Friend's Birthday...Year IV

Birthday wishes go out to the Friend that I mention in my posts. Friend has experienced several of the MA Fat Woman's mishaps and can always be counted on for a good laugh, a no nonsense quote, or a story that will upstage mine every time. Which reminds me of a story about Friend. Friend had a big time job and several underlings at her disposal for years. When birthdays and holidays floated around they always celebrated big. Everyone got cakes, presents, and usually taken out to dinner or the such. Well, Friend was really excited when it was time to celebrate her birthday. She had heard them planning and plotting the details of the party and was very excited. It didn't turn out that way. It seems the person that had done the planning had an emergency and all of the plans fell through. On the day of the birthday, there was nothing. No dinner! No presents! And no cake! Somebody realized what had happened and ran to Walmart to get an emergency cake. The day was a Friday and the office was scarcely staffed. After about 3 or 4 people sang Happy Birthday, each grabbed a slice of cake and scattered back to their respective offices. When it was time to go home that evening Friend went into the break room to get the cake to take home... ...it wasn't there! "Where's the cake?" she asked. "Oh, so-and-so took it with her. She said nobody had chipped in, so she was taking it home!" I know! Stuff like that happens all the time to her. Happy Birthday, Friend! I hope you get a cake that is all yours...

Olympic Burnout

I'm a huge sports fan. I like sports of all sorts and will watch basically any sport on television. Back in the day, on Sundays, Dad and I would watch ABC's Wide World of Sports. That's where I learned to float like a butterfly, a` la Muhammad Ali, and do a running commentary, a` la Howard Cosell, of our boxing match which usually occurred in the living room and ended with me getting knocked in the head by my brother, with me trash-talking, "THIS IS HOWWORD COSELL, LIVE FROM the living room. WHAP! Down goes Palmer, down goes Palmer." "You kids better stop that," mom would always say with the over-the-glasses look. "Somebody is going to get hurt." I always liked to watch winter sports on television. My favorite sport was the ski jump and it was always exciting waiting to see if anyone was going to crash on landing. I tried to imitate those jumpers out back on the big hill but landed straight in the creek on more than one occasion. I have been watching a lot of NBC's coverage of the XXX Olympiad. I have really enjoyed watching Michael Phelps becoming the best swimmer in the world and the young female swimmer, Missy Franklin, only 17, accomplishing things that most teenagers can only dream about. I would never have made it as a swimmer, though, because I never learned how to dive. The only thing I could ever master was a hard-hitting belly flop that left red marks on my torso and more water out of the pool than in. One Olympic sport that I seem to be smothered with lately is beach volleyball. Don't get me wrong, I like volleyball, more inside volleyball than beach volleyball, but every time I turn on the television women's beach volleyball is on. I have practically memorized the patterns of the funky athletic tape that all of the athletes tend to sport these days. I'm actually quite sick of it! How about some table tennis? What about boxing? What about fencing? I've yet to see any of these sports on my regular NBC station. Maybe in this age of reality television, the producers at NBC think that we must want to watch scantily clad women jumping around bare-booted in a pit of trucked in sand from God knows where. Okay, maybe some people do. But, hello, it's Great Britain, it's 55° and rains everyday. I bet the players are really having a ball when conditions are like that. So, NBC, why not have a contingency plan for when it rains? Why not ditch the beach volleyball for something less revealing, say, I don't know....men's diving?

The Longest Yard Sale...Revisited

****In honor of the World's Longest Yard Sale that I will be attending this weekend I give you this classic post**** As a frequent visitor to many yard sales in my area I jumped at the chance to go to the World's Longest Yard Sale that stretches through five states over a four day period every August. The yard sale winds for 654 miles from West Unity, Ohio to Gadsden, Alabama. And trust me when I say that a lot of people participate in this yearly adventure. If you are looking for a particular item to complete a collection or looking for an unusual gift for someone, then you have found the perfect place. There is only one problem: Where do you start? Since I live relatively close to Alabama, my mom decided that we should head over that way. We started out early (about 9:00) and were on our way. As we left town, it seemed that every other house was having a yard sale. (Hhhmmmm) Houston, I think we have a problem? Mom looked over at me and asked, "Do you want to stop at any of those?" "No! I want to go to Alabama, let's keep going." We kept going, and in the first twenty miles we probably passed over 20 yard sales. (I noticed Mom glancing over at me and frowning as we passed by each one.) We were over 100 miles from the official longest yard sale; I guess everyone wanted to get on the bandwagon. After driving for 1.5 hours we reached a town that was "officially" a part of the 654 mile shopper's paradise, Summerville, Georgia. Mom looked over at me and asked the same question once again. "Don't you want to stop at any of these sales?" Quite unexpectedly, I made a sharp right hand turn into a church parking lot that was crammed full of would be shoppers. I almost threw mom into the backseat and was rewarded with a look that used to send shivers of fear down my spine when I was a child: The over-the-glasses look. When you saw that look, you knew you were in trouble. I was out of the car in a flash and was making my way to a local park that was packed with sellers of all kinds. Mom, who was a little out of breath when she caught me wanted to know why I was in such a hurry. "Trolls," I said. "Oh dear," she replied. "We're never getting out of here." To the uneducated and uninformed, troll collecting is a multi-billion dollar industry worldwide. People have been known to spend their life savings on just the perfect troll. Trolls come in many shapes and sizes, colors and styles, and each collector has his or her own particular reason for collecting them. I have a reason but I keep it to myself. I walked right over to the troll vendor and began to peruse her wares. I looked up one table and down the next. (Nothing) I moved down to the next table and there it sat. Troll perfection!! It was a 1935 green-haired, orange-eyed beauty manufactured by the Alexander Family of southern Ohio. It stood slightly over 12 inches tall and was made of corn husks. It was a gold medal find in an unlikely place. It was the troll that I needed, longed for, and just had to have to complete my collection. Twenty years of collecting was boiling down to the next few minutes. The owner of the troll table sidled over to me and looked to be as old as the troll that I now held in my hand. "I see you're interested in old Tallulah?" she asked. "Not really," I said. (I was getting ready to do some negotiating; I didn't want to give myself away.) "Who you think you're kidding?" she said. "I've been waiting on someone like you for about 10 years since I decided that I was getting too dang old to collect these trolls anymore. I don't have family to pass 'em on to, and I sure as hell don't want the government to get 'em. I know how much the blasted thing is worth, so don't try to wear me down. How much you give me for it?" "Uh?" "I'll tell you what, I like the looks of you, you seem like nice folks, being here with your mom and all, I'll sell Tallulah to ya'll for 1 dollar. That's my final and only offer." As I looked over at mom and asked to borrow a dollar (I had brought only hundreds to purchase the troll) I tried to keep my composure. By this time the old lady was wrapping up my purchase and cackling to herself. I murmured a thanks and was about to walk away when suddenly I turned around and gave that woman the biggest hug I had ever given anybody. As she pulled away from the embrace she gave me one last look and said, "You take care of Tallulah for me." (Yes, ma'am) That's the story of my participation in this year's longest yard sale. We walked around the park and sampled a few food vendors and then were ready to go. I didn't make it to Alabama; in fact, I only made it to one town. And that was fine for me. There's always next year!! (I have a collection of kazoos that I'm working on.)

Twenty Years

Reflections, longevity, a time to look back Back to a time of innocence where we held the world in our hands And our hopes from the heart Sprang forth like a rushing mountain stream Many others have come and gone While it has remained to carry on A short time to some A life time as one Laughter, a blessing, never without Stories retold, was there ever a doubt That kindness and honor from those before Would carry to the young, no matter how poor One always steady, another pursuing the dream Stumbles within darkness Beaten For we are that team First to join was the littlest thing Spitfire, vocal, oh how it sang Sadly, the loss affecting their will First love, first lost, it lingers still A day to remember just before the cold The black, the white, a sight to behold The calmness, the gentle of one so small Enduring the stick that affects us all Walks to the green Rides through the mist Settlement is there By the first, still quite the pair More time together Looking for the one The only dream Yet, it's still undone Golden and white So strong is their bond Transferring to it To now and beyond More time to see Being lost in the blue The uniqueness, the beauty That is totally you Twenty years is Twenty years are Twenty years were Twenty years…Done

National Chili Dog Day

In honor of National Chili Dog Day I give you the perfect plate!

Another Mother, Daughter Conversation

I haven't written about any conversations with my mom lately but this one really takes the cake. The following is a conversation that took place a few evenings ago: I called mom. Mom: "Hello?" Me: "Hey?" Silence... "Mom?" Mom: "Yep?" Me: "What are you doing?" Mom: "It's 7:15 p.m. What'cha think I'm doing?" Me: "Watching Wheel of Fortune?" Mom: "Yep. Eating too! HIT ME WITH YOUR BEST SHOT?" Me: "Huh?" Mom: "Hit Me With Your Best Shot." Me: "Are you listening to Pat Benetar? I didn't know you were a fan. I just got through eating too." Mom: "No, I answered the puzzle on TV. What did you eat for dinner? No, don't tell me; let me guess. Fried chicken, mashed potatoes, mac & cheese, biscuits, sweet tea and chocolate cake, am I close?" Me: "Uh, not really." Mom: "Okay. Pizza, hot wings and real Coke, I know that's one of your favorites." Me: "Nope. I made Asian stir fry. It had boneless, skinless chicken, sugar snap peas, red peppers, soy sauce and I topped it off with an egg. I also had slices of fresh tomatoes from my garden and sauteed asparagus. It was incredible!" Silence. Me: "Hello?" More silence. Me: "Mom?" Mom: "Since when have you started eating like that? I don't think you've ever eaten a pepper or a pea pod?" Me: "I told you I was trying to eat better. I'm eating all sorts of new things." Mom: "Good for you. Does that mean we can't go to Dairy Queen when you come up tomorrow?" Me: "We can go, but I'm gonna watch you eat. I'm serious this time." Mom: "I guess you must be serious. CHANGING YOUR WAYS? You never turn down ice cream." Me: "What?" Mom: "Changing your ways--that was the last puzzle on the show. I guess it must be a sign. Well, I'm rootin' for ya. Gotta go! Click!" A sign? Maybe? Check back in a few months. I'll let you know how it's going...

Press Two For English

Over the last few decades the United States has seen a large increase in the Hispanic population. So much so that certain cities and municipalities have put forth legislation that establishes their governed area as an "English Only" locale. All official forms and documents will be in English only. Just because you come here doesn't mean that we're going to talk to you. If you want to talk to us, then by golly you had better speak the damn language. Comprender? Some companies have already made the switch to include the Hispanic population. Every time I have to call an 800-number I am always asked the same question: Press one for English or press two for Spanish. I always press one. Sometimes I get annoyed that I can't press two. I am an English only speaking person. (I did have two years of French in high school but French is never an option.) All of which got me to thinking: In other countries, where English is learned as a second language, when they call an 800-number, do they have to press one for their language and press two for English? If so, do they get annoyed that they have to press one?