Crowing hens and whistling women
Crowing hens and whistling women bring bad luck, so an old saying goes. That doesn't bother me. I have always wanted to whistle. I've tried all sorts of lip formations, but when I blow, just air comes out.
I guess most boys can whistle. I remember Johnny Phillips, still just a young boy, could make wonderful whistle sounds. He could even imitate bird songs. It seems to me that Ella Reinke Brose could, too. I have a grandson whose whistle can break your eardrums. Whistling is such a cheerful and happy sound. Take the song, "Whistle Why You Work," that the dwarfs sang in "Snow White."
My mother could whistle — why can't I?
My son and his grandfather were very close. In fact Grandpa wanted to take him with him wherever he went. When he was about five years old, Grandpa took him to Kansas City.
He was taking cattle to market and wanted to watch the sale. After a restful night at the wonderful Muehlback Hotel, they went out to the stockyards and Grandpa perched the little boy on top of the fence so he could see. Well, he fell off! Not on the outside, but on the inside, right in the muck.
I guess some worker handed the crying, messy, stinking little boy to his grandpa. Of course, his mother not being very bright, hadn't sent extra clothes. So Grandpa packed him up and took him to a dry cleaning place.
There they stripped him, wrapped him in a blanket, and there he sat while they cleaned everything, from shoes to undies. I don't know how long it took, but I imagine longer than it would now. I don't think Grandpa took his grandson on any long trips for a while after that.
— NORMA HANNAFORD
