You'll want to spend every minute of your time with the O'Daniel Family, experiencing their simple adventures in a way that only this oldest daughter can weave them. Written with a sense of hope and an amazing capture of mid-twentieth century detail, you will enjoy the opportunity to: Revisit big department stores again, when Louisville's only place to shop was downtown Spend a delightful day at Fontaine Ferry, Louisville's famous amusement park Be part of the quarrels, love and joy - feeling the bonds of this close knit era, when dependence on family members and neighbors was essential. Experience farm life in the suburbs. Deanna's classmates jumped rope in subdivisions while the O'Daniels slopped hogs, killed chickens, and hoped they went to school without smelling like the animals they tended. Only a few can tell their story coherently like Deanna does with this touching memoir. First born in a large rural family, she relates her passage through childhood with charming and accurate descriptions of life in Kentuckiana. A chronicle of many customs and places that are fast slipping away from our collective memories, such as her description of the country store in Nelson County, Kentucky. A book you will tell others, "I'm so fond of this one." John Allen Boyd, Emerson Avery, That Latin Teacher Deanna's story is of dedicated parents and (eventually) 11 children. They migrated near Louisville, Kentucky when Deanna was five. Her stories about those formative years paint a portrait in glowing colors, depicting struggles and love that molds and endures. You will love Deanna and her story. Terry Cummins, Feed My Sheep O'Daniel, a gifted writer who tightly weaves her life's journey through stories that makes growing up on a farm sound like sunshine. She shares the daily toil, angst and rivalry associated with a large family in a humorous, but realistic way - tugging at your heart for a piece of those bygone days. Corrider Jones, A Backward Glance

"Kiss Your Elbow" - A Kentucky Memoir

By Deanna O'Daniel

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2010 Deanna O'Daniel
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4520-4178-0

Contents

Poem - Lessons from My Mother's Heart............................xiIntroduction: Everybody Has a Past...............................xiiiPoem - Frozen Moments............................................xxix1. - If Only I'd Listened to Mama................................12. - Lexington and the Loftus Mansion............................153. The Price of Getting an Ice Cream Cone........................37Poem - Winter Mornings...........................................494. - Christmas Comes, Slow as Molasses...........................515. - Here Comes the Easter Bunny.................................69Poem - Our Elbows Sticking to the Oilcloth.......................796. - A Vacation at Last!.........................................817. - Shopping in Downtown Louisville.............................97Poem - Frozen Moments............................................1158. - The Ranger's Club...........................................1179. - Hogkillin' Days.............................................12910. - Risen From the Dead........................................14911. - Pepsi Cola Days at Fontaine Ferry Park.....................15712. - First Time in Charge.......................................19513. - Eighth Grade Summer Days...................................221Poem - My Orange Blossom Cookie Canister.........................24715. - Snails, Snails, and More Snails............................25916. - Supper at Aunt Ida's.......................................28117. - "Roll Me up Some More Vanilla".............................28918. - Teaching is Enchanting.....................................30719. - "Where is Pat?"............................................339Poem - Daddy's Expectations......................................35320. - Epilogue...................................................355

Chapter One

If Only I'd Listened to Mama

It was 1946 and we lived in the outskirts of Louisville. I was going on six and not yet in school. Only rich kids went to kindergarten, and our new parish, St. Bartholomew's, didn't even have one. Johnny was almost five, Marcellus almost four, and Jimmy was the baby. In January, Mama was expecting her fifth child. Grandma Anna who still lived with us, and I were hoping for another girl - I wanted a sister.

Daddy liked the stability of his delivery job for Sealtest Dairy, but he wanted to feed the family from the farm. While looking for a farm of his own - the one he called "the perfect place" - he rented a small farm on Goldsmith Lane. This area was filled with beautiful rolling pasture land and the white split rail fences of horse farms. One of the things Daddy did to make extra money was to sell hay to those horse farms. To me, the horses were so beautiful, I just wanted to pet them. Daddy showed us how to give them carrots by holding them on our at hands so the horses wouldn't nibble our fingers.

* * *

The air smelled sweet after Daddy cut the timothy and alfalfa grasses several nights ago, when he got home from his job at the dairy. These grasses became hay, but first they had to lie in the field for days and dry in the sun. Johnny, Marcellus and I played in them, tossing the stalks into the air and throwing them at each other. When they were thoroughly dry, we helped Daddy rake the hay into piles. Then Daddy tied it into three-foot bales, the best size to sell to the horse farms. Then, the three of us had fun jumping from bale to bale, and pushing each other off to the ground, before some of our neighbors came by to help him hoist the heavy bales into the hayloft.

In the cool of the evening, Daddy took Johnny, Marcellus and me along with him to sell some bales to one of the farmers down Goldsmith near Hikes Lane. My brothers and I lay back on the itchy haybales and stared up into the trees that lined both sides of Goldsmith Lane as we bumped our way along on the back of Daddy's farm truck. Goldsmith Lane was a gravel road at the time. It was fall and the crisp weather had us in our sweaters. This was one of the things we liked about our move out of Gethsemane, Daddy was always driving somewhere and taking us along. It was great adventure and we tried to be good so he would take us again the next time. Being an almost only child himself, he never really adjusted to noisy children.

* * *

On the day after our ride on the haybales, Mama, Grandma and I were outside enjoying some of last few days of 'Indian Summer' weather. It was warm and sunny, not chilly like the night before. It was a perfect day for cleaning Grandma's curtains. Grandma's lace curtains had to be hand washed and stretched in order get the winter coal soot from our potbelly stove out of them.

I knew why Grandma wanted to clean the curtains - Uncle Mac and Aunt Gen were coming down from Chicago to spend the weekend with us. The whole family was excited. Grandma, especially. She wanted everything to look perfect for them, now that we had moved to the area around Louisville. I thought about Uncle Mac, his jolly laugh, and how much fun the whole family had when he visited. He loved the Irish folksongs of his father's side of the family. I knew that in no time after his arrival he would pick up Grandpa Demetrius' squeezebox (an old instrument similar to an accordion) and have us singing, McNamara's Band, My Wild Irish Rose and When Irish Eyes Are Smilin,' while his wavy blond head moved side to side in the rhythm of the Irish melodies. If Daddy was in the mood, he would play his harmonica or guitar. Otherwise, he would just sing with along Grandma and Mama, while we kids kept up as best we could.

I looked over the stiff, lacy material as Mama and Grandma carefully removed them from the windows. Grandma exclaimed, the lines in her round face tightening, "I declare, these curtains are filthy." Mama and Grandma called this part of their spring-cleaning, but the past year had been too busy with our farm auction and moving to Louisville to get them done in the spring. Grandma was very cranky about the care of her curtains because they were so delicate.

They could never be ironed. The heavy at irons we heated against the stove would tear them to pieces. Instead, they were put on stretching frames. These frames were made of wood and each one was as large as the curtain that t on it. Tiny nails were all around the edges. She and Mama had to be careful not to prick their fingers and bleed on the lace as they pushed the edges of the material down over the nails. I watched them work across from each other, stretching each inch at the same time so they could keep the pattern straight as the curtain dried. My job was to look after Jimmy, the baby, as I sat with him on the pallet that I threw down into the grass for us nearby.

Grandma was very proud of these curtains and loved to work with them. Taking time to push the stray ends of her gray hair up into the bun at the back of her head, she looked over at me and said, "Deanna, your grandfather Demetrius gave me these curtains for our tenth wedding anniversary." Then her voice saddened, "He died before you were born. They're over thirty years old, and fooling with them reminds me of him," she went on, smoothing them as she stretched. "He was called Dee, and that's where your name, Deanna, comes from. I told your mama to name you after me and him, Dee, and Anna. Josephine had her heart set on...