Brother's Birthday...Year III

Now, it's time for another birthday. My big brother is celebrating his birthday today. His nickname is Boy, sometimes called Big Boy. Boy is a fan of WW II and can give you all the information ever needed if you are building a house since he has a background in construction. He taught me how to play football, throw a baseball for a perfect strike (complete with a full wind up) and how to play chess. He also taught me how to chew tobacco, scratch my butt, cuss a blue streak, burp the alphabet, throw cow patties, use the tractor and manure spreader to drive to town for hot dogs and Sour Cream Doritos when Mom and Dad were working, castrate a hog and spit and catch loogies. Most of these tricks I have since out grown! (Most) However, it is good knowledge to have. You never know when you might need to do some castrating. So here's to you! Happy Birthday!

Brother's Birthday...Year II

Now, it's time for another birthday. My big brother is celebrating his birthday today. Since we are sharing the family nicknames....drum roll please. His nickname is Boy, sometimes called Big Boy. Boy is a fan of WW II and can give you all the information ever needed if you are building a house since he has a background in construction. He taught me how to play football, throw a baseball for a perfect strike (complete with a full wind up) and how to play chess. He also taught me how to chew tobacco, scratch my butt, cuss a blue streak, burp the alphabet, throw cow patties, use the tractor and manure spreader to drive to town for hot dogs and Sour Cream Doritos when Mom and Dad were working, castrate a hog and spit and catch loogies. Most of these tricks I have since out grown! (Most) However, it is good knowledge to have. You never know when you might need to do some castrating. If you look closely at his right leg you can see the scar left behind from his bout with the flesh eating virus that he has been recovering from for the last 16 months. So here's to you! Happy Birthday! MA Fat Woman (Froggy, German Midget, Shorty Luther, Mia, MyMy, G.)

More Birthday Wishes

It's been a really festive time for the MAFW's family. It seems that the Holidays were just a big blur...with all the eating, complaining about how much we ate, and my niece complaining about how fat she is (She's 5'2" and weighs 90 lbs) My left leg weighs 90 lbs. We had my sister's (Big Red as she DOESN'T like to be called) birthday and I hear it was very festive. Now, it's time for another birthday. My big brother is celebrating his birthday today. Since we are sharing the family nicknames....drum roll please. His nickname is Boy, sometimes called Big Boy. Boy is a fan of WW II and can give you all the information ever needed if you are building a house since he has a background in construction. He taught me how to play football, throw a perfect strike (complete with a full wind up) and how to play chess. He also taught me how to chew tobacco, scratch my butt, cuss a blue streak, throw cow patties, wrestle a hog and spit and catch loogies. (Most of these tricks I have since out grown) (Most) However, it is good knowledge to have. So here's to you! Happy Birthday! MA Fat Woman P.S. I ate your birthday present.

Nicknames

I have an unusual first name. I’m not going to tell you what it is because you can do a little research and find that out for yourself. My not so close cousins have always called me by a nickname that was taken from my middle name which is also unusual. That nickname was MyMy which I never really liked. My immediate family and closer cousins call me by my middle name and my friends just call me a letter of the alphabet. Confused, me too. I never know what name to answer to when being called. If someone calls, “Hey you,” I usually will look up. I’ve had other nicknames as well. For purposes of torment and torture my brother has called me many things over the years including but not limited to: Shorty Luther, The German Midget, Aggie Haggie and Froggy. My father always called me Gopher which is pretty much self-explanatory. Go for this and go for that. And he would sometimes call me by my real name which would stop everyone in their tracks upon hearing it. My mom will also throw out my real name periodically just to see if I'm paying attention. Everyone has always had a problem saying my name correctly. I don’t know why, it’s pronounced just like it is spelled. At my high school graduation, they pronounced my middle name wrong and my sister corrected the speaker in front of 400 people. At my college graduation, I had to repeat my name twice to the lady that was reading the names but she said it correctly. The next time you’re in a crowd of people and you shout for someone and somebody turns around that you weren’t expecting. It might just be me…just don’t call me Shorty Luther.

Fire On Cherry Fork Road

I’ve been contemplating for several days about what this particular post should be about; after all, it is a special occasion. According to the blogosphere, when you reach your 100th post you are supposed to reveal one hundred things about yourself. Never one to follow the rules, I shan’t bore you with those minor pesky details, and instead, tell you the story about the fire on Cherry Fork Road. Growing up on a farm in southern Ohio was a lot of fun. We had all sorts of adventures, many, which I am sad to say, have escaped my memory. We had a building next to our house that we called the shed. It had a chicken house on one side and an outhouse on the other side. In the middle was where we kept our two freezers full of beef and vegetables. Yes, we grew our own veggies and slaughtered our farm animals for food. Anyhow, the roof was in such bad shape that my dad decided a new roof was in order. So, he called my cousin Kenny, who helped us with all of those tasks, and my brother and dad got together one weekend and put new shingles on the roof of the shed. The old shingles were dispatched to what we called the ditch which was a place where things ended up to be dealt with at a later time. It wasn’t really a dump, because it always got cleaned up eventually, more like a holding station. I’m not sure what time of year it was; but, it had to be in the fall sometime because it was cool and dry and we were in school. My sister and I were in Cherry Fork having been transferred from our respective schools waiting to begin the ride back home on our regular bus. We rode Bus 7 and our driver’s name was Don. Suddenly, a message came over the emergency radio that he carried that there was a fire at the Palmer house on Cherry Fork Road. Quiet, absolute quiet! No one said a word. My sister and I ran to the front of the bus and he took off. We were usually about the 6th or 7th stop on the way home but he didn’t stop to let anyone off the bus. I don’t know how fast he was going but when we hit the bottom of the big hill everyone and everything went flying. My sister and I were hanging on for dear life and when we approached the house you couldn’t see anything but smoke and fire trucks. We saw my brother’s truck but didn’t know where he was. Everyone on the bus had their noses pressed up to the glass trying to see the blaze. All we wanted to do was get off the bus and find our brother. Don told everyone on the bus to stay put while he went and talked to the firemen. After a few tense moments he came back to the bus and said we could get off the bus. Everything was under control. We were walking up the driveway when we saw my brother being treated by the paramedics. It seemed that he had taken in a little smoke while trying to protect the house with a garden hose. My brother had decided that that particular day was a good day to begin to clean up the shingles and other material down in the ditch. He had started a fire and was going to let it burn itself out. It seemed like a good idea until the wind picked up and shifted directions. The wind was picking up the shingles and was blowing them directly towards the house. In a matter of minutes the fire had leapt from the ditch and the entire field was ablaze and heading for the house. Luckily, a neighbor had spotted the fire and called the fire department. When they arrived, my brother was covered with scratches and black soot from the fire and was guarding the house with the trusty water hose. The fireman yelled for him to drop the hose and back away from the fire but he wasn’t moving. Fortunately, the wind shifted again and the fire changed directions. The firemen were able to apply several tankers full of water to the blaze and all that was left was a blackened field and a few remaining smoldering shingles. My brother looked at us and then looked at the field and said this: “Do you think Mom and Dad are going to be mad? I saved the house."