Chapter Forty-Seven: Amish Country
Like many single men, I know I’m not much of a housekeeper. Dust bunnies have hutches in my house and piles of rejected novels clutter the coffee and end tables, constantly reminding me of my literary failings. But on occasion, when I’m expecting company of the opposite gender, I put my hand to housecleaning, especially dusting off the pictures around the house.
One day, expecting company, I was dusting the pictures and removed one of my favorites from its spot on my bedroom wall and wiped its glass covering: Courtney and Taylor were posing in a cornfield, sticking their heads between the corn stalks, smiling at the camera. It reminded me of Nana and Amish Country.
Nana loved Amish Country, Pops. But we loved it that you split your pants.
That’s right. Boy that was embarrassing. It was a good thing I was wearing underwear and I wasn’t going commando.
That’s Joey from Friends, Pops. You stole that.
Yes I did. We had just ridden the old railroad at East Stroudsburg and when I detrained I split my pants. I had to stop and get another pair.
It’s amazing that the highlight of that trip was split pants. Nana got sort of nostalgic in the one room Amish school house.
She taught in one in Illinois in the 1930s. For two years I think it was. Until she married my father.
And lost her job.
Yes, she liked to tell that story. That Illinois county that hired her dismissed women teachers when they married. Only spinsters were allowed to teach.
I guess I was a spinster, wasn’t I?
You were eighteen. Spinsters didn’t become spinsters until their twenties in the old days.
There are so many negative names for women, Pops. Spinster is one. Old maid is another. Single men are merely bachelors. It’s not fair.
No it isn’t.
Nana really liked to teach, Pops. She talked about it so often and she only taught for two years. That was really a shame that she couldn’t teach because she got married. Her whole generation was subservient to their husbands.
Yes, that’s the way it was, Taylor. Nana was a great grandmother wasn’t she?
I loved going to see her, Pops. She spoiled me rotten. We did so many day trips with you and her. We did the Amish country three times and you only split your pants once.
I’m glad you remembered more than that.
I always liked the cornfield photo, Pops.
I nearly gave that to you when you went off to college, Taylor, but I thought it would be corny to do so.
Ha ha, Pops.
No one laughs at my puns any more, Taylor.
Courtney never cared for them. Only I did. So did Karly Walker. She loved your puns, Pops.
She’s teaching in St. Petersburg.
No, she’s in California now, we chat.
Tracey Jordan in Colorado saw you in her bedroom one night.
I think I frightened her. First time. You know Nana’s house reminded me of something Maya Angelou once wrote.
You loved Maya Angelou.
Uh huh, she wrote, “The ache for home lives in all of us, the safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned.” That was Nana’s for me.
I know, Taylor. Give her my love.
I will, Pops. I will.