Revenge and chicken carcasses

 

I am still traumatized by my interaction with a rooster when I was 2 years old.  

My brother and I were with our mother, me holding onto her skirt and my brother Robert holding onto me.  Mom was walking to the barn to collect eggs. As she went onto the depths of the barn we explored the straw bales and playing in the loose kernels of loose corn. 

For some reason, I climbed up into the empty corn crib where loose kernels lay about.  Golden, they were so golden. Wiggling up into this amazing room was an adventure.  Squatting down i grabbed handfuls of the golden treasure I giggled and called for Robert to join me. And then.

A rooster hopped up into the crib coming toward me, crowed and spread wings.  

I was scared, began screaming, Mom appeared magically and rescued me. I can still recall the images, scents, and sounds of the barn. I was wearing a red gingham dress.   

 tg\

Now, for gentler expeiences:

 

As years went by, my experience with chickens was magnificent in its violence and images. 

This happened when Dad brought a flat of live chickens. The large wash tub filled with nearly boiling water, ready for chicken baths. Dad chopped off the heads and then hung the carcasses on the clothes line, waiting for the carnage. I was the teenager with the old women, ready to do our job.

We were supposed to dunk them into hot water, which caused the feathers to be pulled out easily. I apparently was not fast enough so I took the still warm slippery dead chicken into the kitchen where I would washed them in salt water and then dress the chicken, pulling out the guts and such into another another tub.  

 It was brutal, which I still recall in detail. Enough about that for now.

It is impossible to eat chicken legs and chicken stuff to this day. KFC nuggets are okay, but nothing with bones. You can see the struggle.  vibrant life changing even.  

 So there you have it.   

I am one of those people who are able to remember things in detail. It is sometimes useful and sometimes not. 

 

Loop, straight up...a line...and down.

   

With many rehearsals writing her name and answering basic questions regarding this business, Idaho’s Best Potato!, Linda felt this interview would go well, just might go well.

Linda had had so many horrible experiences.  Although she was intelligent and vocal, letters swam before her, making it impossible to read, let alone write.

This interview was significant.  Past failures had narrowed her horizons to the point that no light could shine through. This has to…has to...

Her entrance into the reception area was anything but confident, but she smiled at the mature woman behind the desk.  Then she looked where she had to  write her name on the sign in she must conquer.

 

Taking a deep breath, Linda wrote slowly and carefully, just as she and Lisa had rehearsed.  Loop…point up…dot…

The mature woman stood and shook Linda’s hand, “Wonderful! You have the job!”

Tears ran down Linda’s cheeks as the woman handed her tissues.  

 

She whispered in Linda’s ear.  “The letters dance in front of me, too.”

 

 

My Irish twin brother had dyslexia, although in the 50s there wasn't a name to describe his struggles. I was the smart one, I could handle any challenge. 

 

He was held back, so I ended up being in the same classroom. He was teased by the other students and the teacher was mean, mean to all the students who were "slow". 

 

Looking back at that time, I realize that I was mean, as well. Why aren't like your sister.

 

I remember that Mom asked me how I did so well in math. I said that I checked the sums by checking and working on the numbers. Being 7, I had no idea why her eyes glittered so and she sighed so heavily.

 

Later in his life he had worked it out himself.  I noticed that he was reading books by Louis L'Amour, My mom smiled and told me with pride how much he enjoyed those books. 

 

 

I am tired, oh so tired.

 

 

I, Daniel Ester, am tired. These are my thoughts after five years of studying something that is apparently useless and unnecessary to one's existence.

I am tired of wallowing in a life that swirls  around on a figurative spindle with no results.

I am tired of smelling smoke of bratwurst wafting from that neighbor who lives just below my apartment. Can't he grill a steak now and then.

I am tired of blaring music from another neighbor above me from Trinidad.

I am tired of big boob blonde neighbor across the hall, who parades around in the courtyard, wearing her latest purchases from Victoria's Secret.  Actually, I don't mind that part at all, being a red-blooded American male with a strong libido.

I am tired of that toothless codger with knobby knees on first floor apartment ogling the blonde as she struts around applying sunscreen.

Dammit, I am just plain tired of it all.  

 In fact, I may move out of Mom's basement when graduation comes for me to get my degree in historical studies, with a focus on ancient Sumerian society...   

...like that is going to get me a job, that comes with a paycheck?  But I hear Lowe's is hiring someone who can read stuff and follow directions.  I can handle that, I think.  

 

 

The underlined words are Wednesday Words from 2016. The Wed. Words are the creation of a now retired blogger named Delores. She handed this writing off to other bloggers when her computer gave up. The new finder-of-words is River and she has a creative mind... 

Do pop over to her site and join the Wed. Word Challenges.  

I often go back to previously posted blogs.  These are always re-written and changed because I have changed as a writer. So if you shrug off my posts, please grant me a pass. I have been diagnosed with Parkinson's and my hands are fighting my fingers.