Month: March 2011

This Ain’t My First Rodeo

This week, a friend who was in a bind asked me if I could watch her two little kids all day while she worked.  I said yes even though being a nanny is for the young at heart and younger at body.  However, I have a dishwasher on the fritz and a whole lot of grays needing some color.  Necessity is the Mutha of Hasty Decisions.

The girls and I got along great until the last hour.  The older of the Missies wanted to open a box that UPS delivered but I said she had to wait until her mom came home.  She wanted me to call her mom at work so she could ask her and I said “no”.  A  fat, firm no.  That’s when the wheels fell off the Toddler Bus.  She begged, she threatened, she faux wailed and she faux tantrumed but I didn’t give in.  Maybe in my early days of parenting I might have, but I’ve gone thru three teenagers so not much rattles me.  Finally, she looked at me and said, “I hate babysitters named Kathy.”

I’m not sure how many Kathys have watched her over the years and what they’ve done to her, but for a second there it almost felt like her bold dislike of all babysitters bearing that name was specifically directed at me.

The Skirt

I’ve worked a retail job for many years.  If you talk to anyone who has done this sort of thing for awhile, they will tell you that although the pay, hours and all that standing is a lousy way to make a buck, they love the job.  I couldn’t explain to you why it has suited me for so long until I met Fannie.
Fannie came in the store and bought a skirt.  There are two kinds of women who shop for clothes.  There is the kind that don’t like their bodies, will tell you everything they hate about it and love company on the misery train.  The other kind have come to terms with their physical flaws, have their own style and move through the day with far more grace.  I can spot the latter a mile away and that’s who Fannie was. 
A few months after meeting her, Fannie came to the store again to get the skirt in a smaller size because she’d lost some weight.  I took down her info and told her I’d call her when the next order arrived but the skirt was sold before she could make it back.  On her second trip to the store and still no skirt, she put her head in her hands, started sobbing and told me her husband was dying of  cancer.  He loved that skirt on her and she wanted to be able to wear it to his funeral.  Since I had bought the skirt as well, I offered her mine.  If it fit, she was welcome to it and a few days later, I showed up at her door with the skirt in hand.
My plan was to ring the bell, wait five seconds and leave it on her porch because at that moment I began to think that this wasn’t such a good idea.  She answered before I could run off, let me in, held up the skirt and sighed saying it was perfect for “the upcoming events”.  She began to cry and so I said, “Things aren’t good are they?”   She hugged me saying, “Oh, honey, things are very good because out of nowhere somebody shows up at my door with a skirt just when I needed it most.”

Shortly after that visit, I read in the paper that her husband passed away.  I’m sure she looked lovely and that he was proud of this woman who loved him until he had to let go.  And what in the world was so special about this skirt?  The pattern on it was The Tree of Life and I learned a thing or two about that from a woman who wandered into the store on a day I happened to be working.

The Grandmas

The first time my mom went to my dad’s house she thought his family was rich because their house was so nice.  Not even close.  My grandpa was a mechanic for the city bus line.   My dad used to say that my mom’s mom could make a ten course meal at the drop of her hat.  Not so, but she was able to pull things out of her fridge and put them in little serving dishes so that lunchtime looked like a tapas restaurant.

I have no idea how financially secure either one of them were but like most women of their generation, they had the ability to make something out of nothing.  A long time ago, that virtue was tossed aside so we could dive headfirst into consumption which doesn’t seem to be giving anybody great results.

I keep pictures of both of my grandmas close by.  Like one, I love to decorate.  Like the other, I can make something little look like something big.  They left this earth many years ago but their spirits remain nearby, teaching me that making do has always been about making a life.

Judge Not

I’m not saying I bought one of these at full price but I may have seen it deeply discounted at CVS awhile ago and it might have fallen into my cart.  Dr. Oz stated on his show yesterday that this product, without question, does not work to make your neck slimmer.  I can neither confirm or deny this but I am often mistaken for someone much, much younger (like 53 instead of 54).

Lather, Rinse and Repeat Everyday

the desire to create is one of the deepest yearnings of the human soul.  no matter our talents, education, backgrounds, or abilities, we each have an inherent wish to create something that did not exist before.  everyone can create.  you don’t need money, position, or influence in order to create something of substance or beauty.  creation brings satisfaction and fulfillment.  we develop ourselves and others when we take organized matter into our hands and mold it into something of beauty.

dieter f uchtdorf

Pay It Forward

My husband’s very first Phd. grad student is currently on active duty in Afghanistan.  He has been in the reserves for years and is in his late 30s, married with a daughter.  He is a great guy and we worry about him over there.  He sends letters out through a mass list that are more informative of what’s going on than anything you will read or hear on the news.  This part of his last email got to me.  It is something we should all do no matter where we are………..
I was walking down the road here and noticed a teen-aged Afghani kid walking along the trash bins with both arms full of stuff.  He was trying to open one, then another, as he passed along them.  Both arms filled with trash, he was having difficulties.  Several American Soldiers had passed him by with little notice.  I shouted to him and picked up my pace to a trot.  He looked a little concerned as I neared him…not sure what to expect from me – an American carrying a loaded weapon.  I stopped a few feet short of him and raised the lid on one of the trash containers.  His eyes lightened and he dumped his cargo, then he smiled at me, and raised his hand in a gesture of “hello and thanks”.  I nodded and raised my hand, returning the gesture.  Perhaps, just perhaps, this kid will remember this simple act of kindness if he is ever approached by the Taliban; perhaps he will think twice before being recruited for nefarious acts against the American Army.  One million simple acts of kindness that cost $0, will produce more good than a single act of generosity that costs $1 million…how do we get this point across to American Soldiers?   I have passed this kid many times over the past couple of weeks…every time he sees me, he smiles and waves, he remembers me…one more friend, and potentially one less enemy in this country.  Think of how you interact with the locals…every act on your part counts.

Spring Cleaning

Spring has made an appearance and with that, our annual cleaning of the garage.  Annual is exaggerating.  We clean it when you can’t set foot in there.  I’m a clean freak.  Big Daddy….not so much.  He thinks this is a big waste of time but he’s close to the season when he’s gonna want to bike every stinkin’ weekend and pretend he’s a jock with his middle-aging friends.  That makes it necessary for him to put deposits in the chore account so he can wave sayonara without a speck of quilt.  And I do mean Without A Speck.

BD said first thing we had to do was empty the garage.  This took awhile.  With the weather being nice, every neighbor was out which meant they had to stop by and say, “Cleaning the garage, huh?  Wow, that’s a lot of stuff.”  This was true but you don’t see us standing in their driveway saying, “Hey, how come you still have your Christmas lights up and dead plants in the window box?”  O.k. skip that last part since we may have a dead plant or two or dozen in various pots around the plantation.  When that parade of smart asses throwing turds at our pile of shit in the driveway moved on, the drive-bys in search of a garage sale started.  C’mon,, people, move along……nothing to see here, no dead bodies, just dead crap.

Next we started sweeping up dirt, leaves and a significant amount of rodent droppings.  BD said no worries, honey, they’re long gone but I took precautions anyhow (like YELLING into dark corners to let Micky and Minnie know that I was in da howse).   We loaded a few bags of garbage and more bags of donations.  How many sleds does a family need when one kid has moved out, one is away at school and one is too busy to even think about it?  Not five.  We found a stuffed bear (what???), clay pots up the wazzoo, a screen to some window of which we don’t know and a necklace I’ve been looking for (what??? x 2).

We patted ourselves on the back for getting it done and had a couple of beers to celebrate not being slobs anymore.  We’re reformed garage hoarders and there wasn’t so much as a chicken, rabbit or dead cat residing in there.  Pat ourselves, indeed, but it’s best you not look in our basement just yet.  All in due time.   (Tick tock, BD, tick tock.)

They’re Coming For Our Babies

You may remember an earlier post regarding my issue with squirrels.  The story below was recently in the news.   Let’s not be deterred by PETA wingnuts or local gun laws banning automatic assault rifles.  This is war.  Read on:

Don’t laugh, but a vicious squirrel has terrorized a Vermont neighborhood, attacking at least three residents and eluding wildlife control experts for more than a week.


The small gray squirrel in Bennington, Vt., has broken the peace that existed between humans and the small woodland creatures. In separate incidents, the pugnacious rodent has bitten and scratched neighbors without provocation, local station Fox 23 reported.

“[It] just latched on to my shoulder, and I went back and it’s a gray squirrel,” victim Kevin McDonald told the TV station.

McDonald was shoveling snow outside his home when the sneak attack began. “He was holding on. He wouldn’t let go. I was finally able to get him off, and as soon as I got him off, he just jumped right at me again.”   The feisty critter inflicted several scratches on McDonald last week.

A small woodland creature?  Ummm…that’s Thumper and his little friends in Bambi.  These are thugs dangling from bird feeders like they own ’em and then fornicating in the front yard.  That’s what we in the Heartland call a Yard Terrorist.

Happy spring Fur Face (FYI…..this is not for the lady working in the drive-up at the Burger King who needs to be introduced to Sally Hansen Wax Strips), your days are seriously numbered.  Yeah, I’m talking to you.