What happened to the good old days when my kids were younger? Spring break meant going to the zoo, the beach, having a picnic in the park. Now each day needs to be filled with one big activity after another. Or worse filling it with some big trip.
I overheard Daisy and Dewy talking in the car.
“Did you know the Jones are going to Belize for spring break?”
“No way, John’s family is going to Hawaii.”
“Susan’s family is going to San Diego.”
“Really? That’s too bad.”
Too bad? What’s happening?
“Mom, where are we going?”
“Going?”
“We have to go somewhere.”
“Why? Just because everyone else does? Let’s be original. Let’s stay home. There’s Spring Cleaning. It will be fun!”
“Really? It’s so boring.”
And there it was the look of total unfiltered disdain. It would have been better if I had said, “Let’s kill the dog, and eat him.”
These were desperate times, desperate measures…I did what anyone would have done. I called these parents.
“Hi, I’ve heard you’re going to Hawaii for spring break I was wondering if you could tell my kids you were going someplace less fun, less exotic. Like say North Korea. Please it would just make it better for me, and quite frankly for all of us who are staying home and forced to be eclipsed by your full moon’s shadow.
Surprisingly not warmly received.
It was up to me.
“So kids, did you hear the Smiths are going on this great trip to Afghanistan where they are going to clean up the the homes destroyed by endless fighting? Now doesn’t staying home where its safe sound a whole lot better?”
“No, that sounds awesome.”
“You mean you would rather go to a war zone and clean houses than stay home for Spring Break.”
“Yeah.”
And that is when it hit me. A plan so divisive, so sinister, that only a mother could think of it.
“Then let’s do it. It is the latest craze you know. I think it was called KleanHouz.”
“Really?”
“Yes, I might be paraphrasing a bit, but I think you are right, a great adventure. But you realize there is training involved.”
“Training?”
“Well yeah. You’re going to be doing huge amounts of cleaning and organizing peoples’ things, their “war ravaged stuff.” Clothes, their closets need to be sorted out and cleaned, everything will have to be hung with care, old clothes thrown away. Toys gone through and old games, you get the picture.
“Wow, Mom you’re right.” Dewey said.
“Well you better get started. Of course we will have to submit photographs of our living environment to prove we are up for the task.”
“Ok, I’ll start on my closet. Do you have trash bags?”
“I like how you are thinking Daisy. More Kool-Aid dear?””
Back in September I was walking by a Patagonia store when I noticed a small sign that read ATTRACTS MONARCH BUTTERFLIES Seminar tomorrow night. I have always dreamed of having a garden that attracts butterflies. Beautiful butterflies just fluttering about. And now here it was a seminar to tell me how to achieve my goal.
I eagerly went and learned all about the migration pattern of the Monarch Butterfly. The secret… the Milkweed plant attracts these treasures. Monarch butterflies only eat Milkweed. Bingo! I signed up to have my house be put on a registry so that they will know to stop there. How do they do that, I wondered? Is there a butterfly whisperer? Some guy dressed like a butterfly waving his arms, “turn left at the big dip in the road.”
No matter how it happens I was happy to know I was on their radar.
On the following Saturday I was at the Farmers Market and low and behold Milkweed plants for sale. 72 hours earlier I had never even heard of Milkweed and now it was everywhere. Coincidence? I don’t think so.
I bought all plants they had and immediately planted them on my hillside. The next morning a beautiful Monarch butterfly showed up, then 2 then more. I cried it was so wonderful. And then they were gone. “Happy Trails.”
Last week butterflies began to show up again. But they were smaller than I remembered. They were still beautiful so soft and fragile. First just a couple then more and more. Too many to count, too many to even see clearly. All stopping by my roadside butterfly cafe.
My God! What have I done? I’m attracting all the migrating butterflies with my magic Milkweed plants! They were everywhere, like autumn leaves floating through the air.
I was in my car stopped at the traffic light with the sunroof open when low and behold a butterfly flew inside my car. The first thing I thought of was Meg Ryan in “You’ve Got Mail.”
Kathleen Kelly writes…
Once I read a story about a butterfly in the subway, and today, I saw one. It got on at 42nd, and off at 59th, where, I assume it was going to Bloomingdales to buy a hat that will turn out to be a mistake – as almost all hats are.
“Where are you going? Possibly to Patagonia? Most likely.” I inquired of the small creature resting briefly on my arm, only to take off just as the light changed.
“Good-by little friend.” I shouted out my window.
Apparently due to all the rain we’ve had in Southern California swarms of butterflies from Mexico are traveling through on their way north just ahead of the Monarch butterflies’ migration. Wait a minute! Those Painted Ladies are going to eat all my Milkweed that I planted for the Monarch. There is only one thing to do to stop these imposters from coming over the border.
BUILD A WALL! STOP THE ILLEGAL MIGRATION OF MEXICAN PAINTED LADIES
In case you haven’t noticed I haven’t posted anything in a bit, and that’s because I’ve decided to change things up here at waffletude. An update. It will become New and Improved.
But is it really? Is new – er always an improvement? Does the old adage, “If it’s not broke don’t fix it?” even apply anymore? It seems like were always fixing, touching, doing, updating whether it needs it or not. I think there is a down side to updates.
It shouldn’t surprise you that I don’t update anything, so this idea seems foreign to me. If you look at my phone right now there are 20 requests for various updates that I will never fulfill.
That said, I’m feeling anxious because I’m behind on my updates. My computer needs an update, my phone needs an update, my watch needs an update. All this updating makes me want to upchuck. We should take a lesson from COKE, stop trying to change perfection.
I find that simply changing fonts and background colors only confuses me. Just when I figured out how to use the current version of an app there is an update to throw me right out of my comfort zone. Busy Work.
But in this case an update is warranted, even though I waffled with the idea for a while. A fresh coat of paint will do it some good.
Recently I was forced to update my online bank account. Now I have “Erica.” She pops up every time I simply want to check my balance.
“Hi Leslie. Want to chat?”
“No.”
“Not a good time to talk about your money?”
“No.”
“Okay Leslie let’s talk another time.”
“No.”
“No? Are you sure?”
Erica is becoming “that friend.” The one that you don’t want to be rude to and tell her you don’t want to be friends with her any more, so you hide in your car while she’s walking by. I need to break up with Erica, but I’m afraid she won’t let me back into my bank account.
Lest we forget:
“HAL open the pod bay doors please!”
“I’m sorry Dave I’m afraid I can’t do that…”
Don’t worry I won’t be popping up to chat! Honestly, this update really is to make my life easier not yours.
So, in the future there won’t be any pictures, too much work for me and come to find out I can get in trouble for using copyrighted materials without asking or paying for them. Crazy Talk. It will be shorter, again too much work for me to write all that other stuff. This way I can post more often. It can be more casual not a precious work of literature… well at least it is to me. Hopefully not just lipstick on a pig!
Sit back and relax here comes the Grand Re-Opening…really? How grand is a re-opening? Again new fonts and paint?
Stellar Update
Amazing Re-opening
Coming Soon! Really? Soon? How soon? Well as soon as I can get to it.
I loved going back to school. Buying school supplies. Setting up my backpack with notebooks, pens and pencils.
“I would send you a bouquet of newly sharpened pencils, if I knew your address…”
Joe Fox, “You’ve Got Mail.”
The first of day school no matter what the grade sets the tone for the entire school year experience. But this, this was big, Daisy and Dewey were starting high school. I felt it was up to me to make this transition into the unknown as positive, as calming and as easy as possible to assure their first day would set the precedence for this brave new world.
For Daisy and Dewey life as they have known it from now on will cease to exist. A new school that is three times the size of their middle school. The level of stress building up to this day was palatable.
I too was excited to sign up for the car pool. An age old tradition where parents can get all the dirt because apparently you become invisible when you are behind the wheel of a car. I was assigned the morning pick up, based on the fact that we live the farthest away so it made geographic sense. Like being the first leg of a relay race. A huge responsibility but I was up for the task. And yet… in my defense I thought they had learned something by not to let me bring appetizers to a party.
The night before we were in bed early. We all played Yo-Yo Ma on our phones, and chanted while we drifted off for a calming rest… calmly except me.
I’d been fighting a sinus infection and I wanted to be fresh, clear headed in the morning so under the advisement of my friends I took a nighttime Benadryl.
The morning sun danced across by pillow. WAIT! WHAT?! The morning sun? What is that loud buzzer? The alarm! How long had that been going off! It was 7:00.
“EVERYBODY UP!! We have to be out of here in 10 minutes.”
I wobbled out of bed suffering from a Benadryl hangover, my head was a fish bowl. I was trying to move fast and with purpose but instead I was trapped in a slow-motion segment of a horror film.
“Moooove…”
I stumbled downstairs only to find out the war against the ants in my kitchen had escalated. They had united all the local any colonies and had created a full-on assault. They were covering everything including backpacks and binders. Before any of the children could find out I sprayed them down with DDT.
No time to brew that much needed pot of coffee to roust me out of my fog, I grabbed a handful of coffee beans and start chewing on them. A new method I’ll brew and chew
“Mom! There’s a dead rat in my room!” Daisy screamed.
“Just step over it, the cat left you a back to school gift.”
“Ugh!”
“Hurry up.”
I started throwing anything into brown paper lunch bags, leftovers from Cheesecake Factory a week ago, Cheerios in a baggy, old bananas.
The moms are texting, “Where are you?”
“Where’s my shoe.”
“Just grab anything, they don’t necessarily have to match. Make your own fashion statement.”
“Get in the car we’re already 15 minutes late.”
“Look the bear got in the trash.” Dewey pointed.
“It’s a free for all around here!”
Full speed ahead. I burned rubber in my Honda SUV pulling out of my driveway.
Lovely older couples out for a morning walk didn’t realize they have taking their lives into their own hands! “Good for you! Exercise is key! Now get the hell out of my way!”
I slammed on the breaks and picked up kid number one waiting on the curb. His dad suggested maybe he can take in the mornings.
“No, No I’ve got this, were good.”
I zoomed down the street. Sparks flew as I hurdled over the speed bumps.
I was driving 60 in a 25 zone.
I swerved around the sweet innocent neighborhood elementary school kids going on their first day of school with their moms and dads like a video game.
“Out of my way!” Honking the horn.
I picked up kid number 2 barely slowing down to 10 mph. Before she could shut the door I took off again.
“You guys ready for a great first day of school?” I asked coughing up a piece of coffee bean.
“Mom, I can’t fix my straps on my overalls, it’s getting longer not shorter.” Daisy moaned.
Driving with my knees I reached over and started to unlock the strap holder and pulled them tight. Which brings me to the “distracted driver law.” Seriously? Eating? Makeup? Nails? Why put a fast food restaurant on every corner? I digress.
Like Danica Patrick I’m weaving in and out of traffic on the boulevard. Waiting at the red light the goal is in sight. Maybe I should just run the light.
“Mrs. Freiberger, don’t take this the wrong way but you could be a get-away driver.”
“Thank you honey, that’s so sweet.”
The light changes and I put the pedal to the metal, only to screech to an abrupt stop curb side.
“OK EVERYBODY TAKE A DEEP BREATH IT’S GONNA BE A GREAT DAY! GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT!”
With minutes to spare… a little hustle in their bustle they will be in their seats right on time.
I roll down the passenger window and shout out, “Namaste!”
Suddenly I feel nostalgic. There go my babies, not really babies any more.
I watch them walk around the front lawn. Wait a minute, oh c’mon!
The four of them are calmly chatting, while sashaying across the green.
I’ve committed ten if not more moving violations trying to get them here and they’re just taking their sweet time.
If sloths could stand upright and carry brightly colored backpacks that would be them.
Like coal miners slowly heading to the time clocks taking in their last few breaths of fresh air.
There was no purpose to their strides. No zing in their step.
Oh well, welcome to high school.
I glanced down down at my phone. Hmmm, I’ve already been voted off the carpool!
I remember sitting in those big cushy seats, all the passengers watching the same movie together like in a theater.
You might even have a whole row to yourself to stretch out. Airlines served food in cute little trays. Oh how I would love to have some of that overcooked “Beef Stroganoff” now.
Lately I’ve found airplane travel to be as predictable as predicting the weather. Today it’s more like riding in a Yugoslavian bus out in the countryside where everyone is packed in tight, elbow to elbow. People holding “support” pigs, hens, chickens, ducks in their laps as if they’re going to the marketplace to sell them.
Their lunches are wrapped in old newspaper with the headline, “THE WAR IS OVER” or used oily wax paper with tongue and salami sandwiches.
The recycled air is infused with odors of cheeses, tuna fish, curry, hot dogs, sardines.
“Honey, you vanta bite?”
I recently had to fly to Pittsburgh for work. It was a tricky mission involving close timing with connecting flights… in other words I was set up to fail.
The first leg I arrived on time.
One hour later… we were still on the tarmac… waiting, waiting for a gate to open up.
Were they not expecting us? Are we the odd ball relative who just shows up for Thanksgiving uninvited with a store bought pie?
Finally, the hatch opened up and with hope in our hearts everyone grabbed their bags, scattered, trying to make those connecting flights. I arrived at my gate just in time to see my plane backing away.
“I need to get to Pittsburgh.” I said to the agent.
“We will put you on the next flight that leaves at 4:00 and arrives at 10:30 tonight.” She said it so calmly, so caviler it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
My flight was supposed to arrive in Pittsburgh at 3:00.
“Hell no!” I said, “This is your fault, not mine. You know if you had held all these planes by 5 minutes this all could have been avoided.”
She looked stunned. The Emperor is naked!
“We have schedules to maintain. The planes must run on time.”
“We should rebel against this tyranny. Just remember what happened to the last country who made sure their transportation ran on time.”
Eleven hours later I arrived in Pittsburgh.
My week went by and now it was time for me to do the trip in reverse.
What could possible go wrong? The planes must run on time…until… there was an announcement.
“Passengers going to the Phoenix Airport your flight has been delayed 5 hours because we are waiting on a flight attendant.”
Wait a dog gone minute, they wouldn’t hold a plane for 5 minutes so we all could make our connections and now we have to wait hours for a flight attendant?
Did they not know we were flying a plane today?
“Excuse me but…”
“Yes, your flight will now arrive in Phoenix at 11:00 pm. If you have a connection to Burbank Airport you will have to spend the night and we will get you on the first flight out that arrives in Burbank at 11:00 tomorrow morning.
“Hell no!”
“Sorry you’ll need to go down to the ticket counter.”
Disgruntled, I made my way, traversing over endless moving walk ways, escalators and bumping down stairs until I finally arrived at the ticket counter.
“I can’t spend the night in Phoenix.”
“Sorry, but that is the solution.”
“What?!” I was starting feel there was going to be no way out of this nightmare.
“I have kids at home alone and tomorrow morning we leave for our family vacation to New York City at 10:00 in the morning on a nonrefundable flight. I cannot arrive at Burbank at 11:00 when I supposed to on a flight to New York at 10:00!”
“That’s really not my concern. We’re offering you a solution.”
“Spending the night is not a viable solution. This is not an act of God this is a management problem.” I retorted.
“I’m sorry miss but this is more of a you problem than a me problem.”
This can’t be right. I took a very deep, long breath, “Maybe you can help me wrap my head around this logic. So, you provide a service, correct? I, in good faith, bought that service to be provided. Similarly, I sell very expensive cookware. People buy the cookware in good faith that it is fully constructed, ready to use when they pull it out of the box. But let’s just say, the guy who puts the handles on the pots doesn’t’ show up for work that day. We still have a production schedule to maintain, so the handle-less pot goes in the box. You buy this pot in good faith and put it on your hot stove. You can still cook in the pot. It is a solution. But when you go to take this handle-less pot off the stove you singe your hands by wrapping them around this red hot pot. So logically that would be a you problem, not a me problem, right?”
Irony: noun – feigned ignorance designed to confound or provoke an antagonist.
Webster’s Dictionary
She returned to her keyboard and started clicking. “No. No. Sorry no flights available.”
“Try San Diego, Ontario, Long Beach I don’t care anywhere in California.” A hopeless panic was setting in. Our first family vacation wasn’t going to happen.
“I’m sorry we have nothing. Try other airlines down there.”
The long corridor was deserted, just counters with people in uniforms idly standing by.
My secret truth was that I had gone through personal heartache during the past week and had held it all together. But this? This was more than I could bare. At that moment I felt like a 5-year-old child who had just spend 5 minutes too long at Disneyland. I burst into tears, “I JUST WANT TO GO HOME!” I sobbed.
A younger woman employee, her uniform starched looked at me horrified.
Dragging my bag behind me, like a Teddy Bear and wiping my face. I walked up to the Spirit Airlines ticket counter.
“No, I’m so sorry everything is gone for tonight.”
Then to the next, and the next and the next… my shoulders hunched lower and lower…down trodden. This is a disaster. What am I going to do now?
“Hello, hello miss miss…” The voice was faint, echoed at first as that younger woman in her starched uniform came running toward me down the long corridor, running as fast as she could, waving a piece of paper.
She stopped, out of breath, “A person just canceled their ticket to Dallas. There is a connection to Los Angeles Airport but it arrives at 2:00 in the morning. I have kids at home too, I understand.”
Zing! I lit up like a Christmas tree. “THANK YOU!”
“It leaves in 20 minutes. You have to go back through security.”
“I can make it.” I snatched that ticket and hugged her, turned and sprinted through the airport.
From the back of the line I looked at the TSA agent who had gone through my bag earlier and held out my tortilla press which had been the culprit. He looked at me oddly.
“I have a plane to catch in 20 minutes to get home to my kids, do you want this?” My face still streaked with mascara. He remembered me and took pity on my soul and ushered me through with old fashioned kindness, “Let’s get you through and on that plane.” He said. “Hey, hey,” He flagged down an airport employee in a golf cart. “This is a VIP and she needs to get to gate C16 fast.”
I hopped on and we zoomed through the crowded terminal.
When I landed at LAX that morning I kissed the ground.
It is with great hesitation that I post this now… because I’m getting ready to board another plane to Phoenix!
It’s May, the lusty month of May
That lovely month when everyone goes blissfully astray… Camelot
I’ve decided it’s time to get out there again. Put my toe in the dating pool. Why? Because, it’s May, it’s spring… the quest for love.
“It’s the one thing in life I think is the biggest determinant of happiness, and it’s the one thing you have the least control over.”
Amal Clooney, my new love guru, on meeting the right person
But how does one go about dating in this new age of technology?
I won’t buy clothes online for fear they won’t be a good fit. So I really don’t see me going on any on-line dating sites. I’m really not the swipe to the left, swing to the right hokey pokey kind of gal.
Maybe the old fashion way… hang out at my local bar? What could possibly go wrong?
I’ve got it, replicate the manner in which Jane and Michael Banks searched for their governess? My requirements seemed to match with theirs to a tee.
He must be kind, he must be witty
Very sweet and fairly pretty
Take me on outings, give me treats
Sing songs, bring sweets
Then like in the movie I crumpled up the paper, put it in the fireplace and watched as it burned and the ashes flew up and away.
One week later…
I got a phone call from a friend. “I have to ask you something.”
“Ok.”
“It’s Dave.”
“Dave?”
“Yes you know Dave. Well he thinks you’re really hot and wants to take you out.”
“Wow. That’s, very flattering. Are we talking about the same Dave? The Dave from Baton Rouge?”
“Yes cute Dave, the blonde.”
“Right, to be clear, Dave the cute blonde, who lives in his car?”
“Yes that Dave. That’s just temporary. Resourceful don’t you think?”
“No! He’s a grown man living in his car. Well, at least there wouldn’t be any of that weirdness of him wanting me to go back to his place! Does he straighten up by going to the car wash?”
Mmmmmm. I went back to the fireplace and pulled out another piece of paper, and sat down. Clearly I needed to be more specific…
He must be kind, he must be witty
Very sweet and fairly pretty…
Take long rides on the open road
But never own, a car / abode
Up in ashes it went.
One week later…
I’m in the produce section of the market squeezing the lemons. When out of the blue, I notice a cute guy in the vegetable section noticing me. I check out his market basket, single man foods, no kids. Mine is filled with sugary cereals, milk, cottage cheese and 6 bottles of wine. Single mother foods.
“Hi.”
“Hello.”
Chit chat chit chat giggle giggle.
And then here it comes. “Are you married?”
That dreaded question. How do I answer it?
“Are you married?”
“No. My husband is gone.”
“Gone”
“Yes, just up and gone.”
“Gone? Where?”
“He’s a um gate keeper, a harp maker, if you will. Well dead, actually.”
“Dead? If you don’t mind me asking how did he die?”
“I killed him in his sleep. But don’t worry I wasn’t caught. No charges were ever pressed.”
His mouth dropped open.
“It’s a joke.” I said.
He moved on to meat department.
Back to the fireplace.
He must be kind, he must be witty
Very sweet and fairly pretty
Not give weight to rumors
And have a sense of humor
One week later…
I’m in Chicago for the Housewares Show. It’s fun but a lot of work and late nights.
On this the last morning I had forgotten to set an alarm. I slowly opened my eyes only to see daylight.
“NOOOOO!”
I grabbed my phone, in a dream like state. It was 7:10.
“The bus lives at 7:25, and by golly you better be on it.”
I leaped out of bed as if it were filled with spiders. Jumped into an icy cold shower, like a fireman I put on outfit number 3 and was out the door by 7:22. Waiting for the elevator I put my shoes on and fluffed my hair.
But I was on the penthouse floor. The suburbs in hotels. There was elevator traffic. I could hear it ding ding ding on every floor.
Finally, I was inside the mirrored box, the doors closed.
“Hello. Where are you going?”
I looked out of my daze to see a strikingly handsome man wearing a Northwestern Sweatshirt.
“What?”
“Your badge, where are you going?”
“Oh some convention center.” I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. He looked so familiar. An actor. You are that guy, that guy from TV. Ugh what show? All I did was stare. He was very chatty.
We landed and the doors opened I stumbled out.
“WHERE IS THE COFFEE?” I shouted.
“I’ll show you.” Said cute showbizy guy. “They move it on Fridays.”
“OK,” I fawned.
By 7:30 I was on the bus.
The next morning, I was leaving to go home. I walked over to the new coffee area and poured a cold cup of coffee, emptying out the pot.
“Excuse me is there any fresh coffee?”
“Sure,” the lady behind the counter poured me a cup hot coffee. But now I had two cups of coffee. I wasn’t about to just leave it on the counter after she was so nice to bring me a fresh cup.
So I just took it with me.
But with my hands occupied I couldn’t get my key out to work the elevator.
“Here let me help you.”
McDreamy to the rescue. All I knew was, there he was again.
He had the key to lift my heart. The doors shut. Now I was on my game. Was it fate we were trapped together again? I had 30 seconds to win his over.
“What floor?”
“Penthouse.”
“How was your Housewares’ Show? There’s a lot of people in this hotel with badges.” He said in a flirty grin. This was going great.
Tenth floor. Eleventh floor.
“Right. Good. How was Northwestern?”
“Oh my sweatshirt, my son goes there.”
Sixteenth floor. Seventeenth floor.
“I’m so sorry about yesterday not very responsive and all, I had only been up for 10 minutes, I basically rolled out of bed and threw on some clothes. Working, working, just a working girl.”
“Oh. Ooooohhh I see.” His toned changed dramatically.
I suddenly looked down. There I was holding 2 cups of coffee heading up to the penthouse. This did not look good.
The doors opened on his floor and he bolted out.
“I live in Los Angeles on my way to the airport.” I shouted to the sound of his door slamming shut.
Back to the fireplace…
Even though the technology of dating has changed, the way you go about finding a mate has changed, the actual rules of dating haven’t changed… but I have.
Well here we are, we finished packing up all the Christmas decorations in large bins and store them back in the attic for another year. Toss our adorned tree out to the curb. All unwanted gifts have been used as barter at a White Elephant party.
But wait I have one more gift for you, the gift of a story and it’s a good one. It’s a story of survival and new beginnings. And like all good stories it starts out at the kitchen table. It’s different now, for us the surviving four.
“Well this feels weird.” Dewey stated the obvious.
“No kidding.”
“Wow a month ago we were a family of seven and now look at us.”
“I lost my dad and my grandmother.” Daisy morns.
“So did I,” the boys said together.
“Okay guys it’s not a competition. And besides if it were I would win.”
“Mom!”
“Well I would. I lost my mother and my husband. A husband is much more important than a grandmother.”
Oh my God what is wrong with me, what was I saying? We had lost so much in such a short amount of time. Ever since we had moved in here to help care for my mother, a lot of sad things happened. I wondered how I was ever going to make it whole again.
Looking on the bright side, “Well this is the new us. And this is our new house.”
“Talk about your fixer uppers.”
“Thanks Timon.”
“It’s a dump.”
“It’s gross.” Daisy complained.
“No, I love this house.” I said.
“Of course you do Mom, this is where you grew up, this is your house not ours.”
Ouch. They were right. This house is so run down. Wall paper peeling off in the corners. Walls hadn’t seen a fresh coat of paint in at least 20 years. The carpet was put down for our wedding. Every wall used to be white, then turned beige now just old and dingy and dated. It screamed old lady decor. The dining room had been my mother and her care-givers bedroom for years. It was smelled like old people masked by heavy floral spray.
“Listen kids, it just needs a little paint and love. You’d be surprised what a little paint can do. “
“It will never look like the old house.”
“No we can make it look better. We can paint it any color we want we can paint it like the old house, make the dining room a bright color. We need to claim it, make it our own. Get rid of those old couches bring in those new ones I’ve been storing in the garage. It has tons of potential. And no matter what a house is a home, we’ll make it our home.”
“Can we do it now, paint now?”
“God no. We just put on a funeral for 400 people I’m not painting a house. After the holidays.”
“That’s my birthday.” Daisy said.
“Our birthday.” Dewey chimed in.
“Yes, ok after both of your birthdays and before Easter we’ll do some painting and stuff.”
What have I gotten myself into? I wasn’t even up to decorating for Christmas not to mention painting a house.
Crazy Talk.
Soon Halloween was behind us and Thanksgiving out on the horizon, I was determined to have it go off without a hitch. But there’s more to this holiday than meets the eye. While busy reading up on how to cook turkey, Huey came up to me, “Mom,”
“Mmmm.”
“I’m helping my friend from school and we need a house to film in.”
“OK.”
Huey is a film student, so I was used to this.
“So you’re ok with us filming here?”
“Ya sure whatever.”
Fast forward to Thanksgiving Thursday, we’re all cutting into our turkey jerky with friends and family sitting around the table gnawing at their roast beast.
“So Mom you guys will all be out of the house on Saturday, right?”
“What? Why?”
“I told you.”
“You did?”
I had succumbed to the oldest trick in the book. Classic. Tell a parent something when you know they are not paying attention. No parent is going to confess to not paying attention or worse loss of short term memory the first sign of aging.
“The entire day?”
“Yes, I told you. You can’t change now he’s counting on me. And you can’t come back until I tell you.”
“Are you shooting a porn?”
“No I just don’t need you around my friends.”
“Thank God you’re embarrassed of us.”
Uncle Joe volunteered, “We have passes to the Huntington Library we can spend the day there.”
“They’re you’re all set.”
“Great.”
Not great. As much as I loved to support Huey and his friends I did not want to be gone a whole day and the best shopping weekend of the year. God I’m a great mother.
Saturday morning arrived, “Get out! Get out!”
I’m still not convinced he wasn’t’ shooting a porn yet.
Out we went, out into the pouring rain. Perfect day to spend killing time for 10 hours. We walked. We talked. We shopped. We ate. We walked some more. We went out for dinner. Delightful and yet this was the longest day ever.
“When can we go home?” Daisy whined.
“I don’t know. I can’t believe Huey made us do this.”
It was around 9 o’clock at night and we had just finished dinner when Dewey announced, “Let’s go home.”
“We can’t.”
“I just got the all clear from Huey.”
“Well if you’re ready, let’s go.”
Dashed through the pleasantries and we were out of there.
As we drove up cars were still parked alongside of our street.
“Oh great they’re still here. I just want to go to bed.”
But as we drove into the driveway I stopped complaining and started crying. You see my delightful late Jewish husband loved decorating the house for Christmas. Our family joke was,” Dad the airport called, can you turn the house down so they can land the planes?”
Christmas Vacation paled in comparison. There, there it was. The house was covered in Christmas lights, and a reindeer, and Santa Clause and penguins and candy canes. Perfection.
Daisy looked at me, “Are you crying?”
“Heck yes.” I dried my face. “Let’s go inside I’m sure it was just part of the movie.”
As we walked up to the front door I quickly realized there never was going to be a movie. I could see the dining room through the windows. The old pink rose petal wall paper was gone and it was now a warm burnt orange. We walked through the front door. I was so stunned I couldn’t cry any more. I was expecting Ellen DeGeneres to pop out.
“SURPRISE MOM!”
“SURPRISE MRS. FRIBES!”
“SURPRISE LESLIE!”
Throughout the day Huey and all his friends worked together, kids I have known all their lives and love them like my own, kids from town, kids from high school, kids from college. Forty or more teenagers, millennials organized themselves without any adult supervision, without adult nagging, without adult suggesting, without any adults interfering, without any adults at all.
They picked out all the colors.
They bought the paint and brushes.
They painted the downstairs of the house.
They painted the kitchen bright and happy colors no longer dark and dreary.
They painted the den warm brown with a green accent wall.
They steamed the wall paper off the walls.
They took out the old furniture and replaced it with the new couches from the garage.
They hung pictures with care.
They put a roof on the tree house Benjie never got a chance to finish.
If anyone ever has anything bad to say about teenagers or millennials, come see me.
You would never guess that this warm and welcoming house was a hopeless dump 12 hours ago. Everything was put back in its place. No evidence, not a dirty paint brush or drop cloth anywhere. It looked like this is how it always was.
They say my heart grew 3 sizes that day.
“We did this for you.”
“I claimed the house for us Mom.”
“Welcome home.”
“Oh my God Mom it looks amazing!” Daisy put her stamp of approval on it.
“Ok, now it looks like our house.” Dewey said.
And there in the corner was a big Christmas tree covered in lights. One of the kids began to play the piano and we sang, we sang Christmas Carols. It had been years since this house had heard Christmas Carols, so much joy, so much singing.
Right then I felt like George Baily, ours is a Wonderful Life.
We have no way of knowing how our journey will end.
I do know how journeys begin. I have seen it begin when all three of my children were born. It’s quite magical really. Moments after they come into this world their eyes pop open almost as if surprised. Then they look around.
I’ve often wondered, what did he see seconds earlier?
“Hello, hello.” I announce with a broad smile. Ridiculous to think they have a clue what I’m saying.
And yet they look at me as if to say, “oh, they were right I am going to be fine.”
Last year not long after the family returned from our trip to Costa Rica, my husband Benjie started complaining “My stomach doesn’t feel right.”
“Really? I’m sure it’s something you ate down there something like a parasite. Besides you just had a full physical and you are in perfect health.”
Can I just state the obvious? There is almost nothing worse than a man with an upset tummy. I have lived with this man for years and it never gets easier. Benjie was a true hypochondriac. He often had bouts with territious-of-workideous, a horrible disorder the only cure is to stay home and play video games all day.
About this same time my mother took a turn for the worse.
Whendii her caregiver was scared, “What should we do? I take her blood pressure 4 times a day. I make her eat ginger 4 times a day. She does not want to swallow.”
We started having a real medical nurse come to check on her every day and her ginger intake. She was swallowing her fake wine so really had bad could it be?
Benjie wasn’t feeling any better. He wasn’t eating much and blowing up like a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade Balloon. He was really taking this sick business too far.
On a Sunday morning Benjie said matter of fact, “I’m so uncomfortable I have to go to the hospital.”
To me there is nothing worse than going to a hospital Emergency Room. “Are you sure?
Can’t we just put Neosporin on it. My mother taught me to put Neosporin on any anything and it will heal it.”
But I could see he wasn’t feeling well. I packed a small bag for him and a huge bag filled with magazines and books to help be conquer the endless boredom I was about to face of sitting in an ER. We sat for hours and hours before he was admitted for tests.
When I got home it was shear madness.
“Where’s Dad?”
“I’m hungry.”
“Your mom not eating.”
“Eat an Eggo. Give her fake wine. Give me real wine. Calgon take me away.”
Then the phone rang, it was my mother’s doctor. On a Sunday night?
“You have to take your mother to the emergency room immediately!”
“What? Are you crazy I was just there?”
“I’m sorry you need to go Methodist.”
“But my husband is at St Jude’s across town can’t they at least be in the same hospital?”
That was just crazy talk.
Whendii and I got my mother into the wheelchair, only dropping her twice.
Two patience
Two hospitals
This was about to become a Tale of Two Sickies
From that day forward my life was in an irretrievable spin. Between working, kids, seeing Benjie at his hospital and going to see my mother at her hospital.
One time I got off the elevator on the 4th floor, oh yes they were both on the 4th floor and turned right not left and walked in to what would be Benjie’s room in the other hospital, the bed was empty. I gasped, “Oh she’s dead.” I couldn’t stop the tears. I felt a gentle tap “You’re in the wrong room.”
It was the beginning of a perfect storm.
I took this opportunity to purge my soul to my mother, knowing that she was taking it to her grave.
“You know,” I started, “I’m not the grown-up type.
I smoked pot once in college and didn’t like it.
I stole a lipstick from the drug store when I was 10 and was so scared I would get caught I never went back. Thank God they went out of business.
I cheated on tests.
I cheated on boyfriends.
I tried pot again and still didn’t like it.”
It felt good getting all this off my chest.
She stared at me blankly.
Back at Benjie’s hospital… what we soon learned was what we feared the most was now our reality. Benjie had Stage 4 cancer.
We talked about our next course of action. 3 months to 1 year to live. Or as I saw it, we had 1 year to fix this mess. We got busy trying to find alternative medicines. Cancer programs to get him into. It became a war room with different strategies.
“Maybe we could try treatments in Mexico?” Benjie suggested.
“Why would we want to go there the cartel is killing people left and right.”
“What if I don’t have enough time?”
“You will. I’m not a betting person but if I was, I would bet that the woman older than most counties is going to win and make to heaven first.”
The hospital had little more to offer us. I brought Benjie home. He could only make it to the living room. That night on my FaceBook page was a shared memory from 3 months ago when we were in Costa Rica. Just 3 months ago.
The kids and I decided to sleep down stairs with him. They slept on the couch and I slept on the floor right next to his Lazy Boy reclining chair.
Hours into the night he started coughing, chocking. I jumped up scared to death.
“It’s going to be okay, you’re going to be fine. I’ll get your pills and some water.” I ran to the kitchen.
When I got back to the living room he was standing strong like a soldier looking out, “No, this is my last breath.”
“No! You promised a year. You can’t go first it’s not your turn.”
I have never seen life leave a body before. His eyes wide open he starred bravely into the dark and then gently as if he was being carried fell and landed on the floor, missing all the furniture. I tried to catch him. His body like a deflated balloon. He laid next to me. Silent. The kids still asleep on the couch. The time was 12:02 am, October 26. My birthday.
I told my mother that Benjie had passed away. I also told her she was the best Mom ever and I hope she was right that I could handle all this because now it was up to me to get this ship to shore safely.
When I looked at her, tears rolled down her stoic cheek.
“My God Mom you’ve been in there this whole time haven’t you?”
They say when two people die close in time, the first one goes to prepare a spot in heaven for the other one.
My hope for them is that at that very moment when they arrived they opened their eyes on the other side and looked around… and then peacefully felt, “she was right everything is going to be fine.”
Can’t believe it’s been a year since I last posted.
The problem is, I wasn’t able to write anything down.
Not because nothing happened.
Much has happened. I have much to tell.
Stuck.
Simply put, I lost my sense of humor for a time, inconceivable, much like Peter Pan losing his shadow.
I’ve decided the best way to get unstuck is to pick up from exactly where we left off.
This is the story I had planned on posting, right after we had returned from Costa Rica. It was a flashback story but now it’s really a look back. I want to give you a little more background on our family situation. This is how it was…
BLENDED – August 2016
Mine is a blended family. Not unlike the blending of different ingredients to make a perfect batter, I am blending different personalities to make a perfect home, but this one is a bit lumpy.
I first heard about this social revolution on the Nightly News; then there were books, articles, studies all written about it; why there is even a catchy name like “Baby Boomers” to describe it and now I was going to be living it. I am officially part of the
“Sandwich Generation.”
By definition: people who care for their aging parents while supporting their own children.
And I’m not alone. 1 out of every 6 families are living in a Yellow Submarine.
In my case it all started when I was faced with the “what to do with Mom” problem. My mother’s finances were dwindling more rapidly than her mind. She has suffered with Alzheimer’s for years. She has a Filipino caretaker Whendii to tend to the daily needs but it really wasn’t enough.
Do we place Mom in a home, the simple, logical, common, expensive solution that would drain all bank accounts? Or do we spend more quality time together with whatever quality time is left?
And, the truth was I was running myself ragged taking her here and them there. Between driving to her doctor’s appointments and their soccer practices I barely had time for anything else.
At the same time, I was faced with another harsh reality that we were out growing our house.
That’s when I had an epiphany. I’ll move our family into her bigger house.
But like all great epiphanies I was going to have to sell the idea, starting with my husband.
“Benjie, I’ve been thinking, I’m just going to say it. What if we move into Mom’s house?”
“What about your Mom?” he asked.
“We’ll all live together.”
“All of us? Together?”
“Exactly, like in Frank Capra’s, You Can’t Take It With You? You can be Jimmy Stewart.”
I must admit the Jimmy Stewart reference was brilliant.
At first he looked puzzled, then after mulling it over, “I think it’s a great idea! It’s got a huge back yard, a pool with a diving board, the twins will not have to share a room any more. I’ve always loved that house, even though it’s very run down. But are you sure you want to sell this house, your dream house and move in with your mother? At your age? Move back home?”
It sounded a lot worse when he said it that way.
The next step was to convince my delusional mother.
“So, Mom, how would you like it if we all lived together?”
“Where?”
“Here, in this house.”
“That’s interesting. Where, in this house?”
“Mom, there is plenty of rooms upstairs.”
“But I sleep upstairs. I have my office upstairs.”
Mmm. I wasn’t prepared to remind her that it’s been years, she has been upstairs.
“Here? Here.” She said it over and over. I understood. It was hard for me to wrap my mind around it, and my mind still has some elasticity.
“Mom, I’m moving back home with my family.”
Mom’s eyes lit up as if she finally understood. “You mean like when you tried to be a professional photographer and couldn’t make it on your own so you had to move back home?”
“Sort of.” I sighed.
“Or when you broke up with that boy, and had to move back home again because you had no place to go.”
“Not exactly.”
“How about that time…”
“It’s different now Mom! I’m a grown-up!” I grimaced.
The thing I’m learning about dementia is that it’s not total memory loss, but more of a selective memory. Like my husband’s, it comes and goes at will.
Eventually she got it. “We can all take care of each other.”
Whendii cried, “You are my hero!”
Great this from a woman whose county’s most famous hero was First Lady Imelda Marcus.
This moving was going to be a shoe-in! Besides if we were all under one roof my life would be so much easier.
Although… I hadn’t lived with my mother for decades, with the added bonus of never even having had a house keeper much less someone not related living with us all the time. But I was determined to make it work. Here we were all seven of us just like the Brady Bunch living under one roof. Oh how I would love to have an “Alice” of my own.
I’m embarrassed to say that up until now I had never met anyone from the Philippines and with that came an unexpected learning curve. Whendii is the kindest, gentlest person I’ve ever known but she’s no “Alice” more like Ariel, The Little Mermaid.
Ariel asked holding up a fork, “Scuttle what is this? The seagull replied, “It’s a dinglehopper. Humans use these little babies to straighten their hair out.
As much as I would be a fish out of water in the Philippines many things for Whendii seemed fishy.
For the record…common sense is not as common as you might think.
My first clue happened one morning when I walked in on her in the kitchen.
“Whendii?” I asked, “do you think using the floor mop to wash the windows from 6 feet away is a good plan?”
“Yes, I won’t get my hands wet.” She answered.
I nodded, “if you think so.”
“Whendii,” I smiled “I love how the kitchen counters are so clear.”
“Yes its better if the clutter isn’t seen.”
“But, the, the cupboards, it’s a little precarious.”
“If you think so…” she parroted me.
Whendii mended our blankets and sweater by using a cut up kitchen dish towels as patches and whatever thread was handy. How very Maria von Trapp of her.
And when the weather changed to winter she loved to make stews for us.
“Whendii what is that unusually flavor? I asked one night.
“I put that new herb you bought in the plastic bag.”
“What new herb?”
“Here is this bag.”
“Mistletoe! Isn’t mistletoe poisonous?”
“If you think so.”
“Who wants pizza?”
I was feeling duped.
But it was on this one particular afternoon…
“Ma’am? “There is something very wrong with the clothes washing soap. It does not smell very good. Very bad, very bad.”
“Ok, but I sure it’s fine. I probably just forget to buy the TIDE with the Fabreze added. That’s what makes it smell good.”
“Ok but, we were out I told you and…”
Oh right, that’s what I forgot at the market.
Suddenly Bullet, our big Labrador, started chewing on my mother’s pant leg like a giant bacon flavored chew bone.
“Oh my God!” I screamed trying everything I had to pull him off of her.
“Get this dog off of me!” My mother yelped.
How do dogs instinctively always know to chew on the people who hate dogs?
“Whose dog is this anyway?” she barked.
“It’s your dog.” I lied.
“No, it’s not. I would never have a dog in my house.”
Apparently she wasn’t as crazy as I thought.
Finally, I was able to pull him off still licking his chops. “What’s gotten into you? Naughty dog!”
“Please Ma’am check this soap I’ve already washed with it, and I’d like to finish up.”
“Fine, fine, fine.”
There was something wrong, she was right about that. The closer I walked to the washing machine the viler the smell became.
“Let me see that TIDE.”
I grabbed the large orange jug of TIDE and poured some into the small plastic cup. Glob. Glob. Glob.
It barely slugged out. “Where did you get this?” I asked.
“Under the kitchen sink. We were out so I found a new bottle under the sink.” She was so proud of her resourcefulness.
One sniff and I knew. “It’s bacon grease, old, moldy bacon grease. It’s the container my mother used to collect bacon grease so it wouldn’t clog the drain. How many loads have you done?”
“Almost all doneWe now really need to buy more with Fabreze.”
“I’ll call the plumber to clean out my new
front loading machine.”
Out of the sea, wish she could be, part of our world
Pura Vida is the Costa Rican expression for Pure Life, like Shalom and Hakuna Matata.
Over the years I have had to endure hours of other people’s vacation stories. Boring, laborious stories of their “funny” adventures and “witty” tales from far off lands. I pretend to enjoy their endless slide shows while they drone on and on. And now it’s my turn!
Over the summer we (sans Huey who was still away working as a camp counselor), all went to Costa Rica. It’s wonderful, everything you can imagine. A living, breathing post card.
It had been years since we had traveled and short of updating our passports I hadn’t prepared a thing. It wasn’t until we arrived at our Airbnb right on the beach and only miles from the rain forest, that I began to plot our adventures. There was one serious problem… very few people speak English. And frankly why should they? The problem was I didn’t speak a word of Spanish.
Adventure #1 – Zip Line
It should be called Zippy’s Monkey Ride because that’s basically what you are doing. Flying through the air at 40 mph over the tree tops, fresh green leaves slapping across your face, with only your own palm to stop you from smashing into a lightly padded Tarzan-style tree.
“Too fasto.” I declared.
“No. Go fast or get stuck.”
Zen-like words to live by.
Why is it that Americans think if we simply add an “o” to a word suddenly we are fluent in Spanish?
Adventure #2 – Night Hike
As we were leaving we were approached by a local, “would you like to go on a night walk? Tonight is perfect no moon. You are already prepared in long pants, closed shoes that will protect you from snakes, and scorpions.”
“Mom, you’re not actually thinking…” They looked at me in terror.
“You’ll see monkeys.”
“Monkeys you say? We’re in!”
We piled into an unmarked van, headed down a deserted road and were dropped off with our guide at a deserted nature site.
“I wouldn’t go there if I were you…” Said that voice inside my head. Crazy talk.
It was so dark you couldn’t see your own hand in front of your own face. Equipped with small flash lights and a black light we went in.
“I DO NOT want to see a scorpion.” Daisy declared.
“Oh but you must, they glow in the dark. But careful they are very poisonous if you are allergic. you could die in seconds.”
Dewy tilted his head, “How do you know if you are allergic?”
“Only way is to get bitten.”
“That’s kind of risky.”
We followed our guide closely as he revealed a spectacular world filled with fire flies and gigantic leaf cutting ants. He rubbed the belly of a huge bull frog that barked wildly. A spider monkey heeded the call and began screeching like Paul Revere, “The humans are coming, the humans are coming!”
When it was all over we glowed in the dark with excitement all the way back to our Airbnb.
“What was your favorite part?”
“The screaming frog.”
“And the hollering monkey.”
Dewy smiled, “mine was seeing the scorpion.”
“But we never saw a scorpion.”
“We can now.” He pointed to the floor.
“Aaaahhh!” Daisy screamed in a panic as only a 12-year-old girl can. “What if I’m allergic?”
“My prayers would be answered,” Dewy snidely grinned.
“Benjie get it!”
Gingerly he took a broom and scooped him outside where he could glow in peace.
Unable to snapchat, as we were void of internet, Daisy was forced to live chat with us. “I almost died.”
Once her panic subsided I heard Daisy and Dewy talking.
“I figured it out.” Dewy said.
“Figured what out?”
“I think Mom’s trying to kill Dad. How else do you explain the zip line of death, a night hike with a stranger in a deserted nature area filled with poisonous snakes. Oh and, the killer scorpion just shows up in our house? C’mon how long do you think it would take for them to find his body? A long time. You know she wants to see the crocodiles.”
Daisy rolled her eyes.
Mmmmm, I better watch out, people have been put away with less circumstantial evidence.
Adventure #3 – Shopping
The country is known for its beautiful wood working. At every little shop in town there were bowls and cutting boards including incense burning devices carved in the shape of a “pene” en Espanole. They were everywhere. My children were horrified at the public display of wood. I found it hilarious.
Adventure #4 – Good-bye
At 4 am we closed the door to our Airbnb for the last time and started our peaceful journey to San Jose and the aeroporto. But not unlike any other city, by 6:30 rush hour had come in with a vengeance. Horns honking, bumper to bumper cars. A stark contrast to where we had been and a reminder to where we were going.
“Dad, there is a sign that said Aeroporto exit.” Dewy said pointing out the window.
“What? Are you sure?”
Swept up in the rushing current of traffic we suddenly found ourselves off the highway and in the city.
“Where are we?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do the directions say?”
“Go to the round about.”
“What round about?”
“I DON’T KNOW! OH MY GOD WERE LOST!” I cried out.
Tic toc! Our flight leaves at 8:30 and we were lost in a foreign country.
El Shito!
“We can’t miss this flight. It’s the only one to Los Angeles.”
“There’s only one flight?”
“One a day.”
“WHERE IS THAT DAMN AIRPORT?”
“Wasn’t it over there?”
“No over there.”
My head was spinning while we spun around in a vicious circle, round and round the round-about.
There were no signs and even if there were we couldn’t read them. And the worst thing is I didn’t have access to Siri, or even Maria. Nothing! Back to basics I thought. “Go into that gas station pronto.”
“Where is the airporto? Hertzo return-o the car –o?”
The attendant showed us the way on an old fashion paper map. We were back in business.
“GO! GO! GO!”
It was 8:00. We made it! Dumped the car at Hertz and ran thru the empty airport to the ticket counter.
Within minutes we had our boarding passes and were taking our shoes off for security. We were going to make it. I dumped my bag of toiletries into the large gray tub.
“You need to put that in a plastic bag,” said the armed Costa Rican TSA guard.
“What? You can see it, touch it.”
“Plastic bag or trash. You can buy a bag at gift shop.”
Benjie and the kids had already made it through unscathed. “C’mon c’mon!”
I reviewed the contents. I was not about to throw away my $100 money back guaranteed Christy Brinkley face cream. I gathered everything up and began to run back to the gift shop.
“Where are you going. It’s this way,” Benjie shouted.
I ran through the airport jumping over luggage like vintage OJ Simpson (the irony of killing one’s spouse was not wasted on me). I grabbed a plastic bag, tossed down a million Colones, threw my cream in the bag and turned to run back though the empty security. In the time it took to rescue Christy Brinkley, an entire camp of soccer kids arrived and filled in the entire security area wearing cute multi-colored uniforms and color coordinated backpacks.
They were obstacles.
”Pardon me.” I elbowed my way before standing in front of the security officer waving my face lift in a baggy.
“Fine.”
We were the last ones on the plane, but at least we got on.
Being back on our home soil felt good. Get by Customs and Uber home.
“Do you have anything to declare?”
This was unexpected. He didn’t ask Benjie or the kids. The officer stared me down.
“I do declare its good to be home.”
He didn’t even bat an eye. This was awkward. I did have something to declare but certainly not in front of everyone.
I smiled at Mr. Richard, “Dick. May I call you Dick?”
Nothing. In a hushed tone, “I’d rather not show you, not here in front of the children.”
“Why?”
“Well there’s some stiff competition…” I winked.
He gave me a deadpan stare.
I pulled out the wood box and placed it on the counter.
“You mean my Package? My junk in the box? You can call me Johnson. Or you could call me…; Cock a doodle do; Guess the ball is in your court; Say hello to my little friend.”
“Either I see what you have to declare or I’ll have you detained.”
Airport Security Officer
He whispered into his shoulder walky-talky.
Oh dear God its Midnight Express. “PENIS! I declare I’m bringing over a stiff penis!
There was an audible gasp from the crowd.
“Dad let’s just go and leave her behind. It’s best for all of us.” Dewy pushed him.
The officer talked to his arm again, “never mind.” Then he looked back at me. “You bought local souvenir folk art?”
“Yes!” I sighed, “That is exactly what I did.”
I had missed Huey not being on vacation with us. I wanted him to know we were thinking about him so I sent him souvenir folk art.
A few days later I got a text, “WTF MOM WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? There are kids here. it’s a YMCA camp for young kids!”
He looked at me oddly.
And there in the corner was a big Christmas tree covered in lights. One of the kids began to play the piano and we sang, we sang Christmas Carols. It had been years since this house had heard Christmas Carols, so much joy, so much singing.
He was really taking this sick business too far.
Today is National Waffle Day. Perfect.
killer scorpion just shows up in our house? C’mon how long do you think it would take for them to find his body? A long time. You know she wants to see the crocodiles.”
to San Jose and the aeroporto. But not unlike any other city, by 6:30 rush hour had come in with a vengeance. Horns honking, bumper to bumper cars. A stark contrast to where we had been and a reminder to where we were going.
killing one’s spouse was not wasted on me). I grabbed a plastic bag, tossed down a million Colones, threw my cream in the bag and turned to run back though the empty security. In the time it took to rescue Christy Brinkley, an entire camp of soccer kids arrived and filled in the entire security area wearing cute multi-colored uniforms and color coordinated backpacks.
W a f f l e t u d e 