A Little Humor From the Past

This should be kind of inclusive of humorous events that come to mind from our family history. Recently a few short memories have been popping up so I thought I get them down, just in case someone else in the family has my strange, earthy sense of humor.

When I was perhaps 10 or 11 years old I went on a smelt dipping excursion with someone. I don't remember who now. We were successful and I was given a bucket about half filled with smelt to bring home. We lived at 820 West Superior St. in Munising, MI. Being young, tired from the excitement and it was after dark I was in no mood to clean the fish. Mom & Dad were out, so with no other options I ran cold water into the bathtub and dumped the fish in. I reasoned that they would certainly last till morning and perhaps Mom would help me clean them.

Morning came, and along with it came a squeal of concern from my Mother. She called me into the bathroom and I discovered all of the smelt, some 50 or 60 floating belly up in the water. That wasn't too bad. What was really bad is in their last desperate act of procreation they spawned in the bathtub. Fish eggs have a natural glue to adhere to rocks on the stream bed so the fish can come to term, ingest the yolk sac in the egg and then swim on their way. The texture of the bathtub was that of coarse sand paper. It took me much of the day and the better part of a Ajax powder can to get the eggs off the tub. Needless to say, my Mother had to suffer the indignity of bathing in a fishes spawn bed.

Another time:

We had company in the small apartment at 820 W. Superior. My mother was sitting on a couch in the living room participating in the conversation. She became very engrossed in the conversation and realized she had to go to the bathroom. I was sitting on the floor listening to the adult talk, enjoying being part of the scene. My mother left, went into the bathroom, came out and resumed her place on the couch. In a few minutes, I happened to look up and she was "jiggling." My mother was a heavy woman and jiggled when she laughed. Only once or twice did I ever hear her cut loose, most of the time she seemed to snicker and jiggle. Well here she was jiggling, so tickled that she could not talk for a period of time. Finally she managed to say, she had to go to the bathroom, but was so engrossed in the conversation that she had gotten up, gone into the bathroom, sat on the commode, flushed, got up wash her hands, but had forgotten the most important part. She forgot to go potty.

Another time:

My mother was a heavy woman. She wore a girdle. One morning I heard my Dad loudly proclaim that he had gone to bed the night before with his wife, but had awakened next to a horse. After all, there was a horse collar in there. Whereupon he proceeded to march around the living room with my Mother's rolled down girdle around his neck, somewhat resembling a horse collar. We all laughed, but Mom got after the old man for embarrassing her like that.

Another time:

I was in my bedroom in our apartment at 820 W. Superior St. My parents were home and it was just a day where everyone was kind of doing their own thing. I don't recall what I was doing, however my revere was broken by three distinct sounds kind of like a person clapping their hand loudly three times. Very distinct noise. I came out into the living room to see what the hell had happened. There stood my Mother, "jiggling" again. She was really tickled because she was standing and had her legs crossed to stop from having an accident. Well, here I am asking what was that, what made that noise? I do not remember how the story came out, but the fact is my Mother was a very heavy woman who wore a girdle. Well, in the privacy of her home she was encountering a gas problem and had to pass some gas, or "break wind." When she did, apparently the girdle was under a lot of stress and held the cheeks of her behind so tightly that instead of her breaking wind in a normal fashion it resulted in three separate and distinct explosions sounding a lot like someone clapping their hand. My poor Mother.

Just some examples of life at the Floria's in the mid-50's.