Sobs of Joy

It was the of best time. It was the worst of time. She slammed her jeep door shut and shuffled up the slippery metal side ramp to her that led up her porch after work. A flash of white in the corner of her eye caught her attention, but she knew not to look directly at the wild cat in the shadows to frighten it further off on this dark night as she bent down and put her own dinner in it's plastic container on the porch. Everyone wanted something of her. She could see the warmth of the bright kitchen thought the window shades in the door, and paused, letting out a tired low sigh. Balancing her mail, her knives, and her nearly empty tea cup she reached for the door handle and hoped the calm scene before her would last when she entered the house. The handle would not turn, it was locked from the inside, so she pounded on the door. Then she kicked it. The kids had remembered to lock the door but forgot to turn on the porch light so she had to fumble in the cold dark for the keys hiding spot. Once her numb finger found it she walked back to her door and inserted the key into the knob just in time to have the door yanked open causing her to drop everything she had been vicariously balancing. "MOM'S HOME!", yells her oldest offspring, as he helps her scoop up the soggy mail. "Why didn't open the door for me?", she asks miffed. "I was doin something", is his answer. "The comfey chair, she notices, is pulled up close to the tv on the counter in the corner. "How was your day ?", he askes, ever the peacemaker. She is glad at least there is only one child in the room, when both her kids vie for her attention in the little time they have together and she is frazzled is when it is hard. "What is that smell?" The spaghetti she had made for her children's dinner before she left for work is now a hard black crust emitting a bad odor. At this point, hungry and exhausted she herself feels worse the residue on the bottom of her slow cooker. "Where's your little brother?", she asks, pulling a frozen veggie burger out of her freezer. "I love you mom. Up stairs." She puts the frozen patty on a cookie sheet and walks over to the her top oven and takes of the towel hanging on its door and tries to slide it in. The door will not close. The top lock is busted off. Her older son is back in front of the television already attention focused on it's screen, unaware of the volcano of rage building inside of her. In her mind she is picturing the culprit, worrying the lock handle back and forth, back and forth in his obsessive way until it snaps, and she snaps.
With all the energy of the suppressed anger left over from the stressful day, she bellows, "KID ONE YOU GET YOUR BUTT DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW!"
As she listens to the sound of his feet run across the floor above her head she is thinking why not. Why not the expensive crystal viking thing on her mantel that she didn't like. Or the china jewerly box that only held bobby pins. Or any of the fradjile foo-foo stuff people seamed to think her liked or needed. Anything but her oven.
"Mom! You are home."
"WHAT THE HELL WHERE YOU THINKING BREAKING MY OVEN?"
He blinks, blue eyes wide, his mouth a perfect little o.
"Did you see the spit that just flew out of your mouth", he answers with a miming action as he distorts his face as if being hit slow motion by a wave of saliva.
When she let out a short laugh, the anxiety disappears from his face, but only to be replaced by a darker anger as she lunges toward him. Passion enciter, that is what he is.
"If you weren't so old, you'd just bend over and use the bottom oven."
Then he ran for his life.

Executive 5-7-5

Big guy only says yes
empty promises just mean nothing
the man has no balls


Time for you to pick this weeks voty vote. Here are your options. Are they real or all whoey? Vote me up!

Rich Bitches Have no Soul:
Sitting at an angle from her, she could not see R.B.'s face but she could not help to hear that pretentiously voice, as she sat in her cape and tried to avoid the look of disgust in her own eyes reflected in the mirror. "No, my husband and I plan on traveling for Christmas. I am thinking of meeting him down in Florida and just relaxing on the beach. That's if we can get someone to watch the kids." "WHAT THE HELL", she blurted out loud before she could stop herself. Leave your kids with a sitter while you sit on a beach without them. This is my holiday, she thought, an hour having my hair tamed. But the thought was interrupted by her cell phone. It was one of her kids, and she was glad to take the call...

Oh Say Can You:
Other men would have left the room. Or change the channel. Made some kind of distraction once the first few strains of the national anthem began playing. But he is not other men. No tears fell when one by one in high school he started attending his fallen friends funerals. He had finished collage early and then joined up. He hadn't cried at the bus station but his first wife and his mother had. Tears were no strangers to his eyes. He had bawled openly when he had lost his sons. He knew that it was expected of him to be sad when he buried the no account father who had deserted him early on, but he couldn't. He couldn't help that anymore than he could stop the patriotic tears from escaping the corners of his eyes as he sat and watched...

Sobs of Joy
He ran as if the devil herself was after him. He strong legs pumped like pistons and his arm tight at his sides, he could feel her hot breath on the back of his neck. He should have not looked back, when for an instant he could no longer smell her sulfur puffs. It was because she was gasping in, to summon her strength for the beller of rage she forced out as his wide terrified eyes met her red filled ones and he went down hard. She was on top of him faster than his own shadow. As he hit the floor his eyes rolled back in his head and his tongue slide the corner of his gaping mouth. He was faking it, and she knew he was sucking her joy out of his murder. The urge indeed her was to smack him as hard as she could, but instead she evilly danced her finger tips under his chin and along his neck until he giggled and got drool on her and she remembered she was mad. When the hardness returned to her face, he threw both his arms around her neck and wrapped his legs around her body, as he kissed as hard as any parasite could. He is the only one who can made her laugh and cry at the same time. He is very lucky to be fast...

A Race Trace Somewhere in Tijuana:
When the girl came to she was slumped against Primo's sour body. What she thought was Cleavers voice had woken her up, jabbering away too loudly in her spinning ear. His Speedy Gonzalez impersonation had gotten much better, she though before attempting to open her crust caked eyes. The she realized the voice was not beside her but all around her. It would be years later, as she stood in front of the steamer, waiting for the green beans to finish cooking, that she would understand the meaning of caliente...

The first fifty voter will win a dog chewed mini fruit cake. Hurry supplies are limited.

The Final Date Ever

She heard his voice through the bathroom wall they shared. She couldn't make out what he was saying. Sometimes, even after all these years, she still had a difficult time understanding her first born.
He repeated himself more slowly when she leaned against his bathroom doorway and he had taken the toothbrush from his mouth. "Will this get me a real job?", he repeted. The yearning sound to his voice echoed back the memory of the little tow haired boy hanging on the side of the pool she had bought him for his exercises. She had found a cheap little medallion at Walmart and had presented it to him for his swimming efforts. It was the first time he had been given an award and was delighted, but all too soon realized it was not real. "Will this help me to get a real metal?", her cherub had asked with the same longing.
The doctors had labeled him with those ugly words she did not want to hear. She would never limit him to them. But yet she had no answer ready for him then, and she didn't have one now. She had no idea how he would ever win a genuine trophy. And now he wanted a job more than anything.
He had been awarded his own real metal alright. On his own. And if it had been left up to her, he never would have gotten it.
She thought of the countless doctor visits to the children's hospital, and all the painful tests and surgeries he had gone through. The nights she would sit outside his bedroom door and listen to him toss around in his bed, vieing to find a comfortable position for his heavy legs to rest, waiting for the sound of velcro as he finally removed his casts to sleep. She would steal in a half hour later, when he was asleep and put them back on his legs and hope they would grow straight and strong as he slept. When the specialists recommended intensified therapy, she had put her own foot down and said no more.
He wasn't wearing his casts when he had listened outside her bedroom in the middle of the night and phoned the emergency unit and he didn't wear his braces when he unlocked the doors before he lead the EMT's to where she lay unconsciously convulsing on her bedroom floor. Without his braces, he had kept his baby brother from throwing himself on top of her, when the paramedic couldn't find her veins. He had even hid the Teddy bear the police officer had tried to distract the baby with, unknowing to the fact that stuffed animals terrified the youngest member of the family. He did even let the dogs bite the lewd officer who just stood watching the naked lady grand mal in front of her terrified kids.
He did however lean on his crutches when he received his heroism award,given to him by the chief of police in front of the entire school. When the news camera showed his spiderman brace, he was down right mad.
That night in the church the young man had worked non stop as he stood in one spot doing the dirty job of separating and scraping plates into the garbage before passing them across to Mrs. Krentz, his old third grade teacher to wash. It was the same mean old bitter woman that had ignored him and pretended he did not exist in her class room and had humiliated and antagonized his little brother. There had been a time when the mother would of gladly killed the old bitty, before she had realized the teacher had died long before, her souless shell just too lazy to fall over. The teenager had just pretended the corpse loading the dish machine to be invisible and had worked much faster than she so he could build a wall of china between them.
She wanted to tell him yes, you will get a job someday. And it will be a hell of a lot better than washing dishes. But she did not have the answer he wanted to hear yet.
"Have a nice time tonight with Mrs. Krentz?", she asked him instead.
"I tried to get her to shake my dirty food covered hand but she wouldn't, just like I planned", he said with a gleam in his eye.

Last Date Ever, The Continuum

She cried all the way back to the church where the other were all ready busy. Partly the tears were for what she was feeling and partly due to the violet rose he had given her, the one that lay on the front seat next to her. She was allergic and would have thoughtlessly tossed it out the window, but he might ask about it later. He knew she would have preferred a red flower, but it was not in him to jousle the other boys in Mrs. Vallene's fifth grade class for one. He was after all, a gentle men. He had the manners test with a passing score that had enabled him, his date, and his mother, to attend the formal luncheon.
Her face was dry by the time she wound her way through the maze of corridor's in the church's addition toward the source of the fish smell emanating from the back. Out of the black dress and into an apron she changed. The heart of the church was busling with activity and she jumped right in to the white haired foam sea of Lutherns. When she had called to volunteer at the Swedish museum's fundraising lutifisk feed, she had expected a plating of maybe one hundred, tops. Not the six hundred they were expecting. But she had help. At any given time she had ten church ladies, and a handful of guys, most who had been cooking longer than her and her son had been alive, at her disposal. She could taste the excitement in the air, as she rolled the meatballs and listened to her crew chatter. The girls were excited, the naughty bads were late.
The naughty bads where the volunteers who did not want to volunteer, but the state demanded social service time from them for there wrong doing. The naughty bads would bring an excited gleam to the old girls eyes, as with them they brought danger into the basement.
When the county bus arrived, bringing a melting pot of flavor into the kitchen of rice pudding, things happened. The ladies grouped closer together around the wash tub of ground meat they were forming into meat balls, purses now cluthched at their elbows. Talk turned from guessing what the crimes of the soon be be help were to the weather. Sharp knives were hidden. Curious glances behind cataracts where stolden.
The non volunteer volunteers were to do the dirty work. The sweet women turned into dictator's. Pots were saved as a penance to scrub. (See that tape there on the bottom? That's my name. Sylvia Swenson. Make sure that kettle gets back to me.) Garbage hauled. (Out to the back dumpster. But don't smoke back there. We had a fire last year.) Potatoes and rutabagas to be peeled. (No, I'm sorry honey. That's the only peeler we have. Dull old thing.) Extention cords unwound and heavy tabled to be set up. (Not too many plugs into one outlet ok?)
Thing were running smoothly, too smoothly up to coffee time. When it was decided they had all earned a break and a cup of coffee, the crew broke out the one secret tradition she was unaware of. Dark hour. Brewing the coffee would blow the fuse. Blowing the fuse would cut the lights in the kitchen and shut down all food production. The non vol's naughty bads would be at the church girls mercy. The girls would seize this time, and a hot cup of coffee to minister to their captive audience.
"Yes I do attend a church Sylvia, just not this one", she told her eager new old friend. "May I have my purse back now? No it is mine there on your arm. Feel inside, you'll find my cell. I need to call my boys."
She felt around the dish shelves to the back area where the only small window was for better phone reception while she made her calls. The volume of her phone was drowned out by a loud and constant crunching sound. It came from the area she had left the young non vol perched on a stool to peel the bin of potatoes. The volunteer was eating the raw potatoes like apples in the dark. She backed away and stood by self in silence and just listened to the multitude of conversations occuring around her.
She, herself had eating a number of potato and bread sandwiches for a meal during her salad years but had never been so hungary as to eat an uncooked potato.
Miraclusly, the power was turn on in time to throw the food in the oven, and dinner was to be served on time.
"Excuse me", she told the nappy haired young mother with the peeler by the window. Can you please help me cut the desersts in the other room?"
She wasn't supposed to feed the volunteers. But she knew spice cake beats a tuber.
Her sons finished up the cleaning.
They all needed each other.

Last Date Ever

She was not nervous until she realized how important the occasion was to him. "What will you be wearing?", he asked her as he knotted his tie. Her eyes regarded him in her mirror with approval as she stood applying her make up. She showed him her dress which he vetoed with a slight nod of his head. He chose for her the little black dress, too formal by her standards for day time, but she thought, ok, why not it would probably be their last date.
When she met him later at the train station, her eyes found his in the crowd immediately. Once catching her glance, he did not look her way again. There was protocol to be followed.
She was to walk past his business car to her own, to share her meal not with him, but with the other matrons. She was uncomfortable with the group of suburbalights who's inane chatter chatter was blander than the meal the harried wait staff served. She would much rather be up front with him. Or at least be a fly on his wall.
Before the trip was over, there would be time with him. After the coffee was served he strolled back to her table. "Hello", is all that he said. Then he leaned over and gave her the softest, sweetest kiss she had ever felt.
Alone in her car she cried with happiness.

Mind Blowing Meat

She sat in the over stuffed chair and staredover her coffee cup at his sleeping form on the floor in front of her. He was still in the same spot she had left him last night in front of the fireplace. She coughed suddenly and tried to mask the sound, and keep the hot liquid she was drinking from exiting through her nose, not wanting to wake him, or the boy who was curled up next to the big man. She wasn't very successful, as she noticed him stir, his face twitch beneath the arm still flung over his eyes. "What day is it?", he asks her. "Wednesday", is her reply as she blows the tea out of her nose. "No, I meant what year?" She pauses, wondering if he is all right, asking such a ridiculous question. "Baby", he continues, "what you did last night..Man, you really know how to treat a man." "Meatloaf. It was just a meatloaf" , she said kicking him with her toe for his teasing. "Now get out of here. You'll be late for work." "But what a meat loaf, you really blew my mind."
He had surprised her by coming home the night before. The dinner she had cooked wasn't even intended for him. It was left over ground meat she found in the bottom of the fridge and had used up not once thinking of him. In fact, it was another guest she had planned the meal around. But she had been with this man now longer than she had been without him. And she took him for granted more than she ever even noticed him.
"Not going in to work today. I have another doctors appointment."
There was a time when she would have planned an elaborate meal for him. Or when she would great him at the door wearing nothing but a smile, there would be no food thought of at all, and they both would of woken up on the floor.
"What are you doing up so early anyway?", he asks. "You still have a couple more hours of dark to rest your eyes before Mr. Sun annoys you."
She does not want to tell him it is worry that keeps sleep from her now.
"My eyes just decided they like to be open now."

Votapooluza

Still riding the media wave from our recent elections, I've decided to turn this blog into a democracy and let you chose my next story with which to shock and awe you. I'll give you three choices for your reading entertainment. Rock the Munkay vote!

*Pearly White dilemma: The young girl sighed and blew the wisps of longish blond hair with frustration as she stood in the registrars office for the umptenth time. Deviously to her advantage they had changed the deadline for registration, she realized with renewed hope. The teeth in her new Marrimecco bag rattled softly as she swing it with ethusiasm over her shoulder after turning in the entrance essay for the dental program, and planned in her mind the current mosaic of Rush Limbaugh she is currently crafting. "I hope I get a bunch with a lot of sliver fillings for his hair", she wished out loud as she stepped back out onto the busy campus.

*Mind Blowing Meat: "Baby, he said his eyes still closed underneath the thick arm flung across his forehead, "what you did last night. Man you blew my mind." She looked at him over the top of her steaming teacup where she sat looking down at him on the floor at the place he had crashed after the night before. "Meatloaf", she answered, "I just used a meatloaf. Get up. I'm kicking you out."

International Kara Coup: The federal agent looked around the little inconspicuous specialties shop in the north west metro in amazement. "I want every pixel, every memory chip and every gigabyte, every black and white or color image, if the deviant was so brash, accounted for or heads will roll. Do you hear me?", the meticusly dressed plain clothes man barked to his henchmen. "YES SIR", was the corused answer as the backs continued to carry out scanners and printers. He was seething on the inside as he watched the men carry out his orders with military precision while he wondered how the suspect had eluded his grasp yet again. "Boss", the voice of his assistant sounded in his ear, "your man was just spotted escaping the perimeter in a canoe." "Stay on him, I'll be right there." Now maybe he would find out the reason this mastermind was exporting all of Iceland's mojo hidden in the technology now being loaded for evidence in the fleet of waiting trucks. "Out of my way cat", he kicked at the surprising healthly looking feral that was blocking his car door.

Volunteer Friend

I'm sorry I won't have time any more to write. I'm going to be hanging out with all my new friends. The are a bunch of nice, conciderate people who tiraided me with phone calls in the past couple of weeks worrying about my civic responsibility. I now have all their phone numbers on my caller ID and plan on returning each and every call. I will, however wait until I have my kids in bed late late tonight so not to interrupt any more of my family time. The losers party's I will console, like the true buddy I am and ask questions like, "So how's it feel now there in on the bottom? Waste much time and money did ya?" Maybe I'll ask a couple of surveys myself. "Rate how sucky you feel, little crappy, moderately enh, or sharp poke in the eye." The winners of course I will barrage with hoots and cheers and beg them to come out celebrating with me. Maybe we will get together and build a nice effergy of the loser party symbol out of political signs or just a nice collage from the flyers. Whatever the turnout, I don't care. It is my social life that benefits in the long run.

Three Huts North of Rovaniemi

I sat in the yeti with my legs crossed polishing off the rye pancakes and wishing for more. More pancakes. More heat. More bathrooms. More words.

We had been in the rental car since back in Rovaniemi, where all forms of public transportation, and most signs of civilization ended. My family couldn't understand why I had wanted to continue on north and I had no solid reason. I just knew there had to be something good farther ahead. I was beginning to feel down because I did not want to disappoint them. My sister drove and I read out loud to the boys as we all acted as elk spotters when the pesky creatures came trotting out of the forests in groups to cross the road ahead of us.

The others had left me behind to find facilities as I sat and ate the delicious crepe type pancakes made with cloudberrys and cream and squirmed on my seat while I took in my surroundings. It was an unheated gift shop /cafe of sorts on the side of the road north of no where and I studied the leather drums and reindeer boots and carved wooden cups as I chewed. At one point I took my plate off the birch table and placed it in my lap for warmth. The proprietor, who spoke no English, sat stroking his Husky and trying not to be too obvious that he was studying me. He reminded me of one the the troll dolls that lined the shelves and made me uneasy. I can only imagine what I looked like to him, underdressed, shivering and unable to sit still as I wolfed down my food. I turned my eyes from the baskets hanging on a stand to the leather sheaved reindeer knives and farther up to the gigantic wooden mushroom on the top of the display. "That's some wild mushrooms they have here", I said to myself. "Long. Must be some kind of enoki." Then I realized with a blush that I was staring at an enormous birch penis.

And then I looked back to the troll who was openly staring at me and stroking his dog hard.

I ran out of there still chewing never wiping the cream from the corners of my mouth in search of my family who had gone on ahead to the next shack in the grouping of three that made up this stop.

The next one was run by a lovely young girl who sold no wooden phalis in her hut. I had seen penis magnets, and charms and bookends, and everything else you could possibly make using that shape openly displayed across Finland. At the Santa Claus village on the north pole my youngest son picked up a beautiful bottle opener only to find the decorative end to be yet another dick. I bought the first hand made wool cardigan I found in the second hut. I would of stayed and talked to her had my bladder not been on the verge of embarrassing me. "Have the reindeer been a problem for you on the road?", she tenitivly asked me in broken English as I made her only purchase for the day, maybe the week. "No, I answered, "Only a million caribou." And she smiled and pointed me to the last building when I asked to use the restroom.

Back in the car on the road again after using the outhouse, when my belly was full and I was warm I turned to my sister and said, "That was some wood that guy had back there, wasn't it?"
She rolled her eyes and looked in the rearview at the kids sitting in the back seat eagerly waiting for me to continue reading Lemony Snickett. "Just keep your eyes peeled for deer will ya?"

I learned three things that day in those huts. Dicks shaped like fungus can be considered sacred or lucky like a four leaf cover or a cross. Nordic reindeer can be as big as caribou. "Most people opinions aren't worth a pinch of(outhouse) shit."

It was one of the high points of the trip, looking back.

*one of my Finnish fathers quotes

Excuse Me

I will now share with you my time tested alibi's to get you out of a pinch. Use them sparingly and only under extreme duress for future your own credibility. Trust me, I lie.

When caught spending an inappropriate amount of money on foolish novelties:

Break into song while still holding shopping bags if possible. Robert Palmers, "She's so fine there's no telling where the money went.." Dance while singing to further draw attention away from new unneeded items. If this does not appear to be working switch Palmer songs to "Addicted to Love." Take your clothes off.

When invited to a celebration or party you really don't want to go to:

Send back the RSVP card with this sentence written on it, "Sorry, just not interested." This actually happened to a co worker when she invited a distant relative to her wedding. I'm not sure if that was the must honest or most hurtful thing, but it worked and there was no lame excuse used.

When hit up for money:

Answer, "Seamonkeys got my money." People will think you are too flaky to have money to barrow. Got this one from K2 when his bud tried to con him out of his allowance.

When Jehovah Witnesses appear on your door:

Lean against door frame and listen to them for the first ten seconds. Interrupt them by ruffling your hand through your tousled hair and yawn saying, "I'm sorry I really can't seam to pay attention. Yawn again. I was up late last night with my ritual sacrificing and I just need my shut eye you know?"


How to get out of work:

Call in from a noisy area like the side of the road or the middle of a car wash. "It ddoesn't look like I'm going to make it in today. Hello? Boss can you hear-click(hang up). Next day do not make eye contact with employer. If directly asked what happened, sigh, look down and answer,"I just can't bring myself to talk about it yet." Sigh again and turn and walk away. If possible have a friend pick you up from work. Shake slightly when you hear loud noises and tremple when you drink your coffee.

When asked to dance with someone you do not care to dance with, answer:

"Sorry not right now. I got the vapors." Of course this only works with the dim wits who do not know that a vapor is gas. I used to use this excuse with my hubby all the time till he found out a vary was a fart. Now he just tells me to get my stinky ass to work.

When the NRA calls asking for your husband wanting a donation:

Reply in a shaky voice, "My husband? You want to talk to my husband? He's dead. He died in a hand gun accident." If you are surpressing laughter it sounds like weeping and they will not call you again.

How to get out of having sex:

Don't be silly. Why would you not want to have sex?

How to get out of doing just about anything:

Say, "I got woman problems." Do not blame pms or aunt flo. Those excuses are just way too over done. Just say "Woman problems." They won't want to hear no more and will walk off.

How to get out of giving a job recommendation:

Give a recommendation just choose your words carefully. "I think you would be really lucky if you got Elmo to work for you." See you just very nicely called your coworker Elmo a slacker. Elmo, infact, inspired me for this idea.

How to get out of being caught in the act of badness:

Once again you must pull a double double and stick to it to the end. "What? I'm not using your fillet knife. Who are you going trust, Me or your old lying eyes?" vehemently denies wrong doing.

Getting away with doing what you want:

"I get soo few pleasures out of life." It helps if you look like you are actually appear to be doing something productive at the time. "I mean, I have the house cleaned. I have a job. I've taught the kids to take care of themselves. (Pretent at this point to be cleaning off cumputer screen while in fact booking tickets.) I should be able to go to Las Vegas once in my life and not be the last person on earth to see it." Remember the key phrase, "So few pleasures." Add it to any small accomplishments you have ever done. Do not bring up the fact you last week spent your life savings on sea monkeys or Robert Palmer cd's.

When people ride you about not writing:

Run off to a different country or state. Design a restaurant. Make 14 different recipes for cloudberry panna cotta. Sit in your basement full of pretween boys watching horror movings and forien films. Write down long quotes for your gaming biz friend then loose them. Poke your best guy friend in the back with a stick. Think up new names for a busniess. But answer, "I been busy."

And Me Without My Rosary Beads

Forgive me, you may think it is a sin:

I live in Minnesota, birth place of Bob Dylan, yet I know not one Dylan song. I know he has a huge following but I've been busy. As my penance, I will call him dad when I marry Jacob, and he can sing at our wedding.

I don't care a hoot about the oscars. Wouldn't bother me a bit if no one won anything and they all wore semi recycled garbage bags instead of designer duds. To make up for this, I don't care about the emmeys or the grammys either. Or any celebrity for that matter.

I have not slept with my husband in nine years. Oh we do have our fun time but I draw the line at sleeping with him. The man has snored himself awake and could accidentally crush small villages in his slumber. He is capable of holding intellectual conversations when he wakes up hourly and expects me to answer appropriately instead of yelling,"Shut the hell up. I do not know where the house taxes are." I would get a better nights sleep in the food processor.

I don't care if my kid never uses a pencil in class again, so stop sending me home notes in your athoritative red pen, Ms. Caulkins. It makes me feel good he writes in ink using a permanent attitude. And then re writes it. And writes it again. Because he can't erase, his handwriting is improving ever so much. I do feel slightly guilty about the names he labels you with . Kinda.

In general I think all Britons are self inflated unattractive rude twits. But I have a thing for chef Gordon Ramsey. But if he ever came into my kitchen, I'd get so nervous, I'd wack one of my own fingers off to get away from him.

I hate the color purple. When I was a little girl, I'd always take my purple color crayon out of my box of eight before the school year began and bury it in my mothers flower garden. Keep all concord grape flavored stuff away from me. I can do green grapes, red onion and cabbage as long as you do not refer to them being purple. If I have to stay in a purple room for any period of time I become aggravated. I have zero purple pride. Mauve I consider ify.

I clean before my maid gets here. And by clean, I mean I shove all my garbage and dirty clothes into the boys bathroom. Dirty little pigs.

I have this fantasy involving a certain club downtown, my boss, Pearl Jam, finger food, and that black leather thing in my closet. I'd confess more but it's ugly.

I feel little a sympathy for the substance abusers I mother at my work. But it is the damn staff I hate. The ones who will not acknowledge me, and make my job more difficult, want special attention just to come across as caring individuals to their patients. Till they want a free meal. Then they turn into food whores.

I have never been in the boundary waters.

I'm sorry I call my husband "Old Goat". I will only refer to him as any of the following, Goat. Goaty Mc Goat Goat. Crusty the Goat Fart. Old as the Hills Goat. Goats R You. Gizzle Goatypants. Goatpie Grizzle Crust. Goatbait Dust Breath. Bill.

I love K1 more but K2 is my favorite.

When the cops pull me over for speeding and I apologize, I am not the least bit sorry. I am just sorry that caught me and I gotta pay.

I am not sorry I told my kids I was raised by wolves on the Canadian border. It was so much fun to tell them of my survival techniques and see that scared look in their eyes.

Back when my hubby would leave a LOADED shot gun in our barn to hunt ducks that flew over our pasture on the weekends it really ticked me off. He never shot a duck the whole time he left that stinkin gun out there. So when my friend Cadilack Cliff came by and asked if I wanted a couple ducks he had just shot I said yes. I then whent out to the barn and fired off the shotgun into the air. When I called my hubby and told him I got two ducks and only fired one time with his gun, he never left a loaded weapon laying around again. I'll tell him the whole story one day, just not yet.

I have never liked U2. But then again, I don't like River Dance either.

Kim Jong-Il is way too goofy looking to be a serious hazard. Somebody plant a bomb under him please.

My husband's ugly throphy musky he had mounted that now resides out in our pole barn was never involved in an "accident." The damage was caused by me and a hatchet. But I was really really mad at the time. I wish I could remember what I was mad about as it must have been good.

Whenever I see Elaine, the spiritual consular heading toward my kitchen with her organic eggs that she wants me to make special for her while at the same time cooking for sixty other dinners, or when she asks me to separated the broccoli and cauliflower veggies so no cauliflower touches her plate, I smile real big and think of her toothbrush holder. She, on occasion, has left her vibrator behind in her room, when staying overnight and had the nerve to go to the housekeeping lost and found and claimed it was her toothbrush holder. Brush your teeth a little more often there Elaine, would ya, and just leave me alone.

I called Ms. Hugaprick er Huminick a bad name when she pestered me about my keyboarding skills back in school. She was nothin but right.

Kyle's Left Arm

I lay there in bed all glowing knowing I had just experienced the best sex of my life. I opened my eyes after recovering from my estisey all happy knowing every thing was right in the world and having never felt so alive when I realized his big rock hard arm was still under my head. So I turned my head to look at him and realized it was Kyle's arm. Kyle's arm. I do not even know his last name. And I'm not sure what he does at work. It just seamed so right at the time, so natural that our karma libido paridiams where a lined as one. Funny I had never even thought of him in a physical way. I mean he is really good looking and everything. But he is just Kyle, you know what I mean?
Ever since that time I find my self gravitating towards him. I make up excuses to be near him. I need him to share a private moment or a knowing smile. It just gives me a little warm feeling when ever he comes around. And when he is near I never have anything much to say. I just blush a lot. I wonder if he ever had a dream like that about me.

Wish List

I wish...


I could have cat's whiskers to gage if I could fit into tight spaces instead of gynourmus hips that just bang into things and knock them over.

That Cathy Watsen had beat right back in the fourth grade when she said women get their period once for a month. (That chicks dad was in the service, she traveled and knew stuff.)

I had a cops red bubble light that I could carry in my jeep and throw on top of my hood when ever needed to pull over idiots and club them as needed.

The desert had zero calories and veggies were packed with them buggers.

That my Hubby would have been in our pole barn unloading material out of the back of his truck in his tighty whities years ago when the Jahova's first decided to stop and witness.

That I had the guts just to shave my head bald and not worry about stubble or scalp shine.

That my brother in law, the professional painter, had finished staining my house before he fell and dripped the wrong color all over my porch roof. Would of saved me saying, "Hmm, was it too hard to bring back our own equiptment for this job? How the hell did you expect me too carry you down the latter with a broken ankle?" Ok I only spoke it in my head to him but I shouldn't of even had to do that.

My mom could have seen my transplant succeed. She always told me there would be a cure. Mine just took 30 years.

That I had answered K1 correctly when he asked me when he was little, if it was me he heard down stairs, instead of jokingly answering, "NO I'M A BIG HAIRY MONSTER!", in a big hairy monster voice, which warped him somewhat, causing him to follow me from room to room for the next four years.

I had a secret room that was a four sided enclosed trampoline so I could bounce around like crazy to my hearts content.

One time I just rode my bike fast enough that my feet fluttered in the breeze behind me as I hung on for dear life.

Eatting chocolate made you smarter.

That I could develop unburnable hands as a super power illiminating my need for pot holders or ointment.

Everyone just understood the greater good is keeping me happy.

That my Hubby still wrote me romantic love letters instead of the ones he writes now..."I love to have the precious time with you, watching you sleep, as I go through your purse..."

I could read people's minds but only the good stuff.

I could tell my boss what I really think of him. And then have a three minuet running start.

That I was really really good at one thing.

My brain was organized to cross reference all memories for better recall.

On my walk on in "Grid Iron" with my Rock, I had not been dresses in so much football gear that no one reconized me.

If you were my man...

I would never make you go clothes shopping for me. Real men do not belong in women's shops. I am perfectly capably of dressing myself without you. I don't want to be in a mall myself, why would I make you.

I will never try to make you to stop and ask directions. If we are lost long enough, I will eventually have to go to the bathroom, giving me the opportunity to ask myself.

I will tease you outrageously. I am not cruel when I tease. You are in trouble if I don't tease.

I will not ask you to ride my bitch seat. I will ask that you tune my bike however.

You will stop on your way home and gladly buy our feminine protection units. Because if we didn't need them, we would be pregnant. You will also know to pick up some steaks and chippies and chocolate.

If you piss me off, I will tell you. I don't hold back and say nothing is wrong.

Do not buy me jewerly. I don't like jewerly so much. If I find something I want, I will buy it, without guilt.

You will not be jealous of me kissing my friends. Or the kids. Or my friends kids. Or the cat. You may draw the line on my kissing the picture of The Rock on my fridge door, or Dr. Theeth, my new carving knife but you will get over it.

The words, "Does this make me look fat?", will never be asked of you. I can tell what you like by the look in your eyes. But I dress to please me.

I will never discuss our intimate life with my girlfriends. I might blog a little about it.

I will change my mind often. Or not.

You will not spend hours waiting for me to get off the phone with my friends. Any number of friends however will be sitting in my kitchen with me at any given time. You will learn to wear pants at all times.

There will be a book at all times in the car. And in the boat. And your truck. And stacks by the leather chair. And you will have to move them out of the way to see the tv screen on the counter. But just don't lose my page. I do not have time for all that re-reading.

I would never have you wait for me in a beauty salon. I feel so bad for those poor uncomfortably suckers who then have to gush at their significant others appearance. I get impationt having to wait for myself, I would not wait for anyone.

I can be ready and dressed for anything in under thirty minutes tops. That's showered, make up and clean clothes.

If you are wrapped up in sports and games, I am just gone. Not that I would leave you. I'd just find somewhere else to be, doing something I like. I will not whine for your attention.

I will want you to do all mechanical technical stuff. And you will want to after you see the mess I make of such things.

You will learn more about food than you ever imagined.

I will ask you to open all jars. Seams as I am losing my grip.

This guy I know..

He can build anything, and it will last forever. Has the best laugh. Loves my family more than his own. He never complains or whines. Knows computer stuff. His eyes are the bluest I have ever seen. Can make me crack up with one word. Never bad mouths or belittles anyone, even the people he doesn't like. Is a manly man. Knows stuff like geothermal hydraulics, Pythagorean theorem, and Roman empire artillery. Tells me I'm the best. Can find any address in any city, and will ask directions. Can carry my world on his shoulders. Thinks I walk on water. Watches the bloodiest scarriest show but cries when little kids get hurt on the evening news. Worries about my future. Is polite. Brags me up to his friends. Does my laundry better than me. Writes me songs. Has medals and trophy's he has never spoke of. Buys me flowers and waters them. Is more ceative than me, but doesn't consider himself artistic. Sharpens my knives. Doesn't spend hours watching sports or playing games without me. Has studied my ancestry. Tunes my motorcycle that he hates. Has never said no to me.

But things are not all wonderful with him. He hates my cat. Cannot pay a bill. Is a slob. Won't dance. Can't remember my birthday. Or anniversary. Watches the same movies over and over. Is experiencing hearing loss. He eats crap. Whistles out of tune under his breath. Doesn't know music. Valls baby oil "fore play in a bottle." Likes to wake up early. Gets in my way. Can't dress himself. Half the time doesn't spell my name right. Get frustrated when I sit on the sink and pick my face. Has no sense of smell. Is jealous. The thought that he make much more money than I do bothers me. Doesn't have an adventurous bone in his body. Comes from a long line of certifiable crazes. Listens to talk radio. Loves White Castles. Pesters me about reading too much. Then begs me to read out loud to him. Tells me when to go to bed. Plans every holiday and weekend around fishing. Hides my library books and dry cleaning instead of returning them. Watches the weather channel and get exasperated when I don't know current weather conditions or forecasts. Likes golf.

But I can't imagine my live without him. He is the yang to my yin. He is the reason I keep a wad of bail money cash in the shoe in my closet. Why I know the difference between a terrarazal and poured concrete floor. He is boyscout to my wild child. The only call I will take before dawn and smile. The peanut butter to my jelly and the salt on my popcorn. How I know the barameteric pressure on the coast. The reason I am gratefull for the fishing lure birthday present two months early. Due to him I can dance alone, without being self concious, if I have too. He is the Abbot to my Costello and the Benny to my June. This guy is something.

Fall Hard

The end of summer always saddens me. And I'll tell you why. With it comes shorter, darker days. Fall ushers in the cold that kills all the colorful plants and sends all God's little creatures running for their lives. No more worry free late nights and sleeping in in the morning. No more all night sleep overs parties and satay with mango dip or flaming marshmellos for breakfast. Gone are the spur of the moment road trips to the Spam factory or to see an Amish. Taking a shower every third day or so is now out of the option. I will not feel the soft green grass beneath my feet for a good long time.
From now on it will be hours of painful home work until I look forward to crawling off to bed at an insanely early hour just to escape taxing my brain. Then there is that damn alarm clock I hate with a vengeance that robs me from my slumbering bliss. The cold cereal for breakfast if I have the time before trying to squeeze myself into my short plaid shirt and fumbling with the knot of my mandatory tie. Franticly rummaging through all my knee high stockings to find an unsnagged matching pair. The cold hard rock under my shivering butt, because it is just not cool to wear a coat, as I sit out at the end of my driveway in the pre-dawn hours waiting for my bus. The smell of diesel gas, dirty rubber, Axe and body odor on the noisy crowded bus as I stair out the window at the passing neibhorhood, pretending I am anywhere but on a direct route to hell. The standing across the road, just off school property, having my last cigarette before flicking it off into the gutter when the shrill bell calls me in for the start of my instructions. The force of the security guards rough handa as they grab me as I try to enter the brick building. The pain that hits to my very soul when the taizer zapps my already asphalt scrapped leg. Having myself once again subjected to the humility of the cops question my authenticity, as I stand there with my uniform all rumpled as they call for psychological evaluation, when all they really need is to allow me to enter the building and open my locker, next to the offices, where I left my school I.D. Seeing the look of disgust in my oldest sons eyes as they unkindly escort me off , as this year he will be old enough to attend the big school in our community with the really hot principal.
*may contain traces of lie

Hue Gone Bye

Red was the color of the silk dress that hugged her body like a warm liquid skin. He couldn't keep his tanned hands off her when she sauntered around in that hot little number. Where the soft material caressed her curves, his touch followed. That dress was his polar beacon to follow around the island. The material was used like a conquistador flaunts a cape to entice a bull. The tropical sunset couldn't hold a candle to the magic that fabric radiated.

Red was the color of his face as the accusations flew. The screams sailed off the liana like the birds of paradise returning to the tree tops. Wings carried them across the lawns and on to the sand, where the words were pulled away by the salty tide. She could hear no serf pound now, no mandolin hummed. She only focused in on his angry distorted face with shocked fasination. When the spittle from his barage sprayed across her face, she finally blinked and reached up to her ear, pulling the flower from her hair and tossed it into the air. And then she threw back her head and laughed.

"That read is spelled R-E-A-D, not R-E-D", he said in a disgusted voice, as they sat buckled safely in their seats awaiting take off. "Really," she answered without paying him any attention while looking back at the small crowd of people waving goodbye from the hot tarmac. "Maybe you should know I don't do cross word puzzles. But I do know how to spell," Kiss my sunburned ass."" "Maybe I'll try giving that a whirl", he answered, looking hopefully across the tops of his sunglasses at her. She turned from the window and answered with a smile as she rolled her eyes, "Maybe you will. But get me one last slow gin screw for the road, will ya?" And she never looked back.

Practicing Being Ancient

I day dream more now of the past than I do of the future. It is easier for me to revisit memories than make up new unexplored fantasy's. My life is set, my destine plotted out in stone. I have my husband, my home, my career and two point three kids. But before I close my eyes and sleep at night, I do not feel a longing or desire for the unknown. Maybe I am just too tired or too old. Maybe it is the same thing.

My Marlboro Man

Dale was everything to me. Everything a seventeen year old girl could dream of. He was a handsome older man, exotic, mysterious, and unknown to my family. And he had good reason not to be familiar with my family. Because he was the man every mother hid their daughters from.

I met Dale in his brothers bar. It was the old post office/general store, Dale's brother had renovated. Less than a mile away from our house, it was the only business, other than the garage in the rual ghost town we lived. I was never carded when I when in the dark tacky saloon. Maybe because Dale's brother was desperate for my money. I had always hung out with an older crowd, and a single girl was always welcome there. If there was an available woman in the bar, the men would stay longer and drink more. And at the end of the bar, that's where Dale always stood.

I was flattered with the obsessive attention he poured on me. That was before I realized he was so stoned that he found my minutiae fascinating. Not ever having been exposed to a loser, I had no idea the caliber of nair d'well I was drinking with. I was having way too good a time being in a bar with a man in his thirties. We would party way past last call and then close the place and dance on the empty dance floor. Sometimes, when he got the munchies, we would eat breakfast at 3:a.m. With all the neon bar lights and music and meals at all hours, it was my Las Vegas.

And sometimes he would take me back to his parents cabin on the lake, and we would talk about our future. Or more like he would talk about his future, and I would listen, tucked underneath the saddle blanket beside him in his bed, and try to picture myself with him on a ranch out west.

Dale was our post man, when our regular mail carrier took time off. Which was often because the full time carrier drank in the bar regular too. But Dale never once drove me home, or picked me up either for that matter. He was such a chicken he would hang up if my dad answered the phone when he called me. That alone should have been my red flag. But even when I started to see Dale for the low life he really was, the trill of my indiscretion still lured me in.

When he started tripping aacid and disappearing for a month or two at a time, it was hard on my still tender little heart. I wanted to save him. I tried everything a juvenile girl could do to rescue him from himself. I would become so wasted myself, or I let him think I was, he would have to take care of me. Or I would throw a fit, pick a fight and storm out of the bar, so he would come running after me. The last time I tried that with Dale, when he picked me up on the side of the road, I tricked him into driving me into the next town, to an A.A. meeting. He dropped me off on the side of the road outside the building. I remembered watching the tail lights of his Nova as he drove away from me thinking this time, I really was going to sleep over at a girlfriends house were my parents had always assumed I was.

I turned eighteen when he was out in South Dakota. I welcomed in my adulthood without him. My friends took me back to the neighborhood bar to celebrate my becoming an adult. There was a party already going on, as Dale's grandfather's will had died and left the family a huge wad of cash. Dale's brother paid off the bar. Dale invested all his money in an expensive race horse.

The horse died ten days later.

Some years back, I learned Dale had married a barmaid. They moved out to Arizona where the desert air is easier on the lungs as Dale died of lung cancer.

I picture Dale driving his mustard colored Nova, wearing his cowboy hat, a white t-shirt, baggy shorts, and tall pointy toed boots, delivering our mail. I used to imagine myself, instead of hiding behind the cedar trees in our yard to get a glimpse of him, running and jumping into his car, and pushing him aside, and driving him myself to an A.A. meeting. Or to South Dakota. Anywhere that was not an unhealthy smoke filled bar.

But that too, died.

The Things My Boss Will Never Know

I listen to drinking music when I drive around the campus in my Jeep. My "Drunk and Disorderly" cd, and AC/DC's, "have a drink on me" are my current favorites.

The time my dishwasher hurt his back, it wasn't because he hurt it tossing heavy crap into the dumpster. Him and I were having a high kick contest, aiming at the hanging pots above the counter when he kicked a little too high and slipped, landing on his tail bone. I won by default.

All those beets I cooked last week was not for my guests. I was making hair dye for the line server/future rock star drummer.

My mug with the company logo on it and a tall gin and tonic in it is a good thing.

My camera phone is in my pocket at all times. I have quite the nice collection of celebrity ass.

It is hot in my kitchen. I grill with the walk in cooler door wide open. Screw the grumpy matenace guys who have to come defrost the motor when it freezes up. Rumors are the morning chef cooks nude. But I won't be stopping in early with my camera phone to prove that one.

Saturday night I sent all the left over prime rib and what ever food I can find home with Alice, my seventy four year old "assistant". It will feed her kids and grand kids and half the trailer park known as "little Chicago", she lives in. I also due her dishes. And her floors. So fire me for that.

I come up with most of my own recipes. When guests ask me to write them down, I make stuff up.

That self conscious chick that came in last month, the one with anorexia, that you wanted me to measure out her food and hoax her to eat, I didn't. I found out she lived on ice cream when she did eat so she and I sat together at my desk and ate Sundays and read some of my cookbooks. She left with my book that came with my ice cream maker. And five pounds.

I write out my cheques at the liquor store with my company pen. And I laugh. And ask the cashier if she will gift wrap.

I liked that scitzophenic chick who was delusional. Gave me something to look forward too, wondering if she would come to dinner dressed as Madonna, or J. Lo. She was a good eater and very grateful.

The souvenirs that my co-workers asked for from my recent trip were, a shot glass from Finland, a Hard Rock T-shirt from Sweden, Black Death, a beer stein, and porn. I drew the line at porn. But I told them all about it.

When I call over to the main kitchen and ask for you to send Josh over, it's not because he is a great help. I'm helping him get into collage. Poor kid has way too much future to spend his life here.

I save all the scraps off the plates and leave a big plate of food out by the dumpster for the feral cats. If I ever get close to that big manx, he is going home with me.

I don't understand the coincidence between between the big flat top grill not working when that big guy lazy counter leaning guy I don't like very much cooks breakfast, but I do know a little puff of breath aimed at the pilot light will cause it to go out.

I am not qualified for this job. Did not have the experience. Wonder every day how I ended up here.

I do a killer impersonation of you. My biggest fear is you walking into my kitchen and catching me doing you.

Battle Cries

Thier low menacing growls didn't really frighten me. When they escalated into all out attack, teeth bared, flesh and muscle ripping, I was not in a calm state of zen, mind you, but I dealt. The sight of spit flying, claws scraping, and blood dripping, was not exactly what I'd plan at next years party. Especially when it was my own blood. It was the sound of her hysterical piercing shrieks that unnerved me. It scared me shitless. I know if I heard that sound again, I'd bite the dog next to me.

Anything But Nothing

When I could no longer love him unconditionally, I had to hate him without reserve. Living without passion was just not an option.

Progressively Nordic Thoughts

Oh the sound of the natives talking sounds so musical. Kinda magical.

What? We are walking around at 11 pm? No way. It feels live maybe 4 in the afternoon. Cept I'm tired. And the bars are hoppin. Sunshine is good.

Dang they are all so gorgeous here. She could be a model. So could her. And her. Natural beauties. I'm the ugliest person here.

Look at that big long word. There are more letters in that word than the sentence, look at that word. What the hell could in mean? Bet it's magic, that's what that is.

Oh fresh salmon.

That building is so ornate. Man that's pretty. And yellow.

They are polite here.

Ha ha. Seagulls are so cute. I want one for a pet. Hope my kid actually catches one.

Where is the stinking reindeer on the menu? Is the word for reindeer reindeer. I bet it is something close like, reindeersuoienlieninmovi.

We need trains and busses like this back in the states.

Every block has patio seating. That's picture perfect, all those beautiful people drinking coffee in the sunshine.

They don't make eye contact here.

I'm not going back. I'll immigrate. Or defect if I have to. I'll become a defective immigrant, that's what I'll be.

Woo-hoo. Ha. She thought I was a native. I love that. I wonder what she asked me for? I should of pretended I was a native and pointed her to that magic word store.

This hotel is so coolimienin!

How the hell do I turn on the lights?

Oh it's a gay porn store. So that's what that big magic store is.

Not salmon again.

Pay to use a bathroom? Get out.

How do people not run into each other here? They are so busy avoiding anything even close to eye contact and gabbering on their Nokia's, how do they not bong into each other? Oh I will make one of them look at me, I will...."Where you been? Since yoou've been goone, seams like it's been forever bla bla bla."

When do we get too see a reindeer anyway? Elk ya. Caribou ya. Iwanna see a damn reindeer.

Anything but salmon.

Can't anyone sew some curtains in this place and block out that cursed sun? I need my sleep.

Oh yeah I like seeing new places, I just don't like getting there. So do I like traveling or not? LOOK AT ME!

*Help. Oh help. Help Help Help.

Let me eat my salmon in piece you flying rat. Shoo you retarded seagull!.

Oh those are reindeer. Dude they are big.

Why didn't I pack a stinkin snow suit.

When is breakfast I want my salmon.

How can they all sit out here in the bright sunshine drinking coffee in the glaring sunshine? They look like rows of daiseys with their faces turned up to the sun. Find some shade. For me.

That's it. My future is settled. I'm buying this place and turning it into the only pizza place for two hundred miles.

I just want to sit on a couch and watch American tv. I will not walk, bike, bus, train ride, sail or fly another place. Oh look at that pretty yellow building. I hope they have salmon there.

Bar. Bar. Bar. Bar. Bar. Bar. My hotel. My hotel bar. My hotel restaurant bar. My room. My mini bar. Ah I almost need a drink to hide the smell of all my stinking dirty laundry. Naw. I'll just wash them in the sauna.

I don't want to leave. Ever. But I gotta go now. "Hey you speak English? Know how long this salmon will keep?"

* That is the though racing through my mind when I got off the train mistakenly when heading towards the Helsinki airport with my bags and all our passports and money and I looked across the tracks and realized the rest my boys and sister had not gotton off. It was the worse case senerio. I did not know where I was, didn't speak the language, didn't know where my family was, and had a plane to catch. Pictures to follow.

Aboriginal

The Finns rode their bikes with purpose. With their backs straight, elbows in, eyes forward and mouths set they put their best stoic face forward. They pedaled within the lines, manueuvered around pedestrians skillfully and with lots of distance left inbetween.

My sister rode like her ten year old self-hair flying, elbows out, Marimekko bag slung across her back, head up and her eyes pealed for adventure. She pedaled over cobblestones, junped curbs, swerved around the traffic, coasted down hills and pedaled like the devil going up. She discovered castles and churches that looked like castles, markets full of fresh peas and produce, war ships and submarines, the best ice cream and salmon always salmon.


written by my Sis Deb after Turku/Abo Finland

Reindeer Games

There I was smack dab in my least favorite spot on earth, the shopping mall. I would have rather been anywhere else. A grave yard at midnight. A dentist office. Giving blood. In a dentist office located at a cemetery donating blood at midnight. But no, the kids needed clothes so there I was, in the urban jungle skate shop, bopping to techno music while studying board graphics as they tried on pants. In my mind I was dealing with my self by pretending not to be there. I was already tangoing in Helsinki instead of the mall that stank of clothes sizing and testosterone.
"Monkey! I haven't seen you in soo long. Where you been?"
"Oh hey", I told my neighboor, "I've been working full time. And then some." She is a chick my own age. Our kids go to school together. We go to the same church.
"You already buying school clothes for your boys?", she asked, eyeing the mountain of jeans and hoodies I was holding.
"Nope. We just need warm clothes for our summer vacation."
"Where are you going?"
"Iceland. Finland. Lapland. Sweden."
"Oh well I could think of more romantic places to go with my husband."
"Hubby is not going."
"Who are you going with? Not the boys?"
"The boys and my Sis."
"Oh that's too bad. Shame you couldn't go with girlfriends so you could do fun things. You know, like shop."
"Boys! We are going. Now. Just grab your size."

There is no one else I would rather go on adventure with than my family. Going on reindeer safari across the arctic circle or fishing in the fords I can't imagine doing with anyone else. Cept maybe Grace. But then I don't know how she would handle the nude beach. Talk to you in a month.

Love?

The first time he told me he loved me, I asked him why. I did not respond with the same endearing proclamation. I did not know what I thought of him much less what I felt.
He answered honestly and simply, "Because you are so easy to love."
That was not the answer I had wanted. I needed an ego feed. "Easy", was all I heard and did not want to be thought of in that way.
So what if we were in bed.
The best, the smartest, the hottest....Would of done me fine.
So I answered, "Thank you."
Nine years and four kids later I grew up and married him after I realized what a compliment that was.
I am anything but easy to love.

Oblivious

I guess I never noticed his jealousy of me. I was unaware of how the over attentive waiter upset him or the charming police officer's eagerness offended him. But not only did it anger him, he would file it away in his memory to worry over at his leisure. But then again I never noticed he was gay. Until the day I seen him running down my driveway more girl than I could ever be. Then it was my turn to feel envious.

Baby's Gone Dietary

"Still can't sleep baby?", she asked in a drowsy voice when she finely felt him slip inside the bed beside her. The girlfriend knew he had been hurting. "Sssh, get your rest, you have a couple more minutes before you gotta get up for your shift", he whispered softly and snuggled up to her warm soft body. "Where you talking to someone? I thought I heard your voice." "No one. No one important. Anymore."

The man all the way across the city lay in his bed and stared at the receiver in his hand. He knew he was in trouble. "What was that about? Who would call at this time of night?", his wife asked with as much irritation a person can muster at 4:00 a.m. "It was the chef I had human resources send packing on Monday."

The campus was electric with excitement and tension the next morning. Security were vigilantly posted at the entrances. There where no walkers or sunbathers out enjoying the warm summer day on the grounds. The only motion out side other than the family's of geese swimming around the ponds and feeding off beetles, were the self important buzz of the matenance department canvassing the wooded perimeter in their motorized carts. Locked doors greeted the girl when she arrived. With some trepidation she walked through the unusually quiet dining room, looking for some explanation to the rift in the atmosphere.

She paused the main kitchen door and listened. She could here the muffled tones of hushed conversation, but could not make out their words, Slowly she opened the swinging door slowly. Co workers stood in gleeful groups gossiping about the excitement. Terrorist threats to the department supposedly had been issued from an ex employee. Frightened individuals were instructed on how to remain safe and follow crisis protocol if the dangerous individual did make it onto the campus. The department head himself appeared, with his adolesent son tucked by his side, and in the conference room where the window shades had been pulled safely shut, from unwanted eyes or scopes, he told every one not to worry, he had arranged the necessary precautions so the staff could continue their jobs without fear during the lockdown. The buzz of wild speculations and questions only grew. The girl quietly left the room, unnoticed.

Downstairs, at the pay phone she sat, fighting the sick feeling burning in her stomach as the anger kept her shaking finger from dialing the right number listed on the employee list. The thought of what she was doing might be inappropriate only briefly crossed her mind. After all, the coworkers numbers were posted everywhere. She was praying there would be an answer, but was surprise when he answered non the less. "Baby?" His calm voice sounded happy to hear her voice. "Hey how are you doing?", she tenativly asked him. "I'm ok, considering they don't want me there." "Not all of us. They never did appreciated tour skills here." "Yeah, I got that from the boss this morning when I called him to ask him why, about the time my honey was getting up for the breakfast shift." "Baby, you shouldn't have done that." "I had to ask him why, he did me like that. And say goodbye. I even asked if I could put him and his lovely family on my Christmas card list." "He made the executive decision to take that as a THREAT Baby." "What? Why?" "Just DON'T come back here Baby, Ok? Please? I can get you all your books and your molds and your things from here. "Naw, I don't want any of that stuff. " "You sure? "I can give it to your girl, if she comes back in to work. It's no problem. I heard she took a day today." "No I don't even want a memory from there." "I need to go Baby, they are going to be wondering where I am." "Ok, thanks for calling." "Bye, Baby. You are missed."

She thought about him as she climbed the service stairs. She remembered him feeding the stray cats by the garbage dumpster every night. She remembered him showing the mentally challenged dishwasher how to slice a cucumber. Of all the times he would be called in special to cook for the president of the corporation and many of the important clientele because he was by far the best chef the place had ever had. And worse of all she remembered the stricken look on his face after he would get sent to the human resourced department each time the managers felt he needed reprimand for something like having the balls to tell the night supervisor to stop staring at the ladies because it made them feel uncomfortable. Or telling jokes to cheer the line server who is going through radiation treatments.

With a smirk she walked back inside upstairs to watch the employee's huddled around the boss, clucking condolences while pouring the empathy over his over inflated ego. He was in trouble himself with human resources. That is why he was making the fuss. The girl would not have fawn over him, or look him in his eye, even if he were to notice anything other than himself. She might have looked at him, at that instant, through a cross hairs herself, if she had let her anger burn. But he is not worth it. He will hang himself.

Anna Hiltunen's Bible.

All I have of Anna

I never met the lady. She died long before I was born. The little I did know about my grandmother I mostly learn form my Aunt Hilma or other old timers in the area. I heard she was a beautiful woman. A tiny sweet natured thing with jet black hair and eyes. And would bake half a dozen loves of bread a day to feed her family. But going through the old house last fall, I found a trace of who she was, to tie in with the legends I had heard.

Anna was sold as a child to become an indentured servant to a prosperous family in Finland. When the wealthy family decided to immigrate to America, they brought along Anna, then age thirteen, in place of their own daughter who did not want to leave. It took Anna six months aboard a boat with little food to eat before reaching Ellis Island and later settling on the Iron Range of Minnesota. Later she met and married my scroundrel of a Grandfather and became the mother of nine homesteading a section of land in northern Minnesota.

When her rich "adopted" family died, they left Anna their house and land on the Iron Range. Anna, at the time was too poor to pay the inheritance taxes on the estate and it auctioned off. Had my grandparents sold their own homestead to pay the taxes they would of owned the richest mine in the state. Anna was never meant for material wealth.

All I found in the seldom used leather bound Bible was her obituary. A letter in Finish from her motherland. And a strange glass picture of a woman and a child. And a dried lady slipper my sister and I picked and hid in the Bible years ago when we were younger than my boys now. The obituary gave me her maiden name. The town she originated from in the obituary does not appear on any map. I cannot understand the letter. I hope the blurry image is Anna and her mother.

I keep the yellowed newspaper clipping here by my computer and look at it every day. I decided this spring the boys and my Sis and I will be going on a reindeer safari across the Arctic circle this summer. Being dark featured my guess is that Anna was of the gypsy indiginous Sami origin. But that too is at this point only a guess. It will only take us twenty five hours in the air, as opposed to six months by boat, plus over land by ox cart time, and our belly's will be full. When we go to sleep at the Palace Linna, I will wonder if she had seen the castle as she sailed away from her home. And you know for sure I will think of her often when we stay in the much more modest Hotel Anna. And eat some bread.

Stolkholm Thursday

The syndrome actually begins on Wednesday night at the rehab I were I work. Thursday is the patients departure day and on Wednesday, if their rejuvenate has been successful, they gush etusiasim and gratitude. And they expect a party along with back slapping and cake for all their accomplishment. Some are scared, terrified of life back in the real world and beg to stay for longer. Most of their self centered needy butts I just want to drop kick out the front door as their grand finaly send off.

They are the same people that I have been feeding two meals a day from any where from one week to two months. I am in control of, for the few that do not chain smoke like dragons, their last addiction. Food. I know their peculiar likes and dislikes. But to them they are needs. "I NEED chocolate milk. I am allergic to white milk." Like you could be allergic to dairy that does not contain chocolate. There are the ones who claim to be allergic to red meat, glutton, night shade vegetables and soy, but will eat off the other guests dirty plates when they think no one is watching them. They will refuse to see our dietitian to be put on a meal plan, they do not want yet another choice to be taken away from them, and because they need to feel special. They can not deny themselves one less pleasure. Having me prepare them unusual dishes makes them feel important. Guenthorn, the lady from Sweden, is a vegetarian. I make her a special meat free lunch and dinner every day, that I serve her but know to have a plate set aside for her after I close the kitchen, while the other guests are at lecture so she can sample the entrees that once bled. That way she gets double attention.

The same people are the ones who pretend that I am invisible when I am working within ear shot while they are having their personal conversations. The things I do hear them discuss does make me wish I could disappear when I hear them. "Why would anyone tell my kids I am in treatment? Why would they make me look like the bad guy? I am a good father and I love my kids. The little bastards don't need to hear this bullshit." This was the man who snuck booze along to the boyscout camping overnighter and they found him in his tent suffering from alcohol poisoning covered in his own filth. "Yeah so my parents didn't know I was using so I hired two strippers for the drive back to collage and brought them to my fraternity party and the cops busted me after I kicked the shit outta this dude that owed me sixty grand in gambling debts." This is was from the forty something year old from Ironton, where sixty g's would buy the entire town.

And there are the pornographic stories I wouldn't even type if I was writing the script to a triple x movie. The lying and the addiction go hand and hand. It's part of the same sickness. A weakness I hate so very much. I cannot call it a disease. It is a choice.

I grew up in an alcoholic family. I am the daughter, the grand daughter, former wife, the sister and aunt of addicts. Do not tell me it is a disease. High blood pressure, cancer and diabetes are chronic illnesses that are past down. Addiction is a cowardly excuse. I really have to question why I work where I do.

Maybe it is the Sunday after church phenomena that helps. Sundays are family visiting days. All afternoon you can see the family's strolling around campus, putting their best sober face forward. It is after services, so they all have their pious attitudes and their best clothes on. They so want to believe their loved one, that they are spending what equals a collage tuition for a months cure will work this time. And the patients do no want to disappoint their family's again. Their born again glow causes my to advert my eyes when meeting any of them of the walk way. It would be different if the illuminations source was real. And if I didn't grudingly wish it was I visiting my family here instead.

By Wednesday night however, my guests are like my own family. I have started to feel empathy for a calibere of people I normally won't think twice about. I have Guenthorn's meal ready for her, plus a side dish of ribs and a rib eye in the back warmer. I get hugs and hand shakes from people I would normally never touch. The Stockholm Syndrome is in full swing for me. I worry for them and wish them well. Some of them I will miss.

"Thank you, for all the foods jo? It was all so wunderful. You took such care gud for me."
"You are so welcome Guenthorn. Take care now ok? Hope you have a good flight home."
"Ja, you too. Thank you again so so much."
"You want me to make you a sandwich for your trip?"

I made her a roast beef of white with a peanut butter and jelly on whole wheat on top of it so no one would see she is a carnivorous. I am and always will be an enabler. It is my choice.

Hard Days Night

I'm on day 397 of my five day work week and I'm tired as an old pig. Pig tired. I do not fall into bed dreaming of my up coming holiday north of the arctic circle, or my impending wedding to the Rock. I don't even dream of an entire day off. My fantasy's are of bathing for pleasure, instead of turning my clothes inside out and hitting myself with some Fabreeze on my way out the door. Of entire meal eaten while sitting down and not yelling, "Kids! Got your instruments in the car-we are late!" Or even what my boys faces look like for that matter. Of reading.

I once a while back was invited into a lovely friends home for a book study with a group of intelligent well read ladies. As our own introductory to the rest of the group, we were asked to introduce ourselves and tell everyone our favorite hobbies. Seams as there is an abundance of gardening crafters out there. I simply said with all honesty, "In my free time, I like to walk around my clean house in my pajamas." I was never invited back. The ladies just couldn't wrap their bookish minds around how seldom I had any free time.

In two days I will have a day off. Which will be wonderful as I have hair to do, baseball, tutor conference, swim lessens, the cooking competition to plan and shop for the catering.

Anyone got a line on free time?

Don't Let the Door Hit Ya....

A going away party was held today at my job for a coworker, Joysucker. It was no improptu gathering, it had been planned for some time. Basically from the day he was hired, we have awaited this event honoring the Sucker masters exit.

Our conga line was short, around the bakers area, circling the large floor mixer you could often find him leaning liturgically against. The pantomime winner was the chef who reinacted a love scene involving the departee's clip board. (The same clip board that had mysteriously kept disappearing. Our manager would hide it for our amusement, causing Sucker much chagrin. The boy would walk in circles asking everyone in a lost and useless way the rest of the day, "Have you seen my clip board? Where is my clip board?") Both sets of "misplaced" storage room keys also aparated. Come to find out they weren't in the dumpster after all. Although we did all have a good chuckle at the thought of him diving in and rummaging around for them, and the angry letter he had written concerning our irresponsibility. Sceond place whent to the server who answered the main department phone in his familair sounding lisp, "Thiss iss Thoy Suckerss ofis, Thoy Suckerss thpeeking."

After a lovely refreshment of the chocolate cake Sucker so despised,and whined often about, we played a quick game of pinota. We took turns covering our eyes with his crusty white hat and swinging an oversized spatula at his company name tag. The winner got to whirl the plastic picture id through the industrial food processor. A good time was had by all. We walked back to work after break whipping the happy tears from the corner of our eyes still singing "For he's a horny gross sucker, for he's a horny gross sucker, for he's a horny gross suckerr, that nobody can deny", under our breath.

Of course he wasn't there, his last day was a while back. That's what made the party.

Her Beauty

She is all that. She is all that simply because she has never been told otherwise.

At an early age her family told her she was magnificent. They told her she was beautiful and smart. The world was hers, to be done with what she wanted. Her confidence was planted deep.

Others, who might not be aware that she is the gatekeeper and keyholder might think of her as ordinary. Mundanely wrapped in an awkwardly spoilt package.

She is the way she is because she never doubted her family one iota. They need a mirror.

Clint Does Dream Therapy

Geologist: The iron range and the banks of the St. Croix forms a basin effect. The silt caused by the erosion brings it all back to you. That is why his name is stuck on your mind.

Me: So, how do I get rid of my obession?

Geologist: Bury him.

Weeast Dakota Car Games

These are games to play in your vehicle while cross country wondering.

1) Where's my finger. One player must sit in the front seat, the other in the back. The places to hide ones finger is limitless. They include in other body parts, things or on a map. Tourist brochures are especially good. "Nope wrong. My pinkie ain't in my ear. Not in the bag of Cheetoes. Or full of Black Hills gold. It is in the "Unexplainable Cosmos Mystery Area." Or is it?"

2) Hit the tumble weed. Ok so the driver tries her best to hit the fast moving dry brush. Others cheer and bet on success.

3) What do I gotta do to make this semi driver honk. Driver must pull along semi and kids do what ever it takes to illicit a honk of the air horn. 32 honks and we where in Rapid City. Truckers where hitting detours.

4) BISON! BISON! Ok there are no set rules to this game. Just yell Bison when ever you want to change the subject or get attention.

5) Wrong Song. Sing any pop song you want from any time era but change the words to cowboy lyrics. "My spurs, my spurs, my lovely little spurs. In the back and in the front. Get you love drunk on the saspirilla. Make you scream ,Make you Scream....."

6) How slow is this Dakotan. These people are over friendly and ask way to many questions. We know half this state is closed down because it is not tourist season. That is why we are here. Stop asking. We are doing our own "Minnesotans Gone Wild", video.

7) What won't these donkeys eat. Sorry you will just have to wait for the picture.

8) WWLIWD? Short for what would Laura Ingals Wilder do.

9) Get Lost. Easily played when driving on closed mountain logging trails, caves, large never ending Cabella's.

10) Name something they don't sell in Wall drug. Clearly labeled radio-active material, defibarators and live animals.

My World

I heard the crash and knew what it was immediately. After the roar, and the heavy thump, I ran into the living room and found my antique globe shattered on the wooden floor. My world in a million irreplaceable shards. So all did all I knew how to do. I followed him in the kitchen screaming like a fish monger's wife. That wasn't enough. My words and my reason and my tears were just not enough. So I took a swing at him. I smacked him full on the back of his head, right where the goose egg from last weekends tumble protruded from the back of his skull. Still not enough. I turned my back on him as to have the last say in the matter. Naturally he chased me. Hit me. Go ahead and hit me. I even curled myself into a tight ball and tucked in my chin making myself a target. Take your best shot at my back, you bastard, I'm not going to run.

But run I did. Sometimes a couple of states can make a world of difference.

It Would of Been Romantic If There Had Been Romance

There was a zing of excitement in the fresh spring air as we drove to our destination. The forty minute drive took only a blink of an eye, our conversation was that good. He played the charming tour guild for me and pointed out to me things I had never noticed much less known about. I wanted the night to last until summer .
During the show, we shared secret jokes and did not even listen to the narrative. I ate off his plate, he drank my wine. We enjoyed sharing our passion. He was the perfect gentleman.
An onlooker confided in me, "You and your husband look like you are having such a good time. It's obvious you too love each other very much." "Yes", I answer, But we are not married. Eric is my friend."

Kickin and Screaming

She fought with the phone company and had her service shut off for a week.

She battled the bulge and lay on her closet floor sobbing when she could not fit into the size 8 jeans. Then she read the tag that read, boys.

She fought the passing of time by Indian leg wressling her kids. Not only did old man time kick her ass but the laws of physics as well.

She fought back the nausea as she cleaned the puppy poo off the carpet and ending up cleaning her bathroom as well.

She fought all common sense and bought her son a trumpet.

She fought the wolf away from her door by working a sixty hour week. Where she also fought authority.

She fought the urge to laugh out loud at her kids spring concert and ended up bawling instead.

She fought with her husband and will no longer call him Goat. I will however call him Goaty Mc Goat Goat, Crusty the Goat. Grizzle Goatypants. Dusty Goat Breath. Or Bill

She fought the urge once again to run off to a far away country but booked tickets to Helsinki in July.

Who, What?

There was an invisible little girl
who cried a crystal clear tear
right in the middle
where her cheek should be
and it evaporated into thin air
so she let out a sob
and cursed herself hard
fustrated because she was voiceless.

Cats and Dogs Living Together

Holy crap. Pigs and monkeys. http://wcco.com/topstories/local_story_050172415.html
This was on the local news just days after I found out the person right before me who had the same procedure, islet cell transplant by injection, instead of sugicaly, died on the operating table. Eight people before me had a transplant, not all were successfull, and none buy the less invasive way I had mine.
I also discovered I am a poster child for the U of M. http://www.diabetesinstitute.org/diabinst/treatmentsdiabetes/islet/stories/lalli.html Please read the home page on that site.
When I had my procedure, my doctor, Dr. Herring told me he was already working on a more advanced cure. I was his baby steps.
I am happy for modern technology. But this type of news upsets me. I don't know what to do with my face.

The Greasemonkeys Daughter

We never did have a new car when I was growing up. Dad was a mechanical engineer, of sorts. My father did not hold a degree. He had barley made it through the eighth grade of a one room Finnish/American school house. Wilmar would come up with bits and pieces off other machinery and design a completely new mechanism. His biggest invention he made most often though, was do.

The automobiles we drove were often made up of miscellaneous parts of cars he would scavenge. Dad was a genius when it came to putting together scraps of machinery and turn them into running machinery. He built tractors, harvesting equipment, and once a prosthesis leg for his war veteran friend. The cars we drove were always a work in the making, and often needed a little help. Mufflers, that if you drove for too long and too fast, would fall off, or stick shifts that would take two hands to maneuver, for instance.

That might be why, when my last jeep was laid to rest, I bulked at the notion of setting foot into a car dealership. In my mind, there was no unfixable automobile. So what if the back end of my wagon was gone, there was another half of an unscathed junker that could be married to my beloved blue jeep. I just couldn't find the man willing to take the time and do it.

On the other hand, in this modern day disposable world there are a trunk load of those willing and eager to sell me a new one. "I don't want a new car", I repeatedly told my husband, who was on his mission of loving provider. "I know how to start a truck with a pick-axe. I can make do with a used model."

Hubby didn't like the idea of me stranded because of car problems , late at night, on the side of the road while he was out of town. I told him I could also protect myself with same pick axe.

For valentines day Hubby bought me a nice shiny new red jeep. It will do. I wonder how he will use the pick axe I bought him. And if in some wreck yard, somewhere, the pieces of my old jeep will make someone else happy.

No Centerfold Here

I did not like it when he took pictures of me. I do not know if it is because the quality of the images, or the timing of the snap shots, but I would cringe when he would procure his Kodak. In all his shots I am turning away, avoiding the lens. When he asked to include the camera in our intimate time, I was surprised. I thought I knew him better than that, or at least he knew me. But when later I discovered his stash of our erotica, I smiled out loud. Every shot was of only my face.

Love Potion # 6,726,587,239

If I were to formulate for you your specific love potion, what would it smells would it consist of? A wafting of pumpkin pie, a hint of cedar and a pinch of Axe body spray? Warm puppy fur, popcorn and a whiff of the beach? A drop of sweat, a sprinkle of cinnamon and a puff of smoke? Money? Does the smell of baby make you warm or just impatient? New car aroma give you tingles or nausea? And what do I package your essence of emotional devotion in? Would you like it in a crystal decanter, empty gin bottle, or would a WD 40 can do? A jeweled box or a zip lock baggy?Let me know soon eh? My personal concoction of fresh paint, curry, leather, fish and hospital antiseptic in a chocolate shell will probably not be requested for duplication this valentines season.

The Mice in My Brain

I'm sorry I haven't written you much lately, but I have been thinking of a lot of things....

Of the fireworks exploding in the dark sky, as we watched through the picture window of the ice shack.

The spoon of justice.

Groupings, clusters, or rows?

South Dakota.

Of the naughty little pair of leather leaderhosen I'll be sporting while serving shinitzle and spagle on Valentines night.

Pearl asking who hit her as I walked her back to the patrol car.

Teaching K2 how to yodel on the ski lift when I surprised him on his birthday and took him skiing instead of school.

Of the invasion of goateed men at work.

Warm ginger snaps.

Of the beauty at http://www.augustlalliflowers.com/

My hatred of car dealerships and salesmen.

My chiropractor with the shoe fetish.

The Citadel pussy.

The song automated Boy by The Dresden Dolls.

Art dot cards.

Men in recliners.

Drive by lawn trollings.

Hopefully lunching in Anoka.

K2 walking out of class the day after he witnessed me walk out of the new jeep transaction.

The class I'll be teaching with Sweatin John.

Why all black pants make my skin itch. Am I allergic to black?

The upcoming strange shenanigans at http://notjustadogandmonkeyshow.blogspot.com/ And can someone please tell him how to post a picture on his profile?


I promise I will try to write and keep you up more often. But you never know.

At Least Good Guys Finish

I wish I had met you sooner
fucked ya up twist you turn you into a train wreck loser
show you the truly dark side of the moon
eat you up baby with my warped spoon
be my freak tweakin for the poon
wear you like a string around my finger
flick off the world with you my little ringer
turn you inside out left out to dry teach you how it feels to cry
ride you hard put away wet
you'd beg for more bitch wanta bet
use you up for my joy ride
shred every once of your masculine pride
strut my welcome mat to trap you for my chew toy
want to taste some candy little boy
run for the hills don't look back
keep me from makin you a burned up hater
your so better off never than later

Pearl Jam

Thank God for silver foxes.

The world needs more sweet little old ladies who drive silver sports cars.

Sharp as tacks pushing centurion who do lunch at their less mobile friends homes.

Thank you Lord for giving them the timing to do their outings while young children and pedestrians are in school.

Great Grannies smart enough to buy wheels with all the necessary deployable air bags.

Wise sun spotted beauties who are nimble enough to maneuver around snow plows.

Blessed be genuine who are able to scan the horizon for road signs, but miss seeing my stand still jeep.

Wizen angles who make it possible for me to have insurance pay for my back rubs and new neck adornment.

Sweeties named Pearl who are too tough to let there paramedic examine her, and worry about my well being.

Heaven sent ladies who will never drive again and keep the more venerable safe.

Nursing home refugees who will make the salesman of my next, even bigger SUV, fall on their knees.

Thank you, for perfect timing.

My Secret Liaison

"Renee", is the name I sprawl on the dust of my window sill as I sigh and lean my forehead against the cool and grimy pane. How I miss my Renee. Our separation has dishearten me. While Renee is cavorting on vacation in the Caribbean surf, I am languishing here in my own filth.

I try not to remember my life before Renee saved me, the dark putrid hole that was my home. She came into my world about the time my first child arrived. She invaded my personal space like a slightly caustic pint sized Mr. Clean. Renee is my cleaning faerie.

My hubby, bless his obliviousness to dirt, has never noticed I have Renee. Nor do I bother to point out this fact. You would think he would have if anything noticed, a reduction in my nag time. My mantra of "take off your boots, take off your boots, pick it up!", is less often uttered from my exasperated overworked lips. How he thinks I manage to clean the entire house on the days I work, plus all the errands thrown in, sans any industrial cleaning fluids, I'll never know. And I flat out don't care. I don't like keeping things from my husband. But it would upset the man greatly if he knew I payed for her services.

Back in the day, I resisted hiring someone to clean my house. That was something that I felt I should have been able to do myself. I come from a strong line of tidy ancestors. Some who would clean the rafters in their attics every spring and the power lines that lead into their homes. Some even had to be medicated to suppress their cleaning hard drive. I can clean, mind you. I just happen to fill my time with other things. But a woman's home is often thought of as a reflection of themselves, so that is when Renee became part, if not a secret part of my family.

"Come home soon", I whisper to myself. I can't find my car keys.

Because a Scientist Said So

Today has been deemed as the years most depressing day. Some scientist hatched up the equation to formulate it as being so. Time of year, weather, self esteem, financial debt and sunlight all factored into his equation. Just when I was feeling really great about marking yet another revaluation around the sun.
You got to fight fire, with fire. My my case, cold with cold. To beat cabin fever, and to also celebrate my son's birthday, I decided to kick the old thermostat down a notch. I found an even colder, smaller and darker place to party. It will be in a fish house up north. Take that, old man winter. We are biting back.
I am pulling the boys out of school, with a couple of friends, for a long weekend in a deluxe sleeper fish house on Mille Lacs. Deluxe means it has beds, a bathroom, and a stove. Mille Lacs is Native American for "Freezes Ass for Fish". Good times. Good times. I am packing cards, movies and lots of food, along with the game hnefatefl. (Viking chess) The biggest surprise will be when the sled dog team I found pulls up in front of our ice shack to surprise my son and his friends with a ride across the frozen tundra.
When I heard the 6 o'clock news that I should just be sobbing or drinking, instead of in my happy little buzz, I picked up the phone and called the resort we will be staying at.
"How much ice do you have on the lake?"
"Twenty-two inches on our bay right now."
Asking if the fish are biting is just redundant.
"Happy Birthday!!", I yelled into the phone before hanging up.

My formula for happy is this,
Pi, or cake for that matter times six, frozen, add goofy infinity minus reason, plus a fraction of adventure.
Maybe we will pee that into the snow and send that scientist a picture of my equation.