Wednesday, November 25, 2009

A turkey delivery

Tomorrow being turkey day I’m remembering our first legitimate grandchild was delivered a Thanksgiving Day. The little suburban was laid up and I was in short sleeves within the confines of my garage making fix my trusted old 4x2 3 on-a tree shifting when the news daughter was in labor in the county seat’s hospital. For crying out load that was a drive half way to Siberia. And, as the first time expectant grandfather I was expected to chauffeur the even more important First Expectant Grandmother to the blessed event. Code red the flags, lights, time of the essence, we had to have been there already. In my garage in my short sleeves I was hands and forearms covered in grease up and beyond my wrinkled elbows. Regardless what I looked like either in cleanliness or fashion I was instructed drop whatever I was doing and demandedly pressed upon to deliver the very excited grandmotherly type to the monumental doubly first child event. No time to wash, go as were, for the first time in my married life I looked good enough to drive the boss lady in th big suburban.
Wearing my customary winter tux, even in those good old days, at the hospital I stepped out of it leaving it to stand alone the Hospital corridor. Checked out my daughter who was doing just fine and hours away from the big event. Asking where I might wash up I was directed to a washroom what needed a real man’s soap. If I washed my hands once, I washed them over a dozen times. I had the sterilest dirty hands in the whole of the county. Repeatedly checking on daughter before renewed hand washing she no longer wanted to go through with this birth! (yiyiyi) Her mother told her, “It’s a little late to think about that now, Dear!” And our waiting went on.
Having just washed my dirty hands for the umpteenth time, The Doctor finally come walking down the hall. We exchanged introductions, pleasantries, and hypnoses. Doc went on to do his patient checking thing. My son in law and I having taken up hall pacing continued on our lengthy hall rounds. As the time dragged the women huddled together in the delivery-room, us men paced the hall joined by the good Doctor. With Doc I struck a conversation discussing luck. I particularly pointed out the event’s taking place on this particular Thanksgiving Day. I marveled with Doc this family’s good fortune, their first child being delivered by a genuine Turkey rather than the traditional stork…. Owe I felt so good, including my dirty hands.
As continued luck would have it, the well my SIL had drilled in, the well he had installed a casing, the well he had dropped the well pipe and point into had come in while we were all at the hospital. By the time he had gotten home, he had to remove his shoes and socks to the wad the ice and snow bone chilled new moat waters into their home. For that same morning he had drilled in an artesian well. The mama, the papa, and the brand new baby girl had all the pure spring like water they’d ever want delivered just mere feet from their door for evermore. BGKC.

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