Friday, September 30, 2011

"We do not kid around about stuff like this..."

...I said in a stern voice.

"Medicine is serious stuff. I never want to hear you call it that again."

"But Grandma..." our middle Grandlittle said, "I was..."

"Don't 'but Grandma' me on this. We do NOT call medicine HAPPY PILLS!"

"But Grandma..." she tried again, "It's just that..."

"Riley! Never again!" I said in my rarely used, super-stern Grandma voice.

This conversation occurred when Mr. Jenny and I were taking all three girls home from a soccer game. The oldest Grandlittle had complained that her arm was uncomfortable.

We had pulled the car over so I could try to get a pillow placed more comfortably under her sling.

During the process, Riley had suggested that I get her sisters 'Happy Pill' out of the trunk to make her feel better.

Happy Pill?

Wow.

I kinda/sorta freaked out.

I wondered where in the world she had heard the hard-hitting narcotics prescribed to her sister to manage the pain of her horribly broken arm described in that way.

Riley kept trying to interrupt my lecture on taking medications seriously.

Impatiently, she finally said, "Grandma! Just let me show you!"

She unfastened her seatbelt and Mr. Jenny popped the trunk open.

She rummaged around for a minute in a duffel bag and then victoriously held up this...


"Look!" she said triumphantly, "A happy pill. You press here and it laughs."

The giggles from the little stuffed toy filled the air.

"Oh. Ummm... Okay. I gotcha," I stuttered.

Riley got back into the car and handed her sister the stuffed toy.

I put my visor down and looked at her in the little mirror.

She rolled her eyes at me. "Grandma, you know that was weird, right?"

"It wasn't weird. You have to take medications seriously, right? I mean..."

Riley rolled her eyes again, "Yes, Grandma, I know. You already told me. A lot of times."

"Okay, then," I said sternly, "I never expect that to happen again...like if it's not about a stuffed toy...you know...if it's about real medication...you know...like..."

Mr. Jenny reached over and put his hand over mine. "Okay, Grandma. I think we all got the point."

Geez.

And if that wasn't bad enough, I had to listen to that ridiculous little "Happy Pill" laugh at me obnoxiously all the way home.

Geez.

Sigh...

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Wednesday, September 28, 2011

X is for Quotation


“Words can be like X-rays if you use them properly...they'll go through anything. You read, and you're pierced.”

Aldous Huxley

This quote was brought to you by Alphabe-Thursday's letter X. To read other X posts, just click here.



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Alphabe-Thursday's Letter X


Good morning class.

Welcome to round three of Alphabe-Thursday! Today we will be studying the X-cellent letter:


Please link directly to your Alphabe-Thursday URL (if you don't know how to do this let me know!) and please continue to visit the five links before and after your link and leave a comment. Minimum of 10 links visited please. You can visit more if you like, of course, and please try very hard to visit the blogs that visit you for this meme.

I also want to let you know that each week I visit every blog. If it appears I haven't visited your blog by the following Wednesday evening, please let me know!

If you have any difficulties with your link, please make sure to include the number of the link when you e-mail me. It is really difficult for me to find you easily otherwise.

If you have any questions about Alphabe-Thursday or problems doing your link just post it in a comment or send me an e-mail. I'll do my best to help you as quickly as I can.

The McLinkey will be live from 1:00 pm MST time Wednesday afternoon in an effort to assist our lovely "friends across the pond" and continue through 10:00 am MST time Friday morning!

And remember.... link back to this post, you need to be registered as a follower of my blog, PG posts only, and you must visit at least 10 other posts...perhaps consider starting from the last posts and work backwards. The links will stay live after the final post deadline has passed so you can even wait and visit over the weekend or whenever you have more time.

Please link your X-citing X post now!


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Listen...I'm not trying to spread neighborly gossip but...

...my neighbors are NOT very environmentally aware.

Seriously.

Don't tell them I said so, though, okay?

Because we share a wall.

And their driveway is kind of/sort of next to my front yard.

And they have a whole lot of little kids that they could train to wreak havoc on Mr. Jenny and me.

It's just that...

Well...

I'm a gardener, right?

Which means that I garden.



And because I'm a cool, hip, recycling kind of gardener I use compost bins. (Yes, people do say 'cool and hip'. Well, at least the 'cool and hip' ones do!)

And in the compost bins are ... ummm... bugs. (shudder, shudder)

Kinda/sorta giant bugs. (shudder, shudder)

Usually I make Mr. Jenny turn the compost for me, but Tuesday morning I decided to be independent and do it myself.

And in the process I knocked the bin over...


...and all kinds of giant, scary, man-eating bugs came running out trying to attack my coral pink crocs. (shudder, shudder)

Okay.

Maybe they weren't really giant...

...and I might concede the fact that they probably weren't man-eating...

...but there were a lot of them.

And of course, that made me scream...

...a lot...

...at the top of my lungs...

...for a long time.

(Oh, don't roll your eyes at me. You would probably scream your lungs out, too, if you saw all those creepy crawly bugs...(shudder, shudder) )

However...

My aforementioned neighbors have this second story balcony that looks down over my garden.


And after my screaming, hissy, bug-deterring dance was over I heard my name...

"Jenny, oh Jenny? Are you okay? Do you need help?"

And when I looked up, there was my neighbor. On the balcony. And I felt like an idiot.

And I shouted up to her, "Oh, just fine...sorry...there were lots of bugs in my compost bin this morning."

And she shouted back...

AND I QUOTE...

"If bugs make you scream, maybe you shouldn't have a garden!"

WHAT!!!!

Seriously????

I took a deep breath all ready to start explaining how I was reducing my carbon footprint, and recycling kitchen waste and growing environmentally responsible organic food...

...but when I looked up again SHE HAD GONE BACK INSIDE!

I kid you not!

The nerve of some people.

I mean, it's not like I was screaming that loud.

And even if I was...

...so what?

I was just doing my part to save the Earth.

And all I got for it was that snarky remark. And a lot of anxiety from a million giant, creepy bugs. (shudder, shudder)

Sigh...

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Tuesday, September 27, 2011

Story-Time Tuesday - Living Fiction

Jenny Matlock
If you missed where this story started just click here to read it or simply click on the Story-Time Tuesday link at the top of my blog to take you to previous chapters.

Living Fiction - Chapter 53

Here's where Chapter 52 left you.

Jay looked a little surprised. And a little uncomfortable.

I continued, “When my husband…died…I…”

“Wait, wait a second. Pearl? Your husband is dead? I thought you were divorced. What happened? Don’t tell me he was in the war, too.”

And while you might think I never, actually shut-up, I sat quietly for a few long moments. It’s true. I didn’t even know how I really wanted to answer. It felt odd, talking to another man who was kinda/sorta holding my hand on a park bench about my … ummm… deceased husband.

“You know what, Jay? Let’s talk about him another time, but he wasn’t killed in the war so at least you don’t have to thank me for my sacrifice.”

“Okay, we’ll talk about this next time, then. Pearl. Maybe…gee..well…next time could be dinner? Yeah. Ummm… could I take you to dinner?”


AND NOW, CHAPTER 53 CONTINUES

Dinner? Like a date? Do you think he meant a date? Or just going to dinner?

I thought for a moment and then astounded myself by nodding my acceptance. Jay smiled in return and we settled on a time he would pick me up on Friday night.

Gosh. That felt like a really big deal. Getting picked up at the house on a Friday night, no less. That was probably a date, right? Jay and I sat in quiet contemplation for a few minutes longer and then Princess and Spedgar let us know they were ready to call it a day.

Both exhausted and happy, there was a lot less barking and running on the short journey back home.

Jay and I walked quietly together,side by side, and I was surprised at how comfortable the quiet was. I didn’t feel the need to talk. It felt like we had all the time in the world to finish our conversation of the afternoon. At one point in the walk our hands bumped together and I felt a little jolt…like electricity, but not.

A jolt of awareness perhaps. Or perhaps a jolt of recognition that my life was changing…and I was ready for it to happen.

We dropped off Princess first. Millie’s husband, Myron, answered the door. I raised my eyebrows at Jay and pantomined a sigh of relief. It was an omen. Nothing was going to distract me from concentrating on this feeling of finally being wide awake, although Millie might have stood a good chance.

Spedgar ran all the way across the yard to my house. We laughed and followed and when Jay stopped outside the kitchen door, I thought for a moment he wanted to kiss me. Instead he said, “So…should I take Spedgar with me or just get him Friday night after we ummm…go out to dinner?”

“Which would be easier for you, Jay?”

“Well… if it’s okay with you I’ll leave him here and take him home on Friday. After. After our …ummm…date. Yeah, I came straight to see you…ummm…I mean Spot…Spedgar… from the airport and I don’t have any groceries or dog food in the house.”

“Okay, that’s great then.” The moment stretched out into ackwardness and finally Jay patted Spedgar and headed toward his car. He turned back once and waved. I was a little embarrassed to be caught watching him go, but I waved gaily in return.

Wow.

Wow, wow, wow.

This whole thing was so weird. I wasn’t really sure what to do with all of my emotions. I kind of felt the need to cry, jump, laugh, clap and cower…all at the same time.

Spedgar, however, was not so confused. He was absolutely, totally and completely certain that he needed fed or he would die of starvation. His jumps and whines proved it. I left my jacket on while I fixed a big bowl of food for him and then I went back outside to sit on the steps.

Darn.

Darn, darn, darn.

It was a date. Or at least Jay thought it was.

Was this the right thing for me to do?

This would be only the second ‘first date’ of my life. I’d dated my husband since I was a young girl and never gone out with anyone else.

Everything was changing. What in the world was happening?

A date with Jay? Jessie dating Griffin? Going to dinner with a guy who wasn’t my husband?

Did I really want to go on a date? And what would that even mean? I’d seen a lot of the magazines at the checkout counter…did ‘dating’ mean ummm…well… sex? Did people do ‘that’ on the first date? I hope Jay didn’t think I was going to. I wondered if he did. I wondered what I would do if he did. I wondered what I would do when that time eventually came…with or without Jay.

Darn.

Darn, darn, darn.

This could get complicated.

This could get messy.

When I was married, everything was clear. And for me, the clarity of black and white was so much easier to deal with than the ambiguities of gray that defined my life after my husband had died.

I leaned back a bit and looked up at the star-studded sky. “Give me a sign,” I said to the universe. “Give me a sign that it’s okay for me to move on.”

Sadly no meteorites streaked across the sky. No shooting stars gave me the answer.

But I guess I didn’t really need them to.

I already knew the answer.

All the things I’d been doing and trying to do…blogging, dealing with my son, buying expensive coffee… had been leading up to right now.

Letting go of my grief didn’t mean that I had forgotten my husband.

It didn’t mean I was throwing away my memories.

Letting go of my grief just meant I was ready to start living again.

Today. Right now. In this moment.

“Man the torpedoes, Pearl. Full speed ahead,” I declared into the crisp autumn evening.

Torpedoes? Me?

That didn’t feel like the right battle cry at all.

I thought for a moment and then stood up. “Darn! Darn, darn, darn! Pearl! No ‘cupcaking’ out girl!”

Yes. That felt better.

I peered across the yard to see Millie’s kitchen lights still on.

I took a deep breath.

If I was going on a date on Friday night I think I needed some wardrobe consultation.

NOT that I was planning to wear anything sparkly, furry, animal printed or neon colored. On second thought, maybe asking Millie for advice wasn’t such a good idea.

I thought again for a moment. “No ‘cupcaking’ out, Pearl. Go knock on that door and ask for help.”

And I did.

(c) 2010 Jennifer R. Matlock
This publication is the exclusive property of Jennifer R. Matlock and is protected
under the US Copyright Act of 1976 and all other applicable international, federal, state and local laws. The contents of this post/story may not be reproduced as a whole or in part, by any means whatsoever, without consent of the author, Jennifer R. Matlock. All rights reserved.


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Monday, September 26, 2011

I had crumbs in my bed...

Lots and lots of crumbs.

Why they got there had us all pretty stressed out for a few days.

But things are feeling better now so I can finally exhale long enough to tell you the whole 'crumby' story.

Ahem...

So...

On Wednesday morning I awoke in a crumb-free bed. I was happy because Wednesday is the day I pick up the Grandlittles after school and take them for frozen yogurt.

However...

In the early afternoon I had a phone call from my daughter-in-law telling me she was driving to school to pick up the oldest Grandlittle who had fallen on the playground and hurt her arm. She told me she would call me from the emergency room by the school.

And...

About thirty minutes after that she called back to tell me the emergency room couldn't treat her because the break was so severe and they would have to transport the poor, little kid by ambulance to a pediatric hospital so a specialist could put her broken bones back together with some metal rods and lots of pins...

So...

I went to the small hospital and saw a very pale, freckled girl hopped up on morphine but still willing to smile and tell me that she loved me and Grandpa...


Then...

I went over to elementary school to grab the littlest and middle-sized Grandlittles so they could see their sister before she was transported to have surgery.

The littlest one, Mo, cried all the way to the hospital and put her cheek onto her sisters unhurt hand and sobbed in sympathy.

The middle one held back her tears but kept repeating to me, "Oh Grandma. Her poor, little, cute freckled arm."

So...

I took them home with me.

And they had a weepy night.

However, before they went to sleep they told me that they would feel a whole lot better about everything if they could have breakfast in bed.

Our bed.

After a restless night, I prepared a sumptuous little feast for them...buttered whole wheat toast, sausage, scrambled eggs and grape juice.

Mr. Jenny kept saying, "Are you really going to let them eat breakfast in our bed? The bed is going to be full of crumbs! Just have them eat at the table."

And I told him to 'hush' because those two sweet little things really, really NEEDED to have breakfast in bed.

Their sister had a much worse night than they did, though. No surgery until Thursday late morning and no food in bed...breakfast or otherwise...just a heaping helping of pain and morphine.

The two smaller girls got to talk to their sister briefly on Thursday morning and then we got them ready for school, dried more tears, answered more questions and finally delivered them to their classrooms.

And when I got home I found out that I couldn't visit the pediatric hospital because of my recent bout of shingles.

Man.

It was harsh not being able to be by the oldest Grandlittle at all on Thursday. I had a pretty good attack of 'Grandma worries' all day.

But I finally got over them when I climbed into bed on Thursday night.

Because our bed was, indeed, full of crumbs just as my husband had predicted.

And it was kinda/sorta uncomfortable.

And distracting.

But finally on Friday she was at home and I got to see her!

She was pretty happy from her pain meds.

And even happier that her Grandpa and I took her donuts.



On Saturday, we brought all three girls to the house and then we took them to a birthday party for our son-in-law and daughter's dog, Har-Lee...


...where we were entertained by the littlest Grand trying to convince dogs to open birthday cards, the double-jointed middle Grand, and the injured Grand being impudent about ice packs on her arm.




Friday and Saturday nights we ended up sleeping with the crumbs again...

On Sunday I finally had enough time to wash and dry the sheets on the clothesline out in the sunshine and breeze.

And now the bed is back to rights...

And the oldest Grand is patched together for the next 4 - 6 months (when she will need to have a second surgery)...

And the littler two have quit crying because they are now annoyed at all the attention and gifts their sister is getting...

And I'm really worn out.

But I'm kinda/sorta toying with the idea of telling Mr. Jenny that I would feel a whole let better if he were to bring my breakfast in bed in the morning.

He might actually do it...especially if I promise him I won't make any crumbs!

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Sunday, September 25, 2011

Sundays with Steve - Holy Elephants!

These Sunday's segments are written by my husband, Mr. Jenny. Here's what he has to say about his posts:

I’ve been writing these weekly stories about life in Northern Idaho, as a youngster and as growing into a young man, primarily for our family. And I'm delighted to share them with you. Just between us, I’m anticipating being cranky when some whipper-snapper who may not even be born yet harasses me in 30 years or so with 'Grandpa, tell me about when you were a boy.' That will probably be after the mad cow disease has set in and erased whatever memory is left. So these are the not-so-dramatic adventures of a Baby Boomer in the 1950s, 60s and 70s.

Holy Elephants!

Lillian McSorely’s eyes were the size of dishes, her scream should have been broken the glass window of the lunch counter she just walked out of, her friend and companion Miss McMillan was near fainting in fright, and neither could believe their eyes. The two young school teachers were frozen in the face of the certain death rampaging toward them. Nothing like this had ever happened in our small town.

The circus has pulled into town that day, a 100 mile train ride up the river from Walla Walla, Washington. The cars were pushed onto a spur on the shore of the Snake River, a grassy area the Sells-Floto circus had set up on for the past several years. It was 1928, the country’s prosperity was going strong, and the circus business was quite good that year.


The wagon master began unloading the animals that fateful afternoon, as he had done many times before: the lions, the tigers, the two giraffes, a camel, cars of horses, and of course monkeys, tons of monkeys. A rail car of six elephants was last, and the last out was that cranky elephant named Mary who decided she wasn’t going to play circus that day, but would rather take a walking tour of our town. It was a hot day, and the later speculation was that the elephant was thirsty, that she was simply looking for a drink of water.

The circus grounds were just a short walk from Main Street, maybe 100 yards at the most, and Main Street is where the elephant headed, circus men running after the big grey beast, trying to corral it back in. The elephant named Mary would have none of it, and ran at full speed up Main Street, knocking cars aside, blowing her trunk at full blast, and breaking glass windows of businesses as it rampaged up the street.

Our small town was a busy place in those years, a commercial center that drew lots of people for a late Saturday afternoon at the circus. Miss McSorely and Miss McMillan both worked for the Lewiston School District. I knew both, McSorely as the stern and somewhat frightening principal of the elementary school I attended 25 years later, McMillan the art teacher who rotated among the town’s four elementary schools. The two ladies shared an apartment at the Lewis-Clark Hotel, which was the gateway to Main Street for the town.

As Miss McSorely told me years later, they were across the street from the hotel, finishing an early afternoon meal at their favorite lunch counter, when they saw people running down the sidewalks, yelling. They quickly paid their tab, and made their way to the front door and out onto the sidewalk.

What they found was like nothing they had ever experienced: Mary the elephant running full steam, bellowing, heading straight at them. She was running up the side-walk, breaking windows of businesses she passed, and with circus men were following and yelling for everyone to get out of the way. Both school teachers screamed, froze in place for a moment, but then quickly regained their wits and dashed into an automobile garage next door.

What happen next is taken from a circus magazine of the time:

It was in this midst that the Sells-Floto circus pulled into the town of Lewiston, Idaho back in August 8, 1928. The temperature was over 100 degrees. Elephant trainers were having difficulty getting the elephants out of their cages. There was no water anywhere.

A huge Asian elephant named Mary got thirsty. She broke away from her trainers and dashed down a crowded Main Street, looking for a drink. According to reporters, as she ran, she mistook store front windows for shimmering pools of water, and repeatedly smashed them, spreading glass, noise and panic throughout the business district.


Elephant trainers managed to get in front of Mary in an effort to disperse the crowds, but missed two schoolteachers, who were chatting near a garage on the 300 block. Inside the garage, someone had been washing cars. Mary caught the scent of water and trampled towards it.

Meanwhile, someone alerted the mayor, Dr. Braddock, who was not only the mayor and a doctor, but also an accomplished big game hunter. He immediately went home for his gun.

The teachers ran screaming into the garage and up the stairs to a mezzanine and safety. Mary reached water. Handlers arrived to calm her down. Then Dr. Braddock entered with his gun, and with several well-placed shots, sent another Sells Floto elephant packing their trunk to the great circus in the sky.

Today, Mary's trunk is displayed in a private collection. And there is a small plaque at the site of the old garage, telling people that a elephant was shot here, when "She was only trying to find a drink of water!" We say the plaque ignores the climate of the times, one in which traveling elephants routinely broke free and rampaged. The mayor was re-elected.



(c) 2010 Stephen J. MatlockThis publication is the exclusive property of Stephen J. Matlock and is protectedunder the US Copyright Act of 1976 and all other applicable international, federal, state and local laws. The contents of this post/story may not be reproduced as a whole or in part, by any means whatsoever, without consent of the author, Stephen J. Matlock. All rights reserved.

Saturday, September 24, 2011

Saturday Centus - He said, she said, they said????

Jenny Matlock


Welcome to week seventy-three of Saturday Centus. I have the coolest challenge for this week. I'm totally excited about it and I hope you are, too!

I was also excited to listen to a musical rendition of Dazee's Twinkle, Twinkle songs! It made me laugh so hard. If you want to listen to it, just click here!

This week we are doing a DIALOGUE story.

All dialogue. Period.

WORD COUNT - 150 WORDS PLUS THE SIX WORDS OF THE PROMPT. Total word count not to exceed 156 words.
STYLE OF WRITING - DIALOGUE ONLY
NO PICTURES - PAINT THE STORY WITH YOUR WORDS
THE PROMPT THIS WEEK IS: "Are you seriously ordering another martini?"


The regular restrictions apply: PG, no splitting of the prompt, play nicely and visit the other entries, any style or genre of writing you prefer.

Please display my link button or just a hyper-link back to Saturday Centus. Be careful to link your SC URL to the Linky and not just link to your main blog.

E-mail me directly with ???'s or ask your question in a comment and I will do my best to get back to you as soon as possible.

Feel free to link up anytime between now and next Saturday!


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Friday, September 23, 2011

You know that saying...

...to not ask a question unless you really want to know the answer?

Yeah.

That is a stupid saying.

Or maybe it's just a stupid saying in relationship to husbands.

Or perhaps, it's just my husband.

I love the man.

Heaven knows I do...

...but still.

It's been a bit of an 'interesting' few days here...

and Thursday night it all caught up with me.

So I said to Mr. Jenny, "Ummm...Mr. Jenny...gosh, this has been an 'interesting' few days...I'm really worn out...I must look pretty tired out. Right?

And he glanced at me and said, "Yeah, right, maybe you should go to bed early. You look...well...not so hot."

Hmmm...

So, I tried again...you know...for the answer I wanted.

"Well, I probably don't look that bad, right? I've looked worse, right? I mean, I don't look THAT worn out do I?"

And he said... "Ummm...yeah, you really should go to bed right now."

And I said, "Well, geez, it's only like 6:30. And are you saying I'm ugly?"

And he said, "No, you're not ugly...don't be silly, but yes, you look haggard."

And I said, "Haggard? What do you mean by haggard? Are you saying I look hideous?"

And he said, "Are you getting mad at me?"

And I said, "Well why, pray tell, would I be mad at you for calling me ugly and hideous? And it's not like I can go to bed anyway because I haven't even written my blog post for Friday."

And he sighed. Like I was being irrational or something.

Geez. As if.

And then he said, "Just go to bed. Skip your blog post."

And I said, "WHAT? Are you crazy? And disappoint the millions of people who read my blog every day?"

And he said, "Millions?"

And I said, "Okay, disappoint the thousands of people who read my blog every day? No way!"

And he said, "Thousands?"

And I stomped my foot and said, "Fine! I don't want to disappoint the 12 people who read my blog every day!"

And then he said, "You get so dramatic when you're tired. You should really go to bed, I'll write your blog post if it's that important to you."

Hmmmm...

So, I said, "Fine, great! Since I look so haggard and ugly and hideous AND am totally dramatic, you probably don't want to look at me anyway, so go ahead and write my stupid blog post and that will be just fine with me!"

And I huffed out of the room.

And I have no idea why.

Really.

I think my crabbiness was in direct proportion to my haggardness...

...

...

Seriously.

But!

...have you ever gotten into a frame of mind and decided, 'damn the torpedoes'...I'm going full speed ahead whether this makes sense or not?"

You have, right?

It's not just me.

Right?

So anyway...

I went to take a bath and Mr. Jenny came in and told me, "Your Friday post is on your e-mail."

So, when I got out of the tub, I opened my e-mail and found this picture.


..and I asked Mr. Jenny, "How is that a post?"

And he said, "Remember when we came home a few weeks ago and Oskar had gotten some books out to chew up?"

And I said, "Yes, I remember."

And Mr. Jenny said, "Well, remember how that was one of the books on the floor by the book he actually chewed up, and I showed you the book title and you said it was funny?"

And I said, "Yes, I remember, but the book wasn't on the chair when we came home, was it?"

And Mr. Jenny said, "Not, it was on the floor but I didn't think that was a very good picture so I put the book on the chair with the dog and took a picture. That's funny, right?"

And even though for a tiny brief moment I wanted to give Mr. Jenny retribution for actually answering my question I didn't really want to know the answer to...

I resisted.

Because.

I was tired.

And haggard.

And so...

This is my Friday post...

And you're welcome.

And now, I'm going to bed. Mr. Jenny really exhausts me sometimes.

So there.

Sigh...

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Thursday, September 22, 2011

W is for What a Wonderful World


I see trees of green, red roses too
I see them bloom for me and you
And I think to myself what a wonderful world.

Bob Thiele and George David Weiss

This quote was brought to you by Alphabe-Thursday's letter W. To read other offerings for the letter W, just click here.

PS. Happy Birthday to a wonderful silvery-gold friend! (You know who you are!)
and a Happy little shout out to the amazingly sweet blogger I met at my neighbors garage sale! You were exactly like I thought you'd be AND it was a pleasure to meet beautiful you and your beautiful little daughter!

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Wednesday, September 21, 2011

Alphabe-Thursday's letter W


Good morning class.

Welcome to round three of Alphabe-Thursday! Today we will be studying the wonderful letter:



Please link directly to your Alphabe-Thursday URL (if you don't know how to do this let me know!) and please continue to visit the five links before and after your link and leave a comment. Minimum of 10 links visited please. You can visit more if you like, of course, and please try very hard to visit the blogs that visit you for this meme.

I also want to let you know that each week I visit every blog. If it appears I haven't visited your blog by the following Wednesday evening, please let me know!

If you have any difficulties with your link, please make sure to include the number of the link when you e-mail me. It is really difficult for me to find you easily otherwise.

If you have any questions about Alphabe-Thursday or problems doing your link just post it in a comment or send me an e-mail. I'll do my best to help you as quickly as I can.

The McLinkey will be live from 1:00 pm MST time Wednesday afternoon in an effort to assist our lovely "friends across the pond" and continue through 10:00 am MST time Friday morning!

And remember.... link back to this post, you need to be registered as a follower of my blog, PG posts only, and you must visit at least 10 other posts...perhaps consider starting from the last posts and work backwards. The links will stay live after the final post deadline has passed so you can even wait and visit over the weekend or whenever you have more time.

Please link your witty letter W post now!


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Hey...who are you calling a butt head?

Didn't your Mom ever tell you that making fun of people with...ummm...bad stuff isn't nice?

I've got shingles.

On my cheekbone.

At least I think it's on my cheekbone. There's a lot of chub on my face, but if I poke kinda/sorta hard I feel something hard and bony in there and I'm pretty sure it's my cheekbone.

I haven't had shingles in over 20 years.

And, really, it's just as obnoxious as I remember.

One of my friends told me about a holistic type of treatment for shingles, so I'm giving it a try.

The only problem is that it's...

...well...

butt paste.


Baby butt paste to be exact.

And I really hate that name.

But I'm applying it diligently to my ridiculous shingle outbreak...

So I guess, really, technically...

I am a butt head.

Or, to be more precise, a butt paste head.

Gosh.

Someday's it's just really weird being me.

Sigh...

PS. Sometime I'll have to tell you about the time I got shingles on my torso and went to a voodoo healing lady for relief. But not today. I can't give away all my stories at once cuz, gosh, then what will I have left to write about in five years or so?

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Tuesday, September 20, 2011

Story-Time Tuesday - Living Fiction

Jenny Matlock
If you missed where this story started just click here to read it or simply click on the Story-Time Tuesday link at the top of my blog to take you to previous chapters.

Living Fiction - Chapter 52

Here's where Chapter 51 left you.

Jessie opened the door and Princess waltzed in. Edgar practically swooned. Griffin and Jessie looked at each other…all googly eyed and ran out the door.

Millie strolled calmly into the kitchen. She took one look at my new, improved, make-up and clothes. Her hand raised dramatically to her forehead. It’s a wonder she didn’t gouge her eye out with her long, bright orange fingernails. I wondered briefly when she had time to change the polish color. I wondered briefly if she had actually changed the polish color so it would match her day-glo orange, skin-tight track-suit edged in zebra fur.

And seriously, did you know that athletic shoes actually come in cheetah print with glittery pink laces?

“Pearl,” she said dramatically, “Don’t blame me when your ‘boyfriend’turns right around and leaves when he sees you looking all frumpty-dumpty.”

“Frumpty, dumpty? Millie. I think I look great…and if I’d wanted to walk around looking like you I would have…boyfriend? What do you mean boyfriend?”

“You know? Boyfriend. That guy that you’re babysitting adorable little Edgar for. That boyfriend. The one who was sitting on your front steps for about an hour waiting for you!”


And now, Chapter 52 Continues.

Stuttering in surprise, I puzzled, “Waiting on my steps? For an hour? You mean Jay?”

Millie looked at me intently, “Ummm…yes…Pearl…that…guy…was…”

“Knock if off, Millie! I’m not a moron! I can understand English, you know? What is with you anyway? You barge in here and act like…”

Fate had an uncanny way of protecting Millie from my wrath, because right when I was possibly verging on saying too much, I saw Jay framed in the glass of the door.

Waving his hand in a tentative greeting, he reminded me of a little boy…

…and in a moment of clarity do you know what I realized? Jay was kind of cute.

Millie raised one eyebrow at me and I noticed for the first time ever that Millie didn’t really have any eyebrows. At all. She had just drawn a frown in black brow pencil over each eye. The weirdness of it kind of mesmerized me.

I was momentarily torn between asking Millie if something had happened to her eyebrows (Bonfire? Tweezers run amuk? Fright?) and answering the door.

When Jay tapped lightly on the glass, though, answering the door won the debate.

I sucked in my stomach, put a welcoming look on my face, and gracefully opened the door.

“Hey…um…hi! I would’ve called first but I sort of lost your number,” Jay said in a subdued and slightly embarrassed tone. I noticed right away that his face and voice were much more relaxed then the last time I had seen him.

A millisecond later Edgar…ummm…I mean Spot…came skidding around the corner following by a yapping Princess.

Jay dropped down on one jeans-clad knee just as the wiry little dog catapulted himself across the last three feet of my no-wax vinyl flooring.

“Oh man, Spot! Oh, buddy! I missed you, bud. Have you been a good boy? A good boy? And who’s this pretty little gal?” I thought for a moment he was talking about me, but I quickly realized my mistake when he held out a welcoming hand to Princess who quickly became enamored of Jay’s talented scratching fingers.

“Well, I’ll be!” Millie exclaimed, “Princess is usually so, so, so afraid of men and, oh my goodness, just look at her now, will you? Well, I declare, Mr. Jay, you certainly seem to have a way with the females.”

Millie wiggled her drawn-on eyebrows at me and lowered one set of black widow spider mascaraed eyelashes in an innuendo filled wink.

Jay and the dogs continued their mutal admiration love-fest for a few more minutes. Finally he straightened up and looked at me, “Pearl…so…yeah…thanks for watching Spot. Thanks a lot.” Then he fidgetted awkwardly from foot to foot.

Millie took the awkward silence into her own bossy hands. “Obviously you two have some catching up to do…soooo…here!”

She thrust Edgar’s leash into my hands, dug through her voluminous canary yellow patent leather purse (obviously her style sense was vastly superior to mine…I would personally have never paired that bag with a day-glo orange, skin-tight track-suit edged in zebra fur) until she finally located a rhinestone encrusted hot-pink dog leash. Jay looked slightly surprised when it ended up in his hands. I wasn’t surprised at all. Did I ever tell you how pushy Millie actually is?

Well, she certainly pushed us right out the kitchen door. “You two kids go for a walk. Just drop Princess off at my house when you’re done. She will so, so, so enjoy having some more time with her sweet little princey-poo Edgar.”

Princey-poo?

Seriously?

Jay and I stood on the little porch and watched her as she gaily blew us a kiss and closed the door in our faces.

We had only walked about three steps before the door flew open again. “Wait!” Millie commanded. She ran down the steps and handed me several of my dog poo pick-up bags decorated in paw prints. “Pearl! These bags are so, so adorable! You’ll have to tell me where you found them! Now…shoo! Take these good little puppies for a walk!”

A moment later the door slammed shut again.

Millie blew me a second kiss right before she turned away from the window.

Holy cow. That woman is just totally out of control.

I debated whether it was worth trying to talk my way into my own home. I decided it would take a little too much effort and, after all, the weather was nicely brisk for dog walking.

I took a few steps and realized Jay wasn’t walking with me. I turned back to see his puzzled face. He raised an eyebrow. “Ummm…Pearl? Isn’t that where you live? And who was that anyway? She was very…well, gosh…colorful.”

I sighed.

“You’re right, Jay. That is my house and that’s my neighbor, Millie. Colorful is a bit of an understatement. I’m sorry I didn’t even introduce you to her. I gather you figured out that this is her dog Princess. Princess and Edgar…ummm… Spot…ummm… Spedgar are pretty good friends now. Millie thinks they’re in love. Millie is kind of an idiot.”

“Spedgar?” Jay stopped walking and turned toward me. “Spedgar! Pearl! That’s really a funny name…I like it! If Spot has no objections I think we should definitely change his name to Spedgar!”

“Spedgar!” he said loudly.

And Edgar stopped.

He tilted his wiry little golden head.

“Spedgar!” I repeated.

And Spedgar barked happily.

“Spedgar it is!” Jay said cheerfully, and we continued on our merry way.

The dogs pulled this way and that way, sniffing and barking and barking and sniffing.

We finally arrived at a little dog park, and let them off their leashes so they could add running around to their barking and sniffing routine.

We sat on a little park bench. We weren’t sitting right next to each other, but I could tell we were sitting together.

It felt…odd.

I couldn’t remember the last time I had sat on a park bench with a man.

But the sun was golden and lovely and touched my face with warmth. I felt comfortable. Something inside of Jay had changed, or maybe I had changed. Jay was almost starting to feel like a friend.

Or something.

“So,” I hesitated, “How was your time away? It looked like it did you some good. You look a lot more relaxed.”

“It was tough at first. I just kept thinking about everything and getting madder. I mean, Pearl, all those people around town THANKING me for my sacrifice. Geez. They acted like I was the hero. I wasn’t the hero, at all, ever. It was always my son. Do you think I would have willingly sacrificed my son’s life even for my country? Hell, no. I might have sacrificed mine, but I wouldn’t have given up my son for anything. If it would have saved him, I would have moved to Canada. Or New Zealand. Or some island without a fucki...freakin' name. I wasn’t a hero. I wasn’t noble and wonderful and proud of my son for dying for his country. Are you freakin’ kidding me? I would have done anything for him not to have died.”

I surprised myself and reached out and covered Jay’s hand with mine. His hand was so warm. And it was much larger than my husband’s had been.

“And every stupid year all these stupid people come up to me and say the same ridiculous stupid thing…’thank you for your sacrifice’, ‘oh, God bless you Jay’. Yeah. Right. God blessed me, didn’t he? He totally blessed me. He took my son. He took my marriage. He took my life. Yeah. That was a blessing, right?”

He turned his hand over and squeezed mine, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t even say this stuff out loud. Especially to you.”

“Why not?” I asked him. “Sometimes you have to talk to somebody. And I’m a good somebody to tell stuff to. I think I understand part of what you’re saying…about God anyway.”

Jay looked a little surprised. And a little uncomfortable.

I continued, “When my husband…died…I…”

“Wait, wait a second. Pearl? Your husband is dead? I thought you were divorced. What happened? Don’t tell me he was in the war, too.”

And while you might think I never, actually shut-up, I sat quietly for a few long moments. It’s true. I didn’t even know how I really wanted to answer. It felt odd, talking to another man who was kinda/sorta holding my hand on a park bench about my … ummm… deceased husband.

“You know what, Jay? Let’s talk about him another time, but he wasn’t killed in the war so at least you don’t have to thank me for my sacrifice.”

“Okay, we’ll talk about this next time, then. Pearl. Maybe…gee..well…next time could be dinner? Yeah. Ummm… could I take you to dinner?”

To be continued on Tuesday, September 27.

(c) 2010 Jennifer R. Matlock
This publication is the exclusive property of Jennifer R. Matlock and is protected
under the US Copyright Act of 1976 and all other applicable international, federal, state and local laws. The contents of this post/story may not be reproduced as a whole or in part, by any means whatsoever, without consent of the author, Jennifer R. Matlock. All rights reserved.


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Monday, September 19, 2011

Wild Friday Nights...

...

Yup.

We're all about the wild times here at the Matlock house.

Friday afternoon it got down to a brisk 101 degrees and things got crazy.

Our youngest and middle Grandlittle came to visit after school and promptly said, "Wow, it's not too hot out! We should ride our bikes!"

Mr. Jenny dragged out the new (to them! I love garage sales!) Green Machine...and they were off!






Stuffed animals, a pogo stick and neighbor kids joined in the fun...





And our sweet Grandlittles enjoyed a gourmet meal of hardboiled eggs, turkey and peaches on their vehicles of choice...





And we were all exhausted.

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Sunday, September 18, 2011

Sundays with Steve - Earthquake!

These Sunday's segments are written by my husband, Mr. Jenny. Here's what he has to say about his posts:

I’ve been writing these weekly stories about life in Northern Idaho, as a youngster and as growing into a young man, primarily for our family. And I'm delighted to share them with you. Just between us, I’m anticipating being cranky when some whipper-snapper who may not even be born yet harasses me in 30 years or so with 'Grandpa, tell me about when you were a boy.' That will probably be after the mad cow disease has set in and erased whatever memory is left. So these are the not-so-dramatic adventures of a Baby Boomer in the 1950s, 60s and 70s.

Earthquake!

At three in the morning, the city is as quiet as it gets. The streets are empty, the night clubs are closed, the big wholesale markets are not yet open, the constant honking and the roar of car and truck engines are silent. Twenty -six million people sleep.

Until they are waken by a familiar roar, what sounds to be a parade of cement trucks making a mad dash through the city, in leading the charge of chaos they bring, loud enough to wake all, powerful enough to shake the very foundations of the city.

I hear the sliding glass door in my bedroom start to rattle, it opens onto the ninth floor balcony of the apartment where I live. Then it moves into shake mode, the door into the closet slams shut, the door out into the living room swings violently open, a picture on the wall falls to the floor. The sliding glass door is pushing at its frame, frantically trying to open itself, for the long fall to the ground below.

I know immediately what it is, everyone in the world’s third largest city knows what it is, just ten years ago 1,000 died from an earth quake just like this one, when buildings all-over Mexico City fell down, just collapsed, and some tall buildings like this apartment building I’m in, simply fell over on their sides. The photos of some of those buildings lying in the street, not in a piles but virtually intact, building eight or ten or twelve stories tall, lying in the street as if a giant had pushed them over , those photos scared the hell out of me when the building I am in is shaking to its very foundation.


Just two weeks before I was at work early one afternoon at the customer service call center I managed on behalf of several Mexico long distance telephone companies, when the building began to sway. We were on the eleventh floor, and this building was moving dramatically side-to-side. Following the disastrous 1988 quake, the city had upgrading its requirements for most buildings, putting tall buildings like the one I was in, on giant springs to absorb the shock. The quake that hit us that day -- a 6.0 centered a hundred miles away – swayed our building hard. The quake itself lasted just 50 seconds, but the building kept moving for almost five more minutes, like a kids’ swing that slows down after the last push, but keeps moving for a long time before it finally stops Our office building, and many like it in the city, did the same thing, they just kept swinging until the energy of their springs finally stopped the motion. I watched out of my office window in awe, as the city literally swayed before my eyes. Our 200 customer service agents stayed under their desks for another ten minutes, until I, as the bad Gringo, forced them back to work.

The first really significant earthquake I experienced was in the mid-1980s in Idaho, when I heard what I thought was a rambling heard of cement mixers coming down our quiet residential street. I jumped up from the breakfast table and ran to the front door. I saw the school bus outside of the house, picking up neighborhood children, but one of those, my stepdaughter, was running back home, screaming at the top of her lungs. I yelled at her not to go into the house, but she didn’t even slow down. What was remarkable that day were the waves rolling through the earth, like waves of water just under the soil, undulating, lifting the street at they passed, lifting a 100 foot pine tree as if it were a stick, lifting my two story brick house as if it were a play thing; three, maybe four waves moving through the earth at lightning speed. The quake was over in just seconds, maybe one half of a minute. There was no local damage that day, but it did shake up a lot of people, including my father, 400 miles away, who told me that it knocked him off his toilet. A school collapsed near the epicenter three hundred miles away. I flew over that region a few weeks later and I was amazed to see a crack in the earth that quake had created, a crack that from an airliner five miles in the sky, looked to stretch for miles, maybe twenty of them.

My Mexico City sliding glass door was insisting on jumping out of its frame that morning, there was a roaring sound in the neighborhood, much louder than any of the normal rush hour traffic, and I was thinking about those tall buildings in the quake a decade earlier that simply fell over into the streets. I wondered if I was going to go out that doorway to the balcony, and over the edge, nine floors down to the street, once the sliding glass door popped out of its frame and the building began to lean. Would this quake just shake me and my bed out that doorway, like salt being shaken out of shaker, into the street one hundred feet below? Would this building follow me down, crushing me like an ant under a shoe? Gulp.

The shaking stopped, my bed did not jump out the doorway, and I took a deep breath, just another earth quake, I thought, just like the one several weeks ago, just like the next one that will come very soon. Just another day in my life as a Gringo in paradise. I lived in Mexico City for about five years, and probably experienced 30 major quakes in that time. "Don’t worry", said my friends, "You'll get used to the earth quakes." "Yes, right, of course," I said, "I'm sure that I will."

But I thought to myself, "No, that is probably never going to happen." And it didn't.

(c) 2010 Stephen J. MatlockThis publication is the exclusive property of Stephen J. Matlock and is protectedunder the US Copyright Act of 1976 and all other applicable international, federal, state and local laws. The contents of this post/story may not be reproduced as a whole or in part, by any means whatsoever, without consent of the author, Stephen J. Matlock. All rights reserved.

Saturday, September 17, 2011

In the Autumn...

So...

There's something you might not know about me. I feel we've all been friends long enough now that I can share this affliction honestly with you.

So...

Ahem...

Cough, cough...

It's just that...well...

I can't count.

Really. I can't. I failed addition in second grade, but I was so darned adorable that the mean, ruler yielding, knuckle assaulting nuns just passed me anyway.

Yeah.

So...I'm pretty sure my little SC offering meets ALL THE CRITERIA FOR THIS WEEK (who wrote this ridiculously hard prompt anyway???!!!...grrrr!)...

...but if I used too many words, please don't tell me because it will make me all insecure about my mathematical shortcomings...and there will be a lot of weeping and wailing around here and Mr. Jenny won't like it.

At all.

So...

Ummm...

Yeah.

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

You don't believe me? Seriously? Okay then...you asked for it...here's a picture of me in second grade...

Now you believe me, right?


Okay.

So...

Moving on...

Ahem...

An Ode to Children Celebrating Autumn in the Desert

(the prompt is in bold and feel free to sing this to the tune of Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star)

Scatter, scatter leaves of paper
On the grass that’s brown and dried!
Make a pile for grandkids to jump in!
Make a pile that’s deep and wide!
I tell the Grands that in the autumn
children do this in cooler climes.
“Grandma,” they gripe, “We’re hot and sweaty…
Is it time to go inside?”


This little ditty is linked to Saturday Centus and many little stories written by people who can actually count. To visit them, just click here.
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