by Kathy Brasby | Sep 2, 2014 | Hope
I remember the Christmas where Mom found the perfect gift for Dad. It was so perfect that he got two of: the one Mom bought and the one he bought five days before Christmas.
As Mom put it, “He can just have two of them then.”
She wasn’t smiling when she said it.
That was Dad’s MO: when he needed something, he bought it.
Buying gifts for Dad was always a challenge. He didn’t care about fun gifts. He wanted practical. For a while, we rotated gifts between wallets and pocket knives because he was sure to lose one between birthdays.
But my husband stumbled on an even more perfect gift.
Matt assured me that he would take of Dad’s Christmas gift one year after he found cases of antifreeze on sale at the parts store.
He didn’t even bother to wrap the case. He popped on a bow, wrote Dad’s name on the cardboard and let Dad cut it open. With a gift pocket knife, I suspect.
Dad was thrilled.
At a case of antifreeze.
It is no wonder that I never scored a great gift for Dad.
And the best part of the antifreeze? Matt then shared how great a price he’d gotten on the case. Dad couldn’t have asked for anything better.
That was the year I quit buying gifts for Dad. I was obviously clueless.
by Kathy Brasby | Aug 12, 2014 | Hope
Some jobs just don’t fit some people.
Chuck’s crew had one of those projects where the construction happened on one side of a canal and the electrical power was on the other side.
So Chuck was handed the 100-foot extension cord and instructed to get it hooked into the electrical outlet.
Chuck threw himself into the task, which involved unrolling the cord and dragging it across the ground to a small foot bridge. Then he dragged the remainder of the cord to the outlet.
Meanwhile, the rest of the crew assembled scaffolding, laid out tools, and inventoried the building materials.
Then Chuck came back to his foreman.
“All set?” the foreman said.
“I need an adapter,” Chuck answered.
The foreman narrowed his eyes. “An adapter?”
Chuck held up the end of the extension cord. “Yeah. I’ve got female to female over there at the outlet and I need an adapter.”
“I suppose you have male to male at this end?” the foreman replied.
“I haven’t looked yet.”
Chuck didn’t last long at that job.
by Kathy Brasby | Jun 25, 2014 | Hope
I’ve compiled some of my short stories about country life into a new eBook, The Overconfident Milk Truck and More Short stories. Click here to see the eBook site.
The Overconfident Milk Truck is available in a ton of eBook formats, including epub and Mobi. You can read on your Kindle or any mobile device by using an epub reader.
These stories should be a fast read, perfect for those times when you want a quick bit of fun. Please check out the link. You can download a sample free. Thanks for taking a look!
by Kathy Brasby | May 6, 2014 | Hope
All four of us kids were huddled around our old propane heater holding mugs of hot chocolate and surveying the snow outside. Yesterday’s blizzard had dumped a thick mat of snow that filled ditches and hid sidewalks.
It had also forced the school buses to stay in the garage and so we were enjoying this white wonderland.
Our farm house sat at the top of a hill and we could see into the valley. The county road that ran past our house dipped into the valley and then rose to the top of the next hill.
The storm had filled the valley with heavy snow so that the road wasn’t visible for a quarter mile.
While we sipped our hot chocolate, we saw a milk truck lumber to a stop at the top of the next hill. This was a large semi tractor-trailer considering his options.
“Don’t do it,” my mother said.
“Go for it!” said one brother.
“He won’t go,” said the other.
The truck rocked forward and back for a bit with indecision and then took a step back before barreling down the hill.
An explosion of white filled the air.
“He won’t make it,” said my mother.
As the snow filtered back into the valley, we could see the truck. Snow covered the hood and packed tight against the doors. The truck hadn’t gotten a quarter of the way through the valley’s snowpack.
Dad trekked down in his tractor. Unlike over-confident milk trucks, tractors can go about anywhere. They managed to tow the truck backwards and Dad reported that the snow was like concrete around the engine.
On the farm, you learn many things in childhood. One of the bigger ones was one of the simpler: when in doubt, listen to Mom.
And don’t plow into snowfields.
by Kathy Brasby | Apr 29, 2014 | Hope
In the stone age of mountain skiing was the T-bar and there it should stay.
A T-Bar Lift consisted of a steel rope looped over a series of wheels. A bar hung down from this steel cable with a horizontal cross piece at the bottom. Think of the idea of an upside-down T.
The cable ran up the mountain and skiers were expected to rest against the horizontal piece which would push them up the mountain.
Two skiers could go up the same T-Bar and that’s where my problem began.
My college roommate and I were out for a day of skiing at a small ski area that featured several T-Bar lifts. No problem. We weren’t beginners anymore.
We glided up the mountain together several times before things went a bit haywire.
As we were sliding over the snow, my roommate developed problems. Her skis caught and she weaved from left to right to left, bucking the T-Bar with her wild maneuvering. I clung to my balance until she lost hers.
It was over then. The T-Bar heaved skyward, pitching me into the air.
I landed on my back with the end of my ski hooked over the horizontal bar. Up the hill I went, dragged by the now-calm T-Bar.
I jerked my leg like a fish trying to shed a hook and, after a couple of eons, kicked myself free from the lift and roll into the deep powder alongside the lift track.
I could no longer see my skis under the powder. I rolled and kicked until I worked my way onto the ski run itself. Hard-packed snow never looked so good.
Sweat ran down my shoulder blades as I stood for a few minutes to let my heart rate drop under 200.
And then my roommate slushed up beside me. After falling off the T-Bar, she’d skied to the bottom, caught another ride, and beat me to the top.
She ran her eyes from my snow-caked boots to my powdered cap and shook her head.
“What on earth happened to you?”
T-Bars… you can keep them.
by Kathy Brasby | Apr 22, 2014 | Hope
Sometimes it’s the destination. Sometimes it’s the journey that’s important.
In this case, our daughter decided to spend a day crafting her own wire rabbit cage. She raised Dutch rabbits for 4-H and wanted to expand a little.
So, in true 4-H fashion, she discovered some extra wire panels and set to work with her materials in front of the tool shed.
She had to bend corners, crimp the back and front panels onto the main framework, design her own doorway into the cage.
She spent most of the time on her knees twisting and binding wire.
And then it was done.
She took a step back to admire the cage. It fairly glowed in the afternoon sun.
Her back ached, her hands were sore, and she decided she needed a little recreation after the big project.
We had 40 acres of open pasture and so a run on the four-wheeler looked interesting.
Off she went. At 14, she hadn’t started training for her driver’s license but she handled the four-wheeler with experience.
She zipped across trails, feeling the wind blow through her hair. She made a loop around the house, leaning into the turn.
The cool early-evening air sliced past her as she drove on and on.
And then she swung around the chicken house with a little more speed than she intended and the four-wheeler refused to turn tightly.
She wasn’t about to roll over in the turn but, as she looked up with panic, she was about to drive over the top of her newly-made cage.
Releasing the throttle didn’t help. She came to a stop just past the now flat-as-a-pancake rabbit cage.
She built the cage and then she squashed it.
The destination that day had been a new cage for her rabbit project. The journey had been about crafting the cage with hours of perseverance.
On that score, she did terrific.
Sadly, the cage was still flat.
