Patsy Kirksey Ross
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Gayle's True Cat Story

2/2/2017

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I want to share this story that my sister, Gayle wrote about her family of cats.  Patsy Kirksey Ross


FOR THE RECORD

To begin is to go back in time when Pat and I were kids during the 1940 era.
Patsy had a cat named Sneezy Bug. Sneezy Bug was probably a calico cat. I remember the cat was white with different colored splotches & Sneezy Bug was a pretty cat. My cat was a gray tabby and I named him Muddy Mutt. I loved Muddy Mutt.

We had a lot of cats over the years but those two were our beloved ones.

LIFE HERE ON THE RIDGE

For the past several years Jimmy and I have had a lot of cats.
For a while we didn't have any cats then one day a pretty female calico came here crying for something to eat. She lived across the road at a neighbor's house. I fed her because I won't let any soul go hungry. Hunger is a terrible thing and I believe the cruelty of humans turning a blind eye, is a sin.

The cat went back home but returned again, crying for food. I fed her, of course. Later, a little girl from across the road was over here & she saw the cat and told me it belonged to her aunt who lived across the road. I told the little girl that the cat was hungry & I asked her if her aunt fed the cat. The child told me that her aunt threw food down for the dogs and the cat.

I was very angry with the owner because no cat will eat with dogs & fight a dog for food. I did tell the little girl that if her aunt wanted the cat she could come get her. The child passed along the message and the aunt came to get the cat. I had already formed an opinion of the aunt so I had no use for her as it related to her care of the cat.

A few days later the cat returned again crying for food. I had no patience for the owner who plainly was not feeding the cat. I brought the cat inside and fed her and I told Jimmy that she was my cat now. There was no way the owner was getting the cat back unless we had some kind of agreement that she would feed the cat. I didn't care that the cat was not legally mine. She was mine.

So, we called the cat Mama. She visited inside the house but she lived outside. She was a wonderful little kitty. The owner never came to check on her. I never talked to the woman again and as far as anything mattered, the cat was no longer hers.

After a while Mama was with kittens. One Sunday morning on Lou's birthday on March 25, 2001, mama cat had three little kittens. The first born kitten was the runt and she was a little female calico like her mama. The other was a white female with pretty tan spots and the third was a large white and black tom.

We named the little runt, Rosie Little Bit. The tan and white kitten was named Tan on The Head and the black and white Tom was named Tom.

We took Mama cat to the vet and had her spayed. When she returned home the kittens were so happy to see her. It was a happy-sad sight. Later, we had the kittens spayed and neutered. Then, Tan on The Head and big Tom were killed on the road.

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Mama cat began to wander and she would come & go. After a while she never returned. We don't know what happened to her. Rosie Little Bit was the last of her family & she was a loner. She wandered, then she came home again.

Then, Lauren and I got a kitten for Jimmy because Tom had been killed and Jimmy was fond of Tom and Tom loved him. We got a gray and black tabby with bulls eye markings on his sides. He was a beautiful cat but he was quite aggressive. He grew into a beautiful tom cat. Jimmy loved him and named him Tiger. We got Tiger on 26 May 2002 when he was six weeks old. When he got old enough we had him neutered.

A stray mama cat went to Lee's house and had four kittens. Chester got one for Lauren but that was a disaster. The kitten disappeared then returned home in a sad condition. Lauren begged us to take the cat. Her name was Daisy. She was a gray female tabby. We took her and eventually had her spayed. She developed a hot spot or allergy on her back and she kept scratching it. Jimmy suggested I make her a little vest out of a sock. I cut off the sock and cut holes for her front legs and she wore a little vest sock until the sore got well. Then, one day, the poor little soul got killed on the road.

Daisy had a sister who was a Siamese mix. One day I took her before Lee moved the cats to a friend's house. I knew the cats would have a hard life there and I wanted the beautiful little Siamese mix. She was covered in fleas and I bathed her that night but the fleas stuck on. I promised her I would get flea drops for her the next day and I did. I named her Peach.

Peach is very temperamental. When she opens her mouth to hiss she resembles a cottonmouth snake. When I pick her up to hold her she wilts into my arms like a dish rag. Yet, she knows her mind and she is sassy. Peach and Daisy were sisters and they were born about May 2003. I got Peach on 1 July 2003. When Peach got old enough we had her spayed. Today Peach has turned almost gray from age. She is a little over thirteen years old.

Sometime later, Jimmy and I were walking on the road when a young man in a truck stopped beside us. On his shoulder was a little black Tortie kitten. The young man asked if we wanted a cat and we said, no, we already had cats. The man said he was moving to town and he didn't want to take the cat. I was afraid he would throw the cat out on the road. First, I held the kitty and I could feel its poor little bony rump. Then, we were carrying the kitten to the house as our own.

We fed the kitten and the little thing was so hungry. Her rump was poor and bony and once again, I hated people. We named her Punkin after a cat we had in Leachville many years ago. Punkin is mostly black with sable splotches. She is a Tortoise Shell. We had Punkin spayed when she got old enough and she got sick afterward and wouldn't eat. We think she caught something at the vet's office because he treated her afterward and didn't charge us for it. Punkin almost died but she survived and grew into a beautiful kitty cat. She lives inside with us and she is a bad kitty at night. We got Punkin on 9 October 2004. She was about two months old.

Then, on Christmas eve 2006, Tiger was killed on the road. I didn't think Jimmy would ever get over him. He is buried on the hill and Jimmy planted flowers and shrubs all around his grave. We call it Tiger's Garden.

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Later, I went to the Humane Society in Jonesboro to find a kitten to fill the spot where Tiger used to be. I came home with an orange male Tabby. He was a licker. He licked me and we bonded though I was getting him for Jimmy. When Jimmy saw him he wasn't too interested because his heart
was raw for Tiger. I told Jimmy he had to name him because he was his cat. Jimmy said he looks like a Garfield to me. So, he named him Garfield. I tacked on Henry in front of Garfield. Henry Garfield was born 23 October 2006. I brought him home on 23 January 2007. When he got old enough we got him neutered. The vet didn't charge for the surgery because he was a rescue cat.

As time went on Garfield grew into a huge, fat cat. He had the most wonderful personality of any cat I ever met. Jimmy came to love him but I adored him. He became my cat. Then, Garfield began to lose weight and he developed diabetes. He was doing pretty well when suddenly he failed and to save him suffering we had to let him go. It was the most heart wrenching thing I have ever had to do regarding an animal. Garfield died 6 January 2014. Jimmy and I buried him on the hill beside Tiger, Now, it is Tiger and Garfield's Garden.

In July 2006 , when Patsy and J.W. were visiting us, Pat and I walked up to the church house to get a phone signal. When we got back to the house there was a big white tom cat sitting on the top of our truck under the carport. He was pure white, looked healthy and pretty. Where had he come from? I tried to find his owner but no one knew him or wanted him. We had yet another cat. I named him Snowball.

When Snowball gets mad his eyes take on a red luster. He is a large cat, all muscle and strong. After a while, we had him neutered. He is temperamental and aggressive if he is crossed. We estimated that Snowball was probably born about 2005, so he is about 11 years old. He and Peach sleep in Jimmy's spoon shop.

One day a fluffy old tom came up on the deck crying for food. He was a battle worn old tom that looked as though he had scrapped all his life. He had a huge fluffy tail. Yep, we fed him. He was hungry. We named him Fluffy Tail. Another cat …..... but we couldn't afford to have him neutered. The money just wasn't there. Fluffy Tail might be 10 years old but that is just a guess.

So, we had five cats. Punkin lives inside with us. Rosie Little Bit sleeps in the utility room. Peach and Snowball sleep in the spoon shop and Fluffy Tail has a bed under the door steps with a heat lamp over his straw bed. Jimmy put heat lamps over Peach and Snowball's beds in the shop. He put a heat lamp over Rosie Little Bit's bed in the utility room.

Last summer I saw a cat come up on the deck for food. She was scared and ran away but I saw her several times before she ran off. Then, one morning in June I heard a little sound that resembled a kitten's mew. I turned to find the source and there in the ivy beside the carport was a mama cat with four kittens. The kittens looked to be about four weeks old. I just groaned. What on earth were we going to do????

We immediately fed the mama and the kittens were old enough to eat a little soft food. The mama is a Tortie, black and splotched. When I saw her my heart cried. She was as near starvation as I have ever seen a cat to be. Again, I renewed my hatred for evil humans who threw her away and her expecting kittens. Her little rump was one bony structure. Her ribs were showing and she resembled skin stretched over bones. Yet, she found the strength to nurse her babies. Oh, how I hated the people who did that to her.

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I was frantic about what to do. I wrote my friend in Randolph county who used to be over the humane
society and who is still affiliated with it. She contacted people here and got an appointment set up for
mama cat to be spayed when her milk dried. She arranged for Fluffy Tail to be neutered free of charge under the feral cat program. She sponsored one of the kittens and paid for it to be spayed. After a long haul of waiting and stretching pennies, we finally got mama cat and all the kittens spayed and neutered. We got their surgery through the Henry Wrinkles Foundation that spays and neuters for a low fee. One of the local vets did the surgery.

We gained the confidence of mama cat and she is a sweet, wonderful little cat. She ate good food probably for the first time in her life and the kittens have grown into pretty little things. I was not going to gain mama's confidence then trick her into going to a kill place. I wouldn't do it. I couldn't do it. Jimmy fell in love with the kittens. There are two twin black ones....females. I can't tell them apart. There is a red tabby male and a gray tabby female.

We named the gray tabby Spot, because she has black spots on her belly. We named the orange tabby Red. We named the black ones Black and Blackie but I don't know Black from Blackie. We named the mama cat, Mama. Mama cat is now fat and well fed.

There were five kittens in the beginning but something happened to one of them. I am afraid a possum or other animal killed the poor little soul. We never found it.

So, we have 10 cats now. We made mama cat and her kittens a bed from a big plastic tub and lined it with insulation board. We cut two big holes for doors and filled the house with straw and Jimmy put straw around their house too. We pushed the house under the deck below the steps and it is a good warm place for them.

Our kids got a little miffed with us for keeping the cats. However, that is beside the point.

That is my cat story.
I thought you might enjoy reading about it, or maybe not.

Gayle


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Morning Dew

12/13/2016

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Patty wrapped the cotton sack around her legs as she pushed her way through the cotton rows.  The cotton stalks and bolls struck the sack instead of her legs, the dew dampening the sack instead of her jeans.  The sun was coming up on the horizon, its yellow-gold rays sifting through the bare trees growing at the end of the quarter-mile rows.
Patty watched her dad drive the John Deere tractor down the side of the field, pulling the cotton wagon behind.  He parked it at the end of the rows.
A memory flashed through her mind, of springtime; of her dad breaking the ground with the breaking plow and of her running down the unearthed middle, warm soil squishing between her bare toes.  Blackbirds flew down, plucking worms and bugs from the earth.
Patty wished for those warm, spring days, instead of the cool, fall days of picking cotton and even colder days of pulling bolls; when the tips of her fingers felt frozen as they peeked through the holes cut from the end of her brown, cotton gloves.
At the end of the cotton row, she shook the cotton sack out behind her and stooping over the row of cotton, she began to pluck the damp locks of cotton from the cotton burrs, and began the task of filling the sack.
 
                                                           The End

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Shivering Cold

12/5/2016

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The old gray frame house shook in the fierce north wind.  The temperature was twenty degrees, but felt like twenty below.
Patsy and Gayle huddled together between the warm double-blanket, their body heat keeping them comfortable.
Patsy’s hands crept from under the cover, smoothing the old quilt top that mamma had sewn.  She recognized each square on the quilt; there were the multi-colors of gingham, cut from her favorite Sunday dress she had outgrown.  She ran her fingers over a blue cotton square with a brown border; that was a piece of mamma’s old dress that had worn out from so many years of wear.
     “That’s my dress!” Gayle chirped, flinging her arms out from under the covers.  She pointed to yellow squares with tiny green turtles.  Patsy pulled the quilt over to get a better look. 
     “Stop!  You’re letting the cold air in!”  Gayle snapped.
Mamma opened the door to the bedroom, letting warm air come in from the kitchen.
     “You gals get up and make up the bed.  Breakfast is ‘bout ready.”
Patsy and Gayle pushed back the covers and leapt from the bed, shivering. 
They grabbed their clothes that were lying on a cane-bottom chair where they left them the night before, pulling them on in record time. They quickly spread the covers on the bed, plumping the pillows before covering them with the bedspread.  Then, they slammed the door behind them, closing off the cold room as they entered the warm kitchen.
The table was already set for four.  Mamma placed steaming dishes of scrambled eggs, bacon and milk gravy in the center.  She was taking a pan of golden biscuits from the oven when daddy opened the back door, letting a rush of cold air inside as he hurried to close the door behind him.  He was wearing his heavy coat and fuzzy toboggan and carrying a broom in his hand.  His wide smile creased his handsome face, showing even, white teeth.
     “My lips are froze like bicycle pedals!” he teased.
     “Oh, Daddy,” Gayle exclaimed, running to hug him tightly, “what are you doin’ outside when it ain’t hardly daylight?”    
     “Sweeping up the mess you and Patsy made last night on the porch.  You didn’t get all the broken glass swept up.”
     “We’re sorry, Daddy.  We didn’t mean to break the glass.  It just slipped,” Patsy said, sadly.  
     “It’s okay.  Just be more careful next time,” daddy answered.  He took off his coat and toboggan and hung them on a hook near the door.  He washed his hands in the wash pan on the cabinet top and dried them.  Then, he took his seat at the head of the table.  Patsy and Gayle sat down quickly and waited for mamma to sit down.  Then, everyone bowed their head while daddy said the blessing.
 

 
                                                        The End

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FRIED CHICKEN FOR SUPPER

11/7/2016

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Lou washed her hands in the granite wash pan and then pushed the screen door open and slung the water out into the yard.  Setting the pan back on the cabinet beside the water bucket, she started peeling the Irish potatoes that mamma had laid out.
 
“We’re fixing mashed ‘taters, ain’t we, Mamma?” she asked.
 
“We ALWAYS do!” Bertha retorted.
 
“Ain’t that all right?” mamma answered in her soft, sweet voice.  “Your daddy likes them, too.”
 
“Me and Daddy like fried 'taters best”, Bertha said.
 
“Mamma’s making milk gravy and fried chicken,” Lou said, beginning to rinse the peeled potatoes in a pan of clean water, “you don’t eat fried potatoes with milk gravy….”
 
“I would.  Me and Daddy would,” Bertha added.
 
“Mamma, make her be quiet,” Lou pleaded.
 
“Sissy,” mamma said softly, “get the bread bowl of flour so I can make biscuits.”
 
Bertha did as her mamma asked and stirred her fingers around in the fluffy, white flour.  Mamma clucked her tongue and pushed Bertha’s fingers away.  She shook the jar of buttermilk and making a deep indention in the center of the bowl of flour, she poured the buttermilk in and began to work the dough with her hand, forming a ball. She dipped her hand into a small bucket of lard and drew out a lump the size of a walnut and added that to the biscuit dough, working it into the dough.
 
“You forgot the baking powder and salt, Mamma,” Bertha said, watching her, mesmerized by how easily her mamma manipulated the ball of dough.
 
“I didn’t, this here is self-rising-flour.”
 
“Oh,” Bertha said.  She should have known mamma knew what she was doing.  Mamma was a wonderful cook.
 
Mamma sprinkled flour on the countertop and lay the biscuit dough on top of it.  She sprinkled more flour on the dough with the metal sifter and began to knead the dough gently.  She patted it out slightly and picked up the old empty can she used for a biscuit cutter. 
 
“Let me cut them out, Mamma!”  Bertha chimed.
 
“All right, but don’t make a mess,” mamma said.  She placed a greased, metal pan closer.
 
Bertha carefully cut out the first biscuit and placed it in the corner of the pan, as her mamma had taught her before.  Mamma watched her as she cut out all the biscuits and then mamma gathered all the scraps of dough and wadded them together.  She tore the wad into four pieces and made four tiny biscuits and placed them in the greased pan.
 
“Them’s mine,” Bertha beamed.
 
“No, Lou gets two of them, you gotta’ share,” mamma said.  She dipped a spoon into the cast iron skillet of frying chicken and smeared a generous amount of grease onto the top of each biscuit.  Then, she shoved the pan into the hot oven of the wood stove.
 
Lou had the potatoes boiling by that time and watched as her mamma began to take golden pieces of fried chicken from the skillet.  She placed them neatly on a stoneware platter.
 
“Mamma, can I have the ‘pulley-bone’?” Lou asked. 
 
“I want a breast!”  Bertha said.
 
“You can have whatever you want,” mamma answered.
 
“I want the liver, too, if you get it brown and crispy,” Lou added.
 
Mamma finished taking all the chicken out of the skillet.  She poured up some of the grease and adding flour to the bubbly grease, she began to make milk gravy.
 
Lou had started mashing the potatoes, adding a generous helping of fresh-churned butter and Pet milk.  Daddy LOVED the taste of Pet milk, as did Bertha.
 
“Sissy, you set the table,”  mamma instructed, as she peeked at the biscuits browning in the oven. “ Lou, go call ye’ daddy if you’re done with the ‘taters.”
 
Mamma poured the thick gravy into a bowl and took the pan of biscuits from the oven.  Cutting each biscuit in half, she filled it generously with fresh-churned butter.
 
“Me and Daddy likes lots of butter, Mamma!” Bertha reminded.
 
“I’m puttin’ lots in ‘em,”  mamma said.
 
Lou was coming back inside with her daddy, who had been plowing the garden.  He took off his hard-shell-hat and hung it on a nail beside the door.  He began to wash his hands in the wash pan and dried them on the towel.  He grinned, broadly, his even, white teeth gleaming in his tanned, handsome face.
 
“Smells good in here!  We havin’ fried chicken?” he asked.
 
“YES!”  Lou and Bertha chorused.
 
Mamma had everything on the table and the four of them sat down.  They quietly bowed their heads and daddy said the blessing for the food. Chatting merrily, the girls began helping themselves to the delicious food as it was passed around the table.   Daddy helped himself to the ‘ bony’ chicken ‘back’.  He always said that was his favorite piece.  Mamma got a thigh and gizzard.  Lou got her ‘pulley-bone’ and liver and Bertha got a juicy breast. 
 
It never occurred to the girls why they always got the ‘best’ parts of the chicken, nor why they always got the last biscuit, or last of the gravy and potatoes.  That was the way it always was.  They always left the table full and happy.  They would never realize how much their parents sacrificed for them, even doing without, if need be, until they had children of their own.
 
 
                                                                           The End
 
 


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Making Peanut Fudge With Mamma

1/16/2015

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By Patsy Kirksey Ross

1950’s

Birdie Kirksey was a sweet-natured farm wife and a wonderful mother to her four daughters.  She worked hard on the forty-acre farm, working side by side in the field with her husband, Johnie, and her daughters.  The two older girls were eleven years older than the latter two.  It was like having two families, Birdie always  said.   The two older girls grew up and went off to college, leaving the younger two, Pat and Gayle, working beside their Mamma. 

Birdie didn’t encourage the girls to cook much in the kitchen, but she did teach them how to make peanut fudge that melted in their mouths.  First of all, they had to shell the peanuts that had been picked off the peanut vine and dried.  After the peanuts were shelled, they placed them in a pan and roasted them in the oven.  They had to be stirred often or they would burn.  Several times, Pat or Gayle dipped  a hot peanut  out of the pan with a tablespoon and bit into it, careful not to burn their tongue  as they nibbled it and tested it for doneness.  A certain ‘crunch’ told them that the peanuts were ready.   Then, the peanuts were cooled for a few minutes and then the girls rolled them between their hands, which separated the husks from the peanut and split most of the peanuts in half.  Then, the girls carried the pan of peanuts outside onto the kitchen steps and blew puffs of their breath onto the peanuts, which caused the husks to float up and away, leaving only the cleaned peanuts, ready for the fudge.  (Mamma didn’t like for the girls to blow the husks out onto the kitchen floor.)

When the peanuts were ready, Birdie proceeded to make the fudge.  She measured the granulated sugar and cocoa into the iron skillet and stirred it until the lumps had disappeared.  Next, the milk was added and she cooked and stirred the fudge while it bubbled, continuously.  When it had cooked a while, Birdie showed the girls how to test  for ‘the soft-ball-stage’.  Taking a small bowl of cold water, she dropped a dab of the fudge into the cold water.  If the fudge spread out in a splatter, it wasn’t done.  When it formed a soft ‘ball’ of fudge in the bottom of the bowl, it was done.  Taking the skillet off the hot burner, she added the roasted peanuts and began beating the fudge with a large spoon.    She dropped a large chunk of butter and a spoonful of vanilla into the fudge and kept stirring.  Finally, when the fudge no longer looked ‘glossy’, she poured it onto a buttered platter and smoothed it with the spoon.

Waiting for it to cool seemed to take forever.  When it was cool enough to cut, they used a sharp knife to cut it into squares.  With the fudge still slightly warm, both girls and their Mamma bit into the scrumptious fudge, licking their fingers to get the last taste of goodness.

Mamma was making memories with her girls that would last forever.  But it didn’t end here.  Early the next morning, as soon as the girls woke, they snuck into the kitchen to get pieces of peanut fudge and hurried back to bed to eat it under the covers.  Never had fudge tasted so good, as it tasted under those covers on a cool morning, before breakfast.  It never ruined their appetite, either.  The young, country girls always had room for their Mamma’s delicious, hot buttered biscuits, bacon, eggs and gravy before going to the cotton field to work all day.  Chopping cotton or pulling a sack full of cotton around all day, burned up all the calories the girls had consumed.  That worry never crossed their mind.  They looked forward to the next batch of peanut fudge that they could make with their mother.

The End

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The Fiddler

1/13/2015

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                                                                      The Fiddler

                                                                            1949

Mamma watched as Daddy opened the front door to see who knocked loudly.

     “How are you, Sir?” the stranger said joyfully.  “Can I come in for a little while?  I’d like to show you our latest Stanley Products.  I’m sure the Missus would love to see ‘em”.  The tall, gangly man peered around the door facing and smiled broadly, his snuff-stained dentures showing as he smiled at mamma.

     “Come on in,” Daddy said, stepping aside as he opened the door wider.

The stranger dragged a battered, black suitcase inside with him as well as a tattered fiddle case and sat them down in front of the couch.

    “Have a seat,” Daddy said as he sat down in the chair opposite the couch.  “Birdie, drag up a kitchen chair and have a look.”

     “My name’s Murdock….., Leslie Murdock,” the stranger said, reaching out a grimy hand for Daddy to grasp.

Daddy shook Mr. Murdock’s hand cordially.  “Johnie Kirksey, Mr. Murdock.  This here is my wife, Birdie and my daughter, Patty.”

     “How-do, Mam,” he said to Mamma. Nodding his head toward Patty, he winked one of his pale blue eyes.  “Mighty nice to meet you folks!  I’d like to show you our newest hair brushes and shoe brushes,” he said as he began opening his suitcase and he laid it wide open on the wood floor.

Patty’s eyes shone as she gazed at the new bristle brushes lying in neat rows inside the suitcase.  There were colorful combs of different sizes, lying in rows of their own.

Mr. Murdock picked up a cedar-handled hair brush and handed it to Mamma.

     “Just look at that fine hair brush, Mrs. Kirksey, and this sturdy plastic comb.”  He handed the comb to Patty.  She turned it over carefully, inspecting the pale-pink comb wistfully.

     “You notice, Mrs. Kirksey, the comb is two inches wide and eight inches long, a nice, big comb easy to hold onto and hard to lose,” he said, grinning widely.  “I can sell you both, comb and brush, for two-bits apiece; just a half-dollar for both of ‘em.”

Birdie ran her fingers across the smooth handle and firm bristles of the hair brush, comparing it, in her mind, to the worn brush lying on the dresser in the bedroom.  She looked up at Johnie, but his gaze didn’t meet hers.  He was reaching for a large shoe brush that Mr. Murdock was handing to him.

     “This here is a ‘top-of-the-line’ shoe brush, made of fine horse hair.  It’ll last longer than a dozen pair of new shoes, I guarantee it!  I got some black and brown shoe polish right here, too.  You got another pair of shoes I could polish and shine for you, Mr. Kirksey?  I’d be glad to show ‘ye how spiffy it makes ‘em.”

Johnie looked down at his well-worn, brown oxfords that had dried mud from the field on them.

     “I reckon I got a pair of Sunday shoes you could spiff up.  Patty, go get them for me, Gal.”

Patty hurried to get his shoes from the bedroom.  She brought them back and set them down in front of Mr. Murdock.  They were black, leather shoes with hardly any shine on them.  Daddy had only worn them to church and to town sometime and they had lasted a long time.

     “Fine shoes,” Mr. Murdock said, taking one of them in his hands and inspecting it.  He proceeded to open a small can of black shoe polish and with a well-used, black scrap of cloth, he scooped a dab of polish out of the can and onto the top of Daddy’s shoe.   He spread the black polish lovingly, all over the shoe, scooping up more polish as he needed it.  Then, he repeated the process, with the other shoe.  The Kirksey family sat, entranced, watching Mr. Murdock handle Daddy’s shoe with such care.  Finally, setting the shoes side-by- side, he said, “Now, we’ll just let ‘em dry for a spell and then I’ll shine ‘em.”  Gazing up at Mamma, he continued.  “How ‘ye doin’ on vanilla flavoring?  I got the pure extract and I got imitation.  Most folk buy the imitation.  I figure it’s just as good as the extract, and lots cheaper.”

     “I don’t need no vanilla,” Mamma said.  “I could use this brush and comb, though.”  She looked questionably at Johnie.

     “You can get them,” Johnie said meeting her gaze.

     “It ain’t too much?” she asked him.

     “It’s all right.  All of us can use them.”

Mr. Murdock was beaming as he began brushing the first shoe he had polished.  The shoe began to shine and before he was done, it looked glossy.  He picked up the other shoe and began to brush it.

Johnie had to grin, seeing the old pair of shoes being brought back to life.  “How much for a tin of that polish and the shoe brush?” he asked.

     “I’ll tell you what I’ll do!”  Mr. Murdock said happily.  “I’ll let ‘ye have both of them for two-bits apiece, just like I done for your wife.  All four items for a mere dollar bill!  How’s that, Mr. Kirksey?”

     “That’s all right.  I’ll pay you a dollar for all four,” Daddy said, as he drew his wallet out of his back pocket and carefully selected a dollar bill and handed it to Mr. Murdock.

     “Much obliged!” Mr. Murdock exclaimed, taking the bill and stuffing it in his pocket.  He closed the suitcase after taking out a new tin of black polish and handed the polish and shoe brush to Daddy.  “Them shoes look mighty fine, Mr. Kirksey.”

     “Yeah, they look ‘purty good.”  Motioning toward the fiddle case, he continued, “You play that fiddle, Mr. Murdock?”

Mr. Murdock actually blushed.  “Well, I play ‘at it,’ he joked.  “Can’t say I’m so good.”

     “Would you play a few tunes for us?  Birdie can cook us some supper while you’re playing, if you want to stay for supper.”  Johnie looked warily at Birdie.

Birdie nodded reluctantly, her mind racing, wondering what she had in the kitchen to feed company.  She got up and took the chair back to the kitchen.  Patty followed.  Mamma handed the hair brush to Patty.  “Go put the brush and comb on the dresser and come help me fix supper,” she said softly, so Mr. Murdock wouldn’t hear.

     “What are you fixing?” Patty asked.

     “I don’t know.  I got fried okra and pinto beans cooked.  Maybe I can fry some potatoes to go with that and fry some bacon.  That’s all the meat I got.”

     “I love your bacon, Mamma.  Mr. Murdock will like all that, too.”

     “I hope so.  We got tomatoes, too,” Mamma mused, “I can slice some of them.”  She stopped in mid-thought as a beautiful melody erupted from the fiddle, filling the whole house with the sound.

Patty grinned from ear to ear.  “Listen, Mamma!  Isn’t it beautiful?” she said, dreamily.

     “Yeah, it’s ‘purty.  Now, let’s get busy.  You peel the potatoes and I’ll start cookin’ the bacon.”  There was a twinkle in Mamma’s eyes as she began laying strips of bacon in the cast-iron skillet, her spirit lifting as though being carried away by the musical sound coming from the living room.

                                                                            The End

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10-23-13 More memories of the corn field.

10/23/2013

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Yesterday my long-time friend, Carolyn called me to let me know how much she enjoyed reading my book, High Cotton.  She said it brought back memories of when she was a little girl.  She said she played the same games that Gayle and I played, like building 'frog houses' in the damp sand.  She asked if we ever played 'dolls' with the ears of corn growing in the corn field.  Of course we did, but I had forgotten all about that when I tried to remember  all the games Gayle and I played while writing my book. We picked many regal beauties from the corn stalks, some with beautiful, blond, silky hair and many with red curls.   Surprisingly, Daddy and Mamma never scolded us for gathering our little 'dolls' while they were still green on the stalk of corn.  Gayle and I spent many hours playing with those little 'dolls'.

Carolyn  started telling me that she and her husband had to have their beloved little dog put to sleep last week.  She began to cry as she tried to tell me this.  I had seen her little dog recently and had no idea anything was wrong.  It was a little 'mutt' that they had rescued from the animal shelter a few years ago.  It had little matted curls like a poodle and he whined to sit in Carolyn's lap before she gladly held him as we visited.
  Having lost a beloved cat, 'Sweetie Pie' a few years ago, I can sympathize with Carolyn and her husband.  We get attached to our pets and it is hard when they pass away.  They are like family to us.  I still think about Sweetie Pie and she has been gone almost five years.  We had her with us for eleven years.  She was family.
My husband made a little 'sympathy card'  to mail to Carolyn, like my vet. Dr. Forrest sent to me when Sweetie Pie passed away.  Everyone in his office signed it.  It had pictures of little cats and dogs on it and it meant a great deal  to me to receive it at that time.   I thought it was so thoughtful.  I hope Carolyn's card will help to cheer her.
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John Deere

10/15/2013

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Mamma was wearing her bonnet and daddy was wearing his hard-shell hat as they stripped the dry ears of corn from the stalks.  The John Deere tractor was “put-putting” loudly, almost drowning daddy’s voice when he yelled to Pat to push the clutch lever forward to slowly move the tractor and wagon.  Pat obeyed, with all the confidence of a five-year-old.  When daddy yelled “Whoa!” she pulled the lever back and the tractor stopped.  She was beaming as she watched ears of dried corn being tossed into the wagon.  She felt so grown-up.  She was helping gather corn by driving the tractor!  Her older sister, Gayle, didn’t want to drive it.  She was nineteen months older than Pat, but she had rather pull the ears off the stalks and toss them into the wagon.

Pat’s attention began to wane.  She watched a black and yellow butterfly fluttering from stalk to stalk.  It came to land on mamma’s dress and Pat knew that meant mamma would get a new dress, because she had told Pat so.

Sweat began to trickle from Pat’s bangs down to her cheek.  It tickled and she rubbed it off with her hand, leaving a dirty smudge.

Daddy was calling out for her to move the wagon forward again, bringing her mind back to the present.  Driving the tractor was fun, but she was getting distracted.  Her stomach began to rumble and she thought of mamma cooking dinner.  How could mamma cook dinner if she was gathering corn?

After a few more minutes daddy climbed up on the tractor and slid onto the seat, pulling Pat onto his lap.  Mamma and Gayle were climbing into the wagon.

“You did a dandy job, Gal,” daddy said grinning.  “ When you  get a little older, you can ride on here and sew vetch seed for me, while I drive.  You can be the ‘ little boy’ I never had.”

“I ain’t no BOY, Daddy!” Pat chided. 

Daddy chuckled, “Just my ‘tom boy', Pat.  Just my ‘tom boy'.” Daddy guided the tractor and wagon under the shed and stopped, shutting off the motor.  Mamma and Gayle were climbing out of the wagon. 

“You and Gayle go help your mamma fix dinner.  After we eat and rest a while, we’ll shuck and shell some of the corn,” daddy said.

In the kitchen mamma began to peel red potatoes to fry.  A pot of purple hull peas already sat on the stove.  Mamma had cooked them earlier while she was cooking breakfast.

After washing their face and hands Gayle set the table while Pat got out the bowl for mixing cornbread.  When mamma had the potatoes frying she mixed the cornmeal and buttermilk while Pat brought her an egg for the batter.  Having an iron skillet heating with grease, Mamma poured the batter in.  Pat heard the sizzling sound that she loved.  Next, mamma cut thick slices of salt pork to fry and Gayle laid them in another skillet.  A tantalizing aroma filled the kitchen, making Pat’s mouth water.  Dinner was almost ready.  Pat hoped that she didn’t have to take a nap afterwards.

5 Comments

My latest book, High Cotton

10/2/2013

10 Comments

 
Picture
High Cotton is a book of memoirs of two little girls, my sister, Gayle, and me, growing up on a forty-acre cotton farm in northeastern Arkansas in the 1940 and 1950 era.

 On March 16, 1929 our Daddy, Johnie Brackston Kirksey, married our Mamma, Elberta (Birdie)White.  Both were hard-working farmers who lived during difficult times.

Daddy and Mamma raised four girls.  The oldest, Bertha, was born July 11, 1930.  Then, Louella was born March 25, 1932.  Nine years later, Gayle was born May 25, 1941 and I was born December 17, 1942.

This is the history of Gayle and me, as we remember it; how we laughed and cried; how we played and worked on the farm, and how both of us became a teenage bride at the age of sixteen.


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My First Book,Hideaway

10/1/2013

1 Comment

 
Picture
Amy Fontell inherits a cabin in the woods from her deceased uncle.
She loves escaping the city to spend quiet time and enjoy the beauty of nature.
However, her serenity is shattered when she discovers a decomposing body with an arrow protruding from its back.
Amy is caught up in the investigation of a homicide when she meets Lieutenant Barry Reeser.
A recent widower, who is still grieving for his former wife, Barry becomes interested in Amy.
She returns that affection and falls deeply in love with Barry.
After Amy and Barry are married, Amy feels insecure about his love for his former wife.
Amy and Barry have to work through problems in their marriage while still being involved in the homicide case.

Instead of being solved easily, the case gets more and more complicated and eventually involves Amy’s deceased uncle.



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    Author

    Patsy Kirksey Ross 
    New Alabama Author

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    Hideaway
    High Cotton
    October 2013

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