« The Way I Heard It with Mike Rowe

280: BONUS: Vacuuming in the Nude Chapters 7 & 8

2022-11-04 | 🔗
New York Times bestselling author Peggy Rowe is at it again—this time giving a hilarious inside look at her writing career. She has been writing all her adult life. In fact, she doesn’t know how not to write—even through those years of constant rejection from publishing houses. But between her tenacity and the encouragement of her family, Peggy’s breakthrough finally came at the tender age of 80. Vacuuming in the Nude is most likely her funniest prose to date as she shares her journey of attending myriad writers’ conferences and honing her ability to see humor in everyday situations. 
This is an unofficial transcript meant for reference. Accuracy is not guaranteed.
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Yeah you ve done again, you have stopped The cross another bonus episode of the way I heard it. This is episode number two hundred and eighty otherwise noticed chapter, seven and eight of the audiovisual. of my mother's best selling book vacuuming in the nude and other ways to get attention If you haven't stumbled across the prior chapters of this riveting tom, I beseech you please find them started to beginning as with most books. My mom says even better when digested intended chronology. If, on the other hand, you are here on purpose, I design woven, settle in the next two chapters, or even better than the last two, and they shall comments right after. is do do do do do do do do do these next. Two chapters of my mom's book are sponsored sort of by my mum,
his father, coral noble. My granddad was the inspiration for dirty jobs, as well as the micro works foundation, and today I am pleased and honoured to see his name on a bottle about stand. being whisky, as some of you might know, for the last year, no
Tennessee whisky is but a terrific fundraiser for the micro works foundation, and I have been fortunate to be able to ship it to a few dozen enlightened states whose laws allow me to do so. Hopefully, you live in such a state because, after selling out of the original juice, I am delighted to announce the advent of the rick house edition of noble tennessee whisky with a slightly higher proof finished in french oak staves. It is awfully delicious and we ve got a limited supply available at noble spirits, dot com and some holiday gift offerings that I do think people are going to love check him out at noble spirits. Dotcom, that's noble! With a k. I know it's weird
hey and o b e l, spirits, dotcom, no discount, no promo codes and no special offers than at proceeds go straight to micro works, and I am sorry if you live in a state I can't ship to, but where working on getting noble with a k on shelves around the country baby steps, as they say right now, we're in maryland and tennessee working on Michigan texas is on the horizon anyhow for now: noble spirits, dot, com k and o b e l with the spirits after it followed by thought and a gun already than the noblemen gun out of all, everyone wants and the it is done. We'll take that ain't gonna go here's my chapter, seven, a new frontier
Elizabeth suggestion to write a story for a horse magazine was bought on having better listen, do my entire life. I spoke the language with ease. I was merely exercising a quote mutually attributed to mark TWAIN right when you know What aspiring writer has not heard that advice sadly arthur it is intruded into my long time passion for horses. I could no longer hold a grooming brush or tightness girth ray mt, my beloved mare, without leading her into the gully by our past, your fence, I saw the writing on the stable war and found a good for her. After so My first story I was spurred On to submit to other horse publications pumped, I believe, Is the term in modern lingo Before I knew what was happening, I was out the starting gate and running
field of fellow equine writers. While my old friends were playing cards at the senior centre and enjoy bus trips. In cruises I was beginning new career at the ripe old age of sixty six writing for horse publications filled the equine forward in my life. I think material in the coolest places breeding. forms, training facilities and world as horse shows in small country venues. I made to end legged friends at the baltimore city mounted police, stables as well polo matches. Barnes and racing stables? Well, was closing up with horsemen and taking copious note my house, and was never far away, more often than not glued to his current good red. even more rewarding, then seeing my work in print was the enthusiastic response from readers, John,
and I were at a funeral home doing one afternoon when I walk to the lounge. Were a young girl. Possibly ten was gross than a magazine I per top. When I saw her writing boots and breaches. Then, when I took closer. Look at her reading material, my heart raced It was young rider existing that ran my stories. I reckon as the cover of the current addition, the one I had received in the mail that very day that must be a pretty interest, in magazine, I said I'm not be- the shameless fishing expedition she closed breed let the boring old lady before returning to the magazine, ah so Does it have stories or just articles Oh there's always a story. That's my favorite part. Read it. First, there was more who can remember. I didn't or I had written that story or then it was based.
A true news story and had taken place near our sons neighborhood in south florida. Why destroy any illusions she might have about the author, where riding outfit and sitting stride her horse with a laptop written in after reading an article in the florida horsemen magazine about it, jim draft horse, name duke who had helped clean up his neighborhood after hurricane wilma, it was titled heroic horse helps hall after hurricane will I've always had a soft spot. Redraft horses, my beloved old jed, had perch iran in his pet agree. So, while I and I could resist using the names of my granddaughters, too little dogs, jasper and lucky. This is the short story was being enjoyed by the young horse enthusiast. I called it neighbourhood here those from young rider january.
In February two thousand eight- sometimes Beth told people. She had two brothers, but strictly speaking, that wasn't you, just brain lucky might seem like part of the family, but they were still horses. The power four belgians worked in the families carriage business tourist love, nothing better than sites from a horse drawn carriage, and they will win to pay generously for the privilege at home. Sometimes Beth climbed onto jaspers or lucky's broad back, enjoy. and her neighbor Cathy for a ride through the cool woods, Cathy's, always bragging about the ribbons. Her thoroughbreds win Beth told her parents their pictures have even been in the newspapers. She'd never mention two, Cathy, that jasper unlucky had pulled plows at their previous home
carriage horses sounded more refined than workhorses. Did you carriages went out every day during decent weather and in southern florida thanks too mild ocean breezes and tropical son? The weather was most always perfect, except during hurricane season, bets worked alongside her parents. harnessing the gentle, belgians and hitching them to the six passenger carriages that usually men standing on a bench for the fourteen year old Sometimes she even got to drive the carriages to their spot in the park, but there's had to turn over the reins to her father and mother tourist one. trust a fourteen year old girl to handle a big draft horse, if they don't feel safe, it will hurt her father said, but dad they easy to drive beside They know the route by heart. It was true the horses knew where to turn where'd. You pause
and what to do when they only traffic light was read, but her father, was firm? You can do I have them when you're sixteen, not before jasper lucky worked from sun up to Sundown best it sure there was always fresh water. There, shady parking spot, while her parent slipped home for lunch. She removed the who his bridles and fed them, midday meal of grain when them dogs for ban she wiped them with fly repellent. It was mid october berwin forecasters. First mentioned a weather disturbance in the caribbean, tourists headed nor its when the hurricane warning was issued, we'd better get them where's his home said bedstead, even though the sun was still shining in the sky was blue. We haven't to do business drill by heart anything could blow away was brought inside. Shutters were raised over the house windows
The barn windows were covered with plywood bets gave the horses extra hay and water. The time they were better down in their sturdy cinder block born the wind had blown in from the south and threatening dark clouds. world. Above there would be little sleep tat night. Howling wins roared, like jet fighters overhead the driving rain pelted the house hour after hour Beth and her. parents were huddled in the laundry room with emergency supplies when allowed crash cause beth too late from her chair, the horses cried, hugging, her mother, Fine said mom. That born is a fool dress. I couldn't see any being outside dad said minutes later, there's probably it down the back, ray powered, radio warned people to stay put as the of the hurricane past,
by early morning the wind had subsided and the rain slowed to address all destruction was widespread, An emergency rescue crews could not meet the great demand, Beth and her Parents were relieved to find that their small farm had weathered storm with minimal damage, while beth check the whole. Is her dad in mom checked on the neighbors Beth Beth help rushed from the barn to see Cathy running frantically across the wet driveway watching limbs and piles of debris a tree through our stable roof last night and another and fell across the front. We can't reach horses, and I know they're heard she began. sobbing, we call nine one one and nobody can help us get my father, there said Beth point. to a neighbour's house across the road as Cathy, her toward the road Beth went into action,
ten minutes later, when dad and at the ran through the yard. Lucky was harnessed and ready to go small. thinking dad said as can't these funds. their join them in the drive I'll get some rope around the trees may be lucky. pull them away from the stable. Oh. I don't know said caddies dad shaking his head dragging retreat is not the same as pulling a carriage on wheels. He can do it. Beth insisted made their way to the damaged barn. He used to be a plough on a farm she said proudly She patted the horses shoulder while the men attached the rope to the back of the harness, then to the fallen tree. Git up lucky Beth holding the reins lucky low, his head and leaned into the harness beth didn't know the two cheer or cry ass. His power her shoulders and haunches strained against the weight. Finally
heavy tree began to move ever so slightly at first then, was gradually pulled away from the stable while Kathy and her father rescued the horses from collapsing building, lucky Beth and dad dragged heavy tree to the end of the pasture. Then they two more trees from the driveway, adding them the pile lucky and seem to notice the loud cracking and snapping of the branches An hour later, jasper took over pulling parts of need, where's ruse and sheds from the street a veterinarian treated the thoroughbreds bleeding wounds, saying that the quick action had saved their lives that evening kathy visited the two belgians with apples and carrots and her camera. You are super horses. You know that she said hugging powerful necks.
Two days later, the local paper showed a picture of jasper and lucky the caption red neighbourhood, heroes. The day the carriage business resumed beth handed them and to her dad at the park as usual, but he shook his head. folded. His arms give proof, when you can handle horses smiled ass. She held lucky's rains not Everybody had the privilege of working with real life heroes over the next decade while continuing to dream of writing a book, I wrote constantly and published more than fifty of my stories and articles, not only in horse publications, but in newspapers and mainstream magazines shelves at once, folders bulging with rejection. Letters now held notebooks bulging with newspaper
magazine clippings of my articles and essays indeed entire magazines, with my stories story? about loved ones continue to be especially meaning for many of them. written for holidays Fine, remembering my grandmother in the following true labour day, story. I called this one: those lazy days of your before and started working baltimore sun labor day, two thousand and thirteen. I was in the doctor's waiting room when I overheard a jaw dropping conversation between some young women. I've been too busy to take my break complained? Receptionist said and a computer in sitting from a starbucks cup thank it's Friday said another young woman carrying a stack of folders, a third who had been
darling appointments put down the receiver and said the weekend can't get here fast enough. For me, I'm just going to veg out then came the part that made my jaw drop I really envy my grandmother in my great grandmother. Can you and not having to work. They got to stay at home all day, while their husbands supported the family. Yeah said the one who was looking forward to the weekend. The good days women, really knew what leisure time was. according to the national bureau of labour statistics. Women did not, begin working in earnest until the mid this century. Can you believe that apparently the only labour my grandmother experienced in the early nineteen hundreds was in the front bedroom where she gave birth to six children.
and slept her way to the top wrong of the domestic ladder. The hussy my days. He was one of those lucky women who didn't have to work while husband, was away on a commercial fish boat, earning a living sheila I gagged around the homestead enjoying her brood thank She had the occasional chore to save her from a life of endless tedium. By the time those girls behind a desk arrived at work in the morning he had already gathered hens, eggs for breakfast, locked, the door, all a rooster and raked chicken. nor for her garden Then the leisure began in earnest as she pulled on her high rubber boots and made her way to the backyard vegetable patch. She threw down her home from time to time and ran to the house, to investigate, screaming extinct, fires or so sharp scissors from toddlers, then it was
act to hoeing weeds, dispatching poisonous snakes in picking tomatoes On wash day she palmed from the well. He did it say to close in a metal washed up beneath the apple tree and then the them on rope stretched across the lawn holy water from the well would the shed and slop buckets to the outhouse. Were really work after all It is, though she was being paid. She was me filling the empty hours. Until women could officially begin working, there was no glass ceiling in the world of daisies daily domestic drudgery. She risen immediately to the pinnacle Her domain, I couldn't help wondering how my grandmother might have responded to the young women at the desks. She might have agreed with them. This was in fact a labour of love
easy had been right where she wanted to be. Even if there were no pension checks, are gold. Watches are golden. parachutes. At the end of her working years. There were six grateful productive children shared a common goal to give their home. working widowed mother away, deserve and peaceful retirement and to think I consider myself a working woman, albeit one who came home to a dishwasher, a microwave ovens, a washing machine and a drier. Silly me happy labour day, next time. You feel like you're working too hard, think about your great grandmother. After this story was printed. I receive an email from a reader, though I can't recall her name the essence of her message, which is etched in my mind. Love your writing. Mrs row. Your stories make me
feel good. I caught them out and save them in a scrap book. I call my happy book Whenever I am feeling sad, I take it out read one of your stories and feel better. Thank you, mrs row. These keep on writing There is no better way to relive memorable relationships and, through writing, like much of my other work. the following mother's day, story was written well before it was published. I had my children in mind at the time and made sure they all received a copy. I called it all your mother wants. Today. Is you the baltimore son? May thirteen two thousand eighteen. A recent national survey concluded that the most popular mother's day, gifts or flowers, apparel and gift cards ha ha we get it so wrong,
I am reminded of one woman's response when she was ass. If she knew when mother's day was those days any day. My children call me, there's only One thing your mother wants on mother's day and that's you talk to her eyes. is the mother of three sons who, for years communicated only when it was necessary, you need to sign, permission slip mom, I'm in the car. Sir choir mom. I need a talks. I The car saturday night can we have pizza tonight set aside an hour and call her, especially if she the senior like me, who son have moved as far away as they can get and still live in the usa. When you call ask about her writers, and cover the receiver when you yawn letter complain about unreasonable, aunt grace and take her side even if you know and grace is right,
this kill. Her game is and turn them. age of your morning paper quietly as she tells you and excruciating detail something about your job and you friends above all dont be in a hurry. Not today you have a lot the tone for look at all Those years your poor mother had to impersonate perry mason to learn more. What's going on in your life, when you wanna music award in middle school. She, to hear about it on the streets and when got the highest essay t score in high school. She had learn about it at your graduation, imagine your mother having to hide her surprise inquiry the sunday morning, her fellow alto said? Did you ever think that our child would be dating each other and it looks serious
celebrating mothers days easier? If your mother lives near by, does she have a car wash it does? She have a garden we need, it does she attend religious services? Go with her better show you off better, still arrange with your workplace for take your mom to work day. unless, of course, you're crab fishermen on the bering sea or a test pilot or a gynecologist. Then you should come they stick with the bouquet of daisies and a box of whitman's cream centres, the closest I ever. Taking my mother to work with me was when she stopped by our house in the morning on her way to the office. Typically, front door wide open and she observe me hard at work. Doing my job reading to three: little boys on the sofa all of us still in pajamas after her typical reading
my it might be nice to have all your house work done. She tore through the downstairs like a minesweeper, picking up a puzzle here, The stuff, the animal there talking toy trucks and cowboy boots under her arm, is on her way to the playroom. As she deposited the toys She could be heard mumbling there. Now that wasn't so hard. Was it minutes later kissed her three grand sons and disappeared, prompting a stew observation, such as what's password mommy celebrating my mom on mothers. Stay back then was easy, an invitation into a neat, orderly house with red, clean grandsons, an attentive husband and a well cooked meal, once a year. It didn't kill me anyway, kill you either. I promise it's never too late to honour a loved one. Through writing this brief fathers date.
tribute in memory of my dad remain. One of my all time favorite published short pieces. I called it the best give dad ever got the baltimore son june nineteen two thousand nineteen father's dead there was nothing complicated about fathers day in my family. My mother brought my father a gift and I presented it to him something practical for a hard working man. a modest tie for sundays? Some big white handkerchiefs dad was never without a big white handkerchief. Never french, cologne or italian loafers or gone cuff links are not for my father. And god forbid. He should open up a box and find a girl, chain, necklace are bracelet the the jewelry, my father ever war was a watch with another band,
when I was old enough to shop old spice, was my stand by dad always acted, surprised even though the shape of the bottle was dead, give away to this day No you're smell of old spice reminds me of my father. One year I gave him chocolate covered cherries, his favorite. He took one and pay the box around the room. It came back empty the next time. I gave him two boxes of chocolate covered cherries, Dad was happiest when he was making some one else happy. I was fifteen He converted in old chicken house into a first rate stable and fence in a pasture said that his obsess daughter could have a horse First time I wrote my horse in a show, was on fire. Thursday. Nineteen, fifty four dead body hitch attached to his work, trot. And we borrowed dilapidated wooden horse trailer from an old friend. While my father
we built the rotted floor and repaired the sagging tailgate ice of manure stains from my horses gray code and shine his hose. I won a yellow ribbon that day. My very first for a third place finish in a class of a dozen horses afterward. I handed the ribbon to dad and said happy fathers day. He told me it was his favorite gift ever I still have that ribbon, and I expect I always will it's in a box stuffed with horse show ribbons on the top wrapped in a big white handkerchief. Chapter eight in my head, and I were guest on a winning that was more highly produce than a movie the bride. As the friends granddaughter we barely new in the groom, had been counted as if Britain,
young certified public accountant. He looked to be about sixteen the affair too, place in a community hall where the fatigue we're frozen videographer, his outnumbered, the wedding party, or at least I think they did it's hard to be certain as camera tripods obscured our view of the ceremony. Why are we here? My husband whispered? I dont know these people. I feel like an extra a movie set. I apologize Again I explained that I couldn't get out of it. The dinner will be good. I promised when they come. Christ. I expected some undeclared one of those slate boards together and you take one that was a mere overturn to the main event section the wedding party burst through the doors performing choreographed dance routines. I couldn't take my eyes off the young groom as he cart wheeled across the floor to the head table like a circus allay performer
I must have stared off because John looked me square in the eye and ass, ok Where are you now maggie? My husband, knows when I'm in my head is he calls it I've seen or heard something. That's it. my mind on a free wheeling excursion through time to some long, forgotten, character or event. It can happen anywhere. Even at a wedding reception. I couldn't wait to get home to my computer to tell the story of another c p a who had cart wheeled his way through my childhood in quite a different manner. As with much of my writing, the story of mister brand has not been shared. Until now, I called it a touch of class Who knows why some characters cross? Our paths barely noticed, while others, leave an indelible impression, perhaps think
into our lives during a more sensitive time when we have a and awareness perhaps there the ordinary mister brand one of those people. Seventy years later I can still see him. Clearly, I was a child. When my parents engaged the services of mister brand to me, he was Mr Sunday always dressing my father, when he was on his way to church? That's how certified publican count and stressed back in the nineteen forties justice the dining room table and reconcile the books. This particular c p a grey star home twice a year and boy Do I mean graced. One day when my mother and I were looking through the Montgomery ward catalogue, I pointed and yelled look. It's Mr Sunday is a picture of a distinguished man with a sprinkling of gray hair. Where are you business suit and carrying
small brown leather suit case. Like the one mister brand carried first time I met him. I ask if he had brought his lunch. The way my biggest Your carried her lunch to school every day. He opened it and showed me it smelled like, My father's new shoes- and there was no food, just some papers in pens, typically Dad would hang around to greet MR bran in the morning before leaving for the job and his fur shelly laundered, khakis and neatly. Irons were shirt beef where he had a chance to get his fingernails dirty. I could Please tell when Mister brand was coming or Paul, as my parents called him There were telltale signs, our house usually spotless, but on, these days. I could see me face, reflected in the dining room table. That's where he would pour over moms books with her beside him, To answer questions them
son, reflecting off the silver service on the buffet, was enough to burn your retinas idler that phrase from a story in my sister's weekly reader about people, foreign country who go blind from staring at the sun. If all wasn't enough, my mother's outfit was a dead give away. She. Up in the kitchen that morning, in a pretty dress on a week day, wench wasn't even going out a hint of chanel number five followed her everywhere kind of life. sickening stench that followed their dog around after he rolled in something dead. Chanel. Number. Five was mom scent of choice when she and Dead went out with their hoity toity lions club friends. My mother was the bookkeeper from my father's electrical contracting. Does and she knew from the get go that there was more too MR brown, then his auditing skills. I could tell by the way she
crossed her legs. While they were working lifting her tone. the high in the air and waving them about like she did. We we're standing up to address the women's auxiliary at church, oh yeah, this man was, trade from a catalogue and brought a touch of as to our modest home on leslie avenue. He was not there sort of man mom would have run into the small fishing village where she was raised. He was more like the men she might run into and the books she devoured ben of refinement and culture, I had my own reasons for looking forward to MR sundays visits, although wasn't allowed to call him mister sunday or mr catalogue or even paul, that wouldn't be proper and when it came to proper behaviour. My mother had high standards. I made it a point to leave my
Backyard virtual pony and come into the house midmorning when Mister Brandon mom were settled at the dining room table with the books in front of them and maybe a serving of fresh apple strudel and a cup of coffee mister brand. had confessed on his first visit that apple strudel was his weakness, so naturally It was ready and waiting on the days he was expected whenever I, came through the door. Our c p would rise from his chair and bow toward me as though a beautiful princess had entered the room, instead of a kid wearing cowboy boots and a deal, Heavens fringed skirt. I was careful not to shoot off my cap pistol in the house. This my mother's I've I'll shoot upwards and disapproval. That would be a perfect example of improper behaviour Well, hello, their young lady he'd say with delight ass, though
been waiting for me all morning, and now his life was complete and how we today here we smell like daddy when he and mom we're going to alliance club affair on one visit, MR sunday, smiled at me, opened his brown suitcase and reached inside it reminded me of the way a magician I saw the carnival reached into a big black hat instead of pulling out a white rabbit, Mister brand pulled out horse figurine, which he presented to me with a little bow a token of my regard, mistaking it made me giggle, when you talk like that and mom to. Surely there was nobody more proper and mr bran a gentleman to the core. I think even Emily posed the etiquette authority, my mother was forever quoting would have been impressed by our mister brand.
Teenager. By the time we moved to the farm where there was give room for dad's expanding business as well as my real horses now mister brand came to honour our books, he and mom work in our basement office. Thanks to my father's construction skills, it was state of the art nineteen. Fifty four was would pay walls, linoleum flooring in an acoustic out, I'll ceiling, plus fluorescent lighting and a black telephone mama further to it as the terrorist office because it had an outside entrance from the driveway, but it was still in the basement. which I had once referred to as the seller boy. I never did that again. Big mistake. Sellers were dam and filthy with dirt floors, apparently, except for the grey hair which has spread cons.
Terribly our c p s. Appearance never altered over the years, nor did his formality. He still said hi bar for refinement, that's for sure dressing like chat, huntley and David, frankly on the evening news and never speaking, casually or using slang. If he had seen him in public, you might have a say and he was one of those diplomats who knew how to speak french mom still treated him like royalty and even Does she found her calling and real estate? She cleared her scheduled to spend the day with Paul when he came to honour the box. I was returning from school one day as mom was showing mister brand to the door. I heard her tell them. that our business was thriving just in time to support two big horses and my sister, college tuition. I looked back. Mr brands fall from grazed was bewilderment. I learned of it
suddenly at dinner one evening, along with my father, who was equally shocked. It was, on his second or third visit to our state of the art basement office after he and mom, had spent much of the day working together on the box. It would be his final visit. I was engrossed in my own life, but this was momentous in retrospect. My mother had been quiet at dinner, an evening until dad asked how did things go with? all today han ass, he lifted a piece of secondment beef from his homemade vegetable soup and placed it in a saucer. He was shaking ketchup onto the beef when he stopped and looked up this area all right with the books. I was trying to imagine mister brand shaking a catch a bottle, but it occurred to me that mother, wasn't answering dance question a few seconds later. She replied, Mister and behaved improperly. Today she said
in the same way she might have said pay was suspended from school. Today, with a mixture of disappointment and disbelief, now. My mother was not one for spreading malicious rumours or, even speaking, of unpleasant trees I had learned the do not gossip rule years earlier. It always ends with the same lecture, if you can't say something nice about someone, don't say anything at all, so naturally, her statement doubt Mister brand got my attention as well. As my fathers are their problems with the books. Tat asked mom put down her soup spoon smoothed the napkin across her lap. And looked at dad Paul asked me to go out with him today what you mean on a date. and then my father made a big mistake. He laughed like you just made the funniest joke ever
he invited me to go out to lunch with him too restaurant, just the two of us alone and then dad made his second big mistake of the day. Oh hi he didn't, mean anything improper. He just wants to pay you for all the coffee and strudel. You served him through the years. That's all it was nothing personal, I'm sure of that he smack the bottom of it. catch, a bottle innocently as mom stiffened and set her jaw after caring for a few seconds ass if trying to decide if this was sound reasoning or the ultimate insult She said in her outside voice its inappropriate. I'm a married woman he's a mayor man, it wouldn't be proper, and that was it my mother, said no more on this subject should ever been one to take me into her confidence ever so my team
age, grain was left to speculate and speculated did I didn't mention the obvious that if Mister brand Had impure thoughts or even intentions, a secluded on This would be the place to act on them. Not a public restaurant had mister brand. behaved more inappropriate, lay them my mother. Let on had this paragraph of, refinement. Miss read her attention to him through the years lost his balance fallen from his perch on net pedestal of propriety. Causing my mother's flight of fancy to crash, or had my mother hoped for something more from him something alone more daring. Perhaps was she secretly disappointed that he didn't make a pass at her? Of course, I could be over thing
and yet she was, after all, of an advanced age. In her forties, it was a cliffhanger to be sure, like soap operas, mom used to listen to the radio, each episode leaving her suspended and wanting more I never saw mister brand again and my mother never spoke of him. He hadn't lived up to her. torreon standards of behaviour, and that was that. We're, so we were led to believe years later when mom disapproved of my boyfriend, who might go on to marry, I was tempted to say well, he might not be his May I see as MR bran, but at least he did ass. My mother, for a day I refrained
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Transcript generated on 2022-11-05.