The Best Gift Of All

This year I told the girls that under no circumstances are they to give me a list of what they want for Christmas. “But why not?” they whined. “Because you’re grownups with jobs and can buy anything you want for yourselves!” I replied. “Plus, I think I know you well enough to be able to pick out something appropriate.” Sheesh!

So without a list Kitty became very nervous, thinking that I wouldn’t get it right. She resorted to dropping ideas in casual conversation. “Oh mom, remember how much I enjoyed Fat Albert as a kid? I bet the entire collection would be nice for someone to have.”  Or calling me from the mall before work: “Hey mom, I’m sending you a picture of these really neat hoods they have here in the mall. My hood is getting kind of old.  Just saying!”  Yep: she’s a subtle as a Mack truck.

Brie isn’t as bad. She said, “You know me well enough to get me something I’ll like. And I know you don’t have much money, so whatever you find for me is fine.”

I tested this theory. I went around the kitchen, picking up random items. “Okay then, how about I wrap up this can of dog food, this grapefruit, this Harlequin romance, my CD, the Yankee candle in the middle of the table and this roll of paper towels? Is that okay? I can wrap them right up!” Brie said, “Kitty! Mom is going to wrap up all of this stuff for Christmas presents!” Kitty got an alarmed look on her face and said, “But those are your gifts, right?” Brie and I had to laugh at that!

With Christmas speeding towards us due to our late Thanksgiving, and roundabout talk of presents, I started thinking of what my favorite present was. And you’ll be very surprised…

When I was a child, we always went to North Carolina for Christmas because that’s where my parents were originally from. We had lots of relatives down there, and it was always fun to get together with the southern cousins for a few days.  My family always stayed with my maternal grandparents and I adored them. They didn’t have much: Granddaddy was a tobacco farmer and Grandma was a housewife. But what they didn’t have in material possessions they more than made up for in love. They had a cozy house with a woodstove for heat. Grandma was an AWESOME cook, and those were the days when no one worried about cholesterol, or sugar or fried foods.
  
But getting to the best present ever: my Grandma had a sewing machine and she would always make me an outfit, like a jumper with a blouse to go with it. As much as I loved her homemade clothes, there was something that was even better…

Each Christmas, for all of the kids, she would take a small paper lunch bag and fill it with nuts like Brazils, pecans and walnuts; one orange, one apple and some of that old-fashioned hard mixed candy that usually ended up sticking to everything.  But that was the present that I always looked forward to the most! I can’t explain it: but that bag of treats from a woman I loved so much always meant the world to me, even if I didn’t eat all of the candy (couldn’t stand the raspberry filled and would give them to my brother, haha).  That little paper bag represented love, warmth, wonderful food and a cozy wood fire. It represented Grandma rocking the youngest kids in her rocking chair. And mostly it represented family and love.

Now I can’t imagine what my girls would do if they opened their stockings on Christmas and discovered something like that in it. But to me: if I found that, it would be a very Merry Christmas…love you Cleo 💖

Yanni Jr.

I had a dream last night about an old "friend". In the dream his sister had found me and told me that he wanted to see me because he was dying. His brother was there too. I had never met either before, but they were very nice in my dream.

So in honor of my friend, here's a poem.

Standing in front of the closet,

Deciding what to wear.

Should I put on black or red?

And what’s up with my hair?

 

I was going on a date

With someone who seemed nice.

We had spoken on the phone

Not once, not twice, but thrice.

 

It  was a blind date, after all

So I should choose with care.

Long skirt, short skirt or a dress?

Stockings or legs bare?

 

Satisfied, I grabbed my keys

And headed out the door.

Entering the restaurant

My jaw dropped to the floor.

Every woman has a man

That is her fantasy.

Here was mine, his hand outstretched:

My date looked just like Yanni!

 

Long dark hair, mustache in place,

Eyes long-lashed and green.

As far as a blind date he was

The best I’d ever seen!

 

We had dinner; well, he did.

I lost my appetite.

I was in such awe of him

I couldn’t eat a bite.

 

However, conversation flowed:

He was so damned smart!

As we talked I swear I felt that

Cupid shoot his dart.

 

As time went on I found it hard

To truly understand,

How I had been lucky enough

To find this Yanni-man.

 

His looks not only fit the bill

His wallet fit it too.

He said, “Take care of your kids,

“And I’ll take care of you.”

 

I had no complaints with that

And thought I’d found my man.

Turned out I was wrong again

Fate dealt a rotten hand.

 

Although we were the best of friends

I wanted so much more.

He couldn’t give his all to me

So I walked out the door.

 

I wanted husband, lover, friend

I thought he’d want the same.

It didn’t quite work out that way,

I’ve just myself to blame.

 

Yanni Jr. couldn’t quite

Commit himself to me.

The culprit to our happiness?

His homosexuality.

 

He tried denying what was true

To me right from the start.

But still I couldn’t stop myself

From giving him my heart.

 

Don’t think that I went blindly in,

The signals were sure there.

Underneath the big green eyes

And flowing, Yanni hair.

 

Foolishly I thought my love could

Get us past this glitch.

And it did for two great years

But then went in the ditch.

 

Thankfully we never made it

To sharing the same bed.

Otherwise this stage of life

I’d be facing with dread.

 

Trying to deny yourself

Is wrong right from the start.

Especially when what you do

Affects another’s heart.

 

Get all your information first

And please don’t be like me.

An important question does concern

His sexuality.

 

Even if he loves you it is

Doubtful that he’ll change,

Just forget the picket fence and

Big home on the range.

 

Do he and I still keep in touch?

Our paths sometimes do cross.

Of course I wish him all the best

I know he feels the loss.

 

The moral of the story is

Don’t enter love blindly.

Even if your dream comes true

And he looks just like Yanni.

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It Must Be The Flip Flops

So…Kitty was at work and it was just Brie and I at home. When Kitty’s away, Brie and I usually play, ha ha.

You know how we watch the dance shows, then I get a wild hair and want to try some of the dance moves, and it always turns out the same way: me with an injury.  Well we were watching something safe last night: the Biggest Loser.

I’m rather late to the party where this show is concerned. Brie turned me on to it maybe 3 years ago, and I really enjoy it.  The ups, downs, trials and tribulations of the contestants as they try to lose weight and give themselves a second chance at living a full life.  I love the inspiration of it, even as I was eating a nice bowl of Triple Chocolate Trifecta ice cream as I watched them work out!

Anyhoo, the toughest thing for me is to watch them in the gym for the first time. They are passing out and puking and all sorts of horribleness, yet they persevere. I am always afraid that they’re going to have heart attacks and keel over, but thankfully they never do.

And that’s when I had a thought: all of these people who weigh much more than I do, are up there doing all of these exercises.   At one point they only  had to do 30 jumping jacks. “I can do that, “I said.

Brie looked at me. “You can do what?”

“30 jumping jacks.”

She burst out laughing. “No you can’t! You can’t even get your feet up off the floor to jump!”

“Yes I can! And jumping jacks are easy: of course I can do them.”

“Yeah okay mom.”

The gauntlet had been thrown down so of course I picked it up. “Watch!” I marched myself from the living room into the kitchen with its bare floor, Pumpkin at my heels.  “This is going to be so easy. Are you watching?”

She finished the last 22 seconds of her Bejeweled Blitz game on her phone. “Yes mom, you have my undivided attention.”

“Okay then!” I proceeded to do my first one. “Are you watching?”

“Yes. Did your feet actually come up off the floor?”

“Of course they did! That was my practice one so now I’ll do the other 29.” I then began doing the jumping jacks in earnest.

“Seriously mom, I don’t see your feet coming off the floor.”

“They are!” I huffed, trying to lift my feet higher. “It’s the flip flops! They aren’t clearing the floor.”

“Well your feet are in them so how are your feet in the air and your flip flops are not?”

“I don’t know!” I puffed, trying to continue moving my arms in conjunction with making sure my feet were doing what they were supposed to be doing. “But I’m doing them! Look at me! My feet are definitely higher. The flip flops aren’t holding me back!”

“Oh I’m looking all right,” she smirked.  “Good thing you’re wearing the new bra to keep everything in place!”

I would have laughed but I didn’t have enough breath left in my body to do so. Plus hey: it really was an awesome bra, made the twins look good and yet still held everything in place. But I digress...

As I huffed and puffed and groaned and moaned and jumped, I had a new respect for the contestants on the show.  And by the time I hit 30 jumping jacks, my legs and even the tops of my feet were burning and screaming from not wearing the proper footwear for exercise. No matter how you look at it: flip flops are not Nikes.  And all to prove a point to Brie, who wasn’t dumb enough to try to do something that the Biggest Loser contestants were doing.

While I was lying in bed later with my legs burning and my feet killing me, trying to find my peppermint leg oil I had 3 realizations: 1) I needed to tip my hat to what those people were going through all in the name of being healthy again; 2) maybe it was time for me to concentrate on my own health and get back to the gym; and 3) no matter how you look at it: flip flops are NOT proper footwear to exercise in!

Food For Thought At Breakfast

I took my girls out to breakfast this morning (and they took me to the cleaners!) at my favorite place: The Peppermill. As we were being seated I noticed a couple of tables had been pushed together and a large party was sitting there. I didn't pay too much attention to them; but when we sat down Brie said, "That's 'Dre."  "My cousin 'Dre?" I looked around.  "No, my friend 'Dre."

I surreptitiously glanced over and sure enough: it was one of her best friends since middle school. "Well aren't you going to go say hi?"  She sadly shook her head. "Why not?"  "Because his wife doesn't let him talk to me."

I was startled for a minute. They had been friends for years, yet he wasn't allowed to talk to her?

I guess I shouldn't have been that surprised because I had been on both sides of that fence before.  For some reason, there are people that are so insecure in their relationships that they feel if their spouse/significant other has a friend of the opposite sex, they're going to cheat.  I say that if you don't trust your partner: don't be with them.

I have always had male friends. A contributing factor in this is that when I was in school, the boys weren't allowed to date me because I was a girl of color. So all we could be was friends. I got used to that type of relationship with guys.

When I married the "was-band", the first thing he did was make me get rid of my male friends: the ones I'd had for years because he didn't trust. And because I was, for the most part, afraid of him, I did. I felt terrible about it, but I was a wife and thought I had to do what he said.

When my brief marriage was over and I moved back home, I thought it would be easy to get my friends back but it wasn't.  I had to work very hard to regain their friendship because they had been so hurt.  It was at that point I decided that I would never let another person tell me who I could be friends with.

On the other end: my friend Skye, who I still haven't told you about, did that to me.   We used to hang out a lot and I met a couple of his girlfriends. I was always my usual charming self and I felt that I got along well with the girlfriends.  But we ended up going through a period of almost 3 years where we didn't speak: due to a misfired text.

When we finally started talking again, and then saw each other, he told me that none of his girlfriends had liked me. I was shocked at this. But the bottom line was: they didn't trust even though he and I have always just been friends, so they didn't want me around.  But the joke's on them: they're gone and I'm still here! And Skye and I have decided that it hurts too much when we aren't in each other's lives, so our friendship will not be broken again.

When 'Dre and his family finished their breakfast they got up to leave. I noticed he kind of hung back and let the others leave first. Then he looked at us and smiled, said a little something quick to Brie and then left.  Maybe that little something was all he felt he could do, after spending a good portion of breakfast time staring at Brie. Maybe he just wanted to let her know that in his heart they were still friends.  And maybe someday he'll man up enough to be back in her life.

'Nuff said.

"Injured" With the Stars

I know, I know: I said after the last injury that I was all done trying to imitate the dancers on Dancing with the Stars and So You Think You Can Dance. But this past Monday night I saw a move that was so simple; I knew I could pull it off.

Brie and I were watching DWTS before I had to pick Kitty up from work. The couple dancing was doing the Samba, if memory serves (and it doesn’t always, haha).  At one point the pro dancer turned his back to the star, she picked up her leg so it was even with his waist and he grabbed it, pulling her behind him as she glided across the floor.  I turned to Brie and said, “We can totally do this,” to which she replied, “Hell no!”

“Oh come on,” I cajoled.  “I’ll do the dragging part so you have it easy.” Very begrudgingly, she finally agreed.

“We’ll do it in the kitchen where there's tile,” I enthused, heading for the kitchen with a reluctant daughter behind me.  “Are you sure about this?” she asked.

“Yes! Now I’ll turn my back, and you lift up your leg and I’ll grab it. Then I’ll pull you.”

She obediently did this, but as I tried to drag her she was hopping, which didn’t work.  “Why are you hopping? That’s not what you’re supposed to do. You're supposed to glide.”

“Because I’m wearing my flip flops, not dancing shoes.”

“Oh good grief, that shouldn’t matter.  Just leave that foot on the floor and I’ll drag you.”

“Okay mom.”

Now this time, she lifted up her leg, I grabbed it to start dragging her, but all of a sudden I felt this leaden weight around my neck as I started to move. “Ahhh, what are you doing?” I yelled as her arms went around my neck and she leaned all of her weight on my back to drag her.

“I’m not hopping, so I have to lean on you for support,” she said. “But my foot isn’t exactly gliding.”

“Get off of me! Get off!!” I yelled as I felt something pull in my neck.

“Well put my leg down then!”

“Oh my neck!” I said, rubbing it and feeling it immediately stiffen up. “I'm going to be a hurting unit in the morning. I can’t believe you did that!”

“You told me to! I knew this was a bad idea,” she said, putting her flip flop back on.  “You know how this always ends up when we try anything on TV.”

“What do you mean ‘we’?” I said from my stooped position.  Seriously: when will I ever learn???  J

Women Who Wait

What is it with women who wait?

I don’t sit by the phone,

All alone,

Silently begging, “Ring, you bastard!”

Because my phone does outgoing

As well as incoming.

 I won’t stand by the dance floor

Scoping the guys, pleading with my eyes,

“Please ask me, don’t pass me

By.”

I grab a girlfriend and we hit the floor

So you can see the fabulosity you’re missing.

 I think it’s silly for me to wait

Until you make the first move.

I set my sights because I'm a real woman.

 

I’m not afraid to approach you

And suggest we get acquainted

Since waiting’s antiquated.

If I had waited for you

Instead of going after what I wanted

We would never have discovered each other:

Two halves of the same whole,

Two old souls

Who at last are complete.

I will never be a woman who waits.

 

~*~

It's My Turn

I was at the hair salon this morning for my usual standing appointment. A woman who works for the company that I do came in and hurried up to me. "Guess what?" she said excitedly.

I knew exactly what had her so excited. "You got your transfer?"

"Yes!" she practically screamed. "I'll be starting in the Arizona office after the first of the year!"

As she prattled on, and on, and ON about what the new job meant, starting over, a new life, blah, blah, blah I realized that she was probably the 10th or 12th person within the past couple of months that was transferring or already transferred to a new job in one of the four main hubs for our company. Yep: they were all starting a new exciting chapter in their lives.

And it's not just at work: I have friends that are engaged, newlyweds, pregnant, and one even JUST graduated nursing school last night! With all of these positive life-changing events going on around me it makes me wonder: when will it be MY turn?

I guess that depends on what I ultimately want.  Do I want to transfer to Hot-Lanta, Tacoma, Dallas or Tucson? No.  Do I want to be pregnant? Nothing for me to carry a baby in. Do I want to be married? Been there, done that and burned that particular t-shirt.  Do I want to be engaged? Another diamond would be nice, but I'm not pining for one. Do I want to go back to school? I have 2 degrees already.

And it's not that I'm jealous of these people: it's that it seems they have obtained the goals they've set for themselves while I seem to be in limbo...

I have always, for as far back as I can remember, wanted to be a writer. I am one. Then I wanted to be a published author. Guess what? I am one. But it looks like I didn't set the bar high enough, or I wasn't specific enough.  My ultimate goal, in my little heart of hearts, is to be a successful author, one that can make their living from their craft.

And herein lies the problem: I have 2 manuscripts that are almost finished, and they are the best I've written. But I am afraid that maybe they aren't New York Times best-seller list-worthy.  You can't attain your goal if you don't have faith in yourself. And as much faith as I have, I don't seem to focus enough of it my way. That's the problem.

So what am I going to do to get over this?  Am I just going to sit around and congratulate others as they move past me toward their happily ever afters?  Hell no! Not anymore. It's my turn to reach MY goal, to publish a book that not only people want to read, but that they will  encourage everyone they know to read it too.

At the end of the day, I know that success and happiness isn't measured in how much money you have. It's measured by how you feel about yourself at the end of the day.

With that being said: yes it would be awesome to be courted by the talk shows because I wrote the next "50 Shades".   But if I'm not true to me, then how would I enjoy that? I wouldn't.

So I continue to write what feels good and true to me.  Because if you write what you know, and what you live, and what you feel, and you're not afraid to lay yourself open to people:  then you'll find your true success and obtain your goal.  And I like the way that sounds!

'Nuff said? I think so.  I also think my new book, entitled "A Good Place To Start", will BE a good place for me to start my journey towards reaching "my turn".

Keep the faith. I know that I will!  And the new book will be available November 1st, so stay tuned!

Back To Basics

As most of you know, I belong to a Public Speaking Club called Adirondack Toastmasters. It’s a Corporate club which means membership is only open to employees. Currently I’m the President.

We used to have a very vibrant, dynamic club a few years ago and I was very proud to be a member. But over time we lost members, and weren’t picking up new ones. Attendance suffered, and then we got down to below charter-strength.

This had me worried. I love my club, and I’ve been in it for several years. We tried new things to bring in more members, without the kind of results I’d been looking for. Then our regular members started to not show up, and that’s when I knew we were in trouble.

So what could I do to try to bring the club back to its former glory days?  I had to stretch my imagination back; and came up with a solution. Every year we have 2 membership drives, so I would plan one. We used to have special guests and food and really advertise it. Looks like I’d have to take it back to basics!

First I had to think: what local celebrity could I possibly get, for free, that people would like to see? In the past we had Brian Cody and Richie Phillips from local radio stations, and that theme worked really well. With that in mind, I sent an email to a young gentleman who goes by the moniker J Will, from Jamz 96.3: #1 in Hip Hop for the Capital Region.  Lo and behold: he agreed to come and speak to the club, for free (or at least lunch J)! I was very excited, since we’d lost several of our younger members. I was hoping that a young, successful local celebrity would be the ticket to enticing young people to visit us today.

Thanks to the rest of my board members, we were able to use our non-existent budget to print up flyers, table tents and a couple of posters with J Will’s photo. Then with the rest of our imaginary money we had a member, who is a wonderful caterer in her other “career”, make her delicious pulled pork and homemade black forest cupcakes.  My friend Andi brought in her delicious French Vanilla homemade cupcakes. Another member made the yummiest pasta salad around, 2 members brought in chicken wings; and we bought decorations and little gift boxes that we stuffed with candy and a glo-bracelets to give to the people who showed up. Well, that would hopefully show up…

And low and behold: it worked! Today the room we reserved was standing room only. The food was delicious! They enjoyed their gift boxes. And the man himself: J Will, our special guest, even brought in some giveaways from the radio station.  We gave those away to volunteers for "Table Topics".

And let me tell you: he spoke very eloquently and had the crowd eating out of his hand. He was very personable and answered all of the questions our group had for him. He was a GREAT guest speaker!  Well-educated, family-oriented: we could certainly use more young gentleman like him!

I have to say: in spite of the headaches and sweat and crankiness that went on right up until 5 minutes before we kicked off the Membership Drive meeting: it went off pretty flawlessly. I was so proud of my club; and we’ve already signed up 5 new members!

Now the only problem is: how do we top this in March????

Shout-out to J Will! Thanks for everything and don’t be a stranger J

 

 

 

 

Random Thoughts

Whose idea was it to put marshmallows in cereal, like Lucky Charms?  Let me tell you: it was a bad idea.  First of all, any cereal that would have marshmallows in it already has too much sugar.  Second, the marshmallows don’t even taste real and to me they squeak between your teeth. They’re generally hard, and even if the milk does soften them up, they just turn slimy and still squeak: plus now your milk is a funky color.  Okay, maybe that’s fun for kids but not for us adults that are kids at heart!

While we’re on the subject of marshmallows, why is it that when you make your own rice krispies treats they’re wonderful, but when you buy them they seem to cut up your mouth?  Sometimes I don’t have the time or the inclination to make them so I’ll buy a couple; but it can be like biting into razor blades!  And if you don’t believe me, you can verify this with Brie and good old Aunt Robin!

Can someone explain marshmallow peeps to me?  Marshmallows covered with granulated sugar? Yikes!  I can’t stand that sugar crunching between my teeth.  But again, maybe as an adult I shouldn’t be eating them.  I have several friends that still like them, which I can’t understand.  They say they taste better stale.  Mmm, hardened marshmallow with crunchy sugar: what a treat!  Who can resist (my hand just went up!)?

However, if you want pure sugar, pixy sticks are the way to go.  I absolutely love them, much to the chagrin of my friends.  The reason why I don’t mind pixy stick sugar as opposed to marshmallow peep sugar is because I don’t chew the pixy sticks; I just let them dissolve in my mouth.  Delicious!

Of course, even though pixy sticks look like Kool-aid; you can’t add them to water for a refreshing drink.  First you wouldn’t have enough pixy stick sugar to make a sweetened beverage.  Second, it would be more expensive to buy a hundred pixy sticks for a pitcher of beverage, when you can buy a packet of Kool-aid for a quarter or the canister for about $3.00.

What’s the difference between Kool-aid and the imitation stuff, besides the name and price?   Nothing that I can taste.  Sweet colored water is sweet colored water, in my book.  I shouldn’t be drinking any of it anyway, but sometimes my inner child still wins!  Plus, you can freeze it for ice cubes for double the fun!

Why is it that ice cubes, when they melt, don’t make your glass overflow?  I’m sure Her Majesty Miss Kitty could answer that one, but I don’t want her to know that there’s another science question her mother can’t answer.

Besides, she’s in her room.  If I ask her the question, she’ll wonder what I’m doing up instead of being in bed, which is what I told her I was going to do because I didn’t feel like going to the grocery store for her.  Not that I mind going to the store, but what was on her list?  Lucky Charms!

Why would anyone want cereal with marshmallows in it?

Fractured Fable: Little Red In Da Hood

As many of you know, I belong to a Public Speaking club called Adirondack Toastmasters. A few years ago I entered one of the “Humorous Speech” contests and then wondered what could I do that would be funny enough to actually win? After much thinking I decided that, as the whitest black woman in the area, the funniest thing I could do was rap. So I picked a familiar fable, found a CD of beats, and came up with what you’re about to read. There’s no music here, but try to pick a beat in your head as you read it. And yes: as the whitest black woman in the area, I won J  Holla!

 

Once upon a time not long ago

Lived in a girl in da hood but she weren’t no ‘ho!

She lived with her momma, a sheltered life,

That didn’t contain much stress or strife.

Red knew there was more out there,

And baby girl wanted to see her share.

She looked out the window, every day

Then worked up the courage one day to say,

“Hey momma you know I need more than this.”

“But baby girl right now your life is bliss!”

“It’s boring; I need to see what’s out there.”

“Girl all that danger will curl your hair!”

But Hood continued to plead her best

Till momma finally acquiesced.

“There’s one place I’ll let you go,

To Grandma’s house and don’t be slow.

Take with you some homemade goods

And don’t forget to wear your hood!”

The girl was excited as she could be,

She tied her hood on prettily.

“Thank you mom this will be great!”

“Now hurry up so you’re not late!

“I’ll call granny and let her know

To expect you soon, don’t dawdle so.”

So Little Red Hood went on her way,

Skipping and singing that lovely day.

But after a while she had to slow down

And set her basket on the ground.

She hadn’t known it was this far

And she didn’t even see a car.

The woods were bigger than she thought

The basket was heavy with the goodies she brought.

Her mom had told her not to dawdle

But now her knees began to wobble.

Maybe she should have thought some more

Before she set foot out the door.

She squared her shoulders and soldiered on

To get to granny’s ‘fore the light was gone.

As she started to crossly grumble,

All of a sudden she heard a rumble!

She quickly jumped behind a tree,

“Hey girl, don’t be scared of me!”

Peeking from behind her cover

She saw a Harley Davidson lover.

Dressed in leather from head to toe,

Which was this, a friend or foe?

He took his helmet off his head,

“Girl you got nothing to dread.

It ain’t safe out here by yourself,

Now do you need a little help?”

“Not from you sir, but thanks though,

On your way now, please just go.”

The biker wasn’t done just yet.

His curiosity she had whet.

“Why you out here all alone?

These woods can be a danger zone.”

“I think that I’m beginning to see

What momma was trying to tell me.

I should have stayed at home with her

Instead of being here with you sir!”

“At least come out from behind that tree,

So who I’m talking to I’ll see.”

She took a step from behind the bark

And was glad that it still wasn’t dark.

“I like your hat, is it a snood?”

“Back up foo, don’t touch my hood!”

“I see you’ve got a basket there.

How about me and you just share?”

“These goodies are for my granny see,

Jump back Jack or you’ll feel my knee!”

He placed his hands up, backed away,
“No need for that, but listen, say

How about I give you a ride on my bike?

‘Cause that will save you quite a hike!”

“You think that I was born last night?”

She raised her dukes to put up a fight.

“Come on girl, you can trust me

I have sisters, here are pictures, see?”

Warily she checked them out

And then decided he wasn’t a lout.

“If you try a trick or two

Your butt is going to feel my shoe!”

“Just put this extra helmet on

So in a minute we’ll be gone!

Now just where is your granny’s place?”

“It’s right outside the woods a pace.”

So Little Red got on the back

And placed her basket in the side rack.

“Remember sir, no funny stuff

Or else I’ll have to get real tough!”

“Chill out girl, we’re on our way,

You got anything else to say?”

Little Red said, “Not a peep.”

Then settled on the high “bitch” seat.

The ‘cycle started with a loud roar,

Then the throttle was all but floored!

Like a shot the bike took off,

The exhaust made Little Red cough!

Through the woods the riders rushed,

Jumping logs and dodging brush.

She hung on tight for safety’s sake:

Dirt and stones flew in their wake!

“Please slow down before we crash

And we both end up with road rash! “

“Don’t worry Red!” he shouted back.

“It’s all good, we’re right on track!”

She hung on tightly; said a prayer,

Before she knew it: they were there!

“Here you go Red, safe and sound.”

Shakily her feet touched ground.

“Thanks, I think,” she told her ride.

And got her basket from the side.

“Little Red remember this:

You had better be careful, Miss.

Lucky for you your momma sent me

For the purpose, just to see

How you did on your first trek out.

I’ll have to tell her all about

How you didn’t ask me for I.D.

I could have been a big bad wolf, you see.

So next time don’t accept a ride,

There are safety rules you must abide.

For safety’s sake girl, keep it real,

Or your goodies a guy might steal!”

On that note they heard the door

Out stepped granny, who was five feet four.

“The gentleman’s right,” Granny said.

“You must be careful, or wind up dead!”

Hearing this gave Red a fright,

Luckily, it turned out all right.

But in the future she did vow,

To be more careful, and how!

‘Cause the next biker she might meet:

Could trick her and then take her “treat”!

Word to your mutha!

 

"I Have Coupons"

It was late Sunday morning and I was sitting in church like the good Christian woman that I am. The hymns had been sung, the collection plates passed, the announcements announced and we were getting ready to pray before the sermon. I dutifully bowed my head, closed my eyes and prepared to commune with the Lord.

A moment or two later I felt something poke my left leg. I opened one eye, looked to my left and saw MARIE with her hand outstretched. "Look!" she stage-whispered, "I have coupons!"

"Put those away!" I hissed. "You're supposed to be talking to Jesus!" Dutifully she put the coupons back in her purse.

Seriously, what is wrong with my mother? That was her very unsubtle way of letting me know she wanted me to take her out to lunch after church. And judging by the coupons, she wanted either Red Lobster or Olive Garden. Would you like to know how she decided between the 2? She wanted bread sticks instead of biscuits!

In case you couldn't tell, my mother is a bit spoiled. And who spoiled her? Me!  I'm not even sure how it happened. Maybe it began as a joke, when after church if I had to stop at the store my mother would say, "If you see anything in there with my name on it get it for me." After awhile I started doing just that: picking out a couple of things I felt she would like and buying them for her.

So now she just expects it!  For instance: 2 weeks ago fresh blueberries were on sale at our local Hannaford for $2.00 a pint. So I bought her 4 pints on Sunday. "Oh thank you daughter; the Lord is really going to bless you one day." By Tuesday she had eaten all 4 pints. So on Wednesday I bought her 6 more!  "Oh daughter you're just so good to me!" I told her she'd better pace herself and not eat them up so fast. She promised she would put some in the freezer so she'd have some for later.

Then on Sunday evening my phone rang and it was her. "Daughter, I was just looking in the sale papers and Price Chopper has blueberries on sale for $1.99 a pint. Isn't that remarkable?"

"Marie, do you mean remarkable because they're a penny less than last week at Hannaford?"

"Oh I just wanted to tell you so you could get some for you.  Don't you love them? I do!"

"I know you do Marie. Did you eat all the ones I already bought?"

"No I washed them and sprinkled some Splenda on them and put them in the freezer," she said. "But just in case you wanted to get some for you..."

So you know what happened: I bought her 4 pints on Monday, another 4 on Wednesday and 5 on Saturday! And I told her that was it! She needed to put them in the freezer and not be so greedy.  "Daughter, I promise I will ration them out. And the Lord is really going to bless you one day."  "I know He will Marie."

So that's just the tip of the iceberg where spoiled Marie is. She likes the little things and I don't mind doing them for her. However, now she's set her sights on my beautiful blue recliner that I keep in my bedroom so no one else sits in it.  Lady: that's where I have to draw the line!

Oh No Not That Song!

I have gotten used to being told that I have irrational fears.  And…maybe in some instances people are right.  Last night another example was brought to my attention; and I’m going to share this with you even though it all sounds perfectly sane to me.

Schmoop-dog decided he needed another tattoo, and asked if I’d accompany him. Being the good friend that I am I agreed; figuring I would get a chance to catch up on some reading while he was being subjected to the pain of getting a Yeti tattoo above his left ankle.

Afterwards, since I hadn’t had dinner, I offered him the chance of enjoying even more of my company by taking me to the Peppermill for a bite to eat.  I love the Peppermill, and yes: this is a shameless plug for their homemade delicious comfort food. You’re welcome Vicki!

As we were eating our dinner I realized they have the radio station set to the oldies station, WCKM, which is fine.  I used to work there and enjoy hearing some of the songs from the 70s.  But when I was about halfway through my meal, I heard the song “Cover of the Rolling Stone” playing, by Dr. Hook and the Medicine Show. “Oh no, not this song,” I muttered.

“What’s wrong with the song?” Schmoop-dog questioned.

I looked up uneasily. “Well, when I was a kid I liked their music, and especially their song Sylvia’s Mother. But when I saw them on American Bandstand, I saw that one of them had an eye patch and that scared me!”

Schmoop put down his fork. “Excuse me?”

“Well, he wasn’t a pirate so I didn’t understand WHY he had an eye patch! Where was his eye?”

“The good news is that you’re an adult now and it doesn’t matter where his eye was. Perhaps it was just a gimmick.”

“Oh. Hmm, I guess so.  Okay then!” I smiled brightly and went back to my meal.

Uh oh. The very next song they played was “Timothy” by the Buoys.  “Oh no, not this song!”

Poor Schmoop looked up from his shrimp. “What’s the matter with this song?”

“Don’t you know it?? They ate Timothy!”

“What??”

“They were trapped in a mine; and when they were rescued Timothy was missing! They blacked out and when they woke up their stomachs were full as could be but there was no sign of Timothy!” I lowered my voice. “At the time, people were very up in arms about it so the promoters said that Timothy was actually a donkey, but I just know it was a guy and they ate him! How frightening is that? He and his friend were rescued, but they never got around to finding Timothy.  I’m afraid of this terrible song too!”

This time Schmoop-dog just blinked, and then returned to his salad, shaking his head.

“You know how bad things come in three’s?” I began.

“Yes.”

“Well according to the law of averages, this means that the next song they play after the commercial will be D.O.A.!”

“Um…dead on arrival?”

“YES! The song where the guy was in the car accident, but didn’t know he was dead! It was rainy, and his car crashed and he was thrown from it, and then he’s describing all the things he’s seeing and feeling. But it’s an out of body experience, and he doesn’t know he’s dead until he hears the paramedic say “dead on arrival”!”

The fork went down again. “Seriously, how were you ever a deejay?”

“I never played those songs! They were too scary Schmoopie!”

He wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Check please!”

Sheesh, was it something I said???