FRANKIE'S HEARTFELT LIFE PHILOSOPHY

Life's journey is not to arrive safely at the grave in a well preserved body, but rather to skin in sideways totally worn out shouting at the top of your lungs, HOLY SHIT!!!! WHAT A RIDE!!!!

Many people have eaten in my kitchen and gone on to lead normal and healthy lives.

Explain to me again why I need a Man.

I understand the concept of cooking and cleaning, just not as it applies to me.

Drink coffee... Do stupid things faster and with more energy.

Unattended children will be given an a large espresso and a free puppy.

I have 4 children. I practiced birthcontrol, but I couldn't get it right.

FIRST SOME BACKGROUND

My father's name was Earl, although I think he was actually named after his father Oscar, and my father's actual name was Oscar Earl. Well anyway, the family called him Earl or Pooch, except for me I called him Daddy. He was the oldest son of his parent's Oscar and Zella. Zella had a nickname of Lady (we will get into that later). My father's life was not easy, although, he seemed to think it was funny on occasions. I think that life was a big disappointment for Dad at times, but he could, when he wanted, tell a story.

My father was 9 years old when his father died of pneumonia. His death left his blind wife, with 5 small children while being eight months pregnant with the 6th. That would have been in 1929, so I guess my father was born in 1920, whew!

1929, was the year that the stock market crashed and the start of the depression. My father was all of 9 years old when the depression hit. He said that he went hungry a few times in his childhood. He also stated that he hated to see the Church ladies come to his home. He would not discuss it much his sisters said a few things about him and how they always were first.

To those of you who have not had the experience, churches can and do good works for the poor. You do not get much poorer than a blind, widowed, pregnant farmer's wife in 1929. Many churches at that time were the only resource for that kind of destitution. They provided succor for the poor and disabled providing, food, clothing, shoes, etc. for the disadvantaged.

My father apparently greatly resented the church ladies and he was humiliated by their charity. I am not sure what the experience was that made him hate it, but I imagine something did. Maybe he was was just a proud man that came from being a proud child, I do not know who made him feel so bad about accepting help at such a young age, but someone must have. I believe that it was this hunger and humiliation that caused my father to drop out of high school at the age of 15, to work in the coal mines. Yes, yes, I know, "I AM A COAL MINERS DAUGHTER"(but my name is not Loretta.)

He had a job at 15, as a coal miner and he figured he was man enough to have a job; then he was man enough to take care of his family, his mother and his five siblings. When he wasn't in the mines he was working the farm. God I don't know how he did it.

This is what I have surmised based on his character and things I have heard mentioned by family members. For reasons I cannot account for John Wayne and my Dad always seemed to have a lot in common. Did I happen to mention that he taught the Algebra class while he was in school? He later got his GED and became an electronic engineer who worked on the Apollo program and the on the lunar landing module. My Dad could perform binary and octal math in his head. He was a smart man.

Later also worked on inertial navigation systems for commercial aircraft. He worked on some of the first talking computer systems. He said that he was working on a system that would tell the pilot, "You're too high, you're too high," or "You're too low you're too low." Additionally he stated he was going to have a third statement as well, "You're too late, your too late." (He said that was for the pilots who didn't listen the first time the computer told them they were in the wrong spot.) He was working on this project in 1974, when he passed away at the age of 54. At the time I am writing this, I am 18 years older than my father was at the time of his passing. If you can hear me Poopsie I still miss you.

MY DAD'S VERSION OF WORLD WAR II

I remember him telling us stories about his adventures as young Navy Radio Operator during World War II during the invasion of Guam. My father never really talked about it much, but he did on a rare occasions and it was always funny when he told the story.

I am positive that there were very few things funny about a World War. My father was very self-deprecating at times and sometimes he was tyrannical, but he was my Dad and I loved him. So here is the first story, I remember my Father telling.

First of all I want to make it clear that during World War II my father did not have any bullets for his gun, so we can safely say that he probably didn't kill anybody. I will explain that later. Oh what the heck, I'll explain it now. My Dad was a Navy radio operator embedded in a Marine Corps unit. Navy said the Marine Corp should give him bullets and the Marine Corp said that the Navy should give him bullets. (They are both part of the Department of the Navy.) I want to let you know that this issue was never resolved to my father's satisfaction.

JUST CALL ME JESUS (No Virginia he was not Hispanic)

My father was a radio operator in World War II. This story occurred during WW II, I am not sure if it was before or after the invasion of Guam.

My father said that they were out in the pacific and at a complete stop, and it was hot. My father was raised in southern Utah. Trust me he understood the concept of "really hot" even if it was a "dry heat".
The ship he was on was anchored off some small sandy coral reef. The heat was intense, even though the day appeared incredible. He said that the sky was a breath taking turquoise and so was the sea making it was difficult to see where one ended and the other began.

The captain announced that they would be allowed to swim over the side of a ship and the ship lowered it's troop nets. Troop nets are large nets that can be climbed to either board or disembark a ship over the side. Well, "hot damn", as dad used to say, that sounded like fun.

Hopefully, you have all ready read the part in here that said that my dad quit school at the age of 15 to work in the coal mines to support his mother and four sisters and one brother. If you have not, you have now. At the beginning of World War II, my dad worked in the mines and also farmed; so I guess you might say dad was strong. He liked boot camp; he said that he got flabby in boot camp, why they even let you sleep until 4:30 in the morning. Farmers and coal miners rise a little earlier.

A little bit off the point, I know, but I remember my mother shouting at my dad, "Don't you split that shirt sleeve again scratching your head I just fixed it." Yeah, dad was strong when he was young.

“Well,” he told us, “the thing about the Navy is that they want you to know how to swim.” I think that is reasonable. My father never actually learned how to swim, well not exactly. As a matter of fact, my dad said on more than one occasion that he could swim exactly like a brick. My dad's secret was that he was so strong, that he could make his arms move so fast that he could not sink. (He said something about vectors and thrust, he was an engineer.) Yup, that was exactly how my dad swam, just like a brick. Your going to have to trust me, I saw him swim. That reminds me; he spanked in the same fashion. You did not really see his hand move, but you felt it,--later.

So there he was, it was a beautiful sunny day, the ocean so blue and the water so clear it looked like a gigantic swimming pool. So my dad climbs down on the nettling a little ways. He checks to see if it is clear and then jumps into the cool, crystal clear, water. Wow, that was fun, so he said he got his arms moving and jet propels himself back to the net, and climbs back up. He said that the breeze felt really good while he was wet. So, he lets go and plunges back into the sea, hey, it was even more fun the second time.

Whoopee!!! So what does he do? Why he climbs up higher on the net? Why you may ask? Well, he said it was so he can fly through the air longer because it feels so good in the heat.

Do you know what happens when you get higher and fall further? Well, for one thing, you get to think longer about the fall. Two, you get to think longer about that really big, really ugly, possibly the ugliest fish you have ever seen in your life and you are going to land right on top of it when you hit the water. Three, you do not know what is going to happen when you hit that really, really ugly, very large, creepy, devilish looking fish that it getting really close. Four, you are only 24 or 25 years old and you do not want to die.

What happened then? Well, he said he was not exactly sure; apparently, he could make his legs move as fast as his hands and arms. He said that next thing he remembered was that he standing on the sandy coral reef, and his shorts were nearly dry. However, they did start calling him Jesus, because he apparently was able to walk on water.

MY DAD'S VERSION OF THE INVASION OF GUAM 

Once again, a story told by my dear old dad. Well, Guam was apparently not a fun place according to history, but maybe dad did not want to let on about that. What he said was, "I was the oldest man in my unit at 25." He also told us kids that they called him Pappy.

He said that he was a Naval Radio Operator, embedded in a Marine unit. The good news was that he had a rifle. The bad news was that the Navy said he had to get his bullets form the Marines and the Marines said he was a sailor she he had to get his bullets from the Navy proper.
I have told you this before, but I feel it is worth repeating. Therefore, as a "sailor" radio operator assigned to the Marines, he never fired his gun because he was never given any bullets by anyone during WW II. I personally believe all wars should be fought without bullets.

Trust me he tried to get bullets. It was not like you could go down to your nearest local gun store and buy any either. So, what do you do if you have no bullets in a fire-fight? Well.... Ah, you look for shelter because you are cannon fodder according to Dad.

At first, he tried to hide underneath his radio truck but every square inch under the truck was occupied. Since he could not get under the truck, he thought that if he was lying on top of the truck, as flat as he could he might be safe, if the truck was not blown up.

Additionally, he thought that if the shell fell on the truck he might be blown into a tree and survive. His logic did not seem very sound to me even as a small child, but he was under a lot of stress at that time because he did not have any bullets. I am fairly sure that bullets might not have helped, but I think it might have made him feel a little better.

Somehow, in the middle of the invasion barrage, while he is lying on top of his radio truck on the beach my dad goes to sleep. Well, maybe not sleep exactly, but as the first rays of dawn appear, he wakes up at any rate I guess you can only maintain that level of terror for so long. (Remember he has no bullets.) The only thing left on the beach is his radio truck, all of the lovely palm trees and jungle looking areas close to the beach are gone. The beach is a largely a cratered, surface, with little foliage and dad is on top of his radio truck.

Believe it or not, that is pretty much how he told the story of the invasion of Guam. He also had another story.

PARTS IS PARTS

Shortly after the invasion he said it started to rain. He said that Guam had two seasons, the rainy season and the really rainy season. In other words, he said it rained a lot. He said that him and his buddy, dug a fox hole. My dad was a coal miner, if there was one thing he knew how to do it was dig.

Well it was getting rather damp, and night had fallen. They had agreed to rest, setting back to back; one would sleep while the other kept watch. There was at least 3 to 4 inches of water in their foxhole and they had to continue bailing; lying down was not an option.

It was dark, it was raining, and it was scary. My father hears, a rustling sound in the bushes and foliage surrounding them. He then hears a plop, .... Plop, ... splash..., plop. The sound gets closer, and closer, in his imagination there is a Japanese patrol walking stealthily towards his position and he has no bullets!

At that time, there were Japanese soldiers all over the island, it is not secure. He remembered that he had a bayonet. He detaches his bayonet from his rifle. The sounds get closer and closer. He said that he and his buddy were not even breathing.

All of a sudden, a he feels a Plop right on his chest. OH, MY GOD, my father is sure that a Japanese soldier has stepped on him, and he has no bullets. All he had was a stinking bayonet. He immediately decided to use said bayonet. He had no bullets, I didn't say he wasn't brave, he worked in coal mines in the middle to late 1930's, starting at age 15. This is my estimate, he never discussed a specific time frame.

He stated that he came up out of that foxhole rapidly sweeping his bayonet right and left in front of him as fast as he could. He was going to fight to the death. (I bet he looked like a Cuisinart.) Then he realized that Japanese soldiers were probably not that small. (Although he did say they were that much bigger.) What he realized later, was that it was a rather large, Guamanian frog. Do you remember how fast he could move his arms? Well, suddenly they were not just sitting in 3 to 4 inches of water; they were sitting in 3 to 4 inches of water and little pieces of a previously large Guamanian frog. He said it was probably better that they did not give him bullets or there would not have been a single frog left on Guam.

HEAR COMES THE FLASH

After the island of Guam was partially secured, my poor Dad was resting in his nice dry bunk, in his nice dry tent trying very hard to catch up on some nice dry sleep. He said that he was not bothering a single solitary soul, however, it was movie night.

The person who was supposed to get the movie out of the Quonset hut way up at the top of the hill had forgotten to do so.

By this time my father had made the rank of Chief Petty Officer. He said that he had rank enough to go way up at the top of the hill to get the movie out of the Quonset hut, but not enough rank to make someone else do it. He also said that at that time the men in his unit and his friends called him, "Pappy" because he was extremely old, at the vast age of 24 or 25 years.

My father never could tolerate whining. (He always gave in.) So someone was going, "Pappy, please go get the movie, we really want to see it really, really bad, please, please, please!" This was the same tactic frequently used by my younger brothers and myself throughout our childhoods.

Dad said that he crawled out of bed, got dressed putting on his shirt, pants and shoes. He even put on his cap, just in the event that he ran into an officer that was stupid enough to be way up on the top of the hill by the Quonset hut, in the dark, all alone.

I think that we can understand his somewhat poor attitude in general and also because apparently the officers were in charge of the bullets that they never would give him. At any rate, he said you could always trust an officer to be where they shouldn't and they apparently had a poor understanding of the needs of the troops, (he really wanted some bullets).

So he was fairly sure he would find an officer there, you know up the hill by the Quonset hut with the single light bulb far, far up the hill in the dark, all alone.

Did I happen to mention that my father was a redhead? Probably not, okay my father had beautiful dark auburn hair that tried to curl in ringlets all over his head. He hated it of course and made "Brill crème" rich. My dad had dimples too. He was cute. By this time, dad said, he had pretty much given up on having any bullets during WWII. (He was thinking about writing home and asking the family to send him some in his next care package, bullets that is.)

There he was, cruelly awakened from a nice, dry, sound sleep, in his nice warm, dry bunk. He said that he thought if he hurried, he just might be able to get back to the nice dream he was having before they woke him. So, he trudged up the hill, in the dark, alone, all by himself, in the dark. Did I mention that it was dark. When he got to the top of the hill and reached the only light between his tent and Quonset hut, he said that he felt much better, under the light of a single light bulb. He did mention that later on he realized that Japanese soldiers could actually see him better to shoot him, but that he had just been awakened rudely from a sound sleep, so his logic might have been impaired. However, he wanted to play it safe, so when he went into the Quonset hut, he latched the screen door behind him. As he started looking for the, "GD movie", as he used say.

Then he realized that he was no longer alone, in the dark, at the top of the hill, in the Quonset hut. It was at that time “a Japanese soldier with a 30 foot machete stood up from behind some boxes.” I am not sure about the length of the machete but my Dad swore it was 30 feet long. I personally had issues with the thought of someone who was only slightly larger than a Guamanian frog lifting a 30 foot long machete. But Dad was firm about how big it was.

"There I was," (poignant pause)","there was a Japanese soldier with the "30 foot machete". My dad said, "Do you know what I did then?"

"No daddy", or "No Earl", was usual response.

"Why I did what any other red blooded American service man would do I reached into my pocket for my pocket knife. Only thing was my pocket knife was conspicuous by it's absence. My pocket knife was sitting next to my nice, warm, dry bunk, in the dark, all alone."
Then my dad would say, "Do you know what I did then?"

"No daddy, what did you do?"

"Why I did what any other red blooded, American service man would do, I decided to leave."

He said that he did not unlatch the screen door to the Quonset hut. He said that he was not actually holding it up, but the velocity at which he was traveling held it in place until he reached the bottom of the hill. (Once again it had something to do with vectors and thrust, he was an engineer.) At that point the door just sort of fell over when the thrust ended. They changed his nickname from "Pappy", to "Flash", they did not know that anyone could move that fast. My dad said it was physics, vectors, thrust and the mass of a moving object.

I got to tell you one more thing I once asked him when I was older what had happened to the Japanese soldier. He said that a unit of Marines went up the hill and they had bullets.

LET ME CALL YOU LADY (This a story about my Father's Mother)

Lady was the nick name of my grandmother Zella. (I am not making it up that was her name.) Oh, my goodness how much I loved my grandmother. All of her grandchildren adored her and so did her children. She was a very large woman, as in tall, in that I am like her.

She was actually either a little taller or the same height as Cara, my daughter, Rebbekkah my granddaughter and lastly myself. Which would make her at least 5'8-1/2” to 5'10”. I am not sure how tall she actually was she passed when I was 14 and at that age I was next to the shortest person in my class. (I had two major growth spurts in high school making me at least 5'8” I got another inch or so during my first pregnancy.

Can we say, “stretch marks.” I even had stretch marks on my ankles.) But I digress.

She was also a very funny woman. I believe that this is where all of her descendants get it, whatever “IT” is. She had the "piker/stinker" gene, because she was a “piker/stinker” when she wanted to be. I can clearly state that piker/stinkism runs in my family like the Force runs in Luke Skywalker's family.

My grandmother was also blind. She told me that she had gone blind at the age of 12. She said that it was caused by measles. (I have no idea.) She said that she also had rheumatic fever when she was a child. She said that she had been very blond, and she lost all her hair when she had scarlet fever. She told us that when he hair grew back it dark brown.

It never ceases to amaze me what she saw in her life time. (Saw is not exactly what she did and she would be the first to point that out.) But,
she somehow managed to raise six children, Zelma, Earl, Elizabeth, (Alias Aunt Von, I would also like to know where that came from). Alta, Rebbecca (Aunt Becky whose actual name was Alice), and Uncle Kay.

Uncle Kay was the youngest and I suspect that my Grandmother had run out of real names and had randomly picked a letter of the alphabet. My father was Earl aka Pooch, Pappy, Flash and Jesus. I think it is now obvious that our family is big on nick names. It is a trait definitely handed down genetically. There is usually an explanation, and I recently found out hers. She was at home with her children giving out the chores that needed to be done. Earl do this Elizabeth do that, Zelma you do this etc. Her children then stated, "What are you going to do mother." She remarked, "and I'll just sit right here and be the LADY, of the manor." At least that is what one cousin tells me. And another tells me a little different story. Whatever, the nickname stuck and everyone either called her “mother, grandma, grandma grunt,” or they called her "Lady." I mean everybody.

My grandmother was an incredibly strong, determined, courageous, and a brilliant woman. She made me bottled cherries every year and I would eat them joyfully when we went back for harvest. She taught me to make bread, egg noodles and to crochet. She was the life of the party no matter where she was or what she was doing it was a party. (This is no exaggeration ask any of the cousins).

My grandmother loved my mother, who was her daughter-in-law. My mother married her best friends older brother. I think it was my mother who looked forward to my grandmother's visits, I am not sure my father did, but I could be wrong. She definitely was not easily intimidated. (My mother's mother died when my mother was 8 days old of peritonitis.) We all know now that she actually died of septicemia produced when her appendix ruptured during labor. I cannot even imagine how that must have felt.

Back to the subject, it was my mother and us children that got excited when Grandma was on the way. She traveled by bus and by train. Being blind never really slowed her down very much.

Just one more little tid bit of info, she learned to read Braille at the age of 54. After she learned, you would always find a book or six around the house. She also learned to use a typewriter at the same time and we always look forward to her letters even when she got off of the home keys and didn't know it. It then became a cryptogram to decipher. Okay, okay, I keep straying, but there was so much about her that was admirable and her nickname was Lady, and that seemed very appropriate.

MY CHRISTMAS STORY (OR GROWING UP IN THE ROBINSON'S DEPARTMENT STORE BATHROOM)

The story I am going to relate happened when I was about 4 years old; I actually remember parts of it, because I was traumatized. Just you wait until I tell you about what I remember about potty training you'll be sorry. I remember getting on the red car trolley in 1954, they were still in use in Los Angeles then.

Back to the story, I, my little brother Mikey, grandmother "Lady" and my mother, "Ruthie" as my grandmother called her, were starting out on a family Christmas tradition. The tradition was that, we would go window shopping, and then have lunch out at a "restaurant". (This was a very big deal when I was a child; even going to lunch at "Woolworth's" lunch counter was a major event.) I didn't get out much as a child, things were tight.

So in the early morning, I remember, getting up and groggily getting on the “Red car trolley line", much more fun that just a car. We took it to down town L.A. I remember the clang, clang. I don't really remember what was being clanged but I remember it. I also remember pressing my nose to cold glass of bright Christmas display windows of various department stores. I pressed against the cold glass really hard, to see in the corners so that I didn't miss anything in the windows. I know that we went into Sears, and they bought me a bag of the wonderfully smelling Sears popcorn. I even remember sitting on Santa's lap getting a candy cane and asking him for a Betsy-Wetsy doll. Yes, Virginia there really was a dolly that wet on you, (Omens of things to come).

I remember being pulled along; mostly because I was so exhausted, I couldn't see straight. (My stinking brother was in a stroller.) Oh come on now, we all have seen sleepwalking tots in shopping malls. (You know the whining ones with the Frankenstein gait.) If you're old enough that could have been me. (I know, nobody living did because I am that OLD).

We walked and looked for hours. When it started getting late, you know about 6:00pm, my grandmother turns to my mother in the :Robinson's Department Store bathroom and says, "Well, we sure have seen a lot of things today." At which point my mother and grandmother guffawed. (I think they got along because they were both warped.)

"Yup, we sure did", my mother, agreed.

"Yeah we should be heading home", replied my grandmother.

"Yes, sounds good to me", sighed my mother. However, there was one disturbing thing, even I noticed. Nobody moved.

After a few awkward moments of waiting silently, (even I knew that this was a really pregnant pause). My grandmother clears her throat and says, "Eh, Ruthie, we can go home now." My mother agrees with her.

Then my grandmother, Lady said, "You don't know how to get us home do you."

At which point my mother rather sheepishly replies, "Er, I never rode a trolley before, I thought you knew how to get us home."
At this point I remember looking up at them, while standing in the women's lavatory (I always loved that word lavatory. I think it is because of the word Lava). I remember thinking, I'm going to spend my life in the ladies room in the Robinson's store. (They did however, have a better selection of Santas). That just goes to show you just how handicapped my family felt my grandmother was.

Fortunately, I did not have to grow up in the Robinson's lavatory. However, I do not remember how I got home, I thought God worked in mysterious ways; one minute I'm in the bathroom the next I'm waking up in my own bed. Wow!!

LADY VERSES ROY (like we don't know who won this one?)

I have a cousin on my mother's side name Clarice. I always loved that name and loved that cousin. She looked a bit like my mother, but she was a strawberry blonde. I thought she was very pretty. My cousin did an unthinkable thing. She had a child out of wed lock. This was a few years before the free love generation. The child was beautiful and her name was Thelma Lee. Thelma if you are out there I still love you.

I have to say this about Roy her husband he was very good looking, but that was about the size of it. Later on my cousin divorced him. I figured she had gotten past the really good looking part and saw him for what he was, or maybe he got ugly when he got older. Your guess is as good as mine.

My cousin spent a lot of time with my mother at that time, I think because my mother's love never wavered. Not only that, but hanging out with my mother was fun trust me on this, as a kid and as an adult it was a pretty fun thing to do. Another plus for my mother was she could cook. We all were addicted to her cooking. I remember childhood friends saying, "Hey, what is your mother making for dinner" or my other favorite uttered by Sylvia Zophi, "Is your mother making chili beans".

So now you know, my mother was a good cook and as big a fruit loop as my grandmother. I, personally, never stood a chance. Back to the point, I know my mind wanders; my kids say I have "half-zeimer's".

Roy was one of the biggest, albeit stupid, male, chauvinist, ass and ... dare I say it? "Pig" that I have ever had the misfortune to know, and trust me I have met a lot of people, I am still old. No one has annoyed me more, okay, maybe that is a slight understatement... okay a really big understatement, but there is no cure for stupid. Though last Christmas I bought a T-shirt for my son that said, “Duct tape can not cure stupid, but it can muffle the sound.”

Roy had a remarkable talent. He was able to form an opinion from the smallest amount of information possible. I mean he actually was able to take stupidity to a completely new level. According to him, “All men were bigger; men were stronger and smarter than women.” Maybe I should say White Men. There was a couple of times I wanted to use my wonderful wood burning set that I got for “that” Christmas to boldly write KKK on his forehead.

Fortunately, for me as a youngster, he happened to come over to visit while my grandmother, "Lady", was already visiting. It was on the same day, that he grabbed my hand and started to squeeze it so he could show every one what a crybabies girls were. (Yeah right I'd like to see him give birth. No really, I would have personally enjoyed the screaming. Can you hear my evil laugh.)

He could have broken my hand and I would have never made a sound. I would have stood in a pool of Lava before I would have let him know that he hurt me. My hand was swollen for some time. Did I mention that he had a cruel streak as well? I was 12 years old at the time, and I sure as hell did not want to hold his hand.

Back to the point, his wife, my cousin Clarice saw what he was doing and hit him with a pillow. I think she would have hit him with something else if he hadn't let go. My grandmother was getting annoyed. She did not see him or know of his hurting me because I refused to make a sound. However, he was still able to annoy my grandmother and that was not something I would ever want to do.

At dinner, he started to expounding his favorite subject, men are better than...At which point my father excused himself from the table and went to take a nap until he left. I never said that my father was stupid.

My grandmother politely said, "I don't think that God loves his little boys more than he loves his little girls. As a matter of fact I know he doesn't, that is just a bit of propaganda so that men won't feel so inadequate." (Ouch Grandma.)

He said something brilliant such as "OH! Yeah!”
At which point my grandmother said, "I am a woman, I have given birth to 6 children at home, and I am bigger, smarter and stronger than you, even if I am blind."

He smirked through the remainder of dinner as he thought he was going to prove his masculine supremacy. (Snort.)

After dinner they stood back to back and she was about 1/2 inch taller than he was. I don't know how she knew she was taller than he was. As far as smarter, well that was really easy for her. She asked, "What is the last book you read." We all knew he was nearly illiterate as well as stupid or at least me and Grandma knew. (You can do something about illiteracy, but I repeat there is no cure for stupid. But, I understand duct tape can help.)

He said, "What has that got to do with anything." My grandmother responded, "Roy, what do you do for a living." He belligerently said, "I'm a garbage collector." (Now days he would have said Waste Management Technician.)

My grandmother said, "Well, you don't see many illiterate nuclear physicists." In my book he had already lost. However, he once again had a snappy come back, "OH YEAH, I can do more push-ups than you can."

At that point I began to feel sorry for him, but only a little. Remember I said she was strong. She said, "How many?" He said, "twenty-five, and I don't mean those girlie bent knee push-ups either." My grandmother turned to me and said, "What's a girlie push-up?" I explained it to her and she snorted. Did I mention she was at least 60, something at the time.

She then said to him, "You go ahead and start, I have to clear the table." He made it to 25, but his face was like totally red and he was struggling.

My grandmother asked me to make sure nobody was behind her, because she always wore dresses unless she was working and then she wore her bib overhauls over her dresses, just in case she might need to look like a “lady”. She was, as previously stated, over 60 years old he was 27. Then we started counting, "1, 2, 3...", she had made him a wager of 5 bucks that she could do more push-ups, when she hit 28, she felt she had made her point. He paid her the $5.00, they had bet and screaming at cousin, "We're leaving!" I never actually saw him again and for that, I am grateful.

I don't think she knew she was a woman's liber; she was just being herself a "LADY".