The Porch Swing Story
Nov. 29th, 2008 10:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maychorianTo cheer up a friend, and because I am missing my family (IN CANADA), here is a story that I wrote quite some time ago. Well, wrote it down. It's a true story. Perhaps you will find it cheering, too. It's, um, a bit rambling.
The Porch Swing Story
Funny stories? I have a funny story. It's hard to write though, because I always use lots of hand gestures and faces when I tell this story. And I usually have my sister Bethany to help me with the details. Maybe I'll do it as if I were talking . . .
Okay, so we went down to Kansas for my great-grandfather's funeral, right? Wait, I haven't gotten to the funny part yet. It has nothing to do with the funeral.
So we got down there, after, like, twelve or thirteen hours in the van on the road. Fun trip. I hate motion sickness. But anyway. We finally got to Kiowa, this tiny town one mile north of the Oklahoma border where my grandma's--we call her Mums--parents lived for years, until Great-grandma died. It still has brick roads and dirt roads and a perfectly lovely downtown area that looks exactly like the set of an old Western movie, only it's real, with a sewing shop and everything. We stopped at our great-uncle's? (Bethany interrupts: He's our great-great uncle. Great-grandpa's brother.) Right, our great-great uncle, Bud and Helen's place. Can't remember their last name--I think it starts with a P. (Bethany: I can't remember either.)
We get there and it's about ninety-four degrees in the shade, pretty hot after you've just come from Indiana and Illinois where it's, like sixty one day and forty the next--the weather has been so weird this summer, I bet it's bad for the corn. But anyway, all the uncles and aunts and cousins pour out of the cars, and actually it's nice in the shade, and after being cooped up for such a long time, none of the kids want to go inside yet, even though our relatives are urging us to come in where it's cooller. It's nice, sitting on the front patio, looking at all of the paintings and carvings Uncle Bud has done lately. It smells like heat and dust and ripe wheat, not entirely unpleasant.
All my little siblings and cousins are running around swinging on the tire swing in the backyard and having lightsaber fights with the sticks on the ground, and I wander around to the back, where there's another little porch, and a really old-looking porch swing, brown and pitted but very inviting. (Bethany: Yeah, and there were those two dogs, remember them? They were chained up on the porch so they couldn't escape from the little kids.) Yeah, how could I forget them? Actually, I think they were chained so they wouldn't bother anyone. (Bethany: The little one was called Loopy. ::expressive eye-roll, indicating that this is a very appropriate name:: ) Yeah, and the big one was Boz. (Are you sure?) Um, yeah. It was Boz. Or Roz. Something like that. He was a nice dog, very quiet, didn't even fuss when Dougy pulled his fur. (::another expressive eye-roll:: He was dumb, he kept getting under the swing, and it kept bumping him.) He wasn't dumb. He could have gotten away if he wanted to. I think he just liked being under the swing. Maybe he felt safer there. (No, he was a dumb dog.)
So our second cousin or whatever brings out lemonade for everyone, and we're all sitting around enjoying being on a solid surface that doesn't move in excess of sixty miles an hour. Bethany and I are sitting on the porch swing taking turns pushing us. (You forgot that part where Dad came back.) What was that? (He said--) Oh yeah, I remember, he pointed at the bottom of the swing and said, "Did you notice that the middle support is broken?" ::makes pointing gestures in imitation of irritated father figure:: And I said, "Yeah, it is kind of sagging, isn't it?" (He told us to get off.) No, he didn't, he just said we should be careful. (Nuh uh, he--)
::impatient head shake:: Whatever. Anyway, so we're just very happily swinging there-- (You forgot about the dog! The little one kept jumping up like it was going to bite my foot! It was like, "Arr rarr rarara rar!" ::lunges forward in demonstration, fingers formed into claws:: ) Oh, yeah! I remember, everytime we were at the closest part of the arc it jumped at us. ::makes alligator snapping motions with hands:: It was like this little pirannha-dog. ::snaps teeth together:: I think I felt it lick my foot once. (It was really scary.) And Bethany hated dogs even before this. She's scared of them. (::shrug:: )
So we would stick our feet out to push and then quick pull them in again. Pretty soon Bethany and I were sitting like this. ::turns sideways on seat with knees drawn up toward chest:: with our legs kind of tangled together ::waves fingers in the area of her feet:: to stay on the swing and keep away from the dog. (Yeah, it was REALLY sagging.) Making really loud creaking noises . . . But anyway, we kept swinging.
So Philip came back behind us and I asked him to push us-- (No, he just pushed us.) No, actually, I asked him to. But anyway, he did, and we went even higher, and then, right when we were at the highest point of the arc-- BOOSH! ::makes explosion gesture with both hands:: (Random listener, laughing insanely: It just DISAPPEARED!)
The swing broke right in half! (::grinning:: Yeah, and I fell on my face on the concrete and the little dog was all "Ar rara rar rar rar!" ::lunges forward again:: ) I just rolled over my back and laughed and laughed. (Dad wasn't too happy.) I know, but I just couldn't stop laughing . . .
And I looked behind me, and there were the pieces of the swing hanging down . . . ::gestures with both hands in long V shape::
Hmm, that was a really long story. Sorry about that. It doesn't take quite so long in person.
The Porch Swing Story
Funny stories? I have a funny story. It's hard to write though, because I always use lots of hand gestures and faces when I tell this story. And I usually have my sister Bethany to help me with the details. Maybe I'll do it as if I were talking . . .
Okay, so we went down to Kansas for my great-grandfather's funeral, right? Wait, I haven't gotten to the funny part yet. It has nothing to do with the funeral.
So we got down there, after, like, twelve or thirteen hours in the van on the road. Fun trip. I hate motion sickness. But anyway. We finally got to Kiowa, this tiny town one mile north of the Oklahoma border where my grandma's--we call her Mums--parents lived for years, until Great-grandma died. It still has brick roads and dirt roads and a perfectly lovely downtown area that looks exactly like the set of an old Western movie, only it's real, with a sewing shop and everything. We stopped at our great-uncle's? (Bethany interrupts: He's our great-great uncle. Great-grandpa's brother.) Right, our great-great uncle, Bud and Helen's place. Can't remember their last name--I think it starts with a P. (Bethany: I can't remember either.)
We get there and it's about ninety-four degrees in the shade, pretty hot after you've just come from Indiana and Illinois where it's, like sixty one day and forty the next--the weather has been so weird this summer, I bet it's bad for the corn. But anyway, all the uncles and aunts and cousins pour out of the cars, and actually it's nice in the shade, and after being cooped up for such a long time, none of the kids want to go inside yet, even though our relatives are urging us to come in where it's cooller. It's nice, sitting on the front patio, looking at all of the paintings and carvings Uncle Bud has done lately. It smells like heat and dust and ripe wheat, not entirely unpleasant.
All my little siblings and cousins are running around swinging on the tire swing in the backyard and having lightsaber fights with the sticks on the ground, and I wander around to the back, where there's another little porch, and a really old-looking porch swing, brown and pitted but very inviting. (Bethany: Yeah, and there were those two dogs, remember them? They were chained up on the porch so they couldn't escape from the little kids.) Yeah, how could I forget them? Actually, I think they were chained so they wouldn't bother anyone. (Bethany: The little one was called Loopy. ::expressive eye-roll, indicating that this is a very appropriate name:: ) Yeah, and the big one was Boz. (Are you sure?) Um, yeah. It was Boz. Or Roz. Something like that. He was a nice dog, very quiet, didn't even fuss when Dougy pulled his fur. (::another expressive eye-roll:: He was dumb, he kept getting under the swing, and it kept bumping him.) He wasn't dumb. He could have gotten away if he wanted to. I think he just liked being under the swing. Maybe he felt safer there. (No, he was a dumb dog.)
So our second cousin or whatever brings out lemonade for everyone, and we're all sitting around enjoying being on a solid surface that doesn't move in excess of sixty miles an hour. Bethany and I are sitting on the porch swing taking turns pushing us. (You forgot that part where Dad came back.) What was that? (He said--) Oh yeah, I remember, he pointed at the bottom of the swing and said, "Did you notice that the middle support is broken?" ::makes pointing gestures in imitation of irritated father figure:: And I said, "Yeah, it is kind of sagging, isn't it?" (He told us to get off.) No, he didn't, he just said we should be careful. (Nuh uh, he--)
::impatient head shake:: Whatever. Anyway, so we're just very happily swinging there-- (You forgot about the dog! The little one kept jumping up like it was going to bite my foot! It was like, "Arr rarr rarara rar!" ::lunges forward in demonstration, fingers formed into claws:: ) Oh, yeah! I remember, everytime we were at the closest part of the arc it jumped at us. ::makes alligator snapping motions with hands:: It was like this little pirannha-dog. ::snaps teeth together:: I think I felt it lick my foot once. (It was really scary.) And Bethany hated dogs even before this. She's scared of them. (::shrug:: )
So we would stick our feet out to push and then quick pull them in again. Pretty soon Bethany and I were sitting like this. ::turns sideways on seat with knees drawn up toward chest:: with our legs kind of tangled together ::waves fingers in the area of her feet:: to stay on the swing and keep away from the dog. (Yeah, it was REALLY sagging.) Making really loud creaking noises . . . But anyway, we kept swinging.
So Philip came back behind us and I asked him to push us-- (No, he just pushed us.) No, actually, I asked him to. But anyway, he did, and we went even higher, and then, right when we were at the highest point of the arc-- BOOSH! ::makes explosion gesture with both hands:: (Random listener, laughing insanely: It just DISAPPEARED!)
The swing broke right in half! (::grinning:: Yeah, and I fell on my face on the concrete and the little dog was all "Ar rara rar rar rar!" ::lunges forward again:: ) I just rolled over my back and laughed and laughed. (Dad wasn't too happy.) I know, but I just couldn't stop laughing . . .
And I looked behind me, and there were the pieces of the swing hanging down . . . ::gestures with both hands in long V shape::
Hmm, that was a really long story. Sorry about that. It doesn't take quite so long in person.
