What are you doing New Year's Eve?

It's almost New Year ’s Eve. The end of 2005.

It's hard for me to believe that it has been five years since the eve of the "new millennium". The millennium that was suppose to end life as we know it when all computers crashed simultaneously as their internal clocks went from 1999 to 2000. For those of you too young to remember, January 1, 2000 came and went with barely a hiccup of inconvenience and there were a lot of people left with unnecessary stockpiles of gasoline, bicycles, and solar stills on January 2nd.

2005 was more eventful. It was a year of weird weather and disasters across the world. Our hearts overflowed with prayers for those thousands who were left without homes and those who lost loved ones.

Closer to home, it was when my co-workers and I learned when our jobs, as we know them, would be over. Certainly not an event on the proportions of hurricanes and earthquakes, but it’s ours. We are all hoping that everyone finds positions that result in "barely a hiccup of inconvenience" in our lives. Sometimes we remember that we aren’t the only ones affected; there are people from other companies that we have met from time to time that will be closing their units in February also and we add them to our prayers.

So on this last official work day of 2005, I want to wish everyone a Happy, Healthy, Prosperous, and Wonderful New Year. May 2006 be good to us all.

Oyster Dressing

I had fried oysters for Christmas dinner, which reminded me of my sisters' favorite oyster dressing recipe. This is the only oyster dressing they will eat.

1/4 - 1/2 cup chopped celery
1/4 cup chopped onion
1/3 cup margarine
3 cups soft bread cubes
1/2 - 1 teaspoon rubbed, dried sage leaves
1/4 teaspoon crushed, dried thyme leaves
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/8 teaspoon pepper
1/2 - 1 cup hot chicken broth
NO oysters

Cook celery and onion in margaine, stirring occasionally, until onion is tender. Put bread into a deep bowl. Add cooked vegetables and seasonings to bread. Add enough broth to cover bread (amount will depend on how dry the bread is and how soft you like dressing.) Don't forget to add NO oysters! You can add a small handful of dried cranberries if you like sweet dressing, but absolutely NO oysters. Mix ingredients just enough to distribute seasonings then put into greased, 1 quart casserole. Bake at 350 degrees for 20 - 30 minutes.

Homework time!

I have to write something today. My writing instructors are hovering over my shoulder (metaphorically) screaming, "Write! Write! For heaven's sakes, just write."

For those of you who asked (and made fun of my first choice), Herb Smiley is going to be the first screenplay I attempt. I chose this story because the characters are strong enough for me to answer homework questions with the least amount of effort.

Your mini-writing lesson for today: The main characters of any story should be the protagonist (hero/heroine) and the antagonist (villain). They should have contrasting flaws which cause a conflict between them; the conflict makes the story.

I tell you that so you can critique the following, which was part of my assignment for Lesson 2.

1. Describe your main characters.

Protagonist: Herbert Smiley
Flaw: Is overly meek and trusting. Believes you get ahead by helping others up. Follows the golden rule, “Do unto others”.
Protagonist’s helper and girl friend: Emily Rose
Protagonist’s helper and mother: Helen Smiley
Antagonist: William Kessner, protagonist’s boss
Flaw: Believes you only get ahead by walking over others. Follows the rule, “Screw others. Kindness is for suckers.”
Antagonist helper: George Blunt, a salesman at the used car lot
Minor Antagonist: Wyatt Kessner, the boss’s son.

2. Why are the hero & villain opposed? They both want to succeed, but believe in different methods.

3. When your opposites clash, will their contest lead to a higher level of truth, as in Hegel's idea of thesis, antithesis, synthesis? The antagonist will see that you don’t have to be walk on others to get ahead; the protagonist will learn that sometimes you have to stand and fight.

4. Is your villain the natural, logical opponent of your protagonist? Protagonist: Young & idealistic vs. Antagonist: Old & cynical

5. Does your hero have an incompleteness -- or wound -- which will make him/her vulnerable to attack by the antagonist and even bring about the villain's opposition? Herb is overly nice, which is the result of wanting to be the opposite of his father who was a domineering, abusive man. Herb's father abandoned his wife and son years ago, much to their relief.

Mr. Kessner's personality parallels the senior Mr. Smiley. This simultaneously attracts and repels Herb. Mr. Kessner is unpleasant because he spent all his time at the car lot making money for his wife and children and they abandoned him. They only loved his money because they never knew him. Mr. Kessner doesn't respect Herb because he finds Herb's niceness irritating.

6. Are your main characters the type who would stand up over time? I believe they could fit into any century, past or present. I think this story has been told many times before in various forms; its theme is evocative of Dickens’s A Christmas Carol in some ways.


Your homework question: What do you think? Do you love these characters? Are they real? Boring? Trite? Did you want to learn more about them, or did you fall asleep before you got this far?

Happy Birthday, Jesus!

Sights & Sounds of the Season

It's Christmas eve and I want to take this opportunity to share some of the things I've observed this holiday season.

1. Not once during this whole month did I hear, "Grandma got run over by a reindeer, going home from our house Christmas eve...." I'm not complaining, just observing.
2. The traffic around the mall wasn't as bad as it has been in years past.
3. People in the stores didn't say "Merry Christmas" or "Happy Holidays" as much as they use to.
4. The price of stamps compared to the cost of email changed the way people sent me holiday greetings.
5. On my way to and from work, I found I cursed at fellow drivers a little more politely while listening to Christmas music.
6. I watched a group of bellringers on PBS playing Christmas carols. It was amazing to watch the precision handwork as they simultaneously picked up and put down bells, rang them with just the right flick of the wrist, and turned pages of sheet music. They were dressed all in black with high collars and gloves and they never smiled. They would have been right at home in a mausoleum.
7. The Kroger store on Allisonville Road has decorated for Christmas. Near the meat department is a 2 foot stuffed reindeer lying on its side. The first thought that popped into my mind the first time I saw it was "Why do they have a dead reindeer on display? That's gross!" I think it was suppose to be standing upright, but, although it changed position from week to week, I never saw it on it's feet. Happily, I never saw a special for reindeer meat either.
8. Kids still like rocking horses. The same Kroger had a stuffed rocking horse on display in the toy and gift area. I rarely saw it without a child sitting on it's back and grinning from ear to ear.
9. TV needs some new holiday specials and old movies.
10. I have nice friends that share the spirit of Christmas.

Homework is Hard Work

I have been working on Wednesday's assignment for my Screen Writing course. I am suppose to make a list of my favorite movies and TV shows and select my favorite three.

I tried. I really did.

But I couldn't decide on a list of favorites, much less narrow it down to three. I narrowed it down to three genres: mystery/detective, westerns, sit-coms, adventure, sci-fi. Oh, drat! That's more than three and I haven't finished.

Maybe I should select three at random and pretend they're my favorites. I have to watch them after I pick them and I don't want to be up all night doing homework.

It's so hard going to school at my age.

Christmas Blessings

May God bless you with Health and Prosperity in the New Year and may you have Peace, Hope, and Love everlasting.

Just tell it like it is

"You are also starting to feel overwhelmed by a force that seems to be bigger than you are. Very soon, though, you will recover your equilibrium. The future is much brighter than you may think." That was my horoscope for December 21st. It's eerily apropros to my life at the moment.

Did you ever read a horoscope that said something like "You are starting to feel overwhelmed by a force that seems to be bigger than you are. Well, honey, it is. You might as well just curl up in a ball and suck your thumb till the stars shift again because the next few months are gonna stink like used sweatsocks"?

Or "You don't really want to know today has in store for you, but let me extend my sympathy now"?

What about "You will finally get what you deserve over the next few weeks. So just cowboy up and can the whining 'cause nobody cares"?

On second thought, just tell it the way I want it to be.

This was my horoscope for today: "Brightly shone the moon that night, Though the frost was cruel, When a poor man came in sight, Gath'ring winter fuel. In the words of Good King Wenceslas, we hear a story about the ultimate irrelevance of worldly status. Some people seem to have it all, others appear to have nothing. Real wealth, though, has nothing to do with material fortune. It's about the ability to recognize the magic and majesty of a higher power. Whatever Christmas means to you, you are about to see evidence of a kindly cosmos."

I can hardly wait!

And the winner is .........

I don't know.

All the votes aren't in yet, but I have 1 vote for The Jewel Thief, 2 for The Dog Walker, 1 for Herbert Smiley, and 1 who can't decide. I think I have 1 producer/director, 2 leading men, 2 casting agents, and 1 critic.

I have to decide by Friday because that assignment is a continuation of the story line. Of course, everyone knows that I never get my assignments done on time so let's say I have to decide by next Friday which is so close to New Year's that I think I can safely say I'll get it done sometime next year.

It's all about the plot.

I have to write an outline of the story that I will use for the rest of my screenwriting course. Which one of these do you think has the most promise?

1. The Jewel Thief (a mystery)
Marcie meets an insurance fraud investigator in Paris and falls in love. She discovers that Brad is pursuing Julie whom he believes is the international jewel thief costing his company millions of dollars. When Brad disappears, Marcie thinks Julie murdered him and begins to stalk her to get revenge. One day they meet accidentally in a book store and become "friends". Julie doesn't realize that Marcie is plotting her murder. Marcie becomes confused when she discovers that Brad isn't dead and decides that Brad and Julie have teamed up to destroy her so she vows to get them first. There is a surprise ending, but I can't tell you because then it wouldn't be a surprise, would it?

2. The Dog Walker (a comedy)
Bill sees a gorgeous neighbor walking her dog and plots to meet her. The dog helps by having an affinity for Bill (or his lawn). Bill is so flustered when he first meets the knock-out neighbor that he says something stupid and spends the rest of the movie trying to find her and prove he's not as gauche as he acts, but since he really is, a lot of silly action takes place before he catches the woman of his dreams – the girl next door. (I just gave away the surprise ending, but you figured it out all ready anyway, didn't you? FYI: The story is based on a true event, but the characters aren't based on real people.)

3. Herbert Smiley (a made for TV-movie)
Herb Smiley is a used car salesman who dreams of bigger things. He's in love with the receptionist but they can't get married because Herb doesn't make enough money. When the nasty, greedy owner of the car lot has a stroke, Herb takes him home where his mother (a nurse) cares for the man as if he were a rich relative. Herb then takes over the business with help from the girlfriend and becomes the Used Car King of Minneapolis while his mother falls in love with her patient. The old man has amnesia from the stroke and thinks he is Herb’s dad until he sees a commercial featuring old pictures of the car lot and he remembers who he is and realizes that Herb stole his business. However, the old man thinks he’s better off with a wife to care for him and a son to do all the work at the car lot so he doesn’t tell anybody that he knows. He has been estranged from his family for years, but his less-than-dutiful, recently-fired son comes home for Christmas to find his father is missing and Herb in charge of the car lot. He takes over, but allows Herb to return to his job as salesman. Eventually he accuses Herb of murder as well as stealing the business and the old man has to come forth and save the day. The story ends when the old man marries Mrs. Smiley and gives Herb the business so Herb and the receptionist can get married and everybody lives happily ever after - except for the nasty, greedy son who is following in his father's footsteps in another town. Has this one already been done? I keep seeing John Candy and Chevy Chase.

School Daze

The weekend is half over and I haven't got my homework done yet.

I have two young friends who are currently in college. Two over-achieving friends who think they've done badly if they slip to an A- average. I'm sure they have all their work done by 9 o'clock Friday night every week.

Don't you just hate people like that? The ones that ruin the "grade curve" for everybody else. The ones that always shoot their hands up before the instructor finishes asking a question. The ones that finish the tests first and then sit there smiling smugly to themselves as you struggle to finish the first question. You know they're going to say, "I hope I did all right on that test. I didn't have any time to study." as surely as you know they're going to get 100.

Just kidding! I love those nerds. Heck, I used to be one. This is just my way of saying "Congratulations! Your grades this term were exemplary."

At the movies

My Screen Writing course started today. This looks like a fun class. The first assignment is: Rent a video of your choice, and watch it.

I think I can do that.

The problem is that I'll have to wait till the weekend before I have time to do any homework and I'll have another assignment Friday. I think I'm suppose to write and sell a screenplay. Or something like that.

Next week, the assignment is to Make a list of your all-time favorite movies and television shows. Rent or borrow videos of your top three selections and watch them.

Another exhausting weekend full of homework. I hope I make it through the whole 6 weeks. Oooh, I hope I have enough popcorn.

It's still snowing

In case you haven't noticed, it's still snowing. An inch here, a foot there.

An ice patch here, a pot hole there.

Several months ago I heard that the strange, catastrophic weather this summer and fall was going to be followed by a mild winter.

They were wrong.

In all fairness, winter hasn't started yet. There is still a week of fall to go so it's possible that our winter will be as balmy as a tropical isle.

hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha

Tis The Season - for TV Christmas movies

Do you know how many times Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol was adapted to the screen?

I just checked the Internet Movie Database and found 50 films, TV movies, and full length animation type movies between 1901 and 2003. That includes not only movies with the title "A Christmas Carol", but Scrooged,The Stingiest Man in Town, An American Christmas Carol, and Weihnachtslied in Prosa oder Eine Geistergeschichte zum Christfest.

Some of the stars that have portrayed Ebeneezer Scrooge include George C. Scott (considered by some to be the definitive Scrooge), Alistar Sim, Scrooge McDuck, Albert Finney, Cicely Tyson, Patrick Stewart, Mr. Magoo (one of my favorites), Henry Winkler, Fred Flintstone, Hoty Axton, Vanessa Williams, Jesus Tordesillas (Brazillian Version), Jack Palance (in a Wild West version) and Bill Murray.

Just in case you wanted to know.

Tis the season

This is December. The season for old holiday movies and specials to show up on TV.

A Very Brady Christmas is on this afternoon. That's not very remarkable in itself as many people still like this old sit-com. I don't know why; it didn't seem that good when it was on the first time.

It's on immediately after four hours of The Godfather. That just seems wrong somehow.

Do you suppose the scheduler at WNDY was trying to make a statement?

1. Both movies are about families.
2. Both star old geezers.
3. Both seem interminable.

Marsha, Marsha, Marsha, make me an offer I can't refuse - I had to say it at least once. I know you were thinking it.

It got cold then it snowed

That's the weather report for last week.

How much did it snow?
Too much!

How cold did it get?
Does my butt look smaller to you?
'cause it's cold enough to freeze my a** off!

Who needs instructions?

As I mentioned in an earlier post, I spent a lot of time schlepping books from one place to another in my apartment last week. After lifting several armloads of books and even boxes full of books without collapsing, I began to think I was in much better shape than I imagined. Oh, yeah, for an old lady, I’m bad.

Then I met my comeuppance in an easy, simple, just snap it together, plastic shelving unit. It was so simple I didn't need instructions.

I put a leg in the bottom shelf. It fell over. I took the leg out and tried it upside down. It fell out. I moved the shelf to the floor and tried it again. That worked.

I quickly added the other three legs and topped them with another shelf. I put one leg on the second shelf. It all fell at my feet with three legs rolling just out of reach. I put it together again, using more pressure, and adding torque.

I got all four legs on the second shelf and crowned them with a third shelf. I looked down. The legs in the middle were emulating the Tower of Pisa. I straightened them up and half fell out, one rolled out of sight, one bounced into the next room, the others wavered on the edge.

By this time, I was beginning to work up a sweat and breathe heavily. Desperate, I looked at the pictures on the box, searching for directions. I read the part about being simple and easy to assemble again. It said "Instructions provided." I did everything but crawl into the box and still haven't found any instructions.

I started over, adding more force, more torque, and more swear words, not really caring if the whole thing snapped in to little, tiny, plastic pieces instead of together. I chased it across the floor and around two rooms, but I eventually triumphed. Oh, yeah, for an old lady, I’m bad.

It was straight - up, down, and across. I added the last shelf. A leg fell off. I swore and wiped the sweat from my eyes before I replaced it, firmly.

Done. I carefully maneuvered it into place in the closet. Two legs fell off. I replaced them and two more fell off on the other side.

I sobbed as I reset the legs. Did I hear them laughing maliciously or was that just a roaring in my ears as my blood pressure rose? I sat down and had a glass of ice tea, trying to remember why I don’t drink.

Wiping the tears from my eyes, I tackled the project again. It’s too traumatic to recall the details of the fight that ensued, but let me just say, that pile of crap is now in the closet holding my towels. Who’s laughing now, plastic boy?

Oh, yeah, for an old lady, I’m way bad.

Whadda ya want be when you grow up?

I recently read an article about finding the perfect job. The article focused on helping the job seeker determine the ideal career to suit interests and personality. One of the tools they recommended was to think about your relationship with everyday things, such as asking yourself "When I enter a book store, which section do I head to first?"

The first section I go to in a book store is the bargain aisle. I'm not sure how that would translate to a career. I haven't seen many job listings for "cheapskate".

As I was sorting through the books in my home yesterday and today, it occurred to me that the types of books I actually buy might give me a better clue. Well, I found books on doll making, doll repair, dollhouse building, and teddy bear dressing. That would point to a job as "toy maker", but I'm not very talented and I spend as much time playing as working so I don't think I could make a living at it.

Then I came across books on software office applications. "Maybe I could be an administrative assistance?" I pondered. But, no, I can't taype accuratelly and I can't take orders.

I sorted through several dozen cookbooks. Chef? Baker? Nope, read them more than I use them.

Next came books on diet and fitness. Uh, no, don't even go there.

I found books on gardening, architecture, photography, logic, cartoons, fiber crafts, paper crafts, and wood crafts. There were books on statistics, calculus, and algebra; computer programming and computer repair; mystery books and crime detection; camping, fishing, hiking, and bird watching; house cleaning, decorating, repair, and organization; juggling, piano playing, blogging, and writing; sewing machines and power tools; starting a business, investing, and writing resumes; Christmas and Hanukkah.

You see where I’m going with this? I can’t make up my mind about anything.

Thank goodness, I only have a few more years till retirement. Then I’ll have time to read all those books and maybe I can decide what I want to be when I grow up.

Mirror, Mirror on The Wall

I stumbled out of bed this morning and, bleary eyed, looked in the mirror. The word dissipated came to mind. I didn't look any better when I put on my glasses and took a second look.

I don't have enough fun to look that bad at 9 o'clock in the morning.

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!

Preferably someplace else.

The weather forecasters claim it is going to snow tonight. It will be their first real snow of the season and they are all very excited. One would think that the inch they are predicting equals a blizzard.

I don't appreciate their excitement. They're adults now. They don't get snow days; they aren't getting a new sled for Christmas; they don't get to build a really keen snow fort. You can't even build a decent snowman with 1" of snow.

I use to be fairly skilled at creating snowmen. In my younger days. Before I realized that freezing my rear off isn't that much fun. As a matter of fact, many years ago I built a magical snowman.

I had a friend and two kids spending the night because of the snow and before supper we built a truly magnificent snowman in the apartment courtyard. When we got up the next morning, the snowman was gone without a trace.

There were paths in the snow where we had rolled the large snowballs that made up his body and the cleared circle where he had stood was still evident. But no piles of snow where his head or belly might have landed if he had been accosted by hooligans. No carrot nose, button eyes, or twig arms strewn around to show that he had ever existed. Not even his hat.

I ought to be in pictures

I have signed on for another writing class. This one is called "Your Screenwriting Career". That's right, boys and girls, in six short weeks I'm going to be in the movies, or maybe Broadway!

This doesn't mean that I'm giving up on writing the next great American novel. Au contraire, mon ami. I just want to be ready. After 52 weeks on the best sellers list, my public will be demanding the book become a movie. Who better than moi, the author, to write the screenplay?

I think, like Alfred Hitchcock, I will make a brief, understated appearance in each movie. Hopefully standing next to the handsome leading man. Or maybe in his arms. I've always wondered what it would feel like wrapped in Tom Selleck's arms.

Someday, while sitting in a movie theather, you'll be able to nudge your friends, point to the screen, and say loudly enough for all to hear, "Look! Look! That short, pudgey woman standing next to Tom! I knew her when."

Play your cards right, mon ami, and you, too, could find yourself on a casting director's couch someday. Hey, you might even be in the movie!

Penmanship

I just finished a course on Mystery Writing. The last assignment the instructor gave was to write something every day.

You all know I've been through that before. That's why I started this blog, but I'm too lazy or too busy or not motivated enough or I just don't have enough to say to write something every day. But as my new favorite old adage is, "I got off my butt and tried", I'm going to try to write something three or four times a week till the end of the year.

Julie just said, "Every other day would be half-a**ing it." Julie thinks she's funny.

A new old adage

I watched Little House on the Prairie today. There was one line in the show that caught my attention. It was profound without being preachy the way Little House characters can often be. Maybe because it was uttered by guest star Burl Ives instead of the usual goody-goody characters.

Mr. Ives played a crotchy old trapper, Sam Shelby, who had been blind for 5 years. For those 5 years he had stayed in his cabin, venturing forth only as far as the front yard or the outhouse. (That's what he said.)

Trapper Shelby had to get out of his comfort zone to help Laura save Pa. At first, he raved and ranted and refused to go, but nobody can really say no to Laura when she has to save Pa. After Shelby and Laura had crossed the mountain, fell over a downed tree, and waded two creeks, they found Mr. Edwards who fetched the doctor. While the doctor was doing his thing, the old coot was praying that God would help Laura by not letting her Pa die.

He had prayed for years that God would let him see again, but now he had something more important to pray about and he thought God should listen to him. He said, "I got off my butt and tried."

"I got off my butt and tried."

I'm going to have to embroider that one on a pillow.

Brunch

I fixed breakfast this morning. I don’t often do that on Saturday because it’s usually noon before I’m ready to eat, and by noon, you might as well eat lunch. It was a good Saturday morning breakfast. Eggs, bacon, and banana streusel muffins.

While I was watching the bacon fry, my mind was hopping from topic to topic like a drop of water in hot grease. Thinking about my manager’s bacon wrapped stuffed peppers led me to Ron Popeil’s rotisserie to Popeil’s canned hair.

In case you’ve never seen it, canned hair is a product that you spray on bald spots on your head to fool prying eyes into thinking you have hair. I’ve never known anyone who actually uses the stuff, or at least that admits to using the stuff and reportedly it looks and feels like real hair.

I couldn’t help but wonder if it actually worked and if you would have brown dye running down your face if you got caught in the rain.

Then the smoke alarm went off. Nothing burned. It just had to announce to the neighbors that I was in the kitchen. As I was fanning the alarm with a tea towel, it occurred to me that I might want to apologize to my neighbors for disturbing the peace and quiet of a Saturday morning.

About that time, the timer went off for the muffins and I decided there was a time and place for apologizing and when you have hot muffins coming out of the oven is not the right time. Not unless you want to share. And I don’t.

The Day After

Just so you know, according to the National Turkey Federation, the top five most popular ways to serve leftover Thanksgiving turkey are:
* Sandwich
* Soup or Stew
* Casserole
* Stir-fry
* Salad

My favorite way is in a Turkey Pastie, which is a turnover filled with turkey, mixed vegetables, and cheese sauce. They freeze well and can be reheated in a microwave then eaten out of hand. A perfect meal - all the food groups in one disposable container and no clean up.

Happy Thanksgiving!

I put a turkey on to cook this morning then got on the internet to look up something, but as soon as I got connected, I forgot what. Silly me!

I'm cooking the turkey in a crock-pot this year. I'm going to assume that this will be the only Thanksgiving that I do that. A crock-pot turkey has real appeal for those who don't need a large turkey, are satisfied with just white meat, and only have one oven. I fit all those.

But, it's just won't be the same as a picturesque, golden brown, overstuffed turkey sitting on a platter in all its glory. I know that only lasts about 15 minutes before it's a half eaten carcass surrounded by overstuffed diners, but it's tradition.

Why bother having a turkey at all if you can't follow tradition? And you have to have turkey for Thanksgiving. It's ok to have goose or a rib roast at Christmas. Even an eggplant casserole if you eschew meat, but you gotta have turkey for Thanksgiving.


Did you know that Americans consume over 675 million pounds of turkey on Thanksgiving Day? The National Turkey Federation claims 95% of Americans eat turkey on Thanksgiving.

Did you know that turkey contains an amino acid called tryptophan that sets off a chemical reaction that calms you down and makes you sleepy? The National Turkey Federation claims that's a lie. It was the large helping of mashed potatoes, two helpings of corn, three rolls, and four pieces of pie (pumpkin, apple, peanut butter, and sweet potato) that made you sleepy last year.

FOR THE BIRDS

Mr Carlson to Andy: As God is my witness, I thought turkeys could fly. (For those of you too young to recognize it, this quote comes from a Thanksgiving episode of the TV show WKRP in Cincinnati.)


Fowlospophy

Life’s like a bird. It’s pretty cute till it craps on your head.

A bird in the hand makes blowing your nose difficult.

A bird in the hand is kind of messy.

It’s hard to soar like an eagle in the morning when you roost with the buzzards at night.

Eagles may soar, but weasels don’t get sucked into jet engines.

Fowl Language

Question: Why did the gum cross the road?
Answer: It was stuck to the chicken’s foot.

Question: Why did the chicken cross the road?
Answer: To prove to the Opossum that it could be done!

Question: What does a 1,000 lb. canary say?
Answer: Here kitty, kitty, kitty!

Question: What did one baby bird say to the other after finding an orange in their nest?
Answer: Hey! Look at the orange marmalade! (mama laid, get it?)

Did you ever notice that when ducks migrate in their V- formation, one side of the line is longer than the other? Know why that is? There's more ducks in that line.

Say what? Chicken squat, that's what! (I know it makes no sense, but kids used to say it when somebody said, "What?")

From the late Red Skelton: Two seagulls, Gertude and Heathcliff are flying around watching the traffic. Gertrude asks, "Have you seen the new 2005 cars?" Heathcliff replied, "Yeah, I just spotted one!"

Sitting on a branch overlooking the parking lot, the pigeons watched as a Mercedes pulled in below them. "What do you think?" one bird said to the other. "Should we put a deposit on that car?"

A duck walked into a drug store and bought a tube of lipstick. The clerk inquired, "Will that be cash or charge?" The duck replied, "Just put it on my bill!"

I first heard this one on the TV show MASH. Trust me, it's funnier the way I tell it. (In case you missed that episode, Hawkeye was trying to prove he could make more people laugh with this joke than BJ.)

A man walked into the office of a talent agent on the 72nd floor of a skyscraper. "I've got a great act," he tells the agent. "Just watch this." The man opens the window, perches on the ledge and starts flapping his arms. Then he pushes off and flys around outside the window executing intricate aerobatic maneuvers. Having finished his demonstration, the man flaps in to a perfect landing on the window sill and steps back into the agent's office.

"What do you think of that?" he asked the agent.

The talent agent yawned. "Is that all you can do? Bird imitations?"


Bird Duty

Mac had worked at the local zoo for so long, he had only two responsibilities. The first was to care for the zoo's male lion and the second was to feed the zoo's porpoise.

The lion was so magnificent that the Governor had proclaimed it “The State Lion”. The porpoise had lived at the zoo for years. In fact, nobody knew exactly how old the porpoise was, and everyone simply called it “The Immortal Porpoise”. It was thought that the secret to the porpoise's long life was its daily diet of young gulls.

One day Mac came into work and went down to the dock to collect the gulls to feed the porpoise. At the dock, he saw the lion had escaped from his cage during the night and now lay stretched out across the dock, asleep. Mac decided the best course of action was to creep quietly across the lion, get the gulls, feed the porpoise, and then get help to capture the beast. So, he carefully stepped over the lion and filled his bucket full of the young gulls. As Mac carefully crossed back over the lion.....he was arrested!!!!

The charge? Crossing the state lion with young gulls for an immortal porpoise!!

Starting Salary

My co-workers and I are looking for new jobs because our jobs are going to another company in the spring. Wes is always advising us to ask for a higher salary than offered. I hope he finds this story as funny as I do. I re-wrote it just for him.

Reaching the end of a job interview, the Manager asked the young Data Analyst, "And what starting salary were you looking for?"

The candidate confidently replied, "In the neighborhood of $125,000 a year, depending on the benefits package."

The interviewer mulled this over for a few moments and asked, "Well, what would you say to a package of 5-weeks vacation, 14 paid holidays, full medical and dental, company matching retirement fund to 50% of salary, and a company car leased every 2 years - say, a red T-Bird to start?"

The Analyst sat up straight and said, "Wow!!! Are you kidding?"

And the Manager replied, "Certainly, ...but you started it."

http://www.ahajokes.com/off31.html

To my nephew

Happy Birthday, Jeramy!

ZZZZZzzzzzzz

I took a 3 hour nap today. (That is suppose to explain why I haven't blogged for a week.)

Sunday Morning Breakfast

This morning I fixed waffles and pancakes for breakfast. More specifically, "milled flax seed and soy" waffles and pancakes.

I have been trying to eat more whole grains and less meat so a few months ago I bought a heart-healthy pancake mix. This morning I decided to try it. At first, I was going to make pancakes, but the instructions included the directions for waffles and I remembered that I had a waffle iron that had never been used.

So I decided to make waffles and made the batter accordingly. It looked awfully thin to stay on a waffle iron. I re-read the instructions. Hmmm, the last step said "Let set 5 minutes". I unplugged the waffle iron and set the timer.

Five minutes later, the batter had thickened a little. Milled flax seed and soy batter doesn't look like regular pancake batter. The phrases cow fodder and horse feed come to mind.

I heated up the waffle iron for its maiden voyage and poured the right amount of batter onto each square. Then I waited.

And waited. And waited some more. The waffle iron was taking FOREVER so I heated up the griddle to make pancakes. I burned the first one, of course. It's tradition in my house. I threw that one out, adjusted the heat, and started another. While the second one was cooking, I decided the waffle MUST be done so I took it off the grill and put more batter on.

The waffle looked done, but one taste said otherwise. I threw that one away. In the meantime, the second pancake looked burned so I threw that one out, adjusted the heat, and started another.

That's when the smoke alarm when off. When I'm cooking, that's also traditional.

The second waffle was still cooking, but by the time I got the alarm to stop screaming, the third pancake was done. Hunh, apparently milled flax seed and soy pancakes look burnt when they're done. I put another pancake on.

The fourth pancake finished cooking so I stuck them both on a plate and served them with lots of syrup. With enough syrup, they actually tasted pretty good.

The waffle was still cooking.

Eventually, the waffle got done, dark golden brown and crisp. Tasted a lot like the pancakes.

In summary, for 2 pancakes and 1 waffle, I have to wash a waffle iron, a skillet, 3 measuring cups, a measuring spoon, a bowl, 2 plates, 3 forks, 2 spoons, a spatula, the stove top, the counter top, and my nightgown where I dribbled syrup. Makes frozen waffles sound reallllly good.

Halloween Leftovers

Did you hear about the cannibal who was expelled from school? He was buttering up his teacher.

What did the cannibal do when he saw an "All you can eat" restaurant? He had 2 waiters and a busboy.

Do zombies eat popcorn with their fingers? No, silly, they eat the fingers separately.

What does a skeleton order at a restaurant? Spare ribs.

What do little ghosts drink? Evaporated milk. (That's why they can evaporate into thin air - get it?)

What do ghosts put on top of an ice cream sundae? Whipped scream.

What does a vampire never order at a restaurant? A stake sandwich.

HALLOWEEN TRAGEDY

I am not scared of goblins or ghouls
and things that go bump in the night

Werewolves and bats and witches and such
do not give me much of a fright.

But there is this one thing that scares me to death
and only this one thing I fear

And that's to open my fridge at night
and find that I'm all out of beer.

Tie a Yellow Ribbon

Years ago, before Tony and Dawn sang about Yellow Ribbons and old oak trees, my oldest sister used to tell us a story about a woman who wore a yellow ribbon around her neck. I recently tried to find the story on-line and discovered that traditionally the ribbon was green, not yellow.

Now I am so old I can't remember if the ribbon in the tale I heard as a youngster was green and I only remember it as yellow because of the song (which has nothing to do with a ribbon around a woman's neck). I could ask my sister, but she would say it was green just to spite me. I don't suppose it matters at this point anyway. Now that I think about it some more, I recall that the ribbon was red anyway.

In case you haven't heard it, the story goes like this.

Once there was a beautiful young girl named Lilly who always wore a red ribbon around her neck. She had a pale, but otherwise perfect, complexion and luxurious long, black hair that she usually wore down so it cascaded across her shoulders. Everyone admitted that the pale complexion and dark hair were complemented by the red ribbon, and created a striking background and frame for a sweet smile and clear blue eyes.

Eventually, Lilly married her high school sweetheart, Jeff. On their honey moon, Jeff reached to untie the scarlet ribbon. Lilly clutched at her neck frantically.

“No, I can never take this off. Please, Jeff, promise me you’ll never touch it again!” she pleaded.

Jeff was willing to promise his new bride anything and quickly assured her that he would never, could never, do anything to distress her. And he kissed her until she grew calm and willingly kissed him back.

In the middle of the night, Jeff woke and looked down at his sleeping beauty and gently kissed her eyelids. He ran his finger across the ribbon and then across the bow. Almost unbidden his fingers tugged at the tie. Lilly stirred, but continued to sleep.

Jeff thought to himself, “It can’t be comfortable sleeping with a tight ribbon around your neck. I’ll just loosen it a little.”

Suddenly the red ribbon fell away from the fragile neck of his love. Then Jeff screamed and screamed and screamed as Lilly’s head rolled from her shoulders, landed on the floor with a thud, and bounced across the floor of the honeymoon suite.

Happy Halloween!

This one's for you

This is for the guy who thought there should be more girls at the Eiffel Tower.

Aaron was walking down the highway, kicking cans and rocks and everything else that came into his path. He hadn’t start out walking. He had been driving from here to there because he had lost his job here and his cousin told him about openings at the factory there. Then the car broke down and left him stranded in the middle of Podunk County.

It wasn’t like he had much of a job here anyway. He was always short on money no matter how hard he tried to save. Take that crappy car, for instance. He had bought the cheapest used car he could find that would still run, but it didn’t run very long before he was shelling out more money to get this and that fixed every couple of weeks.

“I’m glad to be out of that town and shut of that stupid car,” he declared to himself, giving a roadside object a particularly vicious kick. Unfortunately, the object was half buried in the ground and Aaron’s kick practically broke his toe. He hopped around on one foot, holding the other in both hands, cursing his fate and the idiot that had put such a dangerous object in his way.

When the pain subsided, Aaron dug at the offensive object with his hands, determined to unearth it and heave it into the next county. “What the heck are you?” he queried, holding it up to the sunlight. Beneath the grime, he could see glimpses of sparkle and shimmer.

“Maybe you’re not so bad after all”, Aaron mused, rubbing at the thing with his shirttail. “Maybe you’re worth something and I can pawn you at the next town and get that stupid car fixed. Maybe you’ll be worth enough to buy a new car!” Yes, Aaron was a bit of a dreamer.

Suddenly, a large pouf of dust or smoke arose from the object, causing Aaron to drop it. Sneezing and coughing, he stood rubbing his eyes and cursing it again. When the dust cleared, Aaron saw a strange looking man standing in front of him. His skin was pale blue and his arms bulged muscles like Aaron had never seen before. He wore tight trousers, a colorfully embroidered vest, and a turban on top of his head. There was a large red jewel in the center of the turban.

Aaron, stepped back, still rubbing his eyes, “What the he…?”

“Do not be afraid, young master. I have been locked in that odious object for twenty years. Thank you for letting me out.”

“What the he…?”

“I am a genie. Yes, a real genie!” the strange one said impatiently as if he knew what question was on the tip of Aaron’s tongue. “You get the three requisite wishes. I’m obliged by union rules to tell you to use this gift wisely, yadda yadda yadda.”

Aaron, the dreamer, didn’t hesitate. He knew exactly what his first wish would be. “I want a shiny red convertible full of gorgeous girls.” “Cheerleader types!” he added enthusiastically.

“Uhh, that’s two wishes.” the genie warned. “I told you to use them carefully, but it’s too late now.”

Poof! In front of Aaron appeared a big red convertible filled with gorgeous bikini-clad girls.

“Do you like the bathing suits?” the genie asked. (He had been in that lamp for twenty years and he’d been doing some dreaming of his own.)

Aaron just nodded his head. He was too busy gawking to speak or even say thank you. There were skinny girls, big busted girls, red heads, brunettes, blondes in three different shades, short girls, tall girls, girls from around the globe. A dozen girls in all. All squealing and giggling and fawning over Aaron.

“Ok, Ok,” Genie said. “Haven’t you ever seen a girl before? What about the third wish? Do you know what you want yet?

“Do I have to use it right now? Can it wait till later? I want to think about it awhile?”

“You have three days to use it or lose it,” Genie advised. “All you have to do is say ‘I wish’ and then tell me what you wish for. But be carefully this time. You only get one more wish.” Then he disappeared in another pouf of smoke.

Aaron clambered into the driver’s seat. There were gorgeous girls everywhere he looked. He set the rearview mirrors so all he could see were girls and more girls. They drove about fifteen miles and came to the interstate. Aaron turned southwest and headed for the ocean, about 5 states away.

He and his bevy of gorgeous girls tooled happily down the highway. Truckers honked at them. High school boys gawked. When their wives weren’t looking, married men gave him the thumbs up sign.

After a while, one of the blondes whined, “I’m bored, sweetie. Can I turn on the radio?”

“Sure thing, baby,” Aaron replied. “Turn on some music. Something with a beat so you girls can dance.”

“Oh, Aaron! You’re so funny! Dancing in the car!” the red head squealed as bleach-blondie twiddled with the radio dials.

“Here we go,” she giggled. “I can dance to that. Everybody sing along and shake your things.”

Aaron giggled a little himself and began to sing along to the radio, “Oh, I wish I were an Oscar Mayer wiener………”

The Eiffel Tower

Someone asked me the other day if I had come to my senses about Brad. If I had faced the fact that he wasn’t dead and that Julie couldn’t be a murderer. I feel I have to tell you the truth to get you to understand my side of the story.

I lied when I said I didn’t know who Brad was.

I met Brad a long time ago. In Paris. Paris, France, not Paris, Illinois. I was on one of those whirl wind if-this-is-Tuesday-this-must-be-Paris tours that are popular with the unadventurous. I grew tired of seeing the museums and tourists spots with the old fogies on my tour bus. Nice enough people, but most of the group were Medicare age and the few younger people were shy and reserved, all incapable of stimulating conversation. Like me, I suppose.

During a rare free hour one afternoon, I abandoned the group and went on a window-shopping spree. I sniffed heady perfumes and glorious chocolates, I tried on French designs that I couldn’t possibly afford, and I gawked at Parisians like the tourist that I was. Just like in the movies, I stopped at a sidewalk café along the River Seine. I tried to order tea and pastries from an impossibly impatient French waiter, but my command of the French language was limited to “Bonjour”. Frustrated to the point of crying in lieu of socking him in the eye, I was just about to give up when Brad came to my rescue.

“Ah, a fellow American,” he said in a fake French accent, bowing to me deeply. “May I be of service, mademoiselle?”

Blinking back the tears, I laughed at the silly theatrics and begged, “Please!”

“May I join you?” he asked, than hastily assured me, “I’ll order for you either way. I don’t mean to be presumptuous, but it would be nice to talk to someone in English again.”

Maybe it was Paris, maybe it was just him, but I threw caution to the wind, and pointing to the chair nearest me, again replied, "Please!"

We talked and laughed for hours. He made me feel beautiful. I became witty and flirtatious. I forgot about the tour and its strict adherence to timelines.

Finally, the waiter interrupted us and whispered something to Brad. I couldn’t understand it, but, from the tone and his sideways glance at me, I gathered it was rude, and possibly crude. Brad explained, “He wants us to leave. We are monopolizing the table and infringing on his profit margin.”

Suddenly aware of the time, I peered at my watch, “Oh, shoot. I’ve missed the trip to the Eiffel Tower. The tour left an hour ago and I really wanted to see the Tower.” Then, I smiled at him, with my eyes open wide, took a deep breath, and brazenly said, “But it was worth it. I wouldn’t have missed you for the world.”

Brad assumed his French accent again and to my delight replied, “But, mademoiselle, you must not miss ze Eiffel Tower. Please, allow me to show it to you in ze moon light.”

Of course, I said yes. What the hell, you’re only young once.

"There she is," Brad exclaimed with one arm around my shoulders, needlessly pointing at the grand tower in front of us.

"It's beautiful!" I whispered softly. "It looks just like it did in every movie of Paris I've ever seen. Why do I feel like dancing?"

Brad looked down at me and gave my shoulders a little hug, "You are so funny."

I didn't have time to decide if he was being sincere or condescending. The arm around my shoulder became two arms around my waist and he kissed me. Softly at first and when I didn't resist, more boldly, more demanding. I was losing myself in that embrace when I felt his tongue exploring mine. "I’m French kissing in Paris!" I said blissfully to myself. "Moonlight, the Eiffel Tower, a handsome guy, and French kissing."

That's when I got the giggles.

To be continued.

Photo courtesy of Free Large Photos, Copyright 2005 FreeLargePhotos.com

The Power of Suggestion

One time, on the Tonight Show, Johnny Carson told a joke about an expected toilet paper shortage in the United States. By noon the next day, people who heard the joke had rushed out and emptied store shelves. Other people heard the rumor, saw the empty shelves, and panic buying ensued, causing a toilet paper shortage that lasted 3 weeks.

Aren't people funny?

When You Gotta Go ...

I grew up in southern Indiana, the most picturesque part of Indiana. It was a rural area dotted with small farms, rolling hills, and bucolic scenes. Telephone wires didn't reach many areas of the county until well into the 1960's. Neither did indoor plumbing.

Although we had a bathroom inside the house, we also had an outhouse as did many of our neighbors and relatives so I'm well acquainted with their form and function. Simple outhouses had one hole, but others had more. This might just be two regular size holes, but often there was a large hole for adults and a smaller one for children. Some privies had three or even four seats. (When you have a large family with lots of kids, you need more than one seat.) If you hear an old-timer (like me) ask if a public restroom is a "two holer", the question refers to the number of stalls, but it is derived from a two-holed outhouse.

My friend, Rita, lived on a farm with her parents, three siblings, and one or two grandparents. They did not have indoor plumbing, except for the sink in the kitchen. They did have a multi-holer out back. Rita told me the following secret when we were in eighth grade together. I haven't seen her since we graduated from Memphis Elemenatry and I'm trusting she never learns that I have repeated it to you.

One day Rita had to go really badly, the dance around on one leg, am-I-going-to make-it-in-time panic, badly. She ran to the outhouse, pulled down her pants, and, with a sigh of relief, plopped down on the first seat she could find. Then she heard her father, from the other hole, ask, "In a hurry?"

Farewell

Friday is Holly's last day to work in my department. The best thing about Holly's job performance (apart from the organizational talent, the ambition to learn new things, the drive to do things just right the first time, the determination to be the best at whatever task is at hand) is her attitude. She does her job cheerfully with a minimum of complaining.

I am a whiner by choice. If I'm suffering, I want everybody around me to suffer.

For example, if I have to copy a half dozen pages of text on one of the area's less-than-trustworthy copiers, I complain that I had to walk too far to the copy room, somebody didn't fill the paper tray again, the &^%$ copier jammed again, and I didn't make enough copies so now I have to go back and do it again.

Holly, on the other hand, will cheerfully stand at the copier while forcefeeding it a couple trillion pages and come back to the unit still smiling. She is the only person that I have ever seen do that.

Now that she's leaving, I can tell her: Holly, that's just plain annoying.

Holly, I'll miss you. The copiers will miss you. We'll all miss your smile.

Outhouses

You may have read my earlier posts about an outhouse collection and the joke about Sears' catalogue?

I have quite a repertoire of stories about outhouses and bathrooms, but I don't tell them much any more so I have decided to do a series of postings about them. Maybe enough to compile a short book for use in the bathroom, (the outhouse, the john, the head, the privy, the loo, the lavatory, the little girls' room, the office, the necessary, the ladies, the gents, the water closet, the library, the washroom, the restroom, the convenience, the comfort station, the duty station) while sitting on the toilet, (the stool, the pot, the throne, the crapper, the commode, the can).

I didn't set out in life to develop a set of toilet tales. I didn't even realize I told so many (too many?) until fellow workers at St. V's gave me an unusual gift - a portable roll of toilet paper. Apparently, when I returned from a tour abroad, I had more stories about European bathrooms than museums.

I can't help it if humorous things happen in outhouses and bathrooms. It's part of life and life is funny when you see it from my side of the door. And as Mike would say, "It's my duty to share my observations with the rest of the world."

Tomorrow

Tomorrow is my birthday.

That means I can eat chocolate cake with icing and ice cream. I can buy books and a new outfit and new shoes and another new outfit and a couple more books. And if anybody says anything, I can smile sweetly and say, "But it's my birthday."

To be truthful, at my age and state of independence, it's usually only the little voice inside my head that has the nerve to ask, "Don't you think you are going overboard?" And I probably won't smile sweetly or say anything, I'll just ignore it.

Sometimes it's best just to pretend that little voice doesn't exist. Sometimes the little voice is really annoying.

Autumn

It's October and, therefore, autumn in Indiana. One of my favorite times of the year. It's probably what I missed most about Indiana when I lived in the south where they had two seasons, tourist and off.

I probably wouldn't feel the same way about autumn if I had to rake leaves, but I now live in an apartment and someone does that for me. One of the perks of growing old.

The last time I remember raking leaves was when I lived in Florida. It must have been autumn, or probably winter because the "snow birds" had arrived next door. These particular snow birds were a very nice couple from somewhere up north who rented a house next to my parents' home every winter.

I no longer remember their names, but I remember the mister liked to work in their little yard to keep busy. He especially seemed to enjoy raking leaves. So I'd rake the leaves from my parents' yard into his just to give him something to do.

Only in Indiana

Looking for something to do this month?

I've never been there, but this place comes highly recommended - the Tel-Hy Nature Preserve in Huntington County.

ACRES describes it as "high bluffs giving a splendid view of the winding Wabash River, ... alive with wildflowers and large, old trees. Ravines ...beech and hard maple ... hillsides display patches of wild ginger, celandine poppy, Virginia blue bell, and rue anemone."

At this time of year, there may not be many blooming wildflowers, but the ravines should be awash in enough autumn color for everyone to say, "Ooohhh".

Not to mention, that while you’re there you can tour Hy Goldenberg’s outhouse collection. Yep, the old outhouse collection.

Go to http://www.acres-land-trust.org/preserve-Tel-Hy.htm to see pictures of the privies as well as the wildflowers.

What more could you ask for a weekend road trip?

Halloween Stories 1

This is the first week of October so I'm going to start with a little family story about Halloween.

My grandfather was a good story telling. He would often take events that had happened to other people and tell them about himself. So would my dad. Sometimes I get confused as to who did what, but I'm fairly certain this story was about things Grandpa actually did.

When Grandpa was a young man, a teenager, he and his friends would go out on Halloween and pull one prank after another. After one such evening, the boys, quite pleased with their adventures and rather full of themselves, gathered in a corn field to brag about their feats of daring-do. One of the guys had a camera with him and offered to take a group picure to commemorate the fun.

He arranged them sitting on top of a fence rail. They posed self-consciously, trying hard not to grin, doing their best to look like tough, manly, men of the world. The photographer fussily focused the camera and pushed the button to take the picture. Water shot out of the camera, startling the group and they fell backwards off the fence. The photographer was also on the ground - rolling with laughter. It was a trick camera and they had fallen for it hook, line, and sinker.

Fifty years after it had happen, my grandfather was still chuckling everytime he told this story. It's good to have friends and fond memories you can carry with you into old age. It gives you stories to amuse your grandchildren as well as yourself.

Fifi

Fifi is Julie's standard size French poodle. Together they look like a walking 1950's ad for an exclusive couture fashion house. Both chic, confident, and graceful. Do you know the song that does, "Have you ever seen a dream walking? Well, I have" ? People hum it when they go by.

You would think by looking at them that they'd be high maintence. You'd also think "But they're worth it." And you'd be right on both counts. Although Fifi loves a good romp in the park and Julie is quite comfortable in blue jeans and bare feet, they both adore pampering.

Fifi is now leading our Scrabble rankings after only a few games. She has attained such a high ranking score that I dispair of ever attaining the top position so I have banned her from futher play.

Bugging Out

Bill was sitting at home one evening when the doorbell rang. When he answered the door, a 6 foot tall cockroach was standing there. the cockroach immediately punched him between the eyes and scampered off.

The next evening, the doorbell rang again. When Bill answered the door, there was the cockroach. This time, it punched him, kicked him and karate chopped him before running away.

The third evening, the doorbell rang, and when Bill answered the door, the cockroach was there yet again. It leapt at him and stabbed him several times before running off.

Badly injured, Bill managed to crawl to the telephone and summon an ambulance. He was rushed to intensive care, where they managed to pull him through.

The next morning, as the doctor was doing his rounds, he asked Bill what happened.

Bill explained about the 6-foot cockroach's attacks, culminating in the near fatal stabbing.

The doctor thought for a moment and said, "Yes, there's a nasty bug going around.

[This story came from an irreverant site for seniors: http://www.suddenlysenior.com/jokeslatest.html]

Only the Lonely

Yesterday, I heard a strange story on one of those daytime TV talk shows that specialize in the weird and ridiculous. This story may be true.

The guest of the day, an attractive older lady named Madeline, had lost her husband about a year earlier and was very lonely. She missed him much more than she could ever have imagined and visited his grave almost daily,staying for hours at a time. Madeline claimed that during one of her visits, a frog hopped up to her feet and seemed to say "I'm lonely. Please take me home with you."

"Oh, why not?", she asked herself. "I may be losing my mind, but it will be something to talk to besides myself."

So she scooped him up and put him in the car. The frog sat on the back of the seat at her shoulder at she drove. She thought she heard him whispering in her ear, "Kiss me. You won't be sorry".

The old lady figured "What the heck? Maybe you'll turn into the proverbial prince".

At the next stop light, she lifted the frog from the back seat and laughingly kissed him. Immediately, the frog turned into an absolutely gorgeous, sexy, and handsome man. To say the least, she was speechless at seeing this Adonis sitting at her side.

"Thank you! Thank you!" he exclaimed, over and over. "A nasty, ugly witch put a terrible curse on me for refusing to kiss her. I thought I would never find someone to release me. How can I ever repay you?"

Then the handsome young man kissed Madeline right on the lips, right in broad daylight at the corner of 53rd and Vine. And the lonely old lady turned into ...

the first motel she could find.

Brad

I have been told that I am mistaken. Brad was not murdered. Some don't even believe he's dead. These people don't know Brad and probably don't care if he's dead or not. They just know Julie wouldn't, couldn't, have murdered him. They insist that I'm wrong. That I don't know what I'm talking about.

I know Brad is dead. I don't know yet who he is or why he had to die, but I know that Julie knows and I'm going to uncover the truth.

I need to know that I'm right about Brad. It's disconcerting to be told you're wrong. Especially when other people are telling you you're wrong about your imaginary friends.

Nothing to say

I've nothing to say. Oh, all right, I have plenty to say. I'm just too lazy to write about it. This isn't easy you know. It cuts into my doing-nothing-at-all time; and I think I have a blister on my index finger from typing.

I'm taking two on-line courses this term. One on Technical Writing and one called "Listen to Your Heart". There is a lot of homework in both, a lot of typing and, worst of all, the instructors expect you to actually think. Not just think up an answer, but to think about things.

My mind wanders when I try to think and it's not really safe to let it out alone like that.

Halloween Stories 2

Like my grandfather before him, when my father was a teenager, he would often play practical jokes on Halloween. One year, Dad and his best friend decided it would be hilarious to put a goose in the local highschool. Unfortunately, they had just got inside the building with the large goose when they heard a group of men circling the school, looking for the pranksters. The teens waited till the men were around the corner, then climbed out a window and came up behind them to join in the chase.

Round and round the building they went, with the boys yelling, "Let's get 'em!" right along with the rest of the men. At one point, they were even leading the chase. Eventually, the adults all gave up and went home, never knowing how they had been fooled.

A young boy, an old man, and the wisdom of the ancients

One day last week, Josh told me a story about his son, Matthew.

Matthew had become enchanted by a leaf he had found on the sidewalk. Just a simple leaf. The kind of thing that adults can step on everyday without a second thought, but Matthew and his father spent some time conducting research to determine what type of tree it had fallen from as well as admiring how perfect, how handsome a specimen it was.

Josh finished the story by talking about the enjoyment he gets out of seeing the world through his young son’s eyes, “It’s too bad adults can’t keep that sense of wonder, that they stop seeing how beautiful everyday things can be.”

That story about Matthew reminded me of a patient that I cared for years ago. The old man spent a lot of time staring out the window. Because his room was on one of the upper stories of the hospital, his view was limited to the abandoned facilities plant at the college next door. One day I asked him what he was looking at. He pointed out the window and replied, “At the smoke stack. Some people may not be able to see it, but it is beautiful, you know.”

Against a striking blue sky and soft white clouds, rose a slender, red-brick cylinder, broader at the base, tapering to a graceful silhouette. It was probably older than the old man. Built during an age when aesthetics was considered an integral part of form and function, the chimney still stood straight and tall, no longer utilitarian, but as proud as the day it was first built. The old man was right, it was beautiful.

A young boy, an old man. Look down, look up. Just look.


Matthew, As the song says, I hope you never lose your sense of wonder. And I hope you always share it with your father. He's an adult; he needs all the help he can get.

Another Country Life Story

Have I told you this story about my grandfather before? A lot of younger people probably won't get it at all, but my geriatric patients have all thought it was hilarious.

My grandparents lived in rural Indiana. They had running water in the kitchen, but they didn't have an indoor bathroom until I was about 6. Like all of their neighbors, they had an outhouse. They were so far back in the country, that a trip to town and back was a day long trek over mostly unpaved roads. When possible, they would order supplies through the mail.

Once my grandfather wrote to Sears Roebuck asking about the price of toilet paper. He received a brief form letter telling him that information about toilet paper was on page 96 of the fall catalogue.

Grandpa wrote a polite reply, "If I had your catalogue, I wouldn't need the toilet paper."

Sharing

I have a cold. Needless to say, I am not a happy little camper. (I know. It was "needless to say" but I like to whine when I'm ill so everyone can suffer along with me.)

I know it's a cold and not seasonal allergies because I know where I got it. I am not happy with those people right now.

It's the weekend. If I'm going to catch a cold I prefer to do it on Monday so I don't waste a perfectly good weekend.

It's not a bad cold. I'm not stuck in bed building a mountain of used tissue. It's the kind where you think you feel OK so you start to do something and then you realize you don't feel that good so you have to go sit down and think about the people that gave you the cold in the first place.

I don't like taking cold medicines. They make me feel ickier than the cold so I'm just drinking - NO, not that kind of drinking, let me finish - I'm drinking plenty of fluids. Pineapple-orange juice, Pepsi, water, hot tea, soup with cayenne pepper, green chilis, and chili powder. (That'll put the sparkle back in your eyes.)

I tried taking zinc tablets once because I read where a clinical study had proven zinc would shorten the life span of the common cold by about half. They didn't work for me. The taste was so bad I decided I'd rather be sick so gave up after one dose. Well, actually, I couldn't even finish the first dose. (Other people have told me they aren't that bad and I should just suck it up and stop being a whiny baby.)

This time I'm trying zinc swabs that you stick up your nose. The amount of zinc is miniscule compared to the tablets, but they are supposed to work even better. I'll be the judge of that.

You'll know if they work. I'll stop whining ... about the cold.

Julie

I first met Julie at a book store while perusing the Fiction - Mystery shelves. Just as I was about to reach for the newest book from my favorite author, someone slipped a paperback into my hand and, with a slightly exotic accent, said, "I'm sure you'll enjoy this much better."

Being somewhat use to people frequently mistaking me for someone who likes to talk with strangers, I politely accepted the book and read the blurb on the back cover. Amazingly, it did indeed sound like the type of mystery book that I enjoy. I looked up to thank her and saw flaxen hair framing laughing green eyes and a mischievous smile. At least, that’s what I had just read under the picture of the author. I looked down at the picture again, then up at Julie, then down, then up. Yep, the author of “Girl’s Don’t Always Play Nice” was standing in front of me. She was drop dead gorgeous and talented, too, if having a book on the New York Times Best Seller’s List is any indication.

We talked for a few minutes and I learned that she had grown up in Australia, but gone to school at Indiana University and fallen in love with the American people. I’m sure the American people fell in love with her, too. She has a way of looking at you when you talk that makes you feel like the center of the universe.

The story should end there, but now comes the “Gee, it’s a small world” part. My friend, Jim, whom I’ve known like forever, wanted me to meet a woman he had met on the golf course where he coaches. He said we had a lot in common. And so he brought Julie back into my life.

We don’t really have any thing in common. She’s beautiful, talented, charming, athletic, forever young – you know, the type other women usually hate. Fortunately, she’s also funny and sensible and has a good personality. Although she looks haute couture, she’s slightly bohemian and a lot wacky. She snorts when she laughs.

When she’s in town, we play Scrabble and talk about books. I ask her about the men in her life, but she just laughs and says, “It’s hard for a goddess to get a date in this town.”

I answer teasingly, “Well, Jules, if you weren’t so conceited, I’d fix you up with a friend of mine. Mike’s dying to meet you.”

She smiles and says, “Maybe, some day”, but she has that sad, far away look in her eyes she gets when she's thinking of Brad. I think Julie murdered him, but that's not something you can easily ask a friend.

I call him Lucky

I have a cricket on my hearth. Actually, he's about two feet to the right of the hearth, hiding among the plants in my indoor garden. A cricket on your hearth is suppose to be lucky.

As I sat trying to watch Rosemary and Thyme on PBS last night while listening to the little bugger get louder and louder, I began to question if "two feet to the right" was close enough to the hearth to count. Honestly, he must have been using a mini Mr. Microphone. I've never heard a more obnoxious cricket in my life. Death became a viable option.

I tried to ignore him, but his singing drowned out the dialogue between Rosemary and Mrs. Thyme as they attempted to solve yet another murder mystery.

I don't know why crickets sing. Are they looking for love? Do they just love the sound it makes when one rubs one's hind legs together?

Since I couldn't follow the plot on TV, my mind began to wander. Although the cricket was more like the teenager next door with a new set of drums, I pictured him in top hat and tails (ala Jiminy Cricket), and I saw him strutting to the tune of "Hello, My Baby" as he practiced for a part in an upcoming Broadway revival. When he began "Singing in the Rain" and tap dancing in a puddle from a flower pot, I began to believe he was going to make it. He was going to be a STAR.

I let him live, of course.
I get free tickets for the dress rehearsal.

This and That

It has been a while since I had time to post anything so I will make a few short notes today for those who have mentioned the lack of reading material.

FiFi now has a higher rating in Scrabble than I do. I have always thought poodles were intelligent dogs, but that's ridiculous. I will write more about Julie this weekend when I have time to do her justice. She's worth waiting for.

Holly organized a pitch-in at work today. To say the least, that was some mighty fine eating. I'm still feeling good and smacking my lips.

Monday is Labor Day. This is our holiday. The laborers. The workers. The heart and soul of America. The supporters of the American way of life. So how do we spend "Labor" Day? We take the day off work, of course, and play.

Holly started college this week. Monday she was displaying her new school supplies which started a discussion among some of the staff of favorite binders. It reminded me of a little boy I knew in Florida. As a home health nurse, I visited his home weekly to see his grandmother. During the summer he developed a crush on me. I still have the seashell he shyly placed in my hand one day. When it was time to go back to school, he insisted on getting a blue binder "just like the nurse has". Sweetie, I hope you found a real love and have children of your own now.

Did you know that the first Sunday after Labor Day is National Grandparents Day and has been since 1978?

Enjoy the last 3-day weekend of summer. I'm sure you've earned it (and even if you haven't, your Grandma will swear you did.)

Character Development.

Jim read the last posting. He wasn't amused at being called an international spy, but he appreciated "eye candy". Jim is actually a history teacher (which is probably why he has no sense of humor) and a part time golf coach.

I finally added FiFi to my list of Scrabble players. I have only allowed her to play once - she came in second.

[This post is called "character development" because Julie, Jim, and FiFi are fictional characters I'm using to learn to develop characters for writing fiction.]

Eye Candy

Before I'd let Fifi play Scrabble, I talked Jim into joining our group occasionally. Jim's the GI Joe type, if you know what I mean. Blue eyes, broad shoulders, slim hips, muscles that really fill out a shirt. I think he used to be an international spy or something when he was younger. I figured he'd be nice to look at even if he couldn't play all that well.

Guess who now has a higher ranking than Julie and guess who's still at the bottom? I'll give you a hint: it's a good thing Jim has a sweet personality, because nobody likes a showoff.

I'm beginning to get an inferiority complex.

Cheaters never prosper

As mentioned in my posting on 7/23/05, I play Scrabble by myself to help keep my mind sharp and maintain a decent vocabulary. I no longer say, “I’m tarp as a shack.” and mean it.

Actually, I play with 3 imaginary opponents who are all beating me in the Rankings as calculated by the Scrabble software program. You can't imagine how this ticks me off.

I play for all three people, as well as myself, so how can I be ranked at the bottom? I cheat - obviously not well, but still, I cheat. I've won more games than anybody else, I have higher scores than most of the other players, I own the game and the computer. How can I be ranked last?

To counteract this, I brought in a new player. Her name is Julie and she's a skinny blonde. I can't stand her. After playing 4 games, she ranks at the top and I'm still at the bottom. I made her and I can break her. If she doesn't start throwing a few games, she's history.

I think I'll bring in Fifi. If I can't beat a poodle, I'm going to switch games. Maybe Solitaire.

Say Cheese

I made manicotti for supper tonight. I didn't have all the ingredients to make any one recipe so I combined two or three to incorporate what I had on hand. I learned some important things about preparing manicotti. You don't really have to use two eggs if you only have one, only the recipe from a maker of pasta sauces uses two jars of sauce, and those fat little tubes are hard to stuff.

I allowed 15 minutes to prepare the recipe before it went into the oven. All the recipes claimed to be easy as well as delicious. They lied. At least about the first part. It took me 30 minutes just to fill the shells.

I tried the handy tip from one cookbook - just put the filling in a plastic bag, snip off the end, and fill up the shell. This works well if you were born with three or four hands, which I wasn't. I abandoned that technique after one shell, but after a couple more shells and cuss words I learned the easiest method is to cheat.

I split the pasta open lengthwise, laid a few spoonfuls of the cheese and spinach mixture down the middle, rolled it up so it looked like a tube again, and placed it seam side down in the dish. Once I put sauce and cheese on it, nobody could tell the difference. It certainly didn't affect the taste any.

The moral of this story is: If you can't follow the directions, make up your own.

Oink Johnson

My father and grandfather were great storytellers. By that, I don’t mean to imply they were liars. But they did take writer’s license to make stories more interesting to their audience. Every storyteller does, whether writing jokes for Letterman, penning a novel, or relating family history around the dinner table.

My father told this story many times. It was one of our favorites because it was about people we knew, but you'd have to hear Dad tell it to think it was funny. Even though I didn't believe it was true, knowing my father, I was never quite sure and years later, I read a similar story about another family. I heard this version first, more or less. I’ve changed names to protect the innocent (me).

Oink Johnson

Every Saturday when I was a kid, my father would go to the Sale Barn at Scottsburg. Everything was sold at the Scottsburg Sale Barn at some time of another. Fresh vegetables, tube socks, ponies, neck ties, toys, and livestock. Some weeks Dad came back empty handed; some weeks he came back with treasures - or livestock.

One Saturday, he and my older brother bought a pig at the livestock auction. They put it in the back of the pick-up truck to bring home, but the pig kept jumping over the sides. Finally, they stuck it in the front seat between them.

About half way home, they were pulled over by a couple of policemen. As the men approached, my brother slapped a cap on the pig’s head.

“Hi, officers. Nice day, isn’t it?” my dad greeted the men. “Is there a problem?”

“You’ve got a tail light out,” the younger of the pair replied. “License and registration, please.”

“Thanks, Officer. I didn’t realize the light was out,” Dad answered, handing over the license as Neil got the registration out of the glove compartment.

The younger man returned to the patrol car to check the license while the senior officer put a foot on the running board and talked about the weather and the crops like they did in that part of southern Indiana. Being a farm boy himself, he just ignored the pig.

Eventually, the officer returned and handed the paperwork back to Dad. “Everything looks okay, Mr. Johnson. Just get that light fixed this afternoon.”

“Thanks, Officer. I certainly will. I don’t want to risk my kids’ lives by driving them around in an unsafe truck.”

As the men walked away, Dad heard the younger one say, "Did you notice anything strange in that truck?"

The older man replied, “Nope. They were a nice family”.

The other one replied, “Yeah, Bob, they were, but you have to admit that Oink Johnson is one ugly kid”.

Did the weekend start yet?

At 11:59 AM Friday, August 12, click on Hawaiian Music (in the links to your left), jump up and announce "It's Hawaiian Shirt Day!". Then play the Hawaiian War Chant. When it finishes, yell "ALOOOOOOOOHA!" and go back to work.

I'll give you a quarter if you do. Honest.

Crossroads

Yesterday I talked about an intersection. Well, I'm coming to a crossroads in my personal life and there are so many possible choices, I don't know which way to turn. Maybe I'll just sit here and wait for the light to change.

Like a lot of Americans, I'm about to lose my job. I know the job will be gone early next year. I don't know if I'll be able to move to the company that takes over or if I even want to.

Some days I'm excited at the thought of conquering new worlds. Some days, not so much.

One side of me says I'm too old, too tired to start over again. I just want things to stay the same till I retire. I like my job better than most I've had. I like the people on my team better than most I've worked with. I don't want to have to have other people get used to me. Because, let's face it, I take a lot of getting used to. My drummer is a couple of measures off the beat.

Part of me says this is a good thing. A chance to start over. To move to another town, another state, to find another road to travel, new scenery, new brands in the grocery store. An opportunity for more opportunities.

Part of me says, Oh, Crap!

The most frustrating thing is that it's out of my hands. Nobody asked my opinion before they did this. Nobody asked my permission to change my life.

I went through this 3 years ago when my last department was sold to the highest bidder. While I was waiting for the end, I took two classes. One was in Microsoft Access, the other in Outdoor Survival. I figured I was covered - the Access skills if I got a job, the Survival skills if I didn't. It's always best to be prepared for what ever life throws at you.

Today, I say "What the hell." I knew this wouldn't last forever. I'll go where the winds goes. I'll seek fame and fortune on the other side of the city. Or the state. Or the world. Where ever, what ever.

Crossed Roads

Most mornings when I go to work I have to stop at an 8-way intersection. The kind with stop signs, not stop lights. I'm sure it's the only one I've ever come across and it may be the only one in Indiana.

It used to be a regular 4-way stop that was a little narrow over the bridge if you went south. Traffic backed up quite a bit between 7:45 and 8, but for the most part flowed smoothly. Then someone got the idea of adding left-turn lanes so now when you stop and look for traffic you have to check if someone is going straight past you, then you can go, probably, unless the person on your left decides to turn left before the car has cleared the intersection or the person on your right is turning right but they have a phone stuck to their ear so they can't use a turn signal and are moving so slowly you can't tell if they are turning or what the *^&% they are doing. Then see if someone is going straight in front of you from the left (don't go) or turning right on your left (it's ok to go if nobody else is). Also check if someone is turning left on your right or going straight past you. (Don't go.) Are you thinking that sounds like a regular 4-way stop, so what's the big deal? Multiply each direction times 6 other possibilities, 7 if you want to throw your own car in the count.

There are 8 lanes of traffic at the intersection with 4 stop signs. So you have to watch 7 different cars instead of just 3. Sometimes people won't take their turns, sometimes they can't tell when their turn comes, so they just sit and watch while 7 other drivers decide to go at the same time. Some like to stagger turns so there are 3 to 5 cars half in, half out of the intersection, going straight, turning left, turning right. Too many people think they don't have to take turns or it's OK to sneak through on their neighbors turn. Some think the intersection means 8 cars can go through at one time so it's every woman and man for himself.

Sometimes you just pray you'll make it, close your eyes, and put the pedal to the metal.

I do think that drivers at that intersection are getting better at maneuvering the labyrinth. I like to think that I've had a lot to do with that. Goodness knows I've given them enough instruction through my subtle suggestions and appropriate hand gestures.

School Daze

It's time for school to start again.

I know because I went to the local discount store on my way home from work this evening. You couldn't shake a short stick without hitting a mother, long list or two clutched in her hand, muttering, "1 pack of pencils, 1 looseleaf binder, 2 glue sticks... glue sticks... glue sticks."

Holly, Holly, Holly

Some of you may have noticed that I have not written anything in my blog for several days. I know Holly noticed because she was whining about it today. It occurred to me the best way to stop that was to write about her.

When I was younger, I use to travel throughout neighboring Midwest states with friends and family - taking the road less traveled whenever possible, staying at small off-the-beaten-path motels, eating at mom-and-pop diners. It was our version of adventure, and, if you’ve ever eaten at one of those diners, you know we liked a little touch of danger.

Sometimes in the evening, I would buy a copy of the local newspaper for entertainment.

I love reading small town newspapers. The kind that tell you about the Spencers having supper Friday night with the Millers, about Paul and Millie Newburg showing their holiday slides at the Senior Citizen, about little Johnnie Franklin’s first birthday party that was held at his grandparents’ home and all the names of every relative that attended and even those that couldn’t make it, but sent their best wishes. A lot of these articles end with “and a good time was had by all”.

When trying to decide what genre to use to talk about Holly, I decided to go with a newspaper format and include her co-workers. (Ha! you thought I was just rambling, didn’t you?)

This is my version of a small town newspaper.

The Cubicle Chronical, Wednesday, August 3, 2005
Cube Town, USA

This reporter has just learned that Holly Hilarious is anxiously preparing for her first day at school this fall. Hilarious hopes to attain her degree in 3 years while working full time at a demanding job with the Cube Town mayor. Currently, Hilarious lives with her husband and three dozen cats.

C. J. My Way, Cube Town mayor, recently returned from a business trip with other county officials. The objective of their trip to the East was to entice businesses to open new industries in Cube Town and the surrounding communities. My Way reported that the trip, billed as “Don’t Be Square! Move to Cube Town”, was a great success.

Rumors are circulating that Wes Wascal is planning a trip to Cancun for his birthday later this month. Wascal is already sporting a deep tan thanks to Mayor My Way's new tanning parlor on the highway.

Office Josh B'Gosh was called to the home of Mike Marauder Saturday night when neighbors complained about the strange noises coming from his back yard. Marauder was found to be entertaining his sister from Ohio with a can of F**t Putty. No arrests were made even though F**t Putty was banned by the new noise ordinance pushed through the town council last spring by Assistant Mayor Assistant Holly Hilarious. Marauder’s neighbor, Wes Wascal, protested that the whole thing was “Scandalous!”

In honor of National Ice Cream Sandwich day, an ice cream social was held yesterday at the town hall. The Ladies Auxiliary served three kinds of ice cream sandwiches to Cube Town citizens attending the fete. Representing the town officials were Mayor C. J. My Way, Assistant Mayor Assistant Holly Hilarious, Councilman Wes Wascal, and Officer Josh B’Gosh. Others in attendance included Mike Marauder, Denise D. Nephew, Cheryl Sweep, Mich Elle, and Ronnie Lonnie Fonnie. Entertainment was provided by Marvelous Martha, and a good time was had by all.

The F Word

The F key on my computer keyboard has decided to work only part of the time. The left shift key started goofing off sometime ago, but I have managed to work around it since there is a shift key on the right. This occasionally makes for an odd typing rhythm so I find myself contemplating the advisability of emulating eleanor pearce bailey in which case I could eschew the use of capital letters completely.

The F key though is a different matter. There is only one F key to a keyboard. When it goes, every F word goes too.

This may expand my vocabulary even faster than the Scrabble games. I could write "my approximately six attractively adorned aviarian acquaintances" in place of "my ive ine eathered riends".

Happy Birthday, John!

Today is my baby brother's birthday. I don't think he reads this blog, but just in case, I want him to know I was thinking about him early this morning and wishing him a happy birthday.

Supercalifragilisticexpealidotious

Like many older people, I have been experiencing difficulties recalling the right word lately. It will be perched on the tip of my brain, but I can’t transfer it to the tip of my tongue . Sometimes I use whatever word pops into my mouth hoping that no one will notice.

Of course old people are forgetful. They have so much knowledge crammed into their brains that the file cabinets in there are overflowing. It’s hard to recall anything unless you have an excellent filing and retrieval system.

To facilitate communication, I recently purchased a computer Scrabble ® game. I can compete against a computer opponent or 1 – 3 friends, but I prefer to challenge myself because (1) I’m always available, (2) I get more practice using words if I assume the persona of four different characters, (3) it’s difficult to play with multiple people on one computer, and (4) friends don’t let you cheat.

Although I usually only play 10 point words (unless I cheat), it appears to be having the desired affect: an upgrade to my internal memory retrieval system. Several people at work this week have criticized or ridiculed my utilization of multisyllabic words. To which I retorted adamantly, “Illiterate Philistines!” (which sounds immensely more sophisticated than “You impertinent young whippersnappers!”)

I'm Cranky!

I wrote this poem for today. (OK, so it's not really a poem, but don't mess with me - I just told you I was cranky!)

If they can send a man to the moon why can’t they …
regulate the thermostat in an office?
make a remote control that comes when I call?
build a highway that doesn’t need re-paved annually?

Why do they call them…
“Help Desks” if they can’t help you?
“Service Operators” if they don’t provide any services?
“Reality TV shows” when they aren’t about reality?

Timing is Everything

I went to school with two classmates who had polio and who were probably stricken with it the same year. It was the year before polio vaccine became available. I was reading about a man with polio last week when I began thinking about those two and I realized that I had known one when I was in first grade and the other when I was in twelfth.

The only name I can recall from first grade at Pleasantville Elementary is David’s. I remember him because (1) he joined us mid-semester, (b) he was the cutest guy in the class, and (3) he had braces on both legs. The braces added an air of vulnerability that even six year old girls find attractive.

Because of the braces, David was unable to maneuver the steps into our cafeteria. This was long before the general conscious realized that making accommodations for those with special challenges is the right thing to do. But I digress (or as my friend, Michelle, would say, “You’re rambling again.”). To get back to my remembrance, because of those stairs the first graders took turns carrying a lunch tray back to David. My parents moved half way across the state just before it was my turn. I’m still ticked. My only chance to impress the cutest guy in class and they ruined it.

My new best friend in my new first grade was named Connie. That’s not actually germane to this story, but it’s another interesting coincidence I thought I’d throw in.

Several moves later and I ended up going to a new school for my last year of high school. I should have been really ticked at that, but the school before that was a real stinker so I was happy to leave. (“You’re rambling again.”) My best friend at my new school was also named Connie. She also had braces on her legs from polio. She had a beautiful singing voice and was in several choirs at school and church. The Ensemble Choir included only the school’s most talented female singers. (I am not rambling. That point is important to the story.)

Every day after lunch I helped Connie maneuver the stairs to get to the next class and the English instructor soon learned to accept that I would be a couple of minutes late. (Because of her gregarious personality and singing talent, everybody knew Connie and nobody ever questioned me when I’d say “I was helping Connie.”)

One Saturday when we were window shopping Connie stopped in front of a shoe store to point out the dress shoes that the girls in the Ensemble Choir wore, a cute black slip-on with a modest heel. I was puzzled, “You don’t have shoes like that?”

“No, I don’t”, she replied in a voice as puzzled as mine.

“But YOU don’t have shoes like that!” I was getting a little ticked. It wasn’t fair that those other girls had pretty shoes and Connie didn’t.

After a few minutes of this, Connie explained, “Martha, I can’t wear those shoes with braces.”

The light finally dawned, “Oh, I forgot you wore braces.”

Boy, did I feel stupid. She was standing beside me wearing two cumbersome leg braces and had a crutch in each hand, and I forgot she wore braces. Connie thought it was hilariously funny. That’s probably why we were best friends. We didn’t notice the other’s handicaps. I don't pay attention to details and she has a strange sense of humor.

Book Sale - the short version

Barnes & Nobles is having an on-line book sale. For only $1.99 you can buy a book by Laura Lee titled Pocket Encyclopedia of Aggravation: 101 Things in Life That Annoy, Bother, Chafe, Disturb, Enervate, Frustrate, Grate, Harass, Irk, Jar, Miff, Nettle, Outrage, Peeve, Quash, Rile, Stress out, Trouble, Upset, Vex, Worry and X, Y, Z You! Does anyone really need a book to point out annoying things? Frankly, I have no problem finding more than enough daily irritants without any help at all. I certainly don’t need to look stuff up in a book to confirm that it’s irking me. And I’m certain that I could name at least 101 things by 9 AM on Monday morning.

To be fair to Ms. Lee, I haven’t read this book and it may actually be very helpful in focusing annoyance where it belongs, instead of just taking out frustrations willy-nilly on the first idiot that crosses your path every morning.

Not into reading? Rather watch a movie? You can’t go wrong spending your two dollars on How to Stuff a Wild Bikini, starring Annette Funicello and Frankie Avalon. The plot is silly and convoluted, but the music isn’t bad if you like 60’s rock (and who doesn’t, right?) Girls in bikinis, surfer boys flexing their muscles. There’s something for everyone.

A big spender? Here are some $3.99 companion buys for those who sprung for the Pocket Encyclopedia of Aggravation. Headache Relief – you may need this book if you find you are more annoyed than you thought. The Little Book of Voodoo by Voodoo Lou comes with its own Voodoo doll. Maybe you can learn to take care of some of those little annoyances – or at least get revenge. Not bad for $3.99.