I was in Belize, it's not something I miss. Now asparagus,on the other hand, pickle it, nuke it, put it in a salad, can it, freeze it, steam it, however you cook it add a little butter and lemon juice. ahhh ambrosia.
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
We also batter fried okra and the kids ate it with no problem.
We call that "breaded" okra. LOL. That's actually the only way I will eat okra. It is my mother that loves, loves, loves pickled okra. I can eat a bite or two but it activates my gag reflex. LOL
I also eat my crookneck (yellow) squash … aka summer squash … sliced, breaded, and fried. I try to be careful with the fried stuff but if you use a basket and keep fry it then get it up out of the oil/grease right as soon as it is finished you usually have a good something to eat.
Now I can pop fried okra (breaded okra) like popcorn unless the breading has something spicy in it then I'll eat it as a side dish.
And did you know you can take cucumbers and bread and fry them or bread and bake them? Gosh, that's really good as well.
Chapter 32
Got back to my room with the night’s boxes and the basket of food bits to find three notes slipped through the mail slot which was weird as I’m not used to getting any mail to me personally unless it is from the IRS or the rare letter from Uncle Henley. Everything else came to me via the school guidance counselor or the county social worker that currently had me on their list. None of the three matched those descriptions. Sat the boxes down, put the food on the countertop, and dug the papers out of the basket under the slot. First note was from Sarge.
C, heard thru the grapevine Kramer got his ass handed to him for something. That something might be you, but only in part. Don’t take this personal kiddo but you ain’t important enough for what I heard went down. Just hope this means he’ll stick to his own business and leave you out of it. You saw how it was last night. Just keep things light and stay out of his way. Auntie prob told you I’ve gone to see the fam. Be back Sunday at the latest and we’ll work out ordering what you need to do the work under the Old House. Got some projects around the place gonna need your help on so we can get those in the pipeline too. Stay outta trouble. E
I knew it was from Sarge as he has this blocky handwriting that he almost doesn’t try and make legible. It took me a sec, but I got irritated when I figured out his “C” wasn’t a lazy “A” but was for caneton. One of these days I am going to break him of that. Why he signed it “E” instead of “S” I figure is just his way of starting to deal with the fact that he is on what I heard might be called something like terminal leave which means he is on his way out of the military. But they’ve still got him at least six months if I understand what he was explaining. So, I’m just going to keep on calling him Sarge until he’s not one. If someone wants to take exception to the protocol, it sure ain’t gonna be my butt on the line for it.
Next note was from Zeb and kinda confirmed what Sarge had written.
Hey you. Can’t talk about this where others can stick their nose in. Something is up with SK. A certain major that I won’t name had him down, smelling the carpet, for almost an hour. He came out looking barbecued well-done. They’re bringing in a First Sergeant for my team instead of us answering to the him. Don’t know what this is going to mean or how fast. Just if there isn’t stuff like last night going on, don’t take it personal. Will try and keep you in the loop. Speaking of loop, the crew shit bricks when they found out we ran into one another. Everyone sends a smoke signal and fist bump to say hey. You might get a note from a few, might not. You know how we are. Get a damn phone and pick up your social media and you’ll hear from them for sure. Let’s do Popcorn and Gross-Out-the-Newbs again soon. Me.
Gawd. Same ol’ Zeb. He thinks he’s so covert. Unfortunately for him he’s more transparent than window glass.
Last note was more formal but still friendly. Or that was probably how it was meant to be taken. Apparently Deputy Edgar is now officially Detective Edgar and he feels it is his solemn duty to continue handling Uncle Henley’s case. Edgar strikes me as a “Humble-Bragger” and those people usually give me hives because they can be some of the worst do-gooders on the planet when they are sincere and poison to the soul if they are faking if for some reason. Either way I will need to see how this plays out. Especially when he oh so casually mentioned that I should let him know if I hear anything about anything, especially anything about Uncle Henley. Yeah right, like I’m going to share that kind of info with someone I don’t know and have a feeling, for good or bad, I might not be able to trust to in return keep me likewise informed.
I ain’t going to repost all of the letter here, but basically he was telling me that he’d made me an “appointment” for me with the lawyer that had been appointed by the court to handle Uncle Henley’s estate and probate. That doesn’t sound good. Lucky for me Det. Edgar had called Aunt Orélie to find out when my next day off would be. Anyone that knows me care to guess how special I felt? Grrr. It just so happens that this Friday coincides with Mr. Braxton “Dub” Dubreuil, Esq.’s next appointment slot, and I got no warning from Auntie which makes me question one or the other of them, or both. Funny enough Det. Edgar’s sister is Lawyer Dubreuil’s receptionist and will let the detective know if I make my appointment. Uh huh. This must be what they mean when they talk about small towns and everyone knowing everyone else’s business. Whatever. If people are going to know my business fine, they just better not get in my business.
After reading the notes I remembered that I had my own crap to take care of and other peoples’ would just have to wait. There was still an hour of daylight left before the power went off but that wasn’t enough for what I needed. I decided to prep and then just start everything up in the morning since I wouldn’t have anything else going on.
The fresh stuff I put in the little frig and turn to look at the three boxes. I swear I nearly put it off but for a fact I need to go through the boxes sooner rather than later. I did promise Auntie to get it done, the lawyers won’t want that stuff in the house, and as I told Auntie … it’s just time.
Wednesday night’s boxes were … interesting. One, I found the whatchamacallits … the mats … that go in the trays on the dehydrator. They’re made of Teflon or something like that because nothing sticks to them. Well I supposed something could stick to them but they aren’t supposed to. And it is from drying little stuff on the trays so it doesn’t fall through the cracks … like peas. And you can also make homemade fruit roll ups on those mats. I won a Scout Cook-Off doing that. I made Candied Apple Roll Ups … a sheet of dried applesauce with broken glass candy sprinkled over the top while it was drying. Yum.
There was another box of “wet stuff” in bottles. A jug of maple syrup, a bottle of sorghum, something called hickory syrup, and a bottle of this weird smelling stuff whose label said it was sassafras tea concentrate. There was also a quart bottle of apple cider vinegar. I jotted down in my notes that I want some white vinegar too so I can make some of the stuff that I heard about today.
Last box was just more family flotsam, or so I thought at first. I almost set the whole box under the bed but then thought better of it. I saw a roach flying around the porch light and knew I needed to put spraying down on my list again sooner rather than later. Especially if I was going to start cooking and storing food. The papers suddenly unpuzzled themselves and I realized I was looking at old books with their bindings down at the bottom of the box they were in. One of the bigger “books” was old, hand-drawn maps all sewn together and stuck inside a stiff, antique-looking, cardboard binder. When I say these things are old, I mean really old, like really, really old. And not all of them are in English. Even if they are in English the handwriting is hard to read, like a Frenchman trying to decipher Chinese.
The thickest book in there turned out to be the Family Bible that always sat on the coffee table in Granmere’s parlor. I only know that because Pa-pere would bring it out sometimes for me to look at the fancy pictures in it. He used to tell me what different other papers were in there too … like a page with his and Granmere’s family tree, their wedding picture, the wedding pictures from their first marriages, the piece of paper that said they’d paid off the mortgage on their house and land, the papers that prove that Pa-pere’s family was one of the first in the Bayou Chene Community, the death certificate of the only baby that Pa-pere and Granmere had together, and stuff like that. I was just remembering that there was a lock box in Pa-pere’s dresser drawer when I spotted the rusty old thing in the bottom of that box, next to something else I hadn’t seen in a long time.
The lock box I pulled out and sat on the bed, the other box I pulled out and opened and saw all the index cards my mother said were her mother’s and grandmother’s. They were all organized and in protective, plastic sleeves like Lalli said she’d done when she was pregnant with me and on bed rest. That box was meant to go to Lalli as the oldest girl … Lalli never let me forget that. I figured Mom wouldn’t mind if I had it now, especially since Uncle Henley thought it important enough to save for me. And with it was a book that had a bunch of different writing in it … most of it in Acadian. I could tell that all of them seemed to be recipes of some sort, but it is not going to be fun deciphering all the different handwriting.
After putting those two things, and the family Bible, in the plastic tub that the family pictures were set aside in I turned to Pa-pere’s Treasure Box. It was funny to see it. And the chain with the Chinese jigsaw puzzle lock was still on it, only rusted so that I couldn’t take it apart. Inside the puzzle was the key that would open the lock on the metal box … or would be if no one had lost it over the years. Pa-pere used to show me how it worked when no one else was around. He said I wasn’t to tell anyone how it worked, not even my father. It always made me feel guilty when he would make me promise.
He’d ask, “Ai-je besoin d'obtenir la Bible pour que vous promettez sur?”
I’d always respond, “Oh no Pa-pere, you don’t need to get the Bible. I promise, I do.”
I’m not sure I want to open it. I remember some of the stuff he used to keep in there, but he never showed me everything, only a piece or two at a time. It was a treat to get to see anything, like it was our secret, our treasure. But Pa-pere isn’t here and I’m not a little girl anymore. I don’t know if I’d feel the same way about feathers, rocks, animal teeth and the like. There were other things in there, or so Pa-pere said, they just weren’t things for little girls.
Last down in the box was another book. It looked like the thick black ledger books that Dad did the bookkeeping in for this business … Thibodeaux Property Maintenance LLC. You could even see where that had been stamped on the book except most of the gold on the lettering had rubbed off. I picked it up and flipped it open expecting one thing and got another. Uncle Henley had himself a diary.
Got back to my room with the night’s boxes and the basket of food bits to find three notes slipped through the mail slot which was weird as I’m not used to getting any mail to me personally unless it is from the IRS or the rare letter from Uncle Henley. Everything else came to me via the school guidance counselor or the county social worker that currently had me on their list. None of the three matched those descriptions. Sat the boxes down, put the food on the countertop, and dug the papers out of the basket under the slot. First note was from Sarge.
C, heard thru the grapevine Kramer got his ass handed to him for something. That something might be you, but only in part. Don’t take this personal kiddo but you ain’t important enough for what I heard went down. Just hope this means he’ll stick to his own business and leave you out of it. You saw how it was last night. Just keep things light and stay out of his way. Auntie prob told you I’ve gone to see the fam. Be back Sunday at the latest and we’ll work out ordering what you need to do the work under the Old House. Got some projects around the place gonna need your help on so we can get those in the pipeline too. Stay outta trouble. E
I knew it was from Sarge as he has this blocky handwriting that he almost doesn’t try and make legible. It took me a sec, but I got irritated when I figured out his “C” wasn’t a lazy “A” but was for caneton. One of these days I am going to break him of that. Why he signed it “E” instead of “S” I figure is just his way of starting to deal with the fact that he is on what I heard might be called something like terminal leave which means he is on his way out of the military. But they’ve still got him at least six months if I understand what he was explaining. So, I’m just going to keep on calling him Sarge until he’s not one. If someone wants to take exception to the protocol, it sure ain’t gonna be my butt on the line for it.
Next note was from Zeb and kinda confirmed what Sarge had written.
Hey you. Can’t talk about this where others can stick their nose in. Something is up with SK. A certain major that I won’t name had him down, smelling the carpet, for almost an hour. He came out looking barbecued well-done. They’re bringing in a First Sergeant for my team instead of us answering to the him. Don’t know what this is going to mean or how fast. Just if there isn’t stuff like last night going on, don’t take it personal. Will try and keep you in the loop. Speaking of loop, the crew shit bricks when they found out we ran into one another. Everyone sends a smoke signal and fist bump to say hey. You might get a note from a few, might not. You know how we are. Get a damn phone and pick up your social media and you’ll hear from them for sure. Let’s do Popcorn and Gross-Out-the-Newbs again soon. Me.
Gawd. Same ol’ Zeb. He thinks he’s so covert. Unfortunately for him he’s more transparent than window glass.
Last note was more formal but still friendly. Or that was probably how it was meant to be taken. Apparently Deputy Edgar is now officially Detective Edgar and he feels it is his solemn duty to continue handling Uncle Henley’s case. Edgar strikes me as a “Humble-Bragger” and those people usually give me hives because they can be some of the worst do-gooders on the planet when they are sincere and poison to the soul if they are faking if for some reason. Either way I will need to see how this plays out. Especially when he oh so casually mentioned that I should let him know if I hear anything about anything, especially anything about Uncle Henley. Yeah right, like I’m going to share that kind of info with someone I don’t know and have a feeling, for good or bad, I might not be able to trust to in return keep me likewise informed.
I ain’t going to repost all of the letter here, but basically he was telling me that he’d made me an “appointment” for me with the lawyer that had been appointed by the court to handle Uncle Henley’s estate and probate. That doesn’t sound good. Lucky for me Det. Edgar had called Aunt Orélie to find out when my next day off would be. Anyone that knows me care to guess how special I felt? Grrr. It just so happens that this Friday coincides with Mr. Braxton “Dub” Dubreuil, Esq.’s next appointment slot, and I got no warning from Auntie which makes me question one or the other of them, or both. Funny enough Det. Edgar’s sister is Lawyer Dubreuil’s receptionist and will let the detective know if I make my appointment. Uh huh. This must be what they mean when they talk about small towns and everyone knowing everyone else’s business. Whatever. If people are going to know my business fine, they just better not get in my business.
After reading the notes I remembered that I had my own crap to take care of and other peoples’ would just have to wait. There was still an hour of daylight left before the power went off but that wasn’t enough for what I needed. I decided to prep and then just start everything up in the morning since I wouldn’t have anything else going on.
The fresh stuff I put in the little frig and turn to look at the three boxes. I swear I nearly put it off but for a fact I need to go through the boxes sooner rather than later. I did promise Auntie to get it done, the lawyers won’t want that stuff in the house, and as I told Auntie … it’s just time.
Wednesday night’s boxes were … interesting. One, I found the whatchamacallits … the mats … that go in the trays on the dehydrator. They’re made of Teflon or something like that because nothing sticks to them. Well I supposed something could stick to them but they aren’t supposed to. And it is from drying little stuff on the trays so it doesn’t fall through the cracks … like peas. And you can also make homemade fruit roll ups on those mats. I won a Scout Cook-Off doing that. I made Candied Apple Roll Ups … a sheet of dried applesauce with broken glass candy sprinkled over the top while it was drying. Yum.
There was another box of “wet stuff” in bottles. A jug of maple syrup, a bottle of sorghum, something called hickory syrup, and a bottle of this weird smelling stuff whose label said it was sassafras tea concentrate. There was also a quart bottle of apple cider vinegar. I jotted down in my notes that I want some white vinegar too so I can make some of the stuff that I heard about today.
Last box was just more family flotsam, or so I thought at first. I almost set the whole box under the bed but then thought better of it. I saw a roach flying around the porch light and knew I needed to put spraying down on my list again sooner rather than later. Especially if I was going to start cooking and storing food. The papers suddenly unpuzzled themselves and I realized I was looking at old books with their bindings down at the bottom of the box they were in. One of the bigger “books” was old, hand-drawn maps all sewn together and stuck inside a stiff, antique-looking, cardboard binder. When I say these things are old, I mean really old, like really, really old. And not all of them are in English. Even if they are in English the handwriting is hard to read, like a Frenchman trying to decipher Chinese.
The thickest book in there turned out to be the Family Bible that always sat on the coffee table in Granmere’s parlor. I only know that because Pa-pere would bring it out sometimes for me to look at the fancy pictures in it. He used to tell me what different other papers were in there too … like a page with his and Granmere’s family tree, their wedding picture, the wedding pictures from their first marriages, the piece of paper that said they’d paid off the mortgage on their house and land, the papers that prove that Pa-pere’s family was one of the first in the Bayou Chene Community, the death certificate of the only baby that Pa-pere and Granmere had together, and stuff like that. I was just remembering that there was a lock box in Pa-pere’s dresser drawer when I spotted the rusty old thing in the bottom of that box, next to something else I hadn’t seen in a long time.
The lock box I pulled out and sat on the bed, the other box I pulled out and opened and saw all the index cards my mother said were her mother’s and grandmother’s. They were all organized and in protective, plastic sleeves like Lalli said she’d done when she was pregnant with me and on bed rest. That box was meant to go to Lalli as the oldest girl … Lalli never let me forget that. I figured Mom wouldn’t mind if I had it now, especially since Uncle Henley thought it important enough to save for me. And with it was a book that had a bunch of different writing in it … most of it in Acadian. I could tell that all of them seemed to be recipes of some sort, but it is not going to be fun deciphering all the different handwriting.
After putting those two things, and the family Bible, in the plastic tub that the family pictures were set aside in I turned to Pa-pere’s Treasure Box. It was funny to see it. And the chain with the Chinese jigsaw puzzle lock was still on it, only rusted so that I couldn’t take it apart. Inside the puzzle was the key that would open the lock on the metal box … or would be if no one had lost it over the years. Pa-pere used to show me how it worked when no one else was around. He said I wasn’t to tell anyone how it worked, not even my father. It always made me feel guilty when he would make me promise.
He’d ask, “Ai-je besoin d'obtenir la Bible pour que vous promettez sur?”
I’d always respond, “Oh no Pa-pere, you don’t need to get the Bible. I promise, I do.”
I’m not sure I want to open it. I remember some of the stuff he used to keep in there, but he never showed me everything, only a piece or two at a time. It was a treat to get to see anything, like it was our secret, our treasure. But Pa-pere isn’t here and I’m not a little girl anymore. I don’t know if I’d feel the same way about feathers, rocks, animal teeth and the like. There were other things in there, or so Pa-pere said, they just weren’t things for little girls.
Last down in the box was another book. It looked like the thick black ledger books that Dad did the bookkeeping in for this business … Thibodeaux Property Maintenance LLC. You could even see where that had been stamped on the book except most of the gold on the lettering had rubbed off. I picked it up and flipped it open expecting one thing and got another. Uncle Henley had himself a diary.
Texican
Live Free & Die Free.... God Freedom Country....
Thanks Kathy for the chapter for it brought back some old memories....
Helped my maternal Grandmother can for years. When okra had to be cut, it was long shirt sleeves with gloves, but Grandmother could pick okra all day long without gloves and in short sleeves if that was what she had on. Not me....
Grew up eating fried okra and boiled okra and loved both. Our boys loves fried okra and would eat a little boiled okra to please their great Grandmother.
While I was in college, Mother and I made a trip out to Odessa to visit family and we took a side trip to Midland to visit one of Mother's friends and the friend had an absolutely gorgeous daughter a year younger than me. We drove around town for a little while and then went back to her home and she offered me some pickled okra and I accepted a piece and we went outside to eat the pickled okra. Did I say I love fried and boiled okra. Doesn't matter to me what food looks like or smells like for if it tastes good I will eat it. Pickled okra has to be a taste that one has to develop for for it is horrible. I let it sit in my mouth until i could spit it out without being seen behind a shrub which was not an easy chore for this 6-3 220 pound guy. The young lady was more of a man than I was that night for she polished off the pint jar of pickled okra.
You have to develop a taste for some food such as liver which a couple of bites is all that I could stomach even if my Grandmother cooked it. Grandmother also cooked scrambled eggs and calf brains which were just delicious.
Texican....
ps:
Got to read a second chapter since Kathy posted a chapter while I was writing the above. Thanks Kathy.
"Uncle Henley had himself a diary. " Oh boy, what hidden treasures does Uncle Henley's diary have????
Helped my maternal Grandmother can for years. When okra had to be cut, it was long shirt sleeves with gloves, but Grandmother could pick okra all day long without gloves and in short sleeves if that was what she had on. Not me....
Grew up eating fried okra and boiled okra and loved both. Our boys loves fried okra and would eat a little boiled okra to please their great Grandmother.
While I was in college, Mother and I made a trip out to Odessa to visit family and we took a side trip to Midland to visit one of Mother's friends and the friend had an absolutely gorgeous daughter a year younger than me. We drove around town for a little while and then went back to her home and she offered me some pickled okra and I accepted a piece and we went outside to eat the pickled okra. Did I say I love fried and boiled okra. Doesn't matter to me what food looks like or smells like for if it tastes good I will eat it. Pickled okra has to be a taste that one has to develop for for it is horrible. I let it sit in my mouth until i could spit it out without being seen behind a shrub which was not an easy chore for this 6-3 220 pound guy. The young lady was more of a man than I was that night for she polished off the pint jar of pickled okra.
You have to develop a taste for some food such as liver which a couple of bites is all that I could stomach even if my Grandmother cooked it. Grandmother also cooked scrambled eggs and calf brains which were just delicious.
Texican....
ps:
Got to read a second chapter since Kathy posted a chapter while I was writing the above. Thanks Kathy.
"Uncle Henley had himself a diary. " Oh boy, what hidden treasures does Uncle Henley's diary have????
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Oh my Lord … eggs and brains, and chittlins (chitterlings). I had to eat a couple bites to please whoever was cooking but I don't think I'll ever get hungry enough to actually want to eat them. (knock on wood)
AlaskaSue
North to the Future
Kathy: my stepmom, who lives on Kodiak island, LOVES fried okra - something she never had until she married my dad. But Kodiak has very few places to eat out, none of which serve any kind of okra....so that is one thing we always fix when she comes to the mainland! I’ll have to tell her about the okra comments on this story.
My mom is the one who used to make us kids fried pickles, but never did plain cukes; will have to try that one!Thank you for more story!!
I never have liked okra. Momma would put it in soup and I would leave it and the large pieces of tomatoes in my bowl. Our oldest boy liked fried okra so I would grow a few plants just for him. Pretty flowers, almost like a hibiscus. If I ever grow any more, I will have to see if it will make a tea. As far as chittlins, I haven't eaten any since as a child I had to 'fling chittlins', remove the contents of the intestines, before they were washed. And I don't want to even think about the smell while they were cooking.
I have been poor enough to eat chittlins, 'possums, and 'coons. I hope me and mine get to point where that is no longer by choice.
I have been poor enough to eat chittlins, 'possums, and 'coons. I hope me and mine get to point where that is no longer by choice.
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Thank you Kathy, mom always make breaded squash in the summer and I continued it for ours.
Chapter 33
I tried to read Uncle Henley’s diary for nearly an hour Wednesday night, but he is sneaky … was sneaky. It is in a combination of English, Acadian, and his and Dad’s shorthand they developed from years of working together and not being able to read each other’s handwriting. There are a lot of words I don’t recognize even trying to sound them out. I went to the part of the ledger where he stopped writing and several pages are tore out and missing. It makes me feel all Agatha Christie and Laurie R King. Or maybe not. I still haven’t done much more than stick the Ledger in the file of other legal papers I gotta keep on top of. Ugh. Adulting sucks. Trying to adult and feel guilty about things I didn’t have a hand in sucks even worse.
I slept like the dead Wednesday night. I mean I slept hard. But habits are hard to break and I was up before the first rays of light. Of course I got a little help with all the flaming boots going up and down the stairs and across the ceiling above my head. The guys were all excited for their day of R&R. I found out later on they also had a big communication tent set up and anyone that wanted to call home could. That more than the food and televised football games is what seemed to create the most excitement.
Avoiding the commotion I went over to the Big House and got there just in time to help Aunt Orélie carry stuff out to her car. One of those things I toted was a sleeping Fabrice. The boy had dark circles under his eyes so I’m pretty sure he wasn’t foolin’. He jumped a mile when he heard his seatbelt click. And he flinched when I adjusted it so it wouldn’t strangle him if he fell back to sleep again. I knew the signs. I sure as heck had seen them often enough in foster care.
I got down on his level and made sure no one else was around, including Auntie. “Boy, you and I ain’t exactly friends … but we aren’t enemies either. If you are having a run of trouble, you can tell me. I can’t promise to fix it, but I can promise that I’ll do my best to help.”
In a tone that was too old for his body he says, “No one can fix it. The judge said so. And don’t you say nothing ‘cause they’ll get you too.”
I tried to get more out of him but he pushed me away. Sure enough Aunt Orélie was coming and he surprised me by looking at her like maybe he cared more for her than he acted. Gave me deep thoughts to think. I hate getting in other people’s business as much as I hate them getting in mine, or nearly as much. I’ve witnessed the destruction do-gooders can do. I’ve tried to resist doing it too much and getting in over my head. Rich turned into a frelling disaster and I swore off wearing a cape and tights when he died. I even turned loose of Charlie and look how that ended up anyway. Maybe if I had just kept my nose out of things … or most things … or … oh hell, who knows. I just know this thing with Fabrice has disaster written all over it. The problem is, he may be a little turd, but he’s only seven years old and I can’t unknow it now so I’m going to be keeping my eyes open.
I was distracted from my thoughts when Aunt Orélie looks at me and says, “Honey … I completely forgot to ask you if you had plans for the day.”
I’ve never liked that shade of pity in people’s eyes. “I do. I’m going to see about getting through a chunk more of Uncle Henley’s boxes and I’ve got to go over those legal papers again. Detective Edgar made an appointment for me with the lawyer that is handling the probate, not that I expect there is much but if a judge ordered it handled …” I shrugged.
In a confidential tone she leaned in and said, “Good. Just don’t let … hmmm … how do I put this without sounding as crazy as poor Henley could get on the subject.” She looked heavenward and sighed before pulling me away from the car. I figured it was adulting time and she didn’t want Fabrice in it for some reason. I was correct.
“Sugar, Maurice told me that his daughter said a few things. I’m asking you to … take care with what you do with it and who you discuss what was said and with whom. We have some troublesome people around here. They used to get kept in check by … let’s call ‘em stronger people and leave it at that. But this war has wore on so long that … that some things have got out of hand. Henley used to keep his nose out of things and tell me people could clean up their own messes. What made that change I don’t know. Do know that … that it might have been what put him in a position to get hurt so bad. It was his own stubbornness however that killed him. Had he come out right after he’d gotten beat on and shot there’s a good chance he would have lived but something kept him home until it was too late. Infection set in and it went for his heart.”
Trying not to get mad I asked, “Are you saying that Uncle Henley killed himself?”
“I suppose it must sound like that to you. Mostly I’m saying that Henley … could have handled it different. But he didn’t. And that combined with what was done to him is why he is dead. I don’t want you to take this wrong, Henley … he was a good man as men go. Had women on the mind too much when he was young but losing your family … then you … it made him realize he needed to change in some areas. He did and took care of his Momma real good until she passed and then … he got hard, real hard. Not mean but … Lord he could be a hard man. Hated coming out of the swamp, even though when he was younger all he wanted to do was escape it. Didn’t have much use for people and avoided them when he could except for a select few. Couldn’t abide crowds of any sort, even those at church. I used to think it was his Momma up and dying like she did but now I wonder if it wasn’t something else. Guess we’ll never know but I want you to take care. You are a lot like Henley in some respects and it is strange to see considering he didn’t have a hand in raising you. You remind me of Sylvee too to some extent as well and she didn’t exactly pick an easy row to hoe. You need to take care that … that you don’t make the same mistakes they did. You’ll make your own but don’t make theirs over too.”
“I don’t disagree,” I told her. “Being in foster care gives you time, too much time, to see all the mistakes people make in this life and you have to pick your own road and decide if you are going to learn from other people’s screw ups or not. But what has that got to do with what happened to Uncle Henley?”
“Honey, there are people in this town that were real fond of Henley. I count myself one of them. There’s also people in this town that wouldn’t know who he was if his picture had been on a poster in the post office for five years with flashing arrows saying America’s Most Wanted.” She made a face then added, “And there’s a small few that … that had a hate on for him, and maybe still do. Might take it into their head to …”
When she had trouble finding the words, I found some for her. “Be stupid and try and keep up a feud with a dead man through his niece?”
“Uh huh. Exactly. I don’t know for a fact if them small few had a hand in Henly getting hurt, but they weren’t sad about it. And they’s stupid but also sly … and one or two are moccasin mean, and one I know is bad crazy for a fact. I’m asking you to let sleeping dogs lie. I don’t want to see you get hurt. You a good girl and … and I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”
I gave it a thought and said, “So long as they don’t try and bring trouble to me, I won’t go looking them up. But I won’t cower in fear either. And if some of these people happen to be people that you wish weren’t involved in Fabrice’s life … they better not start trouble in that quarter either. Or yours. I don’t like bullies.” What I didn’t say is I loathe bullies ‘cause I’ve been on the receiving end of their attentions a time or two … before they learned I wasn’t someone to fool with. And Auntie’s reaction sure enough told me that I might have been guessing but the mark hit close.
“You … you just let the adults taken care of that end of it.”
“Law says I am an adult. But I hear what you’re saying. I won’t cause problems. They better not cause problems either. Or Houston, we are going to have a damn big problem.”
She shook her head. “I told Adelle it wouldn’t do any good. You are at least as hardheaded as Henley, maybe more if that’s even possible. Just watch your p’s and q’s. And watch out for who you get friendly with. Daniel Edgar thinks more of himself than he is due, and that woman he’s taken up with, Wylene Boudreaux, ain’t my favorite person either.”
“Were either of them against Uncle Henley?”
“What? No Honey … they’s just full of themselves. Daniel’s brother and Henley were good friends and Martin was cut up something bad when Henley died. He works for Fish & Wildlife. You met him from my understanding.”
“I didn’t know who he was at the time and he was working so he didn’t give me any special attention to make me wonder.”
“Sounds like Martin all right, but there’s another example for you. He tried looking into Henley’s death on his own and things started happening. His boat was stolen, truck tires slashed, complaints started making their way to his supervisors, gossip and rumors popping up here and there … and then he went to Lafayette for some conference and went missing. Was found two days later beat on something awful. He’s recovered but he’s turned into a cautious man. His wife and little daughter now live with her parents on the other side of town. You learn from his mistakes too. Understand?”
“It definitely gives me something to think about,” I told her, letting her think she’d made her point.
“Good. What’s the name of the lawyer and when you supposed to see him?”
I told her, “Someone named Braxton Dubreuil, and I’m supposed to see him tomorrow.”
“Oh my Lord, that ol’ fool? No wonder it has taken forever and a day for anything to be done.”
“Er … friend of Uncle Henley’s or not?”
“I don’t even know if they ever had anything to do with one another. Dub is … well you’ll meet him tomorrow and see for yourself. But if I were you, I wouldn’t say a thing that you didn’t want other people to find out about. He’s got a bad habit of dropping names and owing favors rather than having them owed to him. Now I have to go but you get hungry you …”
“I’m fine. If I get hungry I know how to take care of it.”
“Hmmm,” was all she said before getting a call on a cellphone that had numbers bigger than a street address sign. “Yes, yes … I’m on my way. Are you positive we have everything? I do not want to have to run to the store at the last second like we did last year. Fine, I should be there in a half hour. I’m pulling out now.”
She looked at me a little regretfully and I reminded her, “You need to get before someone comes uncorked from the sound of it.”
“Oh they’re already uncorked … or at least they’ve uncorked a jug of ‘shine. If Julius makes it through dinner I’ll be surprised. Do me a favor and make sure all the buildings are locked up if you leave. I won’t be back until real late and a few of us are going to try and take advantage of the holiday sales. And there’s an envelope in the top drawer of my desk that has your name on it. Over in the corner is a box with your name on it. Both are from the lawyers. You’ll figure out what to do with it. You’ll get one or the other, or one of each, every week from here on out. Good Lord I better get. If I’ve forgotten anything it is just going to have to wait.” She hustled off and right afterwards I watched the military vehicles empty out of the parking lot as well, everyone looking in high spirits. Things got quiet and I was telling myself that I better get to enjoying my days off because I didn’t know when I’d get more but first I was going to go have an egg sandwich for breakfast.
I tried to read Uncle Henley’s diary for nearly an hour Wednesday night, but he is sneaky … was sneaky. It is in a combination of English, Acadian, and his and Dad’s shorthand they developed from years of working together and not being able to read each other’s handwriting. There are a lot of words I don’t recognize even trying to sound them out. I went to the part of the ledger where he stopped writing and several pages are tore out and missing. It makes me feel all Agatha Christie and Laurie R King. Or maybe not. I still haven’t done much more than stick the Ledger in the file of other legal papers I gotta keep on top of. Ugh. Adulting sucks. Trying to adult and feel guilty about things I didn’t have a hand in sucks even worse.
I slept like the dead Wednesday night. I mean I slept hard. But habits are hard to break and I was up before the first rays of light. Of course I got a little help with all the flaming boots going up and down the stairs and across the ceiling above my head. The guys were all excited for their day of R&R. I found out later on they also had a big communication tent set up and anyone that wanted to call home could. That more than the food and televised football games is what seemed to create the most excitement.
Avoiding the commotion I went over to the Big House and got there just in time to help Aunt Orélie carry stuff out to her car. One of those things I toted was a sleeping Fabrice. The boy had dark circles under his eyes so I’m pretty sure he wasn’t foolin’. He jumped a mile when he heard his seatbelt click. And he flinched when I adjusted it so it wouldn’t strangle him if he fell back to sleep again. I knew the signs. I sure as heck had seen them often enough in foster care.
I got down on his level and made sure no one else was around, including Auntie. “Boy, you and I ain’t exactly friends … but we aren’t enemies either. If you are having a run of trouble, you can tell me. I can’t promise to fix it, but I can promise that I’ll do my best to help.”
In a tone that was too old for his body he says, “No one can fix it. The judge said so. And don’t you say nothing ‘cause they’ll get you too.”
I tried to get more out of him but he pushed me away. Sure enough Aunt Orélie was coming and he surprised me by looking at her like maybe he cared more for her than he acted. Gave me deep thoughts to think. I hate getting in other people’s business as much as I hate them getting in mine, or nearly as much. I’ve witnessed the destruction do-gooders can do. I’ve tried to resist doing it too much and getting in over my head. Rich turned into a frelling disaster and I swore off wearing a cape and tights when he died. I even turned loose of Charlie and look how that ended up anyway. Maybe if I had just kept my nose out of things … or most things … or … oh hell, who knows. I just know this thing with Fabrice has disaster written all over it. The problem is, he may be a little turd, but he’s only seven years old and I can’t unknow it now so I’m going to be keeping my eyes open.
I was distracted from my thoughts when Aunt Orélie looks at me and says, “Honey … I completely forgot to ask you if you had plans for the day.”
I’ve never liked that shade of pity in people’s eyes. “I do. I’m going to see about getting through a chunk more of Uncle Henley’s boxes and I’ve got to go over those legal papers again. Detective Edgar made an appointment for me with the lawyer that is handling the probate, not that I expect there is much but if a judge ordered it handled …” I shrugged.
In a confidential tone she leaned in and said, “Good. Just don’t let … hmmm … how do I put this without sounding as crazy as poor Henley could get on the subject.” She looked heavenward and sighed before pulling me away from the car. I figured it was adulting time and she didn’t want Fabrice in it for some reason. I was correct.
“Sugar, Maurice told me that his daughter said a few things. I’m asking you to … take care with what you do with it and who you discuss what was said and with whom. We have some troublesome people around here. They used to get kept in check by … let’s call ‘em stronger people and leave it at that. But this war has wore on so long that … that some things have got out of hand. Henley used to keep his nose out of things and tell me people could clean up their own messes. What made that change I don’t know. Do know that … that it might have been what put him in a position to get hurt so bad. It was his own stubbornness however that killed him. Had he come out right after he’d gotten beat on and shot there’s a good chance he would have lived but something kept him home until it was too late. Infection set in and it went for his heart.”
Trying not to get mad I asked, “Are you saying that Uncle Henley killed himself?”
“I suppose it must sound like that to you. Mostly I’m saying that Henley … could have handled it different. But he didn’t. And that combined with what was done to him is why he is dead. I don’t want you to take this wrong, Henley … he was a good man as men go. Had women on the mind too much when he was young but losing your family … then you … it made him realize he needed to change in some areas. He did and took care of his Momma real good until she passed and then … he got hard, real hard. Not mean but … Lord he could be a hard man. Hated coming out of the swamp, even though when he was younger all he wanted to do was escape it. Didn’t have much use for people and avoided them when he could except for a select few. Couldn’t abide crowds of any sort, even those at church. I used to think it was his Momma up and dying like she did but now I wonder if it wasn’t something else. Guess we’ll never know but I want you to take care. You are a lot like Henley in some respects and it is strange to see considering he didn’t have a hand in raising you. You remind me of Sylvee too to some extent as well and she didn’t exactly pick an easy row to hoe. You need to take care that … that you don’t make the same mistakes they did. You’ll make your own but don’t make theirs over too.”
“I don’t disagree,” I told her. “Being in foster care gives you time, too much time, to see all the mistakes people make in this life and you have to pick your own road and decide if you are going to learn from other people’s screw ups or not. But what has that got to do with what happened to Uncle Henley?”
“Honey, there are people in this town that were real fond of Henley. I count myself one of them. There’s also people in this town that wouldn’t know who he was if his picture had been on a poster in the post office for five years with flashing arrows saying America’s Most Wanted.” She made a face then added, “And there’s a small few that … that had a hate on for him, and maybe still do. Might take it into their head to …”
When she had trouble finding the words, I found some for her. “Be stupid and try and keep up a feud with a dead man through his niece?”
“Uh huh. Exactly. I don’t know for a fact if them small few had a hand in Henly getting hurt, but they weren’t sad about it. And they’s stupid but also sly … and one or two are moccasin mean, and one I know is bad crazy for a fact. I’m asking you to let sleeping dogs lie. I don’t want to see you get hurt. You a good girl and … and I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”
I gave it a thought and said, “So long as they don’t try and bring trouble to me, I won’t go looking them up. But I won’t cower in fear either. And if some of these people happen to be people that you wish weren’t involved in Fabrice’s life … they better not start trouble in that quarter either. Or yours. I don’t like bullies.” What I didn’t say is I loathe bullies ‘cause I’ve been on the receiving end of their attentions a time or two … before they learned I wasn’t someone to fool with. And Auntie’s reaction sure enough told me that I might have been guessing but the mark hit close.
“You … you just let the adults taken care of that end of it.”
“Law says I am an adult. But I hear what you’re saying. I won’t cause problems. They better not cause problems either. Or Houston, we are going to have a damn big problem.”
She shook her head. “I told Adelle it wouldn’t do any good. You are at least as hardheaded as Henley, maybe more if that’s even possible. Just watch your p’s and q’s. And watch out for who you get friendly with. Daniel Edgar thinks more of himself than he is due, and that woman he’s taken up with, Wylene Boudreaux, ain’t my favorite person either.”
“Were either of them against Uncle Henley?”
“What? No Honey … they’s just full of themselves. Daniel’s brother and Henley were good friends and Martin was cut up something bad when Henley died. He works for Fish & Wildlife. You met him from my understanding.”
“I didn’t know who he was at the time and he was working so he didn’t give me any special attention to make me wonder.”
“Sounds like Martin all right, but there’s another example for you. He tried looking into Henley’s death on his own and things started happening. His boat was stolen, truck tires slashed, complaints started making their way to his supervisors, gossip and rumors popping up here and there … and then he went to Lafayette for some conference and went missing. Was found two days later beat on something awful. He’s recovered but he’s turned into a cautious man. His wife and little daughter now live with her parents on the other side of town. You learn from his mistakes too. Understand?”
“It definitely gives me something to think about,” I told her, letting her think she’d made her point.
“Good. What’s the name of the lawyer and when you supposed to see him?”
I told her, “Someone named Braxton Dubreuil, and I’m supposed to see him tomorrow.”
“Oh my Lord, that ol’ fool? No wonder it has taken forever and a day for anything to be done.”
“Er … friend of Uncle Henley’s or not?”
“I don’t even know if they ever had anything to do with one another. Dub is … well you’ll meet him tomorrow and see for yourself. But if I were you, I wouldn’t say a thing that you didn’t want other people to find out about. He’s got a bad habit of dropping names and owing favors rather than having them owed to him. Now I have to go but you get hungry you …”
“I’m fine. If I get hungry I know how to take care of it.”
“Hmmm,” was all she said before getting a call on a cellphone that had numbers bigger than a street address sign. “Yes, yes … I’m on my way. Are you positive we have everything? I do not want to have to run to the store at the last second like we did last year. Fine, I should be there in a half hour. I’m pulling out now.”
She looked at me a little regretfully and I reminded her, “You need to get before someone comes uncorked from the sound of it.”
“Oh they’re already uncorked … or at least they’ve uncorked a jug of ‘shine. If Julius makes it through dinner I’ll be surprised. Do me a favor and make sure all the buildings are locked up if you leave. I won’t be back until real late and a few of us are going to try and take advantage of the holiday sales. And there’s an envelope in the top drawer of my desk that has your name on it. Over in the corner is a box with your name on it. Both are from the lawyers. You’ll figure out what to do with it. You’ll get one or the other, or one of each, every week from here on out. Good Lord I better get. If I’ve forgotten anything it is just going to have to wait.” She hustled off and right afterwards I watched the military vehicles empty out of the parking lot as well, everyone looking in high spirits. Things got quiet and I was telling myself that I better get to enjoying my days off because I didn’t know when I’d get more but first I was going to go have an egg sandwich for breakfast.
Jeepcats27
Senior Member
Thank you,
Jeepcats27
Senior Member
Dang, I didn't even get finished typing. and it got taken away.
Thanks anyway.
Thanks anyway.
What got taken away? It's still there.
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Thank you.
Boiled okra, just put some vinegar in the water and the slime disappears.
Chapter 34
After my egg sandwich I went into Auntie’s “office” and retrieved the envelope and the box. I also took a look at the remaining boxes of Uncle Henley’s. I almost said, “Nope.” But, truth be I need to get it done. But I have a problem that is going to rear its head pretty fast and that is space. I need to start deciding what to keep and what to do with the rest of it.
First I took my box and envelope and dropped them in my room and then went and got the dolly and took it to that storage room and figure I needed to go through the bigger tubs and boxes first because even if I can’t get all of it done before the lawyers show up for their inspection, if I get the bigger boxes out of there it will at least look better. Pushing the boxes around trying to get at different ones I realized that there was quite a stack of big tubs and boxes in the back … in other words they’d been put in there first. Part of me hoped that it meant those held the most important stuff, or at least it held stuff that might be of value that would make it worth me going through the Chinese water torture those boxes treated me to.
I was able to maneuver three of the big tubs, a big box, and a couple cardboard file boxes on my first trip. Yep, I said my first trip. I started with sixty-two boxes to go through. I’ve been doing them in dribs and drabs. Now I’m down to around twenty … twenty at the Big House. You read that right. There’s a storage unit with some furniture in it along with what looks like some other odds and ends that are in the back side of the unit. I can’t reach them without moving things out to climb back in there and I’m not doing that right now. But I didn’t find that out on Thursday.
When I got back to my room, first thing I did was get the food out of the little frig and set it up on the dehydrator. The Teflon sheets helped to keep things from falling through the holes in the screens but added to my clean up later. Still it was cool to start being proactive about my future needs. One of these days I’m going to be back to being alone just like I was on the road, I might even have to go back to being one of the Road People. So while I have the chance I’m going to do what I can to make the transition easier than it was the first time around. No more swiping stuff that belonged to other people. No more barely getting by. Next time is going to be different.
Most of the rest of Thursday I spent going through boxes. I also stayed busy in other ways. I got a couple loads of laundry washed and dried … my stuff and some of the stuff that was Uncle Henley’s which is now my stuff. The shirts hang on me a little but not too bad. I’m broad in the shoulders and I’m not exactly small in the chest unless I’m wearing a sports bra that is too small. Thinking of it, I needed a couple more sports bras and I added that to the list I’d started, but otherwise I knew that I’d be set for clothes unless someone invited me to take tea with the Queen. Since that isn’t likely to happen I’m not going to worry about it. Thankfully Uncle Henley’s shirts were similar to my own preferred style that matched my scout uniform … button down, microfiber with ventilated flap across the back and working pockets on the front all in natural colors … mostly beige but Uncle Henley also had some khaki green ones as well as a funky grey color I kinda like. There are a couple of camo ones that are okay, but unless I can figure out a way to get the patch off of them they are going into the get-rid-of pile … the patch has the silhouette of a pole dancer on it. I hope those aren’t something he picked up recently ‘cause that would mean he’d found his religion only to lose it again. Pants are another matter that I need to figure out – similar to the sports bra issue – and I knew I was going to have to remedy that so I put it on my list.
The reason I could (can) afford to have a list is that my pay looks like it is going to be more than I expected. I’m not looking a gift horse in the mouth but for sure I thought the room and board part would take away more than it did from the “cash” part. On the other hand, it ain’t really cash but the local scrip. I guess they’re making bank on that part but it means that I won’t be able to spend the scrip any place else but locally unless I take it to the bank and exchange it. And even then, according to what I’ve found out, I’ll only be able to exchange it for Louisiana State Scrip. Real money is something I’m likely going to have trouble getting my hands on, at least for a while.
In addition to washing laundry I took the time to wash me up real good too. Shaved my legs and pits with the regular razors I found today, washed my hair and trimmed it up where it was getting scraggly, and took care of my feet and hands that I gotta admit have taken a beating over the last couple of months. Found this bottle of stuff today called Corn Huskers Lotion and am now using it on my feet. Mom swore by it, to the point she had it on regular order from Amazon. Since the label on this stuff hasn’t changed since Methuselah was in nappies, for all I know this could be a bottle left over from Mom’s own stash. I wasn’t just cleaning up because I was exercising my vanity. I didn’t want to walk into the lawyer’s office looking like something a cat ate then hacked up.
Before I cleaned up though I fixed my bike tire. Found a can of tire fix and a couple of tire patches in the work shed. I’ve already replaced them so no harm no foul, Ava isn’t stealing. The fix is holding but I want to replace the tire anyway because no matter what I hope, I know that eventually the fix is going to fail. Shame though ‘cause it was a good tire before that crazy woman stabbed it.
Now for what I found in the boxes. Oh my lord. I’m not sure what to do with it all. I’m not in general sentimental about stuff. Had I been, my time in foster care would have cured me of it. I had a big duffle bag from the Army Navy store (held my street clothes and my school stuff), an 85L backpack I paid a mint for because I needed it for Northern Tier (held all my scout gear), and a smaller duffle I bartered for that acted like a suitcase when I needed one (which wasn’t often). Those three things held all my worldly goods in them and I kept them packed because we were always told that when a social worker said it was time to go, we had to be ready to go in an hour or less. I worked hard for my things so I wasn’t ever going to take a chance on having to leave them behind because I was too slow to take care of them. I had more stuff when I started the trek from Florida than I’d had in a long time. And now I’ve got so much stuff it is giving me a headache to try and figure out what to do with it all.
I’ll donate some of the clothes ‘cause no way am I ever going to wear Granmere’s drawers even if I could fit into them. Gives me nightmares even to think about being that desperate. And why would Uncle Henley keep them in the first place?! He sure chucked all the stuff from my house fast enough when I went to go with him. I’m not going to keep her outer wear either. I’m not being nasty, just even if it did fit it isn’t my style. She never wore anything but cotton house dresses for as long as I knew her, and those compression hose the doctors say she needed. I held up one of the house dresses to me and looked in the mirror and I swear I almost developed lock jar right there and then. Any temptation to hold onto that stuff is definitely gone now, I guarantee that. I’m also donating the men’s underwear I found for the same reason. Just nope.
There are a couple pairs of overalls that I’ve put in my “maybe” pile … as in maybe keep and maybe not. They’re not new and have seen some hard use, but they aren’t too awful and might come in handy. They fit in the length but gap in the waist. Found a couple pairs of rubber boots. They’re about one size too big but that’s not awful either so those went in the keep pile. Daddy’s feet were only size nines so these might have been Uncle Henley’s. Doesn’t matter, they’re mine now. Found a crap ton of swamp camo stuff … bandanas, quick dry compression shirts, hats, some crocs (shoes, not animal), a heavy jacket, a couple of hoodies, a rain jacket, some rain pants, fingerless hunting gloves, and even socks. The compression shirts sure don’t hide the fact that I’m female and they were practically new so I chose one of the short sleeved ones to wear to the lawyer’s office and put the others and the rest of it … except for the hoodie that was a zip up … in the “keep” pile. That was all the easy stuff to decide what to do with.
There is an entire tub of bedding that I need to go through but that’s for another time and the big tub sits against what little bit of empty wall I have … now had. I did take one of the pillows out of there. I’ve never had a real feather pillow and I’m not sure I’m going to keep it. That thing can get a little warm at night when there isn’t any breeze to stir things up. I suspect it is also what had me up at two in the morning sneezing. Good thing but that’s another story.
The rest of the boxes were full of things that got divvied up between the three piles but I sure hoped to be able to come up with a way to keep most of the stuff. I think I have but you never know. Life can turn on a dime.
One of the bigger items took me a while to figure out what it was. I was leaning towards it being some type of composter until I found the instructions in a manilla envelope with a bunch of other instruction manuals. It is called a Wonder Wash. It uses pressure and agitation to clean small loads of laundry. When I say small like one pair of pants at a time small. But it washed a load of socks pretty good after I figured out you have to use hot water to make the seal (the pressure part of the equation).
There was a hand-cranked oil press that looked like a science experiment too that I only figured out what it was after finding the instruction book for it in that same manilla envelope. I have no idea why Uncle Henley would have that thing. First off, it isn’t exactly cheap so he didn’t buy it on a whim … or I hope not. Dad was always on about everything needing to have a regular use or they could just rent the equipment whenever they needed it. Second, if he wanted oil – the kind you get from seeds and stuff like that – it is easier to go buy it at the store even with the rationing going on. Quoting the instruction manual it “will process Almond, Babassu Kernel, Beechnut, Cocoa Bean, Coconut, Hazelnut, Hempseed, Jatropha, Linseed, Niger Seed, Oil Palm Kernel, Peanut, Pumpkin Seed, Rapeseed, Safflower, Sesame Seed, Soya Bean, Sunflower, Walnut).” I don’t know what a couple of those things are but I’m not going to worry about it. I might try peanuts or sunflower seeds but to be honest I’d rather eat them than squish them to smithereens for a few ounces of cooking oil. Even with rationing it would be cheaper to stand in line at the store and use a coupon to buy it and keep the nuts and seeds for eating out of hand.
There was a bag of old, wooden clothes pins that I’ll keep at least some of. My plastic ones from camp are starting to break. In that same big tub I found a kerosene cooker, a hand-crank grain mill that used to sit attached to the wood block in Granmere’s kitchen, a pressure canner like I used at Momma LeBlanc’s direction, a Foley food mill like I used to get the seeds and skins out of the persimmons, a metal dustpan and broom (why?!) that sits in the corner over by my “kitchen,” a couple of stainless steel dishpans, a handwringer that looks kinda like it belongs on a janitor’s rolling mop bucket, and a couple of carriage lanterns … the kind that use candles instead of kerosene.
Other things I found that come to mind besides the razors was an old Eno hammock, some mosquito netting, a fold up camp cot (that is broken and not worth fixing in my opinion so you know what pile that’s in), a few tarps of various sizes, some lantern mantles and some lantern wicks, a couple of flashlights (that someone didn’t bother taking the batteries out of so you know the batteries ‘sploded, making them useless). A good find was an old Goal Zero solar charging set up. I finally found a braincell and got the solar set up off the bike’s trailer and brought it in. I’m lucky it didn’t get stolen or broken. If I had picked a room upstairs I might have been able to set them on the roof during the day but then again maybe not. I’m going to think of a way to make them useful to me.
Other stuff I found was a box of emergency whistles that when I blew on one I found out weren’t whistles at all but duck calls … some type of bird anyway. All of them sounded a little different. A couple of compasses that couldn’t be mistaken for anything else, thank goodness because the “whistles” had scared me witless when I blew expecting one sound and getting something completely different. Some binoculars that must have a trick to them because I can’t get them to focus. A couple of camp fuel bottles that were, to my shock, full. Nearly a half dozen multi-tools of all sizes. Two of them had the business logo stamped on them so I at least know where those came from. Same for the box cutters I found. There were a couple of folding shovels, Sierra saws, and machetes that also had the business logo on them; and a couple of fixed blade knives and pocketknives tossed in that box as well.
They were all well used so they probably came out of the work van. I felt better knowing that Uncle Henley hadn’t gotten rid of everything from my family. Those well-used tools may not look like much to some people, but they mean more to me than most of the other stuff I’ve found in the boxes. Speaking of tools, I wondered what had happened to Dad’s big tool chest. I didn’t think too much however as it hurt. When I was little I played with stuff in that tool chest more than I played with dolls. Dad even had the bottom drawer full of things just for me so I wouldn’t get into his good tools.
Found a freakton of duct tape. Only a couple of the rolls were gray, the rest of it was black, brown, and camo print. I found a role of reflector tape, four or five rolls of different color electrical tape, and a couple of hunting vests with a gazillion and one pockets that I hung up in my closet. I used to have one of those vests that I wore everywhere because it was convenient but a teacher at school “confiscated” it because she thought it was a sign I was a danger and might have a gun. She’d been told to return it to me, by the principal no less, but she hadn’t before school got cancelled. To say I’m still a little hacked off about that is an understatement. But it’s not like I can actually do anything about it. Another box had a bunch of all different kinds of ropes in it, some used but most still in cellophane wrap that kept them from coming unraveled and knotted up.
My keep pile is overtaking my get-rid-of pile. Not a bad problem to have unless, like me, you don’t have much room to do all your keeping in.
Camp towels, carabiners, bungee cords, a small food cooler and a five-gallon water cooler, and what to my wondering eyes should appear? A tub full of camp food and eight great big ol’ #10 cans of freeze-dried junk. What the heck? I checked the expiration dates and some of them are going down hill and picking up speed, but I took those out and lined them up under the counter and I’ll use them up before they go bad. There were Mountain House adventure meals like we sometimes got for backcountry camping trips, though not usually ‘cause those things aren’t cheap and don’t exactly qualify for nutrition item of the year. They also don’t make much when you are having to split them between two and three people. There were also some of those survival bars you used to be able to pick up at wallyworld and that I know for a fact don’t taste like shortbread cookies like they say, but like twice chewed cardboard. There were some real expensive gourmet type backpack meals … or they would have been expensive except they still had their clearance sticker on them. And since they still had a lot of shelf life the clearance was about them being weird food … like freeze dried pad thai. I don’t know whether to say wow or ew. Guess I’ll find out once I get around to eating that one. There were lots of other weird freeze-dried meals but that is the one that stood out at the time. That one and the box of 50 freeze dried miso soup mixes. I’m thinking that Uncle Henley must have hit the motherload of clearance sales some place because most of the camp food had the same clearance stickers on them. So did the #10 cans but at least they were semi-normal stuff like chili mac. Although, that one can of freeze-dried cauliflower won’t get used until I’m starving and all ribs showing … and maybe not even then. Bleck.
I eventually had had all the “surprises” I could handle for one day and spent over an hour cleaning and organizing things … yeah, that didn’t help all that much … and then decided to clean myself up. While my hair was drying I checked my dehydrator and then turned it off and let the stuff cool down so I could put it in the plastic bottles I’d collected during my time on the road. They’re better for storage than the zip bags I had been using; most of those had the zipper break and were useless anymore.
I was making my last check of the night, wondering why the military people hadn’t come back yet, when a truck pulls in. Don’t recognize it but do recognize the knucklehead who exited by the window instead of opening the door like a normal person would.
“Hey Ava!”
“Hey Tib,” I answer cautiously.
“Aunt Orelie sent this over for you. And,” the knucklehead even pulls out a note and reads is aloud after stuffing to bags in my hands. “Wants me to remind you that she will not be in ‘til real late and would you please start breakfast before you leave for your appointment. She’ll handle lunch. Say please and thank … uh, I mean please. And thank you.”
“Tell Auntie that I’ll take care of it but for her to be careful if she is going to be out late. Is someone going with her?”
He gets an awful look on her face. “I have to go with them. You got any idea how craptastic that’s going to be?”
“I don’t like shopping either. But think of the brownie points you are banking for future use or need.”
He slowly grins and then adds, “I’m thinking that’s not a bad idea right there. Gotta go. And, you gotta palmetto bug in your hair.”
It took a lot of will power not to drop the bags and start slapping at my hair … or throw the bags at Tib as he pulled out throwing gravel. I finally get shed of the palmetto bug … watched the nasty thing fly away … and managed to do it without spilling the bags. One has a Tupperware dish of Thanksgiving leftovers and the other a couple slices of different pies and a small butter dish of banana pudding. I needed a bib right then.
After my egg sandwich I went into Auntie’s “office” and retrieved the envelope and the box. I also took a look at the remaining boxes of Uncle Henley’s. I almost said, “Nope.” But, truth be I need to get it done. But I have a problem that is going to rear its head pretty fast and that is space. I need to start deciding what to keep and what to do with the rest of it.
First I took my box and envelope and dropped them in my room and then went and got the dolly and took it to that storage room and figure I needed to go through the bigger tubs and boxes first because even if I can’t get all of it done before the lawyers show up for their inspection, if I get the bigger boxes out of there it will at least look better. Pushing the boxes around trying to get at different ones I realized that there was quite a stack of big tubs and boxes in the back … in other words they’d been put in there first. Part of me hoped that it meant those held the most important stuff, or at least it held stuff that might be of value that would make it worth me going through the Chinese water torture those boxes treated me to.
I was able to maneuver three of the big tubs, a big box, and a couple cardboard file boxes on my first trip. Yep, I said my first trip. I started with sixty-two boxes to go through. I’ve been doing them in dribs and drabs. Now I’m down to around twenty … twenty at the Big House. You read that right. There’s a storage unit with some furniture in it along with what looks like some other odds and ends that are in the back side of the unit. I can’t reach them without moving things out to climb back in there and I’m not doing that right now. But I didn’t find that out on Thursday.
When I got back to my room, first thing I did was get the food out of the little frig and set it up on the dehydrator. The Teflon sheets helped to keep things from falling through the holes in the screens but added to my clean up later. Still it was cool to start being proactive about my future needs. One of these days I’m going to be back to being alone just like I was on the road, I might even have to go back to being one of the Road People. So while I have the chance I’m going to do what I can to make the transition easier than it was the first time around. No more swiping stuff that belonged to other people. No more barely getting by. Next time is going to be different.
Most of the rest of Thursday I spent going through boxes. I also stayed busy in other ways. I got a couple loads of laundry washed and dried … my stuff and some of the stuff that was Uncle Henley’s which is now my stuff. The shirts hang on me a little but not too bad. I’m broad in the shoulders and I’m not exactly small in the chest unless I’m wearing a sports bra that is too small. Thinking of it, I needed a couple more sports bras and I added that to the list I’d started, but otherwise I knew that I’d be set for clothes unless someone invited me to take tea with the Queen. Since that isn’t likely to happen I’m not going to worry about it. Thankfully Uncle Henley’s shirts were similar to my own preferred style that matched my scout uniform … button down, microfiber with ventilated flap across the back and working pockets on the front all in natural colors … mostly beige but Uncle Henley also had some khaki green ones as well as a funky grey color I kinda like. There are a couple of camo ones that are okay, but unless I can figure out a way to get the patch off of them they are going into the get-rid-of pile … the patch has the silhouette of a pole dancer on it. I hope those aren’t something he picked up recently ‘cause that would mean he’d found his religion only to lose it again. Pants are another matter that I need to figure out – similar to the sports bra issue – and I knew I was going to have to remedy that so I put it on my list.
The reason I could (can) afford to have a list is that my pay looks like it is going to be more than I expected. I’m not looking a gift horse in the mouth but for sure I thought the room and board part would take away more than it did from the “cash” part. On the other hand, it ain’t really cash but the local scrip. I guess they’re making bank on that part but it means that I won’t be able to spend the scrip any place else but locally unless I take it to the bank and exchange it. And even then, according to what I’ve found out, I’ll only be able to exchange it for Louisiana State Scrip. Real money is something I’m likely going to have trouble getting my hands on, at least for a while.
In addition to washing laundry I took the time to wash me up real good too. Shaved my legs and pits with the regular razors I found today, washed my hair and trimmed it up where it was getting scraggly, and took care of my feet and hands that I gotta admit have taken a beating over the last couple of months. Found this bottle of stuff today called Corn Huskers Lotion and am now using it on my feet. Mom swore by it, to the point she had it on regular order from Amazon. Since the label on this stuff hasn’t changed since Methuselah was in nappies, for all I know this could be a bottle left over from Mom’s own stash. I wasn’t just cleaning up because I was exercising my vanity. I didn’t want to walk into the lawyer’s office looking like something a cat ate then hacked up.
Before I cleaned up though I fixed my bike tire. Found a can of tire fix and a couple of tire patches in the work shed. I’ve already replaced them so no harm no foul, Ava isn’t stealing. The fix is holding but I want to replace the tire anyway because no matter what I hope, I know that eventually the fix is going to fail. Shame though ‘cause it was a good tire before that crazy woman stabbed it.
Now for what I found in the boxes. Oh my lord. I’m not sure what to do with it all. I’m not in general sentimental about stuff. Had I been, my time in foster care would have cured me of it. I had a big duffle bag from the Army Navy store (held my street clothes and my school stuff), an 85L backpack I paid a mint for because I needed it for Northern Tier (held all my scout gear), and a smaller duffle I bartered for that acted like a suitcase when I needed one (which wasn’t often). Those three things held all my worldly goods in them and I kept them packed because we were always told that when a social worker said it was time to go, we had to be ready to go in an hour or less. I worked hard for my things so I wasn’t ever going to take a chance on having to leave them behind because I was too slow to take care of them. I had more stuff when I started the trek from Florida than I’d had in a long time. And now I’ve got so much stuff it is giving me a headache to try and figure out what to do with it all.
I’ll donate some of the clothes ‘cause no way am I ever going to wear Granmere’s drawers even if I could fit into them. Gives me nightmares even to think about being that desperate. And why would Uncle Henley keep them in the first place?! He sure chucked all the stuff from my house fast enough when I went to go with him. I’m not going to keep her outer wear either. I’m not being nasty, just even if it did fit it isn’t my style. She never wore anything but cotton house dresses for as long as I knew her, and those compression hose the doctors say she needed. I held up one of the house dresses to me and looked in the mirror and I swear I almost developed lock jar right there and then. Any temptation to hold onto that stuff is definitely gone now, I guarantee that. I’m also donating the men’s underwear I found for the same reason. Just nope.
There are a couple pairs of overalls that I’ve put in my “maybe” pile … as in maybe keep and maybe not. They’re not new and have seen some hard use, but they aren’t too awful and might come in handy. They fit in the length but gap in the waist. Found a couple pairs of rubber boots. They’re about one size too big but that’s not awful either so those went in the keep pile. Daddy’s feet were only size nines so these might have been Uncle Henley’s. Doesn’t matter, they’re mine now. Found a crap ton of swamp camo stuff … bandanas, quick dry compression shirts, hats, some crocs (shoes, not animal), a heavy jacket, a couple of hoodies, a rain jacket, some rain pants, fingerless hunting gloves, and even socks. The compression shirts sure don’t hide the fact that I’m female and they were practically new so I chose one of the short sleeved ones to wear to the lawyer’s office and put the others and the rest of it … except for the hoodie that was a zip up … in the “keep” pile. That was all the easy stuff to decide what to do with.
There is an entire tub of bedding that I need to go through but that’s for another time and the big tub sits against what little bit of empty wall I have … now had. I did take one of the pillows out of there. I’ve never had a real feather pillow and I’m not sure I’m going to keep it. That thing can get a little warm at night when there isn’t any breeze to stir things up. I suspect it is also what had me up at two in the morning sneezing. Good thing but that’s another story.
The rest of the boxes were full of things that got divvied up between the three piles but I sure hoped to be able to come up with a way to keep most of the stuff. I think I have but you never know. Life can turn on a dime.
One of the bigger items took me a while to figure out what it was. I was leaning towards it being some type of composter until I found the instructions in a manilla envelope with a bunch of other instruction manuals. It is called a Wonder Wash. It uses pressure and agitation to clean small loads of laundry. When I say small like one pair of pants at a time small. But it washed a load of socks pretty good after I figured out you have to use hot water to make the seal (the pressure part of the equation).
There was a hand-cranked oil press that looked like a science experiment too that I only figured out what it was after finding the instruction book for it in that same manilla envelope. I have no idea why Uncle Henley would have that thing. First off, it isn’t exactly cheap so he didn’t buy it on a whim … or I hope not. Dad was always on about everything needing to have a regular use or they could just rent the equipment whenever they needed it. Second, if he wanted oil – the kind you get from seeds and stuff like that – it is easier to go buy it at the store even with the rationing going on. Quoting the instruction manual it “will process Almond, Babassu Kernel, Beechnut, Cocoa Bean, Coconut, Hazelnut, Hempseed, Jatropha, Linseed, Niger Seed, Oil Palm Kernel, Peanut, Pumpkin Seed, Rapeseed, Safflower, Sesame Seed, Soya Bean, Sunflower, Walnut).” I don’t know what a couple of those things are but I’m not going to worry about it. I might try peanuts or sunflower seeds but to be honest I’d rather eat them than squish them to smithereens for a few ounces of cooking oil. Even with rationing it would be cheaper to stand in line at the store and use a coupon to buy it and keep the nuts and seeds for eating out of hand.
There was a bag of old, wooden clothes pins that I’ll keep at least some of. My plastic ones from camp are starting to break. In that same big tub I found a kerosene cooker, a hand-crank grain mill that used to sit attached to the wood block in Granmere’s kitchen, a pressure canner like I used at Momma LeBlanc’s direction, a Foley food mill like I used to get the seeds and skins out of the persimmons, a metal dustpan and broom (why?!) that sits in the corner over by my “kitchen,” a couple of stainless steel dishpans, a handwringer that looks kinda like it belongs on a janitor’s rolling mop bucket, and a couple of carriage lanterns … the kind that use candles instead of kerosene.
Other things I found that come to mind besides the razors was an old Eno hammock, some mosquito netting, a fold up camp cot (that is broken and not worth fixing in my opinion so you know what pile that’s in), a few tarps of various sizes, some lantern mantles and some lantern wicks, a couple of flashlights (that someone didn’t bother taking the batteries out of so you know the batteries ‘sploded, making them useless). A good find was an old Goal Zero solar charging set up. I finally found a braincell and got the solar set up off the bike’s trailer and brought it in. I’m lucky it didn’t get stolen or broken. If I had picked a room upstairs I might have been able to set them on the roof during the day but then again maybe not. I’m going to think of a way to make them useful to me.
Other stuff I found was a box of emergency whistles that when I blew on one I found out weren’t whistles at all but duck calls … some type of bird anyway. All of them sounded a little different. A couple of compasses that couldn’t be mistaken for anything else, thank goodness because the “whistles” had scared me witless when I blew expecting one sound and getting something completely different. Some binoculars that must have a trick to them because I can’t get them to focus. A couple of camp fuel bottles that were, to my shock, full. Nearly a half dozen multi-tools of all sizes. Two of them had the business logo stamped on them so I at least know where those came from. Same for the box cutters I found. There were a couple of folding shovels, Sierra saws, and machetes that also had the business logo on them; and a couple of fixed blade knives and pocketknives tossed in that box as well.
They were all well used so they probably came out of the work van. I felt better knowing that Uncle Henley hadn’t gotten rid of everything from my family. Those well-used tools may not look like much to some people, but they mean more to me than most of the other stuff I’ve found in the boxes. Speaking of tools, I wondered what had happened to Dad’s big tool chest. I didn’t think too much however as it hurt. When I was little I played with stuff in that tool chest more than I played with dolls. Dad even had the bottom drawer full of things just for me so I wouldn’t get into his good tools.
Found a freakton of duct tape. Only a couple of the rolls were gray, the rest of it was black, brown, and camo print. I found a role of reflector tape, four or five rolls of different color electrical tape, and a couple of hunting vests with a gazillion and one pockets that I hung up in my closet. I used to have one of those vests that I wore everywhere because it was convenient but a teacher at school “confiscated” it because she thought it was a sign I was a danger and might have a gun. She’d been told to return it to me, by the principal no less, but she hadn’t before school got cancelled. To say I’m still a little hacked off about that is an understatement. But it’s not like I can actually do anything about it. Another box had a bunch of all different kinds of ropes in it, some used but most still in cellophane wrap that kept them from coming unraveled and knotted up.
My keep pile is overtaking my get-rid-of pile. Not a bad problem to have unless, like me, you don’t have much room to do all your keeping in.
Camp towels, carabiners, bungee cords, a small food cooler and a five-gallon water cooler, and what to my wondering eyes should appear? A tub full of camp food and eight great big ol’ #10 cans of freeze-dried junk. What the heck? I checked the expiration dates and some of them are going down hill and picking up speed, but I took those out and lined them up under the counter and I’ll use them up before they go bad. There were Mountain House adventure meals like we sometimes got for backcountry camping trips, though not usually ‘cause those things aren’t cheap and don’t exactly qualify for nutrition item of the year. They also don’t make much when you are having to split them between two and three people. There were also some of those survival bars you used to be able to pick up at wallyworld and that I know for a fact don’t taste like shortbread cookies like they say, but like twice chewed cardboard. There were some real expensive gourmet type backpack meals … or they would have been expensive except they still had their clearance sticker on them. And since they still had a lot of shelf life the clearance was about them being weird food … like freeze dried pad thai. I don’t know whether to say wow or ew. Guess I’ll find out once I get around to eating that one. There were lots of other weird freeze-dried meals but that is the one that stood out at the time. That one and the box of 50 freeze dried miso soup mixes. I’m thinking that Uncle Henley must have hit the motherload of clearance sales some place because most of the camp food had the same clearance stickers on them. So did the #10 cans but at least they were semi-normal stuff like chili mac. Although, that one can of freeze-dried cauliflower won’t get used until I’m starving and all ribs showing … and maybe not even then. Bleck.
I eventually had had all the “surprises” I could handle for one day and spent over an hour cleaning and organizing things … yeah, that didn’t help all that much … and then decided to clean myself up. While my hair was drying I checked my dehydrator and then turned it off and let the stuff cool down so I could put it in the plastic bottles I’d collected during my time on the road. They’re better for storage than the zip bags I had been using; most of those had the zipper break and were useless anymore.
I was making my last check of the night, wondering why the military people hadn’t come back yet, when a truck pulls in. Don’t recognize it but do recognize the knucklehead who exited by the window instead of opening the door like a normal person would.
“Hey Ava!”
“Hey Tib,” I answer cautiously.
“Aunt Orelie sent this over for you. And,” the knucklehead even pulls out a note and reads is aloud after stuffing to bags in my hands. “Wants me to remind you that she will not be in ‘til real late and would you please start breakfast before you leave for your appointment. She’ll handle lunch. Say please and thank … uh, I mean please. And thank you.”
“Tell Auntie that I’ll take care of it but for her to be careful if she is going to be out late. Is someone going with her?”
He gets an awful look on her face. “I have to go with them. You got any idea how craptastic that’s going to be?”
“I don’t like shopping either. But think of the brownie points you are banking for future use or need.”
He slowly grins and then adds, “I’m thinking that’s not a bad idea right there. Gotta go. And, you gotta palmetto bug in your hair.”
It took a lot of will power not to drop the bags and start slapping at my hair … or throw the bags at Tib as he pulled out throwing gravel. I finally get shed of the palmetto bug … watched the nasty thing fly away … and managed to do it without spilling the bags. One has a Tupperware dish of Thanksgiving leftovers and the other a couple slices of different pies and a small butter dish of banana pudding. I needed a bib right then.
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Very big thank you.
Yesterday I went to my local big store hoping to see a fight over toilet paper, no luck, it was all gone already. I'm not sure why the fighting over toilet paper I assume it is tasteless maybe it can be made edible with the addition of tomato sauce or hot sauce. Anyway, thank you Kathy for the last chapters. You certainly have a way with words.