Miss Agnes turns the big 1-00

I've written before about my Golden Girls, the old ladies whose hair I fix on Fridays.

It's a pretty poorly paying gig...but hey, some body's gotta do it.

It is a labor of love as old ladies are one of my passions...

yep, I love me some old dolls, almost as much as I love perfume and teenagers.

In a mind such as mine ideas flow in

and ideas flow out..

sometimes all within a second or so of each other.

In a mind, such as mine, ideas that linger often take on a life of their own and become so big. so intricately complicated that they almost make me feel like my head is going to explode.

Or spontaneously combust.

Or maybe just short circuit and shoot sparks.

I get consumed with the orchestrating and the imagined implementation of my idea.

My plan grows more grandiose by the minute.

And then. the same thing that happens all time, happens.

I think to myself (and sometimes say out loud) why in the holiest of hells (I know, I know, odd word choice, artistic rights and all that jazz) didn't you think of that earlier...???

Why

why

why didn't you think of that earlier ???

Why didn't you give yourself more time to do whatever it is that you wanted to do?

Why...?

(dumn azz)

Because now, there is nooooo way that your plan can ever work.

I hate that my mind and my over active imagination sets me up for failure.

Well maybe if I wasn't so negative, so incredibly pessimistic about my plans chance of success...?

hmmm,

what if I threw that plan out to the universe and the universe helped me along...?

what if..

what if

what if I did that...?

Well, I'm going to toss that thought out there and just share my plan with the universe (and you).

One of my Old Dolls, Miss Agnes, is turning 100 on February 22.

ONE HUNDRED.

So "with it" is she that she dials and talks on a cell phone to her son who lives in Texas.

And she asks me every single week "so hows the kids?"

She remembers that Bear is in college, and that Googie and Trouble just married. She remembers that Mrs. Buttercup's mother is sick and she remembers to tell me that she remembered to say a prayer for her and for the rest of the family as well.

When Daddio got laid off Miss Agnes told me all about her (and her husband's) survival of the Great Depression, her experience told me that survival was an option.

When I just couldn't bear to let Googie spread her wings and fly off to her own nest she agreed with me that it is hard to let a daughter grow up and move on.

She told me how good going away to college would be for Bear.

How worldly he would become, but also, that he would not ever forget where his roots were.

She also tells me that she never experienced hot flashes, and so I must not be eating enough prunes or spinach leaves...

The other day when I realized that Miss Agnes' birthday was just around the corner I started thinking about how much I liked her and how fascinated (and lucky) I was that I had a bff that was a freakin century old.

She and I have talked about a birthday treat and she requested a chocolate/chocolate cupcake with purple flowers on it...

that is easy enough to do.

But I wanted to do something to make her really know how special she is to me...

She has pretty much all the worldly goods a 100 year old person could desire...

a comfy lazy boy, a lap blanket, a filled candy dish, a leg excersiser and a remote control

and she has a loving, devoted family.

She loves to read and she loves to open mail and so while swishing around ideas in my head my brain swirl happened upon the brilliant idea of gathering (AT LEAST) 100 birthday greetings for Miss Agnes.

(of course, I never gave it much thought that I may be having to stand outside the grocery store and the bank and ask total strangers to sign a card, a note, something (ANYTHING) for my 100 year old friend)

Stupid me...

So hey, could you help a brother out here and send me an email greeting wishing the delightful (and beloved) Miss Agnes a "HAPPY 100th BIRTHDAY.."

Could you send it to me at bethkoby(at)gmail(dot)com?

Would you do that for me please?

If you would (be so kind and generous with your time and your typing fingers)....

I promise to...

1. Copy what you wrote on a nice sheet of paper (maybe even some colored stuff).
2. Hand deliver it to her.
3. And, never, ever put your email address on a list to receive my annual Christmas Letter or sell it to one of those online pharmaceutical companies that sell Viagra for dirt cheap.
4. I swear, my word is good.


Happy Valentines Day...

xoxo

As luck would have it....

Jenny Matlock over at off on my tangent has been handing out writing assignments for an unbelievable 93 weeks. Jenny hands us a prompt and the devoted followers that take her challenge are asked to write something using the prompt and a couple of extra words, the number of  extra words this week is 100 (plus the prompt, which I've placed below in BOLD italics) All are welcome to participate.

It's been a long time since I've joined the fun, today, I just couldn't resist.

My story is a nod to one of my favorite fictional characters...the young and delightful Harriet, from Harriet the spy, a children's novel by Louise Fitzhugh that was published in 1964.

I was fascinated by Harriet and her escapades and if I could go back and do it all again it would be holding a composition notebook and a Ticonderoga pencil (or two) to accurately record every single minute.

Thanks for reading...

Harriet arrived nice and early. A carefully chosen curb seat would provide up close access, of utmost importance from a reporting standpoint. When she heard the wedding was at the firehouse she knew where she’d be Saturday afternoon, 12:00 sharp. Her black and white marbled composition book rested patiently on her lap.  Soon, Harriet busily recorded word for word the ceremony, the vows. Just as they were about to kiss Harriet began to choke on a chunk of pink eraser she’d accidentally bit off and swallowed. She later had her picture professionally taken with the groomsman who saved her life. 

Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart. ~William Wordsworth

A small wager...

My son, the Sweet Prince Buttercup is blessed with handsome looks.

His light blue eyes are the first feature people usually notice.

A set of straight, bright white choppers and some puffy lips and you got yer-self what I call a "pretty boy".

Over the years that I've been working with juvenile offenders I've had a couple that remind me of my son.

They have a certain something that is familiar to me

Either they possess similar good looks or maybe it's the way they carry themselves...

whatever it is, it almost always guarantees that I'll instantly feel a connection, a like, to that certain youth.

My current Thursday night class has a such a kid.

He looks like a young (pre-whatever that tabloid frenzy that hit some years back) Rob Lowe.

His eyes and his teeth look just like Buttercup's.

His worker called before the first class started and asked a favor.."mother this one a bit more than the usual" he requested "he really needs it".

It was piece of cake seeing as mothering him felt almost as easy as mothering my dear Buttercup.

He lapped up the attention and has ( over the course of a couple of classes) blossomed into a full blown well behaved, polite and helpful, good kid.

Yesterday we were making homemade spaghetti sauce.

He wasn't much liking that I requested that they all wear aprons.

He flatly refused asking me to guess how much his "saaa-weet" outfit cost.

"I don't want to hear any boo-hooin when your clothes get all spaghetti sauce splashed" I tell him when he continues to resist.

"That perdy outfit is going to be worthless when it's splattered with red stains." I caution, trying to sway him to obey.

He doesn't budge.

Then he talks me into a wager.

(I know I shouldn't "bet", but I can't help myself)

I say he owes me 50 cents if when he comes out of class with stains, he ups it to a buck he'll pay me, confident he will come out clean.

Game on pal.

We even shake on it.

We had 10 youth in class last night, that's a whole lotta loveables at one time. They were crowded around the four working stoves.

The betting loveable was cooking next to two girls and was managing to stay sauce free.

When I'd check in with his group he'd turn and puff out his clean chest to show me.

"See ma, no stains"...

"Yikes" I say "I may have to borrow a buck".

They all comment on how I don't (and shouldn't) bring a purse to class.

The betting loveable's worker comes in to check on his progress.

I tell him of our bet.

He frowns and says "Beth, should you be teaching the kids about illegal things like making bets?"

"Walk on by" I tell him "walk on by".

After the worker is done checking out our class and his client(s) behavior he says a few things more and then leaves with "have a good weekend, stay outta trouble, if you need me for anything, call me".

"I always get nervous when he comes" the loveable tells his stove mates.

"He reminds me of a cop"... he continues.

One of the girls at the stove where the betting loveable is working has her sauce's heat source on BLAST and suddenly it acts like tomato sauce on BLAST acts and without warning the stuff ERUPTS like a TOMATO VOLCANO....

She gets it on her face and in her hair.

And of course her apron is full of splots as well.

The betting loveable jumped when he saw it begin to happen.

His quick reflexes save his shirt.

"HEY" he yelled to me.

When I turned to look he flashed a huge grin and used both thumbs to point at his clean shirt.

At the end of the evening he chipped in and cleaned up messes that weren't his own.

He put stuff up and away and took a huge amount of aftercare off my plate.

I really appreciated all his help.

I rewarded him with two MickyD's gift cards (two so he could take his girl out to eat, yo) and I told him "you did a really great job tonight with your food and I appreciate the leadership role you took on by doing all that extra clean up. You will have a really good case note for this class".

When they were about to walk downstairs and out into the cars that were waiting for them I remembered that I owed him a buck.

I called to my co-worker asking to borrow a dollar.

"My worker already gave me a buck" the betting loveable told me.

"He said he figured I'd win".

"Thank you, this was a lot of fun" he said as he bolted down the stairs taking two at a time balancing in one hand his pan of homemade spaghetti.

I just love it when they fly like that.

“Self-esteem creates natural highs. Knowing that you're lovable helps you to love more. Knowing that you're important helps you to make a difference to to others. Knowing that you are capable empowers you to create more. Knowing that you're valuable and that you have a special place in the universe is a serene spiritual joy in itself.” ~ Louise Hart

Free from dust...

Music washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life.  ~Berthold Auerbach

The above quote pretty much hit me with a one two punch this weekend when Googie, Trouble, Bear and my girlfriend Rhonda and I enjoyed the Broadway musical, The Million Dollar Quartet, at the Fox Theater in Detroit.

Like watching time rewind right before our very eyes.

 We watched an old man struggle up a set of steps, than down another set of steps toward his seat.

We held our breath as we saw him wobble and weave and finally fall into that seat, first row, balcony.

He draped himself over the banister for support and hung on most of the evening.

Layer by layer by layer we watched as dust and time washed away when during the finale we saw the old man rise from his seat and began to dance.

He shook, rattled and rolled right along with the stars up on stage.

It appeared the Elvis, Jerry Lee, Johnny Cash and Carl Perkins look-and sound-alikes had taken us all to that place this dreamy night.

It was hard to sit still.

And most of us didn't.

Watching the man dance Googie nudged me and said "mom, it's amazing how the music just takes him back, isn't it?"
 
Her words spoke directly to my soul.

It was a magical evening.

SiriusXM radio is a neat feature that came with my new car when I bought it a few years ago...a freebie at first, then they deluge you with offers by mail to purchase more.

Mine expired long ago and I didn't renew it...

(too many other ways to spend the flow, yo)

This past weekend I read that Sirius was giving us back our XM radio for two weeks..for FREE!!!

I explored and found a few channels in a row that I liked (in other words.. I can switch the channel while driving w/o taking my eyes off my texting)

(I'm kidding Marmie, I don't text and drive, my phone screen is far too small to see on the down low and I refuse to wear my cheaters in public)

My favorites are the decade channels.

50's 60's 70's 80's 90's .....

I'm slightly impressed when I take note that I  know a good number of the songs being played from each of those decades.

Almost each and every one I hear takes me back to somewhere I really liked to be.

I can see a very young Marmie dancing, dust rag in hand.

Doin the mashed potato, the (wah) watusi, the woolly bully.

I can hear my dad in the car crooning Love Me Tender along with Elvis.

I'm transported back in time to a moment sitting on my friend Fred's bed listening to Led Zeppelin.

Songs that dust my soul.

And take me back to another me.

The dusted off me wants to dance.

And sometimes I have no control over that.

The day after we saw the show I Googled Elvis' Jailhouse rock.

The minute it started so did my booty shakin.

And before I knew what was happening I was twisting for all I was worth.

I took my show to the upstairs bathroom and locked the door.

And I danced myself silly.

I shook, rattled and rolled.

My soul was so dusted and invigorated I almost cried.

And right then and there I decided that I'd quite possibly found an exercise that I could do that wouldn't bore me.

A sweat worth it.

So for three days in a row I've been using my laptop to find good songs and when I have I've danced myself breathless in that tiny bathroom.

You think I talk a lot..? You should see me dance.

With reckless abandon I'm rocking myself thin and healthy.

At least I was until yesterday morning when that miserable fun-stoppin Daddio pounded on the bathroom door and asked me if I was "okay".

"WHAT IN THE HELL ARE YOU DOING IN THERE???" he bellowed through the crack of the closed door.

I paused the music, wrapped a towel around myself, then opened the door.

"I'm dancing" I told him.

"IN THE FREAKIN BATHROOM...???" he hollered.

He knew better than to ask any more questions.

"The tile can't take it" he said "the ceiling may fall through" he added.

"Were the lights flashing on and off too..?" I asked, imagining the lighting fixtures swaying with my twisting.

I'm taking my act downstairs to the basement, where we have no tile..and not a one of them had better come to spy on me.

I'm making a promise to myself to not ever allow my soul to get that dusty again.

I'm posting a video of  one of my favorite dust-bustin "products"...maybe your soul needs a good dusting too?

The post with no name...

I couldn't choose a proper name for this thread

I gotta crow... made me sound like a rooster.

A queen amongst women.... ahh, may be a bit self serving.

So you think you can think, bingo...

Tuesday's Life Skills class (read Monday's post here to understand my dynamic plan) was da bomb..so good in fact that I was forced to simply bubble over with excitement each and every single time I told one of my co-workers/supervisor(s)/the cashier at Meijer the story of my plan, it's execution and storybook like ending.

Poetry in motion, fer sure.

Yes sir reee bob, Tuesday's class proved my near genius approach was in it's implementation, pure genius.

A supportive co-worker and a real, live grown-up reformed (successful, educated Master level teacher at an Alternative Ed High School) former loveable (herself) to give the presentation couldn't have been better co-stars.

I have a kink in my neck from so much back patting.

I was riding so high on the cleverness of me (and my co-stars, but mostly me me me, even though it was my co-worker who discovered and invited our speak) that I failed to remember the golden rule of working with kids.

Just when you think you've figured them out you've thought too much.

The self administered back patting went on all day Wednesday and most of Thursday too.

On Thursday, just like I'd done with Tuesday's class I gave this new group of loveables "the talk" and walked them into the classroom.

They eyed up the speaker, took the treats I offered and instantly (the moment their lil bums hit the seats) began squirming.

One loveable put his head back, his eyes rolled upward (seizure like) and his mouth hung open...(his resting position I later learned)

Another sat at a 180 degree angle (away from teacher) and watched out the window.

He ignored didn't notice my frantic hand signals to face forward.

One female youth was scrunched down so low in her seat only her back was teetering on it and her eyes were level with her desk top.

Ohhh freakin brother....

When I went to close the door a loveable was coming down the hall... cell phone in hand, ear buds in place, music spilling out.

He yanked one ear bud out and inquired "Is dis da Life Skills class?".

"Yeah" I answered "it started 15 minutes ago, come in, get a seat and pay attention".

"Ohh, and please put your phone away, no phones, no music" I added.

"FUCK" he yelled.

ohh goodness gracious he certainly could use a Kit Kat or some red licorice..

which during Tuesday's class had proven to be the answer to all my prayers.

He shook his head no when I offered the candy.

When he took his seat he put the ear buds back in and cranked up the tunes.

My co-worker nudged him and told him the same thing I did.

It worked just as well the second time it was delivered.

And the third and fourth,

the fifth and the sixth time too.

He finally yanked out the buds and huffed and puffed until the speaker was done with her presentation.

This group was told (like Tuesday's group) that they could win a food card by asking questions.

One kid asked one question (which greatly upped his chances to be the lucky winner in our drawing).

When the speaker and the kids had stared at one another for an uncomfortable 10 minutes she began to gather her things, uttered the appropriate niceties "thanks for having me and it was a pleasure" and all that jazz and our only outside witness then walked out the door.

"It's way too hot in here" a loveable complained.

"Can we leave now?" another one asked.

"I can't be in here much longer" one said.

Along with hair on the back of my neck my internal thermostat was beginning to rise.

I was starting to sweat like a virgin on prom night.

(you chuckled didn't you?)

I decided to take the loveables downstairs to get a bite to eat...(when you have nothing at all left in your bag of tricks, food is always a good go to option)

(It works especially well with animals in the wild.)

Once again I had loveables spilling into every crevice of my small kitchen.

Ear bud man/child helped himself to open my freezer door, I didn't notice him take out two ice creams (always the frickin ice cream...kwim).

When I saw an ice cream in one of their hands I made him give it up and I tossed it in the trash..

"You punks don't just go in my fridge, this is like Grandma's house, you're probably gonna get whatever it is you ask for, but you gotta ask, understand...??"

"You keep yer mitts offa my crap... get it?"

"Sorry lady" ear bud lied.

He continued to rub every nerve in my body raw with his antics.

At one point, when I saw him with an ice cream hiding in his lap, I told him to leave.

He wasn't compliant with that request either.

Later, when recounting the evening in case note fashion (notes placed in an electronic reporting system to be read and reviewed by the youth's probation officers, jurist/Judge) I placed flowery reports saying things like "no respect for authority figures" and "this behavior will not be tolerated" and other such pleasantries.

Damn...

Later when replaying the evening in my head the embarrassment, the irritation, the hurt, the sadness, the disappointment all came out.

After a few minutes wallowing in self pity,

I suddenly realized I was sooooo hungry,

I was famished,

starved.

I grabbed the bag of goodies and I ate a Kit Kat, some red licorice, a Butterfinger (or two), a Nestle Crunch and then I waited patiently for my Ulcerative Colitis to kick in.

And if I had to work today I would totally be calling in dead, I wouldn't be able to keep a stiff upper lip when the "sooo how'd it go last night?" (s) started.

Fat finger flub......

* NOTE: I attempted to change the title of this post after realizing that it may be offensive to some... I would love to blame it on my poor upbringing, but my upbringing was not in any way poor...so I guess I'll just say it had something to do with my fat fingers and call it a day (and stop obsessing over it...and chanting the Serenity Prayer, my co-workers are beginning to "talk").

A couple of weeks ago I wrote about sending a hastily (read hysterically) written email to my supervisor(s) (and his/their supervisor and his/their supervisor's supervisor).

I wrote that in a moment of who the hell cares I hit the send button and off it went.

This morning I decided to search (again) for a long ago friend, I found her a year ago (thanks Google) and even though I didn't extend a howdy do der to her at that time, I thought long and hard about it.

Shortly after my initial finding of my long lost friend Kimi I learned that this old friend had a connection with a supervisor where I work.

(Yes, this supervisor was one of the supervisors hit with the pop across the noggin email that I sent the day I lost my mind)

Not that that matters one bit, just thought it was a tidbit to add (or a random bit of crap that flashed in my head and needed to be let out, aka an ADD side step moment).

Soooo this morning, whilst I was sitting taking a, ummmm, nevermind... I decided to look my friend up again.

She was just as easy to find as the first time I looked, this time, I copied her email address and pasted it to my email.

I was going to write when I had time and could really say what I wanted to say.

I'd planned to send the address to me.

Award yourself 500 points if you guess what happened next..

Exxxx-actly, like a middle aged, fat fingered button pusher I punched a few buttons and suddenly realized that I'd put her email address into the addressee spot and included the message "Kimi's email address" intended for me, for easy access the day I sent my well thought out email... all that was wonderful, until I realized that I'd instead sent it to her.

D'oh

D'oh

D'oh

Shhhhhh-IT...

It was incredibly embarrassing sending a follow up email attempting to explain my middle aged fat fingered button pusher-ness "issue" and a bunch of other things thought up during another ADD side stepping moment.

I sincerely hope she takes it for what its worth.

And doesn't forward it to the cops.

In my life nothing is ever as simple as it should be.

Wkun? kwim?

Kristen Bell's Sloth Meltdown

This is one delightful girl...watch as she shares her reaction to a special birthday gift.