memoir

Meet n Greet Time!!

Check out this reblog

Evening Chuckle

A ventriloquist comes onto the stage with his dummy and starts his act. One bit requires his dummy to tell Dumb-Blonde Jokes. After a few jokes, an angry blonde woman finally stands up and starts speaking her mind.

“I have had it with the stereotyping of all blondes being stupid!” the woman yells, and she continues ranting on about this.

Finally, the ventriloquist says, “Sorry ma’am …”

The woman cuts him off by saying, “You stay out of this. I’m talkin’ to the dummy.”

Dear Auntie Linda, August 14. 2014

Auntie Linda

Dear Auntie Linda, Getting a teaching degree was pretty easy, but I HATE teaching.  I knew I hated it before even I graduated when I was practice teaching.  I don’t like anything about it: the routine, the planning, the kids, the structure.  The other teachers are losers.  Worst of all are the parents.  They expect me to take their snot-nosed little turd-heads and make Einsteins out of them.  I’m not a magician!  Need new direction

Dear Need,  What a shame you are thinking of abandoning the field of education.  You seem like a natural.  An education degree is a great jumping off place for a lot of fields.  Have you thought of going into Corporate Law, Banking, Philosophy, or the Ministry?   You could go to  still Magician or Clown School.?  Mother Teresa’s opening may not have been filled yet.

Dear Auntie Linda,  I have been accepted to a prestigious liberal arts college in the Northeast, but didn’t get a scholarship as I had hoped. My parents will pay my way to a state school but won’t pay my for my private education.  They have invested well and could borrow against their retirement but refuse Pay for private education.  I was valedictorian of my class and feel I deserve this opportunity.  They say if anyone goes in debt, it should be me.  I don’t want to start life in debt.  How do I get them to see how important this is to me.  Private

Dear Private,  If you are really desperate, fill out those loan apps.  Then calculate how much you will owe at the end of four years.  Just like you, your parents have better places for their Money,  having already raised you.   Do a little math on what your payments will leave you on the bring-home from a fifty-thousand dollar a year job, if you are lucky enough to get one, right away.  You may have to live with your parents.  Chances are, whatever your parents are willing to pay for college will end up looking like a good deal. I don’t feel parents owe their kids a college education.   Whatever help they are willing to provide is generous, being it housing or monetary.  I was grateful I was able to help my kids, but wouldn’t have kept it up if they hadn’t done well.

Dear Auntie Linda, I have seen my husband eating toilet paper.  Clean,not dirty toilet paper, but it’s still gross.  He tears off a couple of steps, balls it up ands chews it.  He’s a doctor.  He knows better!  Why would he do this?  Wondering

Dear Wondering, of corse he knows better and is probably embarrassed. It’s called Pica, ingestion of non-food items.  Pica commonly includes chalk, talcum,lead, clay and numerous other items.  It may or may not be dangerous depending type and amount of substance consumed.  I imagine he is concerned.  Auntie Linda

Joke of the Day

The Engineer and the Frog

An engineer crosses a road when a frog calls out to him, “If you kiss me, I’ll turn into a beautiful princess.”

He bends over, picks up the frog and puts it in his pocket. The frog speaks up again and says, “If you kiss me and turn me back into a beautiful princess, I will stay with you for one week.”

The engineer takes the frog out of his pocket, smiles at it and returns it to the pocket.

The frog then cries out, “If you kiss me and turn me back, I’ll do whatever you say!”

Again the engineer takes the frog out, smiles at it and puts it back into his pocket.

Finally, the frog asks, “What is the matter? I’ve told you I’m a beautiful princess, I’ll stay with you for a month and do whatever you say. What more do you want?”

The engineer says, “Look, I’m an engineer. I don’t have time for a girlfriend, but a talking frog, now that’s cool!”

Rocky and the Great Doll Funeral

Rocky 2I’ve often wondered if bipolar is the normal state of childhood.  Since adulthood, I’ve never experienced the wild exhilaration nor the depths of despair I felt as a child.  As Christmas approached, I’d be wild with anticipation: excitement at Christmas lights, sparkles of snow on Christmas Cards, and the trip to the woods for a Christmas tree had me near hysteria.  By the time I was hustled off to bed Christmas Eve, sleep seemed impossible.  It seemed I’d lie awake for hours, peeking often for a hint of light through the curtains, sure morning must be here.  Finally, we’d wake Mother and Daddy for the most glorious day of the year.  Inevitably, in the way of greedy children, once the joy of dismantling all that had been carefully prepared, I looked at the doll, stuffed monkey, rocking horse, tea set, red sweater, plastic box of barrettes and pearl bracelet from Grandma scattered among the wrappings and thought, “Is this all?  I asked Santa for a pony, not a rocking horse!  I hated dolls and tea sets and had never voluntarily worn a sweater nor brushed my hair.”

I was devastated, feeling I couldn’t go on, till Daddy told me to give Rocky, the Rocking Horse a try.  He was a wonder on springs I could get some real action out of. Rocky and I were quickly moved to the porch where we could bounce without moving the furniture. Monkey and I must have ridden Rocky ten-thousand miles before I outgrew him.  Oh yes, I eventually left Monkey out in the yard for the dogs to chew up. Mother found his dismembered body later but never told me the sad tale.  I thought the doll and tea-set were a total waste till one of the neighbors died and I found out about funerals.  I ditched the dishes and the box made a great coffin.  We had a wonderful service for the doll.  A lovely time was had by all.

You Used to Be Beautiful!

Kathleen Holdaway in flowered dress0002One warm afternoon in late May, 1960, Billy and I were lying on the living room floor as Mother reclined a few minutes with her feet up wearing the heavy surgical weight stockings the doctor had ordered.  She was  six months into a difficult pregnancy with her last child,and was supposed to be off her feet.  She had spent a good portion of the morning tying to keep an eye on her fourteen-month-old, Connie, while trying to coax twelve-year old Phyllis and me at ten to do a little housework, help with Connie, and even get a little work out of seven year old Billy, while keeping him out of trouble.  Phyllis was watching Connie.  We were all terminally lazy, slacking off at the first excuse.  None of us had any intention of doing anything we could avoid.

As we dawdled at her feet on the floor in the draft of the attic fan, one of us pulled out an old photo album.  I quickly found a picture of her made her senior year of high school, the peak of her youth and beauty.  “I graduated thirteen years ago today,” she remarked smilingly.

In my infinite wisdom, I proclaimed, “Oh Mother, you used to be beautiful!”

I turned for her smile, only to see a snarling, slobbering, swollen beast ready to pounce on me in rage! “”Used to be beautiful!  Let’s see what you look like when you have five kids in twelve years!  Put this stuff up, right now.  Linda, you take your smart mouth and get those dishes washed.  Phyllis, you put a pot of beans on for supper.   Billy, you…”

By the way, this is not the picture in question.  That one mysteriously disappeared

Dear Auntie Linda, August 13. 2015

Auntie Linda

Dear Auntie Linda,  I am a nineteen year-old-single mother of a two-month-old boy.  My husband was killed in a combine accident before the baby was born.  My baby and my in-laws are all I have.  I need to start college so we don’t remain dependent on my husband’s parents. We still live with them on a farm in Wisconsin, forty-four miles from the nearest college town.  Commuting is out of the question in winter.  I can get financial aid and scholarships to live campus housing with my son and put him in day-care, but my in-laws are insisting it would be best to leave the baby with them during the week and spend weekends and holidays with him, since the farm will be his one day.  I could commute many days when the weather was good.  Torn

Dear Torn, You do have difficult choices to consider.  While he is still an infant and you are getting into the routine of college life, it might be less overwhelming if he stayed with his grandparents and you lived in campus housing, but he might very quickly become “their child” and you’d find yourself feeling like an outsider.  Should you decide to do that, I’d stay as involved as possible, commuting mid-week as well as weekends in good weather, and taking him with me full-time, as soon as it was feasible.  It’s wonderful you have good family.  I know that little guy will need to stay close to them.  Auntie Linda

Dear Auntie Linda, We don’t have a leash law in our rural neighborhood.  My neighbor’s dogs make a beeline to poop in my flower beds.  i am tired of cleaning it up. I have complained, but it makes no difference.  What do I do, now?  Pooped on

Dear Pooped,  I guess, fight poop with poop.  Since you are having to clean it up anyway, I guess just put it back in their yard.  I wouldn’t put it on the step.  That could get nasty pretty fast.  Auntie Linda

Dear Auntie Linda,  I am getting married next month.  My parents are divorced and remarried.  They each say they won’t come to the wedding or help on expenses if the other comes.  What do I do?  Can’t Choose

Dear Can’t, First of all, better make sure you can afford the wedding.  You will be just as married, no matter how simple.  Secondly, don’t choose.  Just tell both parties, “hope you can make it!”

Ask Auntie Linda, August 12, 2015

Auntie Linda

Dear Auntie Linda,  I am a seventeen years old, a senior in high school, make good grades, and have never done anything to make my parents distrust me.  We live thirteen miles outside town.  Most kids don’t want to come out this far before going out at night.  My parents let my brother take the car and go out at night or meet friends in town.  I am allowed to use the car in daytime, but they don’t want me driving alone at night in case I break down.  I have a cell phone.  I don’t always want to stay over with a friend or have a guy drive me home.  How can I get them to relax this double standard?  Unfair

Dear Unfair,  That’s a sticky one.  It’s not about trusting you.  It’s about protecting you, which you don’t like a bit better, I’m sure.  Maybe if you promised to call right when you were leaving they could deal a little better while you could wean them off gently, after all, you will be off at college next year.  Auntie Linda

Dear Auntie Linda, As a teenager, I worked in a local store video rental store.  While working there, I stole several porn videos, probably worth $600.  I feel very guilty about this and would like to make restitution.  The owner has since died.  I know his elderly widow needs money, but this confession could ruin me if it came out.  How can I make this right, without ruining my life?  Sorry now

Dear Sorry, Send the lady an anonymous letter with a cashier’s check explaining you wronged her husband and would like to make restitution, asking her to accept it in his honor.  She will probably be touched.  Auntie Linda

Dear Auntie Linda,  My husband I can never agree. We just can’t discuss things.  When we are trying to talk about issues, he doesn’t listen to a word I have said.  He thinks if he tells me how he wants things done, we have made a decision.  How do we solve this?  Trying to work things out.

Dear Trying,  These things usually work themselves out after fifty or sixty years.  Auntie Linda

Joke of the Day

Walks Into a Bar… Three Tests

A new guy in town walks into a bar and notices a large jar filled to the brim with $10 bills. The man approaches the bartender and asks, “What’s up with the jar?”

“Well, you pay $10, and if you pass three tests, then you get all the money.”

“What are the three tests?” asks the man

“Gotta pay first.”

So the guy gives him the $10 bucks, and the bartender adds it to the jar.

“OK, here’s what you have to do. First, you have to drink that whole bottle of pepper tequila — the WHOLE thing at once — and you can’t make a face while doing it. Second, there’s a pit bull chained up out back with a sore tooth. You have to remove the tooth with your bare hands. Third, there is a 90-year-old woman upstairs who’s never had an orgasm in her life. You gotta make things right for her.”

“Well, I know I’ve paid my $10 bucks,” says the man, “but I’m not an idiot. No wonder you’ve collected so much money — that’s impossible!”

The new guy proceeds to drink several whiskeys, and eventually, he gets up his nerve.

“Wherez zat teeqeelah?” he slurs.

He grabs the bottle of pepper tequila with both hands and downs it, gulp by gulp. Tears are streaming down his cheeks, but he doesn’t make a face. Next, he staggers out back. Everyone in the bar hears a huge scuffle outside — barking, yelping and growling, then silence.

Just when they think the man must be dead, he staggers back into the bar with his shirt ripped and gashes across his body.

“NOW,” he says, “wherez at ol’ lady with the sore tooth?”