Do You Remember?

What is your very earliest memory?

Mine is an image of my mother carrying me early in the morning to my babysitter’s house. I wasn’t very old, perhaps not yet two, so I have a feeling that my memory is a conglomeration of many mornings of being carried; the repetition, as well as the feelings of warmth and love, firmly embedding the experience in my mind.

Studly’s earliest memory is of his mother trying to help him get over a case of the croup with a concoction of honey and whisky. He doesn’t recall how old he was, but he’s certain he wasn’t school age yet. I wonder, was it his mother’s love or the whisky that made the experience memorable? At any rate, he hasn’t had croup in years.

It isn’t surprising that for each of us our mothers play such an important role in our earliest memories. I would imagine that is most often the case, with memories of fathers coming in a close second. I could do some research, but who has the time for that? Unless, YOU could help me! Yes, YOU!

What is your earliest memory? (Notice how I made my first sentence work as my last sentence, as well?)

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Will she remember this epic Christmas of 2014?

Peace, People!

Back in the Day

This post was inspired by my good friends Guy and Janice who have for years regaled their grand kids with hilarious tales of fantastic adventures of their early lives–none of them true.

“Back in the Day”

Back in the day
Before I was old
I used to go prospecting
For silver and gold.

Back in the day
When I still had my looks
I often went dancing
With gamblers and crooks.

I joined the circus
And flew the trapeze
Climbed tall buildings
With the greatest of ease.

Back in the day
When I was still fit
I ran a marathon
And never once quit.

I scaled the Matterhorn
And swam down the Nile
Jogged up the pyramids;
That took awhile.

On African safaris
I traveled each week
Even tamed an ostrich
With a 30 foot beak!

You see, back in the day
I could almost do it all
But then just maybe
This tale is too tall.

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Onomatopoeia

Okay, I was in a super silly mood this morning. Please bear with me!

Growl, snap, pop,
Crackle boys!
Buzz, snip, growl,
Gasp, gulp guppies
Pssst, whoosh,
Whew! That was close!
Plip, plop, ploop!
Gurgle down the drain,
Slurp, splat, whisper
Sweet nothings.
Crash, bang, boom
Bombs bursting
That’s rare!
Ribbit, croak, burrrrp,
Excuse you, dear.
I don’t know about
You-a, but
Every bit of me-a
Likes onomatopoeia.

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The Great Non-escape

I’ve always thought myself a capable problem solver. Recently, during our Family Christmas Rendezvous to Nashville, I had the opportunity to test my capabilities.

My son-in-love, Stephen, found a website for a place called, The Escape Game (www.nashvilleescapegame.com), a place where participants are locked in a room for 60 minutes. To escape the room before time runs out, a series of puzzles must be solved. Correct solutions to each puzzle result in the group’s being given a key or code to exit the room.

There were ten of us in our family group: Studly, Stephen, our daughter Ashley, our son Jason, granddaughters Dominique (12), McKayla (10), and Harper (2), and grandsons Garrett (12) and Jackson (8), and me.

Going in, I was pretty confident that we could solve the puzzles in the 60 minute time frame, even though the percentage of escapes from this particular room was 46%. The room resembled a pre-k classroom complete with slides, a chalkboard, and colorful carpeting.

The game started with an employee explaining the rules. Once he left, the timer started and we got down to business. Now we signed an agreement to not divulge anything that went on in our room, that is, I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you, but I will say our group would have been better served by holding a brief organizational meeting before we began problem solving. Instead, we scattered and began working on puzzles that appealed to us.

I found one and quickly figured out the way to solve it netting us three components of the code. We needed 50 total. No problem, we were on a roll. Only 47 to go, right? Unfortunately after finding those three I was pretty much a zero–the kind of woman who gets eaten by zombies on day one of the apocalypse.

The biggest assets of the day were the grandsons. They each solved two tough puzzles garnering 20 or so components each. The rest of us made small contributions. Mine came mainly in the form of making sure the two-year old didn’t scatter the ones we’d uncovered.

With three minutes left on the big clock we had all the components necessary to solve the puzzle. Pure panic mode set in as we attempted to arrange them correctly before time ran out. We came so close. Alas, no escape!

But what fun! I certainly recommend The Escape Game if you find yourself in the Nashville area. I’d go again, but I’m not sure anyone in my family would want me as a teammate.

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Timberrrrr! Again

I fell this morning.
On my way to fetch
Clean water for the cats
I spilt a few drops, slipped,
Went splat!

The slow-mo footage did not
Play this time.
The fall was fast and furious
Like a Hollywood film,
Only less sexy.

Water puddled ’round me
Subjugating me to its wishes.
Literally, I had fallen and
Could not get up.
Somewhat feebly I called “help!”

The cats scattered, ostensibly
For first aid.
I sat cataloging my injuries
Thanking God that I
Still bounce a bit.

I scooted on my derrière
Until I reached the rug.
Managed to grasp the
Counter and pull myself
Up. Slowly.

Surrounded by water
No towels in reach
I moved inch by inch
Using the rug as my
Conveyance.

Now my elbow hurts
Like a son of a gun
From clipping the counter
On my way down
Down, down.

Somehow I managed to
Ping pong between the
Kitchen island and the
Cabinets, bruising both
Hips symmetrically.

My lower back, my
Ass and shoulders
Protest the insults
Heaped upon them
Once again.

And Studly, when he returned
Could not resist
Lecturing me on my
Lack of awareness.
Asshat.

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Job Hunting

Let me preface this piece by saying I really like what I’m doing–working with second graders is so much fun. Now, that’s out of the way: I NEED to find a different job.

When I went to work for my current employer it was with the understanding that it would be a part time position, and technically, it is. I actually work only three hours each day; however, those three hours are 8:30-9:30, 12:30-1:30, and 3:00-4:00. Do you see the problem? My part time job takes up my entire day!

I’m ready to find another part time position even though looking for a job is one of the most stressful things I can imagine. Dusting off the old resume, remembering names of folks who are willing to vouch for me, actually making eye contact with new people. Aargh!

I’m open to suggestions. Studly says I should do something fun, but when I hinted that I’d like to volunteer at the animal shelter he gave me a really stern look and told me, “no more pets!”

Craig’s List had a few interesting listings, but I don’t think I’m qualified to be a surgeon or a used car salesman. Or an exotic dancer.

Anyone out there looking to hire a slightly demented former teacher with decent typing skills? Serious inquiries only. 😉

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Thanks Ms. Taylor! That’s good advice

Peace, People!

Only 93 Views Short of My Best Month

Why do the stats on my WordPress page fascinate me so? I’m not a competitive person, but as my day and month draws near to a close I find myself 93 guess short of making this my best month ever. IMG_1971.JPG

That’s me. It feels impossible, but I can at least try! C’mon people. View me!!!

New Year’s Eve for Old Folks

At my chiropractor’s office this morning the young assistant excitedly asked, “So what are you doing for New Year’s Eve?”

“Oh nothing,” I said. “My husband and I will probably stay in, watch a movie, maybe drink a toast at midnight, if we even make it up that long.”

“How awful!” she said. “That sounds so sad.”

“Actually,” I told her, “A quiet evening sounds like tons of fun to me.”

She gave me a pat on my hand as if to say, “you poor old lady.”

Not too many years ago I’d have had the same reaction. After all, isn’t New Year’s Eve tailor-made for partying? When did that change?

Was it during the years when our children were young and we knew that the sleep we missed on New Year’s Eve would not easily be recouped?

Did it change those years when Studly was working shift work, and we spent the big night in separate locations?

Or did it happen when we realized how bad we felt after a big night of partying, and how long that feeling lingered?

Chances are it was an accumulation of causes. At any rate, one would have to drag me out of my home screaming and kicking on New Year’s Eve.

Unless there’s dancing. I’m always up for dancing!

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Cat Nap

I sat down to read a good book this afternoon. First Scout joined me and insisted I put down the book so she could lay on my chest. She might have been a scarf in a past life:

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Then Patches climbed into my lap. She is much more subtle in her approach, and had to wait until her sister settled down before claiming a spot:

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So both cats are now sleeping soundly. Meanwhile, I’m wide awake, covered in cat hair and perspiration. I can’t move without disturbing either cat, so I’m trapped. And I wouldn’t change a thing.
Here’s to cats! May their love and warmth surround and comfort you. I need to sneeze!