Wordless Wednesday: Drivers

I'd rather drive with Honey Bear behind the wheel than the lady below.

Silly Sunday: Spanish Test

An eighth grader was asked to take a practice probe to help him prepare for achievement tests. After he logged into the program, he raised his hand and said in a condescending voice, "Ah, my test is in Spanish, and I don't speak Spanish." 

Please notice question number one on his test...

Caffe latte, cappuccino, and café au lait are all words or phrases from other countries that mean drinks made with ________________.

a. Chocolate

b. Coffee

c. Sugar

d. Tea

Theme Thursday: Ants

The ants go marching one by one, the little one stops to suck his thumb.

Ants don't have thumbs.

The ants go marching two by two, the little one stops to tie his shoe. 

Nor wear shoes. 


The ants go marching three by three, the little one stops to climb a tree. 

To avoid being stepped on?


The ants go marching four by four, The little one stops to shut the door. 

Never seen an ant do this.

The ants go marching five by five, The little one stops to take a dive.

Are they marching on water?

The ants go marching six by six, The little one stops to pick up sticks.

Why?

The ants go marching seven by seven, the little one stops to pray to heaven.

Dear Lord, 
Please make me 50 times stronger than a man of my weight. Oh wait, you already did. So please grant me the intelligence of one woman.

                                                       Amen

 

The ants go marching eight by eight, The little one stops to shut the gate.

That I'd like to see.

The ants go marching nine by nine, The little one stops to check the time.  

Sundial?

The ants go marching ten by ten, the little one stops to say "THE END," and they all go marching down, to the ground, to get out of the rain, BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Finally! Yes, ants get out of the rain because they can drown. Usually they take refuse in my mailbox. Unfortunately, the last line didn't redeem the song, so let's listen to something better.

Meet Adam Ant. 

Wordless Wednesday: Sleep

We found body products to help one sleep at the 

Bath and Body Works store.

It worked too well because when I spritzed some on, 

I instantly fell asleep.

Erica had the same problem, so we called 

the sales lady over . . .

but she fell asleep too.

#GBE2: Oh, no! Not Again.

How could one so cute break anything?

When I was a little tyke, my "big bother" dubbed me Miss Breaker. After that, I was blamed for everything that broke, whether I'd done it or not. For example, take the large cushy chair in the family room. After many years of use, the back sagged and little 60 pound me was blamed. Okay, I admit I used to climb over the back and somersault into the cushion, but did I really break it? Adult people plopped into that chair all the time. Certainly that wore the back out more than a tiny, innocent child.

I was also blamed for the broken bushes in front of the house. The bushes? Really? Those huge leafy things were twice my size. How could little me have broken them? Okay, I admit my ball landed in the bushes a few times, and I fought branches to get it back, but did I really break them? The wind blew a lot, and we even had an earthquake one day. Certainly the weather wore out the bushes more than a tiny, innocent child.

Of course, I was not the only one blamed for weather. When a rumbling sounded through our home, my dad hollered up the stairs, "Florence! Stop jumping around up there."

To which my mom said, "It's not me! It's an earthquake." 

See, those frequent St. Louis earthquakes do a lot of damage to chairs, bushes, and marriages. So, should one blame a tiny, innocent child . . . again?

#GBE2: Wish

My GBE2 blogging group asked us to post on the topic of "Wish," so here goes. 

I want to publish a novel. Not self published or blog published, but set to print by an editor or a respected house. Caroline Kooney's first eight books were never published; plus, the average writer takes ten years to make their dreams come true . . .  or nightmares begin. I'm not sure how many years I've been writing, but I guarantee it's under ten, and I'm only working on my sixth manuscript. Here's what I've written in order of completion.

I made a Lulu cover.

1. The Friendship Puzzle (MG) - An experiment in novel writing that's missing a plot. Who needs a plot when I've got the gorgeous John Katou and the bubble headed tween who loves him? Okay, this one will never be published, and I dare confess that I did clog a few slush piles with this piece of trash. Sorry if it ever landed across your desk.

2. Don't Eat Chipmunks (MG+) - A promising camp story about a boy lost in the Rockies with his two worst enemies and an injured counselor. The boys must learn to work together or die as my novel did when the Sydney Taylor people were offended by my portrayal of Jewish camp. Sorry guys, but the "Anaf Boys Choir" really did sneak out at night in their underwear to sing Silent Night and the memory was too good not to write about.

3. Being Bompsy Carleffa (YA) - This masterpiece about Ben, a kidnapped mob teen thrust back into his previous world, is filled with roller coaster suspense, action, and clever characters. However, it's also been rejected more than any novel I've written. One agent reported that my main character was "too funny for the trouble he was in." I can't help it! Every time I write, funny pops out. There's got to be a market for it somewhere. It works for Gordon Korman.

The Godfather

4. The Killer Who Loves Me (YA) - This is the sequel to my unpublished Bompsy where Ben finds himself conflicted by the thought that he may actually "like" his criminal father. At least this one does not have multiple rejections. Furthermore, I started the third book in the series but stopped midstream when I read about not writing sequels to books that aren't published. I guess Ben can rest assured that he won't be shot at or beaten until someone picks up Being Bompsy Carleffa.

5. Mrs. Zimmerman's Donuts (MG) - Coddled loser meets Mohawk boy who teaches him to be cool. I wrote this one with the guidance of two published authors telling me what works and what doesn't. I even cracked myself up by getting a kid's head caught in a hand dryer and shooting his spittle across bathroom tiles. There's got to be a market for a kid dealing with a helicopter mom because I've met so many of these overprotected babies.

6. Work in Progress (YA) - I named it Finding Miss Forester only to learn about a movie with a similar title. Dang! I'd never heard of the movie, but I guess my title must change. This is the story of a rambunctious seventh grade boy who spies his first-year teacher crying after another one of his many stunts pulled on her. Overwhelmed with guilt, he decides to behave, but instead, he has a rotten sub to deal with. Did he make Miss Forester quit? No. She's in deep doo doo after whistle blowing on a former boss, and Caleb will get sucked into her problems once I get my act together.

There you go bloggy friends––my wish waiting to be granted. And to think, you knew me when.

Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?

I'm the Host for This Post! PAST LIVES

If karma is real, I must have done something dreadful in my past life. Perhaps all of us teachers burned multiple villages and our students were the victims of that wrath. They take pleasure in helping us atone for those heinous crimes. Why else would we step into a classroom?

That might have been my first incarnation, but it wasn't my most recent one. To quote Steve Martin, "I was born a poor black child." Seriously, I looked something like Aunt Jemima as I watched the white folks dance with a fiddle around a campfire. I longed to join the fun but looking at my fat, black thighs, I knew no slave could dance with whites.

I saw this image under hypnosis at a college event at the AEPi house. The fraternity hired a hypnotist for an evening's entertainment. As we sat in a circle, we closed our eyes, traveled back to a previous life, and voila––the slave watching the party.

Each fraternity brother and little sister told a unique tale of guarding castle walls or enjoying picnics with a family. My friend frantically recalled a room filled with people screaming as fog entered vents. The hypnotist immediately snapped him out of his trance.

One may argue that a brief vision of myself as a slave does not mean I was one; however, this image makes a lot of sense. Every t-shirt I own has a stretched out neckline from my compulsion to loosen anything tight around my neck. I've never been able to wear turtlenecks and seeing choker necklaces makes me ill to the point that I once got dizzy from looking at one. I always wear my long sleeves rolled because I despise anything tight around my wrists, too. Even my watch dangles loosely from my arm. Did I once endure tight ropes around my wrists while being led to my hanging?

I also find a natural chemistry between African Americans and myself. No doubt about it, I was a slave.

Before I suffered in the fields under the lash, a family friend, who has been helpful to us over the years, claims to have been Queen Isabella of Spain after a visit with a hypnotist. She has since apologized for her cruel actions toward Jews. I guess karma strikes again.

Furthermore, when my daughter was two, she told me she missed her other mother. I said, "I'm the only mother you've ever had." She insisted she remembered another mother with yellow hair who wore a doctor's outfit. Who knows? Maybe Erica really did remember another mother.

I've found a few interesting reads on the topic of reincarnation. Dr. Brian Weiss was skeptical until he met a patient recalling her past life traumas. He went on to write multiple books on the subject, which I absorbed like a sponge. A few years back, I read a fascinating work of fiction by Ann Brashares called My Name is Memory about a man who remembered all of his past lives and worked through multiple lifetimes trying to make the same woman fall in love with him. This book kept me up all night but after three years, I've yet to see the second book of the trilogy.

Now it's your turn. Since I'm the host of this post, link up after midnight. What do you think about past lives?


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Wordless Wednesday: Millie's Beehive Do

My dog got a new hairdo for the new year. 

Silly Sunday: Big Famous Rocks

Years ago, my sister, brother-in-law, Rhonda, and I left Boston and drove south for an hour to get a taste of our historical heritage by seeing the one and only Plymouth Rock. Once near the fabulous site, a foofaraw gathered around fancy smancy columns surrounding what must have been the greatest tourist attraction ever. Visiting Plymouth Rock was like the Peanuts Halloween special. After all of the excitement  and anticipation of trick-or-treating, Charlie Brown opened his bag and said, "I got a rock." I know how he felt. I don't know why I expected Plymouth Rock to be anything different from the million of other stones on the ground just because someone chiseled a year on it. Sorry, but my recommendation is to save your gasoline.

Here is a photo from some tourist site since a picture wasn't worth the film.

Years later, I was lucky enough to visit another famous rock, the Blarney Stone in Ireland. Legend says that if one kisses this giant rock, one will be given the gift of gab. As you know, I need that; however, I didn't kiss the Blarney stone. The night before heading to Cork, I overheard a conversation between a few locals in a pub. These youths laughed hysterically about how they and their young friends loved to visit the Blarney stone late at night. The stunt consisted of breaking onto the grounds, scaling the walls of the Castle, and pissing on the Blarney Stone before the puckering tourists arrived. You kissed it, didn't you? Ha! Now you have something to gab about.

Since visiting these two tourist attractions didn't work as planned, I've got to check out some more famous rocks. How about the Rosetta Stone? Maybe I could visit the Rock of Gibraltar? Who wants to go with me? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?

#GBE2: Decisions

State Champions, 2004

I've made a lot of decisions ranging from life changing ideas to what kind of soup to order. Deciding on soups doesn't change lives, like other choices. For example, I skipped my senior year of high school and have wondered how my life would be different had I stuck around another year. Classmates told me our class bonded that last year and actually won a football game. Our high school team never won a game in the three years I was there.

Partners in Crime: Me (left), Rhonda (right)

Had I not gone to college a year early, I probably would not have met Rhonda at Laugh Quotes. She was my roommate and is still a great friend. Our sophomore year, she joined a sorority that didn't want me because I wore hiking boots to rush. Maybe if I'd stuck around high school to bond with the popular girls, I might have learned not to dress like a freak and have become Rhonda's sister.

I made another important decision as a college student. After changing my major each semester, I had an argument with a professor who said, "You're going to be a teacher."

"I am not." I stood face to face with him and snorted my independence.

"You're going to be a teacher," he said. "I know a teacher when I see one."

"I'm going to the school of Journalism to major in advertising."

"Go on, but you'll be back."

I ended up getting my degree in Speech Pathology/Audiology. Today, I'm a teacher.

Beale Street, Memphis, TN

Yes, I decided to become a teacher, which probably wouldn't have made a difference had I attended college a year later.  But, had I not graduated early, would I still have met my husband? I'm not sure. Although I met him after college, I might not have been settled enough a year later to have known where to go to meet someone like him. That means, I wouldn't be living in Memphis nor have three beautiful kids. (I could have had three ugly ones instead). When my husband purposed to me, he gave me a compound sentence, "Will you marry me and live in Memphis?"

If that ain't love, nothing is.

Now the big decision. Do I post this now or wait until after Christmas? 

I think I'll wait.

Wordless Wednesday: Oy vey . . . it's Christmas!

 

Christmas time used to mean a trip to the Chinese restaurant, but these days us Jews work the Christmas light display at Shelby Farms. 

Have a Merry Christmas. Ho! Ho! Ho!

Our best Christmas was a Feliz Navidad in Cancuun.

Silly Sunday: Poon Bomb

My "adult" son had asked me to participate in a prank on his "friend." At one o'clock, I was supposed to repeatedly text him the word "poon" along with one-hundred more of his "adult" friends, including an army platoon. This action would annoy someone with a smart phone and freeze a dumb phone for twenty minutes or so. Daniel's victim has a smart android device, so he was just aggravated.

When I asked my son what a "poon" is, he told me it doesn't mean anything. Yeah, right. I looked up the word and it is a large Indo-Malayan  evergreen tree of the Calophyllum. Sounds innocent enough in a normal dictionary; however, that's not where one looks to find out what a young person's word means. The true definition––which is rude, crude, and socially unacceptable, may be found in the Urban Dictionary. Since I'm not young, I promptly refused the offer to harass his buddy. Reaching the age of adulthood does not make one an adult.

2nd place in a poon attack DWL? Your poon powers are fading...

My daughter was the proud winner of the poon attack. She sent 34 messages to poor Andrew. Who? That's right. She doesn't even know him.

• 

  E  Beaten by his little sister. How embarrassing!
• 

  A   You were in the poon attack? I guess the poon apple doesnt fall far from the poon tree.
• 

  E Yup and I kicked his butt!
• 

  D DAYUM
  

  
  

  Write a comment

GBE2 Meets Theme Thursday: Writing About Faith on a Humor Blog

With tragedy surrounding us this past week, two of my blogging groups have asked us to post about faith or to just follow our hearts in blogging. This is tough because my writing lends itself to humor.

Faith means complete trust or confidence in something. I have faith in a lot of things. I know that when visiting the dog park, my furry friends will jump into the muddy lake and come out disgustingly dirty. I will get a nose bleed from my left nostril at least once a week in the winter time, and even got one this morning; however, the doc has faith that it's just dryness. When dining at a nice restaurant, the salad dressing will drip on my blouse. Most importantly, faith means that one day I will be a thin, even though I will faithfully put on a pound or two this month. I've given my kids specific instructions. If I'm ever on life support, they have promised not to pull the plug until I'm a size six. I have faith that they'll follow my wishes.

Bear's Arm

I know. I know. That's not the kind of faith Mrsupole or Beth were referring to. You both wanted an in depth––spill my guts kind of post about the horrible tragedy in Connecticut. The problem is, when faced with such an unspeakable tragedy, I cannot speak. What does one say about innocent children being slaughtered by a crazy twenty-year-old? 

Should I get political about the issues of gun control and how we should ban assault weapons? I agree. There's no reason anyone needs a gun that shoots rapid fire without the need to reload. Our founding fathers could not have imagined this type of weapon when writing the second amendment, giving folks the right to bear arms. People also discuss getting more help for the mentally ill. Once again, I agree and will further add that we should tax the one percent to pay for it.

I also agree that no child should be fearful of going to school. This tough situation needs answers, and perhaps my group leaders would be satisfied to read my post about how I shed tears when I read the grandfatherly neighbor's account of the tragedy; but personally, I'd rather deal with having faith that when getting dressed tomorrow, I will find a pair of socks that doesn't have a hole in them. That is less painful.

Wordless Wednesday: Running Through the Lights

Saturday night, we ran a 4K through the Starry Nights exhibit at Shelby Farms with 1,600 of our friends. I tried to take pictures of the beautiful light exhibits, but since it was a race, I couldn't stop running while snapping. Because I'm such a fast runner, the photos are blurry; but, enjoy them none-the-less.

The Start: See how the sign reads "Starry Nights?"

We ran through a beautiful tunnel!

This is a music exhibit. See the "Beetles?"

We ran through another light tunnel.

We saw stars hanging from trees.

Silly Sunday: Flash Mob

Since everyone's posting about the holidays, here's a little gem from Israel.

Theme Thursday: Red Ribbon Week & Worcester Sauce

Although October has passed, Theme Thursday's weekly topic is "Ribbon," and I am reminded of the constant fight against drugs during Red Ribbon week and the rest of the year. An ongoing anti-drug program in the schools teaches grade schoolers not to do drugs. This educational program is highlighted by Red Ribbon Week where students and teachers proclaim themselves to be drug free through wearing red, painting their faces red, or launching red balloons.

Anti-drug education had been so strong in my daughter's school that, years ago, she had a fit when I put a bottle of Worchester sauce in my basket at the grocery story. Since the kids were taught that alcohol was a drug, as soon as I picked up the Lea Perrins, Erica screamed––at a store awakening level mind you, "Drugs! You have drugs!"

I tried in vain to explain that Worcester sauce does not constitute drugs. Even if the bottle had contained alcohol, I was, and am, certainly old enough to drink it. I couldn't convince Erica that is was okay for me to buy Worcester sauce no matter what I said.

Wordless Wednesday: Let's Bounce

After the kids left the four year old's birthday party, the real fun began. Ever see old people jump on a moon bounce in the rain?

Silly Sunday: Washington State

In the state of Washington, gay marriage and marijuana are both legal. Finally, people can follow the bible as it was written.

Leviticus: Those who lie with mankind as 

they would with womankind should be stoned.

We've been interpreting this all wrong!

#GBE2: Bedtime Story

Okay kiddies, get comfortable because to satisfy this week's GBE2 challenge, I'm going to tell you a bedtime story about a brat named Goldilocks.

***********************************************************************************************************************************************

I made a special batch of porridge, or as most of you call it, oatmeal. With a picky eater like Baby Bear, I added a few drops of Tabasco Sauce to spice things up. It tasted good, but Papa said, "This porridge is too hot," and he stormed out the door.

He can be a bear when things don't go his way. Naturally, Baby Bear and I followed and the next thing you know, we're taking a stroll through the forest. Finally, I convinced Papa to try the oatmeal again by promising to water it down with apple juice. Things would have been fine except when we got home, a bratty girl had broken into our house and messed with our stuff!

Goldilocks. She put her slobber on our breakfast and ate all of Baby Bear's food. At least someone likes Tabasco Sauce on oatmeal.

We headed past the breakfast table only to discover that the same twirp had broken Baby Bear's favorite chair, a wooden rocker that used to be a family heirloom; now, it's firewood.

To top things off, we found Goldilocks drooling lumps of porridge onto the kid's pillow. Can you believe she had the nerve to crawl into Baby's bed and throw up?

When Papa saw her asleep in Baby Bear's bed, he was ticked. He roared his most powerful roar, woke her up, and ate her.

Wordless Wednesday: The Suit

Mitchell's Bar Mitzvah suit, April, 1972.

Don't you wish you could look snazzy?