What the Puck?

In our last dive into the pensieve, Little Lurry had just had a stare into the Germanic Puck's icy-blue eyes - a peek into another soul that awakened a slumbering wolf pup named Puberty. The neighborhood was already teeming with wolf pups... Lurry was just the latest to join the pack. Trouble is also brewing on the horizon, so let's jump in and see what happens next. Ready? Let's go!

Lurry's Nose Gets Bent Out of WHACK!

Spring was warming the plains east of the Rockies, and passions were stirring in concert. Mr. Gypsy Feet spent less and less time at the blue and white ranch, his attention directed at his two main conquests - becoming a preacher and tickling the fancy of Mrs. Big Dallas Hair. Without proof of her husband's infidelity, Mrs. Firecracker had no choice but to find solace in another venue - her frenetic pursuit of the Wilton cake decorating crown. The parade of flavorless cakes "decorated" with even more flavorless frosting was unending. And yet, the day came that Mrs. Firecracker reached for the brass ring. Her teacher was due for an in-home visit to supervise construction of that most inedible of creations, pinnacle of the cake decorator's craft, the Wilton Wedding Cake.

The morning of that fateful day, I awoke to find our family kitchen had been laid out with every implement known to Wilton. Overnight, the red-headed fanatic had baked an incremental series of "vanilla" rounds, whipped copious amounts of powdered sugar and Crisco into bowls of (excuse me while I retch) frosting, cut dowels to stabilize her towering monstrosity, and had at long last taken a break... napping on the living room sofa. I surveyed the kitchen counter, expecting to find a brown paper lunch sack, but finding none, raced out the door to school. Unlike my siblings, I missed the note that instructed us to take "lunch money" and purchase a meal at the school cafeteria.

After school, I ran back to the blue and white ranch, ravenous after a day without sustenance. I entered the back door, started across the kitchen for a bite to eat, and was stopped cold by Mrs. Firecracker. "I specifically asked you kids not to disturb my afternoon cake decorating class!" she shouted. "Now go outside until supper time!" "But Mom," I whined, "I didn't have any lunch and I'm starving." "That's your own fault, Little Mister," she retorted. "I gave you kids lunch money! Now get out of my kitchen!"

I looked in her eyes, preparing to beg, but I saw that her face had flushed blood red. I swallowed my plea and walked toward my bedroom. Halfway down the hall, and forgetting for a moment that every mother possessed supersonic hearing, I uttered in the tiniest of whispers, "Shut. Up." A banshee wail rose up from the kitchen. As Mrs. Firecracker sprinted away after her devil child, she shrieked at the top of her lungs, "I HEARD THAT!"

She caught me in the hallway, left hand grabbing the front of my shirt, and CRACK! the first blow of her right hand landed across my face. Already crying, I sputtered, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." WHACK! went the second blow as her hand crossed my face in the opposite direction. CRACK! came another, and WHACK! CRUNCH! as the return trip was made (that last blow included the sound of my nose breaking). The succession of additional blows were peppered with future instructions, "Don't" CRACK! "You" WHACK! "EVER" CRACK! "Tell" Blood-splattering WHACK! "ME" Blood-splattering CRACK! "To" Blood-splattering WHACK! "Shut" Blood-splattering CRACK! "Up!" Blood-splattering WHACK! "Do you understand me," Blood-splattering CRACK! "Little Mister?" "Do you?!"

Blood gushing, tears streaming, I whimpered an answer to her last question, "Unh hunh." Her eyes unglazed for a moment, and then her face flushed red again. Mrs. Firecracker grabbed my shirt in both hands and proceeded to shake, wailing, "Look at what you've made me do! I'm trying to finish a wedding cake!" Once the shaking stopped, she dragged me into her bedroom and forced me down on my knees at the foot of her bed. Oblivious to the bloody mess I was now making on her bedspread, she knelt down beside me and instructed me to pray for forgiveness. "Ask the Lord to forgive you for making me lose my temper, and ask Him for forgiveness for ruining my wedding cake."

Even then, a bloody mess at the foot of my mother's bed, I found humor in this situation. I knew better than to laugh, and calculated that in order to end this episode, I needed to do what she asked, but thought to myself, "I'm supposed to ask forgiveness for YOU losing YOUR temper? I don't think it works that way." Not confident in my ability to create a fresh prayer on the fly, I resorted to a modified version of the old standby. "Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name..." I prayed, in the accent provided by my newly arranged nasal passages. I finished the prayer with, "Please forgive Mom for losing her temper and ruining her cake, amen." Mrs. Firecracker stood up and inhaled deeply through her fully functioning nasal passages. "Get a bucket and clean up this mess," she instructed. "I've got to finish my wedding cake." She straightened her back and marched back to the Land o' Wilton.

I soaked a washcloth in cold water and laid down on my back on the bathroom floor, waiting for the nosebleed to stop. Whether from shock or not, I'll never know, but once I was erasing the evidence of my beating, I couldn't stop laughing. Thank the Good Lord, she either turned off her supersonic hearing or ignored my laughter while she finished her Crisco and powdered sugar creation.

When Mr. Gypsy Feet arrived that night, he got the rundown on the afternoon events, and proceeded to remind me, "You should know better than to make Mother angry." As he placed a tea towel over the terrified face of his youngest son, he repeated the ever popular statement, "We can't afford another trip to the doctor." He gripped the back of my head and grunted, pressing the tea towel on the bridge of my nose, "It should just... POP! into place." "There... all better now," he congratulated himself on his back woods medical skill. I ran back to the bathroom... another cold compress was in order.

For supper that night, nothing less than insult was added to injury. "It's good for your blood," she pronounced, as Mrs. Firecracker served up my least favorite meal, liver and onions with lima beans. She grinned broadly at her success in getting my goat... perhaps she hadn't turned off her supersonic hearing after all. My post-traumatic laughter had not gone unnoticed. I decided over liver and lima beans that I no longer had any choice. I would have to deploy my secret weapon. That night, I penned a letter to none other than the greatest of supermen, Uncle Hero (more on that in a future installment).

Puck to the Rescue

The next morning, and for the next few weeks, Lurry's raccoon eyes garnered him an extraordinary amount of Puck's attention. Upon sight of his school mate's face, Puck exclaimed, "Little Buddy! What happened? Are you all right? Who did this to you? Did someone pick on you? Who is it? I'll beat the shit outta him!" Puck's questions came so fast, I couldn't respond to them all. I cherry-picked and answered, half-chuckling, "Nobody beat me up. I told my mother to shut up and she broke my nose." Puck held me at arm's length, surveyed my face again, and burst out laughing. "Little Buddy, that's the bravest thing I've ever heard!" He pulled me into an embrace, and whispered in my ear, "If I ever told my mother to shut up, my father would..." and his voice trailed off. Puck's embrace said more than I believe he intended. Puck was no stranger to a harsh beating. "Never mind that," Puck continued. "I'll watch out for you, Little Buddy."

During daylight hours and true to his word, Puck never let his "Little Buddy" out of sight. This tall Viking walked with me to school, he saved a place for me at his lunch table, he insisted I stay after school to watch him at baseball practice, and afterward he walked me home. Puck was the antithesis of his brawny peers - they were mean, tough, and threatened - he was funny, strong, and confident. The usual suspects couldn't resist Puck's confidence, and his "Little Buddy" was just the focus they needed to call him out. In answer to each challenge, Puck stood his ground, gave fair warning, and proceeded to pound the aggressor. Puck sometimes walked away bloodied, but he always walked away a champion.

Nuclear Meltdown

Spring was losing her blush, but before relinquishing her crown, she decided she would drench the Testosterone Forest in tears. Rain fell for two solid weeks, and lacking outdoor time, the pack dogs were going crazy. One of those rainy nights, Mrs. Firecracker announced that she needed Mr. Gypsy Feet to take her on a shopping trip. What little was left of the child in Lurry perked up at this announcement, and after supper, Little Lurry snuck out the back door. He squirreled himself away in The Precious, thinking to surprise his parental units and accompany them on the shopping excursion.

The scheme didn't go off as planned however, as I waited 10 minutes, then 20 minutes, then a half-hour, and still no one else came to the car. I was determined to wait it out, and out of boredom started looking for change under the car seats. With my left hand, I reached under the driver's seat and felt something in a crisp paper bag. I pulled out the bag, and examined the contents. It was getting dark and I couldn't make out the exact words, but it was a vinyl LP entitled something something Love Songs. Thinking I was spoiling a surprise that had been purchased for Mrs. Firecracker, I slipped the LP back into the bag and put it back where I found it. I waited another 10 minutes, but gave up and went back into the house.

I was so crestfallen that my scheme hadn't been successful, I decided that I would at least confess my idea and get a laugh out of the story. That idea quickly dissipated as I entered a house where the atmosphere could have been cut with a knife. Mrs. Firecracker and Mr. Gypsy Feet had obviously been having words, and were well into a stiff-lipped stare down. "I'm bored. Can we play a game?" whined Younger Sister. "No," came Mrs. Firecracker's curt response. "Can we watch TV?" asked Next-Older Brother. "No. It's bedtime. Go to bed," responded Mr. Gypsy Feet. (It was 7 o'clock on a Saturday night... not even bad kids were sent to bed at 7 on a Saturday night.)

I looked at Oldest Brother, who was shaking his head, trying in vain to get his siblings to button their lips and let the storm blow over. I foolishly ignored his instruction and awkwardly blurted out, "Can we at least listen to Mom's new record album?" "What new album, Honey?" asked Mrs. Firecracker, never once breaking her stare into Mr. Gypsy Feet's eyes. "Something something Love Songs," I replied. "It's in Dad's car, under the front seat."

Mr. Gypsy Feet blinked, and in that moment his fate was sealed. "You RAT! How could you?" asked Mrs. Firecracker, as she stood up and started for her bedroom. "But, but, Honey," Mr. Gypsy feet muttered, stumbling for his next words. "That album IS for you, Honey," he proclaimed, desperately wanting her to believe his lie. Mrs. Firecracker stopped dead in her tracks, and spun around. Four Munchkins stood, watching in horror as the last of their mother's sanity drained from her face. Mrs. Firecracker let out what was all at once a screech, a wail, and a cry, "YOU ARE THE PRINCE OF LIES! THAT RECORD IS NOT FOR ME!"

From that point, the interaction only degraded. Mr. Gypsy Feet ran after Mrs. Firecracker, pleading with her to open the bedroom door. Oldest Brother announced that the Munchkins should go to bed. We all looked at each other and agreed. We had lived through many a long argumentative night, but this one felt different. Our suspicions were confirmed, but not until the following day. We awoke the next morning to be told by Mr. Gypsy Feet that Mrs. Firecracker had suffered "a breakdown" and that she would be in the hospital for the next several days.

Puck to the Rescue, Again

It might seem odd, but Mrs. Firecracker's hospital stay - which was not several days, but 4 weeks - was a bit of a relief. Mr. Gypsy Feet stayed busy with whatever kept him busy, and the Munchkins had friends and pseudo-adoptive families more than willing to take us in for a night or two at a time. Once the rain abated, Puck seized the opportunity to create a wolf pack camping club, and pitched a large tent in his back yard. He secured his mother's permission, and invited several sixth grade compatriots for a sleepover. Many a sixth grader enjoyed his first sword fight and romped naked as a jaybird in Puck's Magical Tent. Being around Puck made boys lose their inhibitions, and, while not the most accurate of teachers, Puck dispensed knowledge that none of us yet possessed.

Almost 40 years later, I still laugh at the "knowledge" that Puck shared in the Magical Tent. I'd say eighty percent of his information was accurate, but he totally missed the mark on the remaining twenty percent. I'll spare my readers the details of Puck's teachings, but I'll remind you that we were all pubescent and under-informed boys.

Puck didn't need to exercise his influence to get the wolf pack to double-up in sleeping bags. We lived on the Eastern Slope of the Colorado Rockies... even in late spring, it got really, really cold at night. No surprise, Puck crawled into the sleeping bag with his Little Buddy. Buried in that sleeping bag, he put his arm around me, and nuzzled the back of my neck with his nose. I shivered in response, but needed an answer to one more question. I turned my head and whispered my question in Puck's ear. Softly, Puck laughed, but he didn't hesitate. He whispered his answer back. I giggled, but didn't ask any more questions. I nuzzled back up against Puck and slept, content, for the first of many nights in Puck's Magical Tent.

Epilogue: I've told this story before, up to and including the sword fights in Puck's Magical Tent, but I've never told about the question I asked nor Puck's answer. It may seem silly, but I have always considered that exchange to be a secret. In case you're out there, Puck, rest assured... the secret is still safe with me.

A House is not a Home (Part VI)

Welcome back, dear readers. It's been a while since we last visited the house full o' crazy, but there's lots more story to tell. Little Lurry is poised on the Ledge of Puberty - Oldest Brother and Next-Older Brother were already blazing ahead on that trail - and the paper-thin veil of Puritanical Repression is about to be lifted from Little Lurry's eyes. Let's jump back into the story and see what transpires as Little Lurry wakes up from the daze of losing his Princely Companion.

I woke up to the harsh smell of ammonia - smelling salts would have been a luxury for this Circus Troupe - Mrs. Firecracker had soaked a dishrag in household ammonia and held it up to my nose. "Now get up and stop acting silly," Mrs. Firecracker said. "Go outside and play so I can finish getting supper ready for your father." (Supper, as it was known in our world, was apparently only prepared to appease the beast known as The Man of the House.)

I didn't often disobey Mrs. Firecracker, but she had just announced that she had murdered my canine companion. I walked off in a daze toward the Tallywhacker Brothers' bedroom, sobbing over Prince's untimely demise. In a flash of Irish Anger, Mrs. Firecracker came up behind me, seized my collar, dragged me to the back door, and pushed me into the back yard. Her next shrill words still echo in my head... "Don't you EVER disobey me! I said, 'GO OUTSIDE!' He was JUST A DOG!" Just a dog... just a dog... just a dog.

Weeks passed, and Little Lurry went through the motions of Sixth Grade life. Up in the morning, off to school. At every opportunity, he squirreled himself away from his school and neighborhood companions, embracing only the solace of books. At last, and unannounced, numbness to pain arrived, and Little Lurry regained full consciousness. He rejoined the Land of the Living, once again romping with Puck and the boys. From that day forward, however, no dog ever came within 20 paces of Little Lurry who did not receive an adoring nuzzle.

Once Little Lurry was back into full swing, it was time for Oldest Brother and Next-Older Brother to stir up fresh trouble... the pair of Junior High School gymnasts decided that the low roof of the midnight blue and white was the perfect launching point for Blue-Eyed Lefty's gymnastic career. Little did they know (or care) that their youngest brother went jelly-legged at heights above 6 feet. Once each, they demonstrated the roof-jumping feat, cajoled Puck and his younger brother to do the same, and the four of them dared Little Lurry to scale the height and do the same. (Side note: One might see where this story is going, and one might think that Little Lurry would have learned not to take future dares. One would be wrong, as one will learn in The Further Adventures of LurryDean.)

Little Lurry surveyed the height from which his compatriots had recently jumped, and from the ground, it didn't appear too intimidating. From the roof, however, the landing point looked perilously far down and away. Little Lurry got the jelly legs and backed away from the roof ledge, wanting desperately for the feel of solid ground. This just upped the ante, Next-Older Brother saying, "Don't be afraid. Watch me. I'll do it again," and he leapt fearlessly to the ground. It certainly seemed easy when Next-Older Brother did it, so I edged forward and steeled myself for the jump. I must have stalled a fraction of a second too long, because a reassuring hand moved from my shoulder to my back and a little shove sealed the deal.

No surprise, I flailed to the ground, landed wrong, my right ankle taking the brunt of the impact. Puck, his younger brother, and Oldest Brother simultaneously landed like flighted superheroes, and I was lifted to my feet by the Germanic Puck. He lifted my right arm over his shoulder, reached around me with his left, and steadied me, his right hand on my chest. Dazed, I heard Oldest Brother ask, "You're not gonna tell Mom, are you?" Next-Older Brother said, "You should have rolled like I showed you." And Puck's younger brother said, "I'm going home, Puck." These voices were background noise. I looked into the icy-blue stare of Puck as he asked, "Are you all right?" "Let me help you, Little Buddy" he said, walking me slowly to the covered patio.

Oldest Brother and Next-Older Brother bounded off, in a failed attempt to intercept Puck's little brother. Puck navigated me to a chair, gently unlaced my shoe and removed the shoe and sock. Knelt down and holding my swelling ankle, he looked up at me. A tear welled in his eye and rolled down his cheek. He slowly laid my leg back on the ottoman, and attempted to regain his composure. I was sure he was going to run off after the others, but he took two steps forward and brought my head to his chest, stroked my hair, and reassured me, "You're going to be okay, Little Buddy. You're going to be okay."

Puck's mother shattered onto the scene, trailed by her youngest son and my two older brothers. "What's going on, Puck? Is he hurt?" she asked. "Boys, where's your mother?" she asked Oldest Brother and Next-Older Brother. "At work, but she should be home soon," they replied. "Puck, get me some ice and a towel," she instructed her oldest son.

Puck went into the house with Oldest Brother to fetch ice, but only Puck returned. Oldest Brother had heard the arrival of Mrs. Firecracker and headed out front to slow her approach. Ever the diplomat, Oldest Brother thought that an explanation would help Mrs. Firecracker remain calm, but no dice. She burst out the back door, surveyed the scene and announced that she would "take it from here." Seeing the sparks in Mrs. Firecracker's eyes, Puck's mom gathered up her boys and exited, stage left.

"Boys, get your brother loaded into the car," Mrs. Firecracker barked at my older brothers. "We can't afford it, but I'm taking him to the hospital for x-rays." The last announcement was for my benefit... "we can't afford it." On the 20-minute drive to the hospital emergency room, I must have heard that phrase a hundred times. Little did she realize it, but oft-repeating her mantra only tempted the god Loki - Mrs. Firecracker would have called him Old Snitch - to plot another wave of mischief.

Upon examination at the emergency room, Doctor Zorders pronounced Little Lurry to be the proud owner of a mildly sprained ankle. Not satisfied with this diagnosis, Mrs. "We Can't Afford It" Firecracker insisted that an x-ray be taken. She didn't want a break to go unnoticed and "fester" (one of her favorite words), requiring the amputation of Little Lurry's leg. (Let it be noted that Mrs. Firecracker foresaw a future in which spider bites and other minor injuries could only conclude in the bleakest of outcomes - the loss of an appendage. To this day, I see Black Widow spiders and I shudder.)

Loki guided Doctor Zorders' hand as he dutifully wrote up a prescription for an x-ray of Little Lurry's right arm. You heard it right, kids. Right arm, not right ankle. As Lurry was wheeled into the x-ray chambers, Loki averted the x-ray tech's eyes from Lurry's clinically wrapped right ankle, the pair of crutches across the arms of his wheelchair, and the tech proceeded to x-ray Lurry's right arm. I was puzzled, but rationalized that they were checking up on the famed magical Monkey Paw. Needless to say, my arm was pronounced completely healed... a miracle! After Doctor Zorders enjoyed a blistering Round 2 with Mrs. Firecracker, Little Lurry visited the x-ray chambers again, confirming that indeed his ankle was simply sprained and not broken. As I recall, I used the crutches for one day before they were no longer necessary.

Stay tuned, kids... there's more to come in the next installment, which can only be entitled "What the Puck?" Look for another tale in The Adventures of LurryDean soon.

A House is not a Home (Part V)

In our last episode, the Munchkins were set up to serve the remainder of the summer as unwitting cover while Mr. Gypsy Feet practiced spinning cotton candy with the college dean's wife, Mrs. Big Dallas Hair. Little Lurry still had some growing up to do... he was oblivious to the purpose of Mr. Gypsy Feet's use of the Munchkins, and trouble is brewing on the horizon. These next couple of episodes are much harder to write, but we need to get through them and over to the other side. Swan dive into the pensieve anyone?

True to his word, Mr. Gypsy Feet moved the Circus Troupe for a fourth time since he "got religion," this time to a midnight blue and white, L-shaped ranch house. (Considering how often we moved, one would suspect that Mr. Gypsy Feet was in a witness protection program.) This new house was so close to the last that (for once) the Munchkins didn't have to change schools, and wonder of wonders, one of Lurry's best friends lived down the end of our block! This was bonus, as I didn't lose all my friends and have to seek a replacement set.

The latest move proved to be a mixture of good and bad in other ways. At the prior house, my canine companion's living quarters were in the back yard, behind a 6-foot wooden plank fence. Neighborhood goons would ride their bikes along the sidewalk and rake a stick down the fence, driving my poor guy crazy. At the blue and white ranch, the back yard was fenced by chain link, so at least my guy could see what was happening around him. Therein, however, lay the rub...

Across the alley behind the blue and white, our neighbors raised rabbits. And by neighbors, I mean cold-blooded butchers. These cruel fucks used to demonstrate their lack of humanity with a machete. One of the butchers would reach into the rabbit warren, pull a rabbit out by the ears, and hack at the poor animal's neck 'til it died. I witnessed the butchery numerous times, as my guy would sound the alarm at the first of the rabbit screams. I would run to Prince and let him escape into the blue and white's enclosed porch. Safe with his human companion, we both learned to shut out the screams and the horror.

I petitioned both Mrs. Firecracker and Mr. Gypsy Feet, in an effort to get them to do something, anything about the butchers across the alley, but neither would budge. They both agreed that the behavior was cruel, but they parroted one of their favorite church mantras, "It's not our place to judge." Mrs. Firecracker recommended that I pray to the Lord to intervene. Increasingly, this was Mrs. Firecracker's answer to any adverse situation. Jesus was her invisible companion, and the Munchkins were instructed to behave as if He was always in the room. Well, if Jesus was always in the room, the next year was going to prove one hell of an eye-opener.

This new neighborhood was heavily populated with two magnificent creatures... athletic boys and their canine companions. Oldest Brother had a school mate who lived three houses up and across the street, and Oldest Brother's mate had a younger brother and a Retriever. Next-Older Brother had a school mate who lived two houses down on our side of the street, and Next Older Brother's mate added an older brother, an English Terrier, and a Chihuahua to the party. My school mate, a Germanic blond we'll call Puck, lived at the end of the block and across the street, and he had a younger brother and a German Shepherd that were added to the bubbling cauldron. It was a magical summer in the Testosterone Forest, where every boy had a brother, and every brother had a dog.

On any given summer day, the Testosterone Forest teemed with 9 skateboarding boys and their 5 cheerleading dogs; on the next, 9 foot-racing boys and their 5 pace-setting dogs; and the next, 9 baseball-playing boys and 5 baseball-stealing dogs. Under joint leadership of the family gymnasts, Oldest Brother and Next-Older Brother, the neighborhood gang foot-raced, long-jumped, back-flipped, and skateboarded our way through the Summer of '71. Younger Sister ran with a similar pack of young Amazons, but during daylight hours, our worlds seldom overlapped.

As Summer transitioned into Fall, things became less friendly between the parental units. Mr. Gypsy Feet began to disappear for hours at a time and did not account for his absences. Mrs. Firecracker suspected he was up to something, and their dinner conversations often degraded into heated, closed-door arguments. Not surprisingly, Mr. Gypsy Feet suggested that Mrs. Firecracker needed to "get out more often," and he encouraged her to find a hobby or re-enter the workforce. Since the Munchkins were back in school, and Oldest Brother was deemed old enough to babysit, Mrs. Firecracker did both -- she enrolled in a cake decorating class and took a part-time job.

It seemed to happen overnight, but life at home was no longer fun. The change in Mrs. Firecracker's routine did little to divert her attention from Mr. Gypsy Feet's mysterious disappearances, and when they encountered each other, they argued much more frequently. Unprepared as we were to understand these adult issues, each of the Munchkins engaged one or more psychological self-defense mechanisms. Boyhood Lurry employed obfuscation, pretending that the arguments weren't happening. I immersed myself in school homework, I voraciously read escapist fiction, and at night I sought refuge with my dog, in a sleeping bag far away from the sound of my parents' voices.

The fact that I found refuge in Prince's company did not escape the notice of Mrs. Firecracker. Many an early morning, I was awoken with, "It's not natural to sleep with the dog. Now put the sleeping bag away and put that dog outside!" One day, I mistakenly defended the comfort of my Prince, and was told through clenched teeth, "Put. That. Dog. Outside... or he won't live to see another Sunday!" The fiery look in Mrs. Firecracker's eyes would have toasted bread at twenty paces. I obeyed her command, and escorted my friend to the back yard. I explained to my sweet Prince that Mrs. Firecracker hadn't been herself lately, and promised that things would be better soon.

The day before Halloween was a Saturday that year, and in this new neighborhood, extraordinary mischief took place on what was known as Beggars' Night. Teenagers went Trick or Treating the night before Halloween, and if they weren't rewarded with treats, they threw raw eggs at cars and houses up and down the block. On Sunday morning, Mr. Gypsy Feet discovered that The Precious (his gas-guzzling Chrysler) had taken a few cackleberries to the hood. Incensed at the indignity, he hustled the Tallywhacker Brothers out of bed, and instructed them to meet him in the alley. In order to preserve her paint job, we were to hand wash The Precious before Sunday church services.

With car washing implements and buckets of lukewarm soapy water, Oldest Brother, Next-Older Brother, and I trudged out the back door, across the back yard, and into the alley. As Mr. Gypsy Feet drove up the alley, we pointed out that three bicycles had been stripped of wheels and gears -- the carcasses discarded in our alley for us to discover. The day was destined to progress from bad to worse. Mr. Gypsy Feet hopped the fence to go bark orders at Mrs. Firecracker. "I want the Sheriff here, and I want him here now!" he shouted at her through the back door. My Prince was convinced that all the activity indicated playtime, and stealing a car wash sponge, he began to run around the yard. He begged his boy to join in the chase.

As one might imagine, an investigation surrounding 3 stolen and stripped bicycles was not high on the county sheriff's weekend agenda. Mr. Gypsy Feet grumbled to himself as he paced up and down the alley, but his rain dance failed to produce the county sheriff. Fuming, he instructed Mrs. Firecracker to stay home with the children and wait for the sheriff -- he and The Precious drove to church alone that Sunday. A stiff-lipped Mrs. Firecracker marched the Munchkins into the living room, unzipped her Holy Bible, and proceeded to home school her congregants on the inherent evil of thieving teenagers and Halloween. "Halloween is a witches' holiday, and good Christians should never celebrate with the Devil," she explained. Behind our older brothers, Younger Sister and I mouthed, "Is she crazy?" to each other as Mrs. Firecracker quoted Exodus from her pebbled, white leather King James version of the Holy Word. "Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live."

I heard a sharp yelp from the back yard. Prince's cry had interrupted her bizarre diatribe, but Mrs. Firecracker insisted that we sit still and contemplate this timely information. She would determine what had caused the backyard ruckus and return shortly. As she exited the back door, the Munchkins bolted for the windows at the back of the house. (Mrs. Firecracker didn't know it yet, but the events of the past several months had engendered independent thought in her offspring. Blind obedience was no longer part of the mix.) As we learned by spying from our windows, the sheriff had found it unnecessary to announce his arrival. He had driven his cruiser up the alley and hopped the backyard fence. Confronted by a growling Prince, Sheriff Dickless had demonstrated the extent of his dicklessness. Mrs. Firecracker was informed, "You deal with that dog, or next time it won't be a kick to the ribs, it'll be a bullet from my gun."

Mrs. Firecracker spent another 5 minutes with Sheriff Dickless. They chattered back and forth, he scribbled a few notes in his notebook, and demonstrating his extraordinary dedication to community service, tossed the bicycle frames into our trash bins. The entire episode had been a colossal waste of time. Sheriff Dickless put his fat ass back in the cruiser and sped off in search of his next donut. Four disobedient, but wise youngsters scrambled back to the living room, and struck a duly prayerful posture before Mrs. Firecracker's return. Fortunately for us, Mrs. Firecracker's encounter with Sheriff Dickless had shaken her composure. The Munchkins were released without further penance.

That night, Mr. Gypsy Feet and Mrs. Firecracker had a lot to say to each other, and apparently each thought the other was hard of hearing... the entire extended "conversation" was conducted at 80 decibels. While the argument raged, my siblings and I took turns Trick or Treating and manning the household candy bowl. Someone had to dispense treats to our visiting neighbors. Once the Halloween festivities came to a close, Prince and I snuggled up in my sleeping bag, far away from the angry end of the house.

At school the next day, I was as proud as any other of my Halloween haul. The first school day after Halloween involved the great candy swap -- everyone bartered for their favorite treats, and pity the child who brought candy corn to market.

On my return home, I discovered a hole had been rent in my universe. As always, I walked home from school, hopped the back yard fence, expecting to be greeted by my Prince. This day, no canine friend bounded up to greet me. I entered the back door, and called to my dog, "Pri-i-nce! I'm ho-o-me!"

Mrs. Firecracker was preparing dinner in the kitchen. "He's not here anymore," she said. "What do you mean?" I replied. "We had to put him down. He was a menace to the community. Your father and I took him to animal control today. He's gone," she announced. I looked at her, square in the face, and realized she was telling the truth. She didn't shed a tear. She was stern and unmoved by the news she delivered.

"A year and a half old," I thought to myself as I collapsed... out cold on the kitchen floor.

A House is not a Home (Part IV)

In our last pair of vacation installments, Little Lurry had the pleasure of introducing you to his two Grandmas. Both lovable, powerful women in their own right, but near polar opposites. Well, as all good things, even Great Summer Vacations must come to an end... so let's rejoin the Circus Troupe, wrap up the journey, and see what happens next. Floating gently downward, catch your breath, and into the swirling pensieve we go.

Nearing the end of our 2-week Great Summer Vacation, the Munchkins were instructed to pack their bags for the journey back. Once again, we were to return to the shadow of Pike's Peak. Bags packed, the Munchkins began to board The Precious, but Little Lurry stalled a bit... he had one more task to perform. Grabbing something from his gym bag, he ran up to give Grandma Sweetness another hug. Putting his souvenir desert rose in her hand, he whispered in her ear, "Don't forget about me." Grandma Sweetness examined the treasure in her hand, and struggling to hold back a tear, kissed Little Lurry's cheek, and whispered back, "Not possible. Now get going before you make this ol' gal break down and cry."

Puppy dog eyes peering out the back window of The Precious, the Munchkins waved goodbye as Mr. Gypsy Feet hit the gas. We zoomed off and out of sight. The Tallywhacker Brothers caught up on some long overdue paperback adventures, and Sister Sue busied herself braiding Skipper's hair. In order to collapse the return journey into one long stretch, Mr. Gypsy Feet and Mrs. Firecracker took turns with the driving. Given the occasional stop for food, fuel, and bladder relief, we were back in the Conifer and Aspen forests by sun up the following day.

Thinking we had arrived back at the half-brick house on a hill, the Munchkins rubbed their sleepy eyes, stretched, yawned, and did a cartoon-like double take. We weren't in the shadow of Pike's Peak, but rolling down a gravel drive toward an unfamiliar A-frame in the mountains. Could it be that the Great Summer Vacation hadn't ended? Mrs. Firecracker announced that the vacation of a thousand relations would not be complete until we had met one more set of cousins. As we pulled to a stop and popped out of all four doors, Mrs. Firecracker rushed up the wooden stairs and into the embrace of a black-haired beauty, an unmistakable daughter of Grandma Annie Oakley.

Aunt Beauty, the first of Grandma Annie Oakley's offspring, and her tall cowboy, Uncle Lumberjack, gave big hugs to the Munchkins, and escorted the Circus Troupe into their mountain home. Uncle Lumberjack offered juice and coffee all around, while Aunt Beauty went back to the front door, put her thumb and middle finger to her lips, gave a sharp whistle, and barked one word, "Nick!" Within seconds, a magnificent, short-cropped, black Standard poodle bounded up onto the landing and into Aunt Beauty's home. One by one, he lifted his paws to let Aunt Beauty wipe his feet, and then paraded through the house to greet each of the new arrivals.

Smelling breakfast, Aunt Beauty's three pajama-clad and curly, black-haired progeny made their way downstairs and we were introduced - Cousin Beauty Junior - the college-bound spitting image of her mother, Cousin Quarterback - a broad-shouldered high school athlete whose smile reminded me of Uncle Hero, and Cousin Tomboy - the baby of the brood and apple of her Daddy's eye. Apparently, inclusion in this happy family came with a uniform, jet black, curly hair and a smile as wide as the Grand Canyon.

Cousin Quarterback took the Munchkins out for a hike after breakfast, and we trekked up one side and down the other of Aunt Beauty's mountain. Curly Nick was our constant companion, assisting Cousin Quarterback with the shepherding duty. We returned to the A-frame in the afternoon, and the stopover ended as quickly as it had begun... Mr. Gypsy Feet was itching to hit the road again. The Munchkins said goodbye to another set of cousins, and once again piled aboard The Precious.

On this last leg of the Great Summer Vacation, Little Lurry pondered the wealth of relations he had encountered in these last two weeks. It seemed strange that we lived so close to Aunt Beauty, but until that stopover, I never even knew that she had a husband and children. I wondered why, if Uncle Hero had settled so close to where we lived, that we hadn't heard of his arrival. These thoughts rolled over in my head until I remembered, less than an hour to go, and I was going to be reunited with my sweet dog Prince! I missed my little friend - I couldn't believe I had been away from him for two whole weeks - but I knew he'd been treated well... "Uncle" Eugene was on the case.

We made a quick stop on the way into town, picked up my canine friend, thanked Uncle Eugene for the assist, and headed back to the half-brick house on a hill. We pulled our cargo from the trunk of The Precious, and the Munchkins busied themselves sorting out things to be washed and treasures to be hidden. Mr. Gypsy Feet announced that he was going out to bring home dinner, and that he wanted to "speak to us all" at dinner that night. On that ominous note, he left to hunt up a bucket of fried chicken and a bag full of biscuits. Younger Sister helped Mrs. Firecracker set the table for dinner, Oldest Brother and Next-Older Brother took the opportunity to go read for a while, and Little Lurry spent the next hour telling Prince all about his Great Summer Adventures.

Mr. Gypsy Feet returned with dinner, and we gathered around the table for a fervent and long-winded prayer over the meal, delivered by the Reverend-in-training. Mr. Gypsy Feet had two messages to deliver over dinner. First, since the Munchkins were now "so grown up," he believed that we should all start learning how to earn a living. Sister Sue was informed that she would begin earning her keep as a babysitter, and the Tallywhacker Brothers were to be hired out on lawn service detail. "You mean, we're going to do what we've done every Summer, but get paid for it now?" thought Little Lurry. Secondly, and Mr. Gypsy Feet braced himself to deliver this piece of news, "We have one week to pack the house. We're moving to a new home next weekend."

I believe Mr. Gypsy Feet expected a more emotional reaction to his news. The best he got was a semi-snarky, "Where to this time?" from Oldest Brother. Once Mr. Gypsy Feet realized that no one was phased by the announcement, he mumbled a reply to Oldest Brother, "Four or five blocks away from here. You won't even have to change schools this time." Then, recovering a bit, "Oh, and you'll start your new Summer jobs tomorrow. The College Dean has hired you to babysit his children, mow his lawn, do the edging, and dig dandelions. That's one job for each of you." Younger Sister and I looked across the table at each other... "Tomorrow?" we mouthed at each other. The rest of the night was gone before we knew it, and the Munchkins jumped into beds and dreamt of our vacation adventures.

Early that next morning, Mr. Gypsy Feet repeated his favorite wake up stunt. "Up and at 'em!" he shouted, flipped on the bedroom lights, and whipped the covers off our beds. "Time's a wasting," he announced. "We've got to be at the Dean's house by 8:30." Mrs. Firecracker was in the kitchen, making waffles for breakfast. By the time the entire Circus Troupe had eaten, washed up, brushed teeth, and dressed, the clock was showing nearly 8:00. "C'mon kids, we don't want to be late," said Mr. Gypsy Feet. The Munchkins trailed after their father, and hopped aboard The Precious.

It was a lengthy drive across town, and we pulled into the Dean's driveway, just as the Dean was pulling his Cadillac out of the garage. Mr. Gypsy Feet paraded the Munchkins over for a round of introductions. The Dean leaned out of his window to shake hands with each of us, being careful not to muss his Preacher's Pompadour. That chore completed, the Dean put his Cadillac in reverse, backed out of the drive, and sped off into the distance. Mr. Gypsy Feet turned to us, and with a stern look said, "Now, all of you, be on your best behavior. You're here to do a job. No monkeyshines." With that we were marched up to the front door, Mr. Gypsy Feet rang the doorbell, and we were introduced to Mrs. Big Dallas Hair.

Mrs. Big Dallas Hair invited the Munchkins into her expansive home. We were quickly escorted past a large formal living room, a huge kitchen, and down a flight of stairs, to a room as big as a dance hall. This was the "family room" in which Younger Sister was to babysit the children. "There will be no need for the children to go upstairs," explained Mrs. Big Dallas Hair. "If they need anything, there's a refrigerator over here, and a restroom down the hall. All of their toys are in storage bins in the family room."

The Tallywhacker Brothers were swept out the sliding glass doors, onto the back patio, and out to a shed as big as a garage. "Here is where you'll find all the lawn maintenance doo dads," said Mrs. Big Dallas Hair. Next-Older Brother put his hand over his eyes, looked out over the rolling, grassy hills and asked, "Which yard is yours?" "Why, all of it, silly!" Mrs. Big Dallas Hair replied. "And if you do a good job on the lawn, you'll earn five dollars. You can split the money among yourselves any way you like." Oldest Brother, Next-Older Brother, and I looked at each other, and a silent thought crossed all of our minds... this was going to take all day.

Mr. Gypsy Feet and Mrs. Big Dallas Hair went back into the mansion, while the Tallywhacker Brothers got to work. An hour or so later, we went back up to the house to ask for something to drink, and Younger Sister informed us that Mrs. Big Dallas Hair had left a pitcher of lemonade in the "family room" refrigerator. Younger Sister had been given strict instructions that we were not to come into the house, as we were sure to track grass and mud on the carpet. She would bring us each a glass of lemonade, but we were to stay out on the patio.

We never thought we'd see the end to the College Dean's lawn, but after several hours, it was finally complete. We put away the equipment, closed up the shed, and headed back up to the house to announce completion of the job. Younger Sister, playing the indoor monkey to the hilt, brought each of us a sandwich, and explained that Mr. Gypsy Feet and Mrs. Big Dallas Hair had "gone out for coffee," and that we were to wait for Mr. Gypsy Feet on the back patio. We had no other choice - forbidden to enter the house - we waited. And waited. And waited some more.

Eventually, Mother Nature called to the Tallywhacker Brothers. Oldest Brother announced that, since we couldn't go into the house, he was going to have to find someplace to pee. Next-Older Brother and I followed our older sibling to the back side of the shed, and we finally found relief. I could tell my older brothers were upset with the wait, but Next-Older Brother decided to spell out his frustration. Rather than relieving himself discretely at the base of a shrub, Next-Older Brother began peeing his name across the side of College Dean's shed. Older Brother and I looked on in shock, but within seconds, all three of us had the giggles, and we all started writing words across the shed. With that out of our systems, we headed back up to the patio to wait. And wait. And wait.

Finally, at mid-afternoon, Mr. Gypsy Feet came around the side of the College Dean's home, and announced that he would need to inspect the quality of the Tallywhacker Brothers' lawn maintenance skills. He marched the three of us around the grounds for a cursory inspection, made note of a few areas that did not pass muster, and instructed us that we'd have to do a better job next week. We walked back up to the patio, where Mrs. Big Dallas Hair waited to present Oldest Brother with a crisp five dollar bill, and she turned and counted out two dollars and fifty cents to Younger Sister. "Fifty cents per hour. Those are pretty good wages," she announced.

"We'll see you again next Saturday," said Mr. Gypsy Feet, and he turned to march his brood around the side of the house, up the hill, and back aboard The Precious. Back to the half-brick house on a hill we drove. After all, we still had a house to pack for the move next week.

Epilogue: If you're beginning to smell something fishy, dear Readers, you should. We have just gotten a whiff of one of Mr. Gypsy Feet's old habits... and this particular Ghost of Christmas Past is named Carousing. Plenty more to come in future episodes... stay tuned.

A Tale of Two Grandmas (Part II)

When last we left the Circus Troupe, three glorious days had just been spent in the company of Grandma Annie Oakley, three Cowboy Uncles, an Aunt, and an Aunt-to-be. The family of 6 was now speeding off, preparing to ascend and cut across the Rockies in The Precious. One Grandma down, one to go on this Great Summer Vacation.

Not one to backtrack for an easier route, Mr. Gypsy Feet pointed The Precious at the Grand Tetons and never looked back. The Precious had already proven her mettle by scaling Pike's Peak. Why should she not cut across the mountain pass South of the Grand Bazooms? Fortunately, a Land Dolphin escort to the base of the range, the power of 8 cylinders, frequent oil changes, and a new air filter got The Precious where she needed to go.

At a late lunch stopover, the Tallywhacker Brothers got to put their waffle stompers to good use, and bits of obsidian were added to the treasure hoard. Both moose and American Bison were added to the mental roster of wildlife. Mrs. Firecracker and Sister Sue gathered handfuls of Indian Paintbrush, which was used to tickle the noses of anyone who threatened to doze off before nightfall. Back in the Chrysler and the Troupe was off like a shot for the Land of Potatoes, with four pairs of young eyes turning 'round to witness a sunset painted on the canvas of the Cathedral Group.

As the Chrysler's engine droned, she slowly rocked her passengers back and forth on the Rocky Mountain passes and down onto the Snake River Plain. Soon not even the threat of a nose tickle was enough to keep the Munchkins awake. I drooled onto my pillow, dreaming of Soaring Antelope Herds and a stately Danish Duke. Mr. Gypsy Feet tried to talk Mrs. Firecracker into taking the wheel so that he could catch 40 winks, but no dice... Mrs. Firecracker was as tired as the Munchkins. I don't know how she did it, but Mrs. Firecracker convinced Mr. Gypsy Feet to consummate the rarest of acts, crack open his wallet and drop a few bucks on a pair of adjoining motel rooms.

Ever the tightest of skin flints, Mr. Gypsy Feet bypassed all reputable establishments in favor of a no-name Mom and Pop Motel, where the bathrooms were so filthy, Mrs. Firecracker had to crack out her trusty container of Comet. She scrubbed the bathtubs and toilets, making them fit for human occupation. Mrs. Firecracker eyed the beds askance, and decided that sleeping bags on top of the beds was the only way to go. We dined on four hot dogs, cut in slices, and dropped into a steaming pot of pork and beans. Little Lurry zipped himself up in his sleeping bag, trying hard not to dream about spider-webbed bathrooms.

Morning came soon enough, and the sun chased away any remaining nightmares. Teeth were brushed out of doors, using distilled water... Mrs. Firecracker didn't trust what might have come out of the spigots at the Bates Motel. While Mr. Gypsy Feet returned the room keys, the Munchkins rolled the sleeping bags, and we piled back in to The Precious. A quick stop for coffee and donuts - believe it or not, coffee was regularly dispensed to pre-pubescent Munchkins - and we were off.

Before arriving at Grandma's house, one last stop in Potato Land - time to visit with the oldest of Mr. Gypsy Feet's siblings and fellow minister of the Church of the Poisoned Mind, Uncle Billy Goat Gruff. The Reverend Uncle Billy Goat Gruff was a tall drink of water, made in the spitting image of his father, but more domineering, and with a vastly more grumpy attitude. An early lunch was prepared by Uncle's wife and personal servant, Aunt Mouse. The Munchkins ate bologna sandwiches on Wonder-brand white with Miracle Whip (blech!) in the company of the Billy Goat's progeny, Cousin Ichabod Neckbone, Cousin Mouse Junior, and Cousin Princess Stepford. The two older cousins were nice enough, but so much older than the Munchkins that we had nothing in common. We were forced to play audience to the Über-Christian Kool-Aid Drinker, Cousin Princess Stepford. We suffered an hour in the company of the Princess, listening to her blather about the joys of attending Uncle Billy Goat Gruff's church, how much she loved to sing church hymns, and how her Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, had changed her life. I couldn't have been happier, when Mr. Gypsy Feet and Mrs. Firecracker announced that it was time to get back on the road. We were sprung from the cloying, cotton candy clutches of Cousin Princess Stepford, she of the faraway-looking and glassy eyes.

We hopped back aboard The Precious, and before we knew it, pulled in to the drive of a familiar three-story, white Victorian - not a mansion, but large - built in a farm house-style, with large center fireplace and a wraparound porch. Spying amok-running cousins in the yard, the Munchkins burst from The Precious to join in the hi-jinkery. Mr. Gypsy Feet and Mrs. Firecracker meandered off to the Grandparents' café, seeking an early afternoon cuppa Joe. Upon learning of the Munchkins' arrival, Mr. Gypsy Feet's mother decided that chatter with the grown-ups could wait... better to sprinkle some sunshine on the Grandkids. It's time, dear Readers, let's meet the second Queen of the Chessboard, Grandma Sweetness.

Emerging from the back of the café, Grandma Sweetness squeaked in delight, and captured the two youngest Munchkins in a grandmotherly hug. We had been missing from her life too long, she proclaimed, and declared us to have sprouted like weeds. Oldest Brother and Next-Older Brother ran over to share in the love. Grandma Sweetness feigned no knowledge of these two young gentlemen, but the sparkle in her eyes and wide smile belied the joke. "Come here you two, and give this gal a big ol' hug!" she squeaked at the older Munchkins. Five years away from Grandma Sweetness melted like butter on hotcakes... no grandchild would feel anything but special in her company.

Grandma Sweetness escorted the brood into her inner sanctum, the café prep kitchen. After ensuring that all Monkey hands were washed - she gave Little Lurry the assist, as his plaster-casted wing was not allowed in the water - we were introduced to Grandma's partner in crime. Great Aunt Sidekick and Grandma Sweetness were set up to perform their daily ritual - 100 pies, prepped and baked, 6 days a week, come rain or come shine. Four Monkeys watched in awe as these two got to work, they were like a pair of clock-work mechanical dolls, moving with a grace seldom witnessed. Great Aunt Sidekick played near-silent straight man in this two-woman show, and Grandma Sweetness played the comedic and talkative front man.

As the lunch rush died down in the café, Grandpa Polar Bear left the cook's station, and came back through the prep kitchen. He picked up Younger Sister, she gave him a kiss, and he replied, "Ouch!" This act was repeated two or three times, to Younger Sister's delight, and he set the youngest sibling back on her feet. Three grandsons opened their arms and looked up to give the Polar Bear a hug, but he tousled their hair and kept on walking - Grandpa Polar Bear did not interact with the male grandchildren - possession of the tallywhacker made them somehow less lovable. Seeing the dejected look on her grandsons' faces, Grandma Sweetness said, "Aw... don't mind that grumpy old man. Now that he's gone, let's make ourselves a milkshake." She led the way into the café and over to the ice cream fountain.

Three chocolate milkshakes on the mixer, Grandma Sweetness turned to Little Lurry and asked, "And how about you Little Mister... chocolate?" Spying a bowl of lemons near the iced tea dispenser, Blue-eyed Lefty asked for a lemon instead. "Well, my stars!" exclaimed Grandma Sweetness. "I've never had a grandkid make that request before. Are you sure?" I nodded enthusiastically, and received my reward, a perfect yellow lemon, cut into quarters. In a booth with Grandma Sweetness, the other Munchkins enjoyed their milkshakes, while she and I made lemon rind monkey smiles.

Snacks finished, we were released into the wild of the back yard, to enjoy games of tag with the cousins, and Grandma Sweetness returned to her pie bakery. One of the Elder Cousins snuck the Munchkins into the Grandparents' abode for a little indoor hi-jinkery. We sneaked past a slumbering Grandpa Polar Bear, and Elder Cousin grabbed a strange little box off the table next to the Polar Bear's recliner, and we all gathered around the console TV. Wonder of wonders, this television displayed our familiar shows, but in color! Elder Cousin pressed a thumb to one of the buttons on the little box, and the television channel dial rotated one position. Another two clicks, and Little Lurry witnessed a miracle... Lucille Ball really did have red hair!

The remote control was passed from hand to hand, as each Munchkin wanted to experience this new wonder. After several rotations of the channel dial, the Slumbering Grouch awoke and thundered at the youngsters, "You kids get out of here, and give me that remote! I don't want you breaking my new TV!" Elder Cousin led the charge up the staircase, four Munchkins screaming in hot pursuit. We escaped the white-haired giant, and in the safety of a musty-smelling attic, Elder Cousin took advantage of the already-pounding hearts. He began to tell ghost stories, and he had our rapt attention - we sat in a semi-circle at the feet of our teenaged Elder Cousin - until dinner was called that evening.

After a hearty dinner of chicken-fried steak, mashed potatoes with gravy, and green beans flavored with bacon grease, we helped Grandma Sweetness and the Aunts with the dishes. The large family gathering splintered a bit, with some off to join Grandpa Polar Bear in the living room for television and coffee, while others (including Little Lurry) joined Grandma Sweetness in the dining room for table games. Grandma Sweetness, crossword fanatic extraordinaire, and Little Lurry, Fifth Grade vocabulary and spelling champion, squared off for the start of a week-long Scrabble tourney, while others pursued the elusive five-of-a-kind at Yahtzee. The night wore on, and first Grandpa Polar Bear, then others trundled off to their beds. As yawns escaped from Munchkin mouths, Grandma Sweetness gathered up the stragglers, and made sure everyone was tucked into a fluffy, comfortable bed.

Waking at dawn, Little Lurry checked Younger Sister's room, and finding her awake, the two agreed to let brothers and parents continue sleeping. We crept downstairs, thinking to watch morning cartoons, but heard water running in the kitchen. Deciding that permission to touch the Old Grump's television should be obtained, we went to the kitchen, seeking a dispensation. We found Grandma Sweetness at the kitchen sink, scrubbing at something held in her left hand. We asked if she needed help with the dishes, and her shoulders slumped as she confessed, "You've caught me, Officers." She turned 'round, made a funny face, and held up both of her hands... then, in her familiar squeeze toy voice, squeaked, "I was brushing my teeth!" She held her dentures in one hand, and a large toothbrush in the other. Younger Sister and I belly-laughed with our favorite comic, Grandma Sweetness. She popped in her choppers, gave us both a hug, and reading our minds, said, "Why don't you two go watch TV, and I'll get started on breakfast."

The Munchkins spent the next few days basking in the sunshine of Grandma Sweetness, other relatives came and went that week, but every night, when the table games came out, Little Lurry and Grandma Sweetness continued their Scrabble tounament. Scrabble was the one game that held no sway on the other Munchkins, so playing this crossword-style game was a secret pleasure. In a room surrounded by others, Little Lurry managed alone time with Grandma Sweetness... she was all mine for a few precious hours every night.

On Saturday morning, a change was made in the routine. Mr. Gypsy Feet announced that we should leave before breakfast, and take a ride in The Precious. "Let's do something fun, and drive out to the country this morning," he said, as if hanging with Grandma Sweetness was some kind of chore. During the past week, while the Munchkins played at Grandma's house, Mr. Gypsy Feet and Mrs. Firecracker had been making the rounds, visiting relatives too numerous to mention. This visit, however, required the attention of the entire Circus Troupe... we had cousins to meet on the farm of Mr. Gypsy Feet's younger brother, Uncle Funny Bones.

A short drive to the outskirts of town, onto a dirt road, then in on a long gravel drive, and we arrived at Uncle Funny Bones' farmhouse. The Circus Troupe was welcomed to Farm Funny Bones by a buxom blonde in turquoise shorts and a black t-shirt top, Aunt Blondie. She re-introduced the Munchkins to her pair of blond, curly-headed boys, Heckle and his younger brother, Jeckle - bike-riding cousins we had romped with earlier in the week. Given a large glass bowl and pointed at the strawberry fields, the Munchkins were asked to help Heckle and Jeckle harvest a bowlful of ripe berries to accompany breakfast.

Cousins Heckle and Jeckle gave instruction on how to pick berries considered perfect for breakfast, and demonstrated the sport of pelting each other with over-ripe or half-eaten berries. We crawled like army men, up and down the rows of low-slung strawberry plants, rising occasionally (and at just the right moment) to bean a fellow prairie dog with a mushy red missile. Once the bowl was full, we headed to the barn to fetch Uncle Funny Bones for breakfast.

Uncle Funny Bones was seated on a stool near the ass-end of a cow, fists firmly planted and milking two teats - a part of cow anatomy the Munchkins referred to as "dilly danders." Heckle and Jeckle wisely fell back, as four Munchkins rushed forward exclaiming, "Cool! Can I try that?" Not missing a beat, Uncle Funny Bones turned his head and laughed, asking, "What's the matter kids? Never milked a cow before?" Targets now sighted, Uncle Funny Bones pivoted his torso, angled one fist, and cut a perfect 12-foot arc of warm milk across the faces of Younger Sister and Little Lurry.

Raised on the humor of our Black Irish grandmother, Uncle Funny Bones was the male equivalent of his comedic mother, but he peppered his punch-lines with "colorful" vocabulary. Laughing at his recent milk-prank, he sat each of us down in turn, and trained the Munchkins in the fine art of cow milking. Half an anodized bucket harvested, we set off for our reward, a farmhouse breakfast of country bacon, farm-fresh eggs (fried in bacon drippings, of course), strawberry pancakes, and lukewarm raw milk. No king or queen had or would ever enjoy a feast so fine. Fully carbo-loaded, four Munchkins and their two blond cousins burst out of doors for a day of climbing, running, and jumping. Mr. Gypsy Feet and Mrs. Firecracker spent the remainder of the morning having their Christian ears blistered by Uncle Funny Bones, "blue" jokester and master weaver of the bawdy tale. (And Mr. Gypsy Feet thought the Cowboy Uncles were a bad influence. Hah!)

Back at Grandma's house that afternoon, the Munchkins were each instructed to pack a toothbrush, a sleeping bag, a swimsuit and towel, a change of underwear, and a light jacket for a trip to the mountains on Sunday. Mrs. Firecracker modified her instructions in Little Lurry's case, "No swimsuit and towel for you, Little Mister... I don't want you getting that arm wet." (The past few weeks, Little Lurry had been forced to forego his Saturday bath, instead showering with his arm in a plastic bag. I didn't understand why this remedy wouldn't apply for a swim in the natural pool created by a beaver's dam.) We dutifully lined up our sleeping bags and gym-bags at the base of the stairs, enjoyed another of our Grandmother's country dinners, and after dinner, Little Lurry was introduced to another of Grandma Sweetness' word game addictions, Probe - a hangman-style game, built on a foundation of spelling skills and vocabulary, but seasoned with chance and chicanery. (Ah, chicanery, the delight of two Sneaky Scorpios, Grandma Sweetness and Little Lurry.)

At sunrise the next morning, the Munchkins arose, assuming they would escape church for a second Sunday running. We were, however, brought up short by Mrs. Firecracker, who held three clip-on neckties in one hand, and a jumper dress in the other. Vacation didn't mean forgetting our Preacher's Kid duties, we would at least attend Sunday School, while the grown-ups "enjoyed" a riveting Sunday Morning Bible Study. Even our church-going Grandpa Polar Bear rolled his eyes at that one... he was itching to flex his fly-casting arm, fishing for trout at his favorite mountain retreat. Anxious to advance the morning agenda, the Old Grump pulled a surprise treat out of his hat, and grabbing his key ring, marched out the back door, announcing loudly, "Breakfast at the café this morning!" Squealing with delight, the Munchkins ran off after Grandpa Polar Bear, ducklings in tow behind the White-Haired Giant.

Eight simultaneous servings of scrambled eggs and pigs-in-blankets landed on the pass out bar. Just as Mr. Gypsy Feet took a deep breath, preparing to wax Sunday oratorical over the breakfast blessing, our man of few words, Grandpa Polar Bear, ripped the opportunity out of his son's open mouth. "Dear Lord," thundered the Polar Bear, "Thanks for the grub and the company. Now let's get this over with so Grandpa can do a little fishing. Amen!" Not even whacks to the back of our heads could stifle the giggles of four amazed Munchkins. Grandpa Polar Bear had just gone up a notch in all of our books.

One hour of Sunday School later, clip-on ties and the jumper dress shed, we loaded our gear and hopped aboard Grandpa Polar Bear's pride and joy, an Oldsmobile Delta 88. This whale of a sedan seated eight comfortably, and easily accommodated three suitcases, one overnight case, four sleeping bags, four gym bags, a picnic lunch, and fishing tackle for two in the trunk. The land yacht set sail, and we were off for a meandering drive up the mountain pass. Little Lurry discovered another modern wonder in the belly of this beast, power windows. Up and down, up and down, until Grandpa Polar Bear peed on the fun, locking the windows with his driver's control panel. We took a turn off the paved road, and onto a bumpy dirt road, driving past ranches and dairy farms, slowly progressing up the mountain toward our destination.

The Munchkins received another lesson in animal husbandry, when just across a cattle guard we rolled, mere feet from a herd of grazing Angus. We pressed our noses to the window for a better look, just as a randy bull hiked up onto one of his harem, his red hot poker shooting out to bite her on the backside. As Mrs. Firecracker scrambled to shield our virgin eyes from this sight, Grandma Sweetness diffused the situation, exclaiming in her squeak toy voice, "Well, ain't that a fine 'How do you do?'"

Once at the cabin, three of the Munchkins donned their swim gear, and rushed off to join Cousins Heckle and Jeckle at the pool upstream of little beaver's dam. Little Lurry followed his siblings up the trail to the creek, but was forced to play judge and referee for the Grand Hi-Jinkery Water Games enjoyed by others. Out mid-stream and six inches above the water, on the balance beam of a beaver-felled tree, Little Lurry yelled a countdown, "Three. Two. One. Go!" The five amphibious contestants dove from their perch atop a large, flat rock, and began swimming toward the designated finish line, the tree upon which Little Lurry balanced. Three amphibian paws grabbed the slender goal in quick succession, and the ensuing wobble, caused judge and referee to lose his balance. I fell for what seemed like an eternity, circumstances crossing my mind as I plummeted into the water... no towel, no spare set of clothes, the anger of Mrs. Firecracker for disobeying a direct order, and allowing my cast to get wet... I was a dead man.

I swam to the edge of the pool as quickly as I could, trying to hold my plaster-casted arm up and out of the water. I hefted myself up onto the stream bank, and began sloshing back down the trail toward the cabin. Two brothers and one cousin yelled, "Wait! Where are you going?" "Where do you think? I need to go dry off!" I shouted back. "We need to know who won!" they chimed in mocking unison. I stopped to ponder their self-centered dilemma, but decided to leave them hanging, shouting back in red-faced response, "It was a tie!"

I arrived back at the cabin, a soupy, muddy mess. Mrs. Firecracker spied me first, and pierced my skull with her banshee tongue. No sweet coos of, "Honey... are you okay?" were to be uttered by my mother, but with a whack to the backside at every exclamation point, and bellowing at the top of her lungs, "Young man (whack!)... if you've ruined that cast (whack!), I will personally (whack!) tan (whack!) your (whack!) hide (whack! whack! whack!)"

(So much for the "if you've ruined that cast" part, huh? This is your second clue as to how Mrs. Firecracker earned her nickname. Trust me... there are many more clues to come.)

Grandma Sweetness spared the rod, and grabbed Mrs. Firecracker's hand before the next whack could land. "What do you say we let the boy get dried off, Mrs. Firecracker," suggested Grandma Sweetness. "Good idea," mumbled Mrs. Firecracker, "I'll find him something dry to wear." I peeled off my muddy duds, and stood at the outdoor water pump - no running water in the cabin - rinsing off the river and trail muck. Mrs. Firecracker ducked into the cabin, and returned triumphant, holding Younger Sister's purple pedal pushers and frilly blouse of white eyelet-fabric. "Here, put these on," she instructed the Little Mister. "You can have these back when they're dry." She scooped up my boy clothes, and hung them up near the campfire, all the while wearing a smug Cheshire Cat grin.

Little Lurry glared at Mrs. Firecracker, but he knew how to beat her at this game. All he had to do was sit patiently, and wait for Mr. Gypsy Feet to come witness the cross-dressing drama. I chuckled to myself, and invited Grandma Sweetness to a marathon Scrabble afternoon.

Postscript: Mrs. Firecracker managed to get Little Lurry in drag four times before he hit puberty. Once as an infant in a little pink dress, twice for Halloween in nurse gear and white go-go boots, and this last time in the purple pedal pushers. When Grandpa Polar Bear and Mr. Gypsy Feet returned, she would incur a double argument. Would she never learn?

LurryDean's New Mexico-style Guacamole

Ingredients

• 4 ripe Haas avocados
• 2 limes
• 1/4 of large white onion
• 1 or 2 Serrano chile peppers (finely minced)
• salt (or lite salt) to taste
• 1 tbsp of Penzey's Bold Taco Seasoning (optional)

Preparation

• Using a cheese grater, grate the onion quarter into a large, wide bowl.
• Add minced Serrano chile(s).
• Squeeze the juice of 1 lime over the onion and chile pepper.
• Halve and pit avocados.
• Using a large spoon, scoop flesh from the avocado halves.
• Cube avocado and add to onion/chile/lime mixture.
• Using a pastry cutter or potato masher, mash mixture in the bowl.
• Add juice of the second lime to the mixture, and fold ingredients with a large spoon or spatula.
• Salt to taste (my preference is approx. 1 tsp. of Morton Lite Salt).
• Lately, I've been spicing up the guacamole with 1 tbsp. Penzey's Bold Taco Seasoning (no MSG - a terrific find).
• Transfer to a covered container or covered serving dish.
• Refrigerate at least 1/2 hour before serving.

A Tale of Two Grandmas (Part I)

In our last installment, Little Lurry kissed the hard, dusty ground of his school playground, and rose to Fifth Grade prominence as the ultimate hall pass... wielder of the Mystical Monkey Paw. Fifth Grade came to a close shortly thereafter, and the Circus Troupe began packing their bags... not moving this time (although that will follow soon enough), but preparing for a time-honored tradition, Family Vacation. Along the way, dear Readers, new characters will take the stage, but none more important than the Queens of the Chessboard - Little Lurry's Grandmothers.

Two times of the year have always brought a special kind of joy to Little Lurry's [and Big Lurry's] heart... the weeks leading up to Christmas, and a Summer vacation. This particular Summer began with Little Lurry's right arm plaster-casted, but since I wrote, ate, and brushed my teeth left-handed, I was in the pink for a Summer vacation with both Grandmas on the agenda.

In preparation for the Great Summer Vacation, Mr. Gypsy Feet charted a course in the Rand McNally Road Atlas, Mrs. Firecracker obtained the obligatory boxes of Cheez-It journey crackers, the Tallywhacker Brothers packed their duffle bags with summer duds and adventure novels - having graduated from the Hardy Boys and Tarzan novels, we were now devouring Edgar Rice Burroughs' Pellucidar and Barsoom series - and Sister Sue packed her jumper dresses and kicky pants (or what the Civilized World called pedal pushers). The entire clan went to bed early on a Friday night, but the excitement made sleep extraordinarily elusive. In search of Morpheus' embrace, the Tallywhacker Brothers resorted to the prose of Burroughs - nothing made a better send-off to the land of dreams than a swashbuckling adventure. I'll never know what medicine Sister Sue required to drift off to the land of dreams - at night she slept in a secluded chamber - perhaps she contemplated the power of unicorns and the magical light bulb that inhabited her Easy-Bake Oven.

At 3:30 the following morning, a perfect dream state ended abruptly at the blinding flash of two 90-watt bulbs, followed by the ignominy of covers whipped off the beds. "Up and at 'em!" barked Mr. Gypsy Feet. "We need to be on the road by 4 o'clock. I don't want to get stuck in traffic." Mr. Gypsy Feet had apparently deluded himself into believing that we lived in New York City, not the Colorado Rockies. The only pre-6 a.m. traffic we would encounter would be the residential milk truck, a bicycle-riding paper boy, and a few "What's yer twenty, good buddy?" 18-wheelers on the open road.

After a nasty, mushy bowl of "stick to your ribs" oatmeal and bloated raisins - Mrs. Firecracker was under the mistaken impression that raisins were to be cooked along with the oatmeal - we were off before the sun rose to join both pre-dawn, North-bound cars who so happened to occupy the freeway. Thank goodness we Munchkins had stowed our pillows for the journey, because we were back in the arms of Morpheus by the time $5 was expended at the nearest service station.

Note to the young 'uns: In those days, a stop at the local Sinclair would set you back 24.9 cents a gallon, and included complimentary window washing (with a Crest-white smile, for chrissakes), a dipstick inspection, and proper inflation of 4 tires... self-service was yet to be invented. Not that any this was appreciated, mind you. Mr. Gypsy Feet had to get out of the Chrysler to pretend that he knew better than any Grease Monkey how to properly inflate the tires of his gas-guzzler. (If the Chrysler had a name, I am convinced Dad would have christened her "My Precious.") I think we fell back asleep in deference to the poor Grease Monkey. Mr. Gypsy Feet was a cheap bastard, and considered his "advice" the only tip a Grease Monkey needed or deserved.

We awoke to the ceaseless chatter of Mr. Gypsy Feet on I-25 North. Not satisfied with the advice he had dispensed at the service station, he was now dispensing driving instructor tidbits at every vehicle upon which the sun shone. We Munchkins busied ourselves with our two favorite traveling games - attempting to gather license plate sightings from as many states and territories as possible, and I-spy for each letter of the alphabet, "I spy, with my little eyes, something that begins with C." We made the obligatory pit stop at about the halfway point of this first leg of the journey. Little Lurry made sure he was on board before take-off this time - I was through playing Little Mister Left Behind.

A west-north-westerly turn was made at the outskirts of the Magic City of the Plains, and we were mere hours away from our first destination. Mr. Gypsy Feet and Mrs. Firecracker tried to engage the Munchkins in singing praises to Our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. This activity was quickly dispensed - not that it would have taken much to beat church hymns as an en route time-waster - as the Munchkins espied their first herd of antelope. Munchkin jaws dropped and eyes popped. We were ensorcelled by the sight... an antelope herd bounded in synchronized formation, up from the sage and tall grass of the High Plains, and for mesmerizing moments, appeared to fly like Santa's Reindeer. In one fell swoop, the land of our Grandma Annie Oakley was forever branded in our brains. For the next two hours, the blue Chrysler sailed the High Plains, escorted by herd after herd of these magnificent Land Dolphins.

We arrived at the first stop on this glorious journey, Grandma Annie Oakley's Campground, and burst from the Chrysler with a running whoop into the arms a long lost friend - three of Mrs. Firecracker's brothers were here for a mini-family reunion. The Munchkins embraced three Cowboy Giants in turn - first our beloved and long lost Uncle Hero, next, a blond-ish Uncle who bore the crooked smile often seen on Little Lurry's face, and last, but certainly not least, the joker of the bunch, Uncle Elvis.

The Munchkins collected at the end of the reception line, and turned to witness something that we hadn't seen for years (and would unfortunately never see again), a happy Mrs. Firecracker. She absolutely glowed in the company her younger brothers. For once, we watched as Mrs. Firecracker set aside her righteous armor... she didn't chastise or preach at her smoking and drinking siblings, but kissed and hugged the Cowboy Brothers, relishing the reunion. A swing door slammed shut, and we turned to see the Matriarch of this bunch come bounding off the porch, followed near immediately by her 4-legged companion, Danish Duke. Ladies and gentlemen, it's time to meet the first of our Queens of the Chessboard, Grandma Annie Oakley.

Grandma Annie Oakley, may my description do her justice, was a steel-haired, shotgun-toting, pants-wearing, sinewy and bespectacled marvel of a Rancher's Cowgirl. Married at the tender age of 14, she gave birth to the first of eight ranch hands at 15. Widowed in her late twenties, she plucked another High Plains Cowboy from the Bachelor Fields, and completed the set of 8, giving Grandpa Shorty a daughter of his own. Now 50, Grandma Annie Oakley, had already lived the lives of two women and buried two husbands. She was now well into her third of four lives, running a Rockhunter's Stopover on the edge of the Great Western Frontier, driving a green 1940 Ford pick-up, and wowing the grandkids with her man-sized companion, a tan-coated Great Dane, named Duke. (As much as I'd love to dwell on Grandma Annie Oakley, we've got to move on, but worry not, dear Readers, a pre-pubescent and post-pubescent Lurry will return to the Great Western Frontier in Summers to come.)

Next out of the screen door came two women unfamiliar to the Munchkins. We left off hugging Grandma Annie Oakley and romping with Danish Duke, dusted ourselves off, and made introductions to a fun-loving Aunt Dippity-Do (Uncle Elvis' wife, a big-breasted gal with a late-sixties up do) and Uncle Hero's fiancée, Denver Dottie (think Dorothy Hamill look-a-like, but with chipmunk cheeks). Ever the watchful matriarch, Grandma Annie Oakley noticed the tell-tale signs, and pointed the Munchkins to the Campground Facilities. Relieved and hands washed, we returned to Grandma's home/office/general store for lunch.

Lunch was prepared by the Aunt and Aunt-to-be, a feast of luncheon loaf (chopped ham) and American cheese sandwiches on Rainbow-brand white, accompanied by Ruffles ("R-r-r-ruffles have r-r-r-ridges") potato chips and French onion dip. Looking around for the Kool-Aid that would normally accompany lunch, we were treated to a rare delicacy by Grandma Annie Oakley. Out on the porch, we were invited to pull a freebie from Grandma's bottled soda vending machine. Oldest Brother pulled an Orange Crush, Next-Older Brother pulled a Grape Crush, Younger Sister pulled an uncreative Coca-Cola, and Little Lurry pulled the best prize of all - sweet nectar of the Gods - a Canada Dry Cactus Cooler. For two nights and the better part of three days, we camped under the stars, frolicked in the Sweetwater River, laughed 'til our sides split, and reveled in the company of Mom's family.

This brief taste of Paradise was cut short when, at a sunrise breakfast, Mr. Gypsy Feet confirmed his discomfort in the company of strong women and smoking, drinking, and fun-loving men. Claiming an aching back from sleeping in the wilderness - and that the Uncles were a "bad influence" on young Christian boys - Mr. Gypsy Feet announced that the Circus Troupe would press on before lunch. Four dejected Munchkins were instructed to shower, brush teeth, roll sleeping bags, collapse tents, and say their good-byes, post haste. We would once again, "beat the traffic," if we were on the road within 2 hours.

Beating the traffic held no sway over the power of four Munchkins given such loose instruction. While we showered quickly - Damn, that water was cold! - brushing teeth could be dragged out for at least a half hour, mugging at each other and our own reflections in the Campground Facility mirrors. Perfecting the art of a sleeping bag roll consumed another 45 minutes, allowing time for the Uncles to arise. While the Uncles ate breakfast and drank Joe on Grandma's porch, the Tallywhacker Brothers crossed tent pole swords out on the camp grounds, and laughed themselves silly, acting out for the Cowboy Brothers. Our canine Uncle, Danish Duke was in on the production, lunging at the fiberglass pole-swords, chasing Little Knights around the arena, and kissing the faces of each fallen player. Even Mrs. Firecracker applauded the show, and before we knew it, 3 hours had flown past, while a stewing Mr. Gypsy Feet busied himself packing "The Precious."

Kisses, hugs, and snuggling of the Danish Duke consumed another glorious twenty minutes, but Mr. Gypsy Feet brought the love fest to a close with, "C'mon kids... this show has to hit the road!" Then, as if Grandma Annie Oakley was a non-entity, "C'mon Mrs. Firecracker... we've got to get these kids to Grandma's house."

Brooking no sass from an upstart son-in-law, Grandma Annie Oakley fired back with, "Just a minute, Mr. Gypsy Feet. I want the kids to have a souvenir." Grandma Annie Oakley swept the four Munchkins into her home/office/general store, and invited each of her Grandchildren to select a treasure from the Rockhunter's display cabinet. Jade, agate, arrowhead, and sandstone treasures selected, Grandma Annie Oakley granted each of the Campground Players another free pull from the bottled soda machine.

All players now aboard The Precious, Mr. Gypsy Feet laid a scratch in the gravel drive. Little Lurry waved a plaster-casted good-bye from the Chrysler's rear window, two new treasures in his possession... a sandstone "desert" rose and a bottle of that most divine of nectars, an orange and pineapple-flavored soda, Canada Dry Cactus Cooler.

(To be continued...)