St. Patrick's Day with Mrs. Alfred Packer and Wild Bill (finished)

[franksolich]

this story, of which one suspects at least two-thirds of the details reflect actual fact, is dedicated to the sparkling husband primitive, in heartfelt gratitude for all the merriment and amusement the sparkling husband primitive has given so freely to decent and civilized people

In the late afternoon sun, Grandma stepped back to reflect upon how well the table looked, with its green-and-red oilcloth.

My, it's purty, Grandma thought.

The tablecloth was the last remnant of her Christmas things; it used to look so fine, with the Christmas holly-and-berry decorated china sitting atop it.

But upon coming down to Oklahoma from Ohio, and marrying Wild Bill, Wild Bill had made it clear they would not do Christmas, dumping her holly-and-berry china down the hole in the outhouse.

Wild Bill was strange, but Grandma had been desperate for a man.

The green-and-red tablecloth had been spared only because she had told her husband it was the colors of the Irish Communist Party (ICP).

And it's so nice for St. Paddy's Day, Grandma reminded herself, a little touch of Christmas in March.

That, and the corned beef brisket.

Wild Bill had ordered Grandma not to touch the beef kept in the refrigerator, because he was going to bring a new piece later in the day, for her to brisk and boil, for them to enjoy with two of his brothers.

Grandma was not sure why Wild Bill had insisted on new beef; the refrigerator was packed full of beef cuts, wrapped in white butcher paper and tied with twine.  In fact, the refrigerator had gotten so full that lately Grandma had quit using it altogether, resorting to keeping the butter in a "butter bell" instead, and buying milk that is sold at room temperature in foiled-lined cardboard boxes.

But Grandma never questioned Wild Bill; he was a man, after all, and she wanted a man more than anything else she wanted.

He has his rough edges, she sighed.

"Quit thinking, woman, and get busy," Wild Bill said from behind her, walking around her to throw down another paper-wrapped package.

"Here's the brisket, and be sure you do a good job with it," he ordered; "remember what happened the last time you didn't do it right."

As abruptly as he had come in, Wild Bill just as abruptly left.

Yes, Grandma remembered what had happened the last time; six days abed until the bruises and shiners and cuts had faded.

Grandma sighed anew, and began unwrapping the package, on which had been clumsily pencilled, "upper."

Such a fine piece, Grandma thought; so rich, so red, so firm, a prime cut.

She flipped the slab over, and on the other side saw "USMC '89-'95" in a circle, and "LOLA" in the center of the circle.

Hmmmm, Grandma thought; perhaps the cattle brand had burned through the hide into the meat.

to be continued

[vesta111]

PLEASE CONTINUE   !!!

[franksolich]

PLEASE CONTINUE   !!!

It's coming, madam.

[Chris]

[franksolich]

Grandma started to knead the cut, so as to make it a little more tender.

My, Grandma thought; this feels just like Johnny used to feel, so strong, so solid.

Johnny had been her teenaged beau back home in Ohio; a good looking lad, sharp dresser, an amateur but clumsy gentleman, who had wanted nothing more than to have Grandma.  Out of high school, Johnny had gotten a job at the local tire factory, dreaming of making good money, buying a modest bungalow, marrying Grandma, and having lots of children.

All that had happened, excepting the "marrying Grandma" part.

Grandma as a young woman had been "hot" for Johnny, but scared at the same time.

Her fears had overriden her, and one night she threw him overboard.

Grandma still had no idea decades later why she had done such an impulsive, rash, suicidal thing, other than that she had been scared.

Johnny had continued working at the tire factory, making good money and buying a modest piece of real-estate in urban Ohio, and then found another woman.

Such a fine family, Grandma had thought, when receiving a Christmas card with a photograph, the first Christmas Grandma had been married to Wild Bill in Oklahoma.  Handsome Johnny, such a fine woman for a wife, and seven clean-cut well-scrubbed beaming children and infants.

Wild Bill, upon seeing the card and photograph, had angrily tore it into shreds, stuffing them into the wood-burning stove, harshly reminding Grandma that they didn't do Christmas.

That had been twelve years ago, and her long-ago romance with Johnny more than thirty; Grandma had not dared communicate with Johnny since then, although she often thought about him.  She imagined he was almost ready to retire from the tire factory in Ohio, with a comfortable pension and financial security. 

Oh my, thought Grandma; I really wish I would think about things, before doing things.

Before that, when still a little girl, Grandma had fantasized about becoming a nun, much like the kind, gentle women who were her teachers in school, and in catechism.  She had especially admired Sister Mary Aurelia, who was so pretty, so bright, and so nice-smelling.

But when she was eight or nine years old, Grandma had confided her dreams to Sister Mary Aurelia, who softly squashed the idea, reminding Grandma that God has special purposes in mind for each individual, bestowing upon each of them that gift of the proper temperament so as to fulfill that unknown purpose; and that Sister Mary Aurelia didn't think Grandma had been born with the right temperament to be a nun.

to be continued

[franksolich]

Sister Mary Aurelia had been right, Grandma mused, as she stuffed the beef into a netted bag in preparation for soaking in salt-water.

During her teenaged years, including those with Johnny, Grandma had showed a high-powered libido, her hormones and desires so energetic that it had frightened her parents, who had actually considered locking her up in a closet until she settled down.

Grandma had not been promiscuous.  It was just that she had wanted to be promiscuous, but was scared.  She had managed to rein in her lusts, but it had been as if putting a strait-jacket made for an ostrich, on an elephant.

After high school, Grandma became a single "working girl," expending her sexual energies in her job for about fifteen years, during which time she was frequently commended--and rewarded--for her intense drive, her unrelentling vigor.

But even though she was making good money, by her mid-30s, Grandma was feeling a certain sense of vacancy in her body, her heart, her soul.  Depleting her strength by excessive compulsive work-work-work dispelled her desires somewhat, but it wasn't anything like the real thing.

Grandma, her hair growing prematurely grey, and then prematurely white, and her torso growing solid and enlarged, became worried about a lifetime of old maidenhood, herself becoming one of the parish "church ladies," spinsters who fueled and managed parish pot-luck suppers, decorated the church at Christmas with an elaborate creche, and at Easter with lilies, and with the other spinster church ladies, playing bridge with the priest's housekeeper.

Not exactly an unhappy fate--such old maids inevitably died rich--but not what she wanted.

Desperate, she had turned to the internet, finding Wild Bill down in Oklahoma.

Great was the grief when Grandma left Ohio for Oklahoma; her ancient mother stoically silent, her loving brothers and sisters trying to reason her out of it, and her little nieces and nephews, faces streaked with tears, grabbing at her skirt-hem as she boarded the Greyhound bus for points south.

Wild Bill had not been, uh, quite what she had hoped for, but he was at least a man.

Wild Bill was possessive; she had thought the people in Oklahoma perfectly fine people, handsome men, good-looking women (although with a tendency to wear their hair too high up on the front of their heads), and cherubic children, but Wild Bill wouldn't let her associate with them.

"Because they take a bath every day, and do Christmas, they think they're mighty hoity-toity, better than anybody else," Wild Bill snarled; "I don't want you to have anything to do with them."

Grandma worked in the kitchen at the local nursing home, and brought home about $200 a week, which Wild Bill immediately expropriated, pointing out who wore the pants in the family, and besides, she would just waste it.

Perhaps Wild Bill was right, Grandma thought, dipping the beef brisket into a pan of salt water.  He had given her an allowance of ten dollars a week, paying with a counterfeit bill.  But rather than saving it towards bus fare back to her loving family and friends in Ohio, Grandma always found herself spending it instead, on glittery cheap trinkets from thrift stores.

And bouncing around in the sack with Wild Bill was, really, nothing to write home about (if Wild Bill had allowed her to write home).

Wild Bill would poke her a couple of times, and after about thirty seconds of that, turn over and go to sleep, snoring and belching and passing gas all night long.

to be continued 

[franksolich]

Despite that she was now 51 years old, and more than twelve years married to Wild Bill, Grandma at times felt that youthful quickening-of-the-heartbeat, especially when seeing a fine specimen of male humanity.

Such as the Baptist preacher who lived down the road a couple of miles; a married man with 11 children, all of them well-mannered and on the honor-roll in school.

Such a fine man, Grandma sighed; so good-looking, so nice-smelling, so gentle-seeming, so well-proportioned in all aspects, from the size of his head to the size of his feet, nice hair.  Not a blemish to be seen on him; Hollywood material.

But alas, as Grandma had discovered, utterly uxorious, too.

But Grandma panted most when she thought of the Federal Express deliveryman, whom she hoped was single.  Probably about 25 years old, young yet, tall, athletic, blond, more Hollywood heart-throb material.

Thinking of his nice legs and thighs enclosed in shorts, Grandma involuntarily gasped, almost knocking the pot of salt-water off the stove.

Grandma had to sit down to brace herself, as she was swooning breathlessly; fantasies about the two of them strolling along a deserted beach over which hung tall palm trees, hand-in-hand, eyes-to-eyes, lips-to-lips, both of them naked as jaybirds.

And then rolling in the sand, the Federal Express deliveryman having her.

Just then, Wild Bill walked into the kitchen, his brother with both eyes on the same side of his nose, with him.

"Get off your fat rear, woman," Will Bill ordered; "we're about done with building that still--probably another hour, hour and a half, and we're going to be hungry when we're done."

to be continued

[franksolich]

When Wild Bill and his brother with both eyes on the same side of his nose left, Grandma wearily pulled herself up from the chair.

My medicine must be off today, Grandma thought to herself.

Grandma was most peculiar in her attitude towards chemicals; on one hand, she disdained the use of chemically-saturated or -modified foods, but at the same time she felt no compunction about loading her own body up with pharmaceuticals; chemical drugs for the pain and stiffness of premature old age, chemical drugs for female complaints, chemical drugs for mood alteration.

Grandma remembered she had promised Wild Bill to fix the side of the chicken-coop earlier that day, and decided she'd better get on it, lest she have to spend some more days abed, with pain-killing drugs.

Since the beef brisket for St. Patrick's Day was going to have to boil for a while, she turned on the burner and grabbed a hammer to go outside.

Alas, Grandma omitted to notice the pilot light on the stove had blown out.

Grandma spent a couple of hours nailing boards together, once in a while stopping to pet a particular chicken on its head, as if it were a dog or cat.

As the afternoon sun set, Wild Bill returned, this time not only with his brother with both eyes on the same side of his face, but another brother, this brother with no chin; the one whose lower jaw simply melted into his neck.

After greeting Grandma, the second brother went over to tug on the neckline of her dress, looking down inside, smacking his lips.

"Is the meat boiling, woman?" Wild Bill snarled.

Grandma wearily nodded her head, indicating yes.

"But I don't smell nothing of meat boiling out here," Wild Bill said; "usually when you're cooking, one can smell it clear over here.

"I guess I'll have to check it out myself, because you don't do nothing right, woman."

But Wild Bill's two brothers raced to the door before him, the chinless one abruptly stopping in his tracks.

"There's a snake in there," he whined; "a really big snake, hissing up a storm."

The brother with both eyes on the same side of his nose perked his ears, hearing a long "hisssssss....." frightening him, causing him to crouch down behind the chinless brother.

"There's a snake in there, a really big snake--it's hissing and hissing and hissing--maybe a big 18-rattle rattlesnake.  It's big, and it's loud."

"We're scared, Wild Bill," both of them pleaded.

"Oh, damn," spat Wild Bill.

Wild Bill went to the door, pausing to light his corncob pipe before he went in, after which he strode into the kitchen.

After which over the skies of northeastern Oklahoma and southwestern Arkansas presented a St. Patrick's Day miracle, a towering smoking shamrock reaching thousands of feet into the air, but red rather than green.

the end

[The Village Idiot]

lol.

I think I see a big plot point at the end there.