[at-l] "...for the love of..."

[Felix <athiker@smithville.net>]

"That don't go there," she yelled from the kitchen.
"I know. I was just seein' if anything else needed to go downstairs," I 
lied. I don't know how she always knew when I was trying to get out of 
work. I guess because I was always trying to get out of work.

I walked down the stairs, each with its own creak, to the basement. The 
potpourri of mildew, mold and moth balls that greeted me there was an 
aroma that told me that I was, indeed, in the basement of an old person. 
I could hear Mrs. Purtlebaugh walking around in the kitchen. I followed 
the sound of the floorboards creaking with my eyes. 

There was a shelf with Mason jars full of vegetables that Mrs. 
Purtlebaugh had canned. Lots of beets and green beans. One jar of beets 
was too many for me. I wondered if she ever opened the jars, or just kept 
them on the shelf.

As I headed back up the stairs, the phone rang. The floor creaked as she 
made her way to answer it. As I got to the top step, I heard her laugh 
that never-ending laugh of hers.

"Not if you keep it blue like that. Uh-huh. Uh-Hmmm...." she said. "Last 
time I did that, Hazel was here to help."

I went to the livingroom and sat down on the davenport. There was an 
orange and yellow and brown Afghan draped across the back, so I covered 
up with it. Mrs. Purtlebaugh's occasional "Is that right?" let me know 
that all was well with the world. Well enough that I could doze off for a 
few minutes and...


In Memory of Patty Haynes


-- 
Felix J. McGillicuddy
ME-->GA '98
"Your Move"

Stop and see me at:  http://members.tripod.com/~Felixhikes/index.html

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