Chapter 8: Bad Jokes

The rest of the winter, starting right after New Year's Day, the weather turned unseasonably cold. The deep muddy ruts had formed when there was a thaw and then froze up again. They were so deep Pa could let go of the steering wheel and the old truck seemed to steer itself. Although the county commissioners had decided to grade the road smooth in the springtime there was little to be done when it was so cold like it was right then.

Even though it was the middle of the week we had little we could do in the way of chores. Spring plowing was two months away and there is only so much repairing that could be done to the buildings and the harness and the farm equipment. So Pa decided to it would be nice to take a middle of the week trip into town. These trips were a special treat. School was out for the week because the old furnace just couldn't keep up with the near zero temperatures. It was nice to go to town and see some fresh faces.

There was one interesting attraction to this unscheduled trip, jokes. Pa never could be what was called in those days a raconteur. I wonder if they still use the word today or if it has fallen onto the waste pile of discarded words people select to not remember. It means a very skillful teller of jokes. Every small town had at least one such wit in those days and fortunate was the community with two or three.

Pa came into the house just as Ma was getting ready to bake some nice ribs for supper even though it was the middle of the week. "Want to go to town for an hour or so?" Pa asked her.

"Oh Walter, I had planned to put these nice ribs into the oven." She paused a beat and told him, "I guess we can have them tomorrow for supper. Just make certain we get back by five."

Pa nodded and the ribs were covered with a wet towel and placed on the table on the back porch where the temperature would keep everything cold. She went into their bedroom to change. Ma would no more think of going to town in a faded and worn dress such as she wore for work around the house than she would try to fly to the moon by flapping her arms.

Pa and I looked at each other and smiled at ma's "female ways," as Pa called them. He would laugh and tease her because she was always so fussy with her appearance. Once when the preacher came calling, she made Pa entertain him outside the house for ten minutes before letting him in. She had to change into "something acceptable" and fix her hair.

When she came to the back door to call the men folk in, she said, "Walter, do invite Brother Johnson into the house. "Don't keep him waiting outside."

Pa ushered the mystified preacher into the house, opened his mouth to say something and shut it. Instead he looked at me as I watched the charade. He grinned and winked and shook his head in mock exasperation.

Ma was not vain but rather she always felt when she "received" guests, it was a semi formal occasion. She always strove to "look her best" on every social event, large and small. Ma's natural beauty turned men's heads in appreciation even when she was well into her forties.

I was always proud to take my mother out on the dance floor whenever we had a community dance. Pa preferred to stand on the sidelines, leaning against a wall, watching his beautiful wife become transformed into the belle of the ball. I inherited my Pa's natural clumsiness where music was concerned.

On this particular Wednesday trip into town Ma had on a simple dark dress with a large white collar. Her long, dark hair reached clear to her waist when hanging loose. For the trip into town it had been pinned up in the latest style for those who didn't wish to follow the "flapper bobbed hair look which made the female models resemble skinny, shaggy headed boys. When Ma took her beautiful, long hair down at night Pa always gazed at her in adoration.

Pa parked in front of the JC Penny's store and got out. Ma carefully opened the truck door and stepped down. I always scooted over and hopped out Pa's side because he was the first one to exit the truck.

"Come get me for some dinner in a couple hours, Walter. I'd like to see if there are any new styles I'd like to have." Ma smiled at both of us and sedately walked into the store.

Pa and I looked at each other and grinned. "I'll bet you a nickel she doesn't buy any dress pattern, Pa."

"Davy," he said, "You do like cinch bets, don't you?" We grinned at each other and headed for the feed store. Since the movie house only had a single showing in the evenings during the week and nothing in the afternoon, it was either follow Pa or wander around town by myself. For the moment I decided to tail along after Pa.

Josh Beverly, a neighbor who lived twenty miles south of us, greeted us as we entered the feed store. "Walter, Davy, meet Matthew Spinner. He's a seed salesman who knows every joke Joe Miller ever wrote, I bet."

Pa nodded to the short, soft, round stranger, careful not to squeeze his hand too hard. "By golly you're a big 'un." he grinned as he greeted Pa.

Pa smiled briefly and seated himself on an upturned wooden case. It always made Pa a little embarrassed when people mentioned his size or height. Back then, the average man was five feet eight inches tall according to a survey some college professor from back east had made.

He sent students all across America and had them ask people if they minded having their height recorded for a "scientific survey." Almost everyone agreed and the professor declared the average height for a man was five feet eight. Pa stood six feet two in his stocking feet so he towered above most people in any crowd. Ma was five feet even. People used to smile at the two of them when they were together. But no man was brave enough to raise Pa's ire by making any comment in his hearing.

Matthew Spinner started on a story about cooking. "You know, there's this new dish people make for a desert. It is quite popular back east. What you do is to take some fresh dried prunes and chop them up real fine and add them to some whipping cream and add the pottifor. Then you take some cooked prunes and add them in and the pottifor. Then you mash some stewed prunes and mix them into the cream with the pottifor and you have the complete dish."

Everybody started grinning as Pa asked, "What's the pottifor?"

"You eat all those prunes at one sitting and you'll find out what's the potty for." Everybody laughing and Pa grinned. Then he started chuckling. He really liked the joke.

After a few more jokes the seed salesman started in on his sales pitch to buy his improved seed wheat proven to grow bigger and better grains and gave more yield to the acre and so forth. I got bored and told Pa I wanted to wander around town for a bit.

"Don't take any wooden snowballs, kid." the salesman called after me. He got another chuckle from the diversion hungry farmers assembled there. I thought to myself there was nothing funny about wooden snowballs.

I found Ma still poring over the dress patterns. "Did you find something you liked, Ma?" I asked her.

She smiled and said, "Well yes, David, as a matter of fact I did. She held up a white pattern envelope with a line drawing of a slender woman on the front. Suddenly I understood why this style had interested her. The line drawing looked just like Ma, even to the sweep of the dark hair. No woman can resist buying a package with her picture on the front.