George

When I was young I would go and spend part of each summer with my great aunt. Usually my grandmother would join us for a portion of the visit. When she did, she and my great aunt, her sister, would go out and about as they did when they were girls.

Occasionally, I was permitted to stay at home with my great aunt’s gentleman friend, George. George was in all ways a character. He was bald with a belly and his favorite expression was mighty souls, which was at least five syllables when he said it. He was a whiskey-drinking, cigar-smoking, card-playing man.

Why is that significant? Because when we hung out we played poker. If our game started before the ladies left, we used matchsticks since I was five and they were afraid I’d break the official clay poker chips. But the instant we heard the car pull away, George would break them out anyway. He also traded in my glass of soda for a small shot of whiskey and gave me my own cigar. This man took his job of teaching me to be one of the boys seriously. My great aunt was always very punctual. Must have been the school teacher in her so we always knew when to expect them back and had time to eliminate all evidence of our “real” game.

Our ritual lasted until the third summer when something happened, I think perhaps one of their intended destinations was closed or someone wasn’t home to visit, and they returned early. You guessed it! Busted red-handed. From then on, our games were supervised and not nearly as much fun.

More about George on a later blog. I suspect that in a few ways, he influenced who I am today.

Mrs. Quackenbush

The Easter I was 8 a friend of my dad's brought us the sweetest little ball of yellow fluff which turned out to be a duckling. I never understood why she had to sleep in the box in the kitchen instead of in my room. I remember sneaking down the creaky wooden steps with my pillow because I didn't want her to be lonely. I'd get her out of her box and she'd nestle against my neck. I can still hear the little peeps she made since she hadn't learned to quack yet.

By the time summer vacation rolled around, Mrs. Quackenbush was a fully grown, white as snow duck. She had her own pen outside then so every morning I'd go let her out for the day. She was the best companion a kid could have. We also had cats and dogs which were fun too but after a bit they would wander off on their own. Not Quacky. She was my shadow. My mom would send me to pick sugar peas and many times I would return with a basket full that had beak prints on them since she always tried to help. And when it was time to pick blueberries I think we ate more than we took inside. My dad would set up the little blow up pool and we'd be in it before he had it half full. At lunch, she'd traipse along inside and sit under the table at my feet, waiting for me to sneak her some of the bread from my sandwich. Well, sneak is an exaggeration. She could quack by then and wasn't at all shy. When I had to go away, she'd come running to the car to greet me as soon as I opened the door, quacking and flapping for all she was worth. Ducks may not be traditional pets but they sure are wonderful ones.

Happy Easter everyone. I hope you all have warm and fluffy memories like I do.

Reminder - Last day for the Bound Brits contest.