What's In a Name?

 

I was working today and listening to my Victrola, which is what my girls call the music on my phone. The song “By the Time I Get To Phoenix” by Glen Campbell came on. This song reminded me of “Wichita Lineman”, another favorite that they used to play at the ice skating rink back in the roaring ‘20s when I was a kid. And that song reminded me of a childhood nickname my brother Keith gave me as a child: Piggy Fleming.

He thought he was so clever. He gave me this nickname because I was a terrible ice skater, so not worthy of the name Peggy Fleming. I remember in Junior High he gave me the moniker “Wilt Chamberchick” due to my questionable basketball skills at that time. Hater.

But Carl, my oldest brother, and Keith did have weird nicknames given to them by one of our neighbors. Her name was Kimberly and she was their age. Every time she came over she wanted to play this weird game called “Uncle Jeff and Uncle Stony”.  It always seemed to involve them sitting in the swing set in the ride that sat four people and them "traveling" somewhere. Yet I was never allowed to be the 4^th passenger. Carl’s middle name was Jeffrey so that nickname made sense. But why was Keith Uncle Stony?? Apparently for some reason my elementary school mind couldn’t comprehend. And I don’t want to comprehend it now either!

Somewhere around high school Keith acquired the nickname “Slick” and later it was “Uncle Slicky”. I wasn’t in with the in crowd so I don’t know where that came from, but I have a few ideas. I never called him that. My nickname for him was spawn of satan, but only in my head. I knew better than to say that out loud!

My sister’s nickname from my father was Rabbit. No idea why either: especially when he always told me that I ate like a rabbit. Keith gave the youngest his nickname. Clarence Jr. became Clancy, a good old fashioned Irish name. J Robin was Robespierre; and Keith also gave my parents their nicknames: Daddy Clank and Riri.

My actual family nickname came from my father. His name at work was Debbie, so I was dubbed “Little Debbie” and then just Debbie. But that’s only for family to use! And I actually prefer the nickname I was given in college: Brick House. The guys in the Radio Broadcasting program dubbed me that and I wasn’t mad about it!

Isn’t it amazing what goes through your mind just from hearing a song?? Or maybe it’s just my mind. Regardless: feel free to let me know what your nickname is, or was!

Rated R For Language

 This is going to be a quick one as I'm shooting from the hip, which is something I don't normally do.. And it may be the last one for some of you if you decide you no longer wish to read my posts. Trust me: I'm okay with that. But there is something I need to get off of my chest.

Why is it that so many people think that women, especially black women, can't get ahead unless they sleep their way to the top? I have "heard" people say that the only reason Kamala Harris is where she is today, is because she sucked or fucked Biden and who knows who else along the way. Some people don't want to give her credit for her education, hard work, dedication or perseverance.  Certain people don't think she deserves anything  except something subservient. Why is that? Why can't we use our brains to achieve our goals? Is that something just reserved for white women?

I can understand if you're jealous because she has broken so many glass ceilings. But that's on YOU. If you set your sights on being in politics: then it was up to  you to go to school and study and work your way up. If that wasn't your goal: then don't be a racist, jealous hater  who wants to diminish someone else's accomplishments. Can the woman have a few minutes to be proud of where she is now?

I remember several years ago, I was invited to attend a gala / fundraiser. I was so excited to go! One day at work I was talking to a couple of friends about it and one looked at me and said, "How did you get invited to something like that?" Instead of saying what I wanted to say, I responded, "Sometimes it's just who you know." Apparently she didn't think I was good enough to go to such an event with local celebrities. But bitch: I was! She had a sense of entitlement that didn't work out for her. And she was mad that I had such an opportunity. What she needed to understand is that a person makes their own opportunities. I've done a lot of things and been a lot of places because I worked for it. Not because I did sexual favors. Seriously.

I'm not jealous of Kamala for reaching one of her goals because I never aspired to be in politics. But I can surely celebrate with her! I'm just as sure that if she knew me: she'd be happy that I reached my goals of being a blogger and a published author. So if you want to be a hater and hate because of race: then maybe you'd better go back to school, educate yourself on a lot of  things besides politics, and speak to God about the hate in your black heart. And the way you think about Kamala makes me think that you might harbor some of that about me, your supposed friend. Food for thought.

And by the way: there are plenty of women out there that have no qualms about using sex to get ahead, no pun intended. Don't confuse them with the ones that stay on the right and narrow path. 

'Nuff said.

When I Hear Music

 My sister was truly a lover of all kinds of music. I am too, but there was some I would have missed if not for her. She and Clancy had collections of CDs and vinyl. Lucky them!

But Robin and I went to concerts together and such, so I didn't feel too left out. And if I happened to be listening to a classic rock station and an unfamiliar song would come on: i knew I could call her and she could give me the details about it.

That's a big part of what I miss about her. A couple of years ago I was in the car and the song Home By the Sea came on. Was it Phil Collins or Genesis? How had I never heard it before? And the first thought I had was, "I wonder if Robin knows this song?" Then I was sad because I couldn't call her to find out.

This happened most recently maybe four days ago. The local classic rock station was playing a John Mellencamp song I had never heard before and it was awesome! Robin and I loved John Mellencamp so I had no idea how we could have missed this one. The deejay mentioned something about 2006 so maybe it had come out then. Regardless, I had to download this song and play it continually.

This morning I was working from home and decided I wanted to see if there was a video of this song i could watch. I had to scroll through a little bit but then found a live performance on the David Letterman Show from 1993! I couldnt believe it was that old. Here's how he was introduced: "My next guest is from Indiana, just like me. He was going to do a fantastic song from his upcoming album Human Wheels but it was too long. So he's going to do another song that is just as fantastic! From his upcoming album Human Wheels." Or something to that effect. You can YouTube it.

Anyhow, the name of the song is What If I Came Knocking and it is killer. As I watched the performance it reminded me of one of the things on my and Robin's bucket list. We had plans to be on stage dancing with John Mellencamp! I'm not exactly sure how we were going to accomplish this but I'm a woman who makes things happen! I always got great seats for concerts. I got suite tickets for Eminem & Rihanna and the Derek Jeter Legacy game. I got free limo rides and free hockey tickets, just to name a few things. But I never got around to dancing with John Mellencamp back in the day. Now I'm sure neither one of us could do much dancing without creaks and groans and Tylenol! So that moves to the bottom of the bucket list.

So do yourself a favor and check out that song. You won't regret it. And if by some stretch any of you know Mr. Mellencamp: tell him to get in touch with me! 😉

Why the Dogs Got Nothing For Christmas

 In a nutshell: because they were BAD. They started out as good girls but then it all derailed!

They began the year loving each other. But then Lilly got jealous of Vivian because she created a new game called "Running Like a Crazy Girl". This involved when I got home, Vivian would run into the living room and then run at me and jump for me to pick her up. And I would because she's so tiny and cute. Lilly is cute but not tiny, so when she figured it out she would go maybe 10 inches from me and run 1 step to beat Vivian to me. I would pick her up and then Vivian would be jealous and go sulk. Then, it got to the point where they would greet me at the door, and then get into a fight with Vivian jumping on Lilly's back. Funny, but not appropriate!

Next, they began growling at each other: from opposite couches. So annoying when you're trying to listen to the TV! And this turned into Lilly attacking her sister just to be mean. That's what squirt bottles are for!

At some point Vivian decided she wanted to be pack leader and tried to bully ME. If she wanted a treat she would come to me, stand on her hind legs and push on my leg while verbally demanding a treat. That got old real fast!

But the piece de resistance (add your own accents) was their defiance if all 3 of us left the house and they were alone. I know they are needy and clingy and have abandonment issues. However, they started something new and a bit dangerous.

I was the first one home one day. They greeted me and we came into the living room. There, in the dog bed, was an opened package of dark chocolate M&Ms. Dark chocolate will kill dogs and mine are small! "Where did this come from???" I asked, like they were going to tell me. I snatched it up and threw it in the garbage. I also told them if they had eaten any: to pray to their God because Pumpkin used up all the emergency vet money. Thank God they were safe, although I had a sneaking suspicion that it was Lilly's doing and she was trying to kill her sister. Good thing there is no evidence that Vivian ate anything!

So over a few months we have come home to several unusual things in their bed. This includes a container of potato salad, marshmallows, popcorn, a strawberry Belvita biscuit, Hershey Kisses and other things that we had no idea where it came from. So we had to make sure everything was put away and there were no lunch bags left on the floor with leftover food. 

However, the best (or worst) thing I came home to was a chef salad in the dog bed. No lie! The container was bigger than Vivian so I know she didn't put it there. Thank God it wasn't open. But that one was my fault: I had gotten it the night before, didn't finish it and had put it back in the to go bag by my dining room chair: forgetting to toss it away. But still: the dogs knew we didn't serve them salad!

So there you have it: the first year our pets got nothing for Christmas because I don't reward bad behavior. Maybe they can redeem themselves for next year and make it back onto the nice list.

Like Living in a Belfry

 

The weather for the past week and a half or so has been unseasonably warm. We loved it! 70-degree weather in November is basically unheard of in upstate New York. I loved it: right up until last Wednesday.

I was at church practicing with the music director of our worship team. As usual, when we were finished with practice we sat in the sanctuary and chatted for a bit. I thought I heard something, but no one else was scheduled to be there. Out of the corner of my eye I thought I saw something near the ceiling. And then it took flight! Yep: it was a bat! I said, “Jim it’s a bat!” He said, “Are you sure it isn’t a bird?” Then it started swooping and he said, “Nope: it’s a bat.” No kidding!

At that point I knew practice was officially over but now I had a dilemma: how was I going to get out of the sanctuary without attracting its attention? “Jim I have to GO!” yet I continued to sit there watching it fly around the far reaches of the sanctuary. “Well yes we should get out.”  Yet we still sat there!

As I watched the acrobatic bat, it finally flew up to a large window that I hadn’t even noticed. It looked like a big square was cut out of a screen. The bat went into there but then came back out; then it went for the screen, appeared to slide down said screen and disappeared. This was my chance to make my break. “Jim, you’re on your own!”  “Let me just turn out the lights –“ “So it can fly back up into the darkness? Nope! Sorry Jim it’s every man for himself and I’m out!” I hightailed it out of there and into the night. I felt a little bad for Jim but not enough to slow down.

Oh how the girls chuckled with mirth when I told them. Brie said, “You seriously left Jim there?” “Yes I did! Survival of the fittest and he’s a man so if you’re slow you blow.” “Nice Christian words mom.” “God will forgive me and so will Jim!”

Thankfully the rest of the evening was uneventful. I was happy to fall asleep on the couch. But then I thought I heard someone calling my name. Regaining consciousness, it was Kitty. “Kitty were you calling me? What do you want?” “Mom, don’t panic but I wanted you to know that there’s a bat up here. I’ll take care of it.” “WHAT????????”

Sure enough, she had found a sleepy little bat outside of her room door. Of course I wished she had just gotten rid of it and not woken me up, but that’s Kitty! She came downstairs and headed out the door with it. And naturally she took a picture of it for Facebook. She put it on a tree, did the photo op, and then it went up the tree: presumably to nap. When she came back in I said, “Aren’t bats supposed to be hibernating now?” Surprisingly, Brie piped up with, “The weather has been so warm that it confused the bats. That’s why they are out now and confused.” Ugh!

Now that the weather is cold again, I hope that I don’t get chased out of the sanctuary during this week’s practice. I also saw that Kitty had reinforced her prior efforts of keeping out any flying visitors. What would I do without her?

Why I'm Not Having Surgery

 

So after over three years of caring for my mother at my house, she is in a really good nursing home. I just couldn’t provide 24/7 care for her anymore and had to finally admit defeat. But she is being well taken care of, they have had NO instances of COVID and she has a wonderful view of the mountains from her room. That’s the good news.

The not so good news is that with these years of helping her, especially if she fell or needed help up from her chair: my left shoulder and low back are jacked up.  When I went to the ortho after I had new x-rays taken, he showed me the x-ray from 2017 and the new one. “Good grief, what kind of abuse have you been experiencing?” he asked. “You have bursitis, calcium deposits, a torn tendon and bone spurs.” Yep: all that damage from taking care of my mother. And yes: it hurts like a mother! But it’s what you do for your parent.

Anyhoo, I’ve been going to PT which I dislike intensely. I have pretty much no range of motion (without excruciating pain) when I try to reach behind me or raise my arm past a certain point. So what I like about PT is the heat pack, the ultra sound and the ice pack at the end. Any actual exercises just make me mad because it hurts. But I do them to the best of my ability and then go home and whine to the daughters who roll their eyes and tell me I need to do them. Haters!

I recently had an MRI done and the ortho set me up with an appointment to see the surgeon because he really feels that some arthroscopy to clean up my shoulder will go a long way towards helping me. I see the surgeon in four weeks. I asked my ortho how long the healing process is and he said 12 weeks. I said, “Out of work????” and he said no, I could probably go back to work after 4 to 6 weeks. Small consolation: that’s all of my vacation and sick time!

So here’s the reason why I’m not having surgery: because there is no one to take care of me while I heal. Sure my girls say they will. LIES! And here’s how I know.

Right now, since I can’t reach behind me, I cannot unhook my b-r-a. If I ask Kitty to help me, she looks like she expects me to flash her afterwards. I have to reassure her that she only has to reach under the back of my shirt and do it. She is still very squeamish about it and tries to do it without actually touching me.  Sheesh, I changed your diaper but you don’t want to help me with this small task??

Brie, on the other hand, acts too happy to do it. She tries to creep me out by doing the porn music while she’s unhooking it. She thinks she’s funny but she is not! At least she gets it done without acting like I have cooties.

When I am getting dressed I can at least put the b-r-a on backward, hook it, turn it around and then try to slide the straps over my arms. But I can’t exactly do the left side so again I have to ask creepy Brie for help. Which involves waking her up, which is an adventure all by itself. Once I get her cognizant and coherent she is good about it. The only unfortunate thing is that once I get my arms in and the straps up, (gentlemen close your eyes for this part) sometimes all of my naughty bits are in the b-r-a and sometimes they aren’t. Then I have to do this move that hopefully shakes everything into place.

But the best part is my hair. I can’t do the left side correctly because I can’t raise my arm. So again: time to wake up Brie. Sometimes I am successful: sometimes not so much. She was sleeping on the couch one morning and I said, “Can you help me with my hair?” “Sure momma.” She then proceeded to not only not turn her face from the back of the couch: she also just moved her hand in the air like she was actually touching my hair. “Brie, you’re supposed to be doing my hair!” “I am momma.” Still waving her hand in the air. “It looks really nice.” “You haven’t even touched it nor looked at it!” Still facing the couch: “Yes I did and you look beautiful momma.” Seriously! I cannot make this stuff up.

At least the one thing they will do is spray or roll icy hot on me. Not because they love me: oh no, it’s because they don’t have to touch me. Rude! It isn’t like I have crocodile skin: my skin is actually quite nice since I take good care of it. Well, most of it. Sorry left side! Guess I’ll have to keep on with the PT and maybe consider the arthroscopy so I can stop torturing the girls into helping their mother.  

So until I can find someone, other than the dogs, to take care of me during a convalescence: say a prayer for me healing and not needing surgery at all!

Gypsy Rose Rita

I had thought all summer about doing a blog discussing my beginning club days. I was 16 when I started going out dancing and I was immediately hooked (love you Lisa J!). But since its mid September that boat has kind of sailed. But due to some recent events here's a memory that has come back to the surface.

End of summer 1976. My parents decided to take the change-of-life kids, Clancy and Robin, on vacation to Maryland for a week. The rest of us couldn't go because we all had to work. So you know what that meant: PARTY TIME!!

My older brothers were notorious for the parties they threw. All of my girlfriends knew this. So with no parents around, and their parents not knowing it: we planned to go to the Airport Inn at night and then they would stay at my house and party with the older fellas. Sounded fine to me as long as a i got my fix of dancing with guys from New York City and Montreal first.

I didn't smoke or drink or do drugs. Dancing with hot guys was my drug of choice! We girls would go out until one or two a.m. and then beat it back to my house. I'd say hi and goodnight to the guys and go to bed upstairs: leaving my girls to...whatever they were doing! Then in the morning I would get ready for work and step over the bodies sleeping on the floor as I left for work!

And then Thursday night rolled around. Out to the club as usual and then back to the house. But this night I stayed up a while to be social; finally heading upstairs later than usual and knowing I would be a sleepy unit at work.

Upstairs there were two large bedrooms but I used the bed in the hallway. I was exhausted and only had a couple of hours to sleep. I slipped out of my skirt and pulled my top off over my head. I hung the clothes up on the clothing rack and finally slipped beneath the sheets, turning over to sleepily face the wall.

Suddenly: I wasn't alone! Someone had slid into the bed with me! I hurriedly turned back over and it was my brother's best friend who shall remain nameless. "What are you doing???" I asked.

He looked confused. "Um...I was in the bedroom and i thought you were undressing for me. "

"No, I was undressing for me. I have to be at work in like 3 hours. I had no idea that anyone was up here."

A crestfallen look came over his face. "Oh. So you want me to go?"

This was a really good-looking guy that I had had a crush on for two years and NEVER thought I'd ever have a chance with. Healthy, tall, tan, smart and only dressed in his underwear. I honestly paused for a moment. But then I remembered who I was. I wasn't like my friends, I was only 16, went to church every Sunday and was planning to hold on to my virginity until I was married. Yes I went clubbing and occasionally kissed a guy or two (it was the 70s!) But I knew who I was. Regretfully (hey I was still a human teenage girl!) I said, "Yeah, I think its best if you go back to the room." He kissed my cheek. "Okay goodnight." Then I watched him go back into the room.

Yes thats right I watched him. I was 16 and he was fine and only in underwear! But seriously as I think back on that a lot of things could have gone wrong. He could have refused the word no. He could have cursed at me and called me a tease. Or he could have gone downstairs and lied to everyone about bagging me. But he did none of those things because at the end of the day he respected my wishes: something that doesn't always happen in situations like that.

When I recounted this to my girlfriends (come on, you knew I would!) they couldn't believe I turned him down. "You did a strip tease for him and then turned him down???" one friend asked incredulously. "I didn't know he was there!" I insisted. "House rules were no one upstairs." Another girl said, "I wouldn't have said no!"  Few girls would have but I'm thankful that even though I was naive back then: I was still smart enough to keep my reputation intact. Thankfully that was also the last night of notorious parties so I wouldn't be tempted again.

And thats my Gypsy Rose Lee story: the closest I ever came to being a stripper!