Where troubles melt like lemon drops....

Halloween.... a love story

In 1970 the most important person in my life was my best friend Joyce, and Joyce, my bestest ever friend really really loved Halloween.

Joyce was as fair as I was dark. She had shimmery golden blond hair and a ton of freckles.

And like a true best friend she loved everything that I loved and loathed everything that I loathed.

Halloween was Joyce's very favorite holiday, and the love wasn't for the candy or for the adventure of roaming the streets after dark with parental permission..

To Joyce the appeal of Halloween was the idea that a person could become anyone or anything they wanted for that one special night.

Joyce had a flair for the dramatic.

This particular Halloween she was being very (very)  secretive about who or what she was going to become.


As for me,  caught in the middle of a creative drought and my usual I don't give a shit what the hell I go as for Halloween, I'm only in "it" for the goods mind set Marmie and I decided that I'd be a greaser sort, like the Fonz (from Happy Days).

After a couple of weeks of Joyce annoying me with her stingy non sharing of details Halloween finally arrived.

It was nearly dusk when we heard a soft rap on the door....it was Joyce and her 6 year old brother Ronald.

Ronald was dressed this Halloween as a Marilyn Monroe look-a-like... right down to a strategically placed black mole and an over stuffed brassier.

Joyce waited until the hysteria over Ronald's costume died down before making her grand entrance.

She was inside a HUGE cardboard appliance box...her head protruded from a hole cut in the top and her arms stuck out of holes cut in the side.

"I'm a TV!!!" she announced proudly.

She pointed to the top of her head...her mother had fashioned a set of rabbit ears using a headband, pipe cleaners and aluminum foil balls.

The front of the TV box/costume held assorted sized buttons and knobs...(remember, we had no remote controls then..).

Joyce was proud as hell of that costume.

During our trick-or-treating the box mostly proved to be a big pain in the ass... Joyce figured out pretty early in our trip that most porches were too small to hold her and the box so she'd stay down and the rest of us would go up to the door...

(Hey, don't go feeling sorry for her yet... people did send extra candy to her, in that huge box and in all her glory she was impossible to miss)

There was only one other thing besides the candy that I liked about Halloween... I got a kick out of being able to see all the neighbors up close,  being able to take a peek into their houses..

Some of the houses smelled as wonderful as they looked, potpourri or sweet burning candle smells poured out the doors when they were opened.

Other houses smelled as they looked too.... stinky cabbage, fish or what the gawd awful hell is that smell??? smell.. (stinky diaper? dirty dog...?)

Once out of view of those houses we'd look at each other and plug our noses...

The final house on our haunted journey that year had a large porch... we all went up the steps and using our perfected harmony sang "Trick- oooorrrrrr-Treat...???!!!"....

through the window we saw the homeowner... a huge, balding man struggling to get out of his worn recliner..

we waited for what seemed like an eternity for him to get to the door...

when he finally arrived, we all took a few steps back and to the side to allow him room to open the door...

we later figured out that the man's screen door must have been mounted for a left handed person because when he opened it it swung the wrong way and hit the side of Joyce's TV box...

with one fell swoop Joyce was knocked off balance, she sailed up and out and right into the man's bushes...

she squealed like a pig and kicked her feet and flailed her arms... she reminded me of a roly-poly bug on it's back...

she was too damned heavy to flip herself right side up...

with the exception of Joyce we laughed ourselves sick... the large man laughed so hard he cried.

The man's wife came out of the house and helped him to rectify our traveling television...

she brushed Joyce off and straightened her bent antenna and sent us on our way...

Joyce's body wasn't hurt, but her pride had suffered greatly.

Not one word was spoken on the way home, I was scared I'd go hysterical with laughter...and Joyce was scared she'd cry...

Once home, we spilled our candy filled pillowcases out onto the carpet... and life, as usual, was sweet... and trouble free.

(Dear Joyce... thank you for this memory and a lifetime of more..all sweeter than the next. There is no one in this whole wide world I'd have rather grown up next to. Thank you for the love. It is returned, tenfold. xoxo)..

Happy Halloween all.... (watch for those creative costume types)

You are what you eat..... (part one)

A couple of years ago totally out of the blue I got sick and an evil, evil, evil clusterfuck took up residence in my intestinal tract...

Stomach pains,  bloody poo and a massive and sudden weight loss took me to the doctor and then to the emergency room and finally to the hospital where I was diagnosed with an Irritable Bowel Disease known as Ulcerative Colitis...

"Irritable"... Having or showing a tendency to be easily annoyed or made angry.

Ain't that the truth...

I've got an easily annoyed gut.

I can't eat shit...

or regular stuff w/o consequence.

Incredibly frustrating to a girl who could eat a kitchen sink (and all it's contents in one sitting).

My gut and I are forever trying to work out a compromise...

I feed it what it will tolerate

and in return I get no pain

and no public embarrassment...

(toots and such)

I'm beginning to realize that my crabby belly would like to me to slow down on the cow and pig and beef up on the chicken and fish.

Poultry had been off my radar as sustenance for years ever since my Grandma K brought a couple of chickens to live with us in the suburban town of Dearborn Heights Michigan for two weeks back in the 1970's...

We city children took to the chickens like ducks to water...

For two weeks we pretended to live on a farm...

and farm living it truly was when Grandma chased down one of our two "pets" and wrung it's scrawny necks right there in our back yard...

and then before our saucer sized bulging eyes she chopped off it's little head,

then put it's lifeless, plucked featherless body into a pot of boiling water where it stunk up the kitchen with such a horrible, horrific stink that I remember it, vividly, to this day.

I watched in horror as she squeezed the chicken body of it's feather roots... like she was popping huge blackhead pimples..

Holy be-jeeesuz ... it was awful.... (AWFUL!!!)

But not the most awful part...

the most awful part came when she sang.....

"DIN-NER............!!!!"

Oh hell no....

No no no no no no.....

I couldn't devour little Clucky... or any of his kin.

So for years I've managed to avoided chicken like the plague.

However, my crabby belly has different ideas on that.

We make chicken a lot at work and so lately I've been "forced" to partake.

I mean, come on...if I won't eat the food (and yes, the loveables notice when I don't eat their food).. then they probably shouldn't maybe eat the food as well...?

I started off with little bits of chicken smothered in anything that could help take my mind off of the "blackhead" issue...

I kind of hold my breath while I chew and swallow quickly.

Over time is has gotten easier...

Easier especially since my gut doesn't growl or grumble at me (at ALL) when I eat it.

I haven't yet gotten up the nerve to prepare any at my own house...(for personal consumption)

I still find it hard to get that "smell" outta my mind.

Initially I chalked that up to just one more crazy ass personality flaw until I read this little snippet....

The Frontal Cortex by Jonah Lehrer, a contributing editor at Wired

While olfactory associations enjoy a "privileged brain representation," that hippocampal link is less important than the unpleasantness of the smell, which is much better at predicting whether or not we'll remember the memory a few days later. 

This is the bleak truth of the brain: it clings to what we don't like.

So from now on, I don't answer to "hey crazy"...

I forgot what I was going to name this post....

Crabbiness has crept into my home. Like an invisible gas it's spilled into crevices and filled empty corners and has become a heaviness that just hangs, just is.

Well what the hell is the problem?

I ask myself that daily...

What the hell is the problem?

Daddio is so damn ornery that I want to hit him in the head with a pipe while he sleeps, he doesn't sleep though, as he is waiting for an opportune moment to hit me in the head with a pipe as I sleep.

We're both lookin a bit rough around the edges.

Even the dog is in a shitty mood...

and being critical...

A passive/aggressive non suggestion about the smell of my bathroom...?

Let me guess, a complaint about the dog food...?

Yeah, it does look like more fun at the crazy neighbor's house...and it probably is.

 While looking for pictures of my sweet four legged girl to post I came upon a picture of a card that I saved for an occasion such as this..

What the frick is wrong with me these days...?

I think I may have stumbled upon something here....

About sums it up...

Have a stupendous one of a kind Tuesday October 25, 2011.

MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY !!! ......

I've captured the following clip on my blog for those days when I find my menopausal self mourning the fact that I shall never again have a toddler calling me MOMMY!!!!!

Strong enough to allow weakness....

I'm down to one female lovable in my (currently) tiny class.

She is drawn to me like a moth to flame.

You know how girls like to flock, gaggle and herd.

And seeing as I am (currently) the only female staff in my tiny class...I'm on board with this gaggle herding"flockship"

She waits for me to sit with her before she begins her lunch.

If I forget or get sidetracked I can usually find her sitting with her food, untouched, and getting cold.

She's an interesting girl... and quite mature for her age.

The couple of male loveables in class try all kinds of shenanigans to gather her notice...

They usually get a grimace, a scowl and an eye roll..

but hey.... it's a notice, right?

She walked with me yesterday to help me to carry some things out to my car.

Before we walked back in she started asking for help in warding off the boys unwanted and very immature attention.

"I'm gonna blow" she said "if they don't stop"...

We at Thug High School don't like hearing threats of "plosions" be they im or ex

especially from people who have "blown" in the past.

Often their implosions/explosions are what have led them to be students at Thug High...

This young girl is mature beyond her years, she doesn't act like any 15 yr old I've ever met before.

I tell her often that if we were classmates we'd surely be best buds.

I like her.

It's clear as day that she's is waging a war within herself to recognize her worth.

And fighting a battle to show others her value as well.

I can see a soul deep sadness, that so far, she hasn't offered up in our friendship.

I like to dig deep into a friendship and see truth.

I know from past discussions that part of her truth is that she is attached to a young boy who lives in her home, she knows some day (very soon) he is going to be leaving her.

She's given this kid her everything,

and then some.

She wants to be certain that he won't "forget" her...

I try with all my might to tell her how important she has been to his life and that even if he doesn't remember "her" he will remember (on some level) that he has been loved.

This boy is three years old.

He is the son of her on again/off again boyfriend.

As of this writing he is off again.

And not even in her home... he's off sowing his wild oats, while she and her family care for the tot.

The little boy's mom has not, since his birth, been in his life.

Even though my young friend doesn't admit it, I can tell she hopes her love and care of the boy will be enough to keep his dad interested...

I know better..

while she is special (so very special), there are lots more like her willing to do the same and even more of whatever it takes to try keep a guy.

Even a not so Mr Wonderful guy.

I tell her one of my favorite quotes from Dr Laura Schlessinger "a good one will be willing to swim through shark infested waters to bring you a lemonade"...  that should be your striving point.."

"I sincerely don't think this guy is good enough for you." I add.


We talk about the chances that this baby will be moving on with his dad (and probably on to another girl with a big heart)...

It will happen... just a matter of time.

We touch on this again while outside yesterday.

On our way back into the building she tells me that she doesn't cry over this or anything else.

"Never?" I ask.

"We may need to take a field trip to the Hallmark store" I suggest.

"I don't think that's healthy, we all have to have a good leak every now and then" I say, hoping to make her laugh.

"No" she says "crying is a sign of weakness."

"I don't do weak."

I try so hard to pull some wise words to help with the obvious deep hurt.

"I saw a neat sign on Pinterest" I tell her.

" Do you believe in God..have faith?" I ask her

"Of course" she says "very much."

The sign on Pinterest said "Faith in God includes faith in His timing"....

She spun around quickly so I couldn't see her face...

seems her strength was dripping from her eyes and running down her cheeks.

I gathered her into a hug, happy to see her heavy weakness leave her body.

It was a good start.

Today, I plan to give her a printed copy of the faith sign and also another one of my other favorites

Thank you for listening.

Fat Grandma's House....

Saturday Centus time, a themed writing meme. The challenge is to write 100 words to add to the prompt started by Jenny Matlock from off on my tangent. This week's prompt is a picture.


(Thanks for reading!)

Tennessee bound fetching an ailing great grandmother found this 12 year old scared to enter her home. The wooden porch groaned loudly, threatening to eat my legs. Inside, the place resembled a jr high school History lesson, a wood burning stove, a wash board, stockings hung dry. Packing her things I spied a treasure, opening it I buried my nose in the sweet cedar, more kid friendly than the other smells. The offer of the box came with warning. Her weathered hand tipped my chin and nose to nose she said "take good care, it’s the best thing I got”.

The sight of a newborn always brings a tear to my eye....

*And YES! Y-e-s !! Oh hell yes (yessireebob) Daddio (to answer your question) yes yes yes yes I do, in fact, have better things to do with my time than post pictures of peanut crotches on my silly blog.