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???

More Sinner Or Saint?

Father’s Day is upon us, so in honor of my father, I’m going to share a couple of stories about the man that was sometimes more “sinner” than “saint”.

When I was a little girl, the biggest, smartest, most wonderful man in the world was my father Clarence, aka Daddy Clank.  How did he get this nickname?  When my two older brothers and I were little, Keith, the “clever” one, gave him the moniker because he said dad was old and ran like robot.  This was proven wrong; when we made up a song about him whose chorus was “stupid, boopid a pocketful of woo pits.”  He wasn’t running like a robot then when he caught us and gave us all a spanking for being disrespectful!  He also didn’t have a pocket full of woo pits, whatever those were supposed to be.

During my school years all of the mothers in town would say to me, “Your father is the handsomest man in South Glens Falls.”  I remember thinking, “Are you kidding?” but when I look back, my father was a very good-looking man.  He always took pride in his appearance and wore the spiffiest tailor-made suits around.  He was a church deacon and ascended to the highest offices in the New York American Legion Organization, the Veterans of Foreign Wars and the Disabled Veterans of America.  I take after him, what with being a giant and all…As a matter of fact; my family nickname came from him.  When he worked as a machinist at Hercules, his nickname was “Debbie”, derived from our last name.  So when he had a daughter who resembled him, what was her nickname?  That’s right, “little Debbie” which later got shortened to just Debbie after I wasn’t so little…  But it could have been worse: my sister’s nickname was “rabbit” and my baby brother’s is Clanky.   So I guess in the grand scheme of things, Debbie ain’t too bad!

I always admired my father.  He was a good provider, worked hard and took care of his family.  Although most of the child-rearing chores were left to my mother, he did the disciplining but also the treating, as well.  Every Wednesday, which was payday, he’d come home with everyone’s favorite treat: Smarties for me, bubble gum for Keith and Twizzlers for Carl.  Ah, those were the days, before the 2^nd generation kids arrived!

But he wasn’t perfect.  Nope, Daddy Clank liked to “tip the bottle a little”, or as he liked to say, “go see the turkey drink water” to unwind.  Of course, my mother heartily disapproved of this and tried to get him to not go out and drink.  But Daddy Clank was clever, almost as clever as Keith.  I remember one evening he said to us kids, “Hey, who wants an ice cream cone?”  “I do, I do!” my brothers and I yelled.  “We want chocolate, strawberry and chocolate marshmallow!”  Then he went to my mother and said, “Marie, I’m just going to drive to Stewart’s and get the kids an ice cream cone.  I’ll be right back.”  “Clarence, are you really going to get ice cream for the kids?”  “Of course I am!”  Well, needless to say, that was the last we saw of my father that night.  We were little, maybe 4, 6, and 7, so once it was bed time we forgot all about it.

The next afternoon we were playing out in the front yard, and suddenly Carl sees my father walking down the street heading for home.  Now, he may not have remembered where he left the car, but sure enough, in a cardboard carrier, he had our 3 ice cream cones!  And that’s what redeemed Daddy Clank in our childish eyes.

My father was always my biggest fan.  No matter what I wanted to do or who I wanted to be, he was there cheering me on.  At my Girl Scout talent shows, he bragged that his daughter was the best dancer there.  When I modeled in college and worked fashion shows and travelled with a bodyguard, I was the best model ever!  When I decided to waste 2 years in college studying media arts instead of something that would provide me with a real income after graduation, it didn’t matter because I was going to be a media sensation someday.  When I got my “big break” on the radio, he was listening!  And even though he never read anything I’ve ever written, sure enough, I’m the best writer today.  I’m sure he is celebrating me being published on Nook and Kindle, whether they have those in Heaven or not J!

The one thing he didn’t approve of, which again points out the fact that he was very wise, was my ex-husband.  After a while I didn’t approve of him either, but that’s a whole other story.  Anyway, my father was able to see through the veneer that I couldn’t, and was heartbroken when I moved away with the guy.  I didn’t find out until years later that when I left it broke my father’s heart, and he cried and prayed many a night that I would be safe.  That also proves there’s power in prayer, because I made it back from “Daemon” safely.

He wasn’t just a good father to me, but a wonderful grandfather to my 2 daughters.  He had long since retired when they were born, so he had all the time in the world to spoil them absolutely rotten.   I can’t think of anyone who loved me or my daughters as much as my father did.

But time has a way of marching on.  On February 6, 2004, he entered the hospital with pneumonia and kidney failure; and he just steadily declined for the next few months.  He had some really good days and some really bad ones, but at the end my mother signed him out of the hospital so he could be at home with the family.  He had a list of ailments as long as my arm by then.  But that didn’t matter because I loved him just the same; and visited him every day.  To paraphrase a bible verse: “I love him because he first loved me.”  That man loved me and believed in me since day one.  I prayed so much for him but he was 86 and apparently God needed a buddy to eat Girl Scout cookies with.  So he went peacefully in his sleep one morning at the end of October 2004…

Yep, I miss him a lot even to this day.  But I don’t waste time mourning: I celebrate him, reminisce about him and share the laughs with others. And if you’re lucky enough to still have a father who knew how to get the job done, make sure you let him know how much you appreciate him.

To Be Continued...

You come to me when you're wounded,
You know I can't resist,
Trying to make it all better,
With convo and a kiss.

We always meet at the diner.
I'm never sure how you'll look.
You always arrive before me
And write in your little notebook.

You never get older just better,
Though you looked a bit battle-worn.
Still lean, taut and tattooed
But world-weary and forlorn.

You sip awhile on your coffee.
I pretend I'm drinking my tea.
Our eyes lock in the silence:
Heat passes from you to me.

We spend more time looking than talking:
Taking each other's measure.
We share a similar thought:
Will tonight bring mutual pleasure?

"Want to go somewhere else?"
Is the question I'm waiting to hear.
Finally those words are spoken and
We're out, deciding what's near.

You follow me back to my house,
Up the road it's not very far.
We're going to talk in my driveway,
I let myself into your car.

Talk is not that important.
We comment on the view.
You fix me with a smoky gaze
And ask, "Can I kiss you?"

"Yes," I say, "but I have gum..."
"That's okay, so do I."
You lean in close and our lips meet:
You groan, I deeply sigh.

We knew that it would be like this:
Anything but mild.
Hot, intense, like a flame;
Long, deep, wet and wild...

Kissing's how it always starts;
Cosmically it's not ended.
Afterwards I hold you close so
Your soul can be mended.

You open up and tell me things
You've never voiced before.
I stroke your arm and kiss your neck
And then you tell me more.

I hear you with my ears
While I listen with my heart.
But as always much too soon
I know it's time to part.

"Saying thank-you would be lame
"But sums up how I feel."
We exchange a soulful kiss;
You slide beneath the wheel.

Whispering a soft goodnight
We know we've crossed a line.
I've become a part of you
You'll never leave behind.

Before I enter my front door
I ask the skies above:
Did he see me out of hurt,
Or finally, out of love?

'Nuff said.

My Stint As A Waitress

A close family friend died last Saturday evening and her memorial service was this past Wednesday May 15th. Since I'm still home recovering from my hand surgery, I told Marie that I would take her.

It was a lovely and well-attended service. Afterwards I said to her, "Marie, do you want to go downstairs for the repast, or go to the Peppermill for a belated Mother's Day lunch?" She thought for a minute and then opted for the repast. "Are you sure?" "Yes I am. We can sit with Dottie and Mary."

So downstairs we went, only to discover that there weren't many seats available; so we ended up at a table full of strangers. The woman directly across from us introduced herself, but no one else besides my mother and I did. I knew this was going to be a long meal.

With that being said, right before the pastor called our table to go up for food Marie whispered to me, "I'd rather go to the Peppermill." Seriously??? "And how do you propose we leave without being noticed? We're the only chocolate chips in the cookie so I know people will notice us leaving!" "Well when they call up our table, we'll just go last and no one will notice us scoot out the door!" she whispered triumphantly.

And I guess she's sure no one noticed her in her fire-engine red coat and white hat sneaking out with the giant. Oy vey...

We went to the Peppermill, which really is my favorite hometown restaurant. Everything homemade, great chef, friendly staff and the food is so yummy and comforting! Our waitress was one of my regulars; and at the end of our meal I was figuring the tip. "Being a waitress must be hard work," Marie commented. "I couldn't imagine being on my feet all day."

"I was a waitress once," I commented. My mother's eyes widened. "You were? When? I don't remember."

"That's because it was the first job I got when I moved to Long Island."

I was 19 when I moved to Long Island. My ex worked for Belmont Race Track, and there happened to be a breakfast diner located there. He spoke to the owner, and she agreed to give me a try. The diner was only open from 5 a.m. until 11 a.m., so this coincided perfectly with my ex's morning schedule so we could ride to and from work together.

I'd never waitressed before, but the owner and her sisters, who were all at the very least in their 40s, seemed very happy to have me on board. I took breakfast orders, and sometimes even made breakfast sandwiches on the grill. I wasn't very fast but the customers, primarily track trainers, jockeys and owners, didn't seem to mind and the tips were awesome! One morning I made a ham, egg and cheese breakfast sandwich for one of the trainers, and he left me a $50 tip! I was ecstatic! That must have been the best sandwich ever, and the best part was we didn't have to share our tips. I was the happiest new waitress on Long Island!

Then the week ended, the diner closed and I went to the owner to collect my week's actual pay. As she handed me my pay she said, "Um...we won't be needing you anymore." I was crestfallen! "Why not? I know I was slow but I know the customers liked me because they always gave me big tips."

She shook her head. "That's just it. The big tips weren't for your cooking, or your service. It was for...servicing. Out back..."

My 19-year-old mind spun. What she was saying, without saying it, was they were running a prostitution service for the higher-up track employees! So that $50 "tip" was for me to meet him out back for a different kind of breakfast! It was an open secret that I hadn't been aware of at all!

So sadly, that was my one and only foray into the waitressing world. When I met Raymond that day I asked him if he knew they were prostitutes. He said yes but hadn't figured they'd have me do it because I was his woman. Guess you were wrong Raymond!  They needed some young eye candy to boost their "sagging" sales, ha ha!

My mother was speechless after that story. "Well!" she finally said. "I guess it's a good thing I raised you right."

"Yeah, I guess it is."

She leaned closer over the table. "But tell me: were you tempted even a little bit?"

"Not at all. But I probably should have figured something was up because trust me: my cooking wasn't that good!"

I have no idea if "Mom's Diner" is still there or not. But if it is: I hope they give the new girls a head's up. No pun intended!

Speedy Recovery?

I am home recovering from hand surgery on 2 fingers of my right hand, which is my dominant hand. It hasn't even been a week yet and I am BORED.  I can't drive yet so I'm not going anywhere. It's hot so I'm not sitting outside. I currently have a low power bill so I won't turn on the central air. So I basically...sit. Or nap. Because even though it's my hand, any surgery is a trauma to your body so the body tires quickly.

You want to know who isn't bored? Pumpkin! This is one of the best things that's happened to her all year: Grammy's home! She's can't go anywhere! So Grammy can spend all night and all day with Pumpkin!

Let me tell you: I am sick of Pumpkin. I adore her but I'm trapped! So at night she's in my bed sleeping while I'm awake because I'm hot even with a fan blowing on me.  Then in the morning, after I've been up since 5 a.m., she stretches her little legs, opens her eyes, gazes adoringly at me and then comes over for me to rub her belly. Seriously? I only have one usable hand, you selfish little dog! Yet I rub her belly. Then she goes back to sleep while I give her the evil eye.

When I can't stand it anymore, I get up and we go downstairs where I have to singlehandedly open her Chef Michaels and feed her. As she eats, she gazes adoringly at me. Then she joins me on the couch, curls up in my lap FOR A NAP while I channel surf and curse the lack of anything watchable on the TV. Judge shows, who-the-baby-daddy shows, infomercials, news. Thank God today there was a marathon of America's NEXT Top Model on. Pumpkin wakes up from her nap, gazes adoringly at me and then goes back to sleep! She's such a hater!

One of the worse things about this recovery process is using my left hand. You don't even want to know how long it's taking me to type this post one-handed! But there are things that aren't fun that I have to do with my less dominant hand. I don't get too upset with the uneven moisturizing, or tooth-brushing or hair styling. However, there's one thing that I've had a hard time with, and that is what I'll delicately call the "T-Rex". 

It's the T-Rex because you know how when you take care of, you know, personal stuff, it's all good and you reach what you need to?  Well, it seems like now, since I have to use my left hand, my arm isn't long enough!  It's still the same circumference and all, but it's just not the same. And you end up at a weird angle...and let's just say that one time I almost fell off of the toilet! Brie's still laughing about that because I was dumb enough to tell her!

With all that being said, please wish me a speedy recovery. Or that my left arm gets longer...either one!