Behind the Scenes
“The world is governed by very different personages from what is imagined by those who are not behind the scenes.”
Old George wanted to quote Disraeli but said, “Corn ain’t good for you. At least, when it’s in a can. Too rough for a gentleman’s bowels.”
Wife Gertie quieted him by repeating herself, “Listen here George; I am tired of you criticizing my cooking. Corn goes good with ham and mashies. Corn goes good with ham and mashies. The colors are right.”
George Hotherwood, the farmer, the worldly gentleman who lived in some open country in southern Ohio near West Virginia, wanted to end the discussion, “Right now, all I’m saying is that a true chef cooking at an old age home would have gone with the cream style with those older people for supper. The work would have gone better. Maybe even a new pair of slacks or even a dress for that chef.”
Then, the wizened codger who was nearing 84 got up and stated he would shower and even shave in preparation for the get-together planned that evening at the Smith’s farm. Yes, he was saying a lot while Gertie’s mind wandered into the new dress. Its color and softness. Showering was getting hard for the guy. Although disrobing was easier. No socks anymore. No underwear. Loose fitting clothes and lots of zippers. George was having a harder time staying upright for a full lathering. His legs were getting pooped. But the warm water felt good and relaxed him up a bit.
Gertie walked in the bedroom as he finished, and helped him with his towel. Suddenly, the old man said, “That feels mighty good. Good enough to be late.” Gertie shivered. Whispered, “What?" like she couldn’t hear.
George reiterated his come on. Said his anus was feeling like cotton in spring in Georgia when the sun begins to warm the soil and loosen it for fertilizing. Gertie kept saying, "What." But her hands for finding the earth were working well.
George said, “Bed feels like a meadow.”
Gertie’s doily ended up on the hardwood floor. Her mind started to wander. Going far away and coming near. Flying off into the nightlife of New Orleans and then sweetly returning to the quiet of winter when snuggling is the only way to sleep through the night. George mentioned the wetness of the dew early in August when morning decides to be its youngest. He compared the lilies to his wife’s treasures.
Gertie got some sense going inside of her inner health, said, “I do like watching your stalk grow like it knows where it’s going, and it knew it the whole time. It likes the warmth of my sun.”
George whispered he liked to see a girl climb his mountain and smiled as she reached the summit. He said he liked the sounds made when she reached for a glory she had seen many times yet still wanted to see some more of the wonder.
Yes, George said that the Smiths could wait. That maybe he would call them to tell them that they should hold dessert, that maybe they could just talk about the weather and crops, and how the soil was maintaining its nutrition. That he was hoping Simon wouldn’t have to arise early. That it was a Saturday, that maybe they might listen to Pastor Henry R. Young at the second service at Hope Fellowship. That maybe the Smiths could hold the Hotherwoods in their prayers. Words about actions. Soft, good actions that deeply and sweetly involved the love of God.