Home
Home. Home Sweet Home. All Roads Lead Home. Home Is Where The Heart Is. There is another old saying that you can never go back home again. It’s true in the physical sense, but not in the mental sense.
I have made trips back to home places where I used to roam. They are either altered, not there (which is a form of altered) or much smaller than remembered, which means I am physically or mentally altered. Very seldom have home places been the same. Even my parents aged every time I saw them.
My Dad passed away several years ago, as did my mother. My Stepmother is 81, and regularly reminds me that home continues to change. It seems as though every time I talk to her on the phone, someone else from her group of friends and relatives has passed away. If she has attended the funeral or visitation, she always informs me of how the deceased looked. “She looked like herself.” “He did not look like himself.” Those are two typical comments, and it is true, I have heard similar comments made at every funeral I have attended, as though the dead person is supposed to look like he did when he was alive. “He looks good,” is another comment I often hear. I want to respond to that one with, “He would look a heck of a lot better if he was alive.”
My memories of home are much better than reality. The old tree out in front of the house did not have dead branches when I used to climb it. I have memories of hiding in its branches while playing hide and seek from my brothers. They never did find that secret hiding place I was able to run to and pull myself up into until I was hidden by a green leaf cover.
Even the watermarks on the ceiling of my old bedroom have changed, becoming larger than when I used to stare at them. There are also more flyspecks and years of dust covering the designs I used to stare at and have Rorschach-like visions of people, animals, clouds and objects. Things around the old home place have gotten older, and in many cases, deteriorated. The barns at the old farm where I first lived had to be torn down because they were in such bad shape. I cannot remember my father ever painting anything. He evidently learned this habit from his ancestors because none of the barns or outbuildings had a drop of paint on them.
If I am fortunate to live long enough, the home place I call my body will also deteriorate. It began that process years ago—some would say at the moment of birth. For the time being, that natural process sure beats the alternative, which will occur anyway. It amuses me to hear many people proclaiming their desire to be with the Lord, but not just yet.
The things that remain the same are my memories, especially the memories of the things my parents said. My dad was the one with the pithiest sayings. When we would use the word “if” as in, “If I had only done” this or that, his response was: “If the dog hadn’t stopped to take a leak, he’d a caught the rabbit; and if the rabbit hadn’t stopped to watch, he’d a got away.” That one always amused me because evidently the dog did catch the rabbit, in spite of taking care of his full bladder. I think the phrase, “It sucks,” came from the old farmer’s saying, I first heard from Dad: “It sucks hind tit,” meaning the runt of the litter always got pushed to the smallest and least productive feeding spot—certainly not a good spot in which to be. It sucked in more ways than one.
We had the usual country sayings like, “He’s as stubborn as a hog on ice and, “You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink.” I have changed that one to, “You can only point a horse in the general direction of water.” Another one was, “He doesn’t have the sense God gave a goose.” Because I did not grow up around geese, I had nothing common with that old saying.
Another favorite saying always came as the result of one of us saying we were sorry for some error, mistake or screw up. “You’re sorry looking,” was his quick response. I never knew if he was making an attempt at humor or if it was a sarcastic response, indicating that I did not really look sorry.
I have collected country sayings over the years. They provide some of the funniest humor I have ever heard. Recently, I heard a fellow say, “She has more nerves than a mouth full of bad teeth.” That one brings all sorts of images to mind. Years ago, I heard an old guy respond to a question about how he was by saying, “I feel like a crosscut saw. It would take two good men to handle me.” That brought the house down.
We have had a family fishing joke for years. “Going fishing.” “Yep.” “Got worms.” “Yep, but I’m going anyway.”
Dad and Mom lived in a semi-rural area of Indiana. There was a medium size town nearby, but they lived on several acres, so there was some privacy. Dad always said that if the area ever got so crowded that he could not go outside and take a leak, he would move. He was a farmer as was his father and grandfather; however, he eventually realized that small farms were on the way out. He sold the farm and moved a mile away from the family farm to a house in which he died 40 some years later. He spent about 74 of his 76 years living within a mile of where he was born on the kitchen table of the family farmhouse. Mom still lives in the same house, and every year talks about moving to a smaller place.
For years, I thought Dad originated the old sayings, which came from his mouth on a regular basis. My wife thought the same thing of her father, until she heard my dad say, “His eyes looked like two piss holes in the snow.” I think both of us were a bit let down and relieved at the same time when we realized that our dads did not create many of the old sayings which sprung from their lips. It’s one thing to say it, but another thing to be the creator. We now are proud that our fathers were colorful, and we are relieved that they cannot take credit for many of the obscenities they used on a daily basis.
It won’t be the same when they are all gone. It’s not the same now. I wonder if my son will write about my old sayings. I also wonder which ones will have made the biggest impressions on him.
I have made trips back to home places where I used to roam. They are either altered, not there (which is a form of altered) or much smaller than remembered, which means I am physically or mentally altered. Very seldom have home places been the same. Even my parents aged every time I saw them.
My Dad passed away several years ago, as did my mother. My Stepmother is 81, and regularly reminds me that home continues to change. It seems as though every time I talk to her on the phone, someone else from her group of friends and relatives has passed away. If she has attended the funeral or visitation, she always informs me of how the deceased looked. “She looked like herself.” “He did not look like himself.” Those are two typical comments, and it is true, I have heard similar comments made at every funeral I have attended, as though the dead person is supposed to look like he did when he was alive. “He looks good,” is another comment I often hear. I want to respond to that one with, “He would look a heck of a lot better if he was alive.”
My memories of home are much better than reality. The old tree out in front of the house did not have dead branches when I used to climb it. I have memories of hiding in its branches while playing hide and seek from my brothers. They never did find that secret hiding place I was able to run to and pull myself up into until I was hidden by a green leaf cover.
Even the watermarks on the ceiling of my old bedroom have changed, becoming larger than when I used to stare at them. There are also more flyspecks and years of dust covering the designs I used to stare at and have Rorschach-like visions of people, animals, clouds and objects. Things around the old home place have gotten older, and in many cases, deteriorated. The barns at the old farm where I first lived had to be torn down because they were in such bad shape. I cannot remember my father ever painting anything. He evidently learned this habit from his ancestors because none of the barns or outbuildings had a drop of paint on them.
If I am fortunate to live long enough, the home place I call my body will also deteriorate. It began that process years ago—some would say at the moment of birth. For the time being, that natural process sure beats the alternative, which will occur anyway. It amuses me to hear many people proclaiming their desire to be with the Lord, but not just yet.
The things that remain the same are my memories, especially the memories of the things my parents said. My dad was the one with the pithiest sayings. When we would use the word “if” as in, “If I had only done” this or that, his response was: “If the dog hadn’t stopped to take a leak, he’d a caught the rabbit; and if the rabbit hadn’t stopped to watch, he’d a got away.” That one always amused me because evidently the dog did catch the rabbit, in spite of taking care of his full bladder. I think the phrase, “It sucks,” came from the old farmer’s saying, I first heard from Dad: “It sucks hind tit,” meaning the runt of the litter always got pushed to the smallest and least productive feeding spot—certainly not a good spot in which to be. It sucked in more ways than one.
We had the usual country sayings like, “He’s as stubborn as a hog on ice and, “You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink.” I have changed that one to, “You can only point a horse in the general direction of water.” Another one was, “He doesn’t have the sense God gave a goose.” Because I did not grow up around geese, I had nothing common with that old saying.
Another favorite saying always came as the result of one of us saying we were sorry for some error, mistake or screw up. “You’re sorry looking,” was his quick response. I never knew if he was making an attempt at humor or if it was a sarcastic response, indicating that I did not really look sorry.
I have collected country sayings over the years. They provide some of the funniest humor I have ever heard. Recently, I heard a fellow say, “She has more nerves than a mouth full of bad teeth.” That one brings all sorts of images to mind. Years ago, I heard an old guy respond to a question about how he was by saying, “I feel like a crosscut saw. It would take two good men to handle me.” That brought the house down.
We have had a family fishing joke for years. “Going fishing.” “Yep.” “Got worms.” “Yep, but I’m going anyway.”
Dad and Mom lived in a semi-rural area of Indiana. There was a medium size town nearby, but they lived on several acres, so there was some privacy. Dad always said that if the area ever got so crowded that he could not go outside and take a leak, he would move. He was a farmer as was his father and grandfather; however, he eventually realized that small farms were on the way out. He sold the farm and moved a mile away from the family farm to a house in which he died 40 some years later. He spent about 74 of his 76 years living within a mile of where he was born on the kitchen table of the family farmhouse. Mom still lives in the same house, and every year talks about moving to a smaller place.
For years, I thought Dad originated the old sayings, which came from his mouth on a regular basis. My wife thought the same thing of her father, until she heard my dad say, “His eyes looked like two piss holes in the snow.” I think both of us were a bit let down and relieved at the same time when we realized that our dads did not create many of the old sayings which sprung from their lips. It’s one thing to say it, but another thing to be the creator. We now are proud that our fathers were colorful, and we are relieved that they cannot take credit for many of the obscenities they used on a daily basis.
It won’t be the same when they are all gone. It’s not the same now. I wonder if my son will write about my old sayings. I also wonder which ones will have made the biggest impressions on him.
posted by The Joker at 1:09 AM
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