People of the past

With all this soul searching comes a remembering of the past. This brings up memories that are good and bad. Luckily, I have been thinking of some good memories along with the bad. I was thinking about how my Grandma (ma-maw) called me "Pun-kin" and how my Uncle Gene called me Rudy. How my grandfather (pa-paw) always smelled like whiskey and was usually drunker than a skunk, he always treated me with love, "Come here, Rudy, give yur pa-paw a kiss." I would always refuse because you usually wanted a kiss after he had been on a drinking binge for a couple weeks and had not showered that whole time. The rest of the time he was lucid and would show me John Wayne movies, feed me cheddar cheese, and a glass of icy cold Coke. He would sing his made up songs, show me the new tricks the dogs had learned while I was away in Kansas, and play his banjo, mandolin, or guitar. Once I got to see him in a commercial in Kansas about the Great Smokey mountains. It was a montage of Dollywood, mountain pictures, and the like. When I would go visit him, Uncle Gene and the rest of the family in Tennessee, we would go to at least one square dance. Every time my uncle or my grandfather would announce to the whole place, Rudy from Kansas City, was there and soon I was dancing about with strange men. One I remember vividly. He was around for several years before he finally died sometime before my teens. His name was Snake. He was a short man, wiry, gaunt, and reeked of moonshine. He was toothless and had jail tats on his arms. He was the one that would grab my arm first, always. He never forgot me from year to year. The men could not drink, it was a dry county, so they would all complain of ulcers and drink moonshine, whiskey, and mixed drinks in their used Milk of Magnesia bottles that were opaque. I remember coming home with mason jars of moonshine in coolers after our trip. Besides all the fun and games there were plenty of ups and downs. When Grandpa was drunk he would yell and scream and call my mom "a big fucking bitch" and ask my dad what he saw in her. He clearly did not like my mother one bit. He would also sit with a shot gun next to his chair so he could blow his head off. Above the chair were many drunken attempt holes in the ceiling. This was nothing new to my father. He had dealt with this everytime he got drunk. This was the reason Grandma (ma-maw) left him (twice) along with the fact he was a completely unfaithful. My father was greeted almost every vacation with back breaking work my grandpa had waiting for him or rushes to the ER because he was dying (he wasn't.) My dad always said he needed a vacation after visiting his father. My dad was a doer that got the work done and my grandpa knew it too!

I miss my uncle calling my first two children "pot lickers." Uncle Gene was an interesting fellow. He was a talker. He would talk your ear off. He was every body's friend. He played in a few bands traveling around the south to various venues. I was told he funeral was completely packed FULL. I was unable to go. He decided it was time to check out while I was pregnant with my third child. I watch old Jim Varney movies to "hear" Uncle Gene. They sounded exactly alike! They both died alike, cancer, both avid smokers until the end.

As for my grandmother (ma-maw), well, she was more than a vacation visit. She was my life. She always lived nearby. She was the best grandmother. She taught me how to cook. Every once in a while someone in the family will say, "Grandma would be proud to know you actually cook from scratch." She had to, she was a coal miners wife. Her soul was literally owned by the company store. Grandpa racked up quite a bill by getting fixin's for moonshine and leaving her with three hungry kids. Once my father was born she decided it was no life for her son and she did not want her daughters marrying miners. She came to Kansas City with my dad and earned enough money to go back and get the girls. That is the short story, of course, because she had to pay off the company store and to do that she lived in the mountains in a dirt floor shack and grew her own food. She had a rough life and was one tough cookie. She was tiny, wiry, and was not afraid of her shot gun! Which she was know to pull out and aim at men in the family from time to time, loaded.

My life is very calm and serene compared to the past lives of my kin! Perhaps, I should keep it that way. Makes for great stories but not fun to live. Trust me.