Read Online Calamity Jayne Rides Again by Kathleen Bacus - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kathleen Bacus
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didn't just sell the Dairee Freeze. Did I?
"Still no sign of Frankfurter?" Gram sat across from me at a round umbrella-topped table, gnawing on a super-sized turkey
leg. "That boy ought to be strung up by his Buster Browns," she said. "The family is in an uproar. Why, poor Regina is worried
sick."
I nodded, still too full from my earlier overindul-gences to consider a leg of anything. "She did look a bit tense when she
relieved me," I said. "I wish there was something I could do to help."
"Kids these days are spoiled," Gram went on. "All this crap about how spanking is bad for the child and damages their self-esteem:
hogwash. I had my share of lickin's growing up, and I turned out just fine," Gram said. "And I got plenty of self-esteem."
"And some to spare," I teased.
"Kids are coddled too much," she went on. "In my day there was none of that how-does-that-make-you-feel bull hockey. Nobody
gave a damn how you felt. We were too busy trying to survive, to make enough money to squeak through another day."
"Your father was the police chief, Gram. Your uncle ran the hardware store and Paw Paw Will worked for him."
"Times were hard, missy, and no mistaking that. A person had to be tough. Resilient. We aren't doing these kids any favors
these days by smoothing all the bumps in the road for them. They need to stub a toe now and then, fall flat on their faces,
pick up a few splinters in their tongues and see what the view is like from floor level. That's the only way they can learn
to pick themselves up and get moving again."
I had to admit, Gram was a tough old bird. She'd surprised me numerous times over the years with her pluckiness and determination.
And while she'd adapted with the times, she'd never changed her opinion when it came to personal responsibility. Or Lawrence
Welk, whom she still considered a hottie.
"Frankie's not a kid anymore, Gram," I pointed out. "He's an adult."
"Exactly. And he needs to start acting like one. Get a backbone or quit moping, that's my advice to Frankie. And that's what
I plan to tell him first thing if he ever shows his face again."
I watched as Gram ripped into her turkey leg. No fatted calf for this prodigal son's return, I thought, with a twinge of sympathy.
Frankie would be lucky if he merited a complimentary corn dog.
"So, did Taylor make it up okay?" I asked.
"Taylor? She's around. Saw her over at the DNR exhibit earlier. I think she was helping Rick with his serpents."
Despite the heat of the late afternoon, I shivered. Assisting the ranger with his snake collection was not something I could
ever volunteer to do. Never ever. Not even if I spent several hours and tons of money I didn't have imbibing in the beer tent
could I ingest enough liquid courage to handle Ranger Rick's legless lovelies. But apparently my little sister was up to the
task. Of course, Taylor had never interacted with the species up close and personal as I often did during hay-baling season.
I was fairly certain she'd never experienced the sensation of having a surprise visitor slither out between her legs while
she rested on a square bale.
Gram dropped her poultry leg on her plate and looked over at me. "You plannin' to be an old maid all your life?" she asked
suddenly, a barbecue-sauce mustache making it hard to take her seriously. "Some shriveled-up old lady like Abigail Winegardner?"
Abigail Winegardner was Joe Townsend's neighbor and, according to Joe, Miss Winegardner had it bad for him. I'd sampled many
of the goodies she'd prepared for Joe, and I had to say, she seemed like a keeper to me.
"Times have changed, Gram," I said. "Women who don't marry aren't considered old maids anymore."
"No, they're just considered lesbians," Gram countered with her usual directness.
"I'm not gay, Gram," I said. "I'm just selective."
"We aren't talking about choosing a pot roast at the meat counter at the Meat Market," Gram said. "We're talking about a life
partner, girl.
"Still no sign of Frankfurter?" Gram sat across from me at a round umbrella-topped table, gnawing on a super-sized turkey
leg. "That boy ought to be strung up by his Buster Browns," she said. "The family is in an uproar. Why, poor Regina is worried
sick."
I nodded, still too full from my earlier overindul-gences to consider a leg of anything. "She did look a bit tense when she
relieved me," I said. "I wish there was something I could do to help."
"Kids these days are spoiled," Gram went on. "All this crap about how spanking is bad for the child and damages their self-esteem:
hogwash. I had my share of lickin's growing up, and I turned out just fine," Gram said. "And I got plenty of self-esteem."
"And some to spare," I teased.
"Kids are coddled too much," she went on. "In my day there was none of that how-does-that-make-you-feel bull hockey. Nobody
gave a damn how you felt. We were too busy trying to survive, to make enough money to squeak through another day."
"Your father was the police chief, Gram. Your uncle ran the hardware store and Paw Paw Will worked for him."
"Times were hard, missy, and no mistaking that. A person had to be tough. Resilient. We aren't doing these kids any favors
these days by smoothing all the bumps in the road for them. They need to stub a toe now and then, fall flat on their faces,
pick up a few splinters in their tongues and see what the view is like from floor level. That's the only way they can learn
to pick themselves up and get moving again."
I had to admit, Gram was a tough old bird. She'd surprised me numerous times over the years with her pluckiness and determination.
And while she'd adapted with the times, she'd never changed her opinion when it came to personal responsibility. Or Lawrence
Welk, whom she still considered a hottie.
"Frankie's not a kid anymore, Gram," I pointed out. "He's an adult."
"Exactly. And he needs to start acting like one. Get a backbone or quit moping, that's my advice to Frankie. And that's what
I plan to tell him first thing if he ever shows his face again."
I watched as Gram ripped into her turkey leg. No fatted calf for this prodigal son's return, I thought, with a twinge of sympathy.
Frankie would be lucky if he merited a complimentary corn dog.
"So, did Taylor make it up okay?" I asked.
"Taylor? She's around. Saw her over at the DNR exhibit earlier. I think she was helping Rick with his serpents."
Despite the heat of the late afternoon, I shivered. Assisting the ranger with his snake collection was not something I could
ever volunteer to do. Never ever. Not even if I spent several hours and tons of money I didn't have imbibing in the beer tent
could I ingest enough liquid courage to handle Ranger Rick's legless lovelies. But apparently my little sister was up to the
task. Of course, Taylor had never interacted with the species up close and personal as I often did during hay-baling season.
I was fairly certain she'd never experienced the sensation of having a surprise visitor slither out between her legs while
she rested on a square bale.
Gram dropped her poultry leg on her plate and looked over at me. "You plannin' to be an old maid all your life?" she asked
suddenly, a barbecue-sauce mustache making it hard to take her seriously. "Some shriveled-up old lady like Abigail Winegardner?"
Abigail Winegardner was Joe Townsend's neighbor and, according to Joe, Miss Winegardner had it bad for him. I'd sampled many
of the goodies she'd prepared for Joe, and I had to say, she seemed like a keeper to me.
"Times have changed, Gram," I said. "Women who don't marry aren't considered old maids anymore."
"No, they're just considered lesbians," Gram countered with her usual directness.
"I'm not gay, Gram," I said. "I'm just selective."
"We aren't talking about choosing a pot roast at the meat counter at the Meat Market," Gram said. "We're talking about a life
partner, girl.
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