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.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
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.
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
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.
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.
Friday, August 18, 2006
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.
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.
Friday, August 11, 2006
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.
Thursday, August 10, 2006
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.
Friday, August 04, 2006
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.
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.
Thursday, August 03, 2006
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
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
Monday, July 10, 2006
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.
"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.
Thursday, July 06, 2006
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.
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.
Thursday, June 29, 2006
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.
Thursday, June 15, 2006
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.
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.
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
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.
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.
Sunday, May 07, 2006
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.
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.
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
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?
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?
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
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.
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.
Thursday, April 13, 2006
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.
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.
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
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.
Me: So, how do I get rid of my obession?
Geologist: Bury him.
Thursday, March 30, 2006
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.
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.
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