Why Pete Pearson again? Because I’m pretty sure I’ve mentioned him before, but as my mother would say, sometimes it’s necessary to chew my cabbage twice.
As I set off marching through the house to get today’s inside steps, I had only a single thought in mind: It’s Tuesday. What the hell is the blog going to be about?”
Somewhere around lap number two, I remembered how, whenever there was an uncomfortable pause in any given conversation, my mother, Evie, would say, “Well, we could always talk about Pete Pearson’s eyebrows.”
Please bear in mind that, to my knowledge, I never actually met Pete Pearson in person, so I have no idea what he actually looked like. I’ve always assumed that he was someone my folks knew back in South Dakota, and I imagined that his memorable eyebrows probably were on the bushy side, sort of like Groucho Marx’s. It occurred to me that my two older sisters might have met the man, but Janice, the elder one, passed away during Covid but not of Covid, so I can’t ask her. As for sister number two? She doesn’t remember meeting the man in question. Given all that, today you’ll have to settle for another Evie Busk story.
Born in 1914, she was a remarkable woman–energetic, funny, cheerful, resourceful, and lucky, too. Growing up, I remember that if there were prizes to be won at baby showers or Tupperware parties, you can bet that Evie came home with at least one of them. At a Grant County Fair in South Dakota in the mid-forties, she won an EasySpin washing machine. It had two compartments, one for washing and one for spinning. Living on a working farm with a husband and three kids, I’m sure having a washing machine would have been a big help. The problem is, the farm where they lived had no electricity. (Hand washing clothing for a family of five and trying to dry it indoors in wintertime South Dakota is more than I can imagine!) But, although they owned that EasySpin washing machine and couldn’t use it, they didn’t unload it, either.
Then along came 1948. That was a tough one. My father spent six months of that year bedridden with rheumatoid arthritis, leaving my mother to manage the farm—including milking seventeen cows—and the household. When a doctor advised my dad to move to a high, dry climate, they sold off almost everything they owned and, in 1949, moved—lock, stock, barrel, and washing machine along with 300 quarts of Evie’s previous year’s canning—to Bisbee, Arizona, where their new old house, the one on Yuma Trail which had been built in the twenties, did have electricity.
Twice a week my mother would roll the washing machine into the kitchen along with her trusty wash tub. She’d start by washing the whites with hot water. Then she’d drain that water into the tub. Then while the first load was spinning, she’d reload the water into the washing compartment and do the next load made up of the colored clothing. When that load went into the spinner, she repeated the process, using already twice-used water, to wash work clothes and jeans. Once the clothes were washed, she used a rolling clothes basket out to the clothesline to hang the wet clothes up outside. Eventually she got a Maytag automatic washer, one that lasted for decades, but she never bothered with a dryer. According to her, clothes that came out of a dryer didn’t smell the same way sun-dried ones did.
For the next thirty years Evie was outside hanging wet clothes on clothes lines twice a week. Did she wear a hat? Nope. Did she wear sunscreen? Nope. Sunscreen wasn’t a thing back then. As a consequence, with her fair complexion, it’s hardly surprising that, by the time the seventies rolled around, she little spots of skin cancers began showing up on her face—especially on her nose. The doctor who removed the cancers advised her to wear a hat because she needed something to protect her nose.
And now you’re going to discover why I’m telling you all this today. Did she go straight out and buy herself a sun bonnet? Nope, she did not. Instead, she went to Franklin’s Five and Dime and bought a rubber Groucho Marx mask. The beak nose on that covered hers perfectly and the rubber glasses and eyebrows didn’t interfere with her glasses in the least. From then on, that’s what she wore every time she went outside to hang clothes.
When my younger brother, Jim, returned from Viet Nam, he showed up in Bisbee unannounced with a buddy along for the ride. They arrived at the house and went around back where my mother happened to be standing with her back turned, hanging clothes on the clothesline.
Wanting to introduce her to his friend, my brother began, “And this is my…mother?”
And there she was in all her laundry day glory, Groucho Marx mask and all.
I don’t think my brother’s buddy ever quite recovered from that introduction, but there you have it. That was Evie Busk in a nutshell.
Love the story and I love Evie because she was the catalyst of The Circle.
That is hysterical! I love the laundry-day Groucho Marx mask! It sounds as if your mother was quite the character! She must have been a “hoot and a half!”
Oh, my goodness, I’m still laughing, picturing Evie in her mask, and the astonishment on the face of Jim’s buddy. What a character your mother was! Thanks for sharing that–thanks for the laugh!
That’s a GREAT one
I already knew this was going to be a great day. Kendal and Arlo came in last night and I will see them today. Then I woke up to todays blog…I love it. It made my heart laugh to match the already smile on my face.
I wish I could have known your mom!
That is hilarious ??? Wish I had known her. Can’t remember where Yuma trail was.
I miss hanging clothes on a line & the smell of them. Great thing was they dried in no time – quicker than a drier in the summer. Our HOA has a no clothesline rule. I get it but on the other hand, so much more eco friendly that we should probably try to change it.
The last street to the north in Warren. Across the road was ranch land.
I love today’s blog-story. Your mom and mine were born just two years apart. Mine in 1916. Women of that era were cut from a different cloth, and your mom…no words come to mind. Managing what she did only makes me appreciate all that mine did even more. As I got older I appreciated more of what she, and my dad, did for all of us kid. Thank you for another great Friday story to begin my day.
Looked it up in a copy of the phone book listings my mother saved & see it is in Warren.
Looked it up in a copy of the phone book listings my mother saved & see it is in Warren.
Great story!
Lolol. What a story! Loved it!
frozen sheets dancing in the wind….
I look forward to your blog every Friday morning. Never sure if I will laugh or cry. This morning you made me LOL! Needed a good laugh to start the day! Love reading stories about your Mom.
Oh I love this story about your Mom! Thank you for sharing it~~
Hilarious with the mask. Wonderful woman.
Great Story! I wonder if Pete Pearson was her pseudonym for herself when she wore the Groucho Marx glasses. Your mom sounds like an incredibly strong woman with a great sense of humor. An individual like no other, to be sure.
Love it. I really look forward to your blogs. They make my day.
Your stories are always so very touching and oftentimes funny. I’m so glad you are sending these emails!!!
Great story! She was a character!
Laughed till I cried!!!
LOVE IT! WAY TO GO EVIE!
Evie reminds me of my grandmother. She didn’t have the Groucho Marx glasses, but she did dress unconventionally in her old coveralls. She was hardworking, made her own lye soap and washed clothes by hand in a washtub out on the “cement porch.” It was those women who were such good examples of motherhood. I was lucky to have her and my grandfather raise me for the first 3 years of my life. Thank you for the chuckle of the day!!
Love this story. Our mothers took on so much and somehow adapted to whatever was needed. Perfect story. Reminds me of my mother and some of the best things she did in her life. Thank you
Love the story. My mom only had us two girls to deal with along with our dad. Laundry day was Saturday as she worked during the week. Cleaning the house was that day also and grocery shopping. I don’t know how she did it all.
What a cute story! Love Fridays.
Memories! My mother also used one of those washing machines you roll out next to the kitchen sink and slosh the wet clothes over to the spin side. She eventually acquired a dryer, great for these Minnesota winters.
I love your laugh-out-loud stories!
I love this story. Reminds me of my Mom. She was born in 1904. We did not have electricity till 1950 and then had a wringer washing machine. I don’t remember what we had before that. Guess I need to ask my 2 90+ year old sisters! Hadn’t thought about it! I always felt blessed because I got to have her for 56 years. Of course my older siblings had her for 63-72 years! They had way different stories than I did! Thank you for sharing.
Glad I swallowed my coffee and set down the mug before reaching the end of that story! What a hoot she had to be?!?!
Thank you, the visual will put a smile on my face for at least a week. Yes it made me LOL
LOL!! Great story….thanks
Of all the years ready the news letter, I have never laughed this much!!! This is the funniest I have heard in ages. Thank you so much for making my weekend this jolly. You truly are wordsmith par excellence.
OMG! Hilarious!
We lived in KansS City when I was small. My Mom had a washer but not a drier. She always had diapers on top of clothes and sheets. I have no idea how she dried the laundry in the winter.
I am sure it was a huge blessing when she got a drier! They had 10 kids so many years of those diapers.
Oh boy! My Dad would sometimes drive around wearing the Groucho nose, mustache, and glasses mask.
I also remember the wringer washer on our back screen porch in Jewell, Kansas. We were warned not to mess with it, but it was fun to squish the water out of clothes occasionally. Currently, my own washer (a Maytag) which a good friend gave me when she got a new matched laundry set, is not working. Phooey! So, trips to the laundromat are on the schedule. It’s not bad, and I’m slowly getting caught up. They have new machines, and new paint on the walls! I find it’s easier to do one or two loads each time. Less to deal with when I get home. My dryer still works, so that’s a plus. I can handle a basket of heavy, wet clothes. A lot of it gets hung up to dry.
I love your stories! Always something relatable!
Stay strong!
Lana, from Kansas
This one takes me back a little over 75 years, to when my mom finally got an “automatic washer”; no spin tub but a hand cranked ringer that could be rotated 45 degrees. Mom would put two metal wash tubs on chairs, wring out the clothes into the first, wring those out to the second, then out to the clothes line. My job was to keep the fire going in our fairly new Monarch cook stove where Mom would have a couple buckets of water heating to change out with the water in the tubs.
What some fun memories, although we might not have thought it was fun at the time. And, another thing I liked about this blog was that little bit of alliteration, always makes me smile. (I got a feeling you did that on purpose).
And the last part, I didn’t know about your younger brother, Judith. A salute to him. He earned it
Great story