Don't Mess With It

     Since the dawn of mankind, people have been infatuated with their hair.  Hairs' most useful purpose was to probably keep the head warm in the cold weather and to keep the scalp from getting fried to a crisp in the hot sunshine.  But from the first time someone noticed some other head of hair, hair became an adornment.  

     Even back in ancient Egypt, hair was a big deal.  The Egyptians were certainly ahead of their time when it came to things that could be done to hair.  They would shave their children's heads leaving a tuft of hair on the side to grow long.  A side tuft was a sign of youth, but I imagine it made washing a child's hair a much easier process.  

     They had wigs and even hair extensions that were made from real hair, real hair and plant fibers, or just plain plant fibers and wealth determined which hair piece one could afford.  They even had hair dye and its believed that they came up with the first permanent wave, perm, for hair.  This was thought to be accomplished by wrapping hair around wooden dowels and then packing the head with mud.  Setting in the sun would dry the mud thus drying the hair in curls.  The curls would last until the hair got wet.  Getting ready for a date on a Friday night must have had to start on a Wednesday.

     Over the years, the lasting results of the perm got a lot better.  The first perming solution used cow urine and water.  If you think they still smell bad, get a mental whiff of what that would have smelled like.  This was quite a cumbersome process and took hours to achieve the desired results.

     The perm finally evolved to a smaller version, the box perm.  This could be purchased and applied at home and turn straight hair into steel wool in a matter of minutes.  Mother used these on my sisters, Lela & Blanche.  They have endless school pictures of poodle fur bangs.  Then Mother got clever and permed the bottom edge of their hair, those are classic pictures indeed.  I was fortunate to be born with curls so I did not have to endure the abuse of the perm, but by the time she got my bangs cut straight, they were about a half inch long.

      Items as small as a pencil to as big as a soup can have been used to style hair and the accomplished hair-do was given a name. Names like the 'bob', the 'wedge' and even the 'shag', which was obviously a pre-name for the mullet.  Once in junior high my neighbor decided to fix my hair for school pictures the next day.  She rolled the top of my hair, on a large juice can, to the side, because we were trying to achieve a chic side sweep look.  I slept with the can in my hair.  The next morning, try as she might, there was no way to get the giant curl off the top of my head.  We named it "Day of the Condor-Do" and I'm sure it's the reason she did not pursue a career as a hairdresser.

     We love our hair and sometimes we hate it, but one thing is certain.  Once we have it styled the way we like it, it's hands off.  For many years I have worn my hair short and spiky.  It works for me and I use a product called "glue" to keep it in place.  I fix it in the morning and it stays put all day long.  One evening when my husband and I were out for supper, a young man commented on my hair and reached out to touch it, I nearly planted a fork in his hand.

     Be forewarned, our hair is important and regardless of how it is styled, we, the individual wearers of the hair,  like it that way.  So what ever you do.....don't mess with the do.


     

      

A Good Read....Or Two

     Anyone who knows me knows that I'm just a tad bit odd.  I've never been the person who followed all the rules, colored inside the lines or walked with scissors.  I tend to be the go-to person in my small community when it comes to things like encounters with "the other side", UFO stories, religious debates or anything that is usually considered out side of the box.

     I love to read books on all the above topics and have stacks of them sitting by my chair.  My Kindle is equally loaded with off the wall subjects and when I have the time, I read them to my heart's content.  I like to absorb material that most people never think about because I believe there is so much more to life than the daily routine most of us fall into.

     Just to give you an example, here are just a few of the titles in my oddness repertoire:

     Into The Light by John Lerma M.D.  My all time favorite book.  If you have lost someone or in the process of, this is a must read, regardless of your religious preference.

     The Shack by Wm. Paul Young.  This one is a quantum leap into the understanding of how God works versus how we think He should.  It's an excellent re-read too, you'll be amazed at what you missed the first time.

     Transformation by Whitley Strieber.  UFO and alien stuff of the finest form.

     Mastering Astral Projection by Robert Bruce & Brian Mercer.
Talk about one that makes my kids roll their eyes.  No, I haven't mastered it yet, but if I do, I'll try and tap you on the shoulder.

     The Essential Zohar by Rav P.S. Berg.  This is about Kabbalah which is usually defined as the mystical tradition of Judaism.  This book contains a description of Creation that sheds a whole new light and understanding of the story in Genesis. 

     I think it's important to have a broad view of different subjects. I like the literature that challenges the mainstream belief system. Recently I read The Hidden History of the Human Race by Michael A. Cremo & Richard L. Thompson.  This is a book that will really make you stop and scratch your head.

     It challenges the theory of the evolution of mankind coming from apes.  Something that tends to be taught today as truth, instead of theory.  The authors have done tons of research on archaeological finds of ancient man that were anatomically like modern humans. What that basically boils down to is, there were documented finds, of human bones, that were millions of years old, that looked just like we look today.   The mainstream archaeologists said that since these finds didn't fit into the evolution theory, they could not have been that old.  

     The authors also included some fascinating stories, handed down by word of mouth. One was about finding a gold chain inside a piece of coal and another, a glass brick wall found at the bottom of a mine.  Neat stuff.  Stuff you won't likely hear in the classroom or on the evening news.  If you read this book, be sure to get the condensed version, unless you enjoy reading scientific data.

     Walking on the wild side and thinking outside of the norm is my way of life and I doubt I will change any time soon.  If it's mystical, magical, spiritual or down right crazy, that's were you will find me. 

     If you're tired of all the mainstream hoopla, step off the merry-go-round that everyone seems to be riding and take a good look around.  You might find a good book, one that will make you go "hmmm" and get your mind heading in a new direction.  If you can't find one, I'll share one of mine.

     

     

     
     

     

     

     

A Very Scary Place

     My sisters, Lela and Blanche had always wanted to go to this place.  The very thought of it made me shudder.  Since I was always the chauffeur on our yearly Autumn excursion through the local hills and hollows, I could usually take a turn down some country road, with grass growing in the middle, and get their minds off of it. This time though, they were relentless with their pleas and I finally gave in.

     It was only about a 45 minute drive and since the trees were in full Fall colors, I figured I could at least enjoy the scenery.  As we drew near to our destination I could feel the dread building up inside of me and my palms started to get sweaty.  Lela and Blanche were almost to the point of exploding with excitement so I knew there was no point in trying to turn back now.  

     We cruised slowly through the small town where this house of horrors was located and the sisters were sitting upright in their seats, clutching their purses with white knuckled hands.  Finally it came into their view and I thought they might possibly just jump out the windows.  That thought was followed by if they really did jump out, I could just keep on driving, but that didn't happen.  

     I pulled into the driveway of this huge old building that I was sure had been a storage unit for barges in a previous life.  The name of its current occupant was painted in large block letters across the front.  I stopped the vehicle and before I could get the gear shift in park, Blanche nearly knocked Lela down getting out the door. I took a deep breath to calm my nerves, I knew it would be hours before I would see the light of day again.  We had arrived at the dreaded Antique Mall.

     When Mother made the decision to leave her small home and move in with Blanche, we all helped her move.  It was the coldest day of the year, in January, and although the house was small, it was packed to the gills full of stuff.  When my husband and I got home that day he said he couldn't imagine what it would be like if we had to move.  I made a vow, right then and there, that I would not put my children through the task of having to pack up all of our stuff.  I started getting rid of it, things that hadn't been touched or used for months, maybe years.  But, alas, somewhere in our house is a vortex, a portal if you will, where things magically enter.  If I get rid of two items, three more find their way in.  That said, the Antique Mall is not my idea of a fun time.

     Being a late in life child and a decade and more younger than my sisters, I do not share their enthusiasm for antiques.  I do enjoy their company though and I had no choice but to follow them into this flash back to the past.  It was crammed full of individual booths that spanned acres of space and each booth was equally crammed with stuff, old stuff.  By the time I caught up with them, their eyes had glazed over and I knew I was in for the long haul.  

     The sisters perused this place like they do a clothing store, fingering every item.  I walked around and noticed that people obviously didn't use dining room tables any more, because there were at least 50 of them in there.  I also came to the conclusion that this is what happens to your stuff when your kids don't want it.

     After what seemed like an eternity, Lela had found some small trinket and Blanche had found an old desk telephone.  It was old enough that it didn't even have a dial on it.  Back when it was in use all you had to do was pick it up and say "Operator" and said person connected you with your party.....and listened to your conversation, early beginnings of NSA.  This phone also stayed in the back of my old Suburban for six months, so I knew she really needed it.  Finally they paid for their treasures and I was finally able to get out of that scary place.

     I must be honest, I did find one thing I would have liked to have.  It was a large cast iron ball & claw foot bathtub.  I gave some thought to stuffing it into the back of the Suburban until I had my own "flash back" memory.  I had been to an auction, in another state, and found a bargain upright piano for $25.  Since my only mode of transportation at the time was a full size van, I unfolded the back seat and had the nice gentlemen at the auction house gingerly place the piano on the seat.  Blanche and Lela were with me at the time and we hopped in the van and headed home with the piano bouncing up and down on the seat, kind of like a cork in water.  When we arrived home, I ran to get my husband so I could show him my fantastic bargain shopping abilities.  I threw open the back doors to the van and said, "Look Honey! It's a piano!"  

     I shall never forget the look on his face when he said......Well, you don't really want to know what he said, it was scary too.

     
     

Born To Drive

     Remember that great Saturday morning cartoon The Jetsons?  George, Elroy, Judy, Jane and the adorable Astro plus their robotic maid, Rosie.  It was a great futuristic picture of what life might be like in a hundred years.  They had all kinds of gadgets that took the work out of work from sweeping the floor to cooking a meal, all with the push of a button.  

     One of the neatest things they had was the flying car.  Anyone who watched the Jetsons wanted a flying car.  It took George to work, Jane to her favorite store and the kids to school.  It wasn't necessary to actually drive the car, it did that on it's own.  Oh, by the way, you can stop singing the theme song now.

     Since the invention of the wheel, we humans like to be on the move.  With the birth of the automobile, not only could we go further but we could get there faster as well.  From the model A to the hybrid, we have struck up a love affair that seemingly has no end. Sometimes we even name our vehicles, they're almost like a member of the family.

     Learning to drive was usually an unprecedented event.  It was like a right of passage.  To be able to master the controls and maneuver a huge hunk of steel down the road, especially by yourself, was like giving freedom to someone handed a life sentence.  It was also a lesson in physics.  I didn't understand the math of it, but it only took one time to figure out that taking a corner too fast in a 61 Chevy station wagon would slide that sled off in the ditch.

     My beloved Google is working on a new car, one you won't have to drive.  A computer will do all the driving.  They claim it will cut down on the amount of accidents and virtually eliminate congested traffic.  Surely it will eliminate having to stop and ask for directions and since most men won't do that anyway, they can breathe a sigh of relief.  

     The soon to be obsolete driver will simply ride along, working on their laptop, talking on their cell phone, reading, eating or anything else that doesn't require them to watch where the heck they're going.  It seems we already spend a lot of time with our attention glued to some electronic device and it's a shame to think of all the scenery that will be missed.  Not only the scenery, but the people in the other cars.  Where I come from everybody waves at everybody else, whether you know them or not.  One thing it may make easier is running away.  All the kids will have to do is jump in, yell "Grandma's house!" and the car will take them there.

     I'm not too worried about these new computer driven cars getting into this neck of the woods any time soon. The cost of the gadgetry alone is over $100,000 so it will take awhile to make them affordable to the average consumer.

     I don't know if I will live to see the roads full of these cars but you never know, Mother lived through an era that saw her father farm with a team of horses to 48 row planters.  In the meantime, I'm going to enjoy the thrill I get from my hands on the wheel, the pedal to the metal and the scenery along the journey.
     
       

Sounds Of Music

     Music has probably been around as long as man has been on the earth.  Maybe the first forms of music were just voices, until someone picked up a stick and began to pound on a rock to make a beat.  It surrounds us, it comforts us.  Music can make us laugh and sometimes bring us to tears.  It has its own form of magic.

     I grew up in a musical household.  Not that we were musicians, although Dad could play the harmonica, but there was always music of some sort in the house.  Mother had a cabinet full of albums that ranged from classical symphonies to bar room honkytonk.  My older sisters were growing up with the birth of rock & roll and they had their own cache of vinyl discs as well.

     Naturally we all have different tastes in music.  There are some forms of music we love and some we don't like at all.  I remember when the Beatles first performed on the Ed Sullivan Show.  Wow, I'm really old.  I sat in front of a black and white TV and watched as the girls in the audience screamed and cried at the sight of the Fab Four.  My dad thought they were ridiculous and said he wouldn't go across the street to see them if they were playing in the neighbors' yard.  It wasn't too long after that though, I heard him whistling "Michelle" as he was dressing for work, so I knew he did like them a little bit.   As I get older, I understand how he felt because I wouldn't go across the street to see Jay Z, but, to each his own when it comes to music.

     Sometimes making music can be just as much fun as listening to it.  I've always tried to buy my grandchildren all the noise making musical instruments that I could find in hopes that they would one day want to learn to play an instrument.  Unfortunately, when my kids would see these musical wonders, they usually left them at my house.  

     The kitchen is an endless source of musical weaponry when it comes to small children.  I taught my youngest daughter how to play the spoons at an early age.  I would sing, "Oh I had a little chicken and she wouldn't lay an egg....." and she would clack those spoons together like a pro.  Even today, she can still play a mean set of spoons.

     Just last night her two children were giving me the "when's mom and dad going to be here" line and I thought it the perfect time to teach them to play the spoons.  Try as they might, they just didn't seem to have their mothers' spoon playing genes so they began to rummage through the cabinets.  Out came the pots and pans, flat lids to my stock pots and cottage cheese containers.  Let me tell you, flat stock pot lids make for mighty fine cymbals.  

     We sat on the floor with our spoons from the spoon lesson and began to drum on all the instruments at our disposal.  The end of each jam session would be finished with a loud crescendo of the pot lids.  I realized the sound the spoon was making on the sauce pan had a familiar ring to it and I pulled out my phone to search for a You Tube video of the song that was in my head.  What a cool, techy grandma I'm becoming.  I found it and we wrapped up our musical performance with a rousing rendition of "Honkytonk Woman" by the Rolling Stones.  Their parents had arrived by this time so we had an audience, and no, I didn't teach them all the words, I just mumbled through certain parts.

     "Music has charms to soothe a savage breast" was written by William Congreve more than 300 years ago and it still rings true today.  Music is as much a part of life as is the air we breathe.  If you go outside and listen very carefully, you will hear that even the earth plays its own song.
     
     

     

Way Too High

     I've heard that the higher up you go, the thinner the air gets.  The oxygen isn't as plentiful as it is closer to the ground.  Experiencing a lack of oxygen can cause symptoms of poor coordination, poor judgement, tunnel vision and even euphoric sensations.  

     I think that's what is happening in Chicago.

     Just last week I read an article about how it was discovered that the Chicago schools were receiving lots more money than the down state schools.  I hate to burst their bubble, but I think all of us down here, where there is more oxygen, knew this.  The reason given for why they got so much more money was because the Chicago schools didn't have to fill out the mountains of paperwork required by the rest of the schools in the state.  I think they must have been suffering from the euphoric sensations.

     Today's paper has two articles in it that I believe will prove the thin air hypothesis.  The first one is about a high school in a suburb of Chicago that had enough funds, a little over $600,000, plus $250,000 from a state grant, to install a nanotechnology lab.  If you are not familiar with nanotechnology, it's right up there with one of my favorite topics, quantum physics, just don't ask me to explain it. The microscopes alone, all seven of them, cost over $400,000.

     The education secretary of the United States just happened to be visiting this school at the unveiling of the lab, which the school openly acknowledged that they knew he was coming.  This guy says the ability for other schools to have similar labs "isn't too far fetched."  I don't know how long he had been in Chicago, but obviously long enough to suffer from lack of oxygen to the brain. The student body of this school is also over 50% Hispanic, but that is another discussion for another day.

     Don't get me wrong, I like the idea of every high school having a nanotechnology lab, but don't throw out the magnifying glasses just yet.  It will be a long while before those microscopes make it down state.  Most of the people up there don't know there is a "down state", they must be suffering from tunnel vision.

     The second article that caught my eye was about a Chicago alderwoman who wants to impose a $25 licensing fee for...wait for it....bicycles.  Why, it will generate millions of dollars in revenue, and she wants the bike owners to take an hour long safety class.  I'm not sure if she wants the class taken before the purchase of a bike or during, but that will make for some mighty long check out lines.  Plus, somebody will have to be paid to teach the class, oh but wait, there's that $25 fee.  That's sort of like last weeks article where they hired a man for a position that didn't exist, so they made one.

     Then the alderwoman said, and I quote, "Some people just get on a bike.  They don't really realize what the rules of the road are or what the signal is for a left-hand turn, a right-hand turn.  There's some usefulness in having them take a short course."   I beg to differ about just getting on a bike.  I was the last kid on the block to learn how to ride a bike and had to use the neighbor kids' bike to practice with.  The reason I had to use her bike was because she was lots younger than me, her bike was little, and my feet could touch the ground on both sides.  So don't tell me "some people just get on a bike".  Guess what else?  Way back when, in elementary school, we were taught bicycle safety and the rules of the road, including hand signals and I haven't forgotten them to this day.  It's not her fault though, she's just showing one of the symptoms of thin air, poor judgement.

     Maybe if all of us 'south of the border' of Chicago went out side at the same time and waved flags we could accomplish two things. First we could fan some much needed oxygen their direction and second, they might notice that we are here.

     
      

Phobia At Its Finest

     Autumn brings with it many things.  The weather changes and the air becomes crisp and clear.  The leaves on the trees trade in their greenery for hues of yellow, gold, red and brown.  School is back in session and we all fall into a new routine of staying inside, leaving behind our Summer memories.  The crops in the fields are ready for harvest, some species of birds begin to head south and small creatures look for warmer places.

     One of those small creatures would be the spider.  I dislike spiders.  Give me a mouse, or even a snake, I would take them,  just don't give me a spider.  

     Years ago, our neighbors moved to the South West.  The first time they came back to visit they brought with them a tarantula.  Not a dead tarantula, a live one, in a big glass gallon jar.  Everyone took great delight in rolling the jar, watching this monster spider run inside like a hamster on a wheel.  I even got to take it to school to impress and scare the bejabbers out of my classmates. When the neighbors left and took the spider with them, I had more nightmares about that spider than I care to remember.  I was an adult before I could stop sleeping with the sheets and blankets tucked up under my feet.  After all, all spiders attack from the bottom of the bed and eat your feet first.

     Last year about this time, I opened the drawer on my desk and reached for a roll of stamps.  I didn't need to look when I reached, the stamps are always in the same place in the drawer.  My husband would say this is the only item I ever put back in the same place twice, but anyway, I knew where the stamps were.  As I pulled my arm back, stamps in hand, I looked down and there was a huge spider on top of my hand.  I don't know what kind it was and since I nearly turned my chair over trying to get away, I wasn't going to take the time to ask it any questions.  It jumped off the desk and took cover where my feet would normally be.  See, there is something about feet that spiders like.  

     I armed myself with a gallon jug of bug spray that I had recently purchased.  It had a spray nozzle that could squirt its contents a good four feet and I figured at that distance, if I missed, I still had a four foot head start on the spider.  It was lurking behind the waste basket and I managed to move that out of the way with the broom handle.  Once the spider was in sight, I let loose with a torrent of bug spray that could have probably killed a ton of spiders, but I didn't care, I was taking no chances, or prisoners.  The spider never moved, it just stood there, mocking me.  I had to leave the room.

     About an hour later I returned to find the spider in the same position.  I figured it was either dead or really, really mad and plotting revenge.  I took the broom and gingerly made a pass at it and that's when I discovered it had died instantly during its lethal baptism of poison.  Still, taking all necessary precautions, I sucked it up with the vacuum.

     My least favorite of spiders would be the wolf spider, I'm sure they are first cousins with tarantulas.  Not only are they sneaky, they jump.  They also have an invisible force field that has the ability to make what ever weapon of choice used against them to land anywhere but on target.  One of these nasty creatures of the spider world jumped out of a box when I was helping my daughter move into her new home.  We both took cover on the other side of the room and watched it crawl up the wall, it was HUGE.  Always wanting to be the protector of my children, I grabbed the dust mop, took aim and swung hard.  The mop hit the wall about three feet to the left of the spider.  

     Stepping on them is not even an option.

     I tried to watch the movie "Arachnophobia" once and just could not do it.  There was a line in that movie though that I will never forget.  "The rule of thumb is, you're always within three feet of a spider."  Unfortunately, that's the truth, so if I greet you at the door in a full suit of armor, toting a gallon jug of bug spray, think nothing of it.

     

     

     

Skilled Learning

     Working with my hands gives me great pleasure.  From the very first time someone put a wad of modeling clay in my hands, I was hooked.  Even though my first creations were crude, like three balls makes a snowman, the satisfaction of the final result was exhilarating.  

     Later on someone put tools in my hands.  Now that was a rush! Being able to take a few scraps of wood, a hammer and some nails and pound together a box or bird house made me feel like I could conquer the world.  

     Unfortunately, I grew up in an era when girls were not supposed to do things like that.  My first year of high school, I signed up for shop and was informed I could not take that class.  They suggested Home Economics.  I don't recall what I suggested concerning their suggestion, but it probably landed me in the principles office, a great way to start out high school.

     About a year ago my husband shared an article he had read with me.  It was about what we will see happen in 20 to 30 years.  It talked about how most young people today were not interested in learning a trade skill.  Trades skills like carpentry, electrical work, plumbing, masonry were going to be almost extinct.

     Think about that for a moment.  The infrastructure in this country, meaning water supply, sewers, natural gas lines and our electrical grid, is aging.  If you live in an older home you already are accustomed to things needing repair.  If your home is brand spanking new and you think you have nothing to worry about, in twenty years your house will be considered old.  By that time, some of the above mentioned infrastructures in your home are going to need some work.  What will happen when there is no one skilled enough to fix the problems?

     I believe an education is important.  Everyone should know how to read, write and have basic math skills.  During the years in the school bus business, I transported many a kid who needed to learn how to do something with their hands rather than be shipped off to some other school because they couldn't behave.  They needed something they could accomplish, something they could take pride in besides passing a science test.  Not all children are college material.  Knowing the difference between a verb and a noun won't unclog your toilet or fix your leaking roof.

     I know it won't save every child, there will always be some who fall between the cracks, but learning a skill can give an individual a sense of belonging and a sense of being needed.  I'm willing to bet that an experienced teacher can pick out the child who struggles at an early age.  Regardless of the hype, there is nothing wrong with teaching a preteen a skill because in twenty years we want that child to be a productive member of our society.  We want them to be the carpenter, the plumber or the electrician.  That would be a far better outcome than learning the skill of being behind prison bars.

A Respectful Opinion of the First Amendment

     I've been giving this subject some thought for quite awhile and then this morning, low and behold, there was an article about it in today's newspaper.  After reading the article though, I'm not sure I know anymore than I did before I read it but, here's my take on freedom of speech.

     I believe that the first amendment was put into place to protect the people of this country as a whole.  Meaning as a free people, we have the right to speak out about issues that we don't agree with or issues that could take our freedom away.  I believe it was meant to make sure we could speak out about or against our government without fear of retaliation by the government.  It gives us the freedom to debate openly and privately about things that concern us.

     I don't think it's original intention was to encourage people to publicly act like morons.  

     It seems that people have the idea that it is acceptable to be as vulgar and hurtful as they see fit.  They can use any sort of profanity at any place and time, after all, they have freedom of speech.  They can say things about other people with no regard to who hears them or the effect their words have on others.  It is their right, guaranteed by the first amendment.  That said, it is also our right to be able to speak out against things we find moronic.

       I guess the better word to use would be plain old disrespect and being disrespectful has absolutely nothing to do with free speech.   Facebook has taken the idea of free speech to a whole new level. Some of the things people write about others blows me away.  My niece said it best when she told her daughter if she wouldn't say something like that to someones' face, then don't write it.

     Being respectful of others is not something we are born with.  It's something we learn, something we have to be taught.  We need to show respect to all people, especially when we disagree.  We need to exercise our right of free speech in a way that brings people together, not tear them apart.  Screaming and yelling obscenities at each other usually has a pretty negative outcome.  

      One evening I saw a young man I knew, wearing a tee shirt with the "F" word written on the front in letters big enough to have been read a half mile down the road.  I walked over to him and told him I didn't like his shirt and he told me he didn't care.  We weren't screaming at each other, just having a normal conversation. I suggested he turn the shirt wrong side out and he told me he didn't like that idea either.  

     A week or two later I saw him again.  This time the shirt had some other indecent phrase on it and when he saw me, he rolled his eyes.  Once again I told him I didn't like his shirt and once again he told me he didn't care.  Later that evening I overheard him singing along with the music, he had a great voice and as I left, I told him I may not have liked his shirt, but I sure enjoyed his singing.  

     The next time I saw him, he was looking for me.  He walked over to me and proudly showed me his shirt.  I read the phrase on it and told him I liked that one.  He laughed out loud and was pleased that I was pleased.  

     Did he go home and destroy all the shirts with the obscenities?  I doubt it, but to this day, when he sees me and has one of those on, he covers it up.  All it took was showing each other a little respect.  

     I believe that respect for ourselves and each other would solve a multitude of problems is this country.  That is my opinion, that is truth as I see it and this is my freedom of speech.

     

Friendly Adventures

     Just about everyone has a best friend.  Some best friend friendships are made in our youth and some are made later in life.  I met mine in junior high, I'll call her R.L.

     Like most best friends, we spent hours talking, laughing and dreaming of what our lives would be like.  One of our dreams was about doing something really special when we got older, we wanted to take a trip together.  

     Our initial idea was to travel to New York City.  As all too often happens, things got in the way of that idea.  We had families, jobs and all the other cards that come into play during life.  R.L. had to move but we still tried to keep in touch as much as possible.

     One day my phone rang and R.L. was on the other end.  "Let's take a trip!" she said.  Since we had both been to New York City, one without the other, I figured that wouldn't be our destination, and I asked her where we were going.  "How about a 3 day cruise?" she answered.  It sounded good to me plus, neither of us had been on one before.

     We met in Miami to start our dream come true journey.  We were as excited as we had been the day we skipped school, so many years before, and couldn't wait to get started.

     Cruise ships are an awesome creation, their size alone is breathtaking, they are like a floating city.  We boarded with great enthusiasm and I suggested we stand on the bow, just like I'd seen in the movies, as the ship left port.  I figured we could wave to all the well wishers as we sailed by.

     We positioned ourselves as high in the bow as we could possibly get.  The sun in our face, the wind in our hair, ready to set sail.   Little did we know, we had also positioned ourselves directly in front of the ships' horn.  They are loud.  REALLY LOUD.  Not only are they loud, when you are standing right in front of one and the captain blows the horn, the sound waves go completely through your body.  I have yet to this day to understand why we were not reduced to piles of bubbling muck from the vibrations of that horn, but we survived, laughed like idiots and made a mental note not to stand there again.

     Our first stop from Miami was Key West.  Cruise ship vacations usually offer a variety of things to do and see at each stop and you can choose what ever strikes your fancy.  On the list for Key West was snorkeling and that was our choice.

     In the South, when the weather turns unseasonably cool, the locals usually refer to it as "a Northerner has blown in".  One had blown in on this particular day, but it wasn't going to stop us from snorkeling the deep blue sea.

      We loaded up on a catamaran that took us seven miles out into the ocean.   The crew of this vessel explained that we were going to a coral reef and assured us there would be lots of colorful fish to see.  During our seven mile trek out into the sea they explained how to use all the gear to have a successful snorkeling experience.  The gear consisted of a face mask and snorkel, life jacket and flippers. The life jacket also had a small tube attached to the front, if you needed more buoyancy, all you had to do was blow in the tube. They also explained that the distress signal was to wave your arms over your head.

     Land is not visible seven miles out in the ocean and R.L. made that observation rather quickly.  The Northerner had also brought with it winds that had created some nice two to three foot swells. As the crew dropped anchor, R.L. asked where the coral reef was. One crew member pointed to the water and said, "See the dark spots on the water?"  R.L. answered that she did.  "That's the coral reef."  R.L. then asked if she could walk on the coral reef, the answer was "No."  With that new knowledge, R.L. announced she would not be getting off the boat.

     Not to be deterred by lack of land or three foot waves, I geared up for snorkeling.  The catamaran had a wide long ramp that was lowered into the water so all you had to do was walk down the ramp and step off into the deep.  As I had never worn flippers before, walking in them was a new experience, but I plodded my way down and off the end of the ramp.

     Instantly I was bobbing like a cork with no direction.  I could see all the other people, over where the water was darker, swimming around with their faces in the water.  They made it look so easy.  I thought that if I put my face in the water and made swimming motions I could surely get to where they were.  

     Snorkel masks have a unique design.  There is a place on them that fits tight up against your nose, naturally to keep the water out. When I put my face in the water, not only could I not see my hand in front of my face, one of the lovely three foot waves came over the top of me and filled my snorkel tube full of tasty sea water. Now the unique design of the mask was keeping water in my nose and since I still had the snorkel tube in my mouth snorting was almost an impossibility.

     I finally regained my composure and tried again and once again I was reduced to a sputtering maniac afloat in the sea.  I decided I needed more buoyancy, yes, that was surely the problem.  Try as I might, I could not get any air to go into my life jacket and then panic set it.  I was going to die out there and that wasn't they way I had pictured leaving this world.  I knew I was going to have to give the distress signal and since I was still bobbing around like a cork, I figured I could at least get myself turned around to summon help.  I was really wondering why no one had not already come to my aid, couldn't they see I was in danger?  I managed to get turned around and that's when I realized I was only about ten feet from the boat.

     This whole scenario had probably lasted five minutes, but it felt like an hour to me.  I decided to keep whatever dignity I had left and made my way back to the ramp.  Just as I got to it one of the ever so friendly waves lifted me up and slammed me up on the ramp like a seal onto a floating piece of ice.  I crawled the rest of the way up and there set R.L., grinning ear to ear, wrapped snugly in a blanket with a pitcher of beer.  She had made the wiser choice so I joined her.  I also made a note that if I ever snorkeled again it would be in knee deep water.

     From there we sailed to Cozumel and had a great time horseback riding and impressing the locals with our four words of Spanish that we knew.  We shopped for souvenirs until after dark and R.L. was sure the cruise ship was going to leave without us.  Loaded with all of our bounty, we hopped in a local taxi and sped back to the ship. They literally had to put a plank out for us to get back on board.

     The trip ended all to quickly but as we said our goodbyes, we realized we had made a dream come true.

     It has been many years since we took that trip.  Maybe it's time we skip school again and dream up some new friendly adventure.






     

       

A True Story For The Season

        Since the middle of October has already come and gone, Halloween is just around the corner.  I have had many different feelings about Halloween in my lifetime ranging from great joy to great dread.  

     Halloween has taken on different meanings throughout the centuries it has been celebrated.  Although I believe its intended purpose was to honor and remember those who had passed, one of the most favorite traditions seems to be the classic ghost story.

     I'm a true believer in life after death and have had several encounters with what is well known today as paranormal activity. I've talked to many people who have shared their own experiences and I never get tired of hearing their stories.  One of my favorites to tell is about Mom.

     Yes, I write about Mom a lot, but this is a true story.

     It was Christmas time and Mother had been passed nearly four months.  I really missed her, we all did.  Since school was on break for the holiday season, I didn't have to drive a school bus this particular morning.  My husband had to use the down time to make sure all the buses were in good running order so he left the house early. 

     He had received an under-the-cabinet radio from our children for Christmas and had proudly mounted it in the corner of the kitchen.  It wasn't that I didn't like the radio, it's just that I rarely turn on anything that makes any kind of noise during the day so as soon as he would leave, I would turn the radio off.  This particular morning, when he left, I left the radio on.  

     I was reading a book titled Crossing Over by psychic medium John Edward.  I was finishing a chapter about a story of a couple who had gone to John for a reading.  Towards the end of the reading the man asked if his father, who was passed,  had been at his wedding.  The energies were already pulling back so he didn't get his answer.

     The man went on to explain that during his wedding reception, when it came time to play the mother/son dance song, the DJ played "Wind Beneath My Wings".  This was not the song that had been chosen, in fact, that song had been his parents' song.  

     The husband went to the DJ and asked him why he had changed the song and the DJ said he had been told to play "Wind Beneath My Wings".  The man demanded to know who had told him to change it and took the DJ around the entire reception hall looking for the person.  They never found that person.

     Finally the husband asked the DJ to describe what the person looked like and the DJ described this man's father to a T.  

     The husband and his wife left John's home and when they got in their car the man said he felt like his father was right there with them.  He turned on the car and when the radio came on the song that was playing was "Wind Beneath My Wings".

     I was no stranger to John Edward and the work he does.  I'd read his books and watched him on TV so the story wasn't a shocker to me.  I laid the book in my lap and was thinking how I wished something like that would happen to me.  As I sat there I noticed there was some kind of weird static going on around me and I could feel the hair on my arms standing up.  Not only could I feel it, I could literally see it happening.  

     I said out loud, "What the heck...." and that's when my head snapped up and I stared at the radio in the corner.  It was kind of like what you see in a scary movie when the object fast forwards or zooms into focus.  The very first words I heard were, "Did you ever know you were my hero?"  Yes, "Wind Beneath My Wings" was playing on the radio.

     Mother has visited several times since then, not only to me but to other family members as well.  I'll save those tales for another Halloween season.


     

     

     

     

The Entitlement Attitude

     My proofreader says that when I touch on social issues in my blog that I'm just skimming the surface, sugar coating, playing with Nerf balls.  She said I needed to let some of my darker tRuth's out.

     Nearly twenty years ago, when my husband and I were foster parents, I sat in a seminar held by the agency we worked with.  I don't recall the man's name who was the speaker, but I've never forgotten what he said.  He was in charge of a youth home located in the East St. Louis area.  The kids that lived there were considered the worst of the worst, just one step away from being in prison.

     At that time the social service agencies were trying to implement a new plan.  Since the system had so many children in it and the youth homes were over flowing, the plan was to move the children in the more modest youth settlements into individual foster homes, like the one we provided.  Then they would take the worst of the worst kids and put them into the youth homes that had some vacancies.  

     At the time I thought they were surely not serious.  After all, the particular youth home we worked with had some pretty damaged children and bringing a damaged child into ones home was a huge challenge.  

       The man went on to describe some of the situations he encountered with the kids in his charge and I came to the conclusion he must have nerves of steel and the patience of Job.

     He went on to tell us that these kids have an 'entitlement attitude'.  I had never heard that term and he explained it in simple terms.  These kids have the mind set of;  if you have more than I do, you should give it to me.  Plain and simple.

     Yesterday there was a video floating around about a woman who had 15 children.  Her fiance', who, by the way, had fathered 10 of these children, had been arrested and was in jail.  It takes approximately 7.5 years to give birth to 10 children, back to back. Maybe they were waiting for number 11 before they tied the knot. She had been evicted and even though people had tried to help by way of giving her food, clothing and furniture, she said it wasn't enough.  Then she turned to the camera and said that someone needed to be held accountable and pay for all her children.

     My blood began to do a slow boil after watching this so I went outside and hopped on the mower.  That didn't help, the longer and faster I mowed, the madder I got.

     This morning I decided to do a little research to make sure the video was in fact a true story.  It was.  According to what I found, this actually happened a couple of years ago and one of the comments I read said the father had been arrested on drug related charges.  The woman was 37 years old at the time, she was on the system, had her rent paid for plus her electricity bill was covered. Three of her children were old enough to take care of themselves, so there were only 12 under her care.  Twelve.  Her life had been just fine and dandy until her fiance' had been arrested and the social service workers stepped in, messing everything up.

    So here are some of my darker tRuths.  

     I do not care what color your skin is, I grew up being called the "N" word and I'm not black, so get over it.  There are always going to be ignorant people in the world, if you don't believe that, please re-read the above story.

     I do not care if you're straight or gay, your sexual makeup is not for me to judge.  I do not think it is necessary though for it to be flaunted.  You really don't want to watch my husband and me make out, nor do I you.

     I do not care what your spiritual belief is.  I hope you have one but don't try to cram yours down my throat by telling me yours is the only true religion or by means of terror.  

     I do not care how many children you have.  I admire any woman who could give birth to 15 children and still have her sanity.

     What I do care about is your attitude.  Having the attitude that every bad thing that happens in your life is someone else's fault is complete B.S.  Having the attitude that if someone has something you wish you had, they should just give it to you is no different than a spoiled child jumping up and down screaming "Gimme, gimme, gimme!"  Having the attitude that you are owed something for no reason or effort on your part is not the way the real world works.

     Our rights in this country are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.  The key word there is pursuit, it takes action to make things happen.  You want something, then get off your duff and do something about it.  Yes, times are tough, but we live in a place that was founded on the beliefs that you, as an individual, have the opportunity to make your dreams come true.  

     A woman shared a story with me the other day about something she had heard the leader in Communist Russia say back in the mid 1960's.  He said it would never be necessary to attack the United States because it would destroy itself, it would implode.  Are we going to let the entitlement attitude make that prophecy a reality? Its been festering and growing for a long, long time.  

     I think it's time for us to get a new attitude.
     

Math and the Money Tree

     Math has never been my forte.  I did fine with the simple parts of math, like addition, subtraction and those two wily characters, multiplication and division.  Then the math gods started to throw in letters and symbols.  When that happened the math part of my brain slammed the book shut, packed its bags and left the building.

     One of those symbols was %, the percentage.  The teacher might as well have been speaking a foreign language at that point.  I didn't get it.  When I was out of school, I still didn't get it.  One day I went to Dad, he was good at math, and asked him to explain percentages to me.  I had forgotten that Dad wasn't very patient when it came to explaining things that he figured you should already understand. Like the time he tried to teach me how to play golf.  By the time we got to the green closest to the pond, I was ready to hunt frogs and he was good with that.  By the time we ended our percentage lesson, he was frustrated and I was in tears.  I do understand percentages now, but I was an adult before I had that "Ah ha!" moment.

     Give me a magazine full of articles about quantum physics and I will read it cover to cover.  Oh I love quantum physics.  All those stories about waves and particles absolutely fascinate me and somehow I understand what they are talking about, but don't ask me to explain it because that takes super math.  The waves and particles are just bouncing around in my head where the math part left a hole.  A quantum physicist I will never be, but it sure makes for a mighty fine sounding title.

     Having the basics in math can still be of great importance especially when it comes to the money tree.  I tried to plant one once, it didn't produce a darn thing so what I had heard all those years was true....Money doesn't grow on trees.  

    It doesn't take a rocket scientist or a quantum physicist to understand that if more money is spent than the amount of money coming in, eventually, that house of cards will collapse.  

     I think every child, once they learn the very basics in math, should be given a check book and a monthly dollar amount to work with, well, I guess in this day and age it would have to be a debit card but you get the picture.  Then they should have a list of things that they know have to be paid for every month.  If there is any money left over at the end of the month, they need to learn what is the best thing to do with it.  If there isn't any money left at or before the end of the month they need to understand that means THERE IS NO MONEY!  Nope, none.  I really do not believe a one day trip to the 'Reality Store', when a student is in high school, teaches this lesson.  Money is simply a means of exchange, it has no emotion, it doesn't make people happy.  In fact, spending more than what is actually there makes people miserable.

     If we keep robbing Ringo to pay Paul, Ringo is going to go broke.  Yes, I know it's 'robbing Peter to pay Paul', but Paul and Ringo go together better.  But Ringo is a pretty smart cookie, he understands the math, he gets the percentages, he knows how money works.  Sooner or later he will get tired of being taken advantage of, cut his losses and rebuild his wealth.  Then he will take his money and get as far away from Paul as possible.

Fun By The Big Water

     Several years ago Mother had moved to Corpus Christi, Texas.  She had a cousin there and since she disliked the winter months, the older she got, she decided to move south and enjoy the warmer climate.  She stayed about ten years and as the city grew the traffic grew with it.  She and her little blue station wagon were having a difficult time just trying to get to the grocery store between all the speeding cars and that is when she decided she had had enough of the city life, it was time to go home.

     It was during the summer in the month of July when my sisters and I, plus two foster sons ages 8 and 12, made the journey to Texas to help Mother pack her belongings.  I'll refer to my sisters as Lela and Blanche.  That's not their real names, but names of two of our father's sisters.  They were notorious for never being ready on time and spending half the morning running around in their slips or gimps. (Lela always referred to her nightgown as a gimp.)  One name doesn't always apply to one sister, they both can go by either.

     Since we had a few days to accomplish the packing, we decided to spend a day at the beach and the boys had never seen the ocean. Yes, I know, the Gulf of Mexico is not technically an ocean, but if you've never seen the big water, it suffices as one.  

     I had forgotten to pack a bathing suit so Mother dug around and came out with a real beauty.  It was a one piece silvery number with big formed foam cups that looked like torpedoes.  I managed to get into it, since I had no other choice, and once Mother, Lela and Blanche stopped laughing we decided Madonna had competition.  I just hoped I didn't literally run into anyone of short stature for fear of someone losing an eye.

     Of course a trip to the beach, with two young boys, wouldn't be complete without a stop by the store full of beach toys.  After the initial shock of thousands of choices, the elder choose a simple blow up raft.  The younger picked out a small foam board, about three feet long, that had a long rope handle attached to the front.

     It just so happened that this was a landmark day for Blanche.  It was her birthday, the big five O.   She was feeling quite spiffy and picked a spot close to the water to grab some rays.  She worked tediously getting her beach towel laid out just right and when she was satisfied, she sat down, adjusted her sunglasses and leaned back to relax.

     Have you ever seen an 8 year old boy run trailing a foam board with a long rope handle?  Well, let me draw you a visual.  First, he was so excited at being able to get in the big water.  He was running fast and the foam board began to take lift behind him. Not only did it take lift, it began to spin wildly, like a giant windmill.  The faster he ran, the faster the the board spun and the circle it made was getting wider.  

     He ran right across the end of Blanche's perfectly placed beach towel and as he exited the other side, the foam board clipped Blanche along side her head.  Not only was her towel now covered in sand, her sunglasses were somewhere on the back side of her head and her hair was on the front side of her face. Needless to say, she wasn't feeling too spiffy at that time.

     After watching the boys play awhile, I decided I would like to try out the foam board myself.  I was maybe five feet from the shore in about six inches of water.  My mission was to sit on the foam board and ride it back to the sand, somewhat like surfing.  I positioned myself on the board and pulled my feet up, ready to glide across the short distance to shore.  What happened next has gone down in the annals of all time favorite stories to tell at family gatherings.

     As soon as my feet touched the board, the board turned parallel with the shore.  A wave came in and turned me and the board completely upside down.  The only body part now left in the water was my head.  The torpedoes were aimed at the shoreline and my shiny silvery butt was straight up in the air with both legs flailing to each side.  I resurfaced and I had enough sand ground into one side of my hair I could have made my own beach.  Lela, who was standing next to me in that wicked six inches of water and had witnessed the entire episode, was laughing like an idiot.   Even Mother, who was sitting in the van forty yards from shore, was laughing out loud.  The guy in the car next to her thought that old gal had surely lost her marbles.

     Let me explain something,  there is a reason that signs are put up that read "DO NOT DIVE IN SHALLOW WATER".  The ocean floor is hard, really hard.  Not only did I have sand ground into my skull, my neck felt like it had been stretched past the breaking point.  I spent the rest of the trip having to turn my entire body sideways if I wanted to turn my head.

     If you have never seen the big water, try to do so, it is a magnificent thing to encounter.  Be sure to stop by the beach toy store on your way, you'll be sure to make some memories.

That's Not Fair!

          Being a parent is a challenge.  It's as much a learning process for the adults as it is for the child we are trying to teach.  There was no hard bound manual handed to us at the moment we became parents with a title that read, "Perfect Parenthood".  

     A lot of new parents have the idea of being perfect and think the older generation has no idea how to raise a child.  Most of us who fall into the latter category just sit back and wait patiently because sooner or later we will get that phone call.  That's the call that usually comes late at night and the first words we hear are, "Mommmm, he won't stop crying!"

     Some of us have grandeur visions of making sure we are not the parents our parents were. Then it happens, we open our mouths and out spill those famous quotes we swore we would never use. Things like, "don't cross your eyes, they'll stay that way.  If you swallow your gum it will make your ribs stick together.  Money doesn't grow on trees.  Look at me when I talk to you."  That one is usually followed by "don't look at me that way."

     "You're grounded for six weeks!"  Doling that out as a parent is a life lesson in itself because six weeks is a really LONG time.  One week usually works just as well.

     My dad had two sayings I heard throughout my childhood.  His favorite was, "If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all."  The second was "If you want to make sh*t stink, stir it up." Kids usually think in pictures and that one always conjured up a picture that made me wonder why on earth would anyone want to do that.  I was an adult before I understood his meaning.

     How about this one, "I will pull this car over and you can get out!"  Most of the time we really wouldn't have done that, but it got a point across that there could be some severe consequences if the behavior didn't stop.

     All these sayings we have passed down from one generation to the next carried the same underlying message, if you do something that is not in your best interest, there will be a price to pay.

     My all time favorite, that I have used more times than I can count and have passed on to my own children is, "Life isn't fair" and guess what?  It isn't.

     If life was fair there would be no sickness, no poverty, no bad things of any kind.  If life was fair, we would have all won two bucks when the Powerball Lottery hit 600 million.  If life was fair everyone would have and be just like everyone else.  

     We never know the cards we are dealt.  We have to play those cards the best we can.  Sometimes we win, sometimes we lose and when we learn to suffer the consequences of a loss, we usually come out on the other side a better person. 

     Not having any consequences teaches nothing but entitlement.  Entitlement challenges no one to think or better themselves.  If we continue down the road of no discipline and no consequences we might as well say, "Go ahead and play in the traffic, everyone else is doing it."

     I

     


     

The Awe-Inspiring Road Trip

     When you live in a rural area sometimes the every day amenities that city folk enjoy are few and far between.  For instance, the nearest mall is about an hour away, same for movie theaters and sometimes it's just not worth blowing the whole day to get there and back.  One thing we do have an abundance of though is wide open spaces.

     Boredom began to creep in yesterday and although there was plenty to do inside and on my desk, I couldn't find the will power to dive into those tasks.  Shopping isn't one of my favorite activities so that didn't appeal to me.  I didn't really need anything other than groceries and grocery shopping is a chore, not something to do just for fun.  Going to the movies and sitting in a dark theater didn't interest me and besides that route would have taken me by the grocery store and I was determined not to go there.

     This was a beautiful early fall Sunday and an idea popped into my head that hadn't been there for a long time,  let's take a road trip! My husband must have been equally bored because I didn't get the eye roll.  He takes the day of rest quite seriously, but since his beloved NASCAR race was on the night before he was up for the journey.

     A road trip does not have to be a cross country jaunt.  It can be as simple as not getting further than a six mile radius from home and being in the middle of farm country, there's lots of country roads in that radius.  Mother was the queen of Sunday afternoon road trips.  She would load up her friends in her little blue station wagon and off they would go.  She always had her cell phone with her in case of an emergency, even though she didn't know how to turn it on, but she always managed to make it back home.  Once she came back with the bumpers full of tall grass and swore she had never been off the road. 

     We set out in a south easterly direction, winding through fields of ready to harvest and harvested corn and soybeans and ended up on the edge of our county's very own wildlife preserve.  No government shutdown there so in we went.  The road now was nothing more than grass smashed down where a previous vehicle had made a path, probably the one Mother had been on,  but we bounced along anyway.  We went through a huge field of dried sunflowers and made a mental note to see them next year when they would be in full bloom.  

     When our grass road ended at a fallen tree we retraced our path and encountered a couple of hunters on the way out.  Roaming through the wildlife preserve during deer season maybe wasn't such a good idea, but it was the middle of the afternoon and the deer usually move in the early morning hours.  I figured the deer were all resting, telling stories about their own close encounters and making jokes about all the camouflage gear and bright orange vests that nobody thinks they can see.

     We continued on until we came to a friends house and decided to pay them a visit.  They have one of those foam deer used for target practice in their yard and it was riddled with arrows.  Since they weren't home, I rearranged the arrows and we left their deer looking like a turkey with its tail feathers spread, laughing like kids who had pulled off quite a caper.

     We happened on to one of our farmer friends, who was just coming in from the fields, and enjoyed his company along with the scenic view of waterfowl on his pond.  Then it was time to head home.

     Our road trip had taken no more than a couple of hours, but it was if we had been on a mini vacation and somehow the gas gauge showed more fuel in the tank than when we had left.  I chalked that up to divine intervention, we were supposed to take that trip.

     There are lots of things to see in this world and we have probably all dreamed of living or traveling to some far away exotic place.  I heard a wise man once say, "grow where you are planted" and I think there is a lot of truth in that, but don't forget to appreciate and 'see' where you are planted too.

        

     

Sports Mindlessness

     I just don't get sports.  I attribute that to the fact that I grew up in an era when girls didn't get to play sports.  The mere mention of a girls basketball team could get you tarred, feathered and shamefully placed on public display.   Ah, those were the good ole' days.

     Even when I attended the regular (boys) sporting events, I didn't 'get' them.  School and sporting events were like a real live Facebook experience to me, there were just too many people to talk to.  The folks would always ask me who won the game when I got home and most of the time I didn't have a clue. 

     Football perplexes me.  One grandson plays football and the only time I could keep track of him was when his socks didn't match the rest of the team.  Run two feet and jump on top of each other, get up, run two more feet and jump on top of each other. Sometimes they don't even run, they just jump on top of each other.

     On our way home from an evening with some friends last night, we stopped by the local watering hole.  The building that houses the watering hole had a brief stint as a funeral home and Mother was their first customer.  When the watering hole had its grand opening someone asked me what I thought of the new place.  I told them I thought it was fine but the last time I had been in there, Mom was laid out right by the front door.  She sure looked pretty.  They didn't talk to me much after that.  Hey, it's a small town, buildings are scarce, you have to make do with what's available.

     Anyway, last night the watering hole was full of sports enthusiasts and they were watching baseball.  It almost looked like a sports bar, but since it only has two TV screens, it probably doesn't qualify for that status.    

     Everyone was having a good time and getting along.  I realized that was because everyone was cheering for the same team.  The game was close to being over and the score was tied.  Each time their team was up to bat there was a flurry of white towels swirling above everyone's head and a steady hand drumming on the bar. This would end with either a loud groan or a rousing roar.  

     I may not get sports, but I can get caught up in the crowd's enthusiasm so I watch the screen with the same eagerness everyone else has.  I can also figure out that the guy up to bat looks like if he connects with the ball, the ball could go out of the stadium, so the pitcher is going to make sure that doesn't happen.  The ninth inning ends and the score is still tied.

     "Now we go into overtime?" I ask.  My husband rolls his eyes and moves further away.  Someone corrects me,"Extra innings." Overtime, extra innings or a 10 minute warning, same difference to me.  

     Everyone told me the game was between the Los Angeles Dodgers and the St. Louis Cardinals but I wasn't too sure about that.  Looked more like the Amish Mafia vs. Duck Dynasty, but what do I know, I just don't get sports.

      

The Bargain Waste Basket

     My side of the family has some kind of genetic screw loose.  Not only do we have a weird sense of humor, which usually shows itself at times when things should not be humorous, but we have a fainting gene.   It happens at the oddest times and for equally odd reasons.

     The first time I fainted was at my neighbors.  I was in grade school and at the beginning of each school year Mother, instead of buying new school clothes, had my dresses made.  I'm sure that was a cost saving measure and the local seamstress lived two houses away.  

     It was a Saturday morning and I was finally old enough not to have to accompany Mother to the hairdresser.  My goal for that morning was to trot over to Mrs. Seamstress and try on my new dresses so she could finish them.  There were six dresses all full of straight pins and I would have to bend over and gingerly slip into them.  When I had finally managed to get into them without being impaled, I would stand up and have to turn around slowly so she could put more pins in them for the hem.  Then I would reverse the process trying to get out of them unharmed.  On the sixth dress I informed her I didn't feel to well and somehow made it to her couch before I passed out. When I came to, Mrs. Seamstress looked like she might join me and promptly sent me home.

     My daughters have fainted and my nieces have fainted.  One niece still does it and holds the record for most interesting faints. So, what does all this have to do with a bargain waste basket? 

     Each Mother's Day weekend, my sisters and our daughters meet for our annual shopping trip to an outlet mall located in the Ozarks. We spend the daylight hours searching for bargains and the evening hours sitting in our hotel room, showing off the days' purchases and laughing like idiots.

     On one particular shopping event I found a lovely ceramic waste basket.  It was the exact colors of a bathroom that was in dire need of a trash receptacle.  It was round with a silver background and had four bands of different colors evenly spaced along its height. Perfect, I thought and a perfect price for my seemingly custom made waste basket, $9.99.   I bought it without hesitation, a true bargain.

     That evening as we gathered for our session of showing the bargains we had found, laughing and story telling, the fainting subject came up.  I proceeded to tell the tale of what happened at Dad's interment.  Dad had been passed quite a while, years actually, before we received his ashes.  It was a hot summer day when we gathered at the cemetery to lay him to rest.  My niece leans over and tells her mother she doesn't feel too good.  This isn't the record holder niece, but a close second.  Her mother tells her to just hang on.  I'm sitting in the back row watching this exchange and can see that she REALLY doesn't feel good.  I get her attention and tell her to go get in my car which is just a few feet behind us.  She heads to the car and I glance over my shoulder just in time to see her not make it.  There was a small shrub next to the car and when she went over it she was as stiff as a board.  Yep, head first, then her feet followed up where her head had been and then plop, out of sight behind the shrub.   This was one of those times that the weird sense of humor came into play also.

     I can not tell a story without physically going through the motions of whatever I'm talking about.  Kind of like charades, but with sound.  As I got to the part about her falling over the shrub, I fell backward on the bed in a 'stiff as a board' reenactment.  At that moment it sounded like someone had pulled both triggers on a double barreled shotgun.  The room got deathly silent and Mother thought one of us had been shot.  I raised up off the bed, a little dazed, and pulled open the sack I had landed on.  There was my bargain waste basket with a gaping hole in the side of it where my head had landed. The silence was then broken by uncontrollable laughter as I placed the waste basket on my head.  It fit just like a Trojan helmet. 

     Lucky for me, there was another waste basket just like my helmet model, without the hole, waiting for me at the store.  It may not have ended up being such a great bargain, but the memories we made that weekend are priceless.

Common Sense Has Left The Building

     I was going to wait until the end of the week for this, but the topic is growing so fast I was afraid I wouldn't be able to pick my favorites.  Favorites is an unfavorable word for this, maybe I should have used outstanding, or better yet, outrageous.  It's like a snow ball, rolling down hill, getting bigger and bigger.  I don't know if it will eventually lose its momentum or crash into something and explode all over the world.  Maybe we could use the same technology that is being worked on to shoot huge meteorites to smithereens, before they crash into earth, on this snowball.  If we don't, I fear it will do more damage than a meteorite hit.

     So far this week I've heard three stories about common sense, or the lack there of.  The first one is a school that has banned playing with any ball other than a Nerf ball.  Really?  In case you are unfamiliar with a Nerf ball, those are the ones made of soft compressed foam rubber.  They don't have any weight to them, to speak of, therefore they don't throw fast or hard.  So consider the changes made in some athletic activities by replacing the originally intended ball with a Nerf ball.  

     Ever played pitch and catch?  One of the best parts about that game is the distance between players.  Usually you start out by being about thirty feet apart, but the longer you play, the further apart you get.  You head into the street because the yard just isn't big enough and you try to lob that puppy as far as you can.  The Nerf ball will certainly cut the distance and there will be no need of the ball glove.  I guess all that saved leather could be used for protective gear in case the Nerf ball hits some body part other than the hand.

     How about basketball?  Now, won't that be fun?  I'm not sure you can even dribble a Nerf ball, let alone make a free throw with one.  Once again the playing field will be drastically reduced and the hoops closer to the ground.  Maybe I will finally be able to do a slam dunk.

     Story number two was about a school that has banned running on the playground.  Seriously?!  Running?  What is the first thing a child learns after they figure out how to walk?  They RUN!  Like the wind!  They learn to run faster and faster especially when they discover you are chasing them for some mischievous deed they have performed.  What's the point of having a playground if you can't run?  What will be next, lowering the swing sets, the teeter totter and the slide?  The slide will become extinct because if it's level, your not going to go anywhere regardless of how much wax paper you put under your butt.  Again, the room needed for outdoor activities will be smaller.  After all you only need about one square foot to stand in.  Maybe if all the kids are just standing around in their allotted space they will at least pass out the candy cigarettes. 

     The third story was about the state of Kentucky banning the 'after the game handshake'.  Why?  Because of too many fights. Are you freaking kidding me!?!  The saddest part about that story was that it wasn't just fights among the players, it was among the coaches and the parents and sadly, I can't think of anything satirical to even say about that.

     Many years ago there was a show on TV called "The Twilight Zone".  I didn't get to watch it much for two reasons.  One, it scared the crap out of me and then I couldn't sleep.  Two, it wasn't on one of the two TV stations we were able to get.  The weather conditions had to be just perfect and the TV antenna  had to be tweaked just so for it to come in, and Dad didn't enjoy tweaking.  But I remember the story the one time I did get to watch it.  It was about the human race becoming so lethargic and complacent they no longer needed their bones.  The whole population evolved into worms.  No playing with balls, no running and no manners may get us to that ending.

     All these stories can be found online if you go to my beloved Google.  Oh, if  I'd had Google when I was in high school I could have been valedictorian extraordinaire, but that didn't happen.  I don't know where it is going or if it will find a new home but, common sense has left the building.  I think I'm going to follow it.