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Sunday, May 1, 2016

Brazil Buzz

Thursday, August 30, 2012

This Sunday afternoon, all is well in the little blue house at the end of the road.

The only sounds that I hear are the ticking of the old wall clock and that constant ringing in my ears.

Paul is flipping channels on the control of the TV. The thumb is working up a storm. Funny thing, the old boy is napping and the set is off.

Tootie Mae is staring him down. She picked that habit up from me.

Our daughter, Lori Patrick, posted a picture of her chubby feline "Kiki" on Facebook. She was sleeping on her back clutching their remote control with all four paws.

Rain is in the forecast. We sure could use more. The rain gauge is empty and in place.

The tomato plants look good. Could be, there is still hope. Some of the bell peppers are struggling.

Last year's planting of kale survived the mild winter, the extreme heat and the worst of the drought. The plants are smiling and moving with the breeze again.

We enjoyed a healthy harvest of the dark leafy cabbage with the evening meal recently. The steamed greens are very good with crispy lean bacon, a small amount of the drippings, boiled eggs and salt and pepper to taste.

The hardy greens dish was one of my mother's favorite fixings, once or twice a week from spring until mother nature wilted them her way. Sometimes, she added vinegar.

I am the only member of my family who ever worried much about a cholesterol problem.

Mine is at a good level today, although screening, medication and a proper diet works to make that happen.

Our daughters will visit us tomorrow evening. They are giving me a trim and a manicure.

I hope Lori, the beautician, hasn't been practicing her trade on sheep with her sheers and Starla saves the length of my longest thumbnail. I like my locks and nails.

Paul and I and our baby, Starla Gail, moved from California back to Indiana in March of 1960, after his tour of duty, in the United States Navy ended.

We rented an apartment from Ruth Crewes located on the second floor of her business.

I usually hired "City Taxi" to transport me around the area to nearly every place I needed or wanted to be.

One day, I decided to call the cab from the paint and wallpaper store and visit my folks. In a short time, the driver would arrive. I gathered up the baby, her bag of necessities and my purse, and hurried down the stairs toward the storefront.

This mom placed the baby's diaper bag and my catch-all on the sidewalk beside my feet.

I shuffled my precious, energetic bundle of joy from side to side quite some time before the driver pulled up alongside the building to pick me up.

He apologized for the wait. The grinner stopped by Hap's Tavern on the way to pick up another passenger.

The little old red- faced fellow, with the strawberry red nose, seated in the front seat beside him shook his head, agreeably.

It was plain to see he was loaded to the gills.

His arms seemed to interfere with his happiness.

He was trying to fit a bottle in a twisted brown bag into his back pocket.

As I was loading the remainder of my load, the baby and me, into the backseat for some never explained reason, the driver accelerated the vehicle.

The back door slammed shut and my thumb was caught up in the turmoil. What should I do? The thumb was in bad shape and bleeding. The baby was crying loudly. The wobbly drunk was out of the cab wanting to help me and hold the baby. I kept all matters in my own hands and pulled a pretty handkerchief from my purse.

Yes, ladies preferred hankies over tissues back in the day.

My caregiver at the time was Dr. John Shattuck, a friend of the family. His office was just down the street. I could make it on foot. I was so upset.

I gathered up my belongings, newly numbed thumb, baby and all and took off on "shanks mare," toward professional help.

The taxicab driver offered nothing other than to report the incident to his boss and proceed to his other fare's destination.

I will never forget the climb up those stairs lugging that baby.

Blood droplets left the hankie and marked my path.

The thumb was beginning to throb and the baby was showing signs of hunger.

The good doctor's nurse, Alice Church, was standing in the waiting room giving another patient instructions. Otherwise, the office was empty.

She took me into a room where the doctor performed outpatient surgeries and the likes, and more; Alice held the baby for me.

Dr. John Shattuck came in and examined the injured terminating member of my hand in his.

X-rays that followed exposed neither phalange of the digit was broken. Stitches were required. The nail was badly damaged and it was a loss.

The injury was slow to heal. As the new nail emerged from the matrix and grew, I knew it was deformed.

Not even a professional manicure could conceal the damage that little happening caused.

I don't know why I worried so much. My hands have always been working hands. The nail has never been extra nice. No remedy corrected the problems then.

That nail met up with that cab door over a half a century ago.

Shortly after the beginning of the year, I began taking some new medicine for my ills. I attribute it to a strange happening that has taken place with the nail of said thumb.

That ugly nail, and only the aforementioned is growing like crazy, smooth and strong.

I do "thumbs up" just to show off the ugly duckling that steals every show now. The brightly lacquered nail was a hit among a few friends of mine at the reunion of the class of 1957 of Brazil High School last week. That just goes to show, with us, even little things mean a lot.

I sure am glad. This old girl nailed it. They laughed.

The fingers and my other thumb hang their nails in shame most of the time.

When Starla begins her manicure, I might drop that cool nail into the palm of my hand and allow the rest to enjoy the trim, shape and shine.

That's not to say that "show and tell" will not be on hand.

Thanks for reading "Brazil Buzz."

I can be reached by phone at 446-4852 or by e-mail at pamsarq@frontier.com.