Friday 55 & Da Count-Enthusiastic Imagination

I'm a high fashion model strutting down the runway. Everyone wants to be me.

I'm a fairy princess here to grant your wishes with my magic wand.

I'm a scuba diving ocean explorer discovering a shark no one else has ever seen.

Some props, some costumes, and a bit of imagination is all it takes.


DA COUNT

The remaining Limelets and I were invited to a friend's house for dinner last night. We had a terrific time. These friends have 4 children under the age of 6. While dinner was being finished the wee ones took us on a tour of the house and showed us their favorite costumes and danced to some fun music. It's been a long while since my Limelets have spent much time playing dress-up but it was great fun to spend time watching the transformative imagination that young kids have so much of. We saw ballerinas, queens, elephants, and panthers right before our very eyes because all it takes is a fancy dress, a regal bearing, your arm as a trunk, or your fingers as claws to make you anything you want to be. So in addition to enjoying time spent with grown up friends I had a blast watching all the imagination too. I think I counted this once long ago but I'm counting it again anyway.

So tell me, what did you used to pretend when you were small? You already know I spent time as Tarzan and Mowgli but I'll also tell you I liked to pretend I was a nun too....a flying one, of course. (Thank you, Sally Field.)

Spring Growth

Baseball season is in full swing in these here parts. Last year Isaac's team had brand new coaches and more than half the kids were new to the team. We also had one of the smallest and youngest teams last year. The oldest and biggest boy on the team, who all the others looked up to, spent the season whining about our losing record and refusing to show up to practices and even games because he just didn't feel like it. We had our butts handed to us game after game. The boys took an awful lot of taunting and trash talk from schoolmates last year. The coaches are good guys who mainly want the kids to have fun and gain skills rather than win at all cost. They kept it positive so in spite of an absolutely atrocious record the kids were usually having fun. (Unlike the goons who coached his fall team and for whom winning was everything.)
(Another mom took this picture of Isaac and gave me a print of it so it's a little fuzzy since my scanner is a bit dodgy. I just wanna pinch that cute lil heiney. I think I was an old Italian man in a former life.)

This year since so many are returning you can feel a stronger sense of camaraderie. Several boys have had growth spurts and they are functioning as more of a team. Very unfortunately, one of the new boys got hit in the face by a pitch during a pre-season scrimmage. He had a couple of facial bones broken which required surgical repair and he will not be able to play at all (I'll pause now while you wince with me). He and his parents still show up and cheer the rest of the team on. He sits in the dugout and helps keep the stats. No one has heard any public whining from him. I can't help but think the class and sportsmanship he and his family are showing helps team spirit an awful lot too.

(Not the best picture in the world but I like that I managed to get the ball in the frame and the look of concentration on his face.)

Last season we one exactly one game at the end of the season. Last weekend we squeaked out a win for this season. This Saturday we clobbered the opponent (11-2). While I truly don't think it should be all about winning I know it gets awfully tiresome to be the Charlie Brown team who always looses. It's even more so when game after game you have to put up with classmates trashing your team after every humiliating loss (and let's face it, scores like 4-17 ARE humiliating). I'm mainly glad we have such a great team spirit this year and I am happy for the boys, that they can walk into school today and for once be given a little respect.

(He's a good pitcher and likes to pitch but catching is where he really shines. He enjoys it too because he gets to see everything and always be involved.)

The Bear Truth

At David's request, I share with you the story behind the picture.

So there I was looking for my chocolate only to find this bear had stolen it. Well, I just couldn't stand for that so I chased him down. It started out civilly. I asked nicely that he return my candy but he refused. I had no choice but to show him I meant business so I bashed him in the snout and knocked him flat. Here's the proof. Seriously, you don't want to interfere with my chocolate supply.

What? You doubt me? You see the photographic evidence don't you? You KNOW how I feel about chocolate. Why would you even suggest I have embellished the details even a little? Ok, ok....here's the real story.

I was 13. That is a real LIVE black bear that weighed somewhere approaching 500 pounds (not an unusual size in these parts). The bear had been darted with a tranquilizer though. My grandparents had a little weekend place up in the mountains and my aunt and uncle had a similar place next to my grandparents'. My aunt rented her place out to a fellow who worked for the game commission studying black bears.

The friend in the picture with me had come up for the weekend and was hoping to see bears. After a night of watching for them off the back porch and seeing nothing we went to bed slightly disappointed. Early in the morning we were awakened by a neighbor banging on the door and shouting, "Wake up! Keith has a bear!" My friend and I pulled on jeans and shoes as fast as we could and high-tailed it over the hill just in time to see my one-armed uncle wrestling the dazed bear to the ground. (Yes, I know that sounds like an embellishment but it's true. My uncle was the toughest man I ever met.). We watched as Keith and my uncle weighed and measured the bear, sampled its blood, and pulled a tooth. After all the vital statistics were collected and before Keith gave the bear a wake-up shot my friend and I were invited to touch the bear. She was very definitely not digging the idea. I tried in utter futility to lift just the head at which point my grandmother laughed and got me to look up so she could snap this shot.

During another visit when I had a friend along there was a different sort of encounter with the local bears. In addition to the trailer on her property my aunt has what we call a screen house. It's a one room affair with a woodstove for warmth and a loft for sleeping. Three walls are just screens from about three feet to loft height, with large shutters that fold up during the day or down at night. If you sleep in the screen house and need the toilet at night the rule is you use the outhouse down the path about 10 yards away. (Eat your heart out Hillary Clinton)

It was a cool autumn night when my friend and I were curled up in the loft under a thick pile of blankets and the call of nature began to whisper to us both. Eventually the whisper became a nagging whine and finally grew to an urgent cry which we could no longer ignore. We climbed down the ladder, put on our slippers, and trudged down the path to the outhouse when in the moonlight I spied the shining eyes that met mine from a height that was well over my own head. It took about half a second for my sleepy brain to register "bear" and then further process the location of said bear as being next to the outhouse door. I required another half a second to shriek and begin shoving my friend back toward the screen house. Two seconds later we were in the loft again. My friend was somewhat dazed as she hadn't seen the bear. I had not only seen it standing there but had also seen it take off AWAY from us as fast as it could when it saw us. Nonetheless, it was the middle of the night and it was a bigfreakingblackbear!!! I KNEW the bear was gone. I KNEW they were more afraid of me than I was of them. I KNEW they were basically shy creatures and I only had to worry if it was a sow and I was in between her and her cubs. But I still had quite the adrenaline rush. In all the excitement and considering that bladder capacity had been reached I did manage to maintain a manner of self-control that did not require a change of undergarments. That counts for something, right?

WARNING: Longjohns Recommended for Optimal Viewing

First of all. thanks to everyone for the kind words over the weekend. You all are the best.

Did you all put on your thermal undies? Ok, feel free to proceed to the pictures. If you didn't heed my warning and the images send a shiver up your spine don't blame me. I warned you. We had an ice storm last week and though I am not fond of how they can tend to lead to power failures when trees weighted with ice pull down power lines I do think they make for some gorgeous scenery. Now imagine the poor, infirm Lime with her crickety back donning parka and boots and carrying her beloved camera in the dripping slop as she trudges through a heavy layer of snow, ice, and slush in her back yard. Ever the suffering artist, I did it all for you. It's how much I love you all. Ok, ok, so I was trying to heighten the drama of the pictures and I would have taken them all for myself anyway because, as my kids tell me, I have a weird fixation on photographing flowers and sticks and blades of grass. But I AM sharing and my mother said I should always share...except for my germs, and some of my harsher opinions, and hats because we don't want headlice...Anyway, onto the pictures.

For those of you who live in warm climates and have never seen this kind of ice encased landscape, it really does weigh down a tree limb when the whole thing is covered in a thick layer of ice.

Poor frozen rhododendron or azalea (I forget which). Makes ya want to knit a tiny sweater for it doesn't it?

My washline. Remember when it was filled with tie dyed sheets and towels over the summer?

Frozen bridal wreath. I want to carry this poor thing to a heater instead of down the aisle.

Sing it with me now...I have a pussy willow. It's frozen on a stick...Ok, so that's not how the song goes but I like this shot because you can really see the crackled surface of the ice.

I bet those of you who didn't take my warning seriously are wishing you had right about now. This is still my backyard. It's a heavily wooded acre. I love the way an ice storm makes it all look so lacy.

Next we shall sing "The Holly in the Ice Cube."

Hope you enjoyed the tour. Now go fix yourselves some cocoa and warm up.

It's a Jungle Out There

You may be wondering why there is a picture of an African Violet here. Well, today I am bereft of inspiration so you all will be subjected to the True Confessions of a Plant Killer. Do not allow the images of lush foliage fool you. I am a killer even though my murders are never premeditated. Nonetheless, I seem to be able to dispatch any green thing with cruel efficiency. This lovely little plant is a cutting from a violet Mr. Lime gave my mother. She could make pressure treated lumber bloom. We have this cutting because the original plant got so huge it crawled out of it's pot. I don't believe it was with any malice such as Seymour in the musical Little Shop of Horrors. I'm still not turning my back on this innocent looking thing though. It may someday realize my herbicidal tendencies and decide to strike pre-emptively.




Here we have Mike, our spider plant. Yes, we name many of the plants that manage to survive sharing air space with me. This tradition was started by Mr. Lime who nursed back to health a Swedish Ivy I nearly dispatched after leaving it out in a hard frost. One day it was a thick, lush, vital looking thing. The next morning it was a shivering, frozen shade of its former self. It was reduced to one stick with 2 leaves clinging tenaciously to the stalk. When it was apparent the Ivy would survive in some fashion Mr. Lime christened it Sven. I suppose it was rather like the practice in the dark ages of not naming a child until you knew it would survive infancy. Unfortunately, when Sven seemed to have recovered I tried to show him some love to make up for nearly killing him. I loved him to death. It was not unlike kindergarten when I overfed the class fish because he looked hungry. I feared for my own life when he was found belly up in his bowl. Lucky for me, Mr. Lime is not into an eye for a leaf justice.




This is Shlomo the Wandering Jew. I suspect Shlomo would wander right out of here if he were actually ambulatory. Forty years in a desert couldn't be any worse than waiting for me to water him. I picked all the dead bits off Shlomo last week and moved him to the only spot that gets any sun. Mr. Lime asked if I had watered the plant. What silly man expects that?














Here is Phil the Philodendron, creative name, huh? Phil and I get along just swimmingly because he seems to thrive on the kind of neglect only I can give. I like Phil because his tendrils get as unruly as my hair. We have an understanding and mutual appreciation about this neglect/unruly appearance thing. Still, Mr. Lime will fuss over Phil, coo to him, run his hands gently over the leaves, and reassure Phil that he'll always take good care of him. Makes me wonder if I need to photosynthesize in order to get that sort of attention.











This poor nameless conglomeration of doomed greenery has no name in spite of the fact that it has survived for a number of years. Well, the philodendron and the big spikey thing survived. There were some other things in there that did not fare so well. I think it was originally a sympathy arrangement I received, could have been in memory of Sven.














I know you all may not believe me when I say I have a black thumb of death since I am showing you all these seemingly healthy looking plants. Trust me, they live only because Mr. Lime attends to them and has more or less banned me from any aspect of their care. Here we see an example of a plant I nurtured with my own unskilled hands. I planted it, watered it and...well, that's about it. Granted it is now winter and things don't grow to well, but this is roughly how fruitful the plant was even during the peak growing season in summer. I think out of the 8 tomato plants I planted I harvested 4 tomatoes. That might be an overestimation. I planted basil and oregano too. They did about as well as this plant. In the past I've even been able to kill mint when I attempted to cultivate it. That is skill my friends.






I hate plastic and silk flowers but have no skill with live ones. I've resorted to buying them pre-killed. See? Dead plants can actually be lovely. I guess it's all a matter of how you kill them. And aren't these artfully arranged flower corpses?










Well, all of that to remind you that Mr. Lime bought me an Aerograden for Christmas because it was advertised as guaranteed to grow (read that as Michelle-proof). I planted it right before New Year's and by golly here it is actually growing! Of course, we are only 2 weeks into this. It's early yet. Don't go naming the sprouts yet or anything.

Google Me, Oogle Me

Stolen from the brilliant Jocelyn

typing my answers to the following prompts into Google Image and then choosing a photo off the first page that pops up.

1. Age at My Next Birthday: 40. And here we see a picture of I-40, which was a horror. If I were told I had to drive that stretch of road in 3.5 days again I'd run shrieking out of the room. Kinda how I feel about turning 40.



2. Place I'd Like to Travel: Greece. Do I really need to explain this???







3. Place I've Been: Around the block...and around, and around, and around again! Stop the world I wanna get off!









4. My Favorite Food: Chocolate. And yes, I will swim in a vat of it before I die. Though I doubt I will come out of the vat looking as trim as this gal. I wonder how melted chocolate might look as it runs to fill in stretchmarks and cottage cheese dimples....hhmm....
















5. Place where I was born: Delivery Ward. Apparently, adopted babies don't come from the stork. They come from Japanese delivery trucks. Who knew? I wonder if there is a 30 minute or less guarantee? Two for one Tuesday maybe? A punch card...buy 10 get the 11th free? No?



6. Place where I live: Bi-level. It's got more square footage than this and it's not mobile. Otherwise, wow, it looks JUST like my house!








7. Name of Past Pet: Twiggy, who was a big, slobbering St. Bernard. Dad likes ironic names for animals. I was 4 and thought it was great fun to see what I could get her to eat. Wet leaves were a big favorite though she usually threw them up on the kitchen floor. I'm thinking her namesake also may have subsisted on wet leaves which she threw up later.










8. Best Friend's Nickname: Gwennie. My Gwennie would probably see this Gwennie and immediately need to adopt her. My Gwennie loves dogs. If she lived in an apartment bigger than the picture of my bi-level she'd be collecting dogs like my grandmother collected souvenir spoons on bowling league trips. I do love my Gwennie.


9. My First Name: Ernestine. Well of course that isn't my first name, but all the pictures that came up for Michelle were boring. So were the ones for Matilda, which is what Dad used to call me. Gert was dull too. I thought I might get Lily Tomlin by googling Ernestine but I got this prim lady instead. Prim, ha! No one has ever called me prim. I wonder what Ernestine here would look like if she let her hair down and wore tie dye.



10. My First Job: Babysitter. I got certified by the Red Cross and everything. During our training we were told to always pack a few special toys or games to share with our young charges because novelty would keep their attention and make them look forward to seeing you. I was very conscientious about that.

19 Years Ago

Toy Story

David McMahon had the idea of sharing about our favorite childhood toy. I also saw a lovely book a couple weeks ago that included 'portraits' and 'bios' of beloved stuffed animals and blankets and have wanted to do something similar ever since.

Isaac was 3 when my grandmother brought Fluffy for him after a trip to Alaska. She said, 'Every boy needs a dog.' Isaac was delighted that Fluffy was a husky because he loved the movie 'Balto' (about sled dogs in Alaska) at the time. In fact, Fluffy was almost named Balto. His soft fur, which is now matted and compressed after 9 years of loving and some washings, led to his given name. Fluffy has been a faithful and warm companion to Isaac ever since their introduction. He could most often be found tucked under Isaac's arm while they slept or pulling imaginary sleds as scenes from 'Balto' were re-enacted. Isaac was deeply concerned for Fluffy's well-being when an encounter with hostile visitors left his tail nearly detached. After a few minutes at the stuffed dog hospital a successful reattachment was achieved.

Gaby came all the way from Bolivia to live with Calypso when friends visiting from there realized they would be here during Calypso's 7th birthday. Calypso's eyes lit up when she saw Gaby's beautiful traditional dress. You'll notice Gaby is carrying her wee one, Karencita, in her aguayo. They were named for the wife and baby daughter of our visitors and were always given a place of honor in Calypso's room. Calypso enjoyed introducing Gaby to new friends and always wanted to make sure they knew how far she had come in order to live with Calypso.

Calypso also latched onto Lime's bunny Austin. Austin originally joined the family when Lime took a trip to Texas at age 10. From the bunny's name you can guess Lime saw the state capital. Austin was purchased with Lime's own money at a time when Lime was trying to decide if she needed any more stuffed friends or not because she was getting older. Being far away from home was interesting and fun but Lime kind of missed her friends from home. Austin's eyes were shining at Lime in the store and so a new friendship was born. Calypso found Austin in a box one day and decided the bunny needed more loving than she was getting so Austin went to live in Calypso's room. It's the eyes, I tell you....

When I went to look for Diana's 'Silky' I couldn't bring myself to disturb the set-up I discovered. Silky is the tuft of frayed satin edging on a blanket I cross-stitched for her before she was born. You can just see the white edge of it poking out at the left. Silky was carried most places with Diana. When Diana went to bed you could find Silky's corner carefully folded into a point and held a certain way so Diana could suck her thumb and flick the satiny edge until she fell asleep. When the original corner frayed away, only then did Diana begin using a new corner. Silky now serves as cushioning along with two doll blankets made by Grammy. The dolls who are provided this sancitifed bedding do not have names that I am aware of. I won the china doll when Diana was a baby and chose a red-haired one for her. The little Eskimo doll came from Alaska along with Fluffy and, according to Diana, is a treasured reminder of the last gift from Nana before she died.

Lime's mother made Debbie when Lime was 6. Lime fondly remembers picking out the fabric for Debbie's wardrobe. In addition to this simple dress and pinafore, Debbie owns a purple dress and matching bonnet. Unfortunately, her shoes were lost long ago but Debbie didn't seem to mind since she has always enjoyed being barefooted as much as Lime does. Debbie lived on Lime's bed along with Kermit the Frog, a small yellow dog, an enormous gray cat, and a huge purple and white panda bear named Captain Purple. Lime's mother wondered how there was room for a child to sleep in the bed with such an array but they all kept Lime safe from the horrible creatures who lived under the bed. Each had his or her own job as a member of the security contingent. Yellow dog was first alert. Gray Kitty was the bouncer. Captain Purple was the provider of general comfort (He has many matted down spots on his shoulders from tears and snot being wiped there.). Kermit was comic relief. Debbie's job was to keep order among the ranks and provide a girly ear to listen.

Hepzibah is a very old girl. She came to Lime from her paternal Grandmother (Mom-mom) who had received Hepzibah from her own maternal grandmother. Mom-mom remembers Hepzibah having a very special place in her house growing up and only being permitted to hold her very gently on her lap on special occasions. Hepzibah spent many years on top of Mom-mom's small China cabinet before coming to live with Lime. Mom-mom would greet Hepzibah each morning and about 25 years ago decided Hepzibah needed some nicer clothing since her original dress was terribly damaged. Lime is not entirely happy that Hepzibah's new clothes are polyester and have velcro fasteners but Hepzibah feels more ladylike being attired in a dress that is not falling apart. She is very happy her original bonnet is still in good condition. Hepzibah sometimes felt a little lonely since she didn't see a lot of play time but she seems happy to be surrounded by other friends at Lime's house. Here is a bonus picture of Hepzibah and Mom-mom ca. 1915.

Friday 55 & Da Count

FRIDAY 55

Perfectly coiffed-check

Tastefully accessorized-check

Dressed for success-check

Enthusiastic attitude-check

Air of confidence-check

Alright, off I go to conquer the world and dazzle the masses.

Look at all these people!

Who's that baggy suited, dull guy who never stops babbling?

I have to be where? When?

Gees, kindergarten is absolutely exhausting!

*Click the pic to make it big enough to fully appreciate the difference in the 2 shots. My mom tells the story of how I skipped off so confidently the first day of kindergarten and then trudged home completely wiped out. She only intended to take the 'before' picture but when she saw me coming home she ran for the camera to document the effects of the day in the 'after' picture.

DA COUNT

I have several photos from my mom's old albums scanned into my computer. Apparently Tuesday was set aside as a day for folks to share dorky pictures of themselves. I certainly don't feel compelled to participate but in looking for the picture above I found an awful lot of evidence of childhood dorkiness. Serious dorkiness. In case I think I have outgrown my dorkiness, I have 2 teenage daughters who are compelled to remind me of my current dorkiness on nearly an hourly basis. Tie dye, my Birkenstocks, my unruly mop of hair, my tendency to dance in public places if good music is playing, it all qualifies me. Hey, I say if you hear 'Play that Funky Music, White Boy' while ordering your Mesquite Chicken hoagie from Quiznos you GOTTA shake your groove thang. 'Love Shack' plays in the frozen food aisle of the grocery store? You bet I'm gonna boogie. Oh yes, I forgot, phrases like 'shake your groove thang' and 'boogie' are also dorky. Well, too bad. I'm celebrating and counting being a dork this week.

*The Felix the Cat purse in the above picture was too subtle a form of dorkiness so for reading this far you get, absolutely free of charge and without further obligation, an extra picture of me in all my dorky childhood glory. If you are not completely satisfied simply click to the next blog, but keep the memory of my dorkiness as my free gift to you.

** If you are REALLY needing more dorkiness check that link up in the Friday 55 if you haven't already.

Monday Stuff

It's a rainy, cold day here. We need the rain so I won't complain about that. But they grayness is a bit much so here is some color from around here on sunnier days...a couple of pictures I snapped that I particularly liked.

Also, I have to say you people cracked me up! I'm going to list the bunny jokes, haikus, whatever (only one per individual so if you submitted more than one I picked my favorite of your submissions...and 'anonymous' I have no idea who you are so sorry, no name, no entry) and you all can vote on which one you like best. The winner and I will then work out details of a prize. I'm just going to have to tally up your votes left in comments because I dunno how to do one of them thar fancy shmancy official polls. I also want to thank all of you who left a caption or a joke of some other sort. I thoroughly enjoyed all the giggles all weekend long. You guys, rock!

1. snowelf said...
Bunny Down Under: "Sigh, Delia! Why do you always have to be so crotchety?"

2. Phain said...
Couldn't resist the haiku:

The rabbits lay piled

Damn his ass is on my face

Hope he doesn't fart

3. Flash said...
"Somehow, Jimmy didn't have a full concept of tea-bagging someone"

4. Keyser Soze said...
White top rabbit: It's not going to suck itself! Brown bottom rabbit: STFU!

5. Sudiegirl said...
"Hmmm...tastes like chicken"

6. barman said...
How do you like my ass hat. They are in this year you know.

7. Pauline said...
Here Bunny sits Like a hat on my head

If Bunny shits,

Bunny's gonna be dead.

8. Rebicmel said...
When stuck in a pen

is never good to be on

bottom of the cage

9. BTExpress said...
"Even bunny's tea bag."

10. S said...
As a mom, I sorta see it like this:

Bottom bunny: What I wouldnt give for a hot bubblebath, hot tea, a lock on the bathroom door, and five minutes peace.

11. J Morgetron said...
Oh little bunny

your butt hair, though fuzzy and soft,

tickles my face

12. Diesel said...
There's good luck to the left of me and good luck to the right, but right in front of me it's just rabbit ass.

13. Cooper said...
Bunny Leg head gear

My brother is a lard ass

I should bite his nuts

14. KFarmer said...
There once was a lazy bunny named Sunny;

Who loved nothing more than to lie on her tummy;

But a surprise did occur, and right underneath her;

When a tongue found its way to her fur...

Trini Tuesday-Gyul, Yuh Have Real Belly

The lady on the right is Hazel Manning, first lady of Trinidad & Tobago. The primary school we worked with was having a graduation ceremony and the director had arranged for Mrs. Manning to participate. The school was a private school that made special effort to work not only with able students but also those with handicaps or disadvantages. Mr. Lime and I worked in a squatter's village and had managed to make arrangements for 4 students from the village to attend the school while we continued tutoring others at home.

Mrs. Manning gave a short address and passed out diplomas to the students. After the ceremony the school director wanted me to meet Mrs. Manning. So introductions were made, the director explains about the students from the squatter village and our work there. Now, it is important to note that while the squatters don't own the land they live on, nor do they pay any kind of rent, they've been there in peace for a very long time. Squatter villages generally spring up on land no one cares about, property that has passed down through a few generations of titled foreign owners who aren't even aware they own something or just some empty, lonely chunk of land no one has touched for decades. The government was looking to resettle the squatters from the homes they had built, with planted gardens and fruit trees, to some barren chunk of rock with barely a green thing to be seen (keep in mind this is a tropical island...lush...green....you have to WORK to find a place that isn't green). The government was also going to build permanent housing, which sounds generous and I guess it is, until you realize it was going to be block houses with concrete ceilings under metal rooves, row upon attached row. I've been in houses like that in Trinidad...here's the scenario....tropical sun beating down on the nice concrete house with little ventilation and no trees to shade anything....BONUS! You can fry your roti on the walls! People, it's UNBEARABLY hot.

Mrs. Manning shook my hand and said, 'On behalf of my husband, the Prime Minister, I'd like to ask you to deliver a message to the people of the village. Please tell them to accept our offer of relocation, in their own best interest.' I paused for a second and responded, 'Mrs. Manning, I can't do that. The people there have pride in what they've been able to build with their own two hands and while their homes are not secure, they maintaining them and they have a tight knit community there. Whatever money your husband would spend to build human ovens on a rock would be better spent improving the homes that already exist, helping folks find jobs (which is what most of them want more than they want handouts), and making sure the children can get to school. I suggest you and the Prime Minister go spend time in the village and talk to the people there.' Mrs. Manning gulped and then took on the somewhat strained expression as the camera clicked to take the picture above. She left and the school director laughed, 'Gyul, yuh have real belly talking to the PM's wife so.'

Interesting Observations

We were looking through old photo albums when my son saw this picture of his dad. His comment was, 'He looks like the kid who has his milk money stolen...every...single...day!'

Then we found this picture and I asked if my son knew who it was. He had no idea. When I told him it was Grampop (my dad) he said, "THAT'S Grampop? The guy who drank snake's blood, never combs his hair, never wears a shirt, and scares the crap out of my best friend?'

Then the boy spied a picture of me and said, 'Gees Mom, you look like a real goody-goody. Had em fooled.'

The child forgets we have naked baby pictures of him...BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!

First Day

Dear God in Heaven, what sadist decided 10 year olds who live 2 miles from their school should be at the bus stop at 6:15 am for a school day that commences an hour later? Whoever the hell it was should be the one personally waking said ten year olds, getting them ready for school, driving the whole busload of them to school, and then inspiring them to learn in the classroom. Either that or the aforementioned sadist ought to be shot at dawn which, when the time changes, will not arrive for quite a long time AFTER 6:15 am. Did I mention we live in an area with no streetlights or sidewalks? Shooting at dawn is too good. Let me think on it a while, I'm a creative person, I am sure I can come up with a better form of revenge. In the meantime, your suggestions are welcome. Ok, I will calm down now....


Now children, come over to the story corner and sit down. It's sharing time.

The Tale of Two Teachers.

Once upon a time there was a little girl, named Lime who was ready for kindergarten. She was very excited and when the big yellow bus picked her up she gabbled all the way to school. Who would the teacher be? Who would her classmates be? What was the bus passing? Who would she sit with? What would the room look like? Would she get lost?

When the bus arrived a lady with pointy glasses, a wildly colored dress and a very tall beehive hairdo came to the bus and said she was their teacher (Years later when the girl was grown she would know all the beehived women in pointy glasses depicted in Far Side cartoons were modelled on her kindergarten teacher). She led the children to their new classroom. 'Here are your cubbies and here are your tables. Please put your things away and come sit down on the rug. The principal will be here in a minute to welcome you.' The children did as they were asked and in came a short man in a baggy suit.

The man in the baggy suit said,'Good afternoon.' Some children repeated his words, some looked out the window, some picked fluff off the rug, some picked their noses. He repeated himself more loudly. Some more children repeated his words, some giggled because he sounded like their whiny little brother and he was repeating himself insistently, just like the whiny little brother.

The man in the baggy suit started to say more words. He was using the grown up tone that says, 'I am very important and you are small so you must listen very carefully' but his voice was still whiny and monotonous. And there was a whole shelf of interesting looking books, and stacks of colorful paper, and pretty fall leaves on the bulletin board, and that girl has pretty pigtails, and that boy has a lot of freckles, and how does the teacher get her hair to stay like that, and the man in the baggy suit kept talking and talking and talking and whining and whining and whining.

Little Lime noticed the girl on her left was talking to the other girl next to her,and the boy on her right was still picking his nose and he was wiping it on the rug next to her. She leaned over and said, 'That's yucky, you better not get boogers on me.' The man in the baggy suit noticed that the children were paying more attention to everything but his whiny words and said, 'One of the things we will learn in kindergarten is how to keep our mouths shut when it is time to learn because some of us have very big mouths.' Now Little Lime came from a family where personal opinions were uncensored and offered freely and where astute observations were commended. So she waved her hand enthusiastically in the air (having listened to the man in the baggy suit explain that this was the expected manner for taking turns speaking) to share her great insight. The man in the baggy suit pointed to her and she proudly exclaimed, 'We know who has the biggest mouth of all! You do!' Thus it came to pass that Little Lime had a note home to her poor mortified mother on the first day of kindergarten.

Lime grew and she grew and she grew. She married Mr. Lime and they had 3 lovely Limelets of their own. It came about that it was time for the first Limelette to go to kindergarten. Knowing that Limelette #1 is even more inclined to freely offer her unvarnished opinion than Lime herself, Lime was a bit concerned about this first day of school. When the day arrived Lime walked her own dear Limelette #1 to school. All the other children lined up with their bright new clothes and shiny bags and happy faces. Limelette #1 marched up the steps to join them confidently. Out came a smiling woman with gentle eyes and a gentle voice and and gentle, happy greeting, 'Welcome to kindergarten my dear children. We have so many wonderful things to learn together.' Limelette #1 marched in as Lime felt an odd sort of realization that 'Another Woman' would now help mold and shape her precious Limelette. 'We shall see...,' she thought to herself.

When Limelette #2 turned 4 she knew her turn with the teacher with the gentle eyes, voice, and smile would come soon. She asked her mother every day for a year, 'How many days until I turn 5 and can go to kindergarten?' Every time she saw the gentle teacher she asked, 'How many more days until I can be in your class?' The gentle teacher always said, 'Soon my dear, and I can't wait either.' Eventually after many days and many repetitions of the question and answer, Limelette #2 was lined up with all the other children in front of the school and wiggling excitedly. The smiling teacher with the gentle eyes, and gentle voice came out to meet the class. She leaned over to Limelette#2 and said, 'My dear, guess what?' Limelette #2 looked up with shining eyes and asked, 'What?' The gentle teacher smiled wide, her own eyes shining with joy and answered, 'TODAY IS FINALLY HERE! And I am soooo glad to have you in my class!' As the class followed the gentle teacher in Lime smiled knowing Limelette #2 was in caring hands.

Finally, the day came when Limelet #3 was ready for kindergarten. Since Lime had helped so often in the gentle teacher's class and the teacher had often said Limelet #3 should come along, Limelet #3 knew the gentle teacher very well. He knew where to find the room. He knew where everything in the room was. The first day of kindergarten was a mere technicality to him. But the gentle teacher was also wise and wanted it to be a special day for all her students. Limelet #3 lined up with all the other new kindergarteners and the gentle teacher came out to meet the class and she said to Limelet #3, 'Welcome to kindergarten, my dear! Today, you don't just get to visit my class. Today you get have your very own spot in it and today you get to stay. I am so very glad.'

At the end of Limelet #3's kindergarten year Lime felt a bit sad knowing it was the end of an era with the gentle teacher. She told the gentle teacher how she had wondered about her on the first day Limelette #1 went to kindergarten. Then Lime said, 'I am so glad each of my children got to start their school career with you. In all my imagination there does not exist a more wonderful kindergarten teacher than you.' The gentle teacher shed a little tear and siad, 'Thank you, I needed to hear that.'

May all the gentle teachers and precious children have a wonderful start to the year.

And may the sadists taste justice......(Bad Lime! Naughty Lime, go sit in the corner! There will be a note going home today! Some of us just never learn do we??)

Memorial Day

My great-great grandfather, a Union Army veteran.


My paternal grandfather who enlisted during WW2, even though he had a wife and 2 sons. My dad is the smaller child.



My maternal grandfather who was drafted for WW2, even though he had a wife and 2 children. He was awarded the Purple Heart for wounds sustained during the Battle of the Bulge.



Dad, who enlisted in the Air Force during Vietnam, hoping to have some shred of control over his placement instead of being drated.


I found this among my grandfather's things and it amused me, so I thought I'd share especially for the women.

Whether you agree with our current administration or not please take time today to remember those who have served and instruct your children in history and respect.

And may I thank those who haved served or are currently.