Month: January 2016

You Have To See The Funny Side

Source: You Have To See The Funny Side

Doggonit, Give Me Some Directions that Make Sense

            I’m not good with directions.  In fact, I’d have to improve considerably to even be bad.  Useless terms like left, right, North, South, East, and West annoy me.  If people actually expect me to get somewhere, they need to be more specific.  “Turn off the interstate at exit 5.  Go the opposite direction you’ve been going and go three streets past Brookshire’s.   Drive just a minute or so and you’ll see a restaurant with the big cow in the parking lot.  Don’t turn there.  Drive to the next red light and turn on the street that turns between the WaWa and that hardware store with the inflatable lumberjack.  Watch for the ugly house with the silk flowers in the bucket of that tacky wishing well.  Pass it up, but now you need to start driving pretty slow.  You’ll see a big, old white house with a deep porch and all those ferns, kind of like the one Grandma lived in at Houston, the one where the woman living upstairs tossed her dirty mop water out on my head when I was sitting on the sidewalk playing. Boy, did Grandma have something to say to her!  Remember, it was just across the street from that big, old funeral home.   I just love those old houses, but I’ll bet they are expensive to heat.  About six houses down on the other side, there’s a little, blue house. I believe it used to be gray. If you look hard, you’ll see an old rusted out 1950 GMC like Aunt Ada and Uncle Junior used to drive, up on blocks way off to the side of the shed.  Remember how they used to toodle around with all those mean boys bouncing like popcorn in the back?  Anyway, our house is the yellow one with the big shade trees just across from it.  You can’t miss it. There’s a bottle tree out front.”

            Now I can’t miss with those directions.

Early Evening Cruising

Reblogging this kind post from Bzirkone. Please give her blog a look!/

bzirkone's avatarBzirk's Blogroll

IMGP8571 Giving me the hairy eyeball

Several months ago my youngest daughter graduated nursing school and moved 500 miles from home to work in a hospital.  Soon after she started the job she became more and more anxious about her new career.  She worried that she’d made the wrong decision with nursing.  The patient/nurse ratio was overwhelming, the other nurses were proficient and confident while she second-guessed everything she did.  A few doctors were demeaning and condescending and she started calling home every couple of nights with increasing panic.

I encouraged and consoled and used my best confidence-building pep talks during these calls but I worried.  I was out of my league here. I could no more be a nurse than fly to the moon.  I lack empathy. I mean I have plenty but it wears out pretty quick.  womanwtfPlus, there’s the whole blood, vomit, urine, feces issue.  My husband’s morning…

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Ruth Elaine and the Exploding Baby

Reblogging an old story from when I first started blogging.

lbeth1950's avatarNutsrok

Our class prayed for reprieve as Luther Simpson stumbled through a page of Jane and Fluff the Kitten. As the second-graders dawdled over their sums across the aisle in our shared classroom.

Little Ruth Elaine Lawson, a girl I’d had always thought dull, dropped her head to her desk and snuffled quietly, then burst into great, heart-wrenching, snotty sobs. Startled at this display in

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Dirty Trick

As we walked across the Walmart parking lot this afternoon, my husband of forty-five years, Bud, pointed out my loose bootlace. I had no intention of bending over in the parking lot to tie it, so replied, “I have a backache.  I’ll tie it later.”

Bud couldn’t deal with the idea of the flopping shoelace, so he rolled his eyes and grumped,  “You can’t walk around like that.  You’ll break your danged neck.  Stand still.  I’ll tie it!”

With that, he dropped down on one knee to tie it, just as a couple of guys walked by, obviously wondering what was going on.

I couldn’t pass up this opportunity, spouting,  “No, I won’t marry you!  Now get up!”

Payback is Hell

dead batTurning the tables on a kid who’s spent most of his life (I am being intentionally ambiguous here so neither of my kids feels neglected) creating embarrassing situations is refreshing.  We went out of town for a few days, leaving our college-aged son home, after specifically asking him not to have guests over.  He was certainly old enough to be responsible, for what that’s worth, but we just didn’t want to deal with any problems on our return.

Needless to say, he had friends over.  I probably would have never known, had one of his lady-friends not gone to the freezer for ice.  I got this phone call.

Him: “Mom, what in the world are that frozen bat and squirrel doing in the freezer?”

Me:  “Oh, I forgot I put those in there.  Just leave them alone.  They aren’t hurting a thing.”

Him: “But why are they in there?”

Me:  “I found them dead in the yard and thought maybe they’d died of rabies.  I meant to call animal control to see what to do, so I put them in the freezer in case they needed to be tested, then forgot.  Why?”

Him: “Cindy went in the freezer and stuck her hand down in the bag looking for ice, pulled out the dead bat, and now she’s freaking out.”

Me: “Well, I told you not to have anybody over.  Just wrap them back up and put them back in the freezer, unless Cindy Lu Who wants them.  I’ll take care of them when I get home.  I told you not to have anyone over!”

Sometimes, things work out perfectly.

It. You. Us.

Reblogged from My Friday Blog, hope you don’t mind, Josh.

More Travels with Mother

hotmama.https://nutsrok.wordpress.com/2016/01/05/the-low-down-on-lunch-with-mother/
Travels With Mother (Part 2)

The Most Fun You’ll Never Have, Kathleen’s Amazing Bathroom Tour!

It’s Not What You Tank!

 

God was with us.  We got to our destination, Hot Springs, Arkansas without a lot more drama.  We checked into our room, a nice suite with two king-sized beds and an extra bed for the fifth in our party.  For some reason, though it was 104 degrees, we freshened up a bit before going out to see the town, allowing us to start out with a less vintage sweat.  Within minutes, we were rank.  Not to be deterred by a little thing like heat exhaustion, we explored every shop on Main Street, till Mother found a little shop selling belly-dancing costumes. She wouldn’t be budged.  Now, as I’ve said before, Mother is tight.  She had no intention of making such a frivolous purchase, but had to admire herself in one. Every inch of the stifling shop was crammed with exotic outfits with no space devoted to dressing rooms. The proprietor obviously didn’t expect belly-dancers to be overly modest. Not to be denied, Mother just slipped her favorite on over her clothes, despite the heavy customer traffic. She is a little old church lady, after all.  I would never have expected so much business in a store selling belly-dancing costumes. 

Mother had us hold her things while she tottered and struggled into her racy choice, bumping customers at every turn.  They had to have thought her mind was gone and we should have looked out for her better, or that we were in geriatric sex-trade, pimping her out to some perverted creature with a fetish for demented, antique belly-dancers.  Neither choice made us look good.  Eventually, she pranced a bit and had us take a picture or two for her Sunday School Class, before being convinced to leave.  The store clerk was not amused by any of this, but I figured if she thought she was big enough to straighten Mother out, she could go for it.  I know when I am whipped. 

Bigsmilemotorcyclemama

An amused motorcycle guy and his girlfriend were taking all this in and invited Mother to meet their friends waiting on their bikes just outside. I think the burly guys exact words were, “She reminds me so much of my mama!” With him as Mother’s escort, we escaped the wrath of the store owner who was obviously thought it was past time we left.

Mother charmed his friends.  Her new friend invited her for a ride, which she refused, but she did climb behind him on his bike to get her picture made.  Regretfully, he helped her off, after telling her, “Ma’am, you don’t have to go home with these girls if you don’t want to.  We coaxed her away after she exchanged phone numbers and addresses with them, insisting they all come visit.
Later that evening, we made it back to our hotel, only to find the air-conditioning and bathroom both out of order in our room.  Mother took charge, went to see the manager, and got us transferred to the only room they had left, the Presidential Suite, complete with a hot-spring bath.  I suspect the manager thought, “She reminds me of my mama.”  For once, a bathroom drama with Mother worked in our favor.

We enjoyed the rest of our visit.  On the way home, my sister Connie hung her purse strap on a toilet handle and broke the toilet in a station.  She takes after Mother.

 

Travels With Mother (Part 5)

https://atomic-temporary-73629786.wpcomstaging.com/2016/01/05/the-low-down-on-lunch-with-mother/
https://atomic-temporary-73629786.wpcomstaging.com/2016/01/06/travels-with-mother-part-2/

https://atomic-temporary-73629786.wpcomstaging.com/2016/01/11/the-most-fun-youll-never-have-kathleens-amazing-bathroom-tour/

https://atomic-temporary-73629786.wpcomstaging.com/2016/01/14/its-not-what-you-tank/

 

 

 

Continuation

Once we’d gone enough miles it was unlikely we would be apprehended with bathroom destruction with malice aforethought, I pulled into a nice looking station/store.  This one looked like it was progressive enough to have excellent bathroom facilities, which we sorely in needed by now, since Mother was the only one who got to use the restroom at the last stop.  For neck she generously, encouraged her daughters to go first, which we lived to regret. I’d have loved to have laid the blame at her door for what we found. Marilyn, my youngest sister, rushed in to relieve her agonized bladder.  In three seconds, she rushed out, “Oh, my gosh!  You’ve got to see this!” 

She obviously hadn’t had time to take care of any business. As mother of two teen-aged girls, the manager of a call-center, and youngest of five children, it takes something special to rattle her.

Like an idiot, I followed her in.  Someone, a very healthy eater by the way, had obviously paid a visit. The nauseating smell of fermented feces greeted us as we entered the bathroom.  It was horrendous, but I’ve been known to raise a stink myself.

Upon opening the stall, I saw a perfect liquefied poop sunburst splattered above the toilet.  Obviously, someone in great distress had blown a gasket as just as they stooped to settle in for a satisfying moment of quality time alone.  The toilet fixtures, the wall behind the toilet, the floor, and the stall wall were covered artistically with a thoroughly natural medium.  It doesn’t bear thinking of the condition of that poor unfortunate perpetrator of the masterpiece as she exited the store! We scurried out to tell the disgusted clerk what we’d found, only to find numerous visitors had already enlightened her.  That’s when we learned about the worst job in the world.  An industrial service was on its way.

Once more, courting legal problems, we decided to stand guard for each other and use the Men’s Room. Normally, I would have been disgusted, but compared to what we’d just seen, it smelled like a rose.

To be continued.