Mildred Dennis
“It’s Gonna Be OK” takes the reader on a journey. It explores the author’s experiences as a spunky little girl, through turbulent teenage years, and finally emerging as a maturing young woman while living on the Seminole and Saint Louis, Oklahoma and Texas oil leases during the 1930’s and ‘40’s.
Laugh and cry with the family as they move from boomshack to boomshack and finally “Toots” is sure Mama and Daddy are rich. Their latest boomshack has an inside bathroom!
Share the adventures of “Toots” and all those gritty people who became “family” while living in the camps. This red-dirt experience molded their beings, and for many, will never leave their hearts.
Mildred Dennis has always been a story teller. She wrote an award-winning newspaper column which appeared weekly in Illinois and Ohio for 25 years. She drew from life with her husband, her three children, her high school students, a love of nature, an enduring faith in God, and memories of growing up on the Oklahoma oil leases for her material.
Other published works include three books of meditations and numerous magazine articles. As a Methodist lay speaker, her talks centered around her faith and she has led seminars on the stresses of caregiving and grief. She especially enjoys Storytelling with children and nursing home residents.
Since retiring, she and husband James travel extensively around the U.S. She enjoys swimming, crocheting, all of outdoors, old-time gospel singing, reading, and, above all, being with family.
There were many temptations on the lease. Every Mom warned about the slush pits. “Stay away from them. You could get lost in the oil and we’d never find you.” But when the hot Oklahoma sun combined with the constant wind, the top and edges of the pit would bake into a curling, dusty Lorelei. The surface lured a kid to come on, one barefoot step at a time. It didn’t help to have the other kids yelling, “I dare ya’. I double dare ya’.”
I usually stood back a little ways and watched. Some brave soul would take a step or two, breaking a few curls around the edge, then back out very slowly. Not me though—I was more afraid of the storm my mama would raise than the slush pit. Finally one unlucky day for me, Joan started teasing, “Let’s do it. I will if you will.” She stepped on the first curling edge—nothing happened. “Come on,” she said, “what’s the matter, fraidy cat.”
That did it. The vision of Mama’s storm blew right out of my head. Slowly I put my foot forward. As the curl broke, the crackling sound sent shivers down my back. I waited! Nothing bad happened. Slowly, slowly I inched forward as the crumbling curls tickled my toes. I gritted my teeth, expecting to be swallowed up any minute. The thought passed across my mind, “Maybe I’d better get out now.” But I just couldn’t. I crept further and a little further, till suddenly the crust gave way. I wasn’t swallowed up, but I was standing like a crane with one foot mired in the muddy oil up over my ankle.
Not only was I still expecting to disappear from sight, but “Oh my gosh!” I suddenly remembered Mama. I panicked, but the other kids shouted encouragement, including Joan, who had backed away from the pit’s edge before she ever stepped beyond that first curl. Once the top was broken, I sank with every step I took while backing out, but I made it.
All the kids helped with sticks and leaves, but we couldn’t scrape the oil off. Suddenly they began running in all directions. I looked around to see the reason for the desertions. It was Mama comin’ at top speed, and I was left to face her all by myself. Besides the “whipping,” I had to stay in my own yard for what seemed forever. Those smart-alecky kids were nice enough to wave as they walked by and call out “sweetly,” “Hey, how long before you can play again?”
I’ve thought of that slush pit more than a few times. It had such an innocent inviting look on top, but the sticky black muck didn’t want to turn me loose. Though it’s not always possible, I’ve tried to avoid life’s slush pits as often as I can.
