We are taboo my Romeo
what with your troops
stealing our land
livelihood
and family
my grandfather's people going
axe murder
on your army
but on the inside
my blood runs red
and I know
we could make beautiful music
together
Monday, August 31, 2009
Beautiful music
We are taboo my Romeo
what with your troops
stealing our land
livelihood
and family
my grandfather's people going
axe murder
on your army
but on the inside
my blood runs red
and I know
we could make beautiful music
together
Munkay and Putin sitting in a tree
Because doodling you name on a note book is not enough
noone can obsess like me.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
In Soviet Union Bath Takes You
You can reach me by railway, you can reach me by trailway
You can reach me on an airplane, you can reach me with your mind
You can reach me by caravan, cross the desert like an Tzar man
I don't care how you get here, just- get here if you can
You can reach me by sailboat, climb a tree and swing rope to rope
Take a sled and slide down the slope, into these arms of mine
You can jump on a speedy colt, cross the border in a blaze of hope
I don't care how you get here, just- get here if you can
There are hills and mountains between us
Always something to get over
If I had my way, then surely you would be closer
I need you closer
You can windsurf into my life, take me up on a carpet ride
You can make it in a big balloon, but you better make it soon
You can reach me by caravan, cross the desert like an Tzar man
I don't care how you get here, just- get here if you can
I don't care, I dont care, I need you right here right now
I need you right here, right now, right by my side (yeah,yeah, yeah, yeah)
I don't care how you get here, just- get here if you can
Friday, August 28, 2009
The candle light was lovely....
You are thinking about me again
aren't you
and what we did last night
try to block out the sobbing and begging part
Send for me already
My suit case is packed with flannel-red
worked my kettle bells standing on my head
the scythe and star tattoo healing fast
passport in hand
ready to forget my past
nothing can keep me away
take it how ever you want it
Don't be so hard boiled Puty
You flipped my world
like a very beautiful unorthodox egg
why won't you stay for breakfast?
Cook you ladkas even
Wipe that look of dissent off that face young man
wipe it clean
you will grow up to be an intelligent powerful force one day
and then I will Bolskevik your heart
reform your potato loving soul
There will be vodka
Come to my dasha
Mr. KGB man
Of course it's actually a
modest suburban split level
but I will putsch your heart
like only a crazy american woman can.
Putinism
President prime Putin
Russian ladies love machine
economic reformer or fascist
I wanna touch your rod
Monday, August 24, 2009
Munkay vs The Law
I want to do a victory dance and pump my fists in the air. I won I won I won. Not only did I succeed but I burned the bad guy. To bad I have to work for these people and not be able to even smile smugly.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
I survived but only just
First I was afraid, I was petrified...
Then it got worse.
I don't know whether to give you the full anabashed account of the "solidary retreat" that was my four day weekend at the lake, or whether to tantalise you with edited highlights.
Whatever it will be, all I know is that I don't really want to think about it right now.
It's good to be back in the Land of the underachievers.
There's no place like home.
Then it got worse.
I don't know whether to give you the full anabashed account of the "solidary retreat" that was my four day weekend at the lake, or whether to tantalise you with edited highlights.
Whatever it will be, all I know is that I don't really want to think about it right now.
It's good to be back in the Land of the underachievers.
There's no place like home.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Step Back Rug
"don't jump!" i shouted to the suicidal rug. "don't jump"
a crowd gathered
i gestured to the suicide rug wildly
but it was too late the crowd had already formed
it's opinion of me
Sunday, August 09, 2009
Think before you speach
"You know once I give this shot to you there is no going back", the nurse waving the labor inducing drug told the over due woman.
Think before you speach
"You'll be like 'poof' and then you will say, "Was that a ninja just now or did I have a little gas?"", he said trying to proove himself.
Thursday, August 06, 2009
Think before you speach
"Your skinnier than me" said the cubby waitress to the thin one as they both stood in front of the bathroom mirror, "but I got bigger boobs."
Think before you speach
"I can't work any overtime because the bar won't cash my check if I make a higher amount.
Think before you speach
"I need to smoke to slow me down." said the stoner as he sat in his dirty failing business. "Some people lose everything but not me."
Wednesday, August 05, 2009
Think before you speach
"You would make the perfect wife" said the bachelor. "You are not wife like at all."
Tuesday, August 04, 2009
Think before you speach
"In the pasted he only masturbated in front of the staff in the unit. He might behave better for you in the kitchen."
Think before you speach
"No I don't think a woman will ever go to the moon, their not strong enough" said the small minded secondary teacher to the girl who had just learned what ERA stood for.
Think before you speach
"If I get you pregnate will you marry me?" said the man with eyes the color of burnt sugar.
Monday, August 03, 2009
Think before you speach
"My beard only hates people" he bristled with a frown when asked how a facial expression may be a contributing factor to a conversation.
Think before you speach
"Jimmy Carters mother is a negro", said the woman to her daughter."Miss Lillian is a black name."
Think before you speach
"Look out so those birds up in that tree don't swoop down and chop off a piece of you man" said one offender to the other. "You know they could be those carny whores."
Think before you speach
"I know how to end gorilla warfare" said the little girl. "Just hide in the jungle and shoot them before they see you.
Think before you speach
I don't have school tomarrow. Eight to two I should get to stay up as late as I want.
Think before you speach
"When I fuck a girl she stays fucked", said Scotty the drunk at the end of the smokey bar.
Think before you speach
"I love ham", said the collage girl home for the summer as she sliced deli meat on the Hobart, "where does it come from?"
Monday, July 27, 2009
Spider Attack
Yesterday I was ecstatic to learn that I had an unexpected day to myself. Immediately I rose, showered and gathered my things in order to enjoy a splendid day out and about. Before leaving the house I stepped into the kitchen to wrap and store a bunt cake I had nibbled on the previous evening, when I noticed a small spider web on the ceiling in the corner of the room. I took a chair from the kitchen table and, stepping from it to the counter made my way past the sink towards the web. Unfortunately my dish rack was in the way, so I had to hold on to the windowsill over the sink with my left hand as I stretched with my right towards the web. Just about when I had reached the corner I felt my balance askew, and taking a quick step I found the weight of my body forcing my large and second toe deep into the toaster. With a shout I whipped the device around, feebly trying to use the edge of the counter to dislodge my digits from the device. In this process the switch somehow became activated.
Now, in a fit of urgency, I attempted to stand precariously on one foot while leaning over to fling the toaster from the other, but as I did so the windowpane I was leaning on gave way and I had to twist in mid air to avoid thumping my jugular on the shattered edge. That jerking motion, of course, jarred the sinks faucet lever which sent water directly into the toaster’s other toast-slice receptacle. The toaster’s 500 amps jerked my body in a backwards-arching motion, sending me clear through the window and hurtling through the warm summer air.
As I landed on the down-stairs neighbor’s patio furniture the sound frightened her cat, who became entangled in the toaster cord which had snapped off at the socket as I plummeted. The more it struggled to free itself the more it became entwined, and soon I found myself being clawed and bitten by the poor confused animal. While simultaneously extracting my mangled extremities from the patio furniture and attempting to pry Snickers from my face I noticed the neighbor stepping outside her door with a broom in one hand and the phone in the other.
The officer she summoned had very little trouble shackling me, as I had already turned face down to ward off the broom-handle blows to my midsection, and to tell you the truth I felt a rush of relief as he tossed me headfirst into the back of his squadcar. Snickers though, quite to my dismay, was hot on my heels, and the 185 pound German Police dog in the seat with me was fleet in allowing instinct to take precedence.
Handcuffed, I found my lap to be the venue for a life and death struggle between three species. Snouts, claws and teeth raged as the officer frantically attempted to open the door while the scene became invisible behind steamed windows. Before I passed into unconsciousness the car door was opened, and I noticed five other emergency vehicles attending the incident.
At the insistence of my neighbors I will be moving from my apartment shortly, but before I do so I will tell you this: As I tossed my head back to ingest my pain medication in the kitchen this morning I noticed that there are now two spider webs.
Now, in a fit of urgency, I attempted to stand precariously on one foot while leaning over to fling the toaster from the other, but as I did so the windowpane I was leaning on gave way and I had to twist in mid air to avoid thumping my jugular on the shattered edge. That jerking motion, of course, jarred the sinks faucet lever which sent water directly into the toaster’s other toast-slice receptacle. The toaster’s 500 amps jerked my body in a backwards-arching motion, sending me clear through the window and hurtling through the warm summer air.
As I landed on the down-stairs neighbor’s patio furniture the sound frightened her cat, who became entangled in the toaster cord which had snapped off at the socket as I plummeted. The more it struggled to free itself the more it became entwined, and soon I found myself being clawed and bitten by the poor confused animal. While simultaneously extracting my mangled extremities from the patio furniture and attempting to pry Snickers from my face I noticed the neighbor stepping outside her door with a broom in one hand and the phone in the other.
The officer she summoned had very little trouble shackling me, as I had already turned face down to ward off the broom-handle blows to my midsection, and to tell you the truth I felt a rush of relief as he tossed me headfirst into the back of his squadcar. Snickers though, quite to my dismay, was hot on my heels, and the 185 pound German Police dog in the seat with me was fleet in allowing instinct to take precedence.
Handcuffed, I found my lap to be the venue for a life and death struggle between three species. Snouts, claws and teeth raged as the officer frantically attempted to open the door while the scene became invisible behind steamed windows. Before I passed into unconsciousness the car door was opened, and I noticed five other emergency vehicles attending the incident.
At the insistence of my neighbors I will be moving from my apartment shortly, but before I do so I will tell you this: As I tossed my head back to ingest my pain medication in the kitchen this morning I noticed that there are now two spider webs.
Friday, July 10, 2009
Word Rationing
She wakes and stands groggy eyed at her kitchen window drinking her morning cup of tea as the tabby purrs and rubs it's self against her bare leg. She leans down with a grunt in place of a greeting and scratches the kitty behind it's ear. She does not sing in the shower. She leaves the house before anyone else is up.
The woman will say "good morning" an average of twenty seven times before she reaches her office. Every one wants a piece of her. After she has repeated herself around forty five time she will only nod, smile if it is staff.
"What's going on with you?", is all she will venture when conversation a necessity. Then she will sit and listen and cock her head at the appropriate times to fake interest. Words are precious to her. She does not have enough anymore to share.
In meetings she does not venture her opinion. A yes or not will suffice. They think of her as hard and decise and it works to the woman's advantage.
Driving between facilities she does not scream at traffic or lip off to the radio. Strangers are not worth her voice.
They all vie for teachers attention. Notice me. Acknowledge me. Appreciate me.
She will only stare and continue on.
Then comes the message on the answering machine on her desk.
Love me.
Late at night as they sleep she whispers in her babies ears her reserve.
Then her words flow free.
The woman will say "good morning" an average of twenty seven times before she reaches her office. Every one wants a piece of her. After she has repeated herself around forty five time she will only nod, smile if it is staff.
"What's going on with you?", is all she will venture when conversation a necessity. Then she will sit and listen and cock her head at the appropriate times to fake interest. Words are precious to her. She does not have enough anymore to share.
In meetings she does not venture her opinion. A yes or not will suffice. They think of her as hard and decise and it works to the woman's advantage.
Driving between facilities she does not scream at traffic or lip off to the radio. Strangers are not worth her voice.
They all vie for teachers attention. Notice me. Acknowledge me. Appreciate me.
She will only stare and continue on.
Then comes the message on the answering machine on her desk.
Love me.
Late at night as they sleep she whispers in her babies ears her reserve.
Then her words flow free.
Wednesday, July 01, 2009
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Thoughts from the lake...
I stand in the sandy swallows of the lake and curse like a sailor as I rake jetsam.
Thoughts from the lake...
"Sing me to sleep loon" I whisper to the dark and drift off to an earie melody.
Monday, June 22, 2009
This, That, and the Other Thing
What has kept our beloved Munkay from writting for our entertainment you have asked yourselves daily? Get ready I will tell you now.
THIS is what K1 accomplished and I couldn't be more proud:
THAT is what I found and bought him for his achievement:
(Ok so I really only put a heavy down payment on it and set him up with a loan to pay it off himself.)
But since I was then in a buying mode I bought this OTHER THING:
This is were I am spending my time disconnected when I am not working 10 hour days to pay off my fun.
THIS is what K1 accomplished and I couldn't be more proud:
THAT is what I found and bought him for his achievement:
(Ok so I really only put a heavy down payment on it and set him up with a loan to pay it off himself.)
But since I was then in a buying mode I bought this OTHER THING:
This is were I am spending my time disconnected when I am not working 10 hour days to pay off my fun.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Too Much?
So I asked the world to stop spinning.
I used my most polite lady like voice.
It did not even acknowledge my humble request.
So I let the world be.
And stopped spinning instead.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
When Moma Puts her Boots On
The door opened and he quickly stepped into the office. He was nervous. Nervous for the show that would not happen. In short clipped steps he walked over and stood in front of her, his body tight and shoulders pulled up and in as if he were a turtle and would pull his head in to protect himself. The boy came over and stood at her knee. "Mom?" he said as his blue eyes darted trying to take in everything before flight was needed. The woman uncrossed her legs, closed the old annual she was paging through and smiled.
"Hey Babe", she answered in what she hoped her most reassuring voice. The woman stood up and guided her child out of the school office.
"Am I in trouble Mom?" he asked sneaking sideways glances at her as her hurried to keep up with her long pace. "You are wearing your angry boots."
She looked down at the hard sound coming from her feet. Her foot wear a solid black leather with a nice heel. She wore them when she needed to be as big as the world.
"Your not in trouble. Get every thing out of your locker. Your principal is dead meat though."
"Hey Babe", she answered in what she hoped her most reassuring voice. The woman stood up and guided her child out of the school office.
"Am I in trouble Mom?" he asked sneaking sideways glances at her as her hurried to keep up with her long pace. "You are wearing your angry boots."
She looked down at the hard sound coming from her feet. Her foot wear a solid black leather with a nice heel. She wore them when she needed to be as big as the world.
"Your not in trouble. Get every thing out of your locker. Your principal is dead meat though."
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Dear Buy the No Name Steaks From the Back of My Truck
Do not knock on my door and halfway through your sales spiel, point to one of my cows and ask "What's that?"
Dear Customer Service Hot Line Attendents
Make English your first and only language or take up factory work.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
It almost broke her heart
when he said, "Um. Your hair. It's finally growing back? It looks...ok? The dude had never complimented her since she met him. On her worse day ever he tried awkwardly.
Thursday, May 07, 2009
It almost broke her heart
When he told her the candy drawer was empty. "How can that be?" her voice echoed back from what used to be her pleasure center.
Wednesday, May 06, 2009
It almost broke her heart
When the girl mustered the courage to tell about the pedophile which there after labeled her a sluty trouble maker.
Tuesday, May 05, 2009
It almost broke her heart
When he snubbed out his cigarette on the night stand and asked her if she wanted to see a picture of his girlfriend.
Monday, May 04, 2009
It almost broke her heart
When she was told the extended warranty she had purchased two years ago on her new Jeep had never been sent into the Chrysler corporation before the dealership filed bankruptcy.
It almost broke her heart
And it left an impressive bruise on her boob when she walked into his back swing.
Sunday, May 03, 2009
It almost broke her heart
When she finaly opened the small musky trunk full of pictures of those she lost to give to the family that never had.
Saturday, May 02, 2009
It almost broke her heart
Watching the movie "What's eating Gilbert Grape", a life time after reading the novel, her perspective packed itself into an airstream and she cried.
Friday, May 01, 2009
It almost broke her heart
When he said, "That picture is rwelve grand, you still want it on your credit card?"
It almost broke her heart
When the boy quietly asked, "Mom why didn't you stand up for me?", and she realized she should have kicked the specialist's stupid ass twenty minutes too late.
It almost broke her heart
When she was finally able to sit down by herself on a Saturday night child free.
It almost broke her heart
When he asked her to the prom by walking up to the group of girls she was standing with and said, "Any of you not have a date?"
It almost broke her heart
When the bad Dr. said, "When I fix that chip, I can also fill in that gap of yours."
"I love my gap", she whistled.
"I love my gap", she whistled.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Coyote Wild
It had been along time since she had hear the wild cry in the dark. So long long she had forgotten. At the sound of their chorus she sucked in her breath and froze in fear. It had been a life time ago since last she felt the rush of adrenaline in her night.
"Coyote", she whispered and the joik instantly stopped.
The girl lay awake until sunrise yearning to hear the music again.
No one else hears the song. "Nothing?" she would question with a slight yelp and wait for the pack to return.
They come for her when she is in between worlds and her spirit moves free.
In her dreams she stands at her window in her night dress and her voice joins them.
The girl lost her wild, but wild remembered the girl.
"Coyote", she whispered and the joik instantly stopped.
The girl lay awake until sunrise yearning to hear the music again.
No one else hears the song. "Nothing?" she would question with a slight yelp and wait for the pack to return.
They come for her when she is in between worlds and her spirit moves free.
In her dreams she stands at her window in her night dress and her voice joins them.
The girl lost her wild, but wild remembered the girl.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Easter Toast
Eight years ago when our house burned to the ground and we lost everything, we lived for months without toast.
I waited for my new home to be complete before I bought anything that would be permanent so it would fit my new life perfectly.
On Eater morning the good bunny brought us a beautiful new toaster to match my appliances.
I plugged it in next to the stove top and it burst into flame from the steam of the tea kettle that very morning we had while we were making toast to eat with our colored eggs.
The horrible smell of burning plastic set off all our smoke detectors and we ran from the house in our jammies and bare feet.
I love that my toaster has a wicked sense of humor.
But this morning we played it safe and ate breakfast burritos.
Friday, April 10, 2009
Everyone wins a stuffed animal in my grey matter
There is the kind of carnival with a bright neon ferris wheel and noisy bumper cars near the a dizzy making octopus ride spinning around inside my head. It is complete with an unadvertised freak show going on behind the concession tents and peanut shells litter the ground. There is a brown bear wearing a party hat that rides around on a tricycle. He is not a very happy bear but his hat is not as hot as the one he wore back in Russia. The bear has long since forgotton the smell of the forrest or how to forage for berries. He yearns for cotton candy with a child center. And there is a wack a mole game there too, but just one.
Thursday, April 09, 2009
Sometimes a girl just needs a brownie
When your story gets stolden and raped. When your wanted in court for speeding tickets. When you find out your acne medicine (generic) costs 112. You will buy a dessert that you will cook in the microwave and feel all the worse for it.
Saturday, April 04, 2009
Preview
All That’s Wrong
“I’ll take you to a place like you never been before”, he said.
So I followed my co workers little grey little Mazda closely as he zipped through the early afternoon traffic across town, sun roof open.
We pulled up outside the Gopher Bar in east St. Paul and poured all the change we could dig up from the bottom of our pockets into the insatiable parking meters on 7th street before we dodged traffic into the corner bar.
From the outside the building it looked like your typical neighborhood watering hole. It is an old brick building touting Coney dogs complete with beer signs covering the windows that I have driven past a million times. The Gopher is defiantly not the kind of place a girl like me would walk into by herself no matter how hungry I was. And my stomach rules my body.
But wait, this joint has the owners names and even their kids names also on the outside. You just don’t see that on a bar now a days. This establishment is a family run business. That made it a little less intimidating for me.
I followed my buddy through the door and paused, expecting to have to wait for my eyes to adjust from the bright sunlight to the dim interior of a whole in the wall. Surprisingly on the inside we were greeted by trophy deer mounts above the bar decorated with bright strings of festive holiday lights through out their antlers and enough neon beverage advertising signage to send me into a strangely happy Vegas frame of mind. No one yelled out our names “Cheers” style when we sat ourselves at a well worn chipped Formica table adorned only with mismatched salt and pepper shakers and condiment bottles, but none of the patrons accosted us either.
I had wanted to belly up to the bar and befriend the edgy looking bartender incase a Vulcan swooped in to harass me but when my big six foot plus companion opted to sit at table close to filling bar, I followed.
I barely had time to take in much of the colorful surroundings before the waitress and co owner, Cheri Kappas was at our side taking our order.
“What will you folks have?” she asked, fake pasted on smile obviously missing from her face.
What she had meant when she asked that is how many dogs we wanted period.
“What have you got?” I answered focusing on the rude slogan printed boldly across her t-shirt.
“Coney Dogs”, Cheri answered with a laugh, placing a thin plain wax paper placemat in front of us. They do have a menu and serve other food during regularly scheduled mealtimes but they are known mostly for their Coney dogs.
So we ordered the Coney dogs with the works.
The other thing they are known for is their attitude. When they found out I had never been in the Gopher before, my plain undecorated placemat was replace with one with the title “Virgin” printed across it in large dark letters. Modesty kept off duty employee Susie, who told me of this tradition from attaching the F-bomb stickers included in this right of passage. Once Susie realized I was not so easily off put, her stories and language became spicier, and the laughter flowed freer.
While waiting for George Kappas, Cheri’s husband and proprietor of this politically incorrect Minnesota landmark to grill our dogs, we sipped our drinks. The daft was cold and the glass clean, all you could ask for in a sudsy brew. The screw driver was not as good. I didn’t see the bottle of orange juice it was poured from, but my guess was the memorvelia on the walls might not be the only thing with a light coating of dust. The drinks did get however get progressively better after a new bottle of juice was opened.
Every where I looked was wrong. Wrong on every level.
There are no velvet pictures of dogs playing poker.
The walls were covered with hockey players supporting only supporters, political genre, naked rubeniesk ladies and bullet holes. Oh there is a stain glass mural, but the image of the Minnesota Gopher hockey mascot is flicking you off.
I was about to get up from our table and causously inspect the art work closer thinking I could not be offended any further when the show begun.
Swearing between the owners in the kitchen at the end of the bar erupted loud enough to momentarily silence the pre happy hour crowd that was congregating.
Know before you go that the F- word rains down at the Gopher like a can of warm Miller that is roughly shaken before opened. The regulars at the bar barley paused before returning to their own conversations. Some of them chimed in. When I looked across the table, even my big friend was blushing.
Our food came as fast the good natured insults and teasing that was flung around the grill. This is not the place for sensitive or easily offended. Or the communist.
The only thing wrong with the Coney Dog at the Gopher name was it’s name.
It is a real deal pure beef hot dog on a toasted bakery bun covered in a thick meat sauce, the onions and cheese spilling over the sides. When I tried my best to pick it up and lady like nibble it from an end, the bad boy fell apart all over the place. But that was to my benefit. The only way I could define the taste of the pure beef frank under the mountain of toppings was to eat it with a fork. I just scooped up the remaining guts off the wax paper with the buttery grilled bun and finished them off. I’m not a hot dog fan but if they used a little fresher gooier cheese it’s deserving of it’s own name if you ask me. And if I learned anything during my afternoon in the dive bar, it’s ok if I tell you my option.
Cheri sat down with us for a few quick minutes after we had finished eating as the clientele continued to file in for a quick dog and a drink. She would occasionally throw insults directed at George behind the bar, and banter with the stool dwellers as we talked. Many of the regulars would stop to hug the foul mouth maveren or pay their respect as she told us of the history behind the place.
The original Gopher Bar was started by her father in law in 1933. Cheri married into the business after twenty three years of a volatile working relationship with George. When she spoke of the cantankerous white haired man behind the bar, it was the only time she visibly softened. One of her three kids who work there tended the bar as we talked. She lowered her voice when filled me in that the crusty old George behind the bar is not the same sweet George at home she fell in love with. I’ll take her word on it as I never drank enough courage to go talk to him before he left his bar for the afternoon.
The Gopher was not always known for their hot dogs. When they first started years ago they grilled more hamburgers, but when local business lunch hours were shortened from sixty minuets to a half hour, people didn’t have time to wait. Their Coney Dog formula as it is today has evolved more than their social reform.
When I asked Cheri how the economy has affected their business she laughed. “Even in a recession people will continue to eat, drink, and f--k.” It’s the f-ing smoking ban that has decreased our business by 40 %. People used to come in here and sit, spent the whole night. Now they are here for half and hour or so and then they go.”
The place and the language is shocking, the owners and regulars not least bit hesitant to tell you what they think. There is no insincere Minnesota nice in that place don‘t cha know.
Cost of our lunch and drinks where only a little more expensive than the funky parking meters out side. But the service and the locals were open and friendly. The environment of the place unlike and other, just be sure to turn your sensitivity filter off before you go. And do not call the bartender sir, that is wrong. Call him by his first name, Asshole.
“I’ll take you to a place like you never been before”, he said.
So I followed my co workers little grey little Mazda closely as he zipped through the early afternoon traffic across town, sun roof open.
We pulled up outside the Gopher Bar in east St. Paul and poured all the change we could dig up from the bottom of our pockets into the insatiable parking meters on 7th street before we dodged traffic into the corner bar.
From the outside the building it looked like your typical neighborhood watering hole. It is an old brick building touting Coney dogs complete with beer signs covering the windows that I have driven past a million times. The Gopher is defiantly not the kind of place a girl like me would walk into by herself no matter how hungry I was. And my stomach rules my body.
But wait, this joint has the owners names and even their kids names also on the outside. You just don’t see that on a bar now a days. This establishment is a family run business. That made it a little less intimidating for me.
I followed my buddy through the door and paused, expecting to have to wait for my eyes to adjust from the bright sunlight to the dim interior of a whole in the wall. Surprisingly on the inside we were greeted by trophy deer mounts above the bar decorated with bright strings of festive holiday lights through out their antlers and enough neon beverage advertising signage to send me into a strangely happy Vegas frame of mind. No one yelled out our names “Cheers” style when we sat ourselves at a well worn chipped Formica table adorned only with mismatched salt and pepper shakers and condiment bottles, but none of the patrons accosted us either.
I had wanted to belly up to the bar and befriend the edgy looking bartender incase a Vulcan swooped in to harass me but when my big six foot plus companion opted to sit at table close to filling bar, I followed.
I barely had time to take in much of the colorful surroundings before the waitress and co owner, Cheri Kappas was at our side taking our order.
“What will you folks have?” she asked, fake pasted on smile obviously missing from her face.
What she had meant when she asked that is how many dogs we wanted period.
“What have you got?” I answered focusing on the rude slogan printed boldly across her t-shirt.
“Coney Dogs”, Cheri answered with a laugh, placing a thin plain wax paper placemat in front of us. They do have a menu and serve other food during regularly scheduled mealtimes but they are known mostly for their Coney dogs.
So we ordered the Coney dogs with the works.
The other thing they are known for is their attitude. When they found out I had never been in the Gopher before, my plain undecorated placemat was replace with one with the title “Virgin” printed across it in large dark letters. Modesty kept off duty employee Susie, who told me of this tradition from attaching the F-bomb stickers included in this right of passage. Once Susie realized I was not so easily off put, her stories and language became spicier, and the laughter flowed freer.
While waiting for George Kappas, Cheri’s husband and proprietor of this politically incorrect Minnesota landmark to grill our dogs, we sipped our drinks. The daft was cold and the glass clean, all you could ask for in a sudsy brew. The screw driver was not as good. I didn’t see the bottle of orange juice it was poured from, but my guess was the memorvelia on the walls might not be the only thing with a light coating of dust. The drinks did get however get progressively better after a new bottle of juice was opened.
Every where I looked was wrong. Wrong on every level.
There are no velvet pictures of dogs playing poker.
The walls were covered with hockey players supporting only supporters, political genre, naked rubeniesk ladies and bullet holes. Oh there is a stain glass mural, but the image of the Minnesota Gopher hockey mascot is flicking you off.
I was about to get up from our table and causously inspect the art work closer thinking I could not be offended any further when the show begun.
Swearing between the owners in the kitchen at the end of the bar erupted loud enough to momentarily silence the pre happy hour crowd that was congregating.
Know before you go that the F- word rains down at the Gopher like a can of warm Miller that is roughly shaken before opened. The regulars at the bar barley paused before returning to their own conversations. Some of them chimed in. When I looked across the table, even my big friend was blushing.
Our food came as fast the good natured insults and teasing that was flung around the grill. This is not the place for sensitive or easily offended. Or the communist.
The only thing wrong with the Coney Dog at the Gopher name was it’s name.
It is a real deal pure beef hot dog on a toasted bakery bun covered in a thick meat sauce, the onions and cheese spilling over the sides. When I tried my best to pick it up and lady like nibble it from an end, the bad boy fell apart all over the place. But that was to my benefit. The only way I could define the taste of the pure beef frank under the mountain of toppings was to eat it with a fork. I just scooped up the remaining guts off the wax paper with the buttery grilled bun and finished them off. I’m not a hot dog fan but if they used a little fresher gooier cheese it’s deserving of it’s own name if you ask me. And if I learned anything during my afternoon in the dive bar, it’s ok if I tell you my option.
Cheri sat down with us for a few quick minutes after we had finished eating as the clientele continued to file in for a quick dog and a drink. She would occasionally throw insults directed at George behind the bar, and banter with the stool dwellers as we talked. Many of the regulars would stop to hug the foul mouth maveren or pay their respect as she told us of the history behind the place.
The original Gopher Bar was started by her father in law in 1933. Cheri married into the business after twenty three years of a volatile working relationship with George. When she spoke of the cantankerous white haired man behind the bar, it was the only time she visibly softened. One of her three kids who work there tended the bar as we talked. She lowered her voice when filled me in that the crusty old George behind the bar is not the same sweet George at home she fell in love with. I’ll take her word on it as I never drank enough courage to go talk to him before he left his bar for the afternoon.
The Gopher was not always known for their hot dogs. When they first started years ago they grilled more hamburgers, but when local business lunch hours were shortened from sixty minuets to a half hour, people didn’t have time to wait. Their Coney Dog formula as it is today has evolved more than their social reform.
When I asked Cheri how the economy has affected their business she laughed. “Even in a recession people will continue to eat, drink, and f--k.” It’s the f-ing smoking ban that has decreased our business by 40 %. People used to come in here and sit, spent the whole night. Now they are here for half and hour or so and then they go.”
The place and the language is shocking, the owners and regulars not least bit hesitant to tell you what they think. There is no insincere Minnesota nice in that place don‘t cha know.
Cost of our lunch and drinks where only a little more expensive than the funky parking meters out side. But the service and the locals were open and friendly. The environment of the place unlike and other, just be sure to turn your sensitivity filter off before you go. And do not call the bartender sir, that is wrong. Call him by his first name, Asshole.
Friday, April 03, 2009
Unreasonable
Ten of my most unreasonable worries.
10-The apocalypse will come but not fast. In the end times I will run out of my sleeping pill prescription and not be able to sleep. Out of frustration, a member of my family knocks me over the cranky irritable head and kills me. No heaven for him.
9- I drive around and round and get hopelessly lost in the city near me. Then I will have to ask directions and admit I am lost. I can drive without hesitation in other states or country, but not here. Then I have to stop and ask directions in an foreign accent so as not to look the fool being lost in my own back yard.
8-I will stand up when my lawyer enters the room I am waiting in and take off all my clothes. Again.
7-I am afraid when I marry Gordon Ramsey I will dress him up like a little corgi dog and use him scare the mailman instead of utilizing his God given talent of humiliating the non postal.
6- I fear the next time I am walking by the front of a plate glass windowed restaurant and spot my wind blown reflection in the glass and pause to make an exaggerated horrible expressing while holding up my fingers over my head and wiggling them in a evil witch style, the unseen dinner sitting in the booth on the other side will take more offence and chase after me with a burning torch like I deserve.
5- I will finally locate the one gated community existing that does not allow teenagers within it perimeter. But the gate will have an electronic remote code that my teenager will have to explain to me.
4-I am stalked by a group of Morris dancers. Innocent looking and light on their feet they are never caught. Stress causes me to lose my job and I have to get homeless dude on 7th st to cut my hair for cheep. Then I get lost trying to find him and have to ask direction. "Eh mucho homeless gringo se?"
3-My laptop gets stolen. Stolen by eloquent and evocative writer who answers all my e-mail and solves all my problems caused by inertia plus enables the spell check on my computer. People will love me right up tom the time I buy a new laptop and change my password. Then they will think of me not only as lazy but rude. Wait.
2-The day will come during an emergency that my sharp shooting skills will be required and the A-squad will call me in. Calmly I stand behind the security barriers, handgun in hand, red laser guild square on target. Knowing the second I pull the trigger, lives will change, I close my eyes take a deep breath in and squeeze, unaware my kitten has spotted the laser.
1- Midgets
10-The apocalypse will come but not fast. In the end times I will run out of my sleeping pill prescription and not be able to sleep. Out of frustration, a member of my family knocks me over the cranky irritable head and kills me. No heaven for him.
9- I drive around and round and get hopelessly lost in the city near me. Then I will have to ask directions and admit I am lost. I can drive without hesitation in other states or country, but not here. Then I have to stop and ask directions in an foreign accent so as not to look the fool being lost in my own back yard.
8-I will stand up when my lawyer enters the room I am waiting in and take off all my clothes. Again.
7-I am afraid when I marry Gordon Ramsey I will dress him up like a little corgi dog and use him scare the mailman instead of utilizing his God given talent of humiliating the non postal.
6- I fear the next time I am walking by the front of a plate glass windowed restaurant and spot my wind blown reflection in the glass and pause to make an exaggerated horrible expressing while holding up my fingers over my head and wiggling them in a evil witch style, the unseen dinner sitting in the booth on the other side will take more offence and chase after me with a burning torch like I deserve.
5- I will finally locate the one gated community existing that does not allow teenagers within it perimeter. But the gate will have an electronic remote code that my teenager will have to explain to me.
4-I am stalked by a group of Morris dancers. Innocent looking and light on their feet they are never caught. Stress causes me to lose my job and I have to get homeless dude on 7th st to cut my hair for cheep. Then I get lost trying to find him and have to ask direction. "Eh mucho homeless gringo se?"
3-My laptop gets stolen. Stolen by eloquent and evocative writer who answers all my e-mail and solves all my problems caused by inertia plus enables the spell check on my computer. People will love me right up tom the time I buy a new laptop and change my password. Then they will think of me not only as lazy but rude. Wait.
2-The day will come during an emergency that my sharp shooting skills will be required and the A-squad will call me in. Calmly I stand behind the security barriers, handgun in hand, red laser guild square on target. Knowing the second I pull the trigger, lives will change, I close my eyes take a deep breath in and squeeze, unaware my kitten has spotted the laser.
1- Midgets
Thursday, March 26, 2009
So she replied,
"Learn how to program a phone and stop drunk dialing me." But it was 2 a.m. so it really soundwd like, "Go***$!! ur f$~~^% phone and stop #@!% dialing me bitch."
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Sunday, March 22, 2009
So she replied,
"No, a pink shirt does not make you look gay. The stuffed animals on your computer and the other hand..... Want to go to antiquing with me this weekend?"
So she replied,
"No I will not join you you all mouth big headed spoon lickin freak", as she threw a pot holder at Rachel's oversized noggin and turned off Foodnetwork in a huff.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
So she replied,
"That's explains things, One Eye has super advanced chicken powers", to the boy elucidating poultry logic to the baffled woman.
So she replied,
"All this stress is causing my goiter to throb and I can't read Craigslist. I'm going home Steve."
So she replied,
"I THOUGHT YOU WERE A FIGHTER!", as she bend to pick up the broken lamp he had just broke with his miss aimed blow.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Commercial Break 09
Looking out the bedroom window.
Northern beaver are extra furry and there is a reason they smell like fish.
I smell fuds
Your not a wolf are you?
Simon says one step closer
Hand fed Bambi
So she replied,
"Take the costume off for once will ya? Be a real nobody and stop trying so hard to be a fake somebody."
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
So she replied,
"Alaska has a monthly living expense allowance? That settles it- I move to Canada and become a citizen. Move back to Minnasota, apply for a small buiesness loan. Charge up a bunch of stuff-move it all up to Alaska and never work another day in my life".
So she replied,
"Lack a Punch!! We'll take the picknick out on the lake and have a boat!" When excited her brain works faster than her mouth.
Monday, March 16, 2009
So she replied,
"No mew you! Momma lurves her sweet sweet baby angle lover sooo much *smooch smooch smooch...", stopping when she saw the movement of the Culigan man who lingered too long.
So she replied,
"I like mad Bob. You should bring him out more often", to the quiet balding man in the back.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
So she replied,
"The only reason you'd take hard drugs is to lose weight? What about the trip?" to her best retarded friend who was skinny to begin with.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
On The Way To Canada
Day three on the expedition to Canada finds my party stranded. The snow covers the windows of the lodge and the tracks we made made an hour ago have disappeared.
The shelter we have has closed for the season, it is just me, my two hearty boys, and the inn keeper, Gale.
Our attempts for sustenance this morn were fruitful, providing us with four rainbow lake trout. But we have no means of cooking our dinner, as the inn keeper, a kind gentle spirit has locked himself in his quarters and the fire in our rooms, gas.
The last ting we supt on was a local dish, Goober Burgers and Moose drool. It has given us the energy to return to our base.
We have one box of Thin Mint girl Scout cookies. Some cocoa. Oh and the pie we could not finished dinner, which is not really a pie but more of a crisp.
Please please sent help soon. We have no TV. No cell phone. Our plans of being Ghost Hunters International is stymied here with the only sighting of abnormal phenomenon is the bar tender over at Gunflint Lodge's tale of the radio that does not always shut off right. No one else around here is talking and spring break may be over by the time we make it to that fort in Thunder Bay with misty solders that walk through walls and the hotel that freaks even it's oldest workers old into the night.
When I find my camera cord I will post pic's of the survivors that do not get eaten or fall along the way.
The shelter we have has closed for the season, it is just me, my two hearty boys, and the inn keeper, Gale.
Our attempts for sustenance this morn were fruitful, providing us with four rainbow lake trout. But we have no means of cooking our dinner, as the inn keeper, a kind gentle spirit has locked himself in his quarters and the fire in our rooms, gas.
The last ting we supt on was a local dish, Goober Burgers and Moose drool. It has given us the energy to return to our base.
We have one box of Thin Mint girl Scout cookies. Some cocoa. Oh and the pie we could not finished dinner, which is not really a pie but more of a crisp.
Please please sent help soon. We have no TV. No cell phone. Our plans of being Ghost Hunters International is stymied here with the only sighting of abnormal phenomenon is the bar tender over at Gunflint Lodge's tale of the radio that does not always shut off right. No one else around here is talking and spring break may be over by the time we make it to that fort in Thunder Bay with misty solders that walk through walls and the hotel that freaks even it's oldest workers old into the night.
When I find my camera cord I will post pic's of the survivors that do not get eaten or fall along the way.
Monday, March 02, 2009
Box of Monsters
June 13, 1974 was my dads 45th birthday. Mom took me to the First National Bank of Graceton that day. She went in uniform, navy pleated skirt, matching sweater set, nylons, and her pointy heeled shoes that left holes in our yard. She also curled her hair and secured it back with a head band, as was the style of the time. She wore the long chain necklace with the turquoise flower dad had bought for her when he had worked construction out the Phoenix. As if the money grandma had left her in the savings account was not enough. The necklace swung as she walked up to the tellers window.
"I'm here to make a withdrawal for my husbands birthday."
She left with an envelope containing $200. without telling me what she was getting him and swore me to secrecy during the twelve mile ride home in our old dusty blue Dodge Polara.
At home I whispered the news to my sister under the willow tree at the edge of our yard where the tall grass ended and the garden started. We wondered what she could buy with all that money. My older sister Debbie who was nine and all practical guessed it was something the whole family could use, like our first color TV with a real antenna in place of a coat hanger, or a shiny car with a heater. I ventured it must be a trip to Mexico because I had recently learned of Mexico in Mrs. Christenson's kindergarten class. "Don't be stupid", Debbie said and punched me good in the arm, because she had known about Mexico for a long time, and thought mom would not take dad to a place they speak funny. I punched her back for calling me stupid then we both decided it had to be a swimming pool to go where the rhubarb had been planted because after all we did not have rhubarb for two years. I was six but I acted like like five and a half so I had to make an oath not to pee in our new pool.
"What should we get dad?", Deb asked as Skipper our heeler and Goldie our tom shared our shade, after we had finished arguing who would do the first cannon ball into the pool. Every Christmas, birthday, or gift giving occasion she would ask me the same question. We both got an allowance. She fifty cents and me a dime for feeding the cow which wasn't at all fair. She did carry the heavy water but I was the one who walked in front of her so the cow would stretch out her neck and lick the salt off my bare legs with her rough tongue as Debbie poured the water into the trough. It was me who, when I remember too, opened the granary door and yelled, "RUN MICE", before Debbie would enter to scoop up Chrystal's dinner oats. I had a lot of plans for my cash. I wanted to save my money to buy Goldie his own cat bed so when I woke up in the morning I would not be twisted into a corner of the bed I shared with the cat and my sister.
"Lets make something" I ventured not wanting to part with my hard earned money and knowing Debbie to be the creative one would end up doing the work.
"But mom got dad something big. We need to get dad a big thing too", Debbie counter acted.
My mat buddy during nap time in Mrs Christansons room, Elaine, told me about the sea monkeys advertised in the back of her Archie comic books. She planned on growing them in shot glasses on her dresser near her bed and would tell me how big they got when we met again in the fall. I would do anything to grow a bigger sea monkey than Elaine. I didn't have a shot glass with to measure, our parents drank their whiskey from burnt orange plastic tumblers marked with imprints of Skippy's pointy teeth.
That was a long way of saying I never had any money to spare. Debbie on the other hand was good at saving and she could make anything.
"Making him something is more better that stuff we could buy at the store", I said trying to imagine what a giant sea monkey would look like and how superior I would feel when I told that Elaine.
"What are you going to make?" Debbie asked me.
I was good at making mud pies, and drawing monsters. I was also good at pouring milk over Graham crackers on a saucer till they got just the right mushy constancy to eat with a spoon. The mud pies always crumbled away into dust. My monster where no big deal. I drew pages of different monsters constantly. I had note books of scary monsters. Volumes of gross ugly monsters. I would sit under our kitchen table and draw funny monster on the chipboard side of the Formica in crayon. I drew monsters for everyone in our family. The pad of monsters I gave dad last winter he said he liked. But I watched dad crumple up page after page of my drawings for kindling in the kitchen wood burner from the crack in my bedroom door on the cold winters mornings as I dressed for school. And only I enjoyed my mush. Probley due to the fact I had no front teeth. I had purposely worried the baby teeth out of my mouth before my permanent ones were ready to grow into their place. The tooth fairy after all paid as much per tooth as a weeks worth of cow licks or yelling at rodents.
"Enh don't know", I answered bitting on a corner of my bottom lip with my side teeth.
So we moved ourselves into our front porch. Goldie the cat lay on the warm window still. Skipper at his post of the top step outside the door. Deb covered the paint spattered table with the Sunday paper and hauled out the trove of craft items from the dime store in town. Mom was all pro arts and crafts, not wanting her daughters to waste all their time idle with our face in a book had invested in our future by providing us the tools to create. Glue, pipe cleaners, water paints left over from school were mixed in with a jumble of potholder weaving loops and a few Popsicle sticks.
"What are you going to make?" I asked my sister who was always claimed charge of the craft supplies. I also hoped she would want me to help. But I knew she would roll her blue eyes at anything made of mud or crackers.
"We should probly each make separate stuff. If can't give dad something big, then we need to make him more things."
I watched my sister try to make our balding dad a toupee out of pipe cleaners only to abandon it when she ran out of brown.
I make myself a snacky snack of sun warmed cracker mush by leaving it in the direct afternoon sunlight. Unfortunately Goldie woke up and helped himself to my saucer as I watched Debbie switch her efforts to making a cover for dads black plastic eye glass frames. I had tried to wash the wielding dust off his eyeglasses and dipped them in the boiling water mom had left on the stove as she cooked potatoes for dinner. Dad was able to bend them when they were still warm back to fit his face again, they just were no longer a solid black color. Some parts were a lighter gray, even whitish. When I looked at dad after that, especially from the side his glasses reminded me of Chrystal's coat.
I knew if I just kept quiet long enough and stayed out of my sisters way, I could add my own special touch to her project after she left it and could claim some credit.
"Make something runt" Debbie ordered me when she realized I wasn't doing anything but petting the mush stealing cat after I had changed my clothes.
I picked up my tablet and reached for my Crayolas. My choice of colors were limited as I disliked the intense purple and the drab green so much I had buried them in mom's flower bed. It was easy to shove their still sharp unused points down into the soft earth around the lillys. My red had melted over Christmas when Mrs Christenson had us push our book bags up against the radiator at school to make room for the tree. Most of the rest of my small box were broken. Yellow and brown were really all I needed, and maybe a blue ink pen to draw a bossy monster with it's hair all sticking up with glue and Popsicle sticks as I watched my sister create over the top of of my pad as I drew.
The arrival of the Montgomery Wards delivery truck backing into our dirt drive was enough to make us drop our crafts forgotton and charge outside.
Then we ran right back inside the house and hid behind the curtains when we remember how shy we were and not knowing if Tom Mosher who ran the catalog outlet store in town was a good guy or not.
After mom paid shady Tom with all the money in her envelope we stood outside squeeling with eyes large in awe of the biggest cardboard box we had ever seen.
A box big enough to hold our pool and a latter. But mom made us wait to open it with it being dads birthday present and all.
When the old yellow Chevy pick up truck pulled into the yard at dinner time we were dancing around the box.
"What my girls got there?"
"Happy birthday" said Debbie and mom who had joined us. "OPEN IT" I yelled not being civilized like a six year old who acted five and a half and was already dressed in a swim suit.
Dad slowly walked around the box, hand rolled cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth he reached into his pocket and pulled out his knife as he figured out how to best open the container without damaging whatever was inside.
Dad cut around the bottom end of the box ever so slowly pulled the box up....
over....
a large...
white....
"FREEZER?"
"It's a freezer?"
"I like this present a lot" dad exclaimed.
I don't ever remember dad saying the word love. Like was as good as it got. I did not love or even like that stinkin freezer. Never did.
But in the fall it would hold the venison and the meat from Chrystal my parents also called venison to keep my sister from crying at the table. I knew it was not deer but would not cry chosing to crawl under the table and visit my happy monsters. Meat was not as big a concern to a girl with limited chewing ability.
Dad did not let me fill the freezer up with our hose and swim in it before he moved it down into our dark scary cellar. Matter of fact that big fancy freezer had a lock and he locked it right up on me while he was trying to find a way to move that heavy thing down the rickety stairs. Nothing in our house had a lock on it. I stood in front of that massive chest staring at the lock right at my eye level, defeated in my bathing suit. We even left the keys in the Dodge.
But dad did let us camp in that big cardboard box. We slept out there in the yard where the pool should have gone for two nights. One the third night it started to rain sometime and we woke up the next morning in our bed, Goldie in his spot right in the middle. The next day our box was soaked through. Not even good enough to draw on.
The last time I was to our old house, Skippy and Goldie were long gone. The cellar didn't terrify me at all. There in a corner under the stairs that freeze did not look quite so big. After searching my parents old farmhouse I found the only set of keys were ever brought into it. The freezer void of all animals, empty except for one old shoe box. Inside were two pictures. One age yellowed crude picture of a toothless monster and one hairless with spotty glasses.
"I'm here to make a withdrawal for my husbands birthday."
She left with an envelope containing $200. without telling me what she was getting him and swore me to secrecy during the twelve mile ride home in our old dusty blue Dodge Polara.
At home I whispered the news to my sister under the willow tree at the edge of our yard where the tall grass ended and the garden started. We wondered what she could buy with all that money. My older sister Debbie who was nine and all practical guessed it was something the whole family could use, like our first color TV with a real antenna in place of a coat hanger, or a shiny car with a heater. I ventured it must be a trip to Mexico because I had recently learned of Mexico in Mrs. Christenson's kindergarten class. "Don't be stupid", Debbie said and punched me good in the arm, because she had known about Mexico for a long time, and thought mom would not take dad to a place they speak funny. I punched her back for calling me stupid then we both decided it had to be a swimming pool to go where the rhubarb had been planted because after all we did not have rhubarb for two years. I was six but I acted like like five and a half so I had to make an oath not to pee in our new pool.
"What should we get dad?", Deb asked as Skipper our heeler and Goldie our tom shared our shade, after we had finished arguing who would do the first cannon ball into the pool. Every Christmas, birthday, or gift giving occasion she would ask me the same question. We both got an allowance. She fifty cents and me a dime for feeding the cow which wasn't at all fair. She did carry the heavy water but I was the one who walked in front of her so the cow would stretch out her neck and lick the salt off my bare legs with her rough tongue as Debbie poured the water into the trough. It was me who, when I remember too, opened the granary door and yelled, "RUN MICE", before Debbie would enter to scoop up Chrystal's dinner oats. I had a lot of plans for my cash. I wanted to save my money to buy Goldie his own cat bed so when I woke up in the morning I would not be twisted into a corner of the bed I shared with the cat and my sister.
"Lets make something" I ventured not wanting to part with my hard earned money and knowing Debbie to be the creative one would end up doing the work.
"But mom got dad something big. We need to get dad a big thing too", Debbie counter acted.
My mat buddy during nap time in Mrs Christansons room, Elaine, told me about the sea monkeys advertised in the back of her Archie comic books. She planned on growing them in shot glasses on her dresser near her bed and would tell me how big they got when we met again in the fall. I would do anything to grow a bigger sea monkey than Elaine. I didn't have a shot glass with to measure, our parents drank their whiskey from burnt orange plastic tumblers marked with imprints of Skippy's pointy teeth.
That was a long way of saying I never had any money to spare. Debbie on the other hand was good at saving and she could make anything.
"Making him something is more better that stuff we could buy at the store", I said trying to imagine what a giant sea monkey would look like and how superior I would feel when I told that Elaine.
"What are you going to make?" Debbie asked me.
I was good at making mud pies, and drawing monsters. I was also good at pouring milk over Graham crackers on a saucer till they got just the right mushy constancy to eat with a spoon. The mud pies always crumbled away into dust. My monster where no big deal. I drew pages of different monsters constantly. I had note books of scary monsters. Volumes of gross ugly monsters. I would sit under our kitchen table and draw funny monster on the chipboard side of the Formica in crayon. I drew monsters for everyone in our family. The pad of monsters I gave dad last winter he said he liked. But I watched dad crumple up page after page of my drawings for kindling in the kitchen wood burner from the crack in my bedroom door on the cold winters mornings as I dressed for school. And only I enjoyed my mush. Probley due to the fact I had no front teeth. I had purposely worried the baby teeth out of my mouth before my permanent ones were ready to grow into their place. The tooth fairy after all paid as much per tooth as a weeks worth of cow licks or yelling at rodents.
"Enh don't know", I answered bitting on a corner of my bottom lip with my side teeth.
So we moved ourselves into our front porch. Goldie the cat lay on the warm window still. Skipper at his post of the top step outside the door. Deb covered the paint spattered table with the Sunday paper and hauled out the trove of craft items from the dime store in town. Mom was all pro arts and crafts, not wanting her daughters to waste all their time idle with our face in a book had invested in our future by providing us the tools to create. Glue, pipe cleaners, water paints left over from school were mixed in with a jumble of potholder weaving loops and a few Popsicle sticks.
"What are you going to make?" I asked my sister who was always claimed charge of the craft supplies. I also hoped she would want me to help. But I knew she would roll her blue eyes at anything made of mud or crackers.
"We should probly each make separate stuff. If can't give dad something big, then we need to make him more things."
I watched my sister try to make our balding dad a toupee out of pipe cleaners only to abandon it when she ran out of brown.
I make myself a snacky snack of sun warmed cracker mush by leaving it in the direct afternoon sunlight. Unfortunately Goldie woke up and helped himself to my saucer as I watched Debbie switch her efforts to making a cover for dads black plastic eye glass frames. I had tried to wash the wielding dust off his eyeglasses and dipped them in the boiling water mom had left on the stove as she cooked potatoes for dinner. Dad was able to bend them when they were still warm back to fit his face again, they just were no longer a solid black color. Some parts were a lighter gray, even whitish. When I looked at dad after that, especially from the side his glasses reminded me of Chrystal's coat.
I knew if I just kept quiet long enough and stayed out of my sisters way, I could add my own special touch to her project after she left it and could claim some credit.
"Make something runt" Debbie ordered me when she realized I wasn't doing anything but petting the mush stealing cat after I had changed my clothes.
I picked up my tablet and reached for my Crayolas. My choice of colors were limited as I disliked the intense purple and the drab green so much I had buried them in mom's flower bed. It was easy to shove their still sharp unused points down into the soft earth around the lillys. My red had melted over Christmas when Mrs Christenson had us push our book bags up against the radiator at school to make room for the tree. Most of the rest of my small box were broken. Yellow and brown were really all I needed, and maybe a blue ink pen to draw a bossy monster with it's hair all sticking up with glue and Popsicle sticks as I watched my sister create over the top of of my pad as I drew.
The arrival of the Montgomery Wards delivery truck backing into our dirt drive was enough to make us drop our crafts forgotton and charge outside.
Then we ran right back inside the house and hid behind the curtains when we remember how shy we were and not knowing if Tom Mosher who ran the catalog outlet store in town was a good guy or not.
After mom paid shady Tom with all the money in her envelope we stood outside squeeling with eyes large in awe of the biggest cardboard box we had ever seen.
A box big enough to hold our pool and a latter. But mom made us wait to open it with it being dads birthday present and all.
When the old yellow Chevy pick up truck pulled into the yard at dinner time we were dancing around the box.
"What my girls got there?"
"Happy birthday" said Debbie and mom who had joined us. "OPEN IT" I yelled not being civilized like a six year old who acted five and a half and was already dressed in a swim suit.
Dad slowly walked around the box, hand rolled cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth he reached into his pocket and pulled out his knife as he figured out how to best open the container without damaging whatever was inside.
Dad cut around the bottom end of the box ever so slowly pulled the box up....
over....
a large...
white....
"FREEZER?"
"It's a freezer?"
"I like this present a lot" dad exclaimed.
I don't ever remember dad saying the word love. Like was as good as it got. I did not love or even like that stinkin freezer. Never did.
But in the fall it would hold the venison and the meat from Chrystal my parents also called venison to keep my sister from crying at the table. I knew it was not deer but would not cry chosing to crawl under the table and visit my happy monsters. Meat was not as big a concern to a girl with limited chewing ability.
Dad did not let me fill the freezer up with our hose and swim in it before he moved it down into our dark scary cellar. Matter of fact that big fancy freezer had a lock and he locked it right up on me while he was trying to find a way to move that heavy thing down the rickety stairs. Nothing in our house had a lock on it. I stood in front of that massive chest staring at the lock right at my eye level, defeated in my bathing suit. We even left the keys in the Dodge.
But dad did let us camp in that big cardboard box. We slept out there in the yard where the pool should have gone for two nights. One the third night it started to rain sometime and we woke up the next morning in our bed, Goldie in his spot right in the middle. The next day our box was soaked through. Not even good enough to draw on.
The last time I was to our old house, Skippy and Goldie were long gone. The cellar didn't terrify me at all. There in a corner under the stairs that freeze did not look quite so big. After searching my parents old farmhouse I found the only set of keys were ever brought into it. The freezer void of all animals, empty except for one old shoe box. Inside were two pictures. One age yellowed crude picture of a toothless monster and one hairless with spotty glasses.
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