The Endicotts weren’t from here. They came in the fifties from one of those towns the other side of Buckwaller. Rowena Endicott was a flouncy thing, half silly, always showed more leg in her skirts than was necessary. Her and me co-captained the Lady Stags in volleyball our senior year, and she set her cap for Tommy Floyd Mallard. Tommy Floyd quarterbacked the Stags to Bi-District that year.
Rowena would lay in wait for Tommy Floyd at the Stagger Inn Friday nights after the games. One night Monty and me parked out at the gravel pit when the Inn closed. There were eight or ten cars out there as usual. I saw Tommy Floyd’s Studebaker over by the trees. I said, “Monty, let’s get out and chuck some rocks in the water.” He said, “Belle, it’s too cold,” and I said, “Monty, shut up.”
So we got out, and I could see that Tommy Floyd’s windows were all steamed up. I said, “Monty, get the flashlight and let’s shine it in Tommy Floyd’s car like we’re the police.” Monty said, “Belle, the cops don’t come out here.” He was right, of course, so we left and went home.
Come to find out, Rowena was sick in bed that night. It was Gretchen Frye, the undertaker’s daughter, that was with Tommy Floyd. Rowena acted like she didn’t care when I told her. We agreed Gretchen was way over her head with Tommy Floyd — she didn’t cheerlead or play a sport. Rowena said there was only one reason Tommy Floyd would date her. I said, “Rowena, shut up, that’s tacky,” and I thought to myself, Hmmm, the pot calls the kettle black, don’t it?
Glenn Ray Mallard jerked Tommy Floyd out of Stag High and sent him over to Mott when Spunk McGruder wouldn’t let him play starting pitcher for the Stags. Rowena had gotten over him by then. She was going steady with Gainer Wayne Jambley. They eventually married and divorced.
Tommy Floyd’s retired from the Mott bank now. Asked me to go dancing with him a while back. I said, “You old coot, my dancing days are over. Why don’t you ask Gretchen Meriwether, she’s a widow now, too.” Gretchen married Harkness Meriwether after she got her fancy degree from Tarquin. She’d still be over her head with Tommy Floyd, if you ask me.
(c) 2018 JMN.
EthicalDative 
Old Mother Goose
Old Mother Goose, Oil on canvas, 48 x 48 in. JMN, 2017.
This is a painting based on a badly faded image in an old children’s book I possess. The image is an illustration by Anne Anderson, a Scottish illustrator (1874-1952). It’s intriguing in various ways, prominent of which for me is a certain unnerving monstrousness. If I were a child and saw this figure making her way down the cobblestone path in my direction, I would likely run in terror in the other direction.
I say this good-naturedly. I admire Anderson’s work. What strikes me in this image is the interesting ways in which her attire is … distorted? Her clothing seems to be literally inflated, like a balloon! Let’s not even dwell on the diamonds and stripes of her costume, the odd, puffy things around her wrists, her rather large feet in the buckled slippers, and the brobdingnagian, witch-like hat!
It’s all wonderful and mysterious and surely period-centric in its way, but not exactly cuddly. In a way it smacks of today’s clowns and Santa Clauses: How many kids want to snuggle with either of those?
(c) 2018 JMN.