"Maynard's Kids"

Maynard Peer suffers from dementia.  He begins and ends every day the same:  talking out loud, as if he were entertaining an eager listener.  He discusses things such as the good old days of his past, his current needs, and especially his love for baking.  Anything that pops into his mind he will utter aloud; he is often heard by friends that happen by for a visit.  They naturally think he already has company.  A typical day’s talk in his slang dialect goes somewhat like the following.

~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^

         Now, duties are somethin’ I hassle on daily.  When I set my mind ta doing farm duties I up and do the opposite; my mind wonderz.  Et’s like this, ya see. Instead o’ farm’n I get all excited about little thin’s, like my cat: he’s nearly six years old.  Well he likes ta get ‘em hairballs.  I think he does it on purpose.  Hiz puke’n, I mean.  I don’t like kicking um; he makes me furious.  Et’s hiz fault he get’s kick’t.

         The other thin’ I do when I gets purturbed ez fix me a batch o’ peanut ‘n butter cookiez.  I use thet white sode’r crackers and spread butter atop ‘em.  I put my false teeth in and chew, chopp’n um up tiny enough for spit’n um out on thay buttered side. Then bake em ten minutez. Thay sure ez wonderful when thay’z finished cool’n.  Yes, thay’z mighty tasty.  I have three jarz o’ peanuts and when butter’s handy et’s like have’n me a party.  I gots me a cow, I make thet butter out’r thet cream riz’n ta thay top o’ thet there milk.  I don’t mine mak’n et once’n a whiles.  Et’s the stir’n thet gets me. Et remine’s me o’ shake’n.

         Once I had me a bottle o’ medicine thet said shake well before take’n.  I got a couple o’ new muscles on thet stuff.  Never could figure out what me a shake’n had ta do with take’n thet medicine.

         Which remine’s me; once I had me a flavor’d ice thet gave me a real head pain.  I almost pass’d on.  Then I gots cold en shook somethin’ horrific.  I gots under the kevers then.  I could hardly gets my body warm again.  I’ll never again buy thet cold stuff in deep win’er.  No sir’ree! I might gets me some in hot weather just ta see if’n et cools me down. Then I won’t have ta go soak’n in thet there creek ta cools off none.

         Thet’s another thin’ thet bothers me.  When I be sit’n in thet there creek I always gets bite’s.  ‘Um’s skit’erz jus won’t leavez me alone.  Not thet they should leavez me alone.  I’m ‘n their territory aft’a alls.  The beez are the onez thet gets my goat.  When he’z in hiz pen he gets stung on hiz noze.  Once I tried ta take the stinger out, buts he wouldn’a lets me gets away from hiz back side ta gets close enough ta hiz mizerable nose.  Dang if’ns I didn’t wake up on the other side o’ hiz pen with thet wild cat lick’n my face.  I didn’t kick um for et.  I jus lay there struggl’n ta gets up.  Seems how a bone had gone ta break’n.

         Well, old Doc said I’d have ta take et easy fer six whole weeks.  Thet were two weeks ago on the morrow.  I’ll have ta find me some sort’a hobb’ie ta do.  I’m get’n bad restless, sit’n ‘n do’n nut’n whilst heal’n up good ’n proper.

         When the kidz come ta vizet they ought’a make me plenty a food ahead.  I’m sure hope ‘n they gets here soon.  I’m a feel’n hungry.  Think I’ll have me some o’ those peanut ‘n butter cookiez.  Et won’t take long ta fix em.  Let’s see, now.  I need some o’ thet there cream ta makes me some butter.  Wonder’n if’n John Henry haz some on hand.  He’d be oblige’n ta lone me some if’n I was ta ask.

         Shuck’s hez not ta home could be there’z some cream in thay separator this time o’ day. Yep, sure enough! I’ll haf ta make et up with um latter.

         I’z ben churn’n this fer an hour et’s still not butter.  What? What’s this stuff?  White wash!  I’m think’n et must be.  Whoof…smells like et.  Good Heavens!  Why, I did’nt notice befer ez beyon’ me. What’s white wash do’n low hiz separator?  Er ez thet a’new fangled paint bucket?  I’ll put et back and see if’n I can find some butter er cream‘n hiz icebox.  Wouldn’t o’ take’n et but I need’ed ta eat somethin’ fast, and thay cookiez sure will cheer me on.

         Wonder what’s this?  Bet’s thet thet’s some o’ thet new fangled spic’y butter everyonez ben yak’n bout.  Et’s a good idea ta make some, John Henry…wonder’n what spice he’z a use’n.  He’z alwayz spearment’n on somethin’.  I jes gots ta leave um a note and thank um fer hiz hospitality.

Dear John Henry,

         I’z take’n me some o’ yur new fangled butter.  Pay ya back some o’ mine aft’r  a’while. Thank ya, hope ya don’t miss et.

         M. Peer

~~~~~~

         These peanut ‘n butter cookiez are smell’n mighty good cool’n jus’ a few more minutes an’ I’z eating ‘em.  Yumm’ee, Yumm’ee.

~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^

This jargon sure is hard to follow.  Had enough? …I believe you get the drift. As we leave Mr. Peer fixing lunch we’ll see if we can find John Henry and learn exactly why he wasn’t home to greet Maynard.

There is a note inside the barn pinned to the ladder in plain sight, and it looks like it’s written to John’s son, Belford Joel.

”Bell, don’t ya fergets ta check an’ see if Bailey haz enough cat food en hiz bowl and fresh water every other day.  I fergots ta mention this ta ya the other day.

Well, if I didn't know better I'd say these two are from around the same parts.

Wonder how long he’s going to be away.  Guess we will have to wait and see.

~~~~~~

John came home from visiting his brother in the next county and we find he is just in time to attend Maynard’s funeral, this was the day after his homecoming.  The preacher speaks his sentiments to the sad crowd of mostly Maynard’s kids and their families.


John felt badly for what happened to his friend and blameworthy for his demise.  He knew Maynard was losing it, and he’d known it for awhile.  He couldn’t accept the fact that Maynard had inadvertently gotten into the rat poison he’d stuck into his refrigerator the last minute before leaving on his trip.

“Poor, Maynard, he must have completely lost it to have recognized rat poison for butter,” he supposed.

~~~~~~

After the funeral the children precede over the next few weeks to carnage through their parent’s belongings while getting everything in motion for an auction upon request, through the last will and testament, of both their mother and father.

They found many personal items they simply couldn’t part with.  Memories ran thick among the siblings these days.  They managed to distribute these personals among themselves, as best they could, without a lot of squabbling.  Drawers were emptied and shelves were made bare; everything was ready for the sale within a six week time-period.

One such day being gathered together the eldest daughter, Margaret, in the concern of discovery, suggested it would be a good idea for them all to forgo attending the auction, as the stress of watching others take possession of their parents stuff would cause undue sorrow.  They readily agreed this would be best and inwardly reveled in relief at not having to face each other for they each kept a secret from the other.

Grief and reality had previously begun taking its toll as they individually began to develop reservations toward selling their parents possessions.  They each wanted to keep a little something, besides personal items, to cherish and couldn’t bear the thought of simply throwing the memories away.  Each viewed the impending loss as a personal affront, even though it had been a unanimous decision.  The scheme that engulfed the siblings over their legacy began with pride, which lest you think otherwise is not a new attribute of these ten kids of Maynard Peer.

~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^

   
Ferrell the eldest son, wanted to keep his dad’s fishing gear and beloved tool collection.  His wife coveted the roll top desk that had belonged to her mother ‘n law.  He felt betrayed by his own feelings and afraid to let his nine brothers and sisters know his emotions had flared in rebellion toward selling their heritage.

“Yes, that was it; these things are our heritage, our parents’ things.” 

He shuttered as realism surfaced. He felt humility and embarrassment.  Nonetheless, he felt he had no choice but to hide the purchase of the items he desired.

“After all,” he surmised. ”Our heritage is about to be lost; these things are my right.”

His resulting action had been to find a friend that would bid on the three items for him.  Ferrell, unaware of the similitude of his decision, became one in thought and deed with his siblings.

The lawyer, Edward Clements Blake, in the course of secret ballot by Maynard’s kids, solely handled their purchases at the auction.  He’s the one friend each had asked secretly to handle their business on the QT.

The auction went off without a hitch.  The lawyer made all the correct purchases and everything was set for each one to pick up his prized property from Mr. Blake at separate times or on different days.

Ferrell, being scheduled for the first pick-up, came to Blake’s office just a couple minutes early.  To his dismay the lawyer was not in; his secretary gave him a vanilla envelope containing a photo of his items and a note of explanation from Blake.

“Meet me alone, at the community center on such and such a date and time.”  E. C Blake.

Each one received the same treatment, and since they couldn’t discuss it among family; they had to suffer their assumed misfortune alone.
       
Meantime, Blake arranged for all the purchased items to be moved from their parent’s yard where the auction took place to an old barn on the outskirts of town.  He wanted to teach this self-seeking bunch of Peer’s offspring a lesson in Christian love and respect.  He never stopped to consider it worth his time.  He felt the need to do something to help these poor unfortunates come to their senses.  They didn’t realize they were setting themselves up for a fall by this conniving plan.  They would never, ever, be able to invite family over, and worse yet no one would try.  They were alienating themselves, and for what, a handful of earthly goods.  Was it worth the sorrow?

“What a stupid thing to do…”

Ferrell, being a rather impatient person, decided to slap the hand that had done his bidding.  He had the legal papers drawn up and served to Blake before the planned meeting could take place at the community center.  Ferrell was prepared to pay money for an attorney to satisfy his claim that Blake was taking his family to the cleaners.

Blake decided to let this roll off his back as Ferrell would understand eventually and make it right.  He thought he would be able to handle anything that came his way.  Blake, however, was not prepared for all ten kids suing him.  He was a little perturbed to say the least.

Blake’s planned meeting came and went with a no show on the Peer family side.

“Now this is a fine how-do-you-do,” retorted Blake. “What is going on?”

Ferrell walked into Blake’s office two weeks later as if nothing negatively had taken place between them.  His visit proved to be a pleasant one; the relationship between the Peer family and Blake began to stabilize.