Happy New Year!! zzzzzz...

I have come to the realization that I am becoming too old to enjoy New Year's Eve. Why? You ask? Is it because I am in my early 40's and I really just want to go to bed and enjoy a good night's sleep? Well, yes, that is part of it, but the main reason is, I find that I do not suffer fools gladly any more. I cannot tolerate people who become so inebriated that they either wet themselves or vomit all over themselves or poor innocent victims in the general vicinity at the time of stomach explosion. These people need to be slapped in a cab and driven to the nearest hospital for detox. I am too old to go hang out in bars full of college age kids or wannabe college kids who are acting ridiculous and spilling drinks and close talking all night even tho they are yelling in my ear above the outrageously loud and horrible music that is blaring. I don't like crowds. And that is fine. Everyone has their "thing." I would much rather spend New Year's Eve with a few close friends in my home having a nice dinner and some drinks and perhaps a board game or two and perchance a movie. Call me boring. I don't care. When I was in college I had a couple of New Year's Eves like the afore mentioned partying. Did I regret it the next day? Generally not because I do not enjoy the feeling of "being drunk" or out of control. I really don't. Most of the time I was the one driving people home or holding their hair while they worshipped at the "porcelain god" in the ladies room. I was a good friend. Now that I am older, I am thankful that I remember more New Year's Eve antics than most people have forgotten or can remember themselves. Most of the time I have pictures to prove that people actually really did dance on the bar or table, or they actually did wet themselves or perhaps do drunken cartwheels. I am a good friend.

That's Amore'!!

PIZZA!! What kid doesn't love pizza? That tasty lip-smacking round (and sometimes square in certain areas and countries)tomato-y, cheesey slice of heaven? I always loved pizza night at our house growing up. Mom would make some dough from scratch and other times from Peter Pan Instant Pizza Dough (just add water and oill)and whip out the pizza fixin's. Mozzarella cheese, hamburger, green olives...mmm-mmm! That's good eatin'! Nothing was better than Mom's homemade pizza. Pizza night rocked because we would get to drink Pepsi with our pizza. When we were much younger we would drink Kool-aid there was only 1 sccop of sugar in that. But, Pizza and Pepsi night was something we really looked forward to. It was usually before 4-H meetings or Trick-or-Treating because it was fast and easy and the caffeine/sugar rush helped to keep us awake for a few hours. When I was a teenager I would to stay at my friend, Lisa's, house and we would add our own toppings to a pizza. Extra cheese (nearly an inch and a half thick), a can of mushrooms (just the small can), green olives ( a lot of those...) and pepperoni. Had to make sure we had the meat on there for protein, you know. We had all four food groups on that bad boy...and it only took nearly 25 minutes to bake because it was so huge. It would take two of us to lift it to get it in the oven then, we would sit back and wait. in the meantime, we would play a game of Trivial Pursuit to keep us occupied. *DING* Pizza's done!! Do you smell something? Something...burning? NOT THE PIZZA!! Quick, throw open the oven, reach in grab the pizza, burn your hand before you remember to get an oven mitt, turn off oven because...DUH!, grab oven mitt while Lisa fans the smoke out of your face, grab the pizza pan quickly and throw it on the counter, throw baking soda on the burning cheese at the bottom of the oven to squelch the flames, run to the smoke alarm and rip the batteries out of it to shut it up, throw open the front door to get the smoke out of the house, remember that you burned the hell out of your hand, run to the faucet and put it under cold water to prevent blistering, ask Lisa about the welfare of the pizza. "Pizza's fine, oven is not.." Wait 10 minutes for the pizza to cool enough so you can cut it with a pizza cutter, pick up a slice and watch all the good stuff slide off and land with a plop on your lap, run screaming to the bathroom to jump into a cold shower fully clothed because you are burning a hole into your upper thigh, peel your wet cheesy jeans off and wrap a towel around your waist while asking where the burn ointment is, locate said burn ointment and slather it on thickly to injured area, find your pair of sweatpants that you were going to wear to bed and put those on so they don't rub against your injured thigh, go back to kitchen that is nearly smoke-free, cautiously have a seat at the table while smiling weakly to your best friend. "How's that pizza?" "Pretty good. How's yours?" Smartass...

Conniption Fit

"Your father is going to have a conniption when he sees this!" I heard this a LOT growing up and just recently found out just exactly what a "conniption fit" actually was. Mainly because, I was the one having the conniption fit. This was pointed out to me by my 8-year-old son after I told him repeatedly to pick up the pieces of cardboard box that he had strewn about the living room. He was cutting apart a box to make a pair of "wings" for God knows what, and had failed to clean up after himself. So, after telling him more firmly each time to "Clean up this MESS!", I finally lost it. I stormed into the living room and started picking up everything and throwing it into the garbage can. Cardboard, pieces of duct tape, entire rolls of duct tape, scissors, movies, pillows, cats, small children, couches...it all went into the garbage. The entire time I am yelling nonsensical phrases like, "I have had enough...crap.." and "how many times..." and my personal favourite, "shmiggermiggermahger." Now, I really have no idea what that last word/phrase was supposed to be, I was just so incensed about my request being ignored that I apparently started speaking in tongues. My 14 year-old daughter burst out laughing, "What the heck does that mean?!" she said laughing at me until tears rolled down her cheeks. I don't think she understood the threat of death at this point I was so furious, but seeing her laughing at my angry outburst made me stop and take a look from their point of view. A middle-aged woman stomping around the living room, hair flying, eyes shooting fire, arms flailing and throwing stuff in a garbage bag al the while muttering and yelling to no one in particular. At first I was astounded that they weren't terrified of the Wrath of Mom, but stepping back, I realized how ridiculous I must have looked. Less threatening than the Hulk and more bordering on angry/insane clown. "Don't laugh at me! I am really ticked off!" I tried the threatening voice but it came out more like a hysterical scream. That, of course, sent my daughter into more gales of laughter. At this point, I turn to glare angrily at my son, who turned twinkling big brown eyes to me and said, "Geez Mom, don't have a conniption." Deflated...rant over...

Better...Faster...Stronger...

I used to think that Lee Majors was pretty awesome mainly because the faster he ran, the slower he would go. I mean, seriously! Even tho the bad guy would see him running at a snails pace at him and try to run for some reason he was held back by some invisible force field that only allowed him to run in extreme slow motion therefore leaving him wide open for capture by The Six Million Dollar Man. For YEARS (ok, that is an exageration...it was only for about the first 30 minutes of the episode) I thought that the faster "Steve Austin" ran time would stand still for the villian no matter what his infraction was. It could have been jaywalking and Steve Austin would have tackled him to the ground. Then I figured out they just slowed down the film. That was a disappointment... My cousin, Tanya, and I used to play The Six Million Dollar Man and The Bionic Woman a lot as youngsters. And of course, whenever we were getting ready to pounce and capture the bad guy, as per the television show, we would start running real slow with exagerated movements. Even our speech was slow. Hey, sometimes art imitates life! I usually was Steve Austin (I was older and bigger) and Tanya was Jamie Summers (because she had blonde hair- duh). Unfortunately, we didn't have the cool track suits that they wore so we put masking tape down our sleeves and pant legs. That helped us to be "better...faster...stronger" obviously. And our "recharging tent" was a blanket hanging over the swingset. Hey! You had to make do with what you had available and we definately weren't running short on imagination! After an exhausting afternoon of saving the world from imminent peril and destruction, we liked to cool off with a nice Diet Rite. Because that is what the Six Million Dollar Man Lee Majors would drink after a long workout or a day of saving the world. Or maybe I should have had a Rondo... (google it)

Back To School

Ah! Back to school time... the time for notebooks, pencils, crayons and new tennis shoes! The time when parents go broke buying the required gear for the start of a new school year. As a kid I looked forward to getting my school supplies, a new backpack, new tennies and that treasured of all school supplies...a new lunchbox. Back in the day we had our choice of lunchbox themes and not only that, they were metal lunchboxes with a matching thermos! I recall my first lunchbox was when I was in First grade. It was a Peanuts lunchbox. Charlie Brown, Snoopy, Lucy, Linus, Sally and Schroeder graced my lunchbox in colourful cartoon panels and came with a matching thermos that had Snoopy doing his dance of joy that said "LUNCHTIME!" above his dancing head. For first grade, it was a pretty cool lunchbox. I used that lunchbox for two whole years until the hinges finally wore out and broke and frankly, I had outgrown it by Third grade. I was growing up and Charlie Brown and Snoopy were so First Grade. Mom took me shopping for Third Grade school supplies and it came time to pick out a new lunchbox. I scanned the shelves for one that fit my fancy...Dukes of Hazzard (nah, that's a boy's lunchbox), The Beverly Hillbillies (weren't they from the 60's?), the Brady Bunch (another oldie but goody), Scooby Doo,The Bionic Woman, The Six Million Dollar Man...and then suddenly...(insert Halleluia music here)there it was...a Wonder Woman lunchbox. Lights shown down on the beautiful sparkling red and gold double "W" and white stars on a field of royal blue. The front panel had Wonder Woman in action with her lasso of truth and the back panel had her in her invisible jet. I had to have it. The thermos inside had Wonder Woman on one side and Diana Prince (her alter-ego) on the other. It was mine. I used that lunchbox everyday for 3 years until I hit 6th grade. Wonder Woman was still cool but I didn't want it to break as the hinges were getting rusty. So, I moved on to a Miss Piggy plastic lunchbox. Miss Piggy was cool since 'The Muppet Movie' had just come out and hey! I wanted to trend! However, I still held on to that Wonder Woman lunchbox because, after all...I AM Wonder Woman. Recently watching an episode of "Toy Hunter" on the History Channel, the host of the show Jordan found that exact lunchbox, the one I treasured quite highly from my youth. He bought it from the owner for $35 without the thermos. He then proceeded to take it to Comic Con in San Diego and sold it to a collector who HAD the thermos but needed the lunchbox for (are you ready for this?) $300!!! All of a sudden, I am not feeling too attached to this lunchbox anymore...

Completely Unhinged

As a kid I had a temper. Yes. I had a temper. But, it wasn't people who used to make me angry. No. It was inanimate objects. If something did not fit in a spot it was supposed to, or if it wouldn't do exactly what I wanted it to do, I would eventually go all "HULK SMASH" on something and beat the crap out of it. I did this with a little red wagon once. I believe I yelled at it- which in hindsight was the stupidest thing to do because, HEY!, it isn't like it is going to yell back at you or have any reaction to your angry outburst because...well...it's inanimate. It doesn't have feelings. But when you are angry you just have to vent...or smash something. I remember yelling stupidly at my roller skates once because my shoe didn't fit into it. You remember those kind, rigth? The ones that you strapped on to your tennis shoes? Yes well, obviously my feet got too big for them and instead of unscrewed them and extending the length, I decided to start yelling and slamming them on the ground. Big Sister Amy smacked me in the back of the head in disgust and grabbed the offended toy, extended them to fit my shoe, handed it back to me and said (rather sarcastically and deservedly so) "There..isn't that better?!?!" and skated off in a huff. It was at that point that my nine-year-old self stepped back and took a good long look at myself. What the heck is the matter with you!?!? I asked myself. I'm not sure. I replied. Well, here is an idea...calm down and think! Ok. I decided that my inner voice was right and also kind of mean, but I did deserve it. As I grew older I would still have moments when I would go completely unhinged- like when the lawn mower wouldn't start and just shoved it back into the garage and it hit the workbench and bent the wheel (I had to explain that to Dad- that was not fun), or when I couldn't get my locker door open and I punched it and damn near broke a knuckle, or when I locked my keys in my car in the biggest damn storm of the year and ended up denting the side of my car because I was stupidly angry. Now that I am older, I have realized how fruitless and useles it is to lose your temper over objects. Although, every once in a great while the She-Hulk rears her ugly head and makes an appearance. My husband stands back and lets me go and when I am deflated from the energy that it takes out of me, he says in a very snarky tone, "All done? Do you feel better now?" Funny...but that is the same thing I got from my Mom and Big Sister growing up...sometimes you just never learn...

One Speed Bikes

Recently, Dad had decided to do a little "housecleaning." This translates into "take the toys from your childhood home to your house and get them out of mine." Ok. Easy enough, much to the chagrin of my husband. After nearly 40 years, my banana seat bike came back into my possession. It is aptly named "The Dove", a lovely white bike with a blue banana seat and a cloud with a flying orange dove. This was the most beautiful bike I had ever owned. I remember when Mom and Dad purchased this bike for me for my 8th birthday, Big Sister Amy got the same exact bike for her birthday. (Our birthdays were only 2 weeks apart and we often had a combined birthday party.) Mine, however, had an awesome white wicker basket on the front with bright flowers embellishing it. That way we could tell them apart. Cool thing about this bike? I had awesome ape hanger handlebars, a banana seat and a sissy bar. And it only had one speed. The speed at which my legs could pump the pedals to make the bike move. I rode that bike all over our tiny town/village. At first, Mom didn't trust me to ride on the road winding thru our tiny town for fear of me getting hit by some random driver. I think it was perhaps more that I had a tendency to day dream as I was bike riding and she was afraid I would veer into oncoming traffic in one of my inattentive moments- this is most likely true. When I was 9, however, I was able to ride across town and visit my friend, Kelly. Sometimes I would stop at Connie and Rhonda's for a chat and then meander off to wherever my bike took me. As I got older and my legs got longer, we couldn't move the seat up anymore to accomodate the growth spurts that I seemed to have every 3 months. So, I would ride Mom and Dad's bike. Now I say "Mom AND Dad's" because there was only one adult bike and they would share it. When baby sister was still small, there was a child's bike seat attached to the back so that she could enjoy our family bike rides, too. By the time I was able to ride the bike, Baby Sister was too old to sit in the seat so Mom took it off. I mean, what 12 year old wants to be seen riding around on a bike with a baby seat on it? It was enough to get you beat up on the playground. Lately I have been looking for a bike for myself, since my children are old enough to ride their own bikes. I would look at the bike displays and think...what the?!?! I don't need a 21 speed bike that has a built in pedometer, heart rate detector, blue light for night riding, gel padded seat, arm rests for leaning forward when going uphill, automatic braking, AED machine, and a Life Alert button. No. I want a basic bike. One that I pedal with my legs at a sedate pace so that I don't have a heart attack. I am not going to ride the Tour de France...I am going to ride the streets of in my town with my children. I informed Mom that I was looking for a bike and she offered up a suggestion. "Would you like that old bike of mine that is hanging in the shed?" WHAT?!?! Did she honestly still have that terrific bike of my youth? OF COURSE!! Dad pulled it out, pumped up the tires (that were still in excellent shape after all these years) and I gave it a test drive. I whizzed down my parents driveway, down the quarter mile lane I used to walk down every day during school to catch the bus,felt the breeze on my face as my hair whipped in the wind, turned around in the road and rode back toward the house. I noticed that I had to work a little harder than I did at 12 to get back up the small slope to Mom and Dad's house, but it took me to use my legs a little harder and not wimp out by changing gears! I pulled into the driveway, heart pounding, wheezing, sweating, dizzy and feeling every bit of my age, but I was exuberant! I could still do it and the bike tires didn't deflate, the metal rims didn't bend or crumple under the weight of a 43 year old woman who had birthed two children, had a desk job and a penchant for chocolate. So, this year for Mother's Day, I was the grateful and giddy recipient of a 38 year old bike that reminded me that I may be old but I am nowhere near ready for the trash heap! Best Mother's Day. Ever.

Barbie vs. the EZ Bake Oven

My cousin, Tanya, had an EZ Bake oven. Big Sister had an EZ bake oven. I did NOT have an EZ Bake oven. I think my mother was afraid of what I would do with it. EZ Bake ovens were a cool way for young girls (and I am sure the occasional boy) to make delicious bite sized cakes under a 100 watt bulb- because, as we all know, that is how a "real" oven works. Big Sister would never let me use hers. It was a Hollie Hobbie EZ Bake oven. It was cute and came with these wonderful little pans and plastic spatulas and plastic knives. It also came with a cake pan "shover" that you used to push the tin pan under the bulb in the oven so you didn't end up with third degree burns on your fingers. Unfortunatley, it didn't come with pot holders. That would have been smart KENNER to include something to pick the TIN PAN up with after the cake was done cooking! Tanya and I were bored one summer and decided that "Barbie" (tm) was going to open a bakery and so we fired up the EZ Bake oven. Apparently, it was an industrial bakery because when you compared Barbie to the size of the EZ Bake oven it looked like she worked at Dolly Madison Bakery Factories, but I digress... Opening up the tiny package of cake mix and adding the water (sounds delicious already doesn't it?) we put the cake tin in the oven. Then sat back and waited. It apparently took 15 minutes for the cake to bake under a 100 watt bulb. So, we decided to play with the Jamie Summers (Bionic Woman) doll and Steve Austin (The 6,000,000 Dollar Man) doll when we got this brilliant idea. Let's say that Barbie was in a horrific EZ Bake Oven accident and was unable to escape from the factory. Let's send in the Bionic Team and have them save the poor helpless girl! **Now, here is a little side note...for a woman who owned a convertible, an RV, a camper, a jet, a townhouse AND a Dream House, and more clothes and shoes that I would ever own in a lifetime, why exactly WAS Barbie working in a Bakery/Factory?!? Apparently, she had to support her lavish lifestyle. I mean, two mortgages and multiple car payments and an obvious shopaholic problem is going to have to get money somehow because it is obvious that Ken wasn't supporting her. He was Captain of a boat and an Airplane for Pan Am, for cry-yi-yi! He didn't have time with his playboy lifestyle to see that Barbie was clothed and fed and living in the lap of luxury without having to work!** So, back to Barbie and her perilous situation... Barbie was sitting on top of the oven, trying to escape the imaginary flames that were beginning to lick at her long (and completely unrealistic length) legs. Tanya kept up a steady stream of "Help! Someone Help Me!" as I went about getting the Bionic Team to break thru doors and walls and jump over flames and falling flaming debris. It was quite the palm sweater. All of a sudden, this smell began to fill the air. It didn't smell like the delicious chocolate cake the package claimed. It smelled of burning plastic. Like something caught under a 100 watt bulb... HOLY SMOKE! Barbie's bottom was melting to the top of the EZ Bake oven!! Tanya yanked the plug out of the wall and the bulb went out. Without thinking, I pushed the cake pan out with my fingers, burning and blistering them in the process. I dropped the pan and watched our cake explode all over the floor. Tanya went to pull Barbie off the EZ Bake oven, she came off the oven with a melted bottom and strings of plastic going from the oven to her bum. The smell of burnt plastic and rubber filled the room making us gag. I opened a window to let in some fresh air and stare at the mess we created. The floor was covered with partially cooked chocolate cake, the EX Bake oven lay smoking on its side,the Bionic Team lay sprawled in a forgotten heap and Barbie...poor Barbie was the victim of a tragic industrial accident. He bum and thighs melted beyond recognition. How would she ever fit into her tight denims again? How could she show herself in a bathing suit? Would Ken throw her over for that with Krissie? Barbie-0; EZ Bake Oven-1

Is There Anyone Out There?

I ask this question of myself on a daily basis and thanks to social media the answer is a resounding "Yes!" Now, the real question is, where exactly IS "out there?" As I check my stats on my blog I see that I have a pretty good following in Russia, Germany, Israel as well as the States. I find it intriguing that my little inconsequential blog is seen by so many people in so many far away and fascinating countries! Many of these countries, I would love to visit some day- when I win the lottery, that is. The current salary of an accounting assistant isn't exactly exorbitant. The furthest I could get on my salary is Wisconsin Dells. I, have, however been able to learn much about other countries and cultures through some of the most reliable sources out there. Historical Romance Novels. I mean, come ON! That takes a LOT of research to get the specifics on a country and a culture just to let the main characters have "relations" there. And trust me, I have read a lot of those books, but purely for the historical aspect and reference. (insert scoffing sound and winking icon here) I started reading these types of books at the age of 13- much to the chagrin of my mother- but I wasn't reading them for the risque' parts (although they made the story more worthwhile at times) I read them to escape from the boring humdrum life in a small midwestern town. And, Lord knows, nothing ever happens in a small sleepy Midwestern town. So, I escaped through reading and movies. I learned a lot about harems in Turkey and India, brothels in Regency London, Elizabethan fashion and ettiquette, Highland Lairds and clan systems in Scotland, winters in St. Petersberg Russia and a plethora of other wonderful cultures and climes in our wonderful world. I must admit, my favourite stories are the ones about Scotland, but then I have Scottish roots so I tend to be a little biased. It is strange how big this world seems at times but when it comes right down to it, we are all connected in one bizarre way or another. So...leave me a comment! Let me know who you are (first name only please) and where you are from! I would love to know who is following me and be a little more connected to the world! :)

Imaginary Friends

I think all of us at one time had an imaginary friend. Me? I had an imaginary brother. His name was Timmy and he was responsible for all sorts of shenanigans at my house and was a tad bit accident prone. As my mother tells it, I was about 3 years old when Timmy made his first appearance. She said I had told our Pastor's wife that my brother Timmy fell out of a tree and broke his arm. The dear woman was sympathetic and asked her husband, "I didn't know Sandy had a son." Pastor gave her a confused look and said, "She doesn't. Obviously, Jenny has an imaginary brother." Thus started the stories of my brother Timmy. Timmy lasted for several years and we had many adventures together. I mentioned him to a family friend, Roger, who owned a horse ranch and regaled him with the tales of Timmy and those adventures throughout my pre-school years. Whenever we would go visit him, he would always ask "How's Timmy?" and I would have another story for him. Once I started school and started making new friends, Timmy started to take a backseat to my daily routine and eventually disappeared forever. Timmy was replaced by my friend, Kelly, who grew up only a mile away from me. As we moved from kindergarten into first grade, Timmy "died." I remember going to Roger's house and he asked me "How's Timmy?" I told him quite plainly that Timmy had passed on. Apparently he had been playing by the train tracks (we had no trains near our house) and got hit by said train. It was very tragic. Roger said "That's too bad. I liked hearing about the things you and Timmy did. He was a funny guy." and thus, the imaginary brother was laid to rest. Even as I got older Roger would always ask me "How's Timmy?" and wink. Roger is long gone now, too, and I hope that he and Timmy could finally meet in the afterlife. I wonder what kind of stories Timmy would tell about me?

Childhood Heartthrob...

My first crush was David Cassidy. I think I was 4. My cousin, Dawn, had his poster in her bedroom, along with Donnie Osmond and a couple of 70's teen idols, but David Cassidy was my favourite. He had awesome hair, come hither eyes and that cool hemp necklace. He was dreamy. I told Dawn that when she didn't want the poster anymore that I would take it. True to her word, when she outgrew David, she took him down, rolled him up and gave him to me. I think I was 6. As I got older and my music tastes grew, I added many different posters to my bedroom walls. Duran Duran in 1984/85 was my wallpaper of choice. I think I had about 250 posters and pictures adorning the walls of my teenage bedroom, but on the back of my door hidden behind pictures of John Taylor, was David Cassidy. His eyes staring at me out of the Duran pics. Eventually, I outgrew Duran Duran and took their pictures down and packed away. I moved on to Classic Rock; The Beatles, John Lennon, Janis Joplin, The Doors. I outgrew those and down those went. Next up, Yngve Malmsteen, Whitesnake, Aerosmith, Bon Jovi...those, too, took a dirt nap eventually. But David never came down. He was a balm to my teenage soul of quieter and much less tormented times (in my life- not the world). Eventually I moved out of my bedroom and moved off to college. Everything came down and much of it went into the garbage. But not David. I rolled him up and put him in my trunk where he wouldn't get crushed. Years went by and I graduated, got married, had children, got a job and bought a house. I added a lot of memories to that trunk and removed a few (like old graduation cards and birthday cards). Recently I sat down with my daughter as I rifled thru the memories of that trunk and came across a rolled up poster. I chuckeled to myself as I lifted it out and carefully unrolled it, knowing full well what it was. "Mom? Who is that?" she demanded. "That's David Cassidy." I replied, staring into David's beautiful blue/green eyes. "Well, he looks lame." she replied scathingly. I just smiled at her and said "He may look lame to you, but he was my first crush and I think he is beautiful." I rolled it carefully back up and put him back in my 150 year old trunk that holds all my other treasures. My children's baby books, by high school graduation diploma and mortar board (That funky flat hat that professors wore), my marriage certificate, my high school year books and baby pictures of my kids. Just knowing he is there and has survived nearly 40 years in my room, on my wall and in my trunk without a single tear or rip, makes me feel content. Part of my childhood that will always be there when I need it.

Sugar High

Easter- the time of year when children can eat their weight in marshmallow Peeps, chocolate eggs, bubble gum eggs and a chocolate easter bunny the size of a new born child and parents don't seem to care... As a kid, we would wake up on Easter Sunday early- as it was the Spring equivalent to Christmas- and start hunting for our Easter baskets that the Easter Bunny had hidden over night. Big Sister Amy, Baby Sister and myself would start in the kitchen and move stealthily throughout the house trying to locate our baskets and the sugary sweet convections that were left for us. Discovery! Mine was in the dryer- thank God Mom didn't have to do laundry that morning. I would have had chocolate encrusted t-shirts instead. Big Sister Amy's was in the pantry hidden behind the boxes of cereal. Clever. Baby Sister's was hidden in the coat closet on the shelf behind the box of colouring books and crayons. We would all then sit on the couch and compare our candy horde and trade stuff we didn't like. Big Sister got my Peeps if I could have her chocolate marshmallow eggs, Baby sister could have my jelly beans if I got her chocolate marshmallow eggs. Yes, I love marshmallow eggs. Don't judge me. Then after a few nibbles from our baskets it was time to get dressed and head to Easter service at church. We would get dressed in our new (or new to us) Easter dresses and have our picture taken holding our baskets in our pretty clothes. And, usually, I had chocolate around my mouth in most of these photos because like a chocolate Ninja, I would always have another chocolate marshmallow egg in my mouth. Hence, the closed mouth smile... Then we would pile into the car and wave goodbye to Dad as we drove to church. (Dad was a non-practicing Catholic and we were Methodists, and he said that he would be in trouble if he went to our church. I think it was just a way of getting out of church.) One year, when Baby Sister was still a baby (10 months I think) I decided to take a purse with me to church. It has all the important things in it- a key to something I wasn't sure what, a doll brush, chapstick, a pocket mirror and my illegal contraband- a box of Junior Mints. Now, I don't know about you, but Easter Sunday services can get pretty long and drawn out sometimes, and when you eat breakfast at 830 am and go to 930 am service, by 1030 am this girl is starting to get hungry! So, we settled into our pew by Gramma and Grampa. Mom next to Gramma, Baby sister in Mom's lap, me next to Mom and Big Sister on my left. Greeting and opening hymn commence, then Pastor starts the sermon...Yawn...I sit, swinging my legs back and forth and watching my black patent leather shoes flash in the sunlight coming in the window to my left. Big Sister starts to swing her legs. Back and forth, back and forth, we swing our legs opposite each other, then hook ankles and start to swing. Mom reaches over and puts her hand on my knee- the silent warning of "stop it and sit still." Pouting, I stop swinging my legs and glare at the back of the pew in front of us. I pick up my purse and rummage around inside for a bit and pull out my pocket mirror. I open it up and let the sunlight catch it. The mirror flashes in my eyes and I am momentarily blinded. Then I realize I can create a diversion with the light! I shine it onto the ceiling and watch it dance around as I move it back and forth in my hand. and then...Mom snatches it out of my hand and takes it away from me. I feel like Gollum from Lord of the Rings when he lost his "precious"...LOST! LOST!! Well...back to the purse. Doll brush...can't do much with that. The rogue key that no one knows what it is for...boooorrrrinnnng! AH-HA! JUNIOR MINTS!! I was starting to feel a little hungry anyway. This time, I leave the junior mints inside the box in my purse. Mom will never suspect anything! The congregation stands for another hymn. No one will hear the box rip open when they are singing! Victory is mine! I open the box and pour out a couple of mints into my hand, being the nice sister that I am, I give one to Big Sister to shut her up, if you will. I pop one into my mouth and chew quietly. Hymn's over so everyone sits down. I pop another Junior Mint in my mouth my head turned to the left so Mom can't see, and then hand another one to Big Sister just to keep her quiet. Suddenly I feel a tap on my arm. Rats! Caught red handed! I turn to Mom, she is staring at the front of the church and holds her hand out to me without turning her head. What the what? I wasn't sure if I was supposed to give her the entire box or just one. So, I figured I had nothing to lose. I pour a couple into her hand. She pops them into her mouth and looks at me out of the corner of her eye and winks. I grin up at her and sit throught the rest of church happily munching on my Junior Mints and sharing my sugary contraband with Mom. I am sure even Jesus would have understood that day...

Will You Go with Me?

Having a boy/girlfriend in grade school never made any sense to me. It's not like you could really go anywhere, right? I mean, what 10 year-old has access to a car? And even if they did, where would you go? Unless they had a really good allowance or something, then that is the person you want to hold on to. The system of "dating" in grade school usually involved three people- the childhood version of the "threesome." Generally, one person was the middle-man (or woman) to the "would be" daters. This would be the "go-to" person who would generally be the friend of the person who had a crush on a cute boy/cute girl in the class, this designated "go-to" person would walk up to the boy and say "Do you like so-and-so?" (or like my friends in Great Britain would say "So-and-so fancies you."). If he/she answered in the affirmative the next question would be, "Do you want to go with so-and-so?" Now, here is where my question would come into play; "Go where?" Like I said, this is grade school and a 10-year-old takes things pretty literally so you have to be specific. The "Go-to"-er would give me a look of confusion..."Uh...out?" I would reply in my 10-year-old wisdom, "We are already out. OUTSIDE!" Ok, I wasn't quite grasping what was going on here obviously. "Go-to"-er would roll their eyes and reply in a snarky tone "Go out with..be their girlfriend! Geez!" Oh! "Uh..ok...I guess so." The "Go-to"-er would go to said boy and say "She LIKES you likes you so she is your girlfriend now." To which said boy grins shyly at me and runs off to play baseball with the other boys. Ok, so now I was attached. Wasn't he supposed to come running and pledge his undying love and whisk me off my feet? Nope, when you're 10, it means that you have a boyfriend in name only and he just has laid a claim to you even tho' he has no idea what having a "girlfriend" means. 'Course, at that age, I had no idea either. I just know that so-and-so just decided I was cute and wanted to be the only one to tell me. As I went from grade school to middle school, things really didn't get much better. "Dating" was mostly meeting the guy you thought was cute at the roller rink and "couple skating" with him during the slow songs. This generally involved holding the hand of a sweaty pre-pubescent boy and doing your best to not fall down when his skate stopper snagged and he went crashing to the polished wood floor of the rink. High school "dating" meant going to the Friday night dances we had every week and sitting on the chairs with his arm around you because he didn't want to dance; other than the slow dances where he would hold you at arms length by your waist and go in circles until you were dizzy. As soon as the song was over (something like "Almost Paradise" by Mike Reno and Ann Wilson or "I Can't Fight This Feeling" by REO Speedwagon) he would grab your hand and drag you back to your designated chair and plop back down, effectively holding you in place with his arm and daring anyone to brave the possessive look on his face to come talk to you or even breathe the same air you are breathing. When you DIDN'T have a boyfriend you could actually dance with your other friends because, believe it or not guys, girls LIKE to dance. If I wanted to hold a chair down for 4 hours I would have stayed home and watched the telly. College dating...well, for privacy's sake, let's not go there...but let's just say there is a lot more than "dancing" going on.

Anything with wheels...

At one point in my life my mother told me "I am sorry I ever bought you anything with wheels." What?!? Just because I rode my big wheel down the very steep hill into the driveway at Mach 8, or that I tried building a skate ramp in the basement out of a 2"x8" and a piece of plywood, or that I sat on my skateboard at my cousin Tanya's house and road down the center of the 3rd Street hill, or we took the Barbie Rv down the same hill, does not mean that I shouldn't have anything with wheels. It just means that I would have found one way or another to endanger my life in ways that would scare the living daylights out of my mother. For example...climbing around the ancient sheep shed on the neighbor's farm and building a clubhouse on the platform (a very rickety and dangerous platform that was about 12 feet off the ground, I may add) out of old doors and plywood found in various buildings on the farm, complete with old rusty nails and hinges and such that would surely have given me lockjaw if I had cut myself on one of them. Or...swinging from the haymow rope from the 20 foot platform with the neighbor kids, that could have,at any time, let go and I would have plummeted to the floor ending up with a broken something-or-other. Then there is the horseback riding incident that my friend, Dena, and I tried behind the barn where we decided to see if we could stand on the horse's back while at a full out run. Hey! We started with a walk just to gain balance, so I was cautious! Now as the mother of an 8 year-old son I understand exactly what my mother was saying to me. I apparently have given birth to Marvel character, Matt Murdock or as he is known by his secret identity "Daredevil." It started when he was just 9 months old. He was crawling all over and pulling himself up on chairs and couches and had no fear of falling whatsoever. It was at 9 months that he was standing at the coffee table and turned and walked to me all smiles and fearless. I was terrified. He hasn't sat still since.(I would like to interject here that I had a very cautious and somewhat timid daughter five years prior to Daredevil's birth who never once made me shudder in fear of her falling or doing anything remotely scary other than try to crawl out of her crib once and she fell onto a pillow and cried like she broke a leg. I think that fall scared her off of circus tricks or anything of the sort. It took her until she was 10 to learn to ride a two-wheeler because she was afraid of falling...but I digress...) It was at 15 months he decided to go for a ride in the laundry basket down the stairs. Now, I saw this happening as I was at the bathroom at the top of the stairs, however, did you ever have that feeling of the Six-Million Dollar Man? You know the feeling, the faster you run the slower you go? THAT is what was happening to me. I could see him grab the laundry basket and crawl into it and then start skooching toward the edge of the stairs. I stood rooted to the spot willing my limbs to move but was paralyzed and somewhat intrigued at the scene playing out before me. I was immediately whisked back to my childhood and taking the Radio Flyer down the steep hill between Gramma's house and our house...that ended badly as I overshot the road and went ass-over-teakettle down the embankment and wound up in the cornfield stunned and bruised but not bleeding and broken. I forced my legs to move and I started to yell "N-n-n-n-n-o-o-o-o-o-oooooo!" (like Darth Vader in Star Wars) and I reached for him to only grasp air as he began his descent down the 13 Steps into the foyer. I stood frozen with fear as I watched him lean back in the basket and ride smoothly down to the bottom floor like he was on a kiddie rollercoaster. He landed safely at the bottom; not dumped out and thudding down the steps only to land a bruised and bloody screaming mess at the bottom. He jumped out of the basket with an awestruck look on his face. sort of a "That was aMAZING!" look. "WHOOOAAAA!!!" he said and grabbed the handle as if he was going to come back up and do it again. At this point my husband had come running to the bottom of the stairs, grabs the laundry basket out of his tiny little hands and says "I don't THINK so, Daredevil. You have had enough excitement for one day and Mom and Dad have to go in for a cardiac assesment." Baby boy was not so happy with Dad after that. The one thing that I vowed at that point, was he was never going to have anything with wheels. Ever. He is now the proud owner of a two wheeled bike, roller blades and a Radio Flyer red wagon. Thank God our back yard is flat...

Modern Technology

We had a black and white 19 inch tv until the antenna (anyone under the age of 30 would have no idea what that is) got hit by lightning and *zzzap!* there went the tv. I remember it so well because I was 4 and it was Halloween. I was watching a Scooby-Doo Halloween Special- I still don't know how it ended... A couple of days later, Dad came home with a brand new 19 inch COLOUR TV! Click! Who KNEW that Carol Burnett was in such a glorious array of colour?!? This was a whole knew foray into the wonderfully mind numbing world of television viewing. Marshall Matt Dillon wore a pink shirt, Miss Kitty had eyeshadow the colour of sapphires, the Hudson Brothers were visited by a colourful Rod Hull and his Emu, Sonny and Cher had eye dazzling glittery costumes that were a briliant array of rainbow colours. I was 5 years old before I knew that The Wizard of Oz was partially in colour. Unfortunately, it made the flying monkeys even scarier than normal black and white... That was the extent of modern technology until I was about 13 or 14. Then came the glorious Video Cassetter Recorder! Ah the VCR!! Now I could watch movies I saw in the theatre a year ago! Mom rented a VCR for us one weekend for $5 and two movies for $2. The VCR itself looked somewhat like a box droid from Star Wars. You would push the eject button and the cassette feed would pop up from the top on well oiled hinges. You would put the cassette into the feed and click the feed back down into the machine and then hit play. Michael J. Fox in "Back to the Future" filled the screen (but first I had to turn the knob to Channel 3 so we could watch it) and the strains of Huey Lewis filled the living room. Next up, Footloose with Kevin Bacon (the original and the best one, in my opinion). We didn't have video games in our house, hence the reason I was not and am not a huge video game fan. Nah, I went to Tanya's house to play their Atari 2600 and Pac-Man and Donkey Kong for that. Back then, if you wanted to get a hold of someone, you called them on the phone. You knkow, a land line. A phone that hung on the wall and had a 12 foot cord attached to it so you were limited to the range in which you could get away from the phone. The phone actually rang in a *brrrriiiiiinggggg* sound (not in some ringtone by Barry Manilow or Donna Summer or some other artist of the time) and was followed by the sound of three people in our house yelling "PHONE!!!!" If no one was home, the phone rang and rang...and then people hung up and tried later. We were not able to leave a message (only rich people had answering machines) nor were we able to text them as to their current whereabouts. Cell phones were not heard of at that time. It all seemed so Star Trek-y that we would be able to talk to someone away from home! It never ceases to amaze me how we managed to do without a lot of the modern ameneties that we have now. How did we exist without cell phones and computers and 90 inch flat screen plasma televisions? We did the best with what we had and we were satisfied... Wouldn't it be great to be like that again some days? ...excuse me...I have to answer my cell...

Valentine's Day Revelries

Ah Valentine's Day...the day when all children decorate the average brown box in glorious shades of red and pink with glittery hearts and Cupids and wait for their friends to drop their Snoopy Valentine's into their mailboxes. Cherry Lollipops, smarties, conversation hearts, heart shaped pink marshmallows and chocolates abound! Nowadays, teachers ask that children send no candy but "healthy snacks" instead. WHAT!?! That is blasphemy!! Valentine's Day is all about the candy people! Even teachers were children once and they received all the sugary nasty sweet treats at one point too. Have they forgotten what it is to be children at Valentine's?!? I mean, that is like getting a "A donation has been made in your name to a local food pantry" card in your stocking at the age of 7 instead of presents!! Now, I understand that todays educators are under pressure to conform to the whole "healthy living" thing. I get that. But it is only one day a year and it is all about moderation. When I was a kid, the more chocolate you got the better your Valentine's Day. You knew your friends liked you when you got a boatload of chocolate. One of my classmates mothers used to make sugar cookies with each student's name on it. They were beautiful, too. Almost too beautiful to eat but eat them we did...and with gusto! Our teachers even gave out candy...sometimes a a regular sized Hershey bar! That's what I am talking about!! I don't know about you, but it is an awful mess to deliver a heart shaped pineapple slice into a kids valentine's box. The other valentine's stick together, and not all kids like pineapple... In middle school and high school we used to send "Candy-Grams" for Valentine's day. this included a heart shaped valentine (that you could write a Valentine's message on) with a lollipop taped to it. You could always tell how many friends you had by the number of "Candy-Grams" you received. At the time they cost 50 cents each. So, for 5 bucks you had 10 friends taken care of! All day long you would see kids walking (or in some cases running) thru the halls with suckers sticking out of their mouths. Of course, my mother's words of "Don't run with something in your mouth!" would pop into my head every time I saw it, but regardless, I was one of the idiots running around with a sucker in my mouth. Oh well. I never fell and jammed it into the back f my throat and choked to death, so hey! So, I sent my son off to school this morning with his Valentine's for his classmates with a sucker taped to them. Yes. I am a rebel. Sue me...

The Sounds of Music

Recently I was doing a little channel surfing and came across one of the best musicals ever, The Sound of Music, starring Julie Andrews and Christopher Plummer. As a kid I was absolutely fascinated with this musical. In fact, I will say it, I wanted to be Maria Von Trapp. Not in the sense that she was a postulate nun, but I wanted to sing like her and galavant about a spacious estate in Austria caring for 7 children and teaching them to sing like nightingales much to their father's chagrin. Then I realized, I was 9 and all likelihood that would not happen ever to a girl from a very small village in Wisconsin. So, instead, I took up the reins of "Director" and made my ever-present cousin, Tanya, my Big Sister, Amy and Baby Sister become the stars of our own production of The Sound of Music. Amy (of course) was always Liesl (the suffering 16-going-on-17 year-old), Baby Sister was Gretel (she was only 3 and didn't have any lines much) and Tanya was Brigitta (not that she was very thrilled with being a secondary character) but she would also pick up lines for Louisa, Friedrich, Kurt and Marta if needs be. She was a very talented actress. I, of course, would be Maria. I knew all her lines and the words to the songs by heart. (So I was being Kevin Kostner directing AND starring in the main role...sue me.) We would put the record on the hi-fi and start singing along with it, the song bursting out of us like an overfilled balloon. We were positively magnificent. When we would go to my Aunt and Uncle's farm, they had the perfect place to perform. They had the neatest addition to their house that had a red carpeted stairway that we would practice "So Long, Farewell" on. Here, I would step in to play multiple roles so the song would play out correctly, like you do. We decided that after much practice and perfecting our roles, we would perform for Aunt and Uncle, Mom and Dad and Gramma and Grampa S. We were quite certain that some movie mogul would be innocently driving by and hear us singing and burst into the house to offer us an exclusive movie deal. (Because, there are so many rogue movie moguls roving about rural West Central Wisconsin...) So, the hour of our performance had come...and...Baby Sister backs out. She didn't like people watching her. Ok. Fine. We can work around the Gretel parts. Then, Big Sister backs out, mainly because at 11 years of age, she would feel a little foolish singing along to a record in front of people- never mind it was family and we had to listen to her sing along to her radio at the top of her lungs in her room- and she had an image to protect. Ok, well, this performance was in a downward spiral and obviously was going to close before it even opened. So, here are two people, trying to play the roles of approximately 15 people (don't forget the nuns in "How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria" and Reverend Mother in "Climb Every Mountain" and of course, Rolf in "Sixteen Going on Seventeen"). Seriously, if I had to take on Liesl how was Tanya going to lift me during that song? Well, needless to say, much to the disappointment of our audience we had to close the curtains on our production of "The Sound of Music." My dreams of being an Academy Award winning Actress and Director shattered, I took my record off the hi-fi and went to the back bedroom and put on "Climb Every Mountain" to practice for my next career choice... Opera Singer.

Kool-Aid Stands and low traffic areas

Admit it, at least once in your youth you had a Kool-Aid stand. However, having a Kool-Aid stand in the country was not such an easy task. As usual, my cousin, Tanya, was visiting for the summer and we decided we wanted to have a Kool-aid stand to make some pocket money. (I mean, what kid at the ages of 9 and 6 didn't need a few bucks for whatever?) We had visions of becoming young entrepeneurs and being able to afford everything we wanted. Our own swimming pool, clothes and all the candy we could eat. Who didn't dream of all the wonderful things one-hundred bucks could buy?!? So, we decided on a strategy. This generally was a discussion on which kind of kool-aid to make and who was in charge of the sign and who was in charge of the money. These would be the titles of Product Specialist, Marketing Manager and CFO, repsectively. I was put in charge of making the Kool-aid. Cherry packet, scoop of sugar (this was before the world became health concious and actually put a crap-ton of sugar in everything) and water. Well...my job is done. Tanya was put in charge of the sign. She had some pretty fantastic artistic abilities and we left it up to her discretion. Giant piece of tag board, Crayola markers and concentration. Her completed sign was a masterpiece "NICE REFRESHING CHERRY KOOL-AID- 25 cents!" I think that will get attention. Big sister was put in charge of the money. She found a box to put it in. Done. So, grabbing some plastic cups, we loaded the Kool-Aid and the money box and the sign into the Radio Flyer wagon and headed down the quarter-mile to the end of our lane and set up shop (as it were) and waited for our customers to come pouring in. and waited.....and waited....and waited....(did I mention it was a humid 85 degrees outside that day?) Heck! We have been here 15 minutes and hadn't had one single car stop for our delicious, ice-cold beverage yet. We would wave our sign when cars went by, but no one even gave us a second glance. This was much more difficult than we thought. WE had better try a new strategy because this one certainly wasn't working for us. Suddenly, we saw a milk truck heading in our direction. Ok, this guy has been sitting in a hot truck all day and I am sure he will want a drink. Let's wave our sign and see if he stops. We started waving our sign and jumping up and down so he saw us. Uh-oh...he was going to drive by. He rounded the corner and started driving by. In a burst of PR genius, Tanya screams out at the passing truck "HALF PRICE!!" The truck slams on his brakes and comes to a screeching halt. A mustachioed face with thick lenses, sticks his head out the window, "How much?" With a toothy grin, Tanya blurts out, "25 cents, but we are having a sale! For you 10 cents!" (which I don't think is exactly half price, but how do you charge 12 1/2 cents for something?) The guy disappears back into the truck apparently to grab some money, "Got change for a dollar?" (Change?!? We didn't have any change, we were relying on people paying exact price with their own change.) Tanya grins, "I can run back to the house, Mister, if you don't mind waiting!" The bespectacled gentleman peers at us thru his thick lenses, his blue eyes twinkling, "Nah, you girls look pretty warm and you deserve a little extra for your time on this hot day. Keep the change!" I hand our customer his glass of Kool-Aid, thank him and wave as he drives off. We pocket our dollar and then look at each other. In silent agreement we start packing up our stuff and make the long trek back to the house with our measly dollar, dreams of amazing gifts we could buy shattered. However, that single milk truck driver taught us a valuable lesson that day...never carry change, you will get more than the price you are asking.

Snow Day and the Undeniable truth

Ah! Snow days! We LIVED for snow days when I was a kid. If there was even a HINT of snow we were glued to the evening news to see what the weatherman was saying for our area. Please please PLEASE let it be at least a foot of snow. Enough that they would have the schools cancel because the buses couldn't get thru the ridges and valleys. Now, I know it is impossible to wake up a 9 year old during the week but if there was a possibility of a snow day? Then we were up when Mom and Dad got up at 6 just so we could hear the weather report... "Here are the list of schools cancelled and or delayed...Ithaca- cancelled, Kickapoo- cancelled, North Crawford- Cancelled...(come on Richland Center!!)...Richland Center...CANCELLED." YES!!!!! Immediately, we would run and get dressed and get ready to go out to brave the storm and untouched snow with our sleds. Never mind it was 10 below and the wind chill was -25. It was a DAY OFF FROM SCHOOL!! We could not waste a single moment! There were drifts to be dug into to make forts out of, hills to slide down, ramps to be made! Come on people we have work to do! As we got older we would pray for snow days just so we could watch soap operas and game shows and sit around and eat junk all day. It was very important to find out if Victor and Nikki were going to get back together or if Beth and Phillip were going to the prom together. I mean, this was as important as our own lives! Only far more glamourous. Then when we got into high school it was a day for talking on the phone to your friends for hours and the inevitable chores that Mom would leave for us. (Admit it, you waited until about 2 hours before Mom came home to actually start them. That way the Pine-Sol would still be smelling on the freshly mopped floor when she came in.) When college came, there was no such thing as snow days. College very rarely closed for anything and the professors left it up to your own judgement if it was safe to come to class or not. Generally, if you were paying for college like I was, you tried to go because dang....it was a waste of money to claim a snow day when you were 20 years old. Besides, you had that quiz today that the professor would not allow a make-up on if you missed. Then you graduate college and get a real job. There are NO snow days at work. None. They don't close down because of a little snow. WHAT!!?!??! I want to be a kid again....

Wooden school desks

Ah! The first day of grade school, time to pick out your new desk! Or at least, in MY day we got to pick out our desk. And I mean the cool desks, not the kind with the basket underneath to set your books, the ones that the lid lifted up on and you could put your books inside along with your pencils, notebooks, erasers, pencil box, rubber bands, spitball straw, the illegal pack of gum...all the stuff a kid needs to survive from school day to school day. Hinged wooden desks that when you lifted them up and didn't remember to hold them up would crash onto your head or slam down on your hand causing vast amounts of pain and agony and (if you were lucky- fingers crossed) a visit to the nurses office. My desk. A veritable treasure trove of unimaginable delights. One never could be certain of what would be in there after about 3 weeks. and sometimes, you weren't really sure you wanted to know. Yet you were always surprised when you found that one assignment that was due 4 days ago. You know, the one you got an incomplete on? After several weeks of school we were ordered to clean our desks out. Each row got a garbage can and the paper shuffling and book dropping would commence, along with declarations of "THERE that is!!" No one was ever allowed to rifle through anyone else's desk or even touch it, otherwise certain death would have ensued. Or at the very least a sound scolding from the teacher and merciless teasing from classmates. I mean, it isn't any of your business if someone has cough drops or anti-gas tablets in your desk in case of sore throat or gastrointestinal distress. NO SIREE! You just keep your hands off, Bub! The old wooden hinged desks also had that little metal hook that you would pull down and it would fit snugly into the pencil tray and hold your desk perfectly horizontal and not at a slant. That way you could make your paper mache' globe without it rolling down into your lap. Not that that ever happened... I remember one particular boy in my third grade class was not particularly "clean" about his desk nor did he follow the "proper care of your desk" rules. His desk was constantly overflowing with pencils, loose leaf papers and worksheets spilling onto the floor creating a veritable paper hazard (which most of us kids knew was purely intentional); waiting for the inattentive passerby to slip, arms flailing, feet above their heads, crashing to the floor, papers floating to the crime scene like giant square snowflakes. Many a time he caught the unsuspecting student in his carefully planned trap. Pointing to the bleeding and dazed victim on the floor, he would laugh his evil maniacal laugh like a man in Bedlam. Some of the other kids would snicker, until they saw the injured party hurt and crying, then they would give the perpetrator a scathing and disgusted look. It was all fun and games for him until the day the Teacher fell neatly into his tiger trap. And when I say "fell" I mean hurtled to the ground like an Atom bomb on the sand plains. I must say, looking back on it, it was pure grace in slow motion. Teacher hit the stray piece of paper and skated about 3 feet in a Hamill Camel on one orthopedic heel, arms out to her sides for balance, her sheaf of papers trailing behind her in the breeze. Her heel caught in one of the broken tiles of the floor and she started to descend to the cold marble in graceful repose, taking out 4 other desks as she tried to find a hold to break her fall. Students began spilling out of their desks like a broken bag of potato chips, desperately clawing the air trying to keep their seats but unsuccessful in their meek attempts and finally giving up to the inevitable forces of gravity. Teacher came to rest face down after bouncing twice on her chest (thanks to her cross-your-heart bra), face down in the middle of the aisle, smacking her forehead, bloodying her nose and breaking her coke bottle lenses on the unforgiving tile. No one said or did anything for a the length of a breath and then the Kid starting laughing while the rest of us looked on in shock. In fact, he laughed so hard, he fell out of his desk and into the aisle behind her, completely helpless with laughter. Teacher scrambled to her feet, with the Kid still laughing like a crazed baboon on steroids, she scrambled to her feet. Whipping a hankie from her blouse, staunching the flow of blood from her nose and without missing a beat through near blindness, she grabbed the Kid by his ear and dragged him out of his seat and down the hall to the Principal's office. The rest of the class sat in stunned disbelief unsure of what to do in the aftermath. We slowly looked around the room- which resembled the fallout of a nuclear explosion- and stared at each other with pie-plate eyes. What exactly was going to happen to the Kid? What would happen? The Rack? The Chinese Water Torture? Bamboo under the fingernails? Suddenly, the silence was broken by howling and screaming coming from the direction of the Principal's office, as if some demon from the depths of Hell was loosed in our small little country school. I believe it was at that point he thought his prank ceased to be funny.

Fashion Police

Now if there is one thing about me everyone knows, I am not a slave to fashion. In truth, I have no fashion sense whatsoever and I could seriously use a complete makeover with clinton and Stacy from What Not To Wear... I was fliping thru some old picture albums of mine from the 70's and 80's and I realized that fashion has seemed to come full circle. Well, i shouldn't say FULL circle as I don't see anyone wearing farthingales and wasp waists with long heavily adorned gem encrusted dresses or breeches and enlarged codpieces of the Elizabethan era... I am referring to, of course, the boot cut jeans and peasant tops of the 70's and the (dear God what were we thinking) leg warmers of the 80's. I remember the Prairie skirts and the ruffled blouses that my older sister wore in middle school in the name of fashion. Then came high school and the era of baggy Lee jeans and baggy Lee pinstripe jeans. All dark denim of course. I was quite happy in my body lingo jeans and Star Wars t-shirts when I was in grade school. I mean, who did I have to impress? 6th grade boys? Yuck. When I graduated to middle school I had to go to town as I went to a small (and I mean like 60 students small) elementary school. Middle school "townies" set the fashion trend. What are Lee jeans and Nike tennis shoes? What are rainbow shirts and sweaters? I grew up in the country where I wore clothes to keep warm and play outside in. I did not grow up on a farm and I was no where near a "country girl" listening to country music. My music tastes ran toward the Eagles, Lynrd Skynrd, Steve Miller, the Beatles Magical Mystery Tour and oldies, thanks to having a dad who played drums in a band for years. But I digress... I remember one girl telling me that clothes defined who we were. I thought...well, if that is the case, why give a false definition?!? Here I am, Star Wars t-shirt, jeans and tennis shoes. This is me. To this day, it is still me. On weekends I wear yoga pants and my Ramones t-shirt for cleaning the house. I wear my Wonder Woman t-shirt to go to the grocery store. I have a ponytail in my hair- no, I don't wear a Scunci. I did give up that fashion horror in the 90's along with my scrunched down socks over my leggings...when I was thin enough to wear leggings... I dress nicely for work, but I wear dress clothes that I have had for about 10+ years. Why? Because I have kids who outgrow clothes faster than I do and they need them worse. I am pretty lucky because my 13-year-old daughter is also NOT a slave to fashion and doesn't demand the really expensive clothes from brand name stores. Nope! She is content with jeans and t-shirts like her mom. Right now she seems to be obsessed with Bucky Badger and Wisconsin shirts. That is fine. I like how she looks! She looks comfy and happy and she is who she is. I will admit, I do have some clothes from high school that I have pulled out- no, I cannot fit into them, thankyouverymuch- and laughed at. I washed them up and then listed them on ebay calling them Retro Shaker Sweater from the ACTUAL 80's!! I got $25 for each of them. Fashion slave my kiester....