Map of West Virginia counties (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
The governor of West Virginia, Earl Ray Tomlin, introduced Senate Bill 359, an educational reform bill, which will be voted on soon. Teachers have given the bill a big, fat F, which in my opinion has nothing to do with reform.
Reform- to amend or improve by change of form or removal of fault or abuses.
I’m not going to go into each point of the bill, only to say that it is a slap in the face to all educators in the state of West Virginia. You know, teachers in the Mountain state make one of the lowest salaries in the nation. Many teachers head east to work outside the state borders to garner higher wages. But, in the end, teachers are working the best they can, despite the obstacles that are coming directly from the higher ups.
Obstacles, you say? Absolutely. Someone a few years ago had decided teachers need to test more. I give a beginning Math and Reading test at the beginning of the year. I give Benchmark tests twice a year in four subjects and the students have two online writing tests to get ready for the big one in March. The Westest is held in May. Now, mind you, this is on top of the tests I give weekly in Social Studies, Reading, Spelling, and Science. I also have to give end of the year tests.
I would just rather teach.
I’m 56 years old and I think I received a pretty good education when I was young. We memorized our multiplication tables. We learned our state capitals, had spelling bees, and wrote and presented book reports. It was all about Reading, Writing, and Arithmetic. We grew up fine. Some of my peers did better than fine.
Ok, this was before my time….but we had those desks.
But, something along the way changed. Someone has decided that to exist in the 21st century, we must bathe our children in technology or they will surely die. So, in the elementary setting we are testing, and we are teaching technology….on top of Handwriting, Math, Spelling, Grammar, Reading, Science, Social Studies, and Health. And we are doing this in crowded classrooms.
If you want to reform, let’s first take a look at teacher/student ratio.
The governor wants to require early childhood education programs to be made available five days a week for the full day; allowing program to be for fewer than five days per week and less than full day under certain circumstances.
I don’t understand this. This is not the reform that we need. Before adding new programs, we need to address the teacher/student ratio in k-2. Class size should be limited to no more than 16 students and the curriculum should be restricted. Let me explain:
Years ago, there were a lot of two-parent households. A lot of the moms did not work outside the home. Someone was there to make sure students did their homework, and were more hands-on. Now, I’m not saying that a lot of people don’t still do that. Of course they do. But, for the most part, it is fact that the divorce numbers are much higher than they were years ago. Even without divorce, economics force both parents to work. Some single parent households need help. Grandparents are raising many of the children. Many children come from homes where abuse is a way of life. Drug use is more prevalant than it was years ago. Some children go to bed hungry. Yes, I realize that has also happened in the past, but in the end, the classroom is now a home- away- from- home for a lot of children.
I have fifteen students this year in my fourth grade classroom. Last year I had twenty-one. Six less students makes a world of difference. And those teachers with twenty-five and twenty-six students are overwhelmed. I know my students. I can look at one and know she is not feeling well because I know her so well. I send her to the office to get her temperature taken…101.6. I smile and give her a hug as she leaves to go home. I know not to give much homework because it is an unfair advantage to the several who are lucky to have a piece of notebook paper or pencil at their homes. No one goes through their backpacks at night. No one helps them practice their multiplication table. My mom drilled me nightly when I was in third grade. I knew them when I went to fourth grade. Some students in general just have no clue. Some children have behavioral issues. Some are learning disabled. Some have attention deficit problems. This is not the same mix of students that I went to school with, but yet, nothing has changed in the way of class size.
So, I teach time management skills in the classroom and basically let them do some homework during class time. This only seems fair to those who aren’t lucky enough to have help at home. Sure, in the end, fourth graders can learn to do their homework on their own, but they need guidance and direction..but sadly, a few are not receiving it at home. They are allowed to sit and kill things while playing their video games. And I know a majority of the boys do this. I ask these things…. Technology at its finest. When I was young we had three channels on tv and the World Book Encyclopedia as our internet. We honestly didn’t have much to do but our homework on school nights.
When you shove many children into a classroom, something is lost. So, let’s begin our educational reform by taking a look at teacher/student ratio. I know you won’t, because that would mean hiring new teachers. It’s bad enough that the governor wants to hire anyone with a bachelor’s degree to enter the classroom. You are going to be opening a can of worms if this hiring practice is passed, however. It will change the scope of teacher education in this state forever.
I know some of you will not agree with me on this next point, but I think technology is making us stupider. (Yes, I realize that is not a word.)
“The fog of information can drive out knowledge.”
Don’t get me wrong. I think technology in the classroom is great. I use it in some form every day. If we are studying volcanoes, I have a volcano simulator waiting on one of the computers. I have a penguin cam up some days. There are many, many internet sites that are extremely beneficial. That’s not what I am talking about.
The state of West Virginia implemented a program called Tech Steps. All students from kindergarten on must complete about six assignments. In my opinion, this program should not be used in the elementary school setting. Why do elementary school children need a technology component when we should be concentrating on core subjects? If you want our test scores to rise, don’t inundate us with work that can wait until fifth or sixth grade. You are making us waste precious time. Do third graders really need to learn how to use a spreadsheet? Sure, we are in a different world now, where computers and technology are at our every turn. I get it. I think it has merit in junior high, but not in the early grades where everything depends on them learning the basics so they can go on to the next year and build on that.
In the end, it is not the same as it was. We are forced to test too much when we should be teaching. We are forced to teach more children in our classroom than is beneficial to their educational growth. We are forced to teach technology, when in fact, we should review our multiplication one more time instead of completing yet another techsteps assignment that will have no bearing on other important educational milestones, such as defining words, rounding numbers, and correcting a run-on sentence. K-2 teachers should be teaching a limited curriculum, plain and simple.
There are only so many minutes in a day for an elementary school teacher. We have to teach Spelling, Social Studies, Science, Math, Reading, Grammar, handwriting, and Health. We are also referees, bankers, counselors, and health inspectors.
So, Senate Education committee people, there you have it; the rambling of a fourth grade teacher. If you truly want an educational reform in West Virginia, start with kindergarten and give those teachers a small class size. We teach with kids squished into our classrooms because that’s the way you want it. We test and test and test to make sure we are testing because that’s what we have to do. We teach technology subjects that the wee ones should not have to be introduced to until an older age. We do all this because you told us to. If something is broken, it’s not with the teachers. It is with the system. Please be careful with every point of our governor’s education reform bill. It needs to be chewed up and digested to see if it sits well with teachers. Take us in consideration instead of pointing fingers at us. Because after all,
You can lead a student to the test, but you can’t make him pass it.
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I used to watch the Rose Parade every New Year’s Day for years before I was told all the floats were made of flowers. Maybe I just didn’t listen much to the commentator:
“And here’s a float from McDonalds…blah blah blah blah..roses.”
I was hyper when I was little, so maybe I just couldn’t watch and listen at the same time. The floats were beautiful. And it was named after a flower. Hence, the name, Rose Parade. I thought maybe it was named after a woman…….Rose McGillicuddy of Pasadena…..Ok, I made that name up. But why roses, I asked? Why not the Purple Cone Flower Parade or The Natural Material Parade?” I didn’t ask that when I was little. I’m asking that now when I am older and still challenged in so many ways. But, since I love to learn about insignificant things, I headed to google, king of all kings.
So, it looks like The Rose Parade started way back in Pasadena, California on January 1, 1890. The Rose Bowl football game was added in 1902 to help fund the parade. I thought that was pretty interesting.
The whole reason the parade started was to showcase the mild California winters. Many members of the Valley Hunt Club, the organizers of the very first Rose parade, were former residents of states in the east and midwest. One member announced at a meeting, “In New York, people are buried in the snow. Here our flowers are blooming and our oranges are about to bear. Let’s hold a festival to tell the world about our paradise.” I would think the man should have said the oranges were ready to be picked, but I guess that’s how the hell they talked back then.
And so they did organize a little parade to show off how wonderful Pasadena is in the winter and how putting flowers on moving things made the freezing New Yorkers jealous enough to withdraw all of their money and move to their sunny community. What confuses me is the fact there was no television in 1902. People elsewhere would have to read about it in a newspaper. So, in the end, I am thinking the Valley Hunt Club wanted to ride down the street on their horses.
They had horse drawn carriages adorned with flowers. After the parade, there was a chariot race, tug-of war and other games which drew about 2,000 people. After a few years, the parade got too big for the Valley Hunt Club, so the Tournament of Roses was formed and later a football game replaced a chariot race, which was a big deal of the whole celebration.
English: A Tournament of Roses Chariot Race from 1908. The race was later replaced by the Rose Bowl Game in Pasadena, California (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
The floats of today take about a year to construct. According to Wikipedia, “It is a rule of the parade that all surfaces of the float framework must be covered in natural materials (such as flowers, plants, seaweeds, seeds, bark, vegetables, or nuts, for example); furthermore, no artificial flowers or plant material are allowed, nor can the materials be artificially colored.”And this is what bothers me. I mean, it bothers me just a little, but enough to gripe about it. Isn’t this a waste of nature?
I’m beginning to think somebody in the Valley Hunt Club was a florist.
Think about it. I bet you there are more florists in the Pasadena area than anywhere else. Ok, maybe flowers are shipped in from other flowery places. Tulips from Holland, perhaps. Acorns from a forest in the Applachians. I don’t know. But, this has got to be a boon for florist owners and growers. I guess that is a good thing for the economy. But, what happens to the flowers and natural materials after the parade. Do they go into the biggest compost pile in the world?
So, being that my mind is still a bit hyperactive and all over the place, I wondered about other wastes…..like Christmas trees. I have a bit of a problem with cutting down beautiful pine trees, dragging them home on top of a car, sticking them in the corner of a room and putting things on it….only to throw it away come New Years Day. Poor pine tree.
But then again, everything is like that, isn’t it? Chickens are raised only to have their heads cut off so they can be served on our dinner plates. Corn is grown on farms just so we can eat popcorn and cornbread stuffing. I guess I could go on and on. So, in the end, flowers are grown for the Rose Parade. I guess I have to live with that.
That being said, I think it is our responisibility to watch the Rose Parade to see the beauty of Pasadena’s mild winter and of course, the magnificent floats. They are beautiful. Band members nation-wide fund raise their little asses off to be able to be part of the parade. Our very own East Fairmont High School was able to participate in the Rose Parade several years ago. That was a big deal. And it was exciting to watch on tv. I didn’t notice the sunny environment of California, however.
Is this still the objective? Regardless, watch the parade tomorrow. Kudos to the Valley Hunt Club of 1890. They came up with a great idea. Look how many people are now living in California.
English: Bicentennial Mexico ~ Rose Parade January 2010 ~ Pasadena, California Español: Bicentenario de México durante el desfile de las rosas en Pasadena,California. Enero 2010. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
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I saw a seagull today. I realize that is not an unusual observation for many. People always see them at the beach. After all, that’s where they belong. So, why the hell are they flying around my local Walmart’s parking lot? In West Virginia.
I came to Fairmont to go to college in 1974 and there were a few seagulls in the Middletown Mall parking lot. I was confused then and I am confused now. They have no business being in the mountains of West Virginia. That is against the laws of nature. Why, that would be like seeing a polar bear on a Miami beach, a rattle snake crawling along in the Arctic, or a moose hanging out in Central Park. So, after going through more “animals out of their element” scenarios, I decided I needed to learn more about seagulls and why they are in Fairmont, West Virginia. We only have streams and rivers. And they aren’t even cool rivers, like the Columbia…..or the mighty Mississippi. No, my seagulls are near the Tygart and the West Fork Rivers. There is no sand, no waves, no crabs to peck at. Why, oh why, are they flying above me in the freaking Walmart parking lot? The search was on.
Many people are perplexed as well. A woman wrote from Iowa about seeing seagulls in her Kmart parking lot. Many other land-locked puzzled people were wondering the same thing. Is it a migration route? And if so, where the hell are they coming from or going to in Iowa? That makes no sense at all. Iowa is too far away. And a blogging friend informed me that the seagull is the state bird of Utah. Utah! Seems that years and years ago locusts were eating a lot of crops and all of a sudden seagulls appeared and ate the locust. The Mormons saw that as a sign and the next thing you know, they’ve got a state bird. Apparently, the seagulls in that state like the brine in the Great Salt Lake.
Maybe the seagulls think West Virginia is part of Virginia. They, afterall, have Virginia Beach, seagull capital of a small stretch of beach. There are a lot of geographically challenged people out there who think West Virginia is western Virginia. Maybe the seagulls think the same.
Years ago, near Point Pleasant, West Virginia, people thought they saw a strange flying “thing” that was dubbed Mothman. Hysteria reigned in that small Ohio River town for many years afterwards. Mothman supposedly had red eyes, a large wingspan and could pick up a German Shephard and carry it off. There is even a statue to Mothman and a Mothman festival. But, a wildlife biologist said all along it was a sandhill crane, a large American crane almost as high as a man with a seven foot wingspan featuring red circles around its eyes. He said the bird may have wandered out of its migration route.
I guess not all birds know what the hell they are doing. Sure, Canadian geese flaunt their knowledge of their ABC’s by flying in a V formation. They fly south for the winter. Well, they used to until they decided that since these silly Americans are feeding them, they’d just stay all year long. We can’t get rid of them or their trail of slimy algae green poop.
So, maybe my Walmart seagull got lost on his way to Bora Bora or Aruba or where ever they fly on their migration route. I had no idea there were so many varieties of gulls. All I know is that they can attack. I know this because I watched Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds. Tippi Hedren got pecked in the forehead by one.
In the end, I guess I feel sorry for the seagull who is living at the Walmart parking lot. Where does he sleep at night? Sitting on a light pole can’t be fun. Doesn’t he miss the sound of the ocean waves lulling him to sleep? And if he doesn’t leave, will the crows let him hang out with them? They are usually a tight group, not making friends easily.
I did just read that we may be confused by their name, as it implies the “sea.” Someone wrote there is no such thing as a “sea” gull. Gulls can adapt inland. Well, then maybe their name should change. Canadian geese are no longer Canadian….. Hermit crabs are quite social……a teddy bear hamster is not a damn teddy bear……
and a jumbo shrimp is not a big little thing. Whoever is naming animals is on drugs.
It all started with Groundhog Day, you know. There was a famous groundhog prognosticator in Pennsylvania, and soon after cities came up with their own weather fortune teller whistle pig. Such is the case with the big New Years Eve ball drop.
When you think of New Years Eve, all those who don’t live under a rock know about the ball drop at midnight in Times Square in fantastic New York City. I took a picture of it from the top of the Rockefeller Center when I was there this summer. It’s just not the same, I guess, as being there smooshed up against thousands of people on a cold, drunken New Year’s Eve.
The first ball drop in Times Square took place on December 31, 1907. According to Wikipedia:
“The first New Year’s Eve celebration in what is now known as Times Square was held on New Year’s Eve 1904. The New York Times newspaper had opened their new headquarters at One Times Square (at the time, the city’s second tallest building) and persuaded the city to rename the triangular “square” surrounding it for their newspaper (which the city later did on April 8, 1904). The newspaper’s owner decided to celebrate the opening of the company’s new headquarters with a midnight fireworks show on the roof of the building on December 31, 1903. Close to 200,000 people attended the event, displacing traditional celebrations that had normally been held at Trinity Church. After four years of New Year’s Eve fireworks celebrations, the newspaper’s chief electrician Walter F. Palmer constructed an electrically lit time ball that would be lowered from the flagpole on the roof of One Times Square. It was constructed with iron and wood, lit with one hundred 25-watt bulbs, weighed 700 pounds (320 kg), and measured 5 feet (1.5 m) in diameter. It was first lowered on New Year’s Eve 1908 (December 31, 1907).”
The Times Square ball drop is one of the best-known New Year’s celebrations, attended by at least one million spectators yearly. The Times Square ball drop has also inspired other drops across our great nation. So, if you can’t be there in New York City for the ball drop, and don’t really care to watch it on tv, you can always check to see if your city has a creative drop of their very own. Not all cities drop balls. Some cities use their famous icon to ring in the new year. It is obvious the state of Pennsylvania loves to share their symbols on New Years Eve.
* Saint George’s, Bermuda- a Bermuda onion wrapped in Christmas lights is dropped.
* Key West, Florida- A gigantic conch shell is dropped. There is also a gay bar that drops a giant ruby slipper with a drag queen inside. Fun times.
* Miami, Florida- The Big Orange Drop. Well, Florida is the orange capital of the world. “Mr. Neon” was recently renamed, “La Gran Naranja,” which I am thinking means the big orange. I really know my spanish.
* Atlanta,Georgia- The Peach Drop. Georgia loves their peaches.
* Gainesville, Georgia- Chuck the chicken drop in honor of the humane society.
*Harrisburg, Pennsylvania- strawberry drop.
* Tallapoosa, Georgia- they drop an oppossum. It started out as a joke and has now grown as their biggest yearly event. I hope it isn’t alive. The Possum Drop
* Cincinnati, Ohio- A flying pig is not dropped, but flown, maybe to show there is at least one time “when pigs fly”.
* Allentown, Pennsylvania- a replica of the liberty bell is dropped.
* Akron, Pennsylvania- a gold and purple shoe is dropped.
* Beavertown, Pennsylvania- a beaver is dropped. I hope to God it isn’t real. PETA would be all over them.
*Bethlehem, Pennsylvania- a Peep is dropped. Yes, one of those yellow Easter peeps. The company that produces Peeps is based there. I was happy to see they aren’t dropping baby Jesus in Bethlehem that night.
*Blain, Pennsylvania- a wooden cow is dropped from a silo. Moo.
*Cleona, Pennsylvania- a pretzel is not dropped, but raised. Why, Cleona, are you raising the pretzel? Not cool.
*Carlisle, Pennsylvania- an Indy car is dropped.
*Cornwall, Pennsylvania- a Cannonball Drop.
*Dillsburg, Pennsylvania- two pickles are dropped. I guess one should drop a pickle in Dillsburg.
*Duncannon, Pennsylvania- a sled is dropped….without any kids holding on I presume.
*Easton, Pennsylvania- a crayola crayon is dropped early in the night to accommodate little kiddie’s bedtimes.
*Elizabethtown, Pennsylvania- a giant M& M is dropped.
*Falmouth, Pennsylvania- a stuffed goat is dropped.
*Frogtown, Pennsylvania- a frog is dropped. This is getting sort of redundant, no?
*Gratz, Pennsylvania- a wildcat is dropped.
*Halifax, Pennsylvania- a hemlock tree. Oh, come on, now!
*Harrisburg, Pennsylvania- a strawberry is dropped. My son has been to this one.
*Hershey, Pennsylvania- a Hershey Kiss is dropped. Well, this makes sense.
*Hummelstown, Pennsylvania- a lollipop is dropped.
*Ickesburg, Pennsylvania- a french fry is dropped. These people are just bored.
* Lebanon, Pennsylvania- a giant stick of bologna is dropped.
*Lisburn, Pennsylvania- a pair of yellow pants is dropped. Can’t wait to read the history on this one.
*Liverpool, Pennsylvania- a canal boat is dropped.
*McClure, Pennsylvania- a kettle is dropped in honor of their Bean Soup Festival.
*Mechanicsburg, Pennsylvania- a wrench is dropped. The Wrench Drop
*New Oxford, Pennsylvania- an antique trunk is dropped.
*Palmyra, Pennsylvania- The Giant Shoe is dropped.
*Pottsville, Pennsylvania- a bottle of Yuengling beer is raised. I bet those attendees are having fun that evening.
*Red Lion, Pennsylvania- a cigar is dropped.
*Shippensburg, Pennsylvania- an anchor is dropped.
*Strasburg, Pennsylvania- ping pong balls are dropped.
*Shamokin, Pennsylvania- a chunk of coal is dropped, turning into a diamond when it hits the bottom….like magic…oooh
*Hilton Head Island, South Carolina- a giant golf ball.
*Fredericksburg, Virginia- a pear is dropped.
*Mobile, Alabama- a moon pie is dropped. Yes, a moon pie and then the manufacturers of the moon pie hand out about 5,000 of them to revelers.
*Wetumpka, Alabama- a meteorite is dropped in honor of the meterorite that hit the city. Um, ok.
*Fayetteville, Arkansas- a hog is dropped.
*Panama City, Florida- a beach ball is dropped.
*Pensacola, Florida- a pelican is dropped.
*Des Plaines, Illinois- a diamond is dropped.
*Manhattan, Kansas- “The Little Apple” is dropped. I get it. Cute.
*New Orleans, Louisiana- a gumbo pot was dropped for a while. The new drop is Fleur-de-lis. Like I’m supposed to know what that is.
*Bartlesville, Oklahoma- an olive is dropped.
*Memphis and Nashville- a guitar and a music note.
* Plymouth, Wisconsin- a cheese wedge is dropped.
*Prairie du Chien, Wisconsin- a dead carp caught by locals is lowered.
* Show Low, Arizona- a deuce of clubs cards is dropped.
*Flagstaff, Arizona- a pine cone is dropped.
*Tempe, Arizona- a giant tortilla chip.
*Honolulu, Hawaii- a pineapple is dropped.
*Vincennes, Indiana- watermelon drop. Many engineering students across the nation drop watermelons and pumpkins throughout the year.
So, there you have it. There are New Year’s Eve celebrations all across the world. Many more cities just drop a ball, but some places use their representative symbol to usher in a brand new year. Happy New Year to all!
I have decided to have my own celebration….. I am going to drop a few pounds.
Enjoy this story? Jumping in Mud Puddles is now an ebook that you can download on your Kindle. Don’t have a Kindle? No problem. Amazon will let you download their Kindle app FREE…Yes, free. Have a look see. My literary debut….. Amazon.com for $3.99. It’s sort of funny.
My fourth grade class was debating yesterday as to who should win the election today. I just sat back and listened to their reasoning. Or lack of reasoning. But, one thing is clear, they repeat what they hear in their household, and in the end, most of the reasoning I heard was well, scary. I think I heard three students say something that made me feel their parents are informed.
When I was in fourth grade, if someone asked me who was president, I may have replied, John F. Kennedy. Oh sure, I knew he had died on my parent’s anniversary several years before I was in fourth grade, and I knew that the gunman was gunned down by some night club owner, but I didn’t know who took his place. Wait. That’s a lie. I remember my grandfather talking about “LBJ, that goddamn snake in the grass.” So, our president was LBJ….Grandpa liked Ike, whoever the hell that was. Later, I found out it was Eisehower, who was president before “that catholic boy.” My grandfather was all about being a republican. But, I was nine years old and had important things to do like go to Campfire Girls meetings and play chinese jump rope. I didn’t care about politics. The only thing I knew at the time was that presidents used initials and short nicknames instead of their names….Ike….JFK…..LBJ. I was VLM. My friend Ramaine was RAC. Lori was LAM, and LeeAnn was LAW. I was pissed because my middle name messed everything up. I could never have pretty monogrammed towels.
And kids really didn’t pay attention to who was running for president back then. But, that changed when we baby boomers had kids and talked about it more and the kids listened. Why did they listen? Well, because our kids stayed indoors more than we did when we were young. We were outside as long as it wasn’t storming. Well, my mom forbade it to lightning on Woodland Estates, so we were outside most of the time. Don’t get me wrong, my kids played outside plenty, but the mid 80′s were different than the mid 60′s. Kids of the mid 80′s listened because they were around the parents more.
English: Seal of the President of the United States Español: Escudo del Presidente de los Estados Unidos Македонски: Печат на Претседателот на Соединетите Американски Држави. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
My daughter became a big fan of CNN when she was little. She liked Tucker Carlson and his bow tie. She became interested in the environment when she was very young, getting mad at the Harrison Power Plant and its wicked plume of black smoke that came out of the stack. She was in tune. Both of my kids were. So, they listened. She pointed out later, “Mom, you are so not a Republican. And Dad……he is definitely not a Democrat.” They listened and picked up on things. And she was right. I changed my party years later so I could vote for Obama.
But, back to my fourth graders. I let them go at each other. One said that Romney hated the Earth. Another said that Obama was going to close all of the coal mines in the state. (West Virginia)
“I’m voting for Romney. Obama doesn’t believe in God.”
“I’m voting for Obama because Romney is a Mormon.” When asked what a Mormon was, the child told me, “It’s a man who has a lot of wives…and that is just wrong.” Another boy added, “I think having a bunch of wives is wrong….but if they could cook, it might not be so bad.”
“Romney is going to win because Obama is going to make rich people pay more taxes.” I asked if his family is rich. “Yes, my mom works at Walmart.” A girl laughed and replied, “Working at Walmart doesn’t make you rich. You have to win the lottery if you want to be really rich.”
“Obama is a terrorist. His middle name is a terrorist name.” I asked him what Obama’s middle name is. “Something like Muslim or something.” Another child laughed at his response. “Muslim is not a middle name. It’s something you sew with.” Um, okay, muslin is a cotton. Points scored for knowing fabric.
In the end, their rants and reasons for voting for their respective candidates were highly amusing…and sad at the same time. I had to wonder:
Do people really understand the issues or do they vote because of what they hear from others the same way children form opinions from watching and listening to their parents and believing it is right and just?
It that is the case, which I think it is in a majority of people, we would always see the proverbial snake in the grass.
The important thing today is to exercise your right to make a decision of some kind. It may not be for the best reasons, but we are lucky to be in a country where we are free to make a choice, even if is because you just like the man. Reagan received a lot of votes because people just liked him as a person. If that alone makes you get in your car and stand in a line to vote, then good for you.
For those of you who have been following my blog for several years now, you know it is time for my Daylight Saving Time rant. Yes, it is time for all of us to take down our clocks and turn them all back an hour tonight. Well, it ends at 2 a.m. I am sure there are some people out there who are OCD enough to wait until exactly 2 a.m. to turn them back. The rest of us will change them before we go to bed tonight. I shall be mumbling and cursing as I change each time machine.
I just re-read my Daylight Saving Time posts from the past and it is clear I have issues with the stupid time change. And it is stupid. My economics professor son told me once there is a savings. I say “No way, Jose!” It messes up the workings of my inner clock and that’s all I care about. It takes me almost two weeks to feel normal again. Well, as close to normal as one can feel.
All I know is that it will now get dark earlier until Daylight Saving Time begins again on March 10, 2013, when we spring forward yet again. I find this yearly thing a little monontonous, especially when there are problems associated with this procedure…. My beside alarm clock adjusts itself. Well, my former clock adjusted itself and it is now in a landfill somewhere nearby. It decided to change back an hour on a Wednesday in the middle of October. I woke up an hour later than reality and barely made it to work on time. Damn Daylight Savings Time. I got to school and realized that I only put mascara on one eye. Maybelline hates Daylight Saving Time too, I imagine.
I think the only good thing about Daylight Saving Time is that it is also known to be a time to change the batteries in your smoke detector to make sure they work. The Energizer battery company endorses that, you know. So, you will be reaching and dusting and changing clocks and changing batteries tonight. Life just sucks.
Arizona, Puerto Rico, Hawaii, U.S. Virgin Islands and American Samoa do not observe Daylight Savings Time. These are the smartest people on the face of the earth. There are also 75 countries that do not observe the time change. Again, smart people. The rest of us should rise up against the machine. I have no idea what the hell that means.
Here are my Daylight Saving Time rants. I would write more today, but how many times can one beat a dead horse? Apparently, I try more than three times. See you in March for my next rant. I am not a happy camper when that one enters the picture.
You know, this is all George W. Bush’s fault. Yes, I realize he has enough blame on his plate, but he is the one that changed it to the first Sunday in November. I remember the day well:
On Monday August 8, 2005, then President Bush signed into law an energy bill that extended Daylight Saving Time by four weeks beginning in 2007. Since 1986 the United States had observed Daylight Saving Time from the first Sunday in April through the last Sunday in October. The new bill calls for Daylight Saving Time to begin three weeks earlier on the second Sunday in March and end on the first Sunday in November. Why? Why can’t this madness just end? No, Georgie wanted three more weeks of Daylight Savings Time….so we all could save what? I don’t know.
The mastermind behind Daylight Saving Time is Benjamin Franklin…. inventor, statesman, and someone who played out in lightning storms one time too many. He wanted to save candle burn time. Well, guess what? We now have freaking electricity.
In the end, I’m not saving a damn thing that I can tell. I’m wasting. I’m wasting time writing about Daylight Saving Time when I could be doing something more productive……like changing the batteries in my clock or something.
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I don’t think my mom had much confidence in me when I was young, as she was always telling me
“When they were passing out brains, you must have thought they said trains, and went for a ride.”
I am certain she told me this more than a hundred times…or maybe twenty, I’m not really sure. I do remember feeling like a stupid train conductor, that’s for sure.
Years later when I informed my mom by phone I was getting a divorce after twenty five years of marriage, and that I was moving out of the house, she replied-
“You know, I thought I raised a smart girl, but you must have been dropped on your head.”
After I hung up on her, I had to laugh. It reminded me back to when I first watched Forrest Gump. He was sitting beside Jenny on the school bus.
“Are you stupid or something?”
“Momma says stupid is as stupid does.”
It made me visualize Momma Gump’s reaction to some of the things my mom had said to me over the years. I’m thinking she would have slapped her. My mom once told me that I would probably study for a blood test. Funny, Mom.
Ok, I am sure we have all done stupid things. Some do more than others…. I don’t know…. I think those are called mistakes. Not all people are stupid. If that was the case, most of the train tracks would still be in use instead of the miles and miles of rails to trails we have across our nation today. So, my question is this-
“Did economics change our use of trains as transportation….or are there not as many stupid people nowadays confusing brains with trains?
I ran across “Yo momma is so…” jokes this morning that made me think of how my mom would basically call me stupid through different expressions. I wish I had some of these zingers to say back to her over the phone after she told me I was dropped on my head.
“Well, you’re so stupid you think a quarterback is your income tax refund.”
“Well, you’re so stupid you put lipstick on your forehead when you were trying to makeup your mind.”
“Well, you’re so stupid, it took you two hours to watch 60 Minutes.”
“Well, you’re so stupid, you went to the YMCA thinking it was Macy’s.”
“Well, you’re so stupid, you stood inside a Subway restaurant waiting for the next train.”
“Well, you’re so stupid, you think Taco Bell is a Mexican phone company.”
“Well, you’re so stupid you spent an hour looking at the orange juice container because it said, concentrate.”
(I’m having fun).
“Well, you’re so stupid, you had to burn down the school to get out of third grade.”
“Well, you’re so stupid you got excited because you finished a jigsaw puzzle in 6 months and the box said “2 to 4 years.”
“Well, you’re so stupid you got fired from an M&M factory for throwing away all the W’s.”
Ok, I’m done.
Would I have used any of those to say back to my mom? Probably not.
She would have just said
“Vickie, are you a dumb blonde on purpose or does it just come natural?”
It’s was just easier to hang up on her.
************************************************
Enjoy this story? Jumping in Mud Puddles is now an ebook that you can download on your Kindle. Don’t have a Kindle? No problem. Amazon will let you download their Kindle app FREE…Yes, free. Have a look see. My literary debut….. Amazon.com for $3.99. It’s sort of funny.
I notice that animals and their ancestors never learned a damn thing about “looking both ways before you cross the road.” Parents always teach their kids that phrase. I’m glad I did. My son lives in Tbilisi, Georgia, where cars and trucks don’t really obey traffic lights or zebra crossings. It makes me a nervous wreck. My daughter lives in New York City. Need I say more?
So, on my way to work I have come across a higher than usual deceased creature lying on the road. Don’t they know the “side of the road- good. Road- bad?” Are they stupid? I’m thinking they are stupid.
Now, you have to understand that my mind wanders on the forty minute drive to work and most days I arrive in the parking lot and realize that I don’t remember the drive. I have that much on my mind. But, saying that, I still have time to take a look at the lump in or beside the road. And yesterday, I noticed there were too many of them. Did the population increase because we had a mild winter? If the food source is greater on the other side of the road, why the hell would momma raccoons have their litter across the heavily traveled road? Raccoons are smart little terrorists. I call the terrorists because they liked to terrorize me at my former home. I would feed them, and one night while I was outside, standing beside our pool, one went one way and the other went the other way and cornered me. Sure, they knew I was the food lady, but seeing a blop of red eyes coming from both sides does cause me worry. One night I heard my husband yell and one of the damn raccoons swiped one of his flip flops in his mouth and was heading over the hill to the woods. So, yeah, they are smart. But, yet, there were five dead raccoons on the road yesterday. Yeah, I counted them.
That’s the problem. I try not to look, but my eyes go right to the victim. It’s like I’m playing, “Guess That Dead Creature.” I know I’m not the only one who does it. Well, I stopped yesterday after seeing a poor little squirrel, lying on his back, with his arms up in the air. I knew that he would be squished and unrecognizable on my drive home. Years ago some drunk kids stopped and put an empty beer bottle in a dead ground hogs rigor mortised hands on the side of the road. It was funny, but it was not funny, because, well, I like wildlife. Groundhogs are especially stupid.
Groundhogs may know how to build tunnels and eat enough to sleep all winter, but they have decided that eating stuff right beside a busy road is the way to go. Oh, it is the way to go, for sure. I think groundhogs are the #1 road kill in the United States. Groundhogs are already famous with farmers for not being too smart. That’s why they are also called whistle pigs. Farmer would stand, waiting for the crop destroyer with their rifle, and then would whistle. Groundhogs stand up to see who whistled. And then the farmer pulls the trigger. Poor stupid groundhog.
I hate to tell you this, but there is a law in my state of West Virginia that allows people who hit an animal to take it home to cook it. I cringed when I first read that. I mean, West Virginia gets a bad rap as it is. Hey, I know, let’s add a ridiculously red neck law to make us look even more like country bumpkins. Ugh.
I take that back. Deer are the number 1 roadkill animal in the United States. I’m making that up, maybe. I didn’t look it up. I’m assuming deer because they are on every part of my drive every day. My husband (now ex-husband) hit deer more than seven times on his way to work. He drives like Mr. Magoo, so there is a slight chance that he was not on the road correctly to begin with. He always drifted over to the berm of the road. Stupid driver meets stupid wildlife road crosser. The end result can not be good for either.
Who’s stupider…the opposum, the street painter, or me for using the word, stupider? I’m thinking the street painter.
I guess my whole point with this post is to remind wildlife to please look both ways before they cross the road. We are still asking
“Why did the chicken cross the road?”
It wasn’t intended to be a joke, folks. It was more like, chickens asking each other when one of them didn’t come home.
“What the hell was Ruby thinking, crossing the road and all?”
Enjoy this story? Jumping in Mud Puddles is now an ebook that you can download on your Kindle. Don’t have a Kindle? No problem. Amazon will let you download their Kindle app FREE…Yes, free. Have a look see. My literary debut….. Amazon.com for $3.99. It’s sort of funny.
I must live under a rock. I have no idea what the hell is going on most days. And then I get laughed at for being such a dingbat. I mean, I’m fifty-five. Is that old? I don’t feel old. Well, I do moan when I bend over to pick things up. Ok, I’m old.
But, I always thought that I was with the times. My mother-in-law used the word “dungarees” for jeans until the day she died. My mom favored, “pocketbook.” I don’t think she ever used the word, “purse.” I thought I understood contemporary slang. Nope. Not at all.
It all started with me overhearing one of my kid’s friends saying something about watching MTV Cribs.
MTV Cribs (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
I think this was like when it first came out circa 2000. Well, hell, I thought they were talking about singers who had children. Seriously. I really did.
“I didn’t know that Moby had children?” I thought I was really with it because I knew who Moby was. I got laughed at. Then it was explained to me that cribs=homes.
“That’s stupid.”
“You’re stupid.” My daughter laughed at me. Well, I guess I was. It didn’t get any better. I sure as hell had no idea that “hooking up” meant having sex with someone. How casual people are speaking nowadays. I heard this on tv one night:
“So, did you guys hook up last night?” Back in MY day that would have meant “So, did you guys meet somewhere last night and then go to the movies or something?” And yet, my daughter is the one who scoffs at me because I still use the phrase, “Are they going together?” Well, hell, back in the 70′s that meant going steady. What the hell is wrong with that?
So, now I am getting really made fun of at the school where I teach because I didn’t understand “That’s what he said.” WTF are you talking about? Evidently, I often say things that my perverted co-workers laugh at and then insert that comment. I didn’t know why. And that made them laugh harder. I mean, why say that after I talk about the snow fall from the night before. “I only got an inch or two last night.”……that’s what she said. It took me a while.
My biggest misunderstanding came from the History Channel show, American Pickers. Just a few months ago, after talking about heading out to go antiquing, someone asked me if I ever watched American Pickers. I thought that was a pretty random comment, considering we were talking about antiques.
“No, to be honest, I am not a real big fan of Country music.”
Yeah, so they laughed. Hell, I didn’t know it was about guys hunting around barns and whatnot for antiques and collectibles. I thought it was about people playing fiddles and banjos. Seriously.
So, it was no surprise that I didn’t understand my two friends when we were leaving dinner last night and they were laughing and making motions with their arms like a “raise the roof” motion. I drove up to them and rolled down the window.
“Padiddle!” They both yelled and then laughed. “You’re headlight is out, Vickie.” Of course, it doesn’t pay hanging out with girls in their late twenties when I am in my mid-fifties. I realized I have no idea what the hell is going on. So, I just laughed.
So, when they read this blog post, they will laugh again because I am just so clueless about Padiddle. I had to look it up on Wikipedia:
“Padiddle is a night-time travel game with the objective of earning points by spotting vehicles with a burnt-out headlight. You must say “Padiddle” and hit the ceiling of the car as fast as you can, while driving.”
So, Sheena and Erin were laughing because it is a game that is supposed to be played in the car while traveling. I thought they were laughing at me because I just bought this car and it already had its headlight burned out. I guess that makes me feel better…….. No, don’t feel better. I’m still a dingbat.
I don’t remember my kids ever playing “Padiddle.” I sure as hell didn’t teach them. And if they played it and I don’t remember them playing the car game, then I have bigger problems than not knowing what things mean.
I am too old for this shit. Why can’t we just keep playing Slug Bug?
I woke up tired this morning. Oh, not just tired, but tired tired. I didn’t go to bed too horribly late. So, it had to be the phone dream I had all night long that has made me so tired. Why can’t a person just go to sleep and then wake up hours later, feeling refreshed and ready for a new day? No. Not me. I have to dream all freaking night about the strangest things on the planet. Sometimes I wake up to a racing heart. I’m going to die in my sleep sometime, I am sure. And it is not monsters chasing me or Ann Coulter talking to me or anything really frightening like that. It’s toilets, or college classes or stolen purses that occupy my dream land. Figures.
There are several dream scenarios that I seem to have. The first are the dreaded, “I have to pee” dreams. I am dreaming that I have to use the bathroom, but good luck finding one that actually works. One time I did find one, but it was right in the middle of a room where people were hanging out, talking. Another time it had water all the way up to the rim of the toilet. And yet one night I found one, but it had a rat sitting in the corner, just staring at me. The toilet was there, and I had to pee. Well, how bad did I need to go to the bathroom? I could go on and on with the “I have to pee dreams.” And when I wake up, I really have to pee. I’m sure that’s why I have those dreams. Why can’t I just freaking sleep like you are supposed to?
It’s always something that prevents me…
I thought it was bad enough to have dreams where I thought I was still in college. Well, except in these dreams, I have forgotten that I have had a particular class all semester that I just forgot to go to for some reason. I can’t find my schedule and there’s a final coming up. I’m embarrassed to go to the class because, well, I haven’t been there all damn semester. Sometimes the whole dream begins with trying to find a parking spot and then looking for a particular building that a class is in. I have those dreams about once a month. Those dreams just suck.
Is my class in this building? Where the hell am I?
In my phone dreams, someone has stolen my purse. Now, if you know me at all, you will know that I am completely OCD about the whereabouts of my purse. If I go to a party at someone’s house, I just can’t leave my purse on the host’s bed. That would just ruin my night, worrying that someone was going to steal it. Of course, none of the people at that party would ever dream of stealing their friend’s purse, but I don’t know. Maybe I just can’t be separated from all my important items.
In my phone dreams, like the one I had last night, I first can’t find my purse. For some God forsaken reason, I have left it unattended somewhere. Last night someone found it sitting on the floor in a hallway somewhere. Just because I found it, doesn’t mean that it is intact. So, I look inside, and find everything missing. Everything. This is probably where my eyes start darting around in my sleep because I have pretty bad eye strain this morning. Stupid phone dream.
After I realize that some really bad person has stolen every card in my wallet, but for some reason has left me the wallet, I try to call my credit card company first. Well, it won’t work. I don’t know why. So, I go to another one. It isn’t dialing the numbers correctly. I could go on and on, but it is always the same scenario. None of the damn phones are working. The black rotary is missing its stop, so it just goes around and around. When I press on another phone, letters show up on the screen instead of numbers. I’m just freaking tired.
Finally, probably hours into my dream, I tell myself that it is just a dream. I do this all of the time. Why I have to wait so long to push myself out of a dream is beyond me. But, dreams are ridiculous sometimes. I am sure that Lewis Carroll had a dream about Alice in Wonderland. It had to be a dream or the guy was on drugs. Or maybe he was very imaginative and I should give him some credit, but dreams are pretty wild.
I had planned on writing a really funny blog post this morning about some of my family vacations, but I can’t now. I’m just too damn tired.
Plus, I need to call and report that my visa card has been stolen and that may take a while. Wait……?
When I began teaching full time, I was 51 years old. I previously stayed at home with my two children and as they began high school started as a substitute teacher. I was excited to get the fourth grade job. But, what kind of teacher was I going to be? Well, I just had to be myself. And so my new kids had to get used to my rules. I only had several.
1. “Do not rock on your chair. You don’t want to end up like Mark Harper. (made up name.) He fell and hit his head and to this day has no idea what is name is. So, if you want to end up like Markie, rock on your chair.”
2. “Don’t even think about making fun of anyone. I got made fun of for being skinny. Sure, I would welcome it now, but getting called chicken legs is not funny.”
3. “This is the most important rule. You guys need to learn to laugh at yourself. If you fall, people will laugh, so you might as well laugh rght along with them. Don’t get mad. Don’t get embarrassed. Laugh.”
So, then I tell them the story of my embarrassment in college….
I was a freshman in college and had a crush on a guy I will call Robert P. It was winter and the goofy campus employees hadn’t shoveled the sidewalks yet. It was snowing pretty hard and I was wanting to walk down the sidewalk to the student center, The Nickel, but the sidewalks were all covered with snow. It was pretty icy.
Ahhh, I spotted Robert P. coming out of the student center with some other football players. If I hurried I could run right into him. So, I decided to walk on the road that ran down beside the student center since the sidewalk was a mess. I thought I looked pretty. Well, until I wiped out. But, I didn’t just wipe out. No, that would be too easy. I tried to baby-step it down the hill. I was wearing the wrong kind of shoes for snow tromping. I don’t think I ever had a pair of boots while attending college. Well, do earth shoes count? Plus, there was the fact that we all wore wide legged jeans that dragged on the ground. It was the seventies, and we were into our bell bottoms.
I fell on my knees. Nothing bad about that, except for the pain, but it didn’t end like that. Not only did I fall, but I kept going…on my kneees. The roads were pretty icy, so I slid by the football players, on my knees, still holding my books in my left arm, and my purse on my right shoulders. So, I said, “Hi” to them as I slid right by them. While I was looking at him, wishing I would just die, I slid right into the back of a stupid truck that was unloading something at the book store that was in the same building as the student center.
Oh, no, I’m not done. After my books I was carrying hit the bumper, I bounced backwards and somehow stopped, but my books kept going under the truck and right into the path of a car coming up the hill. The car was able to straddle the books and pass by them.
All I could hear was laughing. It was deafening. There were only about 5 guys outside, but it might as well been 100. I wanted to cry, but somehow managed to stand up on my poor deformed knees, turn around to them, and said, “I meant to do that.” And smiled. A couple of them clapped. I then curtsied. And damn if I didn’t slip and fall when I took my right foot back, curtsy-style. Then they really laughed. And I just had too also.
So, I tell my class that story every year. But, the whole point is to let the kids know that if you fall, people will laugh. And that the teacher will most likely laugh the hardest.
And then she will trip and fall on her way back to the desk.
Once upon a time a family drove to a little amusement park in their home state and joined all of the other families and people wanting a day of smiles and laughter. They rode rides and ate hot dogs and cotton candy. What a great memory in the making. Years went by. Families grew and found something else to do. Bigger and better amusement parks opened. Families now saved their money to take the once in a lifetime trip to Disney, Six Flags, or Sea World.
Soon, most of the little amusement parks had to close their doors for various reasons. Some of these lesser known parks had thrilled people for more than a century. Some mom and pop operations were sitting on valuable pieces of real estate. An offer far more than the small profit made yearly with admission tickets made their operations come to a close. For others, a lack of visitors forced some small amusement parks to sadly shut their gates and turn off the lights. And, sadly, the laughter.
photo via wikipedia
I can think of two parks that were close to where I live that are no longer in operation. Both closed to make way for a new road. One was Rock Springs Park in Chester, West Virginia. The other one was a more contemporary park called White Swan. White Swan closed to make way for the new road to the enlarged Pittsburgh Airport. Defunct.
1. Rock Springs Park- Chester, West Virginia. This park opened in 1897 and closed after its final owner died in 1970. It sat vacant for several years until the state of West Virginia bought the property for its re-routing of a main road. My grandmother used to talk about this park and we visited it often when I was quite young. And now it is just a memory. It was a beautiful park.
2. White Swan Park-Near the Pittsburgh airport- Operated between 1955-1989. It was a small roadside kiddie amusement park that had a roller coaster that jerked at each turn. I do remember that.
But, although dismantling and tearing down buildings and erasing its past is sad, the abandoned and neglected amusement parks are creepy and dismal. Vines and trees are reclaiming the space once used to bring joy to all those who entered its gates. Now, rust and rotten wood are all that is visable. The echoes of laughter are gone. The only thing that remains is an eery, ominous sight, creepy really. And quite sad.
Chippewa Lake Amusement Park-Ohio
Rocky Point-Rhode Island
There are many amusement parks that have been left to decay with time. Bulldozers have left these grounds alone for one reason or another. And none of them compare to the Six Flags Amusement Park in New Orleans.
We all witnessed the horror of what hurricane Katrina did to the Gulf area. It wasn’t until some time later that I saw pictures of Six Flags. I thought maybe, just maybe, as the water receded, the park would be able to re-open. I was wrong. I have read several trip reports from people who have sneaked inside the locked gates to take photos of its untimely demise. How sad.
Flooded after Katrina
photos via lovethesepics.com
2011
Six Flags New Orleans is currently owned by the city of New Orleans. Plans were announced this past March to build an outlet mall in its place.
Another ill-fated amusement park was Heritage USA. You remember that cry-baby evangelist Jim Bakker and his mascara infused wife, Tammy, right? Well, Jim opened a water park and theme park where you would be closer to God and spend money on rides. Problem was, old Jim sold more partnerships than there were rooms in one of the towers. Oh, he had other problems as well. And Heritage USA closed.
Another abandoned amusement park is located in Wichita, Kansas. Joyland closed and was abandoned in 2006. It would be sad to have to drive by this every day.
In the end, I would say it is better to bulldoze a closed amusement park to make way for a road or another commercial venture than watching it decay year after year. To watch the grass grow high, and graffiti overtake a once brightly painted building would be painful, especially if youth was spent at these parks.
The thrill is gone.
The eery echoes of laughter remain, however, and memories do linger on. So, the next time you visit your favorite amusement park, make sure you take a lot of pictures of your family enjoying themselves. Because, you just never know. You may arrive one summer to find this-
When I was little, we didn’t have fast food restaurants. We weren’t in a hurry. We mostly ate at home. You know, meat, potatoes, and a vegetable. Oh sure, there was the local A&W root beer stand. We were able to drive to the parking spot, and a girl would come out and put a tray at our window. We would order and the food would be brought to our car. This doesn’t work too well when it rains or there is a twelve inch snow fall. Hard to eat while wearing mittens.
Elby’s Big Boy was another place that had the same drive-in scenario. If you looked like crap, but were hungry, you could drive in your curlers or greasy hair and eat in your car. How convenient. And fast.
So, it wasn’t long before someone figured out that people would love to pull up to a sign with the menu written for them. They could order, be told how much it was going to cost at the next window, and then at the last window, pick up their food and be told to have a nice day. How wonderful would that be?
Although there were other chains who first claimed the ”drive thru,” the first drive thru McDonald’s was established in 1975. I was in college at the time, and I don’t remember what year the concept finally got to Fairmont, West Virginia. Probably last week. I would have loved a drive thru, as we had to put “scarf on head” and head to McDonald’s to nurse a hangover. Seems I wasn’t the only one who felt better eating greasy food the day after drinking jungle juice or swamp water at a party. But, no, no one thought to put a drive thru in a college town. They could have made so much more money during the mid seventies.
There are problems with drive thru windows, however. Just yesterday, my friend and co-worker, left McDonald’s and realized 15 minutes later that the goofy cashier did not return her change. $8.00. And to top that, she reported that the tea was so nasty that she couldn’t drink it and had to throw it away. First of all, I would never ever drive off without my change. Now, one time when I was trying to multi-task think, I drove right up to the window without stopping to order. But, her experience yesterday made me realize the two things that happened to me after leaving a McDonald’s drive thru once upon a time.
To be honest, I have a lot of things happen to me at fast food joints. Sometimes the person at the window drops my change on the ground and then just looks and says, “Oops.” I think that is translated as, “Open your door and pick it up.” But, one day I came home with something extra special. The thought still turns my stomach.
No, I didn’t get a severed finger or a rat’s foot in my sandwich. That would have made me rich. No, my delight was in my medium regular Coke.
Enjoy the surprise!
Now, I love my Coke. But, this Coke had a hell of a lot of ice in it. I could tell when the goofball head handed it too me. I was a little miffed, knowing that meant there was probably two sips of Coke and the rest ice in my cup. But, I drove home with my cup of ice and my cheesburger and french fries.
I took a couple of sips of my Coke, and realized I was right. Shit. Those stupid people put more ice than Coke in my medium Coke. I took another long sip and well, that was it. Not happy. So, I took the lid off and looked at the ice.
What ice? Oh, there was a couple pieces of ice. But, sitting in the cup, smiling up at me, was a part of the contraption of the Coke machine. The part where the Coke comes out into your cup had somehow fallen into my cup. It looked like a large plastic piece……..with…….MOLD all over it.
I immediately starting gagging. I was sick to my stomach. Dear God, the moldy coke machine was in my cup.
After I faux vomited for about ten minutes, I got pissed. Pissed like I was going to drive right back and shove it down someone’s throat.
So, I drove back to McDonald’s with my little toy surprise. I marched in and asked for the manager. He came right out and I began my little tirade.
“Um, are you by any chance missing something?”
“I’m sorry. Missing something?”
“Uh, yeah, like a part of the Coke machine?” I then opened my coke cup and revealed the black moldy cokey piece.
And this is the part that made me want to spit nails. He said to me.
“Thanks.” And walked away with Moldy. The hell you say?
“Excuse me??? Seriously, that is it? I drove home with MOLD in my drink. I wasn’t able to eat any of my Quarter pounder meal because I was vomiting. I think you owe me a new meal…..and an apology instead of a thanks…..And please write down your name so I will be able to give it to my lawyer.” I don’t mess around. Notice I super-sized my original order.
The manager gave me back my money and gave me a new Quarter pounder value meal. Which was much better than the cheeseburger and small fries that I had to begin with. Well, I wouldn’t have lied if he had apologized profusely the first time.
The second time the drive thru window did me wrong was sort of comical. I can’t remember the deal, but our McDonald’s had a certain day when cheeseburgers were like $.50 each or something pretty damn cheap. I went through the fast food window and got cheeseburgers for the fam and chicken nuggets for my daughter as even back then she did not like hamburgers. So, I drove home and unloaded the burgers, the fries, and went to the fridge for the ketchup for the fries. And then my husband spoke up.
“Vick, where are the cheeseburgers?”
“Um, right in front of you.” Duh.
“No…..where ARE the cheeseburgers?”
My husband lifted up his bun to reveal a….bun. I brought home six cheeseburgers and none of them had the patties in them.
“You have got to be kidding me!”
So, I drove back to McDonald’s and asked to see the manager. I showed him the meatless meal and pointed out that all of the large french fries, sitting on my kitchen island, were cold now because I had to drive all the way back here….from Saskatoon, Canada….or three minutes down the road.
I had to laugh at that one. That’s like going to Kentucky Fried Chicken and coming home with a box of mashed potatoes and a roll. Or something like that. Maybe that Hamburglar really does have a problem with stealing. You just never know about Old McDonalds.
So, kids, stealing is ok.
So sure, fast food drive thru’s may be convenient and quick, but are they really? How many times do people go home with the man’s order who was in back of you in line? How many times did you get a mixture of tea and Sprite instead of a Coke? And how many times did you not get a straw or napkins when you were planning to eat while driving? Maybe it’s worth it, and maybe it’s not.
I wonder what the future holds for fast food. I’m thinking the Jetson’s. You won’t even have to go out of your space pod. Just push a button and it will appear. A Food-A-Rac-A-Cycle.
And hopefully, it won’t come with a side order of mold or no meat.
I pull my car into the parking lot behind our elementary school every day. Well, except for weekends, of course. I normally do not pay attention to my surroundings as I gather my little teacher bag, purse, and other paraphernalia that clutters my passenger seat each morning, and make my way to the side door.
Oh sure, once in a while, like after a big rain, I may stop to pick up a few earthworms that I know will never make it back to the grass before the sun beats down on them and fries their little bodies. I help them. Worms are people too.
Once in a while I talk to the cat who lives somewhere in the neighborhood but prefers the parade of people sweet talking to him as they make their way with their own teaching paraphernalia into the side door.
But, yesterday, I looked farther than the back parking lot. We are faced on two sides by a cemetery. On one side is a church with a yard full of tombstones. To the back are more tombstones. I look at them all the time as I pull in. I even asked a co-worker one time during Halloween, “You do see that woman by that grave, right?”
But, yesterday, I really looked at them. We were dismissed early due to water problems, so I was in no hurry to go nowhere. I sat in my car and surveyed all of the memorials. The cemetery is filled with love and rememberance. It was sad, yet lovely at the same time. So, I took out my camera and starting snapping pictures.
There is understandable sadness among the residents. Some left this earth too soon. I am sure some left without being able to say goodbye. Some had a long, painful goodbye. These people were loved. I spotted one statue from my car.
The grass was wet, so I didn’t attempt the walk to the grave. I also have a bit of a problem walking through other people’s memories. Forever marked. Forever loved. So, I closed in on this particular point of interest.
Some of the tombstones, once erect, bend towards the sun. Others are crumbling from the effect of acid rain and time. But, this little angelic marker stands tall and begs me to get a closer look.
On closer inspection with my camera’s zoom, I notice that the poor angelic figure is crumbling. His sad face will be but a memory. How long has it been there, I wonder? I just don’t want to invade its privacy.
I for one, will not have a headstone or marker, for I want to be cremated so I can sit on my kids’ mantles and listen to everything that is going on, for that is how I roll. I just can’t grasp the idea of being placed underground. Oh, I know that I will be dead, and it won’t matter. But, being in a lovely vase where my children can talk to me seems fitting for the kind of person I am.
As I put my camera away after one final photo of the cemetery, I have to admit that it has opened my eyes to the other cemeteries that I pass every day. I don’t even give it a thought as I drive by each one. It’s a graveyard, after all. Nothing more, nothing less. But, I now want to take pictures of the wonderful memorials that are placed there as a result of grief and enduring love.
Time may overtake these wonderful reflections of loss.
I think I will pay more attention on my daily drive.
I bought a magazine the other day. As I turned each page, I came across a page that had one of those perfume inserts. I really don’t like when they do this. It’s like seeing the proverbial “wet paint” sign. You know you are going to open it up and smell whatever the hell smell they want to put in there. I could be smelling dog poop for all I know. Why are we so easy? Well, I realize, of course, that the perfume people want to give us a little tease so that we will run right out and buy their product, but I didn’t ask for smelly stuff inside my magazine. But, such is life! Estee Lauder wanted me to take a whiff of Beautiful.
It made me think of freebies.
When I was little, I really only ate Rice Krispies or Corn Flakes. And that was fine, because Kelloggs loved putting stuff in the cereal box as an added incentive to buy their cereal. Kellogg was like the P.T. Barnum of cereals.
There’s something inside. Buy me and see!
Product inserts were really big when I was little during the late 1950′s and 1960′s. People in the industry call the little enticements, ”premiums.”
Kelloggs was the first to introduce prizes in box’s of cereal. Betty Crocker put coupons in bags of flour as far back as 1929. So, this has been going on for a very long time.
Here are a few of the companies that enticed us with their freebies:
1. Bazooka Gum- You may not think of it this way, but gum is gum, and they didn’t have to give us a comic to read along with the gum. But, every time we opened a piece of Bazooka chewing gum, there is was, waiting for us. I didn’t know that Bazooka gum was owned by Topps. They had a thing about including things with things. I always wondered why the kid was wearing a patch. It bothered me. Did someone stick him in the eye with a stick? Bazooka Joe had some buddies in his comic strip. The one I remember the most was Mort, the skinny friend who always wore a red turtleneck pulled up over his mouth. See? I paid attention to the comics as I popped the gum in my mouth.
2. Cracker Jacks- I was never a fan of the carameled popcorn. It just didn’t taste good to me. So, I would buy a box just for the prize inside and sit and peel the wrapper off.
Cracker Jacks was first sold at the Chicago World’s Fair in 1893. At first, it was a mixture of popcorn, peanuts, and molassses, and was called “Candied Popcorn and Peanuts.” It was named Cracker Jacks after an employee remarked after biting into it, “That’s cracker jack!” Back then, that meant, “awesome.” The remarkable thing about Cracker Jacks is how a songwriter but it in the song, “Take me Out to the Ballpark.”……
Take me out to the ball game
Take me out with the crowd
Buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jacks
I don’t care if I never get back.
Let me root, root, root, for the home team
If they don’t win it’s a shame
For it’s one, two, three strikes you’re out
at the old ball game.
Talk about free publicity.
3. Topps- I bet my brother is not happy nowadays that he used his Roberto Clemente baseball card in the spokes of his bicycle. But, that’s not all that came with baseball cards. Topps wanted you to have a piece of gum. It was wider that the usual gum, which made it pretty darn cool. But, which came first? From what I have read, Topps wanted you to taste their gum. Why not put a piece with the baseball card to entice you to their other product. Pretty smart marketing.
Ok, yeah, sure, mine gum usually looked like this when I opened up the pack, but I still chewed it.
Here are some of the other ”premiums” that I was able to remember:
4. Coke- circa 1991-They inserted Olympic cards into their 12 pack of cans. I should still have all of these somewhere. I posted the one of Mary Lou Retton because she is from Fairmont and is living here now with her family.
There are so many companies that gave away toys and trinkets inside their packaging. Cereals seemed to be the main culprit. I remember fighting with my brother and sister over some of them. I’d let my brother have all of the “boy” stuff, so I usually only had to fight my sister most of the time. And that just meant getting up earlier to open the new box of cereal.
Which got me sent to my room once in a blue moon for having too many boxes of cereal opened at the same time. I only ate Rice Krispies and Corn Flakes. So, having more than one of those opened was not good.
I do remember cutting things off of the back of the box. Sometimes it was a mask. Other times it was a coloring page. But, it made breakfast educational because afterall, we were reading the box. :ere are some other items found with their products to entice us to use or eat their product.
Circus train animals- animal crackers..wheels to make it look like a real circus train
Sugar Daddies-free wildlife card insert
Wonder Bread-Star Wars Card
Reese cup mallo card add them up and get something free..like a mallo cup
Butternut bread- Snoopy for President
Big one- McDonald’s Happy Meals- I could write a lot on just McDonald’s. Their Happy Meal was a way to get a toy in a box that also had neat stuff for the kids. You can’t purchase the toy separately. I still have a lot of the kids Happy Meal toys. Some are still in the plastic, so you know it’s going to be worth a lot of money one of these days.
Lucky charms-Harlem Globetrotter whistle
Trix-atomic submarine..What? a sub? Inside? I hated Trix. But a sub? In a box of cereal. MOM!!
You can get a Creeping monster inside if you buy this box of Honeycombs. I mean, who wouldn’t want one? Added bonus-It glows in the dark, people.
Or three “groovy” balloons. Balloons aren’t special unless they are groovy.
Yes, the late fifties and early sixties were a great time to be a kid. Cereal inserts were commonplace. Kids ate their cereal. Some ate their cereal as a snack before bed. Oh, my, the cereal companies were doing well. Even the cereals with the word “sugar” in the title did well. We had Sugar Smacks and one of my favorite, Sugar Pops. Life was good.
So, the next time you open a wrapper on a piece of Bazooka Joe gum, take a second to read the comic.
It is, after all, their way of thanking you for buying their product.
One of my students had her tonsils and adenoids removed this morning. I really need to write down the things she says in class, because she is so funny. Her biggest concern was that she had to be at the hospital at 6:00. “Ms. Mendenhall, I have to be at the hospital at 6:00. I mean, I don’t have to leave my house at 6:00. I have to BE at the hospital at 6:00.” Isn’t it funny what kids are concerned about? I would have been afraid of strange doctors in my personal space, hovering over me and asking me questions.
“Did you eat anything this morning, Vickie?”
“Um…. I had Sugar Pops for breakfast.” I wanted to say, “Get the hell out of my space. Don’t you see that box around me? Stay on the other side.” Not a fan of space invaders.
My student’s mom just told me on Facebook that K. wore her jammies to the hospital. She told her mom, “I look a mess, but it’s not like I’m going to be on tv.” I love that kid.
It also took me back in time, like everything does. It took me back to when my son, Adam, had his tonsils and adenoids removed.
I wrote about this a long time ago. But, I combined it with snow days, breaking out in chicken pox, and my cabin fever as a result of all of those happening in sequence. Stick a Fork in Me Cuz I am Done It was a weird spring.
When Adam was little, he seemed like he was sick all of the time. He had pneumonia several times. There is nothing worse than a child with a 105 degree fever. I had “mother judgement calls.” You just never know how long is too long before you load them off and race towards the emergency room. He was sick almost every Christmas.
He had drainage all the time. It was so bad that his second grade teacher sent me a note that his continuous clearing his throat was driving her crazy. Well, she didn’t write that, but that is what she meant. And when he would clear his throat, he would quietly utter, “Oh yeah,” which I think was his way to check if he could speak correctly. Like “Check one-two. Check.” Sound system ok. I felt so sorry for him.
So, after NUMEROUS trips to his pediatrician, who I swear put him Augmentin 300 times, I took him straight to an ENT, who announced that his adenoids were so huge, he could see them. I guess you aren’t supposed to be able to see adenoids. His tonsils had to come out.
When I took him back to his regular pediatrician and told him that I took him to an ENT, my doc looked at me like he was caught with his hand in the cookie jar. We never saw that doctor at that practice again. I’m still pissed at him for letting my son go that long. If a kid is in 3rd or 4 th grade and has had several bouts of strep throat and numerous colds and congestion, get his damn tonsils taken out. I know that I am not a doctor, but I pretend to be one. I’m just saying that the difference is sudden and remarkable.
The scheduled surgery was right when it looked like school was going to be back in session after the perpetual snow event of that winter. Figures..
Adam’s surgery went well and when he came home I made him a bed on the couch in our Hearth Room so he wouldn’t have to go up and down the steps for awhile. I also made the HUGE mistake of giving him a bell to ring for me. I wanted him to rest, so I thought that if I gave him a bell, that he could just tap it when he wanted something. Ding Ding! He wanted paper and a pen, so he could write me notes. Smart kid…Ding Ding! He wanted his Lego’s. Ding Ding! He wanted his stuffed animal, Bear. Ding Ding! He wrote that he wanted his stuffed animal penguins, Preston and Prescott. Freaking Ding Dong!
I better warn K.’s mom not to do the same. I walked in after only two hours, and quietly snatched the bell away from him. So, the mute improvised, and started tapping his pencil against his glass of water. I created a tonsil-less monster.
For the love of sanity, don't give her a bell.
I really don’t remember how long he stayed home from school after he had his tonsils taken out, but I think it may have been 6 months. Ok, not 6 months, but it felt like that. His tonsils were healing nicely and he was ready to go to school. Well, that would have been nice, but that’s not what happened. He woke up one morning, and said he didn’t feel well. I felt his forehead and he felt a bit warm. I noticed that there was something on the tip his nose. At first I thought it was a booger. Kids wear boogers sometimes. I hurried and raised his pajama top. Shit. “OH MY GOD!” I said out loud. I never cursed in front of the kids, but if I did, I would have said something like this-” Are you shitting me?…… Damnit!”
Yeah, Adam was breaking out with chicken pox.
And then his sister broke out with chicken pox.
And that’s how I started drinking. Ok, just kidding, but minus the damn chicken pox mess, having Adam’s tonsils removed made a huge difference.
A lot of people have big problems with particular sights or smells. When I was young, my dad had a huge problem with an errant hair lying in the bathroom sink, smiling up at him. We could hear him gag. I really don’t know what it was about a hair in the sink, but it troubled my dad to no end. I would always blow dry my hair in front of the sink after my shower, so it’s not like it was dirty or anything. But, it never failed. Gag.
I, on the other hand, always had a problem with smells. Sights of gross or yucky things really never bothered me. When I was in fourth grade I would sit and watch a kid pick scabs off of his arms or legs and eat them. He was a booger eater too. As I got older, sight still never bothered me. When I had my wisdom teeth taken out, I asked to watch the procedure by looking through overhead mirrors. But, smells were a completely different animal. Completely different.
I can’t handle smells. I never could. I think the first smell that really bothered me was the smell of someone’s feet when they took off tennis shoes that were worn without socks. Just really bad. But, it really hit me hard when I was pregnant with both of my kids. Why do smells bother pregnant women so badly?
Women in their first trimester usually notice a heightened sense of smell. Bodies are changing and doing weird things to us. We have morning sickness, we crave crazy food, and we gag with smells. What fun!
I went around my school and asked a few people what smells bothered them when they were pregnant. One said “coffee.” Another said, “boiled chicken.” Mine were “pork chops,” among a hundred other smells. It then made me think of my friend, Jeanie.
When Jeanie was pregnant, she got very very sick while watching tv. It was a Karl Malden commercial for the American Express commercial, “Don’t leave home without it.” She wasn’t sure if there was a particular trigger to one of her senses that sent her running for the bathroom, but she told me that after that, every time that damn commercial came on during her pregnancy, she would vomit.
When I was a pregnant, smells drove me crazy. It didn’t just last the first trimester. It lasted until, well, today. But, I especially remember one day in particular.
I was standing in line at the grocery store. It was busy that hot, July day. I was standing in a line with about six people and their filled carts. I had two people in front of me and two behind me. There were just as many people in the aisles to the right and to the left of me. And dear God, someone smelled.
I was stuck. I could have lost my mind and asked people behind me to back up a bit, but I thought I would just breathe through my mouth. I could do that and not smell a thing. Well, except that I had a lovely summer cold and couldn’t breathe out of my nose that well. I was stuffed up. So, I had to smell the smell. So, I put index finger under my nose, which does not help whatsoever. My eyes started watering. My stomach started churning. I was ready to start gagging. The man in front of me kept looking at me. He was probably worried that I was going to throw up on him. Surely he could smell the smell.
I finally made it to the conveyor belt and was seriously considering bolting out the door. The body odor was that bad. As I was putting my grocery items on the belt, I just happened to glance out of the window into the parking lot. The man who was in front of me was putting his items in his car, when all of a sudden, he looked around, as if he was looking to see if anyone was in the parking lot. He then raised his right arm and smelled his armpit. He did the same thing to this left arm.
That poor man thought he was the culprit. It made me laugh. I finally made it out the door and on to my next smell.
I haven’t had a cold in a long long time, so whenever a bad smell comes at me, I can just breathe through my mouth. I only have time for the great smells out there. Like the smell of the wild garlic/onion grass after the grass is cut. Like the smell of homemade bread, waiting for me. And like the smell of hazelnut cream candle. Good smells.
So, pregnant or soon to be pregnant women, prepare to smell like you’ve never smelled before.
I really didn’t want to get snow. It is April 23 for God’s sake. What is wrong you weather people? We can’t have snow this late. I watched the Weather Channel off and on all Sunday, watching them adjust the predicted snow amounts.
First it was 4-6 inches of snow, with up to a foot or more in the higher elevations. After it was all in done with, we could see much more. We were going to lose our electricity because of the weight of the wet, heavy snow on the newly leafed trees. We were told to go to the store and buy a generator. But, whatever you do, don’t place it inside your home. Purchase batteries for your flashlights. Get some candles, because, well, we may not have electricity for days. If you stay home, make sure you have plenty of blankets. Drive to your local supermarket and buy milk and bread, as you may be stuck in your home for a few days.
A friend on Facebook feared it was Zombie Apocalypse time. I agreed. Something was not right. It had to be the Zombies. Or weather men who, despite their expensive techno gear and capabilities to forsee the weather future, still can not pinpoint a damn thing for us. So, although some areas of Pennsylvania and West Virginia got some snow, we did not get the anticpated snow. Actually, none and all.
We got rain. That’s it. Rain. And now, at 5:16, the sun is shining. Bravo, Weather Channel. I’m glad I didn’t go out and buy provisions.
Like I did for the blizzard of 1977.
Ah, the blizzard of 1977. I remember it well.
I was in college, attending Fairmont State College. Now, you have to understand that our college president, Wendall Hardway, would never postpone classes for a weather event. If a bomb dropped on the campus, he would not have postponed classes. I remember two days when the campus did not have water. Honey Badger Hardway didn’t give a shit. Go to class dirty. Stick a scarf on that greasy head. Classes were NEVER postponed or cancelled. Even when the blizzard was approaching.
At the time of the big blizzard of 1977, I was living on View Avenue, in a big white house with four other girls. Paula and Jeri were expecting their boyfriends for the weekend. It was Friday. We all got up that morning and got ready for classes. We had heard about the approaching blizzard, but not really. Now, you have to understand that we didn’t have the Weather Channel back then. We didn’t have the internet that would let us have our very own personal radar screens to check every hour. How cool would that have been? No, we had channel 12, WBOY, and their little studio only had half of a weather map. You could never see what the weather was like out west, because there wasn’t enough room in their little studio for a full sized map. The camera never panned over that way. I know this to be true…… Or maybe it was WDTV. Regardless, we had those stations and the big Pittsburgh stations letting us know that there was a blizzard in the making.
The National Weather Service was predicting a huge winter storm to hit West Virginia. Emergency announcements were being made on the radio stations.
But, we knew school would never be cancelled. Never. I drove my little rusty car, Rusty, up on campus, parked her, and started to walk from the parking lot down the hill to the student union when I saw National Guard trucks driving onto the campus. I will exaggerate and say that there were ten vehicles because I really don’t remember how many there were. I didn’t know why they were there. Maybe it was National Guard Day and they were having a ceremony in the ballroom of the student center.
It didn’t take me long to figure out that something was up. Students were either laughing or upset, scurrying by like little mice trying to find a mouse hole. I stopped a boy who was walking passed me, smiling from ear to ear.
“They are here to shut down the college!” And that’s all he said.
What???
Well, I found out soon enough that Governor Jay Rockefeller had sent in the National Guard to shut down Fairmont State College because Wendell Hardway refused to close the campus. A freaking historic blizzard was on its way and Rockefeller didn’t want anyone traveling home for the weekend in the midst of it. He didn’t want anyone on the streets. National guardsmen were holding bull horns and were driving slowly, telling everyone to go home. A blizzard was coming and the college was shutting down.
The hell you say? I just stood there and stared. Well, this was surreal. This is stuff you see in the movies. Big Jay Rockefeller sent in the big guns to shut down our fair little campus. I bet the honey badger was really pissed..and did give a shit.
Well, I obliged, but first went into our student center, The Nickel, to talk the situation over with everyone. The place was buzzing, but emptying out at the same time. There was a National Guardsman in the Nickel. Wow.
So, I drove home. As soon as I got in the door, my roommate Pat looked at me and said, “We need to go get provisions.” Provisions. Wow. It even sounded serious. There was a freaking historic blizzard racing towards us. Of course we had to get provisions. We immediately hopped in my car and went to the local Dairy Mart.
Well, others must have thought about this too, because the place was jammed. Luckily, we must have gotten there early because there were still a couple of loaves of bread on the shelf and milk in the cooler. So, Pat bought a couple of packs of cigarettes and some pop, and I bought pop and some potato chips. We were ready to be snowed in for weeks. Oh, hell, let’s drive to McDonald’s too.
When we arrived home, our other roommates were beside themselves because their boyfriends were supposed to be on their way. They lived about 2 hours away and were traveling on Interstate 79. Cell phones were not invented yet, so they didn’t hear from them for quite a while. They were supposed to be there by now.
Meanwhile, Pat and I sat on the couch, waiting for the blizzard, looking out the picture window. I was visualizing the boys, Joe D. and Donald, being blown off the interstate by the blizzard. God rest their souls.
The boys never made it. Governor Rockefeller had shut down the interstate. The National Guardsmen, who were everywhere throughout the state that day, had turned them back.
“There’s a blizzard on the way. You better turn back and go straight home.”
The boys turned around and called from a phone booth at the nearest gast station to let Paula and Jeri that they would not be arriving in Fairmont. More provisions for us.
It was early evening by now and we were watching the news. Everyone in the mountain state were off the roads. We braced for the blizzard of the century. Charleston, our state capitol, was a ghost town. No one was on the streets. Rockefeller made sure we would be ready and that the road crews would not have to contend with stranded motorists. The newly inaugurated governor was making his first executive decisions. This blizzard was going to be brutal.
According to WSAZ television:
“It is important for people living in the following counties to understand that throughout this night, they will be on a blizzard alert tonight,” said Rockefeller in 1977.
Blizzard alert. Dear God, there is going to be snow piled up past our doors. Thank goodness Jeri and Paula had bought food for hungry boyfriends or we would starve.
Well, the massive blizzard never came. The wind picked up a little, and perhaps a dusting of snow lay on the ground. I sat on the couch for hours. awaiting its arrival. My mom called to make sure I wasn’t “stupid” and would not venture out in the blizzard. I was not going to drive in a blizzard. I was, however, planning to go outside so I could say I witnessed a blizzard. But, it never came.
1977 Blizzard. Hit everywhere but West Virginia
Our governor took a ribbing for many years and the blizzard is now called “The Rockefeller Blizzard.” The state of West Virginia actually shut down. The National Guard learned from this mistake and since then does not mobolize until the storm actually hits.
The only one I think that loved the result of the whole blizzard scenario was Fairmont State President, Wendell Hardway. I could just picture him chuckling over the outcome. And I thought of old Wendell when this storm was supposed to hit us this morning, April 23, 2012.
But, you know what? When I heard about the storm approaching, I hopped in my car and went to the Dairy Mart for two- 20 ounce Cokes.
I guess there are a lot of things that just grate my nerves. I already wrote about the whistler that was following me in Walmart. I loathe people who chew their food and make that disgusting smacking noise. Keep your mouth shut please. And I want to be a teacher and hold out the palm of my hand to all gum snappers. You know who your are.
I would have to say that gum snapping ranks in my top 5 of “Things That Make Me Want to Slap Someone.” I really can’t stand it.
Years ago, while I was sitting in church, I heard a woman behind me snapping her gum. I looked behind me and gave her a look. Oh, it was just a fake smile kind of look. I wanted to connect the sound to the face to see if I could take her. Gum snappers have no place on this earth. Well, she must have just put the Dentyne in her mouth (I saw the wrapper) and she just really went to town on it. My daughter, also a gum snapper hater, gave me a look that rivaled mine. I was impressed and proud. But, the church gum snapper lady would not stop. No one else seemed to be bothered. Gum snappers remind me of cows chewing their cud. And this cow had to stop.
The church I belong to is not one of those raise your hands in the air and talk out loud kind of churches. But, I wanted to turn it into one of those that Sunday morning. I wanted to raise my hands in the air, sway them from left to right and then stand up and exclaim to the congregation-
“Dear people…. the lord just spoke to me!…… (Gasps from the crowd I am sure) And he told me that this woman (pointing to the gum snapper) is going to be struck down by a Mack truck…..this afternoon….if she does not stop her gum snappin ways.”
I could only dream. Well, I stopped attending church and so I don’t have that problem anymore. Yes, I run away from my problems. It’s hard to do when you are on a plane, however. Yes, there was a huge gum snapper in the airport while we were waiting for our flight to Cancun last summer. There was no way I was going to sit with a gum snapper in a closed in space for a couple of hours. It was not going to happen. I would have to shake and then slap her. I moved from where I was sitting at gate whatever and could still hear her. Shit. Thank God she ran out of gum and even told her husband she was out of gum. She was going to hurry and buy some before boarding the plane, but her husband told her no. She looked like a drug addict waiting for withdrawl. I was pleased.
So, imagine my surprise when I was looking at images on pinterest last night and came across a photo of a gum wrapper chain. Wow, I haven’t seen one of those………..since I made one in the early seventies. Completely forgot about those things.
Wow. I made a gum wrapper chain. I forgot about that. I made one either in junior high or high school. I hung it in my bedroom, running it all around the perimeter of my room. Sort of looked like a narrow little border. My room was about 13×13, so it was a long chain. And I made it. So, was I a reformed gum snapper? I had to think back.
You know, reformed people are the worst kind. Former cigarette smokers are judgemental. They will tell you to your face how bad cigarette smoking is for you. Well, some of them are. I don’t want to piss anyone off here. Some people who never wore their seat belt until they had an accident now won’t start the engine until everyone is fastened up. And some people who didn’t attend church and now found God will let you know all about it. So, was I a gum hater because I once was a gum snapper?
I don’t know how I came across making gum wrapper chains, but I was all about making one. It was easy to learn. Not so easy yesterday, when I tried to make one on my own. I forgot how it was done. Luckily, the interneter gods have photos and videos all about making a gum wrapper chain.
First, you need about a thousand gum wrappers. I remember asking my friends for their empty chewing gum wrappers. Throw away the silver inner wrapper and give me the outer one. I also remember chewing a lot of gum for the gum wrapper chain.
I don’t remember how long it took me to make the chain. I wanted to wrap it around my bedroom. And I refused to stop until I was done. I kept it as one long chain, so I am sure I kept standing on my bed to see how far it had made it around my room. I realize that I could have just laid it on the floor and run it around the same way, but I was an airhead, so I did it my way.
I never made a pattern with my gum wrapper chain like the person did in the above photo. I had no time to be colored coordinated. It was like one of those pot holders I weaved. Random colors. I was all about being random. My OCD anal ways didn’t rear its ugly head until much later.
It’s funny how memories can be supressed. I now remember my mom yelling at me to stop snapping my gum. Dentyne to be exact. It was the most snapable gum. Really. Dentyne.
So, I was one of those………..Wow.
I don’t chew gum so much anymore. I only chew it when I fly because that’s what I was told to do so my ears wouldn’t explode. I was fine this last trip to visit my daughter in New York City. And I didn’t sit by anyone who was a gum snapper either.
I wish I would have kept my gum wrapper chain. I remember taking it down when I went off to college when my little sister took over my room. I simply threw it away. I spent hundreds of hours making that damn thing and I just threw it away.
Maybe I didn’t want to be remembered as a gum snapper.
While teaching my fourth graders about solid figures during Math class the other day, I decided to show them how to draw a cube. You would have thought that I just found a cure for cancer.
Earlier in the year, one of my students was almost distraught because he couldn’t make a star. So, I had him come up to the board and baby-stepped a star for him. He was weirdly excited about this. I guess it’s the little things in life.
In my attempt at teaching my students how to make shapes and draw stars, however, I realized that I have created doodling monsters.
And it made me take a trip back to when I was their age.
I am not sure what age kids start doodling. If you have never doodled before in your whole life, then there is something wrong with you. Well, unless there is something wrong with those who doodle. Regardless, people doodle. What the hell does that word even mean? I had to go back to colonial days and name calling to find out.
When the colonists started getting pissed at the British for enacting ridiculous taxes on the colonists, such as the stamp and sugar acts, the beginning of grumbles and throwing tea off boats and the like, they started calling the British names.
“Hey, you stupid lobster……..Hey red-coat!” They wanted the British soldiers to go home. They didn’t want to pay taxes to read a newspaper or to put sugar in their newly imported tea. So, they decided that name calling that helped them cope with high taxes and soldiers walking around wearing white knee socks under their black go-go boots.
And they call us a "doodle."
So, the British soldiers, in their bright red lobster red coat uniforms, called back. They called those silly colonists, “Yankee Doodles.” Now, I teach the Revolutionary War to my fourth graders, so I know all about this time period. I am a little too enthusiastic about teaching it. But, we all know that a “yankee” is a northerner or another name for a colonist. A “doodle” is a “fool” or “simpleton.” In the seventies, we would have used the synonym, “retard,” but it is politically incorrect to say that word now. Retard. I just really like that word.
Anyway, that is what a doodle means. So, what does that have to do with scribbling on the side of your paper? Is that a reference that all people who doodle are retarded? In the seventeenth century, it meant to be lazy or wasting time. But, according to Wikipedia, “In the movie Mr. Deeds Goes to Town, Mr. Deeds mentions that “doodle” was a word made up to describe scribblings to help a person think.” Ahhhhh, this makes so much sense. So, people are not retarded. They are pausing.
So, what Mr. Deeds is telling us is that doodling is good. It is a pause mechanism so to speak. You are pausing while you are thinking about what you want to write about. I learn something new every day. I also learned that if you put toothpaste on a pimple, it will clear up. See, every day, new information.
The modern meaning emerged in the thirties, and meant to “dawdle.” Mr. Deeds, you are confusing me.
Thomas Jefferson, Ronald Reagan and Bill Clinton are some of our famous doodlers. They had been known to doodle during meetings. Reagan most likely doodled with one hand while popping jelly beans in his mouth with the other. Regardless, did they doodle because they were bored, lazy, or retarded? I am sure that the answer could be debated.
I don’t know if the kids doodle in third grade. I only have a few who have started doodling in fourth. It’s usually just a happy face or a “hi” to me on a paper they have to turn in to me. I have a feeling I will be seeing a few cubes in the next week or so, since I told my kids that’s what I doodled when I was in high school. Or was it junior high? I think it was junior high. And I remember exactly what I doodled.
Cubes, flowers, and my name for one. Notice that it isn’t necessarily artistic people who doodle. I can’t draw worth a lick. So, I thought that I would perform an experiment. I decided to doodle and then see if doodles can be interpreted, like dreams. Maybe it can tell me if I am happy or sad, lazy or determined. Smart or retarded.
Some “experts” seem to think that there is a reason that we draw and that like dreams, these symbols have meaning. Well, let’s look into that. I’m sure there is a doodle interpreter somewhere on google…….Yeppers. Found one.
“Doodles can certainly reveal something of a person’s mental state, but it should be noted that no graphologist or psychologist would use them as the sole indicator.” Uh oh. I bet my little cubes mean that I feel boxed in. And writing my name and intials mean I am arrogant. And my balloons mean I want to be a social climber. Am I close? The following information is from drawsketch.about.com.
“Why no, Vickie……Regular patterns from geometric shapes tend to indicate an organised and efficient mind. Triangles are a geometrically stable shape but also suggest direction and sense of purpose.”
So, the author of this study is telling me that I have an organized and efficient mind, eh? I am stable and I have a sense of purpose? Simply splendid.
So, do you doodle? Look at what some of your doodling may mean. Because, you may be mentally unstable and not even be aware of it.
1. Boxes-”3-D boxes indicate an ordered mind and love of routine. Often drawn by people with a good sense of spatial relationships.” Ok, now boxes were and still are the number one thing that I doodle. So, that obviously means that I have an ordered mind and I love routine. Ok, the routine thing is true. Some of my co-workers would argue about the ordered mind part.
2. Flowers- “Doodles of flowers indicate a gentle personality, a love of nature, sometimes childlike innocence or wistfulness. They represent the feminine, passive aspect of the universe.” Oh, yes, I have a gentle personality. Go on please.
3. Stars-”Stars are drawn by ambitious people and may suggest a desire for self-promotion. Little stars indicate optimism, while asymmetrical stars suggest excess energy.” Well, I used to be hyper when I was little. Had to take a little green pill every day before I went to school. That’s probably when I stopped drawing stars.
4. Mazes- Uh Oh..my mazes are not good. “Mazes can suggest a feeling of being lost with nowhere to turn, being unsure of which direction one ought to take, or may indicate mental disorganization.”
5. Hearts- Notice I have none. “generally, hearts are drawn by people in love, but may also indicate a romantic disposition.” Does this mean I should join eharmony?
6. Repetition of doodles- “Repetition is a common feature of doodles that suggests a methodical, patient approach to tasks. Repetition also increases the significance of a particular motif.” I’m thinking that it could mean that one just isn’t creative to think of other doodle marks.
7. Zig zags- “Some sources suggest that zig-zag lines indicate an experience of harsh reality and a need for comfort.” Wow, I’m just all over the place. Does that mean I am unstable?
8. Wavy lines- “Wavy lines are sometimes drawn to represent long hair, meaning a desire for beauty and femininity.” Would that mean if I desire it, I must not have it?
9. Arrows- I have always doodled arrows. “Arrows represent direction and ambition. Drawn aggressively, they represent a desire for action. Drawn in careful outline, they indicate a desire for progression or advancement, especially if pointing upwards.” Aw, look. My arrows are pointed up. I want to advance.
10. Eyes- I would draw eyes with glasses sometimes. I don’t know why. But, according to the doodle doctor, “They are sometimes regarded as showing a wish to be desirable.” So, I’m ugly. Is that what you are saying? Oh, this just keeps getting better.
I personally like to doodle. Will I like seeing doodles on the margins of my fourth graders’s papers? Sure, as long as they have their work done. I usually let them draw when they get done with their work anywho.
In the end, like dream interpretation, doodling symbols and shapes can be interpreted too. So, the next time you draw a balloon, know that that really means that you are emotional and long for love and harmony. If you draw straight lines for boxes and houses, you like to be in control. And finally, if you draw stars and things with triangles in them, you are looking to vent.
Remember when you were very young and you were given shapes and had to put them in the holes of the same shape? Well, you shouldn’t, unless you played with them when you were eleven. But, most of us have played with those little shape finders. Some kids were stared at by some guy with a clipboard, clad in a long white jacket to determine how long it took you to put the circle block in the circle hole. If it took too long, then you were retarded. (Sorry, my word in my generation.) Regardless, we had to fit things where they belonged.
And now I am doing that again with an addiction called Pinterest.
Pinterest. It’s going to what gets me fired from my teaching job. I haven’t gone to Pinterest from school yet. But, I want to. But, for those of you who have not received your invitation yet, you are probably wondering, “Vickie, what exactly is a Pinterest?” Hell, I don’t know how to explain it.
It’s like gathering and sorting and putting things in their places. Things we like. And we put them in little squares and rectangles. And then we give those little “boards” names, like “My Style” or “Bucket List.” You see, Pinterest is for pinning our interests. Hence, the name Pin terest.
Say you like cats. Well, there are cute little images of cats that other pinteresters (my word) find on the web and upload onto one of their little boards. And then someone might see it and smile and think, “I like that, and then you would re-pin it, which means steal it in a way. Someone is doing the work finding an image online and you can take it for your own little categorized board. And then maybe your friend likes that picture and takes it from you. Oh, they don’t take it, per se, but copy it. And it goes on and on. It’s all the rage.
Being that my explanation sucks, let me say that lot of well known people have pinterest. Martha Stewart, Ellen DeGeneres, and Maria Shriver, to name a few. Maria Shriver is now following me. Yeah, you can follow people if you like their boards. You can even see if someone repins one of your pins. Doesn’t this sound fun?
So, as mentioned so precisely, a board is where you put everything from one category. Here are some random boards that people have on their pinterest:
Recipes to Try Travel Furry Friends Quotes My Style Christmas
Humor Sweet Tooth For the Birds For the House Products I Love Fall
You can have as many boards as you want on Pinterest. Some people only have five. Some have hundreds and thousands of followers. As of today, I have 70 boards. I am following 74 people and I have 50 followers. And right now I need to wash clothes. But, here I am, writing a blog post on my wordpress addiction about my new Pinterest addiction. I’m so glad I don’t smoke or drink.
I do worry about myself when I look at some of my board titles. I have some “normal” boards, but then I have weird ones. I mean, I have one titled, “Ventriloquist Dummies Creep Me Out,” where I have repinned a bunch of disturbing scary wooden people.
“Nuns Scare Me” is another board. Because, well, they do scare me.
And then I followed it with some food. A board just for dips. “Dip It, Dip It Good.” I liked that title.
Here’s a list of some of my other boards. Well, just in case something may catch your eye. And then you could say, “Hey, Vickie likes that too!”
1. My Blog-Jumping in Mud Puddles
2. Wanderlust
3. I Love Central Park
4. Favorite Movies
5. Quotes and Written Stuff
6. My Fascinating People
7. Hang it On a Wall
8. Animals I Like
9. I Dont Think So…
10. History Dork
11. Funny
12. Bare Ware
13.When Pigs Fly
14. Saturday morning Cartoons
15 All Things Mendenhall
Yeah, I could go on for another 55 titles, but you can see my sampling and the things that “pinterest” me. Don’t you want to be a pinterester too?
Katie Couric just pinned a bunch of pictures for one of her boards, “Best Advice Contributors.” Pretty interesting selection. Or perhaps I should say pinteresting. She’s getting into it, I can tell.
All in all, pinterest is a lot of fun. I’ve tried new recipes and now know that I can use tootpaste on a pimple.
WordPress, please don’t be jealous. I have several categories just for you, “Photo’s For My Blog” and “Blogs I Follow.” Writing is still my passion. But, pinterest is my obsession this month.
And that’s how easy it is to put a round peg in a square hole.
I got back last night from visiting my daughter in New York City. She moved there last August when she started grad school at NYU. Before helping her find an apartment twice last summer, I had never been to the big city. The last time I went up there, I had to leave her and her roommate to continue on, hunting for that elusive inexpensive apartment. So I had no seen it yet.
Some people think that getting from JFK airport into the city is a nightmare. I found an easy way. Last time I took the AirTrain into Penn Station. That’s not so bad, but just getting to the AirTrain was a mini pain. This past week I decided to take the bus. Doesn’t hurt to try.
I flew on Delta for the first time and really enjoyed it. I know every airline has a horror story, but I didn’t have one. The flight took an hour, which is much shorter than the almost eleven hour trip I took there by Amtrak. I love trains, but a one hour round trip flight for $175 is pretty good.
As soon as I got off my flight at JFK, I immediately found the Ground Transportation sign and went outside, where I knew there would be people in bright green jackets. You pay them $12.50 and just wait for the bus to Manhattan. That simple. The bus was very clean and comfortable and the ride only seemed about thirty five minutes to Grand Central Station on 42nd Street. Sure, you could take a taxi, but it would have been $45 for the same ride, only with more people. I would have an extra $32.50 and that sounded better for me.
On this route, I was able to see new things. I saw where the old world’s fair took place. I assumed that’s what it was. I saw a huge globe and a tall structure with two flying saucer-like disks on the top. I plan to google that in a bit. I also passed several cemeteries, which I plan to write a blog about. They were amazing.
As soon as you get off in front of Grand Central Station, there is a door that says, “Subway.” I was amazed at how easy this was. I went downstairs, bought a Metro ticket for $2.50, and hopped on the Local 6 train uptown to Alex’s apartment.
“Mom, take the local 6 uptown train. It will be a green 6 with a circle around it. “
How easy. I asked a guy standing on the platform just to confirm my selection. I did make one error on my way. I was supposed to call Alex before I got on the subway so she could walk and meet me at the subway where I was to get off. When I walked to the platform to tell her that her fantastic mom was on her way, I had no bars on my cell phone. Uh oh, my bad. I didn’t think about that. So, if you go to New York, you won’t have cell phone service while underground. Well, my AT&T didn’t.
Maybe I’m the only one, but I just love riding the subway. It’s a little grimy walking down the stairs to the subway, but I love it. It’s like an adventure for me. And I love to watch people as they enter the car. One woman was sleeping. Another one was coughing up a lung. Some of the men were wearing nice suits. I always go to the shoes to see if they match the expensive suits. They did. I was having so much fun.
I called my daughter after I climbed the steps leading from the subway.
“No…You don’t have to meet me. Let me try to find your apartment. It will be like an adventure.” I laughed.
I am all about trying to do things on my own. So, off I went to find her apartment. I had already “walked” on her street with google maps, which is a fantastic tool. Just take the little man over to the map, plop him down, and you can travel on the street, veering left and right. I google walk all the time, especially vacation areas. So, I sort of knew how to get to her apartment from the subway station, but this is still New York, and it is huge.
There is a lot of construction work going on near her apartment. They are putting in a new subway line. They start at exactly 7a.m. and end at exactly 4pm. Noisy jack hammer work and the walkways are diverted through a temporary maze. And from the sign posted, it looks like this will be going on until the end of 2013. Sucks for people who don’t wake up until 8am. Well, they won’t wake up that late anymore. It’s very noisy. The walk was nice.
Fruit stands, like this one, are all over the city.
So, I had to go down, take a right, take a left, and voila, I am standing right in front of her apartment building. I am good. I walked in and had to punch a button so she can unlock the door. I have never done this before. I have watched people do it on Seinfeld and other tv shows, but I have never ever buzzed. I was excited. I walked up the one flight of stairs and she was at her opened door, welcoming me with a big smile.
She lucked out. Her apartment was small, as most New York apartments are, but hers is not teeny tiny. It has two bedrooms, a living area and eating area combined. Her kitchen is small, but hell, it has a dishwasher, so life is good. The bathroom is a nice size for NYC also. Hardwood floors. I immediately liked it. And not bad for $800 a month. I did research before we started looking at apartments and thought that she would be paying around $1,200 for her share for an upper East side apartment. She did great.
I took the 6:30am flight as we had plans to go to the Bronx Zoo. It was cold though, and thoughts of walking from cold exhibit to cold exhibit did not sound appealing. Where the hell did the promise of warm weather go? So, I told her I wanted to see her neighborhood. So, we took a walk. We went to eat lunch at Ray’s pizza, which was next to her Rite Aid and laundromat. As a mom, I liked being able to now place where these things are.
“I’m heading to the laundromat.”
I now know where that is in relation to her apartment. I have places down dark secluded back alleys, so it is nice to know I have an active imagination.
We then walked all the way up to Fifth Avenue to see the Jackie Onassis Reservoir. She runs to Central Park and then jogs around the reservoir. It’s beautiful.
Jackie Onassis Reservoir
After taking pictures of this area of Central Park, we decided to push stuff over because that’s how we roll.
Ok, just kidding. I thought the leaning lightpost made a good photo opportunity.
After walking around, petting dogs that people were walking, we ventured into the Museum of the City of New York. I don’t know. I was a bit confused. I thought I would get to see the history of New York. I wanted to follow along from the time the Dutch started the place through prohibition to the tragedy of 9/11. Instead, there was a huge exhibition of the grid system of Manhattan. And it was set up in neighborhoods, not dates. I wanted to see the history of New York. A permanent exhibit. I thought it was a waste of $16.00. But, I like going to museums. Next time, I will try another.
For dinner, she talked me into going to a Thai restaurant down the street from her apartment. I immediately balked because I am picky. But, I thought I should be more open minded. She took me to an Indian restaurant and now I like Indian food. So, we went to the Andaman Thai Bistro on 1st Avenue in Yorkville. Oh, glorious food! The shrimp/chicken dumpling was to die for! Curry puffs don’t sound so good to this picky person, but they were delicious. If you are in upper East Side and looking for a good restaurant, check it out.
We were beat by the end of the night. We went to bed early and got up to go to the Bronx zoo. She made me breakfast and off we went. We took the BxM11 express bus from 99th Street. It goes directly to the zoo. A zoo bus. It was a comfortable ride for $5.50 a person. I haven’t been to a zoo in years. I usually ended up feeling sorry for the little animal in its cage, but things have changed over the years. I was looking forward to going to this zoo, as it is the largest metropolitan zoo in the world.
It didn’t disappoint. I will be writing a blog post just on the zoo, but I will just say for now that my new camera loves the zoo.
We were at the Bronx zoo all day. It is large and most of the animals are in their natural habitat. So, we walked a lot.
We got home and went to a Mexican restaurant for dinner. I wasn’t impressed, so I won’t mention where it was. We needed to be at her neighborhood bar for Trivia night. Oh, how I wish we had something like that in West Virginia. I would surely drink more. Her friends compete against other bar patrons, the winners receiving shots and drinks after the contest is over. I contributed, as I was pretty good with the “presidential hometown” category. I sucked at current events. And I knew that the Soprano’s won an emmy in 2008 for Best Drama. I didn’t even feel old or out of place and managed to sing “Hey Jude” at the top of my lungs with everyone in the bar at the end of the night. Fun times at Biddy’s Pub on 91st. It is considered an “Irish pub” because, well, it is owned by Irish people. It is itty bitty, only one room, but was packed for Trivia night. So, again, if you are looking for a pub in the upper east side, try either Biddy’s Pub or Off the Rails.
We were going to go to the “Top of the Rock” before my flight left, but my daughter found out at the last minute that she had a summer job interview, so I took off early to take pictures of Grand Central Station. I got on the bus, got on the plane, landed in Pittsburgh, and drove the 1 1/2 hours on an empty gas tank. Well, anything less than a quarter tank makes me hyperventilate. I made it back to Fairmont and went right to bed.
I am so excited that my daughter is living in New York City while attending grad school. Will she remain there after graduation? It is too early to tell. I think she would like to head elsewhere.
I can’t wait to go back after school is out in June.
The road from my hometown to where I attended college in the seventies was a monotonous drive. Other adjectives that come to mind are colorless, droning, dull, blah, flat, humdrum, mundane, and prosaic. This is my first time using “prosaic” in a sentence. It’s very exciting. More exciting than driving that road every freaking weekend.
I graduated from high school in 1974. The state road people were working on a huge section of Interstate 79 that would alleviate my need for boring adjectives. I could not wait until they were finished with it. It took me about 2 1/2 hours to get home. The new interstate section would knock off at least thirty minutes of tiresome driving time. Please hurry state road people.
Now, Interstate 79 may not seem like a major thoroughfare, but I beg to differ. Canadian snow birds use this route. I see more Ontario license plates than say, Pennsylvania or Ohio. Before this section of road opened, I’m sure Canadians were cursing as they veered around the wild wonderful almost to West Virginia roads.
I drove home about every other weekend, depending on what was going on in Fairmont. Freshman who stayed in the dorm were not allowed to have cars, but I was given special permission because my dad was having open heart surgery and my mom couldn’t take the time to drive down to get me when so much was going on. So, the college let me drive. I drove Rusty, my yellow Toyota. I named her that because, well, she was full of rust. There were dings all over her. People on campus did not care when they got out of their vehicles. I guess it is not fair to blame just college kids, because people of all ages and intelligence opened their car doors with no care as to what was in the way. So, Rusty was full of pock marks. She had car acne.
I had a car full of sorority sisters one particular Friday. I honestly don’t remember for sure who was in my car. I do know for sure that Stephanie was with me. She mentioned the episode to me on Facebook just a couple of months ago. And I’m thinking Anita, maybe Tanya or Irvin or maybe even Paula. Oh, hell, this I don’t remember. I know there were at least three others for sure.
We were traveling on the part of Interstate 79 that was finished. We traveled up to Mount Morris, Pennsylvania, right across the county line, when someone in the backseat made the remark:
“I heard the new interstate is going to open next week.”
This bit of news made me slow down a bit, but my pulse sped up.
Hmmmmmmm. Awwww, how wonderful that will be. I could use new adjectives from then on to describe my drive. Like pleasant, quick, and unmundane. Ok, maybe not the last one.
I wonder……..
So, I kept driving and didn’t get off onto the two lane drive of misery. There were barricades blocking the unfinished interstate. It was calling out my name, I am sure.
”Vickie, drive on me….. Be the first motorist on my new road.”(You really need to sound like a ghost when you say that sentence)
I paused and then saw a place where my Rusty could squeeze through. I was going for it.
Nervous giggles in the car. The worst that could happen was a section of unfinished road that we would topple into. We wouldn’t be found until the ribbon cutting ceremony. I could see it now…someone standing with a huge pair of scissors in the middle of the new interstate. Off in the distance you could see the butt of a car and smoke coming from a huge hole. Except that wouldn’t make sense. The smoke would have been all done by then…and well, maybe the road would be ready for motorists. Hence, the ribbon cutting ceremony.
There's no bridge over troubled water here.
Regardless, who would find our bodies? I was just going to have to drive slower than usual. Just to make sure there weren’t any paving machines or construction workers to hit.
I was able to drive for a decent amount of time. It was a barren road. A barren, finished road. I saw a truck driving over an overpass. Dammit. Whoever was driving paused and watched me drive by. Uh oh. He was probably the head road guy. Or not. Maybe he was just like me, a motorist who did not want to drive that boring shitty drive to Waynesburg.
Nope.
He called the coppers. The rat.
A state trooper up ahead sat in his car. His lights were on, and he was waiting for us. Notice I said “us” because this was not my idea. I was forced to drive by crazy sorority sisters. Ok, that wasn’t going to work.
I slowed down and pulled over.
The interstate barricade
“Oh my God, Vickie! What are you going to say?” Someone in the backseat was ready to crack already.
Well, hell, I didn’t know. Was I supposed to say anything? I got caught. I was just going to hand him my driver’s license and registration card. I was just going to keep my mouth shut, take the ticket and make up something for my mom.
My mom would lose her mind if I came home with a ticket for driving on an unopened section of interstate. But, then again, she would think that was a lie. That was too preposterous to be true. Seems like I was screwed no matter what.
The state trooper approached my newly rolled down window. I was just going to keep my mouth shut.
“Officer, thank God you are here!!!”
I went on to blabber nonsense about a car of guys chasing us and trying to get us to pull over. When I wouldn’t pull over, they kept hitting us in the back of the car. I was afraid to get off of the exit because I was afraid they would force us off of the two lane road over a cliff or make us crash.
“I knew that if I drove on the interstate I could make it to one of the exits and then get to the state police barracks.”
Did I just say that? Shit. I better cry.
So, I started crying and showed him my hands. They were shaking from holding on to the steering wheel while those guys in a black car kept hitting my bumper.
“When I got onto the new road, they quit following us.”
Someone added something from the backseat. Now we were pretty little liars.
He just looked at me.
I don’t remember what he said, if anything, but he didn’t give me a ticket. He let me go. Of course, I had to drive back the way I came and take the regular exit to the road of misery.
“But, what if the black car is waiting for us?” I thought that was a great point. My lie had to be genuine. If this really happened, that would be something that could happen. Sure, Lifetime movies weren’t invented yet, but I was way ahead of possible outcomes. The state trooper sort of smiled (sort of ?) and told me he would follow us to make sure we got off of the interstate. Didn’t he want to know more about Ted Bundy and his buddies?
So, we drove off. We talked about it all the way home. Now, this is where it gets foggy. Either Anita was in the car or we ended up at her house sometime during the weekend. Anita told me to tell her mom’s boyfriend (fiance? husband?) the story. So, I did. The man smiled and said:
“I would never have believed that one.”
Everyone in the room laughed. I was talking to a cop. Ha ha Anita. I think he was the Hancock county sheriff or a town cop. He could have been a state trooper. I don’t remember. I just remember a nervous laugh.
So, the moral of the story is that when two roads diverge in a wood, should you take the one less traveled?
I don’t know, but it could make all the difference.
I am addicted to Pinterest. I wish I had this available to me when my kids were young. I would have been Betty Crocker/Martha Stewart/Susie Homemaker all rolled into one. I would have been the ultimate Stepford mom. Oh, sure, I would never have worn a dress, but I was an awesome stay-at-home mom for many years.
So, while working on the previous blog post on colored peeps, I came across creativity with a capital “C” when it came to what people do with Easter peeps. The fake ones this time.
I can honestly say that I have never tried a peep. I guess it is made of marshmallow, right? I just have no desire. But, look how I can decorate with them since I don’t eat them.
I can put them in a vase. I will do this next year. Except, won’t their little bodies leave marshamallow imprints on the glass? I mean, they are smooshed up against the glass? Sigh. I guess I could actually wash it out when I am done with it.
I can make a little strip club for them
They can be made into a wreath. Just don’t put it on your front door. Especially if the sun shines right on it. Well, then again, go ahead.
You can make a political or religious statement
You could make a topiary and stick in the middle of your table as the centerpiece.
Ok, now we are talking. You can make peeps jello shots. I may want to try one now.
You can perform a science experiment with peeps. I am soooo doing this with my fourth graders next Easter.
You can enter a fun contest.
omg the sugar rush
Or you can melt the little shits and put them in your rice krispie treats
Or make a sunflower cake
Wedge them on your favorite beverage
Or they could occupy space
Or you could just admire them from the store shelves.
All in all, peeps seem to have found their place with bunnies and baskets and eggs each Easter. One of these days I will try a peep. Maybe.
Procrastination is alive and well in my neck of the woods. It’s time to get my car inspected. So, like, where the hell are the dishonest mechanics when you need one? I want to be able to do what my husband was able to do years ago. Go into a garage where they make you honk your horn, turn your lights on and off, and turn on the all important window wipers. Ta da! Inspection is done. Pay the man and leave. Where the hell are you, dishonest John? I know it has been years, but I am sure they are still out there.
Inspection station in Fairview
The little sticker is staring at me: 3/12. March, 2012. I made an appointment with my regular guy for yesterday. My regular guy wasn’t going to pass my inspection two years ago. Said my tires were bald. So what?
I had to buy four new tires and brakes. Ka-ching. Surely the tires should still be okay this time. I have them rotated and my car taken care of every three months. I’m just going to tell him that I just need to make it until June. I want to trade my car in when school lets out. I really like my Hyundai Santa Fe.
There are a lot of moving parts on a vehicle, and there are authorized state inspection stations that have a list of shit they have to check. From the Pennslvania dmv site: “Safety inspections for passenger cars and light-duty trucks require that the following items be checked: suspension components, steering, braking systems, tires and wheels, lighting and electrical systems, glazing (glass), mirrors, windshield washer, defroster, wipers, fuel systems, the speedometer, the odometer, the exhaust systems, horns and warning devices, the body, and chassis.”
The Virginia DMV has a inspection sticker procedure for dummies:
1. Remove old inspection sticker
2. Drive vehicle into inspection lane
24. Issue new inspection sticker
They do a walk through of everything that needs to be checked. So, if you drive into an inspection station in Virginia with a blue colored door on a red colored vehicle, you will be shot.
My state of West Virginia doesn’t care to let its citizens know what is to be inspected. Just go there and be surprised when they ask you why the hell you unhooked your odometer. I don’t even know if you can do that anymore. People used to do it before they traded their car in. I guess that is frowned upon.
If your horn doesn't work, your children will be removed and put in foster care.
Sometimes I wonder how the hell some vehicles on the road pass inspection. I know why they get by? They know where to go. It’s so much fun sitting behind a car that should be on fire for the amount of fumes coming out of his tail pipe. I feel like I’m driving through a Colorado wildfire or something. Dear God, driver, do you not see the smoke curling around your vehicle as you drive?
Uh Oh baby! Fumes in your lungs can't be good.
photo via Greenpeace
And then there’s the sound makers. I learned a long time ago that when you put your foot on the brakes and there is a screeching noise, that usually means something. I hear a lot of brake screeching. It is like riding with a bunch of freaking owls. Brakes are sort of important.
Lights must be operational-And then there’s One Eyed Jack. Do you know that your left front light is not working? You might as well put a big patch on your light and be a pirate ship. But of my lights went out within fifteen minutes of each other. Luckily I was close to my home and it was just dusk. I couldn’t go anywhere at night until my headlights were changed. Luckily, my guy got me in the next day.
Just passed inspection.
You know what people care the most about what works in their vehicles? Oh, sure, brakes and lights are important, but God forbid it their horn quits working. They will miss a day of work to take it in for an emergency appointment. Americans have to have operational horns above everything else. I mean, transportation as we know it would be total chaos without our horns. We have road rage and our horns are our first line of offense.
When I learned to drive, I embarrassed my teen age peers riding with me on day. Seems that every time I turned the wheel to the right, the horn would sound. Not just a beep beep. A blaring horn. It would make this noise until I straightened up my wheel. At first I didn’t think it was me and was pissed at the car behind me. Even flipped them off. Oops, my bad. It was my dad’s car. It was…..horny. (That’s where that term came from. Too much horn).
In the end, I got out by the skin of my teeth. My car tires passed, but right above the minimum requirement, which I guess is bad. My tires are balding again. Dammit.
The penny test.
Shouldn’t tires last for two years? I blame the back roads to my school. Stupid pot holes. I plan on trading my car in this summer when school lets out. The air conditioner is shot.
I bet they didn’t even check the air conditioner. It should be part of the inspection process. People get mad when they are hot. Road rage.
An easy vehicle inspection
I’m thinking that there should be inspections for any sort of transportation. Kids should get pulled over.
Kid, your seat is not up to code.
Heading to the inspection station
So, don’t forget that the little sticker on your window means something. It may be true that police give 30 days for those of us who have no brain. It depends who pulls you over, I guess. So, don’t flip him off as he approaches your window. Just sayin. Get your car inspected.
You will need your horn the next time someone cuts in front of you.
My daughter told me a while back that she heard something in the walls of her New York City apartment. Then she called and told me she saw a mouse scurrying by in the kitchen. She named it, even though she only met it once. Or twice. She is so like her momma. But, it made me think of what else could scurry through her apartment. I guess a rat could scurry.
When I hear the word, “scurrying,” all I can think of is mice. Mice scurry. Nothing else scurries. Nothing. Well, the freedictionary.com uses stupid examples of the word, “scurrying”:
“….lashed the scurrying horses” and “…..the pedestrians scurried for cover.”
I just don’t see it. I know what scurrying looks like. The word evokes sneakiness. Running away from trouble quickly. Horses are not subtle or sneaky. Neither are pedestrians. I really think these dictionary people need to confer with me more often. I would set them straight. Amazon.com is selling a book that I would tend to agree with its title:
Something “scurried” past Obama at a White House press conference. I am sure there is a metaphor for that one. I myself, wondered how he got by security. He scurried, that’s how.
I finally found a reference that I agree with. Merriam-Webster has their shit together. They used “….mice scurried around the house.” I like this example, because it is a true statement. Mice scurried around the house…… They sure did.
My house. But, let me back up a bit.
The first introduction to a mouse for many of us is when we are little, with the introduction of Mickey Mouse. Mickey is not scary, or rodenty. (I truly enjoy making up new words). He doesn’t carry diseases like the mice and rats did during “Black Death” during the 14th century, that killed twenty-five million people. Twenty-five MILLION.
The Danse Macabre -photo via wikipedia creative commons
Oh, they still carry diseases. A bunch of them. So, bubonic plague is nothing to laugh at. The oriental rat flea was the main culprit back then, hitchhiking on a black rat. I know a rat is a rat and a mouse is a mouse, but some view a mouse as a rat. Some view a chihuahua as a rat. Some ex-husbands are rats. So, you know, whatever.
Maybe we should be pissed at Walt Disney for making his main character a mouse. Children all around the world think that it is ok to pick up a field mouse and hug it. (I know where you think I’m going with this, but no, never hugged a mouse.)
But, you gotta love Mickey Mouse. Sure, I’ve worn mouse ears and have seen my plastic flip flops melt from standing in two hour lines on asphalt at Disney World in August. Sure, I have no brain. But, it was for my kids. I introduced them to the main mouse when they were little.
My next meeting with a mouse is when we learned to sing the ever popular “Little Rabbit Foo Foo.” This is how we sang it-
Little Rabbit Foo Foo
Hopping through the forest
scooping up the field mice
and bashing them on the head….
Now, I have to admit that all of the online versions of Little Rabbit Foo Foo has him scooping up field mice and ”bopping” them on the head. I am thinking that we changed the version. Or, I am thinking we were violent children. Regardless, mice were getting hit on the head left and right. Why?
Because they scurry and can’t be trusted.
There were other mice. For example, let’s take a look at Speedy Gonzales.
Speedy Gonzales (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Speedy Gonzales was the self-proclaimed, “fastest mouse in all Mexico.” Speedy never scurried. He wasn’t known as Scurry Gonzales, was he now? No, he was speedy, quick, and efficient. He got in and got out.
Now his cousin is another story, but he doesn’t scurry either. No, his cousin is a slow-poke. Slow Poke Rodriguez.
Slowpoke was the slowest mouse in all Mexico. He would never scurry. I think he was drunk half of the time. If he was on The Andy Griffith show, he would have been sitting in a cell with Otis, the town drunk, discussing stuff. You would never see Otis scurry either, I mean, if he was a pedestrian.
One of my favorite mice was Jerry Mouse from the cartoon, Tom and Jerry. Oh, the trouble those two crazy kids got into! Even when I was little, I had a problem with his name. Who the hell names a mouse, Jerry? Jerry Mouse. Sounds stupid. Harry would have been better. Tom and Harry. Maybe they had another friend named Dick. That would have made sense. Tom, Dick, and Harry. But, the names of the cartoon characters was the least of their problems. It was the violence that made some parents shudder. Yeah, parents who lived in a box and never got to watch Saturday morning cartoons during the era that cartoons ruled. My era!
But, besides watching Tom get electrocuted and sliced with a knife, this cartoon taught me about rivalry. Jerry taunted Tom. Tom chased Jerry. Tom got abused and injured. Comic violence. Poor Tom makes numerous attempts to catch Jerry. I mean, it is Tom’s house. He’s a house cat, just trying to protect his owner from contracting the bubonic plague I’m guessing.
I’m trying to think of all of the ways they tried to kill each other. It was like War of the Roses, but without a divorce. My favorite one is when Jerry put Tom’s tail in the wall outlet to electrocute him. He would light up and you could see his skeleton. Oh, cartoons, how you make me laugh! They also used an axe, guns, explosives, traps, and poison to try ot finish each other off. I also liked the one where Jerry put matches at Tom’s feet and lit the matches. Yeah, I bet there were little kids in the early sixties lighting their baby sisters on fire after watching that episode.
The final reference to a mouse is the most important to me. Hickory Dickory Dock. We all know the rhyme.
Hickory Dickory Dock
The mouse ran up the clock
The clock struck one
The mouse ran down
Hickory Dickory Dock
I never knew what this nursery rhyme meant. I was smart enough to realize that “one” and “down” didn’t rhyme worth a shit. But, but besides that, what the hell was supposed to happen at 1:00? And what is the importance of a mouse?
Well, I found out years later.
My husband and I purchased 13 acres of farm land in 1989. We decided to build a house on a site that an old dairy barn was previously located. It was an exciting time. I had fun decorating the house. We purchased an antique gingerbread clock and set it upon the mantle in our hearth room. I called the room the “Hearth Room” because I refused to call any room a “living room.” And, well, it had a hearth in it. A living room reminds me of plastic on expensive furniture and a room with no television. Well, that wasn’t going to happen.
After a couple of years, we brought home a kitten from the animal shelter for our daughter. Whiskers. Now, Whiskers was a great cat. She was entertaining and could leap buildings in a single bound. She could locate a spider and pounce on it as quickly as she saw it.
But, she didn’t give a shit about mice.
Of course, we didn’t know about the mice either. But, Whiskers sure did.
My kitchen had an island where the stove was located along with a seating area with three highback stools. I loved my kitchen. Sometimes late at night, I would walk downstairs to get a cold drink of water and see Whiskers perched on top of the island. What the hell are you doing sitting up there, Whiskers? Boy are you going to get in trouble if he sees you sitting where we cook.
Well, this happened quite a bit. The kids told me that they saw Whiskers sitting either on top of the stove island or right beside the island, looking under the stove. Uh oh.
Uh Oh for sure. I was wondering if there was a mouse in the house. After all, we built our house in a field. A mouse may try to infiltrate the solid construction. My husband would not hear of it. “This house is built air tight.”
Tell that to the mice.
Mice as in plural.
One day, I decided to clean and dust the stuff on my mantle. Normally, I don’t take the gingerbread clock down. I just spray some Pledge on it and dust it and around it. But, I was feeling especially energetic and decided to take it off its lofty spot.
Shit.
A mouse had built a nest in the back of the clock. A nest. In the back of the clock.
Hickory Dickory Damn!
So, that meant that Whiskers would watch a nightly parade of mouse or mice coming from somewhere near the stove, scurrying across the kitchen floor, turn the corner, scurry through the Hearth Room, up the side of the mantle to build its nest. Ok, so unless the mouse used U-Haul, it had to make many many trips to the clock. And that also meant that it liked it enough in my house to make a nest there.
Nice job, Whiskers.
So, after I showed my husband that a mouse or many mouses (mice, whatever) were making their way to the clock, he put a couple of traps under the house, in our crawlspace. I cold hear some snapping every once in a while and it just made me cringe. Poor mice. But, what made me really cringe is that I found another nest in my laundry room, behind a shelf. And I found yet another one when I was hunting for the remote control down in a couch in the Hearth Room. We had all been sitting on baby mice.
Dear God, the cat probably popped some popcorn and watched the fun unfold nightly. Why try to catch mice? Her bowl was never empty. I did notice that she seemed to be eating more than usual. Ew, the mice were eating her cat food.
I wouldn’t let the husband put a snapping trap under the stove. I didn’t want to hear the trap go off. I can’t kill a spider, let alone a poor field mouse.
So, he purchased one of those traps that a mouse can crawl into but can’t get out and then I would make him drive the mouse a mile or two down the road and set it free. I think we caught several mice that way until Spook showed up at our door. Spook, the stray cat. I talked the husband into letting him stay. Caspar the cat showed up soon after. Two outside cats kept the mice away after that. Over the years, Muffin the cat and Izzie the cat have also stayed awhile. Mice were never a problem after that.
Three years ago, I divorced and moved out of our home. I never spoke of the mice in the house to anyone because it just makes you feel sort of….cockroachy in a way. But, hey, it’s not my house anymore, now is it?
My daughter, who lives in New York City, will be watching her first St. Patrick’s Day parade. She will also be participating in the world’s largest pub crawl, The Luck of the Irish St. Patty’s Day Pub Crawl. Sounds like a great time. When I talked to her last night, she was having a hard time finding anything green to wear. I’m sure with thousands of New Yorkers participating in the parade and pub crawl, green is probably a highly interested color.
Well, back here in West Virginia, I am sitting here thinking about the big green day and especially about leprechauns. And how I just don’t know what to think of them.
Yesterday, I had my fourth graders write a St. Patrick’s Day haiku, like I do whenever I feel like having them write one. And I wrote one too. Now, you have to understand that I never shared my views on leprechauns with my kids. I never really thought much about the short people before. But, my students’ haikus and my own made me want to take a step back and take a look at this whole leprechaun and St. Patrick’s Day scheme of things a little closer.
Leprechauns are mean
They will take my pot of gold
Go away now, please!
~~~~~~~~
Shamrocks and pinching
and bad leprechauns hiding
please leave me alone.
~~~~
And here is mine
Little leprechaun
are you stealing my wallet?
goofy green midget
~~~
I honestly couldn’t believe that I wrote that. I read mine aloud, and change “midget” to “short guy.” I just sat there, stunned, looking at my paper. So, that’s how I really felt about leprechauns? And how politically incorrect. Not good, Vickie, not good. I wondered if I had been attacked by a leprechaun when I was little or something. There had to be a reason for my animosity towards bearded Irish guys in green clothing.
In the meantime, I looked at my other haiku. I had the kids write two different ones. Here is my other one:
I found some money
at the end of the rainbow.
Led me to a bank.
~~~~
Um, ok. This is not a happy St. Patrick’s Day person writing these haiku’s. I have some issues. I also have twenty-one students, and I would say that most of them wrote about bad or mean leprechauns. I wonder why? So, I thought that I would do some research and collect some data on these horrid little creatures (see, there I go again) and see why they are getting a bad rap.
We all know that St. Patrick’s Day is about shamrocks, parades, and all things green. And all things Irish. But, I really didn’t know the meaning behind some of the symbols. Let’s take a look at some of them before we get to my main topic:
1. The shamrock- The shamrock was the sacred plant of Ireland. It symbolized the rebirth of spring. According to History.com, “By the seventeenth century, the shamrock had become a symbol of emerging Irish nationalism. As the English began to seize Irish land and make laws against the use of the Irish language and the practice of Catholicism, many Irish began to wear the shamrock as a symbol of their pride in their heritage and their displeasure with English rule.”
2. Those damned snakes- Again from History.com:
“It has long been recounted that, during his mission in Ireland, St. Patrick once stood on a hilltop (which is now called Croagh Patrick), and with only a wooden staff by his side, banished all the snakes from Ireland. In fact, the island nation was never home to any snakes. The “banishing of the snakes” was really a metaphor for the eradication of pagan ideology from Ireland and the triumph of Christianity. Within 200 years of Patrick’s arrival, Ireland was completely Christianized.” Oh, ok, a metaphor. I was wondering how that worked. I had my thoughts-
Patrick: “Hey, snakes of Ireland. I don’t want you here. Begone, you little bastards!’
St. Patrick driving the snakes out of Ireland via photo Irregular Times
3. Corned beef- Which I’m sorry, but corned beef sounds disgusting. I have always been picky and just the names of some of the foods made me refuse to try them. Well, like cheesecake. I have never had a piece of cheesecake in my life. It just reminds me of provolone and icing. I shudder. Corned beef reminds me of hunks of corn in ground beef. Ok, wait. That doesn’t sound that bad. Anywho, corned beef is a more recent addition to all things Irish. Irish Americans gather together on St. Patrick’s Day to share a meal of corned beef and cabbage. Immigrants who came to New York City’s Lower East Side from Ireland substitute corned beef for their tradtional bacon to save money.
Where the hell is the cabbage? photo via foodnetwork.com
4. Pot of gold at the end of the freaking rainbow- What if there was a double rainbow…Wow.
5. Leprechauns- Ok, this is huge!! We can blame Walt Disney Productions for putting leprechauns in our St. Patrick’s Day. Walt Freakin Disney. Yep. Leprechauns never had a damn thing to do with St. Patrick’s Day. Oh, sure, they were folklore in Europe, but not specifically for the holiday, which is supposed to be a religious observation. I guess if Christmas has Santa Claus and Easter has a bunny, why not a short guy for St. Patrick’s Day, I guess.
Once again, according to History.com, “The original Irish name for these figures of folklore is “lobaircin,” meaning “small-bodied fellow.”
Belief in leprechauns probably stems from Celtic belief in fairies, tiny men and women who could use their magical powers to serve good or evil. In Celtic folktales, leprechauns were cranky souls, responsible for mending the shoes of the other fairies. Though only minor figures in Celtic folklore, leprechauns were known for their trickery, which they often used to protect their much-fabled treasure.
In 1959, Walt Disney released a film called Darby O’Gill & the Little People, which introduced America to a very different sort of leprechaun than the cantankerous little man of Irish folklore. This cheerful, friendly leprechaun is a purely American invention, but has quickly evolved into an easily recognizable symbol of both St. Patrick’s Day and Ireland in general.”
I also read that leprechauns were shoe makers and hid their coins in a hidden pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. Which, I think, is irresponsible. Which rainbow? The one over Dublin at 3pm last Saturday? No wonder they didn’t have money to buy another set of clothes.
Well, so there you have it. Well, I don’t have it. I still don’t know why I am not a fan.
You just have to love technology. But, then again, it did wipe out imaginative play as we know it. Childhood was so simple in the early sixties. We had no choice. My parents and their parents had even a simpler time. We didn’t have cell phones that interrupted our play with a text from your mother that simply read, “Dinner.” No, they had to stand out on the porch and yell for us. On the third yell, we would go home.
We had jump rope, a kick ball, and indoor board games. Can’t forget about pogo sticks. We weren’t indoors much. The neighborhood was filled with children playing, people hand washing their cars, and neighbors sitting outside on their porches in the hot summer evenings. Many didn’t have central air conditioning. We knew our neighbors. We also knew when Mr. Softie was coming around in his ice cream truck. We could hear the music. Because we were outside.
As the sixties moved closer to the seventies, it was still like that. We now had eight track stereos to occupy our time, but not much more. We would sit out on our front porches, but this time, waiting for boys to drive around and around the block, finally to stop and talk to all the neighborhood girls my age who hung out on my front porch. But, in and around 1975, that all changed. We started staying indoors more. Things were changing, for sure. And we can point our fingers to one new gadget.
Pong.
Yes, Pong. Not to be confused with Beer Pong. This was played without alcohol. Well, unless you really enjoyed drunk ping pong.
I know what you young people are thinking. Are you kidding me? But, yes, this was exciting stuff. I mean, we could turn on the tv and use this game console and play ping pong. There were no pictures or bombs going off or bullets flying. This was ping pong and nothing else. And we were thrilled.
Now, we did have pinballl machines. I was quite good at the one at The Pub, a local dive where we all congregated in college. My mom even bought a pin ball machine for our basement rec room. We were the coolest family on the block. But, Pong was different, because it was on tv.
In the end, Pong was fun, and it was just a matter of time before we were hearing names such as Sega and then Playstation.
I used to think that cleaning public restrooms would be one of the worst jobs ever. But, over the years, I have changed my mind. I do believe that being a school bus driver has to be one of the most taxing jobs of all.
Being a bus driver AND being stopped by a long coal train. Yikes
As an elementary school teacher, I get to hear bus stories every single day. And then I remember my own.
I didn’t really ride a school bus for the first three years of my education. I attended a stupid private school, Sacred Heart of Mary Academy. Sister Maria drove our little van/bus. She was one mean zebra. I didn’t open my mouth for three years on that bus, for fear that she would make me become a nun. And Dear God, I did not want to become a nun. I watched her as she drove that van/bus. She wore black hose under that nun outfit, and black shoes that looked like walking shoes, but a really ugly version. I had to sit up front with her because of my intense motion sickness, which she frequently told me, “was all in my head.” One day after she said that, I looked over at her, and threw up. I heard my mom relay the story to my dad that night from my eavesdropping hiding place.
“Vickie threw up on Sister Maria today…( I could hear my dad laugh)..She told Vickie it was all in her head…..Vickie should have told her that “Now it is in your lap.”
I thought that was funny. I decided to tell Sister Maria that the next day. It didn’t get that far.
“Vickie, you aren’t going to get sick anymore on my bus, are you?” She looked at me and I could swear I saw real flames flickering in her eyes. I was scared to death of her. So scared….
that I threw up on her again. Well, I missed her, but caught her black hose and sensible shoes. Rice krispies and milk to be exact. I remember.
Not good. Not good at all. She was going to beat the shit out of me. I just knew it. Or I was going to have to wear a nun outfit and carry rosary beads and whisper while I touched each one.
She was always pissed. She drove like she had road rage. I thought she was mad at Jesus for making her be a bus driver. Her rosary that hung around her waist made a noise each time she shifted gears. Which was all of the time. She ran a stop sign one day and we hit another car. I sat in the back of the van after that and got car sick because I could no longer watch the road.
I finally got to switch to public school, and that meant I would get to sit with my bff Ramaine on the bus every day. She and LeeAnn would walk up to my house and we would go stand in Dragovich’s driveway and wait for the school bus. We didn’t carry back packs back then, so we put our lunch boxes and books down on the driveway in a straight line, which meant we had a place in the bus line. I had a Beanie and Cecil lunchbox.
I was so excited to be able to ride on such a huge transportation machine. You could even fit three kids in one seat. Our bus driver was not that nice, however. I surely understand why. Kids are nuts.
When I was in junior high, I was kicked off of the bus for three days. My mom was furious with me. My friend, LeeAnn, who lived down the street, was kicked off with me, but I don’t think she was the main player. My bff Ramaine was kicked off as well, which would normally be the case, as we were always partners in crime. Even if we didn’t do something wrong, we would always be found at fault because we would still be laughing long after the particular episode. I think LeeAnn was, as Ramaine said, “Guilty by association.” Three in a seat and all. But, one of us had some styrofoam and it just happened to make an intense high pitched squeaking noise when placed upon the wet bus window. “Squeak squeak squeak.”
The bus driver yelled at us to stop.
Pause
Pause
“Squeak squeak squeak.” giggle giggle giggle.
And we were promptly thrown off of the bus. What the hell happened to getting three, maybe four warnings before punishment is inflicted?
I was pissed. I think the bus driver was mad at me anyways for puking on the bus so much. That’s another thing that I don’t envy about the life of a bus driver: cleaning up after motion sick urchins like myself. Every afternoon I would ask him to turn down the heat. He must have been cold natured, because the trip home was unbelieveably warm. He would just tell me to crack my window, which was too late for my churning stomach. And I would throw up. And I am serious that this happened at least twice a week. Ramaine would yell, “Vickie threw up! Raise your feet!” because you know, the vomit did flow like a river. Sorry. Since the bus driver wasn’t dressed like a nun, I finally realized that I indeed had motion sickness.
So, yeah, Ramaine, LeeAnn and I were kicked off of the bus. I am sure that drove the bus driver nuts. I behaved myself the best I could. Well, no I didn’t. We did weird stuff on the bus. We made up a poem, that started off quiet and then kept getting louder each time. I will insert my name into the saying, but we would take turn putting each of our names in it:
“Vickie Vickie two by four, couldn’t get past the bathroom door. So, she went on the floor. Licked it up and asked for more…..(louder) Vickie Vickie two by four, couldn’t get past the bathroom door. So, she went on the floor. Licked it up and asked for more…(louder)”
How weird we were. We would keep doing it until the bus driver yelled at us to stop. I can’t even imagine what he went through with us. Sure, I teach elementary school and I have the kids all day. But, they become different creatures once they climb up the stairs to the bus. I know, I’ve been on field trips with them. And I know, I’ve been one of those demented kids.
And my God, the songs we sang. This alone should have driven a bus driver to drink. We sang whatever we learned in school. And a song we made up about the Salvation Army. Some of the lovely tunes we sang over and over and over again were hits such as “Waltzing Matilda,” “Jump Down Turn Around, Pick a Bale of Cotton,” “Playmate, come out and play with me…..,” and my personal favorite, “I had a Little Driedel..” Riding the bus was so much fun.
High school kids still rode the bus when I was in school during the mid seventies. Only kids who left to go to an after school job were allowed to drive. We mellowed as we got older, but I did hear that our old bus driver didn’t fare so well. Now, I don’t know if this was a rumor or not, but we heard that old Jack either reached retirement and decided to pull a prank on the kids, or that old Jack lost his mind and went on one last bus run. I had just graduated when I heard he did this.
Jack approached each of his bus stops. He stopped, opened the door, and just before the first kid in line placed his foot on the first step, old Jack would laugh a crazy laugh, quickly close the door and would go to his next stop where he did the same thing. He did it with all of his stops.
Never to be seen again.
Fast forward many years, circa 1992. I now have two children. Adam is in school and he was supposed to get off of the bus twenty minutes ago. He is only six years old. The bus is extremely late. I call the school and then the bus garage. Where the hell is he? I immediately think that he was kidnapped by a crazed bus driver. I know how they can snap.
Adam finally got off of the bus forty five minutes late. He was laughing as he ran down the driveway.
“Mommy, mommy, the bus driver got lost.” Apparently there were only two students left on the bus and the substitute bus driver got lost somehow. But, that’s what my little red-headed sweet cherub told me. I then received a phone call to come into school the next day.
Apparently, my son decided to screw with the substitute bus driver, telling him to turn right here and turn left there. He had him on roads that really weren’t roads. Adam was having a blast. His friend, Tyler, however, was crying. The bus driver kept following Adam’s directions. A six year old kid. Who the hell listens to a six year old kid? They were going to kick him off of the bus for a week because of the prank, until his teacher spoke up and said that it was the substitute’s fault for not following the route left by the normal bus driver. Sheesh.
Well, Adam’s bus adventures were only beginning. He was kicked off the bus for fighting with Tyler, the kid who got lost with Adam. Adam apparently punched Tyler in the face. I was horrified.
“Adam, did you punch Tyler in the face?” Adam nodded.
“I had to Mom, it was the only way to get him to stop strangling me.” I guess they started fighting and Adam ended up lying in the aisle. Tyler was straddling him, strangling him.
The final time Adam got kicked off of the bus was for fighting over an open window. Adam wanted it closed. The kid in front of him wanted it opened. So, after arguing, and pushing back and forth, the bus driver threw them both off of the bus for two weeks. Two weeks? Are you kidding me? That bus driver was really fed up.
So, I came up with a plan. I called the parents of the other kid involved and asked if they wanted to car pool. I would drive the boys one week and they could drive the next. That would teach them to fight each other. The parents loved the idea and so we took turns driving our bus heathens to school each day.
In the end, I really feel for bus drivers. They have these kids lives in their hands, yet get dealt a terrible hand with misbehaved kids. It’s always been like that and will continue to be like that until duct tape and rope are applied to the mix.
You know the saying, “Absence makes the heart grow fonder?” Well, it’s true, especially when you are eighteen and quite stupid. My boyfriend, Rick, was a junior at Michigan State University, and I was a measly freshman, far away at Fairmont State College in Fairmont West By God Virginia. I missed him.
We started dating the summer after he graduated from high school. He was two years ahead of me, and my first real boyfriend. It sucked that he decided to traipse off to Michigan State for an education. I thought he was doing ok as a gas station attendant with a part time job during high school. But, alas, away he went. So, he was way over there, and I was down here.
Now, when I graduated from high school, my mom drove me up from Weirton to East Lansing as part of my graduation present. My bff, Ramaine, and her mom, Dora, went with us. How nice was that? I got to see East Lansing for the very first time. It was a beautiful campus. I also got a feel for the road since I drove part of the way. The trip from Weirton to Michigan State was about 340 miles. It takes about five hours and forty-five minutes to get there. And this part will be important very soon.
After I graduated from high school and was given a car to use while I was in college on the weekends, I began hatching a plan. Of course, it was a stupid plan, because I was the one hatching it. I missed my Rick and wanted to see him. Sure, I saw him over Christmas, but we had no place to be by ourselves. My house was a zoo. So, I decided to drive from Fairmont State to East Lansing, Michigan in February. Like, when it was all wintry and snowing. Yeah, that’s what I will do, I thought. I will drive up there for Valentine’s Day. After all, I really missed him.
Well, I couldn’t tell my parents. My mom would have taken away my gas card and maybe even the car if she knew I was going to drive seven hours and twenty minutes all by my lonely. It was nice having a gas card. And no, I wasn’t spoiled. I drove a rusty little Toyota that I creatively named Rusty and talked to the little rust bucket like he was a real person.
So, we made plans for our big Valentine’s Day weekend. A weekend just the two of us…in his dorm room. I was eighteen and was ready to travel by myself. So, I packed my bag, filled my car up with gas, and Rusty and I set off on a great adventure. I called my mom first and told her I was sick and I was just going to stay in Fairmont for the weekend. I was a liar, so this came easily. My roommate, Paula, was going to cover for me if my mom called my dorm room while I was gone. Cell phones were not invented yet. Which would have been nice.
I woke up quite early and headed out of town. I was hoping to arrive at Rick’s door around 3pm. I drove a few hours and was not nervous for the solo drive. I was excited. Sure, it was the middle of February and they were calling for 100 inches of snow, but I was in love, dammit, and would trudge through any sucky weather event to get to my Spartan. I was also a loon for what I was about to do.
I was near Youngstown I believe and stopped to go to the bathroom. It wasn’t lunch time yet and I was ok with gas, but I knew that my bladder would need to visit a restroom every two hours at least. While I was getting a pop, a guy approached me.
“Excuse me, but are you by any chance going to Detroit or somewhere near there?”
I saw the guy get out of a car in front of me when I pulled in. He must be trying to hitchhike to Detroit. Like an idiot, I replied.
“I’m heading to East Lansing to see my boyfriend.” That’s what naive eighteen year old losers say.
“Can I have a ride?”
“Sure.”
And I didn’t think anything of it. Except that he did look a little like Ted Bundy. He could have been Ted Bundy. He could have been Jeffrey Dahmer. John Wayne Gacy. The Youngstown Strangler. The Freeway Fondler. The Highway Hacker. The Toyota Torturer….Uh Oh.
Loser potential murder victim
We traveled about an hour and I don’t for the life of me remember our conversation. He sat beside me, wearing a dark grey wool jacket. I didn’t ask why he was going to Detroit. I didn’t ask him why the hell he didn’t have a car. Maybe killer hitchhikers don’t use their own cars because, um they are killer hitchhikers. It finally dawned on me that I may have just made a really terrible mistake. So, the guy started to creep me out. Maybe because he sat with his hands in his pockets and his coat collar up around the back of his neck. Why the hell do you have your hands in your pockets, Ted? We are in a warm car.
Well, because he had handcuffs in there, of course.
My imagination started doing a number on me, and I realized that I had to get this guy out of my car. Now, in all honesty, I don’t think he did adamn thing wrong. He just wanted a ride to Detroit and didn’t have a car. But, I had and still have a wild imagination and it went wild like a jungle monkey on crack. (???)
Plus, I was hungry. I think he was in my car for about two hours and I saw a diner that was next door to a gas station. This is where I would lose him.
“I’m going to get something to eat. I’m pretty hungry.”
He just looked at me. And then I started really getting creeped out. He didn’t say “ok” or “Good, me too” or anything. So, that only meant one thing.
He was going to kill me after I ate my cheeseburger with ketchup, large fries and a Coke.
We went into the diner and the weirdest thing happened. He went off and sat in a booth all by himself. That’s exactly what a highway killer in a roadside diner would do. He wouldn’t sit with his victim. Right? So, there he sat, looking at me while I ate. Waiting for me to finish…my last meal. I took a drink of my Coke and realized something.
My parents thought I was sick, lying in my dorm room in Fairmont, West Virginia. I could see the headline now.
West Virginia Coed Found Dead Behind Diner With French Fries and a Coke
I could see my mother’s face right now, wagging her finger at me. “Don’t ever give rides to strangers, Vickie.”
I had to lose him.
I ate half of my food and then looked at my watch. I knew he was looking at me, waiting to either continue our journey, or to kill me. So, I put my actress hat on and went to work. I got up and went to the pay phone and put a couple coins in it, and dialed a make believe number. Ted Bundy aka The Youngstown Strangler was far enough away to not hear my make believe conversation. I hung up the phone and walked over to him.
“I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to drive you as far as East Lansing……..my boyfriend just broke up with me…………….I’m going back home.” And I started crying. I was crying because I was scared. And mainly because I was stupid. But, really because I was a fantastic lying actress. I went back to my table and had the nerve to finish eating. The guy got up and started asking other customers for a ride. He left with two young guys.
The funny part about all of this is that I could not have been on that phone for more than a minute. How the hell does your boyfriend break up with you that quickly? And would you really hang up so soon?
“Hi, Rick. I’m in Youngstown. I will be there in about 4 hours.”
“Go home. I am breaking up with you.”
“Ok. Bye.”
That guy had to know I was lying. Of course, it was months later when that finally dawned on me. But, I’m not done yet. I wish it ended there at the diner, but it doesn’t.
I stopped in Toledo to get gas. And of course, I had to pee. I went into the bathroom and when I came out, guess who I ran into?
That guy! Ok, just kidding. I scared myself while I was in the bathroom, thinking the guy would have been traveling the same route. What if he was at this same gas station? I didn’t want to come out of the bathroom.
Well, I finally made it to East Lansing and had a wonderful Valentine’s Day weekend with my boyfriend. I left Michigan a little later in the morning than I wanted to. I wanted to get back to Fairmont before dark. That wasn’t going to happen.
The drive back wasn’t so bad. It was snowing, but snow was much more preferable than traveling with a serial killer. Really, it was.
I hit the Pennsylvania line and the snow was coming down a bit harder. It was about 10pm when I saw a guy on the side of Interstate 79, at the exit ramp, hitchhiking.
I picked him up.
I really did.
He was about my age. He was drunk. His friends left a party without him. He was trying to get back to Waynesburg College. He was funny and talkative and wanted me to come back to Waynesburg soon so he could buy me a few drinks.
I even got off of the exit and drove him the mile to the campus.
After I got back to my dorm room, I realized that I was lucky that I didn’t get killed. Twice.
And years later, I thought I would finally fess up and tell my mom that I drove to Michigan to see Rick. I didn’t tell her about picking up not one, but two hitchhikers, but I did tell her about the drive.
“Vickie, I knew about that. I was wondering how long it would take you to tell me.”
“How did you know? Did someone tell you?” How the hell did she find out? I didn’t even tell my sister or brother for a long time.
“Are you that stupid?” Well, uh, yeah, I picked up two hitchhikers, Mom. What do you think?
“You used your gas card. Do you think your fairy godmother paid for your gasoline?”
It didn’t even dawn on me about using my gas card along the way from Fairmont to Michigan.
So, yeah, my fairy godmother.
I do think I may have had an angel with me on that trip, though.
Because what I did was stupid and irresponsible. (My kids read these posts. I have to write this.)
The old saying, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, certainly holds true when it comes to imitating others. And you know that each one of us is guilty of imitating someone at least once in our lifetime. Or once a day, depending on what colorful people are nearby. Rather it be a friend, a boss, or a celebrity, we have somehow managed to mangle their voice, posture, or gestures for the amusement of others. It is just who we are. Some of us are pretty good at it. Some of us should probably not do it again. I am in the first group. Right up there with Rich Little. Really.
Rich Little, nicknamed “The Man of a Thousand Voices,” was and still is one of the greatest impersonators ever. He could imitate celebrities, such as Johnny Carson, Jack Benny, and my favorite, Richard Nixon. He had a vast repertoire of voices, and I was in awe of his talent. I was just a kid, but I tried it out myself. I stood in front of the mirror, trying to get the look and the phrase just so. I remember sitting in front of the tv, watching a Jerry Lewis movie, with my brother. The next thing you know, David IS Jerry Lewis. We were little and goofy, but it was one of the first times I remember imitating someone. I do remember David and I trying our best, “Whack-a-doo, Whack-a-doo” in our best Jerry Lewis voice. We sucked. But, boy did we have fun. You have no idea how excited I was to find this clip. This brings back such great memories of antics with my brother. Weird, I know, but that’s how we rolled.
Now, you have to understand that as a child of the sixties, we only had three television stations, so we had limited viewing options. We could imitate Lawrence Welk, Ed Sullivan, or Barney Fife on the Andy Griffith Show, and in 1965, we finally got Gomer Pyle. Everyone was imitating Gomer.
“Shazam…….Shame Shame Shame……….Surprise Surprise Surprise…………Golly.” Soon everyone was doing the Gomer. Then came Tarzan and Jane movies and everyone tried their best Tarzan yell. Carol Burnett even imitated it often on her own show.
Then came Johnny Carson, who was a wonderful impersonator. This clip of him impersonating President Ronald Reagan was hysterical.
I don’t get the impersonators of today. I guess there is a difference between an impersonator and an impressionist. I don’t want to go to a whole show with someone who is pretending to be Marilyn Monroe or Abe Lincoln. I am not talking about that. I’m talking about people who are on stage and can do many impressions. I did watch a great Michael Jackson impersonator at a resort in Cancun, Mexico, last summer. He was awesome, but it was free, part of the wonderful all-inclusive that I came to love. But, I wouldn’t have gone if I had to pay for it.
Every summer the little town that I just moved away from had a festival and hired an Elvis impersonator as one of the stage events. You would have thought that Elvis never left the building and was alive and well, gyrating to his sounds to the many swooning white haired women in the audience. I sat on my front porch, chuckling at the madness. Um, that is not really Elvis on stage, people.
Now, I do think I that Tina Fey did an awesome job impersonating Sarah Palin. Many of the Saturday Night Live actors throughout the years have mocked famous people. Chevy Chase, for example, did a great job impersonating former President Gerald Ford. Ford was a clumsy man, and Chevy Chase did a great job tripping and falling. Dana Carvey and Darrel Hammond were wonderful with their impressions of George Bush 1 and 2.
So, impressions are all around us. There is even one who impersonated a cat.
Penn or Teller doing Mr. Boots, the Cat- I get the two guys mixed up. The shorter, quiet guy was on an episode of Dharma and Greg years ago. This has got to be one of the funniest espisodes that I have seen on tv. I couldn’t quit laughing the first time I watched it.Great impersonation of a non human.
Ok, so that takes care of the famous impersonators. Normal, every day people think that they are great impersonators too. My son, for example, can do an awesome Kermit the Frog. He used to be able to do Mrs. Doubtfire when he was younger. He also tried to do Bill Clinton, but that ended up sounding like Mrs. Doubtfire.My ex thought he could do Tom Brokaw, but he just sucked. That’s why the clip of Dana Carvey doing Tom Brokaw when Gerald Ford dies is so hysterical.
But, throughout my life, I have impersonated many a celebrity. I entertained my sorority sisters and patrons at bars with my uncany impressionistic talent. Sure, maybe there were a few times that I didn’t actually remember doing an impression. Case in point. I performed my routine in Ocean City Maryland in 1977 and wasn’t even aware of it. I was lying on the beach, minding my own spring break business, when friends that we met up with the night before, laid their towels out next to ours.
“Vickie, you were so funny last night. Sing “Where the Boys Are again.”
Um, what? Say what? Looks like Little Vickie had more than three beers the night before.I guess I did all of my impressions with a high success rate. It helps when there are drunks in the house.
Here are some of the people that I thought I could imitate.
1. Rhoda Penmark-Ok, most of you have no idea who I am talking about. Rhoda Penmark was a character in the movie, “The Bad Seed.” I loved that role and watched the movie to the point where I knew all of her lines. She was an evil little girl, and I thought I had her down pat. Problem was, only my family and closest friends really knew who she was. It was a great movie.
”You better give me those shoes. They’re mine! Give them back to me!” Oh, yeah, I sound just like her.
2.. Paul Lynde- Ah, Paul Lynde, my favorite impression person. I loved Paul Lynde. He was funny as Uncle Arthur on Bewitched and hysterical on Hollywood Squares.He had an unforgetable voice. And his laugh was ornery. I sounded just like him. Of course, I only had one line I could repeat like him.
“You think it’s easy?” But, it was his laugh that I could do. I was good. Really.
3. Connie Francis’s “Where the Boys Are”- I can’t sing for the life of me, but I can belt out “Where the Boys Are,” and I guarantee I sounded just like her. Oh, I would oblige anyone anytime the first line of her hit song. I was Connie. The song starts at around 1:32.
“Where the boys are, someone waits for me.” Ta-da.
4. The Swedish Chef-I love the Muppets and could do a great Swedish Chef imitation when my kids were little. I entertained them so.
5.. The Mayor of Munchkinland-Ok, I’m not kidding now. I WAS the mayor of Munchkinland in our sorority rush events. I can talk munchkin like no one else. Really. I’m that good.You know how the munchkins sounded.
6.. Cousin Itt on the Addams Family- I know you are quite envious of my talent up to now, but my Cousin Itt impression was Dead on. I mean it.
I know what you are thinking. Yeah, I am quite talented. Thank you. I can also do impressions of Lisa Douglass on Green Acres, Peter Lorre’s “Yes, master,” Snoopy in Pain (a drunk favorite), E.T. phoning home, and I really should have tried out for the Afflac duck.
So, think about it the next time you make fun of your boss, or mock your mother-in-law. You are just being creative. It’s our nature to imitate.
After all, that’s how we got cubic zirconium rings instead of the real thing. Can’t really tell them apart, now can we?
One of the best games of my youth, Hopscotch, involved just rocks and a piece of chalk. The first time I ever played the game, I scoured the neighborhood for the best rock to use. Nobody had told me the first time that I played that it was important to have a flat rock. I showed up with a piece of gravel. Well, hell, I didn’t know. Most kids nowadays have it easy. A lot of playgrounds have the hopscotch board painted on the surface. Children use little bean bags or coins for the markers.
Well, when I was young (I’ve always wanted to say that), we didn’t use chalk half of the time. We used the edge of a sandstone rock to draw our pattern. We would then use a flat rock as a marker. To be honest, we never thought about using coins. It just never crossed our minds.We were tickled half to death if someone just happened to have a piece of chalk with them. Chalk was a luxury. I would have stolen a piece of chalk from school, but the nuns would have hammered my knuckles with a ruler and then let me know that chalk stealers always go to hell.
For those of you who have never played the game, Hopscotch is played on a flat surface, such as asphalt or a sidewalk. We used to play on my driveway. We had a great double driveway. You have to draw a pattern with a piece of chalk. There are many patterns to draw, and I think the one we used looked a little like this:
The object of the game is to win. How bout that? The rules are hard to explain, but I shall try my best. We will use my bff Ramaine as player1 and I will be player 2.
Ramaine would stand behind the starting line to toss her marker in square 1. She would then hop over square 1 and land with one foot in square 2 and one foot in square 3. She then continues hopping to the home square, which is like a safe place to stand and turn around, and then she would hop back again. Ramaine would pause in squares 2 and 3 to pick up the marker, hop in square 1, and then out. Then she continues by tossing the stone in square 2 and so on and so on. All hopping is done on one foot unless the hopscotch design is such that two squares are side-by-side. You must always hop over any square where a maker has been placed.
Tossing your rock into the first square was always quite easy, but I basically sucked after that. For example. if it was my turn to throw it in square #7, and it landed in #8, my turn would be over. And again, since I sucked at Hopscotch, I spent a lot of time sitting on the sidelines, looking at my rock.
So, while writing this post, I took a wrong turn and kept thinking about how much time I spent watching my friends play while I, Hopscotch loser, sat and waited for my next turn. I would most certainly toss my rock right on a line (which is a no-no),and once again, be sitting on the sidelines. So,I was wondering if this is what people sitting on a curb are waiting for.
Waiting their turn to play Hopscotch
Hopscotch losers at a Hopscotch parade of winners
Some mother brought these hopscotch losers cupcakes.
So, then I really got to think that perhaps, perhaps Hopscotch is actually a drinking game that somehow evolved into a children’s game over the years. So, I set out to do some research. What I found was startling.
Hopscotch was actually invented during Easter in Scotland in 1799. Drunk party-goers, bored with playing croquet, drew numbers on a tennis court surface and tossed rocks to see if they could land on the numbers. If they hit the numbers, they didn’t have to drink their scotch. If they missed, they had to take a drink, and hop like a rabbit, (you know, because it was Easter). Someone decided that there should be a border around the numbers, and Voila! Hopscotch was born.
Drunks invented Hop Scotch
Ok, so I lied. But, it could have happened that way.
All in all, Hopscotch was a great childhood game. I may not have been a great rock tosser, but I had fun, and isn’t that what really counts? I hope to play it again one day.
This time I will be drunk….and old. But young at heart.
Put down your purse, Vickie. No one is going to steal it.
I have to drive the back roads to get to my school each morning. You city people just have no idea. You can hop on the A subway train and just hold on until you get to your destination. Sure, you may have to walk up and down stairs to get to the subway, but it isn’t a real chore. A real chore is driving from the country INTO the country.
My drive to and fro is in what I call segments. There is one segment from where I live to over Manley Chapel Road to Route 19. Most of you have no idea what I am talking about, so just think small country roads with no berm and a bunch of dead deer on the side. One dead deer has his little leg lying right in the road. Move over, dead deer. Anyway, this segment is where I shall die, I am sure. The road is paved and the two lane weaves and turns and meanders up and down and around. And trucks really enjoy driving left of center. So, drivers on both side love to speed and take the curves like they are wearing a helmet and an outfit of corporations’ logos. Yes, this is where I will die, no doubt about it. I was hoping it would be in my sleep, but things don’t always go my way.
The second segment is a fisherman’s paradise…if one enjoys fishing in pot holes. The pot holes on Idamay Road are gigantic. I really think they could stock them with fish. This road climbs a little in altitude and this is where I lose my cell phone service at times. Every once in a while you will see a couple of parked cars on the top of Idamay hill, talking on their cell phones.
The third segment is the Farmington to Fairview Road. This is where I stop at Subway to get my 6in. turkey breast on Italian, provolone, little lettuce, little onion and 1 narrow line of mayonaisse about three days a week. They see me coming and start preparing it. How’s that for service? I also have someone pump gas for me at this intersection also. Segment three, not so bad. I don’t mind this portion of my daily drive.
It takes me higher in the sky and big hills that are not fun in the winter. But, this is also where I usually get behind old people drivers. I then cross the railroad tracks over a bridge and into the town of Fairview. Now, this is where I stop at the Dairy Mart. If you are ever in Fairview and stop at the Fairview Dairy Mart, watch where you walk, ok? Just warning you, because the coal miners who stop here after work for their bottle of beer really enjoy spitting out their chewing tobacco in the parking lot. It’s so much fun tip-toeing around it. I end then at my school and all is right with the world. I have made it another day.
But, today just sucked. Sucked, I tell ya. Because we had a little bit too much rain. Now, you have to understand, city people, that our county has a lot of streams that run beside our winding ass roads. I can get home several different ways. But, today’s drive home turned into a race to see what roads weren’t flooded….the worst.
It rained all damn day. I didn’t mind it, because at least it wasn’t snow. But, it rained. The windows in my classroom were leaking. I had kids running for paper towels so I can blot the long window sill. When I left at 3:45, I had no idea it would take me so long to get home. The first two segments on my return trip weren’t that bad. Sure there were a couple of places where the water ran over the road, but it wasn’t bad. I just remember thinking that the water was a bit high. I cursed as I hit the fishing pot holes, as they were hidden by the water on the road.
The third segment was a totally different story. First, I had to deal with rocks in the road. Many many rocks and mini landslides.
Many portions of this road where covered with rocks. This is farmland. You would not believe all of the flooding land. I saw some cows wearing life vests as they floated by. That farmer was thinking when he purchased those vests. Cowabunga, Dude.
This is where I started talking out loud. My “Oh my God” repetition first started like a Valley Girl remark. “And like, Oh my God.” But, the more my poor tires had to creep over small boulders (I laugh at my oxymorons), the more my “Oh my God” changed. I sounded like a damn pet store parrot. “Oh my God….Oh my God…..Oh my God…..Oh my God…..” But, really, “Oh my God.”
And then I came upon raging water. Crossing the roadways. What the hell? I mean, “Oh my God!” Notice, I am using an exclamation mark now. I had never seen it this bad before. What is crazy is that this road is not in a valley where you would think it would flood. Little pockets of rivers were now crossing my path. Ok, I just looked back. Maybe “raging” was a bit much. If it was raging, it would have taken my car. Wow, didn’t think about that.
Then, a traffic back up at the top of the final hill on Manley Chapel Road. Little cars had pulled over onto the berm. Oh wait, there is no berm on that road. Little cars stopped. So, some big trucks went around them. Those little cars knew something that I did not know. Oh shit. I mean, “Oh my freaking God.” There in front of me, at the base of the hill was a river crossing the road. Trucks were trying to get through it one by one. I was behind a Jeep. I was in a Santa Fe. The problem with that is that I FORGOT I was in a Santa Fe. I was in a truck.
I decided the best thing to do is drive like an idiot and hope I didn’t stall out. I rushed through it, holding onto the steering wheel for dear life. The water was spewing up by side windows. Muddy water. I got through! On the other side, a guy in a big pick-up smiled and gave me the thumbs up. He was impressed with my stupidity.
I didn’t take a picture of the Mississippi River crossing Manley Chapel Road. I was too busy with my hands planted 2 and 10 on the steering wheel, uttering, “Oh my God.” I finally got through and took the above picture. This is actually what it looked like in about seven or eight pockets on this section of road. Notice there weren’t any little cars in the photo. Because little car people have brains.
Manley Chapel intersection via Facebook Denise Gum Ice
After getting through several areas of more water over the roadway, I passed several homes that were surrounded by water. On Facebook, people were posting pictures of what it looked like in other parts of the county. It was unreal. Many people weren’t on Facebook because they were trying to stop the water coming down into their basements. I drove into a nice dry garage. I was home.
So, I am writing this, courtesy of a two hour delay we have this morning. I’m usually out the door by seven. Only four of the 55 counties in the state of West Virginia have a delay. It’s always nice getting that call in the morning. So, I thought I would sit down and write a post about my drive home before I head off on that same road, hoping that the small boulders (oxy) are now on the side of the road.
I guess I could have just said, “Oh my God, the roads were covered with water.”
You know, it’s really hard for a hyperactive kid to win a staring contest. It just can’t happen. Through the years, I have been asked if I wanted to have a staring contest, and my answer has never changed.
“Oh, hell no.”
Of course, I don’t really think I said that when I was ten or eleven the first time I was asked to participate in a staring contest. I am sure I obliged, ready to stare down my opponent. But, it never happened. It couldn’t happen. I did try.
The object of a staring contest is an easy one. Stare at someone without taking your eyes off of them. The first one who breaks the stare is a loser. A big time loser. So, of course, everyone wanted to play Hyper Girl. I didn’t know I was hyper at the time. My mom never told me. She just gave me a little green tranquilizer every day and called it my “car sick pill.” You’d think that with a tranquilizer digesting and spreading calm and coolness throughout my tiny body that I would be able to sit still long enough to win a staring contest.
“Vickie…you already lost…..Yes, you did. You just looked away!!……….Yes, you did………………..Yes, you did…….Wanna play again?………………..You did it again…………..Yes, you did. I win…….Vickie, you looked in my eyes for like ten seconds and then looked away………..Yes you did.”
So, this hyperactive child learned to hate staring contests. As I grew older, I was a side-line watcher….for a few minutes. They just bored me to death. I remember one time watching a neighborhood staring contest with some older kids outside at dusk, until I saw a spider spinning a web. I was mesmerized. What staring contest? And really, in the end, what is the big deal? It’s not like it’s an arm wrestling contest. At least that’s a physical challenge. A staring contest is just an eye control contest. Unless you had a lazy eye, drifting toward the middle, or you were hyperactive or you had pink eye and your eye was leaking, anyone could be in a staring contest. Most people can look straight ahead without moving their eyes. Big whoop. Picture the Hulk Hogan winning a staring contest, and then ripping off his shirt after the kill.
“I am so tough. I just beat someone in a freakin staring contest. YES! ….. Take that, Grandma!”
Staring contests have been around for a very long time. I think boxers have the best stares. They march up to their opponent in the middle of the ring, getting right in their face, and just stare. Pretty intimidating. Did you know Rocky Balboa was in a staring contest?
So, to me, staring contests were stupid. I stayed away from being in one or even watching one. Until many years later, when the chance arose once again. I was a mother, probably about forty-four. My daughter was a spectator that day, and I believe she may have been fourteen or so. I am probably wrong, but that doesn’t really matter. What matters is that I almost died that day……because of a staring contest.
The day started like any ordinary day. It was a beautiful summer evening. My daughter and I were outside, standing on the brick patio right beside our house. I loved that property. We had wildlife visiting our place every day. I kept binoculars on my kitchen counter so I could quickly check out a new bird, or the fighting neighbors. Never a dull moment.
This one particular summer evening was one for the memory book. I spotted a deer, standing down in front of our house, taking more than his share of the fallen apples. He had his back to us. Hmmmm.
“I bet I can sneak down real close to that deer.” I said to my daughter. She stayed at the top of the hill by the house. I realize the picture was taken in winter, but just humor me for a minute. The deer was beside the tree that I have noted with the red circle. I began my trek down the hill, moving slowly and quietly. The deer did not hear me. I looked back at my daughter, smirking at my agile stalking.
I got pretty close to the deer. He turned and was shocked to see this strange creature so close to him. I froze. He stared. I stayed frozen. He stared.
He then snorted and stomped his foot on the ground. I knew what he was doing. He had no plans to leave the plentiful bounty that was lying on the ground in front of him. Them apples were for him. I stared back, and then snorted and stomped my foot. I was wearing tennis shoes, so my stomp sounded intimidating. He snorted again, raised his hoof and kept it in the air, lingering for a few seconds, and then stomped again. I snorted and stomped again. I was winning this freaking starting contest. Ha! I finally will win one. Sure, it may have been against an animal, but a staring contest is a staring contest.
Shit. I took my eyes off the deer to look back up the hill at my daughter. When my eyes went back to the deer, he snorted and charged at me. Holy shit! I let out a scream and then ran like the wind. Luckily, I had just changed from flip flops to tennis shoes, or I would have been deer stomped.
I never ran so fast in my whole life. I mean, there was a snorting, stomping deer with unchewed apple in his mouth coming after me. I had no idea when, but I felt that he was going to tackle me from behind and kick me to death. So, I did the Forrest Gump thing and I ra-an. I made it to the top of the hill to greet my laughing daughter. She couldn’t quit laughing at me.
“Mom, I never knew you could run. Haahahahahhahahahha.”
Well, when you have a crazy deer charging at you, you really should move. The deer chased me halfway up the hill, but must have known by my pathetic “Monster is chasing girl” scream, that the apples were pretty much his. He went back down the the apple tree, knowing that he wasn’t going to be bothered anymore.
And for me, well, that was my last staring contest. Deer will win every time.
It’s bad enough that I have to go to Walmart once or twice a week, but throw in some smelly people, a guy talking on an obviously pretend cell phone, and children who need slapped, and I am beat. But, yesterday was a day like no other. Because, yesterday in Walmart, among the mystery smells and nose pickers, there was also…….a whistler.
I really don’t know how the general population views whistling. I have never asked anyone. Some whistling is great. For example, the opening song to the Andy Griffith show is a whistle. I used to like that. Didn’t bother me a bit. I used to sit down on the floor, in front of the tv, whistling along to the opening and closing credits. But, nowadays, many many years later, it grates on me to the point where I lose my mind. I mean, I lose my mind.
Years ago, when my children were quite small, we would go to Hills Department Store. I could always hear ”The Bird Lady,” even if she was on the other side of the store. It was that loud. She was like a damn mockingbird. I am not kidding. One bird call after another after another. There was no break. The first time I heard it, I had to search the person out. I thought it might be a guy. I was surprised to see an older lady with short hair and dirt under her fingernails. She was a farmer. I was sure of it. The second time I heard her, I smiled, and went on my way. She seemed to be there whenever I was. By the 6th time or so, I was ready to say, “Enough already.”
I think the whistling that sends me over the edge is what I call, “Jesus whistling.” I was in an antique shop several months ago, and the owner was whistling while I was walking through the rooms. The shop was on the first floor of an older home, so her whistling was right on top of me. She was at first attempting (notice I said “attempting”) to whistle, Bringing in the Sheaves, and then followed that successful tune with What a Friend We Have in Jesus. But, she was multi-talented, as she could switch from whistling to humming and back again. It was easier to know what the hell song she was trying to butcher. By the time I found my way out of her maze, I wanted to slap her and say,
“Jesus is not your friend.” I actually thought that shoplifting may have been justified that day just to get me the hell out of there.
“Hey, look what I stole out of an antique shop today because the owner was whistling.”
So, when I heard the whistling, I had to find out who was doing it. I thought it was a woman since the music was in the makeup aisle. Maybe the elderly bird lady was still alive, whistling her bird calls. Like Odysseus rowing toward the Sirens, I had to search this person out. But, no, it was an older man, clad in jeans, a jean jacket, sporting a beard and some stupid ass hat I can’t even describe. He wasn’t whistling a song or even bird chirps. He was whistling….nothing. Why would you waste your time inhaling and exhaling to exert sounds that sound like a monkey on crack was making them? Or a owl on crack. Something on crack. It pissed me off. It wasn’t even a song. So, I decided to get the hell away from him.
He followed me.
I went in the cat food aisle. I could hear him coming. I grabbed the wrong bag of cat food and left the area.
I then went over to pick up some wide ruled notebook paper for my classroom. Dammit, I could hear his off-key whistling. I felt like I was playing Marco Polo with a whistler.
“Shwee wee.”
“Polo.”
Nah, would never have worked.
No, I must note that I was in a SUPER Walmart. That means it is bigger than a BIG Walmart or in some towns, a SMALL Walmart. This is super big. Tall ceilings. I should be able to get away from Willie. Yeah, I already named him. Willie the freak of a Whistler.
Well, I did have a moment or two of peace while picking up my strawberry whipped yogurt in the dairy aisle. But, then I heard him. He somehow was in front of me in the aisle. Shit. He was hesitating by the juice. Hesitation means a break in whistling. This guy could not multi-task. That was good. I needed my mango juice. I had to open the door right in front of him. I reached for the juice, and was almost out of there, when he started again. Right in my ear. Freakin Dr. Seuss nonsense. If Dr. Seuss whistled, that is what it would sound like. What a goober. I put my mango juice in my buggy and looked right at him.
“Sure like whistling, don’t you?” I smiled.
“Can you whistle?” He sounded normal. He should just maybe talk more often.
I shook my head and immediately thought of Lauren Bacall.
He continued. “It’s real easy. I think I learned how to whistle before I learned to talk.”
I wanted to say, “And that’s all ya got?” But, I was nice. I smiled and just strolled away, until I was in the next aisle and then took off. I had to get the hell out of Walmart. I could not take it any longer.
I went to the furthest check-out aisle, fearing if he would be behind me in a long line and I would be stuck. That would be like a claustrophobic moment for me. And then I would surely lose my my mind. I even leave my classroom door open because I’m just not fond of closed in places. I do well on a plane…and in a public restroom. I just must be retarded. But, to be STUCK behind Willie the freak of a whistler would not bode well for me. I could hear the person over the loudspeaker now.
“Code DeltaDawn in checkout aisle 22.” That means, “older lady by herself just lost her mind.” Yeah, I’m well aware of Walmart’s codes. The main one is Code Adam.
I wish I would have had some backup with me. I wish Don Rickles, Jerry Seinfeld, Lewis Black, or Richard Lewis would have been with me. Or all of them. Add in Chandler Bing. They would have said something to him. They would have understood the absurdity that whistling is. But, it was just me and I could see the guy coming. But, wait. He didn’t have anything in his arms, and a lady with a buggy just pulled in behind me. I was in the clear. Everyone stared at him as he passed each check-out aisle. I looked at him and wondered if he whistled while he worked. Shit. He was coming my way. Shit.
Wait. Willie the Whistler has a wife. She was behind me with her buggy full of toilet paper. That’s why he didn’t have a buggy and he was just wandering around, whistling. Figures. Willie came and stood by her.
“Jack, stop whistling. You sound like a broken drill.”
And with that, he quit whistling. I glanced back at them and he looked beaten down, almost depressed. Poor Willie. I felt sorry for him.
I have been tagged. I didn’t know what that meant at first, so I headed over to Marina Sleeps to see what was up.
It isn’t an award. But, it’s almost like one. It’s a diversion! I don’t think people realize how these things are a great way to build readership and in the process discover some other really great blogs. I mean, not saying my blog is great, but you know what I mean. (My blog is great.)I really enjoy these things. I can get into this. So, here are the rules:
*You must post the rules.
*Answer the questions the tagger set for you in their post and then create eleven new questions to ask the people you tagged.
*Tag eleven people and link them to your post.
*Let them know you tagged them.
Eleven? Ok, I can ask questions all day.
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Here are the questions that Marina Sleeps has asked eleven bloggers and here are my answers.
1.What does the saying “Kicking ass and taking names” even mean???
When you see someone kicking a donkey, you need to find out who they are so you can turn them in to the animal cruelty people.
2. You are driving. Someone flips you off. What is the best reaction?
Ah, Olympic gymnast Mary Lou Retton’s mom flipped me off one time. She was in front of me in her stupid little convertible, looking at herself in the mirror when the light turned green. I had to honk my horn, and she flipped me off. I laughed and did the little motion with my index finger circling the side of my temple that means one is crazy, and she flipped me off again. The best reaction, however, is to hit them with your car.
3. If you could be someone else for a day who would you be?
Oh, that is so easy. Wait. Would I also be able to time travel? If so, I would be my grandfather, circa 1965. I would change my will to leave everyone out but my favorite grandaughter, Vickie.
4. What is the craziest thing you have done?
Ihave done so many crazy things. When I was in college, I was on the costumes crew for a play and we were not allowed to miss dress rehearsal AT ALL. If we did, we would get a cut in our final grade. Well, I was invited by a really nice looking guy to attend the Billy Joel concert that same night. So, over the course of two weeks, I became progressively sicker each practice (the director kept telling me to go home, but I told her I would be ok) The night before the concert and dress rehearsal, I told the director I just had a blood test to see if I had mono. She felt my forehead and told me to go home and that she didn’t want to see me for three nights. I went to the concert, and on the way home stopped at a club and Billy Joel was there. We had drinks with him and he sat at our table for about 45 minutes, and I couldn’t tell anyone. Karma bites me in the ass.
5. How will you survive the Zombie apocalypse?
Zombies have poor motor skills, so I would have to be faster than them. And that means, I will need GatorAde. Yes, electrolytes will save me. I would also hide out at a carnival’s House of Mirrors. The poor undead would be so confused. I would be able to get out and be on my way to my next hiding place. He would then forget what he went in there for.
6. Can you explain what is wrong with the Olsen Twins and Lindsey Lohan?
It’s a twin thing. Ashley Kate or Mary….Ashley Mary and Kate…..Kate Mary and Ashley…shit…wait…I can get this….Mary Kate and Ashley. Ok, Anywho, they have an identity problem. Remember, only one of them were able to be on Full House. Lindsey Lohan had to play two kids on The Parent Trap. Lindsey thinks there really are two of them. The Olsens think there should only be one. That’s why they are photographed standing so close to each other. They are trying to morph into one. Lindsey is a lost soul because she can’t find herself.
7. What deadly sin are you guilty of committing?
Oh, how easy is this one. Writers are vain. My deadly sin is Pride, the “excessive belief in one’s own abilities, that interferes with the individual’s recognition of the grace of God. It has been called the sin from which all others arise. Pride is also known as Vanity.” I think I am awesome. I’m so vain, I probably think this blog is about me…. Don’t I? Don’t I? Don’t I?
8. What is one song you are embarrassed to like?
I’m going to go with the first song that popped into my head…”I want a Hippopotamus for Christmas.” I can really sing this one.
9. What is a day in your life like?
Well, it is excitement with a capital E. Let’s take a weekday….a Tuesday. I get up at 5:30 and play on the computer until 6:10. I take my shower, get ready for work, talk to my cat, back out of the garage, drive through Hardees and order a butter biscuit and a medium Coke, drive 40 minutes on back roads, dodging stupid drivers who drive left of center, get to school, put the schedule on the board, after the rugrats come in, teach all day, only taking 30 minutes to have lunch with “The Lunch Bunch,” (best group of ladies ever), where we curse and bitch about the kids, drive to the gym on the way home, curse at the elliptical, stop at Subway for a 6 inch turkey breast on Italian with provolone, lettuce, just a few onions and one line of mayonaisse, and a medium Coke, go home, eat, get on the internet, do some house crap, and then watch New Girl at 9:00, talk to the cat, and then go to bed after talking to friends on Facebook. Fun times on a Tuesday.
10. Can you dance like John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever?
Uh, yeah. I was there.
11. What kind of child are you? 60′s child? 70′s child? etc etc?
Well, I was born in the mid-fifties. I was ten years old in 1966, and sixteen in 1972. I touched base with all of them. I am old. But, you could never tell because I look so damn young. Plus, I am vain. See deadly sin question.
Ok, that was fun. Now my turn to ask questions to the people I shall tag……
1. What one movie could you watch every day?
2. If you had to change your first name, what name would you fancy?
3. You just got kicked out of your country. You aren’t allowed back. What country would move to? Why?
4. You are only allowed to eat one vegetable for the rest of your life. Discuss.
5. You get to bring home a celebrity. Do with them what you want. Who would you bring home?
6. Name three adjectives that describe you best.
7. You have to pick one…cat or dog? Why?
8. You have just been chosen to be in the Olympics. And you get to pick any sport you want. What sporting event will you be participating in? For what country?
9. Pick an idiom that you would like my fourth graders to draw this Friday for Idiom Friday.
10. My favorite cartoon character was Foghorn Leghorn? And yours?
11. A two-part question: What is your favorite smell? Your favorite sound?
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TAG, YOU’RE IT!!!!! Answer the questions, and follow the rules. And if you don’t, I totally don’t care. People will click and come visit your blogs and find out what great writers you are, and will then follow you and write wonderful replies to your posts. And then they will find more blogs to click on and so it goes.
If your blog is not one of those up above, and you read this post and want to play along, just copy the questions and answer them in the reply. Don’t forget to put your link on the reply so we can visit your blog.
Ok, so I have done my part. Well, except for letting the eleven know that I tagged them. They will want to hug me, I am sure. Or throw rocks. But, in any event, I have done my part.
So, “Tag, you’re it!” And I am now sterilized forever.
When I was little, I had to look up words to see what they meant in a gigantic red dictionary my mom kept alongside our World Book Encyclopedias. I was never able to look up phrases like we can today on the internet. I was so curious about everything. But, you know, I used to have to be nibby and ask people about things I was curious about. I would have never met most of our neighbors if I had the internet and all the answers to my childish questions. “Mrs. Jones, why does that man drive into your garage in the middle of the night almost every night and then leave right before I get on the bus? Is that your brother?” Ok, just kidding, but I could have just looked up “What is an affair” into the google search engine that would have answered all of my questions. But, how lonely that would have been for me. I would have salivated over the opportunity to travel all over the freaking world without leaving my chair………. Um, like I am doing now at age 55…….. Shit. I am a loser.
I have to admit that I really enjoy reading all of the search terms that pop up every day on my Word Press dashboard. For those of you who don’t blog here, we bloggers are able to see what search engine terms brought people to our site. For example, I wrote a blog about a monkey, and tagged the post with words such as, “monkey,” “fun,” laugh,” and ”pet store.” Meanwhile, some stranger in Internet Land typed in the Google search bar, “monkey poop,” and it showed up as a search engine term. That internet person would be able to read my blog post if he wanted to, or just say to himself, “Well, hell, this is about a monkey on someone’s head. Monkeyshines Where’s the monkey poop?
Of course, I didn’t know the monkey poop question poser was from. But, since I have started blogging, I have seen bizarre search engine terms pop up. I’d like to share some of them with you. And my blog posts that brought them here.
1. Was Helen Keller black slave- This poor person has no idea what is going on in life. I wrote One Tough Cookie about several strong personalities. Helen Keller was one of them. I’m pretty sure she wasn’t a black slave. I also wrote Play Time, where I discussed how my bff, Ramaine, and I used to play Helen Keller and Annie Sullivan. I always got to be Helen. Bad Karma. My hearing is shot nowadays.
2. How old is a 1 year old pig- I got this one yesterday. I just don’t know where to start with this one. I guess a one year old pig is different ages. Maybe the searcher wants to know how old a one year old pig is in human years. I have no idea, but here, pig googler, read one of my pig blog posts. And This Little Piggy…., Guinea Pig Children and an early post, Feeling Like an Oinker-Pig
3. Billy Joel fat ugly- Aw, that is just so not nice. Where you looking for a picture of Billy Joel? Because what you got was this. Lies That Bite Back
4. Fish guts stains your teeth- Um, okay…I wonder what this guy has been eating. Evidently his teeth are now black. Or some color. I just shuddered…again. My story is about fish guts, but someone was wearing them, not eating them. The Fish Head Story. It is also the second hardest I have ever laughed in my life. That’s right. I have them numbered.
5. Can nuns carry guns- Uh, oh, someone is in trouble or planning to make a hit on Bingo night at the church. I have a lot of posts about nuns. I am afraid of nuns. I do think they carry guns. They keep it in a thigh holster. I’m pretty sure. But, while you are contemplating robbing Sister Betrille, sit awhile and read about my nun stories. Snakes, Gasoline, and a Nun, Vickie With an E, Edgewood, and one of my favorites, Bring Back the Nuns Arrrgh!
6. I have mosquito bite boobs 15- Oh, honey, I can relate. This blog post will not help whatsoever. But, I once was a mosquito bite boober. Sigh. Mosquito Bites
7. dirty potato- What was this person thinking when he searched for this? Maybe he forgot to wash potatoes before cooking and now thinks maybe bugs were all over them? I’m sure he is going to die. If you take your lap top to the Emergency room, you can read these posts while they take an x-ray of those dirty veggies in your stomach. Rats! is about how we fed a rat in our apartment to keep him from coming upstairs and eating our faces while we slept. Or try, Old Wive’s Tales, where you need to know the importance of washing behind your ears.
8. boogey man just called me- Ok, let me get this right. The boogey man just called you, and you get off the phone and google, “Boogey man just called me.” Wow, you are a brave soul. I would have run upstairs and hid under my bed. Which would probably not be a good idea, because that’s where the boogey man is. Dear God, I’m not going to be able to sleep tonight. I Killed the Boogey Man
9. Wont be fooled April 1- I used to be the Queen of April Fool’s jokes. But, someone finally got me. Got me good. So, April Fool’s Day google searcher, read this post and feel for me. D-I-V-O-R-C-E
10. catsup is catsnip- Ew, and my God you are stupid. The whole Ketchup/catsup scenario is mind boggling I know. I wrote a post on ketchp sandwiches, which is not the same as catsup sandwiches, which is somehow cat related, I was told. I should google it. Ketchup Sandwiches
So, those are just a random sampling of some of the search terms I receive each day. I really like the idea of how tagging can bring more traffic to my blog. It’s a great idea. But, the next time you want to search for something and you don’t want anyone to know about it, just know that we know.
Here are some more search terms that are just weird as hell:
*What is it when I have white stuff on my gums near my molars.
*pee in my snowsuit
*video girls in mud
*vomiting hid in nightstand
*the longest poop in the world
*ant bit lips
*detergent poison how to poison
*green snot infection
*stuck his tongue down my throat
*is eating paint chips still bad
*Hitler had son Jimmy Hitler
*armpit smells like garlic
*pet dead dog infreezer til ground thaws out bury
Yes, search terms are interesting, that’s for sure.
I remember the very first thing I did a search on when I got the internet……Wooly worms. Do you remember what you searched for?
Hi. I teach fourth grade in a small, country school in West Virginia. As some people know, that is in the western part of Virginia. But, we sort of are our own state. As a fourth grade teacher, part of my job is to teach Social Studies. Now, I realize that the textbook people only put in the books what they want to put in there, so my facts may be a bit off. But, my intentions are swell.
Today is President’s Day. Banks and post offices are closed today. Some schools are closed. I do think my garbage is going to be picked up this morning, but it’s nothing you have to worry about. But, today is the day when we honor George Washington. His birthday is February 22. Well, it is now called Presidents’ Day, originally known as Washington’s Birthday. Someone complained that since Abe Lincoln’s birthday is February 12, that they should be combined for one big hybrid of a birthday party. So, President’s Day falls on the third Monday of February. This year Presidents’ Day falls on February 20, 2012.
Ok, but that is not why I’m writing. I am writing today to the French people of France, Canada, and to the pockets of French people hanging out in New Orleans and any place called Louisville, to thank you for letting us have the opportunity to celebrate Georgie’s birthday. Your ancestors were nice people. Really nice people.
Now, you have to understand that I have to teach the textbook. Sort of. Sure, I let my kids know what a nut case Christopher Columbus was, and how Amerigo Vespucci may have told little white lies about his adventures, but I teach what I know. And I make up the rest.
The French basically came to the Americas for beaver fur. I guess. Maybe. Oh, my goodness, though, how they loved trapping! From what my textbook tells me, their route was mainly down the St. Lawrence River. The British, on the other hand, were swatting mosquitoes further south in Jamestown, years after a whole colony disappeared from Roanoke. The only thing left behind was a carving on a post or tree that simply read, CROA. I personally think they were trying to write, “Croak,” as in they all died. The last colonist, God love him, just didn’t have enough strength to write that final letter. Well, ok, I guess there was a Croatoan tribe nearby, so historians seem to think that is what someone was trying to write. But, you know, if one group disappears from the area, why would you try to go there again? Gluttons for punishment, those British were.
But, the first French explorers made friends with the Native Americans and learned all about hunting, fishing, and this will be important in a little bit, fighting. So, they hung out. Made hats made out of beavers. Meanwhile, the colonists are pushing westward. The Native Americans are pissed because their hunting ground is disappearing and they just really were tired of the colonists sneaking at night, stealing their crops because they didn’t realize that, duh, maybe they should have planted stuff when they arrived. The first colonists to arrive in the new land were not so bright.
To the French, the Ohio Valley was an important link between France’s holdings in Canada and Louisiana. The British saw it as an area for trade and growth. By about 1750, the French had moved to make their claim to the Ohio Valley stronger. They sent soldiers into the region to drive out the British traders. They also began building a line of forts near the eastern end of the valley.
But, both sides decided they wanted the Ohio Valley. The French began building a series of forts in the disputed land. In 1753, Lieutenant Governor Robert Dinwiddie of Virginia (the name always makes my students giggle), was pissed. He said this was like an act of war. So, he sent a young Georgie Washington with a letter to the French that they had to leave the area. How dare they build forts in the land that they wanted to eventully steal from the Indians. Washington headed over the Appalachian Mountains, all by his lonesome, and delivered the message.
He knocked on the fort’s door. (I’m making this part up because my textbook doesn’t tell me where he went when he delivered the message. So, you know, I am improvising.)
“Hey, um, yeah, hello…..My name is George Washington. I’m 21 and new to this. I have a message from Lt. Governor Robert Dinwiddie (the French giggled) Hey, um, you guys are going to have to leave. You can’t build forts in this area.”
“Go home, Georgie,” said the French guy who answered the fort door. “We are not leaving. Go away, you silly boy.”
Well, they could have captured him or killed him, but they let him go. They could have even laughed at him for coming such a long distance with no real back up, only to leave without even as much as a cup of coffee. So, Washington had to sleep somewhere, right? You see all those places that used to say, “Washington slept here.” Well, uh, yeah, because Dinwiddie made him travel so damn much.
Dinwiddie was not happy with the response from the fort building French. He sent a small force of soldiers from Virginia. Their orders were to build a fort at the Forks of the Ohio River, where the city of Pittsburgh now stands. Two can play this game, dammit.
Where the hell is the fort?
The Virginians had barely finished the fort when the French attacked it. The French drove off the Virginians and built a larger fort on that site. They called it Fort Duquesne, after some French guy named Duquesne. The French didn’t care for the Colonial look, evidently, and wanted a more Woodsy look to their fort. Unaware of the French attack, Dinwiddie sent young George once again to the Forks of the Ohio River to reinforce the Virginian’s fort. So, Washington didn’t know this, because his internet was getting spotty reception. He was all set to get to the fort with supplies, ready to make the fort pretty and maybe hang some curtains. Can you imagine if he actually got to the fort, and wondered why the key didn’t open the door? Or something like that.
So, Washington left Williamsburg with an army of 150 Virginians. On their way to the fort, the Virginians surprised a small group of French soldiers on patrol. Thinking “we might be attacked by considerable forces,” Washington later wrote, they built a makeshift fort that they called Fort Necessity. Because, well, it was necessary. Within days a large force of more than 600 French soldiers and 100 indian allies attacked Fort Necessity. Washington and his men surrendered in what turned out to be the opening battle of the French and Indian War. And guess what? The French let Washington and his soldiers return to Virginia.
“Go home, Georgie.” they said in a thick, French accent. (Ok, I’m taking liberties with the facts once again.) “Haven’t you learned your lesson, little boy? We are the French, and you are……not.”
Now, that makes two times that the French let George Washington go. They could have killed him. But, they didn’t. The next thing you know, Washington is fighting alongside Braddock. The French and Indian War. I don’t know why they called it this, because the French did not fight the Indians.
In April of 1755, General Edward Braddock was ordered to capture Fort Duquense. Oh, God, here we go again. He and more than 1,800 british and colonial soldiers began the long trip to the fort. He invited George along as an advisor. I mean, why wouldn’t he? George knew the route blind folded by now. Well, they made it as far as nearby Fort Necessity, when they met up with a force of about 900 French and Indian soldiers. Those damn French and Indians fired upon them from trees and boulders. What the hell? The British were used to open field fighting, so this threw them for a loop. They had never fought an enemy this way before. They “broke and ran,” Washington later wrote, “as sheep before the hounds.” We call that AWOL nowadays. When the battle ended, two thirds of the British were dead or wonded. Braddock was killed.
I should mention that the British should have caught on fairly quickly that bright red uniforms and a drummer making a racket would maybe give the French the heads-up that they were coming. Just sayin. Quit the damn rat-a-tat-tat, for God’s sake. You need to be quiet, stupid Red-coats.
It doesn’t say what happened to Washington after this battle, but he somehow managed to limp home. Was this guy lucky, or what? Some historians mention that Washington was standing close to Braddock when he was killed. It was just wasn’t a good day for Eddie Braddock.
So, French people, your ancestors could have easily killed Washington at least three times. But, they didn’t. If they had, we wouldn’t have the cool quote about Washington choppping down the cherry tree. Denzil would not have a last name. We wouldn’t have Mount Vernon. Washington DC may very well be called DC or Columbia District. Thousands of streets would go nameless. Washington, Pennsylvania, would be called Braddock or Necessity, or something totally different. There would never have been a crossing of the Delaware. Hell, maybe we would never be a nation because his army would not have been there. This is like It’s A Wonderful Life, starring George Washington as George Bailey.
So, yeah, thank you, French people, for letting me teach about Georgie Washington, father of our country.
This period of history is my favorite time period to teach. And I have my fourth graders write pretend thank you cards to the French every year after we study this.
If you give me an address maybe we will mail them for real.
Sincerely,
V. Mendenhall, fourth grade Social Studies teacher and occasional smart ass
We have become a society of abbreviators. Our words are abbreviated. Our actions are abbreviated. I’m sure everyone has heard the phrase,”as a crow flies.” That means a shortcut or diagnonally in some crow talking circles. And that’s what we have all become. We are crows. Well, that’s not all that bad. Sure, maybe crows enjoy pecking dead things on the side of the road. I know some people who are peckers. (She laughed writing that) But, all in all, crows are intelligent birds, and if they have found a shortcut home, more power to the them. God bless us, for being stupid. Crows don’t follow a road, Goofball Head. They don’t think in those terms. We do.
“Well, if I was a crow, I guess I would live diagonally about, um, 6 blocks over. Yeah, so I live 6 blocks from here……..as a crow flies.”
I was a smart ass when I was in college and replied to someone who said that with a “How close for a blue jay?” He just looked at me like I was stupid. I’m not stupid….. I’m a crow.
But, we have become a nation of shortcutters. But, it didn’t start with our generation. People abbreviated long before we knew what the hell “LOL” meant.
It all started with contractions. They are similar to an abbreviation, but not really. “Hey, Bob, You know, I’m getting tired of talking and writing. I think I am going to shorten my words. Do ya see how I already did it? I shortened ” I am” to “I’m.” It’s amazing how he took a very long word and shortened it. And that’s how it started. A very lazy man came up with a way for all of us to be lazy. We have a whole list of ass-long words that we have shortened into contractions:
it’s - it is
don’t - do not
you’re – you are
isn’t - is not
we’ve-we have
Who would not want to shorten their words? Who wouldn’t want to shorten their words? See how easy that was? I will get done with this post so much faster now.
Since I am a school teacher, I have noticed that buses are now shorter. Well, some of them are.There are short buses because, well, they are special. I will leave it at that.
Yes ,we have become oh so lazy. We can blame our great grandparents…………..and poets. Poets used “Tis” a lot. Like that wild party girl, Emily Jane Bronte:
‘Tis moonlight, summer moonlight, All soft and still and fair; The solemn hour of midnight Breathes sweet thoughts everywhere…”
And Edgar Allen Poe’s The Raven (Which is like a crow, but maybe even smarter.)
’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door; Only this, and nothing more.”
Tis means “it is”. Wait…. So does it’s. No wonder foreign people who want to learn English hate us. We have a screwed up language.
And we all know the famous, “Twas the Night Before Christmas.” Abbreviated.
Let’s take a look at some abbreviations that people used long ago and then some that we use now. Back then, people didn’t have the luxury to burst into laughter on paper like we can now. LOL
P.S.- This means post script, which I didn’t know for longest time. The term comes from the Latin post scriptum, meaning “written after.” When I was in elementary school and we first used P.S., I thought it meant like “Pssssssst, hey listen to this, there’s more.” My teacher never told us what it meant. It’s her fault that I got laughed at when I was in high school when I raised my hand to answer, “What does P.S. mean?” with a “Pssssssst.” I think I was called a space cadet….. No, I was a crow.
RSVP- Hey, we need to hear back from you. Respond soon veryplease. Or something like that. That’s what I said it was. Again, not my fault. Sucky teacher. RSVP comes from the French phrase, répondez s’il vous plaît. I know French very well and translated, it really means,” respond with your plate.”
TNT- Pulled this one out of my hat, didn’t I? Well, I thought of TNT only because I grew up with it. Wile E. Coyote lived at my house and was always trying to kill the Road Runner. He had a bunch of Acme products to use on the little speedy bird. “TNT” was written on the box.
I had no idea what TNT really meant. It was dynamite, but not really. You light the string and things blow up. TNT actually stands for trinitroluene. Nobody cares about that.
lb- pounds. This abbreviation just pissed me off. It makes no sense whatsoever. It should be pd. Everyone knows that. I remember getting this marked wrong when we had a measurement test in fourth grade. I remember it because stupid Miss Emler wrote on the board, “John weighs 200 lbs.” She wanted to show how pounds is abbreviated in a sentence. Well, I missed that part because I was thinking about this imaginary John fellow, and was hoping he was not in fourth grade somewhere. Totally missed the point and missed it on the test. Fat John kept me from having a perfect paper, dammit.
Boo- Right now I am teaching my fourth graders about the events leading up to the Revolutionary War. We read about how people gathered in the streets of Boston, yelling, “No taxation without representation.” The British to tend to make a few words into pages of long words, and it spilled over to their descendants. So, I had my class chant that phrase three times. You could not tell what the hell they were saying. It sounded like mumbled gibberish and they knew it. That’s when my lies kicked in and I told them how that phrase evolved over years to be. “Boooo” when we aren’t happy with something. Makes sense. We Americans shortened, “We are mad as hell, and we don’t like this one iota” to “Boooo!” Means the same damn thing, only shortened. Boo isan expression of disgust, dissatisfaction, or disapproval.
XL- Sigh. Extra Large. You know, this sucks. Why doesn’t it just say on the label, ”Bigger than Large.” It would make us previous size 0′s feel better about gaining 5 pounds every freaking year to the point where you have to wear an XL and draw pictures of pigs to put on your refrigerator in an effort to keep you from eating. One last sigh.
tv- Easy one. Short for television. I don’t think anyone ever says television anymore. “I think I will watch television right now.” Nope. Doesn’t work anymore. “We are heading to Walmart to buy a new television set.” (Thought I would try it one more time. Still doesn’t work.)
IQ- “He has the IQ of a worm.” “He has an intelligence quotient of a worm.” Well, I did feel smarter writing the second one. The only time I use the word quotient is when I am teaching division and I don’t use it that much becauss they have a hard enough time dividing.
St.- I don’t know about this one. Why would anyone abbreviate a saint? It’s like taking away their sainthood. Right, Saint Christopher? Saint Christopher was the patron saint of many many things, such as athletes, mariners, and travelers. He was against lightning, pestilence, bookbinders, epilepsy, floods, and um, fruit dealers. I’m really not making this stuff up. I wonder if a fruit dealer didn’t give him the correct change or his watermelon had too many seeds. You just can’t trust fruit dealers.
I.O.U.- No brainer. I owe you some money.
Yes, we are a society of abbreviators. And we are also shorter than usual. Our height is indeed, abbreviated. Studies show that we are getting shorter than our hunter-gatherer ancestors. So, everything is shorter. Except for maybe skirts. They were at their shortest in 1974. I know, because I wore one of them. You could not bend over.
So, go ahead and head home as a crow flies. RSVP to a friend’s wedding. Wear high heels to make you taller. Sit in front of the tv and watch your favorite show. Write a poem that starts with Tis. Call a married woman, Ms. or an unmarried woman Mrs. and see if they correct you. You can get short changed at the fruit dealer like our friend, St. Christopher. Abbreviations are all around us.
Valentine’s Sucky Day is approaching, and you know, I am just not a fan. I don’t think it is because I am Valentineless. I was married 25 years and dated Magoo for five years before that. So, I had a valentine. But, not really. He never called me a term of endearment. Well, he had one. And I will get to that later.
When you are young and you are falling in love for the very first time, the little things that your partner calls you are endearing. Well, actually, you can be any age, really, since love is love no matter how you look at it. The only things that are different are the names that you call each other. Well, and the gifts that you receive. Sigh. See And That’s Why I Hate Valentine’s Day
Who doesn’t want to be called, “Sweetie?” It’s one of my favorite terms of endearment. I use it when I talk to my son and daughter. “Hey, Sweetie, how ya doing today? When my daughter, Alex, was little, I would call her Boobah. I call my cat, Whiskers, Bubby. I don’t know why. She doesn’t look like a Bubby. What the hell is a Bubby anywho? It just sounds loveable for some reason. I was never called Bubby. But, terms of endearments for children and pets are different. It’s cute. When you are in love, that little “Hi Cutie Pie” or “Good morning, Angel” touches your heart. Nothing touched mine. Well, he called me “baboon” once in a while. Baboon. Like I was an ape. A hairy ugly ape. I didn’t understand. He said it with love, I guess. But, what kind of baboon? I never asked him. He was throwing me a bone, after all. I mean, why did you call me, “Baboon,” Magoo?
I mean, was it because you thought I was pretty? Baboons are pretty, right?
photo via msnbc.com
Was it because I was vocal and spoke my mind?
Or was it because I was friendly and never knew a stranger?
Or maybe you thought I looked good, lounging by the pool
I must admit, I did have a nice butt.
I just couldn’t figure it out. It just came out of the blue one day when he came home from work.
“Hey, Baboon.” Um, hey……..Chimp? What the hell?
But, he never called me “Sweetie.” Not even once. He would call me Vickster or Vickie Rooney, and that’s about as sweet as it got. I don’t know, maybe deep down, maybe that’s why I hate Valentine’s Day. Call me something sweet, dammit.
My favorite all time television show was The Dick Van Dyke Show. I just really thought Rob and Laura Petrie really loved each other. The first episode aired in 1961. I was young when I watched the show, but remember being confused when my mom told me they weren’t really married. What??? Um, they slept under the same roof, and there were double beds in the bedroom to prove it. I don’t know. They just really looked into each other’s eyes. I wanted that. I remember Laura used to call Rob, “Darling” all of the time. The word just rolled off the tip of her tongue. Almost every episode ended with her sobbing, “Oh Robbbbb!” And , you know, they had that kid, Richie, but I don’t think they really loved him. He was just there.
I was at Walmart one time and I heard an older man call his wife, “Buttercup.” And she just smiled the biggest smile. They had to be in their seventies. I wanted to hang out in the aisle to see if she called him anything. I had a few I thought she would probably use, like “Dear” or “sweetheart.” Those were older terms of endearment. Actor Matthew McConaughey seems to call women, “Darlin” in some of his movies. Just like the character, Andie, in How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. She used great words of endearment, such as “Benny Boo Boo,” “Sparky,” and when she tells Ben, “I love you, Binky…..but I don’t have to like you right now.” Great quote.
As I googled “terms of endearment,” I found a forum from 2003 where people were posting their terms of endearments. Some of them were quite personal. And some of them were quite funny.
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“I used to be her Chipmunk and she used to be my Angel. Now she’s that Bitch that ruined my life and I’m the Asshole who didn’t understand her or her needs.”
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“Sir….but then I have issues.”
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“He calls me “love” or “baby”–I call him “honey” or “baby.” Sometimes I’ll call him “darling” in a joking sort of way. For example: “darling, love of my life, fire of my loins… why are your dirty socks on the kitchen table?”
“I call her “sweet fart”
She calls me “duckling” (phonetically, “duck ling” means “monkey’s ass” in Thai.”
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“I call her “my little pumpkin”…or kumquat…or other fruit. Or “My love” or “honey” or “Blender”
She calls me “dearest” or “Stud.”
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“After calling him a doodle bug once, he called me a rhinoceros beetle.”
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In a pinch? Don’t know what to call your true love? It should just really roll off the tip of your tongue. You can try:
Angel, Daddy, Angel Face, Boo, Apricot, Babe, Peaches, Baby Cakes, Baby Doll, Baby, Beautiful, Bella, Honeybun, Cutie Patootie, Dumpling, Doll, Sweet Cheeks, Snuggle Bunny, Hon, Sugar, Princess, Snookums, Cupcake, SweetHeart, Pumpkin, Sunshine, Muffin, Precious, and if you have no brain, Cuddly Wuddly.
So, yeah, Valentine’s Day is just around the corner. Buy your love a gift. Oh, it doesn’t have to be much, because in the end, it is all about love. Just love. Hand the little token of love to her/him and add a little term of endearment.
Ok, this was before my time….but we had those desks.
My literary debut….. Amazon.com for $3.99. It’s sort of funny.
Rocky Point-Rhode Island
Flooded after Katrina
2011
8. Animals I Like
Where the hell is the fort?
