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...)

A House is not a Home (Part III)

After a short 6-month segue, we now know how Little Lurry got his puppy, and we've now met the third of four major characters from Little Lurry's Book of Heroes. Let's jump back into the story and wrap-up the Fifth Grade with a few laughs.

Back at the Half-Brick House on a Hill (but not for long)

Like all tykes of his age, Little Lurry was an athlete. From sun up to sun down, every moment not spent in classes or Bible study, was spent at play. Kids had no cable, video games, or Internet in those days... we had baseball gloves, softballs, basketballs, and skateboards. One day, nearing the end of the Fifth Grade, all monkeys were out in the schoolyard. All but a few select Child Catchers were enjoying lunch and cigarettes in the Teachers' Lounge... the few who pulled schoolyard observation duty ate lunch and paid cursory attention to the playground through schoolroom windows.

Toward the end of this particular lunch hour, one of the monkey leaders suggested a game of Girls Chase the Boys. A starting line was drawn in the dirt, at count of three, the Boys dashed to the safety of the Monkey Bars, and at count of ten, the Girls went screaming and chasing after. The jackrabbit known as Little Lurry lost his footing at the start of this race, but recovered and sprinted after his compatriots to the Monkey Bars. While technical safety was called by the Boys - Little Lurry did a flying leap and achieved purchase on the bars - the Girls cried foul, and proceeded to pull on Little Lurry's dangling legs, achieving the desired result... Little Lurry landed face down in the dirt, and with a great whoosh, the wind was knocked out of Little Lurry.

Now as anyone who's had the wind knocked out of them knows, it takes a few minutes for the lungs to recover. While sides in the game flipped for the next round, Little Lurry hobbled over to the steps of the school entrance to sit down, and in short, shallow intakes, began to catch his breath. Not really paying attention to the complete capture of all Girls before reaching the Monkey Bars (upon reflection, I think the Girls suggested this game), Little Lurry observed a strange phenomenon. His forearm was quickly swelling up and after curious comparison to the opposite arm, looked strangely bowed. Turns out, Little Lurry had landed face down, but with one arm underneath his body. Had I not had the wind knocked out of me, I might have felt the crunch that was my ulna.

After releasing the Girls from Boy Prison, half a dozen of my Boy compatriots spied Little Lurry comparing his forearms, and with cries of "Cool!" came running over to observe the fascinating spectacle. One of the monkeys verbalized his insight, "We'd better get you to the Nurse! C'mon guys, let's take him inside." "What if we get caught indoors during lunch hour?" said another monkey. "We'll just show 'em his arm!" pronounced the first. Steeling their resolve, off marched 7 monkeys - into the gated and forbidden chambers known to obedient monkeys as - Indoors During Lunch Hour.

At each hallway encounter and verbal attack of, "What are you kids doing indoors? Get back out to the playground!" my right arm was raised for protection from each of the Child Catchers. Like a magical Monkey Paw, the grotesquely bowed forearm would freeze the aggressor in his or her tracks. Recoiling from the horror of a child wounded during his or her Schoolyard Observation Duty, the Child Catcher could only sputter, "Well don't just stand there! Get him down to the School Nurse! I've got to keep an eye on these other children."

The Gang of Seven, completing their journey at the frosted glass doorway that read School Nurse, was quickly dispelled after blurting out, "He's hurt!" Only the Bearer of the Monkey Paw was left behind, cradling his arm. Putting on her best blistering gaze, Nurse Ratched commanded, "Well, what happened? Show me your arm!" The Bearer of the Monkey Paw raised his now purpling, and strangely bowed appendage. It was worth even having the wind knocked out of me to see the blood drain from Nurse Ratched's face as she panicked, blurting, "Oh! Good Lord! Put it back down! Don't move your arm!" She pushed back her green naugahyde chair, ran past me out of the office, came back into the office, grabbed an ice bag, turned to me and barked, "Come with me! And don't move your arm!" and sprinted toward the Head Child Catcher's office.

Wondering how in the heck I was supposed to follow Nurse Ratched without moving my arm, I ignored the second half of her instructions, cradled my arm against my stomach, and got up to follow Nurse Ratched to the Principal's Office. Having only been to the Principal's Office once before in my school years - I called a girl Fatty Fatty Two-by-Four, Can't Get Through the Bathroom Door in the Second Grade, was threatened with a swat from the Board of Education, and never stepped out of line again - I was beginning to wonder if my crooked smile was going to be wiped off of my face by the Great and Powerful Mrs. "Take No Prisoners" School Principal.

As I entered the Inner Sanctum, a frazzled Nurse Ratched dropped the ice bag on School Principal's desk and, pointing back at the Monkey Paw Bearer, asked, "Do you know this Young Man? We need to call his parents. I believe he may have broken his arm." I released the Dread Monkey Paw from its cradle against my stomach and held it aloft, expecting to witness its mystical stunning powers again... to no effect. Not missing a beat, and like a battle-tested field general, Mrs. School Principal began barking orders. "Dora! Call Mister Lurry's parents and tell them he's been injured!" Picking up the ice bag and thrusting it at School Nurse, "Nurse Ratched! What's wrong with you, woman? Go to the Teachers' Lounge and get some ice!"

Nurse Ratched took the ice bag, and scuttled out past Secretary Dora's desk for a headache bag full of ice. Mrs. School Principal came out from behind her large oak desk, and gently returned the [now throbbing] Monkey Paw to its cradle in my left arm. She demonstrated why the Monkey Paw was powerless against her - gently, she put her arms around me, kissed my forehead, and said, "You poor dear. Are you all right?" - she was Glinda the Good, working undercover as Head Child Catcher.

Dizzy Dora, School Secretary, fumbled through her Rolodex, found Mrs. Firecracker's phone number, and set down her egg salad sandwich to dial the telephone. Having witnessed only a boy with a bump on his forehead waltz past her into the principal's office, and a school nurse running past her in the other direction, waving a headache bag and screaming, "Ice! I need ice!" got Mrs. Firecracker on the line and reported that Little Lurry had suffered a head injury. She poked her head into Mrs. School Principal's office and reported, "The parents are on the way. I'm going to finish my lunch in the Teachers' Lounge." "That's fine, Dora. I can handle it from here," replied Glinda the Good. Dizzy Dora waddled away to finish her egg salad, smoke a cigarette, and repair her lipstick in the Teachers' Lounge.

Fifteen minutes later, both Mrs. Firecracker and Mr. Gypsy Feet showed up at Dizzy Dora's desk. Escorted into the Secular Sanctum, Mrs. Firecracker took one look at the ice pack on Little Lurry's forearm, surveyed his dirty, lumpy forehead and fired her first salvo, "What are you doing? Put that ice bag on your head!" Not one to disobey Mrs. Firecracker, Little Lurry moved the ice pack to his forehead and, while not expecting spectacular results from wielding the Monkey Paw at the Circus Troupe Authoritarian, raised the bowed, purple, and now quite swollen appendage against his mother's gaze. Demonstrating her short Irish fuse, she volleyed twice in quick succession. At Dizzy Dora, "I thought you said he fell down and cracked his head?" And at Mrs. School Principal, "I pulled Mr. Gypsy Feet out of work for this? I could have wrapped a sprained wrist!"

Dizzy Dora, knowing she was out-gunned, clucked once or twice, and quick-stepped back to her station. Mrs. School Principal, on the other hand, stood up and verbally cold-cocked the short-fused Mrs. Firecracker. In her Field General's voice, Mrs. School Principal barked, "Mrs. Firecracker! This child needs medical attention! And if you won't get it for him, I'll have Dora call an ambulance." Then at the cowering School Secretary, "Dora!"

Mr. Gypsy Feet's [vasectomized] balls finally descended, and he pronounced to the room that, "Harumph, hmmph! I'll take care of this! C'mon Little Lurry. Mrs. Firecracker, let's get Little Lurry to Doctor Doctor." Little Lurry glanced over his shoulder at Glinda the Good and smiled, whispering, "See you tomorrow, Mrs. School Principal."

All aboard the used, gas-guzzling Chrysler four-door, Little Lurry was positioned in the center of the front bench seat - a place of honor normally reserved for Sister Sue. Mr. Gypsy Feet sped off, and Little Lurry's throbbing right arm felt every jolt as the over-sized vehicle was driven to Doctor Doctor's office. "Why are you taking him to Doctor Doctor?" queried Mrs. Firecracker. "We should just take him to the hospital." "Do you know how expensive the hospital is?" retorted Mr. Gypsy Feet. "Doctor Doctor can handle this." Little Lurry tuned out of the argument, trying to hold the swelling Monkey Paw in a more comfortable position.

At Doctor Doctor's office Mr. Gypsy Feet lifted the Monkey Paw at Miss Receptionist, and Lurry was escorted past all other patients into Doctor Doctor's laboratory. After a looksie and a few painful prods, Doctor Doctor pronounced that x-rays would be required to properly set the fracture. He told Mr. Gypsy Feet that he should have taken Little Lurry to the hospital first, gotten an x-ray, and only then brought the patient in for treatment. A cowed, but unrepentant Mr. Gypsy Feet replied, "We'll be back," escorted Little Lurry back out past Miss Receptionist, and signaled for Mrs. Firecracker to follow.

Back in the Chrysler, Mr. Gypsy Feet and crew sped off for the hospital, once again causing Little Lurry to cringe at every lurch. Into the hospital we went, and after a short wait, I was taken to the X-ray Chamber. Two very painful positionings of the Monkey Paw ensued, and x-rays were snapped to the tune of, "Now hold still!" $80 was paid to the hospital, and we were back in the Chrysler. "Drop me off at home, the other children will be getting home from school soon," requested Mrs. Firecracker. Mr. Gypsy Feet sighed, but did as she asked. Lurch, cringe, ouch! Lurch, cringe, ouch! (Are we getting the picture yet?)

Back at Doctor Doctor's office, the x-rays were handed over to Miss Receptionist. "Please have a seat. Doctor Doctor will be right with you," she said, handing off the x-ray envelope to a passing nurse. "These are x-rays of Little Lurry's arm. Please tell Doctor Doctor that Little Lurry is in the waiting room."

Little Lurry sat patiently in the waiting room, admiring and gently touching his swollen, purply appendage. Not in the car, the Mystical Monkey Paw didn't hurt, so much as fascinate. Fifteen minutes passed... then twenty. Little Lurry looked up at Mr. Gypsy Feet, and noticed that his complexion was not so much olive-colored as red. Mr. Gypsy Feet looked down at the purply appendage, then in the mesmerizing thrall of the Mystical Monkey Paw, stood up and harumphed over to Miss Receptionist's desk. "Where is Doctor Doctor?" he demanded. "Hang on a second, I'll check," replied Miss Receptionist. "Doctor Doctor says the fracture's not a serious one. He's tied up with other patients right now, and it will be at least another two hours before he can set Little Lurry's arm. Would you like to come back in two hours?"

For two explosive minutes, Little Lurry watched while Mr. Gypsy Feet turned into Mr. Firecracker. "You tell Doctor Doctor to get those x-rays back out to me, now! I'm taking my boy back to the hospital!" Doctor Doctor came out front, and holding the x-ray envelope, informed a smoldering Mr. Gypsy Feet that he owed Doctor Doctor a $50 office visit fee. Mr. Firecracker boiled back up to the surface, grabbed Doctor Doctor's lab coat in his left hand, raised his right fist at Doctor Doctor's now-trembling puss, and said through gritted teeth, "You'll give me back those x-rays or I'll let you have it... right in the kisser!"

The x-rays were released, and Doctor Doctor escaped, unmolested. We hopped back into the Chrysler and drove back to the hospital. Lurch, cringe, ouch! We waited in the emergency room for 2 hours. (I shit you not!) Little Lurry got to hear Mr. Gypsy Feet repeat the mantra, "Burns my tail!" about a hundred times. Little Lurry was finally administered 2 Tylenol tablets for his trouble, and he watched as the Monkey Paw was set and plaster-casted. Lurry sat for another half-hour while the plaster set, and was finally released for good behavior.

One last painful ride... to the Half-Brick House on a Hill, this time. Little Lurry went to his room and collapsed, exhausted, on his half of the bed he shared with Next-Older Brother. Little Lurry went to bed without supper. He was too tired. He did however, giggle himself to sleep, remembering the day's entertainment.

Epilogue

Every bit of this story is true... only the names have been changed, to protect the innocent. I have always loved recounting this story... maybe 'cause it makes folks laugh AND cry.

My Sweet Prince

My cute little guy in the arms of Next-Older Brother... c. 1970