Flatulent Florias

I guess this should be added to the repository of history this blog is meant to collect. My family, the Floria side, has long had a love affair with farts. While for some the subject is gross, disgusting, and generally a subject left for the porcelain throne, for the Floria clan it has been a rich source of relief, pleasure and down right slapstick humor. One of the funniest books in my collection is a Dictionary of Farts given to me by my daughters years ago at Christmas. It still makes me laugh when I find it and read through some of the definitions.

My Dad always enjoy a good fart. He would tell the story of the time when my brother Dean was a young boy. This had to be in the late 1920's or early 1930's. Dad would put his socks on while sitting on the floor. In the summer the floor felt cooler on his bottom and he would sit down on the floor to moderate the summer temperatures. One day, while sitting on the floor he happened to pass some gas. Well, it was not a quiet passing but to quote my Dad, went "Bango." It shot across the floor and hit the baseboard on the opposing wall with quite a whack. Dad said he could hear Dean in the bedroom next, say in quiet admiration, "WOW!"

One day, coming out of his office at 410 W. Superior St. in Munising, MI he felt the urge to break wind. Checking around to see if there were any passersby and feeling that he was quite alone he fired a cannon shot down Superior St. Only to hear the familiar voice of Rosemarie Froberg, an old family friend say, "Well, Vern, you shot me." Apparently she had just stepped out of the door that lead to upstairs offices above his office and appeared quite suddenly after he had checked for witnesses.

One day in our apartment at 812 W. Superior when I was a kid, I was startled by what I thought were three separate and distinct loud hand claps. I raced from the kitchen to the living room to find out what merited such loud and distinct applause. I found my Mother, doubled over, holding her stomach, with her legs crossed. In her later years, my mother would tinkle slightly if she laughed very hard and had to assume a protective position to keep from embarrassing herself. She was laughing, silently, too over come to talk at the moment. Finally, after several minutes of quiet glee she settled down enough to tell that she had passed some gas. My mother was a rather heavy woman and always wore one of the "horse collar" girdles to control her appearance. Apparently the girdle held the cheeks of her butt closed that the fart when it emerged separated into three reports and resulted in what I thought were three distinct, powerful hand claps. A feat remembered from time to time in our household with some reverence.

I do not know if my Grandmother Toot was a gas passer. However, one must wonder where she got the nickname Toot. My lovely, college educated, sophisticated daughters apparently are not immune to the Floria talents. It even sounds like my Granddaughters enjoy a good toot from time to time. So perhaps that earthy humor will survive for some generations. I hope so, there is nothing more funny than a resounding fart to bring a smile to my face.