Dennis Rodman...... walked right past me......

It was back in the mid-1990's.  I drove, with my mother, to the Cincinnati, Ohio area to visit my great-niece for her 13th birthday. We left our two dogs in the care of pet -sitters -something we never did before (or after).

We spent the weekend in the Cincinnati area -but..... It was a long trip... in Indiana, somewhere north of Lafayette off I-65 the transmission on the Subaru blew.  Thankfully we were in a rest area, and there were some state employees present who knew just who to call.  This was on a weekend -the week before the Indianapolis 500.  The tow truck arrived within 10 minutes of the phone call being made.  The tow truck driver knew his business.  As he drove, with the two of us in the cab of the tow truck, he talked aloud about where to take us so that we would get help and a rental car at 3:00 on a Friday afternoon --the weekend before the Indy 500.  The local Subaru dealers service department would close at 5:00, but there was a transmission shop he knew of....  they would probably be the best choice -and be able to help us find a rental car as well.

So, we agreed on the local transmission shop.  The fellow there was very helpful, calling car rental agencies where he knew the staff.  He said that a rental car, that close to Indy, would be hard to come by --a week before The 500.  But he found us a rental car, a Grand Am, for a fair price for a weekly rental.  So, after a 2 hour delay we were on our way again..... incidental details.....  we had a lovely time with my great niece and my great nephew.  We visited with their grandpa (my half brother), and other family members.  All good.

Except that I was not able to get the pet sitter on the phone.  Not the neighbors either.....  those 2 dogs we left at home?  They were like my children.  I was very worried about them.  I had separation anxiety.

So, very early on Monday morning both of us were awake.  Both worrying about our little doggies, home alone.  By 4:30am we were dressed and ready to go....300+ miles home to northern Illinois.  We hauled our suitcases and bags and coolers out to the parking lot and started loading the car......... and that's when I saw them.

Some characters who looked quite suspicious, and a little scary, from a distance as they walked through the parking lot in the early morning stillness.

I told my mother to get in the car.  She was more scared than I was.  I just kept loading our stuff into the car trunk.

The suspicious characters walked by without uttering a word.  I looked up after they went by.... there was a tattooed arm on the really tall fellow.  He had very short cropped blond hair.  I thought "no way"..... he turned his head and I caught that profile..... Dennis Rodman!  Holy crap!  They were already starting to fold him down into a Ford Mustang.... dang!!! Dennis Rodman..... ok, he wasn't on my list of people to meet, but still..... as you may imagine I have never forgotten that moment of recognition.....

So, our two cars set out for Chicago at the same time.... I even managed to keep up with them for about 6 or 7 miles....... they were FLYING!
Dennis Rodman.  before the wedding dress......

........oh yeah, about the Subaru transmission... Subaru said it would need a brand new transmission for 6 grand! a car with 52,000 miles on it.... right.  And the transmission shop in Lafayette, Indiana put a rebuilt transmission in the car --and I drove it for another 15 years!  total cost, including rental car:  $2700.  booyah!!

travel on a Sunday

Nobody wants to travel for work on a Sunday.  One thing I do like about long drives on Sundays is that some radio stations play Casey Kasem's American Top 40.  Of course they are recordings of the radio program, mostly from the 1970's.  It is easy to slip into that place where you start to believe that you are actually listening to the live show.... I had to continually remind myself that today's show was from 1974.  I know this because one of the Top 10 songs was Sundown by Gordon Lightfoot.  Also, Midnight at the Oasis by Maria Muldaur,.... and I wish I could remember more.  All in all, it was a fun couple of hours listening and singing along.  And the radio station continued to play songs from the early to mid-1970's.  If you were young back then, you could not ask for better entertainment for a long drive.

Propaners? say what?

So, ....I was driving across Iowa not long ago.  I was in a newer car, one with a few more 'bells and whistles' than I am used to having.  For example, there is a button on the steering wheel for "search", making it ridiculously easy to find a suitable radio station without taking your hands off the wheel and your eyes off the road! I love it!! fantastic for a road trip.

Anyway,.... you know how sometimes you miss-hear what is said during a commercial?  I mean either on television or on radio.... I wish I had more examples to include here, but this one miss-heard commercial was a great source of amusement for me over many miles.  I believe I heard this commercial not less that 5 times.
Propaners.  What?  Did I hear that right?  Wait, she's still talking, let's pay attention now.  Hmmm,....interesting, "spare room a mess? clean it out and call propaners...."

Seriously? Propaners?  'spare room a mess? blow it up?'  no!! silly!!! pay attention....

OH!  the lady on the radio commercial is actually saying..... are you ready for this?  Pro painters.  She's talking about redecorating --have that room painted.

And still, the next time the commercial played it sounded the same to me: "propaners".....  I was laughing for miles.... "propaners" blow up that junk filled room.... what the heck, blow up the entire house!!  hehehe......

Which hand? who cares.....

When I was about 3 years old I have a memory of a meal, during which my father decided to try to get to use my right hand, rather than my left hand, to feed myself.  I scooped some food out of a bowl using a spoon –with my left hand.  My father stopped me, took the spoon from my left hand and placed it in my right hand.  I put the spoonful of food into my mouth with my right hand, and removed the spoon from my mouth with my left hand.  This was repeated two or three more times, I probably thought it was some kind of game…. My mother spoke up, saying, “leave her alone, at least she’s eating.”  My father stopped interfering with my meal.

My being left handed bothered my father.  He was born in a very different time, in 1901.  When my father went to school it was still believed by many that being left-handed was bad or evil.  My father attended a Catholic school.  The nuns, believing that left-handedness was evil, tied my father’s left hand to his torso.  They forced children to be right handed.

Myself, I was left to my own devices –no one interfered with my being left-handed after that meal and my father’s failed attempt to change my behavior.  It wasn’t until kindergarten that I realized the difference.  They gave me leftie scissors.  Useless things.  I watched as other children easily cut construction paper with scissors that did not have “leftie” embossed on the blades.  I tried to use the “leftie” scissors,… they did not cut the paper, they bent the paper, or they tore the paper, but they did not cut.  It was as if there was not even sharpness to the blades.  I waited patiently, for the little girl next to me to finish cutting paper and put her scissors down.  When she did I picked up her scissors and snipped away as if it were a normal, every day thing for me to use my right hand. 

From that day forward I learned simply by watching how other people performed every day functions – right-handed people.  I am not sure that my parents took notice.  Not a lot was said about it during my childhood.  It was not until I was in high school that anyone paid much attention to my being left handed.  It had to do with handwriting.  I am talking about cursive handwriting.  When we were taught to write cursive, in grade school, the teachers made us turn the paper sideways on the desk, sort of clockwise, forcing us to twist the left arm around in a curve around the paper….. so that the top of the page was to the right side of the desk.  Now, in high school, I met a girl who was left handed and turned her paper the opposite way –to the left –leaving her arm off the desk and hand following the pencil across the page.  It made so much sense!! 

The next semester I took a class called Creative Stitchery.  This was needlepoint, embroidery, knitting, and crocheting.  And the issue was crocheting.  I had tried it the year before, at home.  My mother got a booklet about crocheting with the left hand holding the hook.  It was impossible for me to do, because I had been watching my mother and aunts crochet holding the hook in their right hands.  I have always been incapable of even holding the yarn with my right hand, let alone the hook with the left!  My teach in Creative Stitchery thought that I was going crochet with my left hand, so she sat next to me to watch.  Imagine her surprise when I picked up the yarn with my left hand and the hook with the right.  I happily crocheted away like a pro!

One thing I have come to realize is that my people, my family, we are not complainers, we are fixers.  We find solutions, mine was to do almost everything like a right-handed person, except write.  I naturally pick up a writing instrument with my left hand.  I know left from right by pretending that I am picking up a pen.  I have never complained or felt left out (no pun intended) by my left-handedness, I simply used my right hand for most activities.  In my case it’s true what they say: the left hand truly does not know what the right hand is doing…..   I have even learned to print rather well with my right hand, although I have read that lefties are more adaptable to learning to write with the right.

In closing I am compelled to repeat a saying I learned as a teenager:  

If the right side of the brain controls the left side of the body and the left side of the brain controls the right side of the body; then left handed people are the only ones in their right mind.

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wax nostalgic

I want to visit old friends.  I want to play catch with B.J. Jones and attend her dance recital.  I want to visit the Quartermaines, Edward and Lila, Alan and Monica, at Monica’s house (Alan bought it for her).  I want to sit in the Quartermaine library with Lucy Coe and meet Kevin, and together we can watch the Q’s verbally spar with each other.  I want to have the traditional Thanksgiving Pizza in the Quartermaine dining room.  I want to watch Lucky Spencer play with his dog Foster.  I want to have dinner with Steve and Audrey, and have dessert with Robin Scorpio and Stone Cates at Ruby’s Diner.   I want to try on the red dress that Lucy wore to her own wedding and to a funeral.  I want to take a crazy trip with Luke Spencer and Laura, and have a wild adventure.  I want television soap operas to be like they were in those hazy, crazy days of the 1990’s.  Beautifully written stories to last a lifetime in the memories of those who enjoyed them as an art form.

The tragic death of B.J. Jones -- May 1994

Lucy Coe and Sigmund the Duck --Thanksgiving 1994

Robin and Stone -- 1993 to 1995

missing mommy - call your mother

Today a co-worker excused himself to call his mother.  I commented that he was lucky that he could talk to her, as my own mother passed away a few years ago.  That caused me to realize that it would be so nice to be able to have a conversation with her.  There are many questions that I have thought of in the years since her passing, and there is no one left to answer any of them.....  it would actually take going back quite a few years in her life to a time when she may have known all of the answers I would like to have.  She had Alzheimer's Disease.  Her memories were best of events that occurred longer ago, in her youth.... so that, by the time I did ask her some questions her only answer could be "I don't know".  
But, since her passing I have more questions about so many things...... a surgery she had when I was 7 years old, my dad's digestive issues (he passed away decades ago).  Questions about my mother's siblings, all of whom passed away before her.  Questions about my grandparents, all of whom died before I was born.  Questions about trips we took, family friends..........

My friends, if there is anything you wonder about, and you have the chance --ask your parents soon!! Do not wait until it is too late.    (I sincerely hope that you have an easy relationship with your parents.)

Call your mother!!!

I am not into sports....

so, I do have an idea why I am not into sports.  I mean not. at. all.  I avoid sports.  Unless I can watch one of my nephews, any one of them, play whichever sport each of them plays.

anyway, it goes back to grade school.  For one thing, the gym teacher played favorites.  He almost always chose the same two kids as the team captains.  One boy and one girl, let's call them Shawn and Carrie.  Shawn and Carrie were extremely competitive.  They could spend 20 minutes arguing about whether the girls or the boys were better at any given sport.

from the beginning of class, once Carrie and Shawn were appointed team captains, I would just stand at the back of the group, with my friend (I will call her Penny).  Penny and I learned, in short order, that we would be chosen last.  Depending on how many kids were present we could even figure out which team each of us would probably end up being recruited to.  We were always the last two chosen, always.

Now, Carrie and Shawn did not start arguing immediately.  No. They waited until there was a close call, or they could challenge a call.  At some point during the game they would find an excuse to go at it.  And Penny and I would then get together and sit down to wait.  The game would be interrupted for several minutes at least, while Shawn and Carrie were at each other's throat,.... "girls are better", "no, boys are better".....  so very predictable, boring, and they sucked all the fun out of every thing we did.

(If you knew me in grade school, then you probably know exactly what I am talking about.)

Add to that the fact that we almost never played the sports that I enjoyed and was good at, like floor hockey, or kickball.  What can I say,... and don't even get me started on square dancing.  I never liked being forced to do anything, and I never, ever, enjoyed square dancing.  Not that I don't like to dance, but square dancing? seriously? there's a skill I will never have need for in my life,....

I do understand sports.  I mean I know how to tell which team is supposed to go in a specific direction to score their points,.... I have a reasonable understanding of baseball.  I simply don't see the point to any of it.


Take me to the pool hall, that is something I enjoy and would like to do more.  Or miniature golf, I am actually quite good at that.

That's my story, and I'm sticking to it!