This is my favorite Christmas story. It really happened to me and my brother, Tom, when we were very young children. I had planned to enter it on my Blog at Christmas this year but everything was just too hectic and I never found the time to do so. So here it is now after Christmas and I am still desirous of having it appear on my Blog. I wrote the experience in story form in the year 2000 and it was published in THE STORYTELLER MAGAZINE (a quarterly publication) in their October, November, December 2000 issue.

WHEN DADDY PAID THE BILL

By William B. Grove

Chism Webb didn't even look like Santa Claus. He was over six feet tall, thin as a rail and had no beard to cover his hatchet sharp face. I never, ever heard a "ho, ho, ho," out of him but with a laugh that sounded like a barn door opening on rusty hinges he wouldn't have sounded like Santa Claus anyway.


Chism Webb, or Chis, as everyone called him, owned the corner grocery store in our neighborhood. He was assisted in his labors by his mother, Granny Webb and his sister, Vee Webb. Vee was okay in my book; a typical old maid still looking. Granny was another story.

My childhood trips to the store were episodes of terror. Granny pulled her sparse, grey hair back tightly into a knot at the nape of her neck giving her head the appearance of a peeled onion. But when she invariably jumped from behind the meat counter or the candy counter and used her tongue to push her false teeth out at me she had all the look of a death's head. Catching me off guard with this trick was the highlight of her life and she'd cackle like a witch.

Chis was an old bachelor and didn't have much interest in kids. I'd always been afraid of him ever since I stole an orange and Mama marched me back inside to look up at that skinny giant and apologize for my thievery. He didn’t say a word; just took the orange and threw it over in the crate.

Each day during the week we bought our groceries on credit. Chis had a small lined sales book about four inches by six inches and a half inch thick with carbon paper in it. He'd list all of our purchases on a page and total it and give us the carbon copy. The original remained in the book that had our name written on it. The carbon copy of the sales slip was hung on a nail in our kitchen. Each Friday night Daddy added up all the sales slips and took them with him to the store to pay the bill. He always waited until eight thirty since the store closed at nine and it wouldn't be so busy at that time.

One Friday night I particularly remember was Christmas Eve and it wasn’t going to be any different from any other eve at our house. The country was in the throes of the great depression. Mom and Dad had prepared me and my three year old brother, Tom, for the fact that there would be no toys this year. Santa Claus was hit by the depression too. A five year old and a three year old don't comprehend much about financial matters but we had been forewarned------"No presents this year!"

So on this Christmas Eve Friday night Daddy took me with him as usual to the store to pay the bill. He pulled open the door, we stepped inside and Daddy said, "Merry Christmas, Chis."

"And Merry Christmas to you fellows," Chis replied.
"Been busy tonight?" Dad asked.
"No, every body's busy at home with Christmas Eve doings," Chis retorted. "Me and Ma and Vee don't celebrate on Christmas Eve so we'd just as soon stay open anyway." 

Well, Christmas Eve or not it's time to pay the bill," Dad said as he pulled out his copies of the sales slips.

"I got it already added up for you since business was slow. Comes to $13.79. What did you come up with?" Chis asked.

"Right on the button," Dad answered as he handed the money to Chis. Chis rang up the amount on the cash register, stamped "PAID" on Dad's copies, tore the originals out of the book and threw them in the trash can. 

Dad said, "Thanks", and we headed for the door. 

"Wait up, Ben. Let me lock up and I'll mosey over to your house with you for a spell. Wanta wish Marie and your other boy a Merry Christmas. 

Surprised, because Chis had never come to our house before, Dad said, "Okay, we'll wait on the porch for you." 

Dad had told me before that Chis didn't like people watching him hide the money he took from the cash register. He didn't have a safe and didn't want anyone seeing where he stashed the money overnight.

In a little while Chism came out locking the front door behind him and we walked the short distance down the street to our house.

When the door opened and Mom and Tom saw Chis with Dad and me they were as surprised as we had been. 

"Good evening, Chis," Mom said, offering her hand.
"Merry Christmas to you and the boy, Marie", Chis replied.

From his coat he took a brown paper bag and handed it to me saying, "Bill this is for you and Tom. Merry Christmas."


It was filled with penny candy.  I dumped it out on the floor.  There were jaw breakers, jelly beans, crunchy candy with toasted coconut all over it called "chicken bones", boxes of candy cigarettes with the end of each cigarette colored red, licorice sticks, bubble gum, tootsie rolls, little individual boxes of candy "Boston Baked Beans", big fat wax lips filled with sweetened colored liquid that you could fit in your mouth to change your looks to a thick lipped cutie and then bite to let the sweet liquid trickle into your mouth.  But my favorite was "Guess What?".  Each "Guess What?" was a cylinder of pastel colored paper about six inches long and twisted at both ends.  Inside were two caramel kisses wrapped in wax paper.  But guess what the best thing about a "Guess What?" was?  A toy was always inside each neat little cylindrical package.

Tom and I couldn't believe our good fortune. There was more candy than we'd ever been able to buy. It was a wondrous sight.
Sitting on the floor I looked up at Chis and said softly, "Thank you, Mr. Webb."
Tom said, "Me too."
Chis laughed that rusty hinge laugh and said, "You're welcome boys and Merry Christmas." 

I thought his eyes looked funny. Kinda glistening and wet. As I looked up at him I wasn't afraid of him anymore. I kinda loved him I guess or something like that 'cause around my heart it hurt a little bit.

Chis is long dead now and I'm eighty three years old. But a Christmas Eve never comes in my life but what I don't pause and reflect and remember that one particular depression era Christmas Eve. Even if he WAS over six feet tall, skin and bones, no beard to cover his hatchet face and had a laugh like a door opening on rusty hinges, Chism Webb was the only REAL Santa Claus I've ever seen and I sincerely doubt that will ever change!

GOING HOME

STILL ANOTHER PLEASANT VALLEY TALE

By William B. Grove

     As the old truck rattled out of Granddad's yard and passed the swinging bridge spanning Cherry Creek, I suddenly spied Jumbo in Grandma's gooseberry patch. The old mule hadn't been seen since Grandad dynamited the well six days ago. As the fuse was sizzling toward the bundle of dynamite Jumbo walked up and stuck his head over the edge of the well. The explosion and the flying rocks sent him off like a shot on a six day disappearing act! It made the close of my visit to Granddad's and Grandma's place complete to know Jumbo was safely back home.
     I sighed as I squeezed in between Bessie Cline and Vess Humel where they sat on the floor of the old flat bed truck. Alto and Phileta Cochran and Uncle Bruce had already found their places with their backs up against the wooden sideboards of the truck. Grandad and Grandma were in the cab of the truck with Lillian Margaret between them. Lillian Margaret was my aunt but only one year and nine months older than me.
     It was good to be going home to Phoenix but I was going to miss Pleasant Valley and all the summer fun at Granddad's. Folks in Pleasant Valley were more neighborly than in the city. For example, Granddad posted a notice in the post office inviting others who had a need to go to Phoenix to join us. That's how Pleasant Valley folks looked after each other.
     As the sun began to fade below the horizon, Bessie asked me to sing a song with her. As we passed Cagle's cabin nestled in the pines on Squaw Flats, Bessie's lovely voice joined with my boyish soprano as we sang:

"When it's nighttime in Nevada, I'm dreaming

Of the old days on the prairie with you.

I can see the great divide

And the trails we used to ride,

The only bit of Heaven I knew.

When it's nighttime in Nevada I'm dreaming

Of the old days on the prairie with you."

     Suddenly, rounding a curve, a shaft of moonlight reflected from an old rusted wood cook-stove at the side of the road. That's where Granddad and Grandma left it when the truck overturned on their move to Pleasant Valley. Lillian Margaret's cat, Weenie, terrified, had jumped out of the cab of the overturned truck and ran away never to be seen again.
     The notes of our song soared through the moonlit pines as we continued down the mountainous road. I couldn't be sure in the enveloping dusk, but I was almost positive that from beneath the old rusted stove, a pair of yellow eyes watched a familiar old rattletrap truck until it was slowly swallowed up in a cloud of dust.

Another Pleasant Valley Tale

Dinky Burro and the Cod Liver Oil

By

William B. Grove  

    Billy's flannel pajamas felt good as he pulled them on.  Standing next to the wood burning heater he felt toasty warm.  He turned and looked at his best friend, Dinky Burro.  Dinky Burro looked funny.  He had on flannel pajamas too.  The legs were too long and the sleeves hid his hands.  Billy didn't laugh.  Everyone always laughed at Dinky Burro.  He was the smallest, skinniest boy in the first grade.  He had geat big ears and feet, buck teeth, freckles and his hair stuck out in all directions. 

     Billy had heard old Mike, who ran the general store, once say, "Dinky Burro's the smallest, homeliest little wart in the whole school."  Billy thought that was mean of old Mike. 

     Dinky Burro had a real name.  It was Dean Webb.  But with his ears and teeth being like they were his Mama started calling him "Dinky Burro".  Now hardly anyone knew or ever used his real name.

     "Come on Dinkly Burro", Billy said.  "Let's go to bed".

     They started to the kitchen where their parents were sitting at the table playing cards.

     Dinky Burro, holding a pajama leg up in each hand, followed Billy.

     "Night Mama.  Night Daddy", Billy said, kissing both of his parents.

     "Night Mama. Night Daddy",  Dinky Burro echoed, kissing his parents.

     "Wait a minute son", Dinky Burro's mother said.  Reaching into her purse she took out a brown bottle.  "Mary, do you have a teaspoon I could use?"

     Billy's Mom reached for a spoon.  She gave it to Leola who poured some liquid into the spoon.  "Here, take your cod liver oil, honey.  It'll make you grow"

      Dinky Burro closed his eyes and opened his mouth as his Mom spooned in the cod liver oil.  He gagged, said nothing and started after Billy.

     "You boys go to sleep now and don't go rough housing out there on the back porch", Billy's Mom called after them.

     The parents watched the boys as they opened the door from the kitchen and stepped out onto the back porch, closing the door after them.

     "I don't think that child will ever grow an inch or gain an ounce", Dinky Burro's mother said.

     "Oh, now Leola, just give him time", replied her husband, Phil.

     "Well, the poor little tyke is so skinny I have to tie his pants on him with a coton string.  Can't find a belt to fit him.  He's so funny looking when he gets out of the bathtub.  Why, with those big feet and skinny legs he looks like two toothpicks stuck in a cow plop."

     "Oh, Leola, that's cruel", Billy's Mom said.

     "No, it's not.  I love him terribly but I know he's a homely little youngin' and I'm really glad Billy has taken a liking to him.  Dinky Burro doesn't have many friends, you know."

     As the boys stepped out on the back porch the winter chill hit them. The rest of the house was shut off from the back porch to save fuel. Stepping on the cold floor boards in their barefeet caused the two boys to race to the bed and burrow under the heavy quilts Billy's Grandma had made. The sheets were like ice but soon the heat of their bodies would warm them.
       While they lay there on their backs waiting for the sheets to warm, Billy asked Dinky Burro, "Is this the first time you've ever stayed away from home overnight?"
    "Yeah", Dinky Burro answered
    "Are you scared?", Billy asked.
    "No. Mom and Dad are right there in the kitchen", Dinky Burro said. 

"Well, I'm right here", Billy said.
"Yeah, I know." Dinky Burro said, turning on his side toward Billy.
"Do you get scared out here, Billy?, Dinky Burro asked.
"No", Billy responded, getting a whiff of the cod liver oil on Dinky Burro's breath. It was awful. Fishy! Stinky! Yuk!
"Whew, that cod liver oil smells awful. Don't breathe on me Dinky Burro".
"Okay", Dinky Burro said.
"What are we going to do tomorrow, Billy?"
Again, the smell of the cod liver oil caused Billy to turn on his side away from Dinky Burro.
"I don't know", Billy replied. "I might be sick tomorrow or something".
"You got a belly ache or somethin'?" Dinky Burro questioned.
"No, I just might be sick. Lots of times I get sick on Saturdays", Billy said slowly as Dinky Burro's breath reached him again.
Just then a loud "WHANG" came from the empty five gallon oil can sitting at the other end of the porch as it contracted from the cold.
"What's that?" Dinky Burro whispered, sitting straight up in bed.
"WHANG." The oil can popped again.
"It's Indians", Billy said quietly.
"Where?" asked Dinky Burro.
"Up on Tater Butte", Billy said very quietly.
"What are they doing?" Dinky Burro asked, his voice trembling.
"They're beating their drums. That's what you heard. They're getting ready to attack," Billy said. "Quick, pull the covers over your head!"Dinky Burro jumped out of bed and ran pell-mell to the door, bursting through to the kitchen and slamming the door behind him.
Billy pulled the covers over his head, giggled for awhile and then lay quietly, listening. He knew his mother or father would come out to the porch as soon as Dinky Burro told what had happened. He began to feel badly. Dinky Burro WAS his best friend. It was kind of lonely on the back porch now while Dinky Burro and everyone else was in the warm kitchen.
The door opened. Billy's Mom and Dinky Burro approached the bed. "Get under the covers, Dinky Burro", she said.
Dinky, quickly and quietly, slid under the quilts next to Billy.
"Billy, we've explained to Dinky that there are no Indians and I don't want you scaring him ever again."
"Ah, Mom, you don't know how awful that cod liver oil smells," Billy whimpered.
"So that's it" she said. "Just a minute", and she headed toward the kitchen.
Returning shortly, she said, "This will solve the problem. Here, sit up, Billy, and open your mouth."
Billy cried out, "Ah, no Mom. Not cod liver oil!"
"Yes, cod liver oil", she said, spooning it into his mouth.
"Now you won't notice it on Dinky"s breath.
"Good night boys and sweet dreams".
"Night, Billy", Dinky Burro said, after all was quiet again.
His breath floated around Billy's head. Sure enough, Billy couldn't smell the cod liver oil anymore. He turned on his side toward Dinky Burro and said, "Goodnight, Dinky Burro." He felt warm and comfortable. It was a good feeling to have a best friend again.

PLEASANT VALLEY DAYS

by William B. Grove

                       

Pleasant Valley

First Grade Class of 1934

Billy is second from left in the first row
(photo can be enlarged by clicking on it)

    "Yowee!" Margie yelled as she raced down the mountain. She sidestepped mesquite and prickly pear cactus as she ran. She expertly jumped over a dead tree trunk lying in her path and at the same time looked over her shoulder. Poco Loco was right behind her, his horns tilted forward and aimed at Margie's skinny backside.
    "Yowee!," she yelled again and increased her speed. Her red curls bobbed like springs. Her body knifed between two juniper bushes as she reached the level stretch of ground that extended for about two hundred yards in front of the big tent.  Margie kept her eyes on Eddie who was about fifty yards ahead of her. His legs speedily carried him toward the tent. Suddenly he veered in the direction of Grandma Hearn's chicken coop.

   "No! No!", Margie screamed. "Go through the tent flap."     Eddie obeyed and disappeared into the darkened tent. 

   Margie could hear Poco Loco's snorting, heavy breathing and the clomp of his hoofs as the old bull maintained his pace narrowing the gap between them, his head lowered for attack as Margie flew through the tent flap with Poco Loco right behind her. There was a ferocious bellowing from the old bull as the center support pole shuddered and collapsed dragging the canvas down with it. In an instant the brown canvas was jerking and stretching in all directions as the two terrified children and the enraged bull charged from one side of the collapsed tent to the other.

   The former serenity of a country morn was destroyed with the screams of Margie and Eddie and the snorting and bellowing of Poco Loco. 

    Grandpa Lindley and Uncle Button came running from the front porch of Grandpa's house where they had been installing a new chain on Grandma's porch swing. They had witnessed the race to the tent but were helpless to head off the angry bull.
    Uncle Button sprinted ahead of Grandpa and reached the tent first and quickly found the flap and bolted through the opening. Grandpa, right behind Uncle Button, lifted the flap just as Uncle Button heaved Margie and Eddie, both bawling loudly, through the flap opening telling them, "You kids get to the house,."
   Aunt Nettie and Grandma, on the run, passed Eddie and Margie going in the opposite direction and yelled, "You kids get in the house and stay there till we help catch that bull."
    Aunt Nettie and Grandma could see where the bull was by the heaving and pitching of the tent canvas so they ran and jumped on the canvas on either side of Poco Loco, stretching the canvas taut.
    About that time, Cousin Mina and Rosalie Turner, Mina's best friend, jumped on the canvas at his head and tail which resulted in a four way stretch of the canvas that held old Polo Loco in place. Since Grandma, Aunt Nettie, Mina and Rosalie were all rather on the fat side, Poco Loco had just about met his match.
    While the four ladies were heaving around on the canvas due to Polo Loco's bucking and kicking, Grandpa Lindley ran to the old Ford truck. Luckily the wooden side boards were still in place from the wood cutting trip day before yesterday. He jumped in the cab and turned the key in the ignition and for once the old jitney started right up. He spun the truck around, put her in reverse and backed up to the tent flap. As he looked over his shoulder, out through the rear cab window, he couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of the four fat women flopping around on the canvas like four old roasting hens who had just had their necks wrung.
    Grandpa got out of the truck and he and Uncle Button ran over to the cellar and lifted the door up and carried it to the truck. Grandpa laughed as he let the tail gate down on the truck and said, "By gum, I knew there was a reason why I never got around to replacing the hinges on that old door after they rusted off".
    He and Uncle Button laid one end of the door up against the end of the bed of the truck and let the other end rest on the ground creating a ramp up which they hoped to coax Poco Loco.
    Grandpa yelled at the women, "Can you gals tell which end is his head?"
    Aunt Nettie replied, "Yeah, it's at the end where Rosalie is".
    "Okay. Button". Grandpa said. "You crawl in there under the canvas and see if you can get past where Rosalie's sitting and grab the ring in the old devil's nose."
    Uncle Button ducked through the flap and pretty soon a soothing voice was heard to say, "Okay, pretty boy. Come on to daddy now and let's go home. You've had just about enough excitement for one day. Come on feller."
    "Now Rosalie you get out from in front of him." Grandpa said.
    As Rosalie crawled aside, the big mound under the canvas moved toward the flap and all at once Uncle Button emerged through the opening leading the bull by the nose ring. Grandpa, kneeling on top of the truck cab, tossed one end of a heavy chain to Uncle Button who fastened it to the nose ring. Grandpa then pulled on the chain and before you could bat an eye old Polo Loco was in the truck bed
imprisoned by the side boards as Uncle Button pulled the cellar door ramp away and Mina and Rosalie pulled up the tailgate and fastened it. Uncle Button got in the cab of the truck and started it. With Grandpa still sitting on the top of the cab holding the chain, Uncle Button headed the truck toward the corral.

    "My stars," Aunt Nettie sighed. "What a mess. How will I ever get this all cleaned up for the square dance tonight? Half the valley's coming, you know."
    "Never you mind, Nettie", Grandma said. "Can't think on that now, We got to get over to the house and check on them youngins' and make sure all this ruckus didn't addle their brains."
    With that they started toward the house. As they stepped up on the front porch they spied Margie and Eddie cowering on the old three quarter bed on the porch looking like two dying calves in a hailstorm.
    "Are you kids hurt?", Nettie asked.
    "We don't know", they whispered in unison.
    "Well, come here and let me check you over", Nettie replied.
    Margie and Eddie got off the bed and came over for inspection.
    Nettie took Margie in hand while Grandma grabbed Eddie. After a million questions it was decided no serious damage had been done.
    "Well, I do declare you youngins' are lucky. A bruised ear and a skinned elbow is not much considering the mess you all caused. What in tarnation were you kids doing to that old bull anyway?" Nettie asked.
    "Nothin", Eddie said pouting, ducking his head to avert Aunt Nettie's stare.
    "It was all his idea anyway", Margie whined. "I told him we shouldn't do it."
    "Do what", Grandma questioned, raising her voice.
    "Well, we were just playing a game like Miss Olabeth told us about." Eddie said.
    "Now what kind of game did Miss Olabeth tell you about that would end up knocking Nettie's and Button's tent down?" , Grandma asked, impatience in her voice.
    "We're studying Mexico in geography and she told us about when she went there one time." Eddie offered.
    "Yeah, Margie added, "She told us about going to a bull fight and how this guy waves this red cape at the bull and all that kind of stuff."
    "So what did you kids do?", Nettie asked,
    "Oh, well, we didn't do nothin' but wave those old red flannel drawers of Grandpa's for just a little bit at Polo Loco and he got mad", Eddie excitedly related.
    "Yeah, but how'd he get out of the corral?", Rosalie asked, anxious to get in her two cents worth.
    "Well, it sure wasn't going to be any fun just running around in that little old corral, so I asked Margie to open the gate after I got him good and mad with Grandpa's drawers", Eddie continued.
    "I'll swear you kids are going to be the death of us yet", Grandma said angrily. "I'll be so glad when your ma has that new baby and we can send you back home to Phoenix. I'm just too old for these shenanigans anymore".
    "Do we have to go to bed ?", Eddie asked.
    "No, you're not going to bed. You both get over there to the tent. You're going to help all of us ready things up. You know your Aunt Nettie's having half the valley to the square dance tonight as a thank you for so many folks helping her and Button get their new house ready over on Cherry Creek", Grandma said as she began to cry, adding, "We've tried to tell you kids that these are depression times. No one's got any money and everybody tries to help each other. That's why the folks in the valley been helping Button and Nettie so they won't have to live in a tent no more but can have a honest-to-goodness wood house from scrap lumber Button's been collecting for nigh onto three years. No telling how much ruination you kids caused over there in the tent. Now get out of here and get over there and help clean up that mess.
    Well, the women spent a good portion of the afternoon readying up the tent while Grandpa Lindley and Uncle Button started nailing up a good sized wooden platform for the square dance. Margie and Eddie just kinda' stood around on first one foot and then the other with nobody payin' any mind to them. After a few hours the tent was slick as a whistle and the wooden platform had been waxed up for the dancin' and soon the Hindoo's, as the valley folks called themselves for no reason anybody could think of, started to show up. Soon the fiddlers showed up and started to "rozzin" up their bows and get all ready for the wingding.
    Aunt Nettie was sweatin' over the wood cook stove and the big cauldron with the makins' boiling in it for the taffy pull later on. Margie's big ole' black cat, Midnight, jumped up on the table next to the stove and Aunt Nettie never missed a beat as she hit the cat in the head with the big spoon, stuck it back in the cauldron of boiling taffy and sang:

"Fly in the buttermilk,

Shoo Shoo Shoo

Fly in the buttermilk

Shoo Shoo Shoo

Fly in the buttermilk

Shoo Shoo Shoo

Skip to my Lou my darlin. 

If you can't get a red bird

A blue bird will do

If you can't get a red bird

A blue bird will do

If you can't get a red bird

A blue bird will do
 Skip to my lou my darlin'

Addendum To GODS BOUQUET

Writer friends of mine informed me that the AREA AGENCY ON AGING FOR ARIZONA was having a contest for seniors to submit short stories; poetry, photography and art. Winners would be announced in each category and there would be a reception for the winners and their invited guests.

I immediately began to think of something that I could write and place in competition. Since the sponsor was affiliated with the aging population I decided my subject should be about "oldsters" and what better subject than my fondly regarded deceased grandparents. I started jotting down all the things I recalled about them and the story Grandma actually told me regarding her thoughts about a bouquet God would gather, came back to my mind. Thus, my storyline was determined.

The story was completed and submitted and in the short story category I was awarded 2nd Place. The reception was lovely and was attended by many. All of the winning submissions were compiled in a lovely hardback purple cloth bound book with gold lettering on the cover. The book sold for $25 at the reception as a fund raiser and each of we award winners were given a FREE copy.

Even to this day I love the PREFACE of the book.

"Youth is the time for adventures of the body,
but age is for the triumph of the mind."
Logan Pearsall Smith


"A man has perished and his body is gone.
All his relatives have crumbled to dust.
It is his writing and art that keeps him remembered.
EGYPTIAN SCRIBE 2,000 B.C.

GOD'S BOUQUET

Lillie Oquila Pruit born March 30, 1885 Montague County, Texas

William Thomas Lindley born August 11, 1882 Taylor County, Texas

William and Lillie married September 22, 1904 Monument, New Mexico

The small green house on Henshaw Road was trimmed in white. Two rocking chairs sat on the front porch. The inside of the house always smelled like peach cobbler. My Grandma and Grandpa lived there.

Grandma and Grandpa were poor. Grandma worked downtown at night. She cleaned the offices in the tall building where lawyers worked. She rode the bus to work. When she finished working she had to walk home because the bus didn't run that late.

Grandpa sold household products from door to door. He had an old car he drove on his sales route. He wouldn't drive after dark because his eyesight was bad. Grandma never learned to drive. That is why she had to walk home late at night from her job. Grandpa sold such things as lemon and vanilla extract, liniment, spices, shampoo, lotion, toothpaste, toothbrushes, cherry flavored syrup for iced drinks and cocoa. He didn't make much money but he liked visiting with the housewives and enjoyed being offered cake and coffee at their tables.

Grandma was the best cook in the world. But the thing I liked best was when she made peach cobbler. The phone would ring at my house and it would be Grandma saying, "You better get yourself right down here, Billy, or else your Grandpa is gonna eat up all this peach cobbler!"

Then she'd hang up. Lucky for me I lived in the next block so Grandpa never did get to eat the entire cobbler before I high tailed it down there.

Eating that cobbler was just the best thing in the world. But the next best thing in the world was listening to Grandpa's stories while we ate the cobbler.

Why, when he was seventeen years old he'd ridden horseback on a cattle drive from Texas to Montana. He'd worked on a ranch that had hundreds of cattle. One time he cut his index and middle fingers real bad when butchering a calf and forever after those two fingers were stiffened into a permanent peace sign.

He'd tell how he met Grandma at a dance. He said she was the "Belle of the Ball" and she said he was the most handsome man she'd ever laid eyes on. And she always said she never kissed him until they got married.

He'd drag out their wedding picture and I'd laugh every time I saw it. Grandpa looked bug-eyed staring straight into the camera. Grandma was dressed old fashioned and kind of buck toothed. I thought they must have been blinder than a bat to think each one was so good looking when they met. I liked the way they looked now lots better.

By this time the cobbler was about all gone and Grandma was looking like she wished we'd get out of the kitchen so she could clean it up. So Grandpa and I took the hint. We'd get up from the table saying, "That's the best cobbler that ever came out of that oven and we hope it ain't the last one."

We always said that. But one time when we said it we never had any idea that it WAS the last cobbler to ever come out of that oven.

Grandma was religious. Grandpa was too but he thought God had a sense of humor. One time I just happened to be there at lunchtime and just happened to get invited to stay for biscuits, gravy, fried chicken, corn on the cob and peach cobbler. We all bowed our heads and Grandpa said the blessing, "Biscuits rough and biscuits tough but thank God there’s biscuits enough"

Grandma said, "Now Willie, that ain't the right example to set for Billy." Grandpa said, "Oh, Lillie, I think God has a sense of humor." And he winked at me.

Anyway, Grandma wouldn't let us eat a crumb until we bowed our heads again and she said the blessing proper like this, "Dear Lord we thank thee for this food and may strength gained from it be used in service to thee, amen." Grandpa looked serious and echoed a loud, "Amen."

Grandpa ate all kinds of funny things just to impress me like sugar on canned tomatoes and sugar on beans. One time he even put hot peppers on his ice cream and said to me, "Ah, Billy, this is finer than frog's hair".

Grandma said, "Don't pay him no mind, Billy, and unless you got a stomach like a goat don't you try it neither."

One night Grandma couldn't go to work. Grandpa said she had a stroke. She was sick for a long time. Grandpa couldn't go on his sales route anymore 'cause he looked after Grandma. There wasn't any more peach cobbler either.

My Mama would go down each day to help with Grandma. Grandpa would say, "Now, Marie , you just get on back home. You got enough to do at your house. Me and Lillie is a doin' just great here."

And they were too. Grandpa took care of Grandma just like she was a baby. The only bad thing was he just never did learn to make a peach cobbler.

When Grandma finally got her voice back after a long time in the bed she called me over to the bedside and said, "Billy, I been a layin' here a thinkin'. Why is God lettin' me linger on so long? The answer came to me like this. When I go out in the yard to pick a bouquet I pick the flowers that are in full bloom; not the wilted ones or the ones that ain't opened yet. I pick 'em at just what I consider to be the right time. And I think God does the same thing when he makes up His bouquet. He plucks us from this earth when we can add the most beauty to His bouquet. I think He's just a leavin' me here until that right time when I can contribute the most beauty to His heavenly bouquet."

Well, I guess Grandma finally reached full bloom 'cause she died not too long after that.

Sometimes when I'm in my bed at night, thinkin, I sorta see that bouquet of God's. It's in a big white vase on God's table. There are all kinds of flowers in it. And right in the center is a beautiful white Lily. I know that's Grandma. And in my thoughts I go over and smell it. Funny, but that bouquet never smells like flowers should. It always sorta smells more like peach cobbler to me.

The Buck Mountain Little Big League

Mattox, Cole and me @ Buck Mountain

Aliyana @ bat, Elandro, Cole and Mattox
along with Kelleigh, Hector and Annie

Mattox @ bat

My sister Vonda, brother Tom and me @ Buck Mountain

I haven't been out of town in so long that just going to neighboring Scottsdale to my doctor to endure my annual prostate exam seems like a real adventure! So when Kenny and Karen invited the entire Grove family to join them in a weekend jaunt to Buck Mountain for a little R & R on August 20th I could hardly contain myself until the day arrived. Vonda would drive her Honda Pilot across town to my house and pick me up at 7AM on that Saturday morning. I was so excited I woke up at 2AM and couldn't go back to sleep so took a shower, found a jacket to take; accumulated my share of the lunch, bottled water; a fresh baked Boysenberry pie; a big family size bag of potato chips; and a thermos of freshly make 2AM coffee. And, Oh yes, a giant roll of toilet paper (since there are no facilities at Buck Mountain). Neither did I forget my big fat book which I am half way through, THE HELP. Vonda arrived right on the dot with her stuff including Kentucky Fried Chicken and KFC coleslaw. We got everything packed in the car and away we went. When we got to the point where we turned off McDowell Road onto the Beeline I could hardly contain myself with excitement knowing that soon I would be out of the hellish heat of Phoenix and into the cool wafts of a mountain breeze and be able to see the gorgeous greenery of pine forests. The trip was lovely, stopping only once to get gas in Payson. At the end we turned down the designated Forest Road and there we found Kenny's and Karen's red expedition waiting for us along with other vehicles. So many of our family were there. Lots of hugs and kisses and as time wore on others arrived and soon we were quite a bunch: brother Tommy Grove and wife, MaryAnn, two of my nieces, Karen Woodhouse and Kelleigh Baker; a great niece, Molly Woodhouse and her boyfriend, Ryan Gard, stationed at Luke Air Force Base as a dentist; grandson, Jeremy Grove and wife, Annie with two of my great grandsons, Mattox and Cole. My granddaughter, Rachel Serrano and husband Hector with my great grandson, Elandro and my great granddaughter, Aliyana. Then my grandson, Andrew Grove, arrived alone as his fiance, Marianne, had to work that day. Lots of visiting and catching up!


Cole's mommy asked him if he would like to go for a walk and he invited me to go too but I declined and he seemed kind of disappointed so I told him to find either a pretty little rock or a bouquet of wild flowers to bring back to me. That seemed to pacify his disappointment and off he and his Mommy went on their jaunt. Elandro had brought his electric car and he and Mattox were having fun with that. Aliyana was keeping too busy for me to see exactly what she was intrigued with. Some of the others decided to take a walk down the Lake Mary Road and see where it led to. Before too long Cole and his Mommy were back and he presented me with a small bouquet of long stemmed mountain flowers in shades of white, yellow, blue and pink. I thanked him profusely. He is a beautiful child and just a few months shy of being 3. His hair is a beautiful peroxide blond color and a mass of tight curls cover the back of his head. He walked with me to the trunk of Vonda's car and we laid the flowers in the car. Of course when I got home the flowers were dead and dried out and I gave serious thought of what to do with them because I knew I was not going to throw them away after that little darling put forth the effort to bring them back to me. So after searching my living room I found the perfect place....a beautiful picture on my wall 18 inches wide and hung by a gold chain The length of the flower stalks and dried blooms was 18 inches. So I slipped them under the chain and laid them along the top of the picture. That place was just made for them and that is exactly where they belong. I will write Cole a note telling him of what I have done with them and the next time he comes to my house he will be able to see them. They, and how I got them, are permanent now in both my house and my memory. I think Cole will be pleased.


We were instructed that everybody would bring their own lunch. That is what everybody did but then it seemed it would be more fun to just throw it on the table we had and share everything with everybody and that is what we did and of course there was more than enough for everyone and leftovers to take home. So after lunch, several decided to take a jaunt down Lake Mary Road to see what they could see. After they came back it was decided to have a ball game for the little boys. There was a nice flat bare spot there where such a game could be played. It was decided that Molly Woodhouse, a recent graduate from law school was a natural for pitcher; Kelleigh Baker, a recent retiree from the Phoenix Police Dept. was a natural as the "catcher", Jeremy Grove would take over 1st base and Ryan, the dentist, would play 2nd base. The batters would be "Mattie" Grove, Elandro, "the Mechanic" Serrano, and last but not least "Curly" Colee Grove. Mattie Grove is comin' up on 5 years old in November and is a slugger first class; got a hit every time at bat and slammed it into the piney woods every time he came to bat. Elandro Serrano is comin' up on 4 in October and is following in his Dad's footsteps as a mechanic but very definitely did not let his team mates down in this slug fest. Curly Colee Grove is comin' up on 3 years old in November. After getting him to face in the right direction and teaching him that first base was where his Daddy was standing he slugged more than a few into the piney woods too! It was a fantastic game and the audience was amply rewarded for all their screamin' and hollerin' and support. So after some cooling refreshment it was time to head down the mountain to the inferno of Phoenix. Ken and Karen planned to spend another night there at the site. So with a lot of kissin' and huggin' and regretful goodbyes the cars one by one pulled out on the Lake Mary Road and headed in the opposite direction with many memories of a great day with family and memories I will keep for the rest of my life of the "little sprouts" on the Grove Family tree who entertained their old Grandpa GG and this includes my beautiful Aliyana who is a homerun in herself with her amazing beauty.


When all is said and done......enough can't be said for family!!!!!!


Great Grandpa Grove (GG)

AN ADDENDUM TO "KEN DO"         

At the time I observed the little boy, "Ken Do", I didn't observe him as an oddity.  In the late '50's and early 60's there were thousands of such children throughout the world as a result of their mothers taking the drug thalidomide to counteract morning sicknesss in their pregnancy.  It was prescribed by their obstreticians.   When it was finally realized that thalidomide was the cause of such deformities and plastered in the newspapers world wide we would just notice the child and say or think, "Oh, there goes another thalidomide baby."  Nothing to be done about it except to feel pity and sadness that a child was impaired for the rest of his life.  But from what I read and understand now, the drug is used in the treatment of leprosy.  If you want to read more just get on Google and search for thalidomide.  Wikipedia (sp) has some good references. 

WHY DO MEN HAVE NIPPLES?

Every month I eagerly await the arrival of my favorite magazine, THE SUN. It is the only magazine I subscribe to and the only magazine I read. The last page of the magazine is titled SUNBEAMS and is compiled of quotations; some of which I enjoy and agree with and some of which I do not enjoy and do not agree with. This month I did not like this quotation but it has become food for thought.

Here is the quotation from a character named EVIL, in the movie TIME BANDITS.

"God isn't interested in technology. He cares nothing for the microchip or the silicon revolution. Look how he spends his time. Forty three species of parrots! Nipples for men!"

That quote ticked me off even if it was from a movie. Who is to question how God spends his time, anyway? I am 83 years old and it never entered my mind to wonder why I have nipples until someone gave me a book titled "Why Do Men Have Nipples?" I think that it was my grandson, Jeremy, but I am not sure about that.

Anyway the book is written by Billy Goldberg. M.D. and Mark Leyner; a writer. They were thrown together as consultants on a medical TV show. Here is what they came up with.

WHY DO MEN HAVE NIPPLES?

Since our editor thought this question made the best title for this book, we racked our brains to come up with a hilarious, witty, and informative answer to the question. Our attempts proved futile, so, in order to finish this book so another brilliant title wouldn't go to waste, we went for the boring, straight scientific response. Sorry. 

We are mammals and blessed with body hair, three middle ear bones, and the ability to nourish our young with milk that females produce in modified sweat glands called mammary glands. Although females have the mammary glands, we all start out in a similar way in the embryo. During the development, the embryo follows a female template until about six weeks, when the male sex chromosome kicks in for a male embryo. The embryo then begins to develop all of its male characteristics. Men are thus left with nipples and also with some breast tissue. Men can even get breast cancer and there are some medical conditions that can cause male breasts to enlarge. Abnormal enlargement of the breasts in a male can be caused by using anabolic steroids. So, if Barry Bonds ends up coming to the old-timers game with a pair of sagging 44DD man boobs, then I think we will finally have our answer to the steroid controversy.

THE END

-----------------------------------------

Okay, so if this does not answer all our questions like: "Couldn't God have erased the nipples after the male embryo took over? Well, of course he could have but I am not going to question God's reasoning. Besides, after 83 years I think my chest would look naked without nipples.

Another aside.....I will never forget a wonderful vice president at APS where I worked for 41 years who died of breast cancer before he had a chance to retire. So it does happen!

KEN DO

KEN DO

Based on a true story

by William B. Grove

     He churned down the side-walk on short, chubby, sun-tanned legs stuffed into red tennies. His red, white and blue knee socks were at half mast. He stopped in front of the woman sitting on the park bench and said, "Mom, come and push me. Come on Mom, push me, huh?

     "No, you can do it. I'm sure you can," the woman replied.

      He turned and ran toward the tire swing, his deformed arms held in front of his chest. In the absence of forearms a sort of flipper extended just below each elbow.

     He fell to his knees in the sand. Supporting his weight on the backs of his flippers, he crawled underneath the tire suspended on its side by the three chains. He rose up through the hole and hooked each flipper at right angles to two of the chains. The tire caught him at the middle of his back and, after repeated attempts, he could not jump high enough or hold tightly enough to boost his red shorts clad bottom onto the tire.

     Beads of perspiration formed on his bow shaped upper lip and he thrust his full lower lip out in a pout. His wide set violet eyes released a trickle of tears that coursed down each rosy cheek. He stood quietly, a picture of frustration, then crouched, placed the backs of the flippers on the sand and crawled from beneath the swing.

     The shrieks, yells, laughter and jabbering of playing children surrounded him as he glanced at the playground equipment. His eyes rested on the monkey bars--but only for a moment. Then he was off pell-mell to a corner of the playground.

     He took his position wordlessly. A young father kicked a black and white soccer ball to his son and daughter. Without a word the man kicked it to the silent child with the crippled arms. The boy, with an expert thrust of his foot, caught it on the toe of his shoe and sent it on an arc shaped course through the sky to the startled girl. The girl retreived the ball and ran holding it out to him yelling, "Do it again."

     He took the ball from her by pressing the backs of both flippers to opposite sides of the ball. He tensed himself on his left foot drawing his right foot behind him. He dropped the ball as his right foot shot forward sending it over the childrens' heads as they screamed with delight.

     "Ken Do, it's time to go," called the woman.

     The father and his children followed the boy to his mother.

     "Hey, you are really handy with those feet. Do they call you 'Champ'?" the man asked,smiling.

     "They call me Ken Do," the child responded softly.

     "His name is Kendall," his mother quickly added, "but we call him Ken Do. He 'ken do' about anything he sets his mind to."

     The said their goodbyes and as he and his mother walked to the car he said. "Let's go by the swing, huh, Mom? I think I 'ken do' it now."

Prior to ever thinking about "Ken Do" much less writing about him, I had decided I wanted to be a writer of children's stories.  I had often seen advertising about The Institute of Children's Literature in Redding Ridge, Connecticut which listed a toll free number.  I called them and asked for information about their Institute.  I promptlly received the information and brochures.  I was required to submit a "test" story to see if I had any writing ability.  I am sure everyone passes!!  I did pass and sent in the required remittance and became a student.

 

My first assignment was to go to a park and observe a child, any child, and write a story about that child.  I was very leery about doing that for fear that I would be thought to be a potential child molester!  Therefore, I never got close enough to him to observe his facial features.  Those, I described from a beautiful framed picture of a little boy hanging in my living room.  I observed his Mom sitting in the park painting her fingernails.  She refused all of his requests for help to get in the swing, always telling him "you can do it.  Just keep trying." 

 

I totally disliked my instructor.  I guess she DID know what she was doing because I wrote Ken Do under her tutelage and it was my first story to ever be published.  I wrote it in June, 1987 and submitted it to several publishers but it was rejected by each one.  It is the practice to never tell you why it is rejected because they do not not want to take the time to do that unless they plan to publish it once the changes are made.  It was finally accepted for publishing in the Fall 1992 issue of JOYFUL CHILD JOURNAL.  The magazine's statement of purpose is: "Joyful Child Journal is a quarterly publication to guide parents and professionals who serve children in nurturing the fullest development of the child's potential.  It provides information needed in these times of change.  Through educational and inspirational articles, plus stories for the child, it promotes self esteem, values and universal principles, thus reawakening that which is inherent and natural within each of us-----JOY!"

 

 

You must realize that the period from 1987, when I wrote it until 1992 when it was published was not a period of waiting.  It was a period of re-submitting the story to many and various publishers and receiving a rejection slip from each one.  You must also realize that even when it was published and I held the magazine in my hand with my story in it I got no monetary reward!  But money could not buy nor pay for the sense of pride and accomplishment I felt in finally achieving my goal of being a "published author".

 

WHAT MAKES MY WORLD TURN

Pumpkin pie with homemade whipped cream;

The fact that I never have a bad dream;

Roses in bloom in the early Spring;

The joy of an awaited telephone ring;

Seeing a cable car traverse Nob Hill;

Eating homemade ice cream 'till I get my fill;

When the laundry gets the right amount of starch in my shirts;

My refusal to ever give up desserts;

Hearing Jessye Norman's beautiful voice;

31 Flavors Ice Cream.....So hard to make a choice!

Coffee and toast slathered with marmalade;

The return of my cat who had recently strayed;

My best friend's voice when he calls on the phone;

Sucking the meat off a chicken's wishbone;

Beholding the rainbow after the new fallen rain;

After the holidays and my scales show no gain!

Finding some money when I thought I had none;

The sense of relief when a hard task is done;

An early morning walk on a deserted beach;

The soul stirring sound of a peacock's screech.

To remember the Prune Whip my wife used to make;

And salivate over Dear Abby's Coconut Cake;

A frozen Snicker Bar on a hot summer day;

Or a drive in the country smelling new mown hay.

Yes, these things make my world turn and turn me on too.

Do they, by any chance, have the same effect on you?

The serenity I feel on a high mountain top

Though I know if I slip I'll surely go PLOP!

Looking for sand dollars on a fog shrouded shore

And never being satisfied ...always looking for more.

A "can't lay it down" book keeping me up until three

Along with chocolate mint cookies and peppermint tea.

I don't feel neglected, left out or rejected

And from this world I "ain't" disconected

Because all the foregoing things are surely enough

To keep me from shouting,

"STOP THE WORLD, I WANT TO GET OFF!"

by William B. Grove

Susan G. Komen 3-Day 60 mile walk

The 3 Day Susan G. Komen 60 mile walk to eradicate breast cancer will begin here in the valley on Nov. 11. Our family's participation in "the walk" began in 2005 when two of my granddaughters, Cory and Jessamyn (who are sisters) walked in support and recognition of their "grandma Juanita Grove". They were both successful in completing the walk. That particular walk ended at "Rawhide". Then our son and daughter, Ken Grove and Kim Turgesen completed the walk in 2006, 2007 and 2008. My granddaughter, Rachel Serrano joined her Dad and Auntie Kim in the 2008 walk. In 2009 my son, Kenny, again walked and was joined by his cousin Kelleigh and her daughter, Sara. My granddaughter, Cassie and several of her friends from New Mexico participated in the walk in 2010 along with Kelleigh and Sara and Jill. It is my understanding that Jill is walking again in 20ll along with Cassie and her friends. There are lots of signs and banners and decorations along the route, teams carry banners of who they are supporting, i.e, 'JUANITA'S KIDS" and "GRANDMA'S JUGGERNAUTS".


You see things in the walk that reduce you to tears. Women in wheel chairs are being pushed by friends, family members or their husbands. You see things that make you so proud. One year we were resting on an expansive lawn at the end of the walk waiting for the final program to start and I noticed right ahead of me on the grass was a young woman with her back to me and no shirt of any kind. Her back was bare and no bra straps. Pretty soon she stood up and turned around and momentarily was facing me;a beautiful young woman and both of her breasts were gone and her whole chest was covered in a beautiful tattoo of gorgeous flowers. My eyes teared up and I was so proud of her although I did not know her at all.


Each person that participates in the walk must pay an entry fee. It goes up each year and this year each person must pay and entry fee of $2300. It all goes toward breast cancer research. That money is raised by each entrant asking for donations from their friends and family. If you don't come up with the entire amount you don't get to walk. They start out early every morning after staying all night in tents in a park where breakfast is served. Then they walk 10 miles and back 10 miles to the campground and have supper and fellowship and to bed and then the next day the route is changed and they go further than 20 miles to make up for a shorter walk on Sunday. On Sunday they don't come back to the campground because trucks bring every body's gear to the end of the route where each person picks it up after the big ceremony. So the first day is 20 miles; the second day is more than 20 miles to make up for the shortened day on Sunday because of the ceremony but all in all by changing routes and starting times they get in 60 miles of walking in 3 days. It is a huge crowd walking and they raise lots of $$$$ for a good cause.

Now that I have covered Juanita's fight with breast cancer and her subsequent death from that and the effects of radiation, I want to move on to the following Fall of 1997:

It is a windy day with the wind moaning and whistling around the corners of the house. I opened the front door and stood there looking through the screen door at the leaves swirling in flight...kind of depressing, but yet it moved me to sit down at the dining table and write this poem:

BUFFETED

The wind blew the leaves

Into wild disarray

And gave a sense of confusion

To the newborn morning.

And I, in my instability

From the forces of life,

Felt a kinship with the leaves' displacement.


by William B. Grove
March 1997

 So here we are, Juanita and I, in our darkened room at the Seawall Motel in Pismo Beach, California after a day of playing on the beach; in and out of the ocean; traipsing up and down the streets of this former Portuguese fishing village of many years ago. This place is our favorite haunt of many, many years. Out of the darkness I heard my name being called by Juanita, "Billy". I responded and she said, "I just discovered a lump in my left breast. Give me your hand and see if you feel it." She took my hand and placed it in the suspected spot. Yes, there was something there that could be described as a lump. I asked her if there was any soreness or pain there when I put pressure on the spot with my finger and she replied, "Yes". I asked her if she wanted to see a doctor there or go home tomorrow and see our family doctor in Phoenix and let him recommend a specialist if he deemed that a necessity. She said, "No, we are near the end of our two week vacation so let's just stay those days and then go home." So that is what we did although it rather put a damper on those remaining few days. Any question of breast cancer was dramatically important to us because Juanita's mom, Pearl; and Juanita's sister, Radyne, and their aunt Lily had all died of breast cancer. So it was really leering as and unveiled threat in the darkness of fear A few days later for the first time in my life I was glad to leave the balmy air and the beauty of that placid beach for the searing and burning hell of our Phoenix summer!

Back home our family doctor recommended a specialist by the name of Dr. Adrian. After all the necessary tests were conducted the surgery was performed. The malignant enemy was difficult to find but was finally excised from near the nipple where it was hiding. Kim and Bryan and their two little girls, Jamie and Cassie came from Sacramento, CA to see Juanita while she was hospitalized. And if my memory doesn't fail me our grandson, Jeremy, was born while Juanita was hospitalized. This all had to be in April, 1977. After all straightened out somewhat and we were home alone and I returned back to work, I would get up at 5AM each morning and get in the shower and turn the water on full force to drown out my fearful crying. I didn't want Juanita to know how scared I was. Juanita was a real trooper with her left chest covered in a huge bandage,.I forgot to mention that most if not all the lymph nodes in the left armpit had to be removed since the cancer had metastasized to most of the lymph nodes there.

Then, of course she had to be assigned to an oncologist and a radiation therapist. The oncologist was a wonderful little man who explained whatever he knew about chemotherapy. He was a little Jewish man named Paul Wassermann and from the beginning I think there was a love affair between him and us. Juanita's first and only experience with taking the chemo pills resulted with her head in the toilet for 5 hours vomiting from 7AM until noon. She said, "no more, I'll take my chances with the cancer!" Dr. Wassermann said to us, "Well, there is no cure for cancer and the only thing we know about this medication you are taking is that at one time it cured ONE case of cancer in Italy." I told him that he gave us such a feeling of well being that we wanted to continue seeing him on a regular basis because just having him talk to us gave us such a feeling of well-being.......and that continued for quite some time.

Then the next out of this world was our relationship with the Linear Accelerator. This was the monster situated in the basement of the medical building where we went. I am sorry to say that I felt like we were in the laboratory where Frankenstein was created. The radiologist, while being a wonderful man had the whole one side of his neck missing because of throat cancer and radical surgery. And the people who came into the waiting room to wait for their treatment were more than scary; some so scary that I had to turn my head away and not look at them. What people will go through to continue living. I guess continued life is priceless, regardless.

About this time Juanita had a sister-in-law who was determined to get her on some remedies quite a far piece from practiced medicine i.e. apricot kernels. It was known as vitamin B-17 and had a name which escapes my memory right now and Juanita ate those. Then the famous coffee enemas. Juanita didn't even drink coffee and now she was absorbing it through her anus. When we told the radiologist he asked "Instant or perked?" Whether all these things helped or not .....who knows.....but Juanita did not die of cancer. She lived for 20 more years dying in 1997 and the doctors felt she died from the effects of the radiation therapy. She developed heart trouble and her heart doctor told me that she was a classic example of radiation therapy which was administered on her left chest over her heart. I am inclined to agree with him.

As a sidelight to the seriousness of cancer there can be a humorous side too. And if you didn't see that side once in awhile I doubt you could make it through......for instance.......

Juanita bought a prosthesis to wear on her left chest which she promptly christened HER BOOB. One day she called me at work and wanted to know if I had seen her Boob? I said, "My God, do you really think I bring it to work with me?" and she said "No" but I can't find it." I said, "You better find it. I just paid $97 for that thing." A little later my office phone rang and she said, "I noticed a lump under the covers after I made up the bed and there it was." Another time we were swimming in the ocean at Pismo Beach and the Boob floated out of her swim suit on it's way to China and Juanita commanded her little poodle Eddie to go after it and bring it back and the little rascal did just that!!! Then the time our son-in-law, Bryan came over one evening and Juanita was telling him about the garden she put in that day in the back yard and how hard she worked doing it. He went out to look and came back laughing and said, "I guess you really did work hard out there Mom" and he handed her her Boob,telling her "I found this out there in the fork of a tree!" She went on to explain that every time she bent over to hoe the ground her Boob fell out of her blouse and she finally took it out of her blouse and placed it in the fork of the tree and then forgot it.

Well, this is the end of this subject which in reality is the forerunner of writing about the Susan G. Komen 3 Day 60 mile walk for breast cancer which will be coming up in a few months.