Hearing Their Voice

Hearing Their Voice

One of the things I miss about teaching is reading what children have written. My sister teaches some brilliant eleven year olds who fill that void for me. It was time to help evaluate their sea life reports.

Among the many instructions given to the students before writing their papers was to be sure to use your own words. “Let me hear your voice.” My sister also told them that I would be reading them and that I am a writer.

I took notes while reading their work, and I shall share their gems of wisdom with you.

“The gray whale needs your help to continue to be the amazing creature that it is by calling the cops when you see one getting killed.”(I'll keep this in mind.)

“A leatherback sea turtle burns calories even while sitting. One time a leatherback swam all the way from Indonesia to California just to eat jellyfish. The kids mostly spend their time in the tropics.” (Imagine! Burning calories just floating around in the tropics!)

“When a mother sea turtle lays her eggs, she will just leave them and go off and live her own life instead of trying to stay with her babies somehow.”

“Humans catch sword fish for only two reasons; to cook them or to stuff them and put them on their walls.”

“Cuttlefish are so good at camouflage that they can be a male and dress up as a female and mate with other males. They aren't very pretty but they are well protected. They do not stay in one place for too long.” (I think I can understand why.)

Bottle nose dolphins have a way of keeping their reproductive organs on the inside of their bodies until they need them so they won't slow them down when they swim. (Ahem.)

“Bat rays pile on top of each other during mating season. They can tell who has already mated, who is ready to mate and who isn't mature yet.” (I did not find out exactly how they tell.)

“The male hammerhead shark bites the female until she finally agrees to mate with him. The scalloped hammerhead is a slammer with a hammer.” (It is a wonder this species has prevailed with such an impolite courting method.)

“Barracuda rarely attack humans. If they do it is because they are wearing shiny jewelry.” (I am going to assume that it is not the barracuda wearing the jewelry.)

“Salmon can smell over a continent away. That's how they find their river. They have a special salt gland that allows them to live in both oceans and rivers.”

“The common dolphin sleeps with only half of his brain at a time. The awake side keeps watch and makes sure he doesn't drown.” (I believe human mothers share this amazing skill.)

“You can tell the age of a walrus by the number of rings in his tusks. They can grow as long as three feet! The longer the tusk, the more important they are to the group.” (Can we do this? Well, the tusks would be cumbersome, but think of the importance for some of us.)

“Bottle nose dolphins have bigger brains than humans do. Can you visualize how smart they'd be with the proper schooling?”

“Skates suck up food from the ocean floor and if they suck in a vegetable, they spit it out quickly. They lay their eggs in little mermaid purses.” (Little mermaid purses!)

“The great white shark grows and regrows a thousand teeth a year. It will taste test anything that looks like it might be food.” (So try not to look like a sea turtle when you are swimming in the ocean.)

While reading their papers, I learned that the shallow open ocean waters are called the neritic waters, the giant squid is red and his eyes are a foot in diameter, and there is an interesting crab called the “decorator crab.”

Decorator crab? Now that's something! After discovering, at an early age that my astrological sign is a crab, I have avoided taking part in all things associated with the positions of the orbs in the cosmos and their resulting effect upon my personality. Well! Now I discover that there is a crab that accessorizes herself with tidbits she finds on the ocean floor. OK. I'll “be” a crab if I can be a decorator crab. I love the things I learn from children.

When the children's papers were returned to them, they asked eagerly, “Did your sister hear our voice?”

Yes. Yes I did. I heard the voice of a promising future.

Halleluja It's Christmas

    I am sure that everyone on the planet has seen that flash mob internet video    of people in a food court somewhere singing the Hallelujah Chorus.  I wish I had been there!  My alto part of the Chorus is as familiar to me as the sound of my breath going in and out of my lungs.

    Every year in December I participated in a community production of The Messiah for all of the years I was “forming,” in Ada, Oklahoma.  The singers included the high school  and the college choirs, and various church choirs, along with anyone else who wanted to participate.  The orchestra was filled with people from similar talented groups around the small town. 

    Year after year we would begin practicing before Thanksgiving and by the time we performed we were a melodious and powerful group.  It stunned the standing room only audience almost as much as it awed those of us singing.  To me, it was the beginning of the magic that was Christmas.  Ada, Oklahoma was a great place to spend one's formative years.

    The first Christmas I spent as a married lady in Southern California, I waited for the Christmas magic to appear.  It was balmy,   but there were Christmas decorations in the stores.  There was no Messiah.  We were a struggling young couple.  I realized I had to make Christmas happen in our little apartment.  I remember sitting at the kitchen table making dough ornaments to hang on the tree that the elementary school where Richard worked, had given us.  I sang my heart out.  “All we like sheep...”  “...and he shall reign for ever and ever..Hallelujah!”  Alto part only. Oh, and with a smidgen of soprano thrown in now and then.

    The thing about religions is they have some beautiful music.
    The thing about apartments is they have some thin walls.

    My new California neighbors smiled strangely at me.

Left and Right Ramblings

  
    I am one of those people who just don't instinctively know their left and right.  My sister and I share this affliction. 
    When we give one another driving directions – we employ the “Your Window, My Window Method” Turn left at the corner just won't work with us.
    For example when instructing one another in which direction to turn.  It's like this,  “Just go your window at the next light and then go, quick, my window.” 
    It is a mild form of aphasia. We have learned to compensate, using the sister code.  When there is someone else giving the directions it can get ugly.  I stuck a little R and a little L on the appropriate sides of the speedometer of my Mustang.  That helped, but I had to take a bit of teasing for it from my non directionally-challenged colleagues.

    The Hokey Pokey?  A chore.

    Oh, and that little trick of making an “L” with your left hand? Well my right hand makes an “L” too.  It's backwards, but my mind doesn't immediately see it as backwards.  I can also read upside down, and in mirrors, which came in handy when I taught kindergarten.

    When I was in School Teacher School, (which is what I called that year I spent learning educational jargon after I had my BA,) we saw a film about this very thing.  I remember one part of the film very well.
It was filmed with the fish-eye lens to make it scary.

    There was a child pretending to be the teacher, and he had a tea cup.  He held the cup up to the teacher, who was playing the child and asked, “What is this?”
The Teacher/child answered, “It's a tea cup.”
Then the Child/teacher turned it upside down and again asked what it was.
The Teacher/child said, “A teacup?”
The Child/teacher said, “NO! Now it's something else!”

    Next he turned it around so the handle was on the other side, and the frustrated Teacher/child meekly said, “A teacup?” 
“NO!” Bellowed the Child/teacher.

    Suddenly, I understood what children went through learning to decipher the sticks and balls of the printed word.
I suppose I had learned to read in a less precise way, as I taught myself to read by deciphering the Sunday comics, before I went to kindergarten. I probably used the “Right Brain Method.”  (I probably just made that up.)

    People who are dominated by the left hemisphere are practical, linear, detailed, and orderly. They process things from part to whole.  They see all the details when they enter a room.  They are the engineers and the scientists of the world. They also make excellent proofreaders.

    Those of us who are right brained dominate are artistic and impulsive. We see the whole room.  Furthermore we get a feeling from it.  Color and music are always involved. We read what the writer meant instead of the actual letters and words.

    Needless to say the well balanced person taps into both hemispheres. The school district that employed me gave all of us a test to discover whether we were right or left brain dominated and I came out almost totally RIGHT.  Was anyone surprised?

    They found that almost all of the teachers tend to be either evenly situated between the corpus callosum and if they were dominate on one side it was definitely to the left.  Well.  That explains a lot of things. 
Like my desk, for instance.
And why I was always having my students perform.

    So here's my question.  How did people who see everything black and white in politics become associated with the musical, interior decorating, mural-painting, tap-dancing side of the brain?
    How is it that the Don't Tell Me What To Do In My Private Life political party is in any way connected with the stoic, calculating, reasoning, “if-this-then-that” lineaar hemisphere?

My left hemisphere Googled this subject, because I am the curious type.  It has nothing to do with today.  It came to be back in the 1700's in France, during the revolution. People who were conservatives sat to the right of the king and the people who were more liberal sat to the left of the throne.

That's it in a nutshell.  We are carrying on a French tradition.  Ces't la vie.

The Day Everybody Turned Nice (Too Bad It Didn't Last)

On the day school started in 2001, Richard, myself, and another retired couple of educators drove by our schools to honk good-bye in a “Ha ha, you’re back in school and we aren’t,” sort of way.
We were headed for Vegas, then Yellowstone and on to the Black Hills to see the Presidential Heads on a Mountain.  We were having a great time enjoying our newfound freedom.  
 On September 11, we were in Cody, Wyoming.  We awoke to the terrible sights on television, along with everyone else in the nation.
      Our plan had been to visit Mt. Rushmore that day.  Instead we sat in our hotel rooms watching the horror with our eyes wide with fear and our hands over our mouths. I remember my skin feeling prickly and my breathing was shallow.

       After some discussion and several emotional phone calls home, (Home!  Suddenly we just wanted to be home!), we decided to proceed to our destination.  We couldn’t help but think of the teachers we left behind and the children in their classes.  What were they saying to them?  How could they explain this?  I remember how emotional it was in our classrooms the day the Challenger exploded.  This was of a far greater scope. 

With our car radio tuned to the unfolding news, we crossed into South Dakota.
.    
The sky was eerily empty.

We called our loved ones again.  Daughter Martie had decided to keep our granddaughter home from school.  No one seemed to know what would happen next.

     As we came upon the area of Mt. Rushmore, there were armed guards at the access road.   (We took their picture from afar.)  Upon learning that all of the monuments across the United States had been closed down, we spent the next twenty-four hours alternately planning to go on home and waiting to see what happened next. 
.
     When Mt. Rushmore re-opened we walked around the plaza there and then attended the evening show.  I’m sure that the production is always wonderful, but that night!  Oh my!    It was emotionally charged with that surge of ultra-patriotism that everyone had suddenly come to enjoy.  Tears washed the faces of everyone in the audience as we sang, “America,” “ The Star Spangled Banner,” and “God Bless America.”

    We stayed on the road for the next week, visiting Glacier Park, Coeur d’Alene, and Seattle.  There was a different feel out there.  Flags popped up on cars, of course, but the people were different.  There was a change in humanity. People were more gentle and friendly.  Strangers were acting like old friends.  Everyone was open and raw.  There was a feeling of “us-ness.”
Turned out to be a good time to travel.

Grammies 2010

Grammies 2010
…or as Steven Colbert called it,
“The show where performers exercise their most precious right; the right to congratulate each other.”

Sunday night’s show was the best Grammy show I have seen in years.  (ie, not much rap displays, and lots of Agreeing With Me.)

Mr. Colbert announced the Song of the Year, (Single Ladies) by reading it from his iPad, which he pulled from inside his jacket.  I have been amused by parodies of Beyonce’s video of Single Ladies, most notably by Justin Timberlake who, along with two members of the SNL cast, dressed in black tights and four-inch heels and did the Single Ladies dance. Hilarious.

Beyonce put on a Show with a capital “S!”  She had about forty dancing storm troopers, and great, elaborate costumes.  She sang, If I Were a Boy and then slipped in a bit of Alanis Morissette’s “You Oughta Know,” (or as we call it in my family, “The Cross-eyed Bear Song.”) It may be the angriest song ever performed.

As an old (-er) lady, I could be Pink’s oldest fan.  I also like Lady GaGa.  They showed their awesome talent Sunday night.

Pink performed soaking wet acrobatics in the air, while singing, I might add! 

Lady GaGa can sing!  She can play the piano and sing at the same time, which never ceases to amaze me.  She performed with another one of my favorite divas, Elton John, and they brought out the best in each other.

Both Pink and Lady GaGa make Cher look conservative.  That’s not easy to do.

My favorite songwriter, Leonard Cohen, won a Lifetime Achievement Award.  So did Loretta Lynn.  I never thought I’d mention these two people in the same paragraph.

Zac Brown won the best new artist.  I hadn’t heard of any of the other people they were up against.  (The “Ting Tings?”)

The Black Eyed Peas performed.  They do the best work out songs.  Put them on your ipod and go work out.  Work out for me, too, because I am busy.  Other good workout tunes are Blame it on the A-A-Alcohol, Footloose, and Use Somebody.  (I am good at choosing work out songs, just not at working out.)

There were great performances by Lady Antebellum, The Kings of Leon, Taylor Swift and Stevie Nicks, Andre Bocelli and Mary J. Blige.  Every performance was great, but the best of the best was the Michael Jackson 3-D performance, and I didn’t even have any 3-D glasses.  If you missed it, you must Google it!  I don’t care what Michael (did with the Jesus Juice,) (may or may not have done,) (was accused of doing) he knew how to put on a show.  That boy could sing and dance!

Stevie Nicks was not the only old rocker featured on Sunday night’s show.  We got to see Jon Bon Jovi, Neil Young, Lionel Richie, Smokey Robinson, and Leon Russell. Anyone remember Mad Dogs and Englishmen?  Leon lived across the street from our friends in Tulsa.  What a partier!

The entire show was impressively grandiose. I loved every minute of it, even the rap performances.  (Did I just write those words?)

Grading Science Reports

For my first good deed of 2011, I helped my sister grade her ocean life reports.  First, I suggested we just give them all A's  and go shopping, but she is a stickler for going by the rubric.  She teaches middle school science and math.  Let us have a moment of silence in her honor right now.

I sort of like helping her with this chore now and then because I always learn something new, plus middle school kids write some pretty funny stuff!

I learned two new things that I didn't know before and my sister verified to be true.  For one thing I learned that the green sea turtle has non-retractible limbs.  I should have known this because I happen to be somewhat of a sea turtle expert.  I have stood in the sand, not three feet from a gigantic turtle as she laid and subsequently buried her eggs.  Then I walked beside her as she lumbered back into the sea.  It was a life changing experience.

Also, new to my vocabulary, due to the report grading event, is the grouping word “smack.”  If one needs to speak of a group of jellyfish, they are called a smack.  If you should ever stumble into a smack of jellyfish, believe me you will speak of the experience.

The following “facts” were taken straight from the reports. They may need to be verified, as I am not sure of their authenticity.

“The gray whale visits many different places, but the view under water doesn't change much.”

“An angler fish mates for eight days and then the male just attaches himself to the female until his whole body is absorbed by her.  Now that's what I call a close relationship.”

“The hammerhead shark doesn't have much of a family life.”

“Sea lions sniff poop to see if it is their baby.”

“Sea anemones will close up its tentacles if you touch it and then it will starve to death, so if you see one you should resist the urge to touch it with your hand.  Just use one or two fingers.”

“Once a bottle-nose dolphin saved a baby humpback whale and took it back to its mother.”

“A killer whale eats warm blooded animals to feel warm on the inside.”

“The crown of thorns starfish eats mollusks, which is gross to us but good to them.  Also, the female gets up on her tippy-toes on a rock to lay her eggs.”

“If you are in the middle of a pod of narwal whales you will get deaf because they are so loud.”

“Male chimeras have retractable sexual appendages on their foreheads.  You can give a man a fish and he might eat it for a meal, but if you show him a raw chimera, he may never eat fish for real!”

“If a shark accidentally bites down on a rock and breaks off all of his teeth they will soon grow back again.”

“Usually, reproducing is all a penguin thinks about.”

“A baby hammerhead can't swim when it is born because it's a sack.”

“Seahorses meet each morning to do the tango – seahorse style!”

Now that's something I'd like to see.

Flat Jack

Flat Stanley is a children’s book by Jeff Brown, which has been around for a long time.  If you have ever taught elementary school you know all about Stanley.  Seems a bulletin board fell on him and flattened him.  After poor Stanley adjusts to his new flat self, he discovers that it isn’t all that bad to be flat.  He can do things that a full-bodied kid can’t do.  It isn’t long before he comes up with a little scheme to mail himself to exciting places.  These circumstances make for a great plot line.  Children love to think of being able to sneak into places covertly. 
When my grandson, Jack was in the second grade, his teacher used this book to make a writing assignment interesting and had the children make a flat version of themselves.  After they admired one another’s flat alter egos they mailed themselves to another city hoping that they would have a wonderful adventure to write about and ultimately make their own little books.
Jack mailed Flat Jack to San Francisco to visit Uncle Rob.  It wasn’t long before I got a frantic phone call.  “Mom!  We lost Flat Jack!  We can’t find him anywhere!”  I spoke to Jack’s teacher, who happens to be a friend and an ex colleague.  She said that she’d have him make another to add to the project when the pictures of the adventure were returned to school.   Since time was short, Rob quickly fashioned a new Flat Jack, using a photograph of Jack’s face for the head.  Now Flat Jack looked quite real.  Flat, but real.
They took him for an airplane ride.  They strapped him in the front seat of their plane, took his picture, and took off.  Flat Jack got to fly over and take pictures of The Golden Gate Bridge, Angel Island, Alcatraz, the Bay Bridge, and other wonderful San Francisco landmarks.
Then suddenly, horror of horrors, Flat Jack got air sick.  Some disgusting paper green stuff spewed forth from his flat little mouth!  (Let me tell you here that green stuff spewing from someone’s mouth is prime second grade humor.) The green stuff ended the flight. 
They landed and went back to Uncle Rob’s house.  There, Flat Jack played with Rob’s puppies, Mellie and Butler.  Puppies, being puppies, chewed poor Flat Jack to pieces.  The last photo was taken of these pieces scattered all over the floor with the dogs in the background; thus documenting the demise of poor Flat Jack.
His book was a hit, because not only do second graders like to be grossed out by barf, it appears they also enjoy canine dismemberment. 

Bought the Farm

Farm Report
There is an inspection of the Shasta County property happening as I write this.  Richard is pacing up and down with the phone in his hand waiting for Rob to call with the results, and, he hopes, other news. 
     I have put some books into boxes, only to be told the boxes are too heavy.  We have taken one carload of books to the library.  We will deliver one more load later.  I have started six piles of stuff that I want to give to people but I haven’t made a dent.  I am paralyzed.  I don’t know what to do next.
    During my teaching years, when it was time to go into my classroom to set it up for the new year, I always had to count on going in and spending one whole day sort of standing in the middle of the room and turning in circles wondering what to do and where to start.  I suppose I am doing this now only on a grander scale.
    The dynamics of this impending move are far reaching.  Every day another person cries.  The grandchildren are upset.  Martie feels abandoned.  Richard and I feel guilty, as well as burdened.  We also feel that this will eventually be a good move for all of us.  We will be down here often to check on things and visit.  I will miss Martie’s everyday presence.  She is my best friend.
    The fax has come with the report on the house.  Seems the cowboy who is selling has done his own electrical work.  (jerry-rigged)  He added the garage without a firewall.  There is a container of propane under the stove (much like our barbeque).  There is much to be done to this property.  I have insisted on a mold inspection, which is not included in the regular inspection.  I don’t think my asthma could take mold.  Everyone thinks I’m a weenie.  Richard could snort mold daily for weeks and never notice it. 
    Two days have passed since I began this entry.  We now have a well water report.  WELL?  Just exactly how does this well thing work?  What if my dogs wee-wee on the ground near this well thing?  Does this mean the dog wee will seep down into the well water?  Is this well lined with a thick anti-bacterial wall of cement?  Does the Sparklettes Water delivery truck come out that far?   I am a “City Okie”, as I have told you before. 
    Don’t any of you DARE plan a trip or cruise without letting us know!  I’ll need connections with civilization now and then during this adventure.

It’s just a part of life’s rich pageant!!!!!  
   

Mothers Day Travel Fiasco

                 Event in the Life of Lynn
Yesterday, Mother’s Day, I woke early, took a shower, and went to breakfast with Martie, her beau, and the kids.  It was entertaining as meal events usually are with Jack and Rachel.  They love a captive audience, and their ability to mimic funny lines from movies always makes me laugh.
    After breakfast they took me to Long Brach Airport to hop a plane to San Francisco to spend the rest of the day with Rob and Leigh.  They had sent me an e-ticket and I had printed it out, given it a glance and tucked it in my purse.
    Martie dropped me off at the curb and I went in to check in and get my boarding pass.  The lady behind the Jet Blue counter said, “I hope this isn’t for flight 456, because they are closing the doors right now.”  (How did she know!?) 
It seems I had read the arrival time as the departing time.  These things happen with me.
She quickly picked up the phone and asked someone on the flight crew, “Can you take another runner?”  Sadly for me the doors were closed and they were pulling away.
She placed my name on the stand-by list for the 3:00 flight, and informed me that I was the fifth name on stand-by.
Now I had to find a phone, as mine has been lost since April 24th.  (I called about it and there hasn’t been any activity on it since then, so it’s probably around here somewhere, or I threw it in the recycling bin again.)  Try to imagine how difficult it is to find a pay phone in this day and age!  Now try to imagine how difficult it is to get someone to give you 8 quarters for $2.00.
When I had found both, I called Rob and told him my predicament.  He was ever so patient.  He said he’d call around and see what he could find and call me back in ten minutes.  Then I had to tell him about my missing cell phone, so he told me to call him back in ten minutes.
When I called him back he said, “Grab a cab and go to LAX.  There’s an 11:30 flight on United.” 
One half of an hour and $46.00 later, I was at the self check-in at United, reading on the screen that the flight was closed.   
Nearing hysteria, I had a conversation with the clerk that started out a bit snippy on her part, but when she looked on her computer screen she suddenly became ever so polite, and said I could proceed to gate #85.
Apparently, Rob flies with them so much that he belongs to some hoity-toity-special-business-boy-club.  When I got to the gate, the clerk asked where would I like for my assigned seat to be, and I answered,
“On the plane, please.”

It’s not easy being me.

Misplaced Queen Latifa

Last Saturday we lost --- well, misplaced one of our cows, Queen Latifa.  Richard spent an hour and a half searching the property, looking for her.  Frustrated, he made another check of the ponds to make sure that she wasn’t stuck in the mud.  We couldn’t figure out where she could be.  The rest of the cows were standing around eating the hay he had just put out for them.  It just wasn’t like Queenie to miss a meal.  Usually the sound of the ATV will cause them all to run happily, for the barn.
 
Just the fact that she wasn’t with the others was strange.  The cows do everything together.  If one cow is in the shade of a twiggy little tree the rest of them are all smushed into the same little spot of shade.  There may be twenty-five trees in the pasture but it seems that cows will always gather under the same tree. (Probably to gossip.)

If Queenie ran away, they would all run away because of the afore mentioned togetherness thing.  They have done this before.  They escaped to the neighboring Cow Creek ranch about nine months ago.  But the fence has since been repaired and reinforced, thus ending those neighborly visits.

We even thought about the possibility of something like a mountain lion attacking her.  After all, it hadn’t been a year since our neighbor, Shannon, had to shoot a lion that attacked and killed her little goat.  She dropped it with one shot.
But there would have been evidence of that if it had happened.  A mountain lion couldn’t eat a whole cow, no matter how hungry it was.

We decided the cow had been rustled.  There was no other explanation.  But after more discussion we realized that wasn’t probable either.  The way our property is situated, anyone coming in would be noticed.  Shannon would see any unusual activity, and she’s armed and dangerous.  (We feel comfortable knowing that she is there to protect us.)

So where was the danged cow?

Richard looked depressed.  He even said that maybe he should just get out of the cow business.  He already has one misplaced heifer.  She ran off in a fit of PMS last September or so.  We still haven’t been able to locate her.  I guess the other cows were afraid to follow her what with her bad mood and all.

 He gave up his search and came in to watch the Oklahoma Sooners play Florida for the championship.  That didn’t go well for him either.  He was glum.

Yesterday morning he went outside and there she was. Queenie the Cow had come home.  OK!  He was Rancher Richie again.  He resumed being his usual jovial self.

This morning he hollered at me from the back deck to come out and see why the cow had been missing. When I looked there was a new calf, a little bitty replica of Queen Latifa was standing right beside her mama!  Apparently Mama had been hussying around without our knowledge. 

Richard had had her inseminated earlier last year but when she didn’t have a calf when she was supposed to we knew that hadn’t worked.  We had no idea that she had taken matters of motherhood into her own hands. 
We don’t know if our wanton cow broke some moral rule of cow decency or not, but we don’t really care.  The calf is too cute!

Random Letters to Random People

RANDOM LETTERS TO RANDOM PEOPLE
Dear Weather Dude,
Will you pu-leeze quit putting those big L’s up in the sky above Whitmore.  Remember last week when you put that big H up there?  It was all sunny and bright and made me sing, “Oh What A Beautiful Morning.”  Now go.  Change the L to an H.  I’ll wait right here.  The “L” makes the door to my studio stick.

Dear Shoplifters,
Thank you so much for adding those impossible-to-open blister packs to our lives.
Really, what are these made of, anyway?  This material ought to be used by the military, to reinforce tanks or something.  



Dear Safeway Musac Makers,
     If you must put “Three Times a Lady” in your music feed, you are just going to have to put up with my out-of-context, maniacal laughter.
See, all I hear is “You un, to, tee time da wady”
Ala Eddie Murphy’s Buckwheat. 
And that’s just how it is.

Dear Dr. Dentist,
    When you are getting ready to do your root canal thing, surely there is a better way to test for the correct tooth than poking it with dry-ice-on-a-stick. Why did you take all those x-rays? And how am I going to get down from the ceiling? And what are you going to do now that I cleared your waiting room with my blood-curdling scream?

Dear Teachers Everywhere,
Please take a lesson from your colleagues in LA. They chose the wrong people to hold up as exemplary citizens for their students during Black History Month.  Apparently OJ Simpson, Dennis Rodman, and RuPaul are not appropriate role models for young people to emulate.  The teachers were removed from the classroom.
 (I am wondering…what’s wrong with RuPaul?)

Dear People Who Put The Bloody Shirt Belonging To Robert Kennedy and the Photograph of Marilyn Monroe on Her Death Bed On Display in Vegas,
You will need to wait for about a hundred more years to display the shirt without getting any negative feedback from the public.  Abraham Lincoln’s bloody shirt is permanently on display in Washington D.C. and no one complains about it.  It is there along with the bloody pillow he died on, the gun that killed him, and his bloody coat and boots.
    However, you might want to rethink your idea of putting a photograph of Marilyn Monroe, dead or alive, in the same exhibit with any Kennedy.  I’m just saying.

Dear Blanket Jackson,
    I am so sorry.  You are in for it, Sweetie.  You must never go out into the world among other children. You will be ridiculed and pummeled. Other boys will not care that you are a beautiful child.  They will not care that you had a famous father.  They will only be interested in taunting you because your name is Blanket.

Dear Rush Limbaugh,
    Did you know that your voice is being used to deter the vicious Bark Beetles that have killed twelve million trees in California’s national forests?  I knew you were good for something.

Dear Teenage Girls,
    Vampires aren’t real. 

Dear People Who Send Me “Public Notices” That Look Like Traffic Tickets or Semester Grades or Mid-Term Reports,
  Putting “Important Documentation, Do not discard” stamped in red will not work any longer.  I know it is an advertisement for hearing aids.  You are wasting your stamp.


Dear Newspaper Reporters,
A man found dead by the river with a bullet hole in his head and a knife sticking out of his chest should be classified as a little more than “suspicious.”  While we’re at it here, if a person in a truck runs over a pedestrian and then turns around and runs over him again, it is not “Probably” done on purpose.


Dear Kitty Cats Who Live At My House,
The beautiful mouse guts that you leave for me so artistically arranged, on my front mat are enough for me.  You don’t need to put any more dead birds in my car.  I did not notice it until I was out in traffic and that can be dangerous.


Dear Flying School Using The Air Above Whitmore To Teach People How To Fly,
Please quit practicing stalls over my house.


Dear Water Pick,
I hate you.
-____________________________________
Dear governor of Texas,
 I do not think your prayers for rain idea will work.  However if you add some feathers and Native Americans you may just get a rainstorm or two.  Then again, you can just wait until the rain cycle comes around again—which it will.

Dear People who put perfume on those folded over strips in magazines,
Stop it!  It doesn’t make any difference what you call your scent it all smells the same in a magazine.  You are wasting your time as well as your stinky perfume.

Dear Bug Walking On My Ceiling,
Perhaps you could go walk on the other side of the room.  Even better go walk in the kitchen.  There is stuff to eat in there.

Letter to Rachel

Dear Rachel Skye,
This is your Gigi, who misses you so, so much.  If Mommy ignores you when you say, “Nyet, nyet, nyet” just call me, OK?  You are my precious baby and I will give you anything you want.
    Here is a helpful reminder for you; If you get a stuffy nose, don’t let Mommy know or she will come after you with one of those fuzzy sticks that you hate.
    Also, if they make you eat things you don’t like, just call 894-3400. 
    If Mommy puts that scratchy dress on you just call me and I will save you.  We will sing together, and stay up late, and eat ice cream, and then go outside barefoot and look at the moon.
    I will teach you how to tap dance and how to say, “It was temporary insanity” when you get into trouble. We will read a thousand books and I will let you wear all of my jewelry at once.
    We are going to have a great time, you and I.
Your very own Gigi

Cows Out

Today my Northern California granddaughter and I were working diligently in my studio.  She was making a scrapbook to take with her when she goes to her dads after school is out.  I was making a tray to add to my wine/grape vignette on top of my china cabinet.
As we worked in companionable silence, I happened to look up to see our brown mama cow in the back yard.  I squealed, probably an expletive, (sorry Haily), as I immediately thought of my garden in the front yard.  Last year, every time I had it all planted and looking nice, the cows got out and ate it.
    My screeches alerted our vigilant watchdogs who began barking profusely and chasing the cow, driving her ever closer to my garden.  I rushed out the door screaming for Rancher Richie!  My four-pound Maltese ran out with me adding to the frenzy and along with it the worry that the cow (on the way to my garden) would trample her.
    Can you imagine the noise?
Rancher Richie, hearing the commotion, came running out the back door with his jeans halfway on.  Seems he was in the bathroom when all this came to pass.
     Haily and I ran into the front yard to redirect the cow away from my plants.  As we continued on around the house, I discovered our black mama cow in the fenced in garden area feasting on the strawberries.  When she heard me yelling and saw me waving my arms, she stepped across into the next raised planter and began to trample what was left of the bush beans.  Rancher Richie with his trusty “cow spanker” began driving them all back toward their proper pastures.
    He closed the gate he had inadvertently left open, opened the larger one and ran the mama cows back where they belonged.  Now he was after the babies, who were happily dining on white roses.  They ran to their escape gate, and were sorely distressed to find it closed.  For some reason they wanted very badly to go back through the same gate they came out of.  It took some doing on everyone’s part to convince them to go in the larger open gate.
    When we had everyone back into their proper locations, we began to have a discussion about how all of this took place.
    It seems that Rancher Richie was watering the doomed garden when he glanced up and saw that he had also turned on the sprinklers in the back yard, where I had earlier hung the sheets on the clothesline to dry. 
They were not drying. 
He became so concerned with the state of the sheets that he ran out of the garden, leaving the garden gate open.  Then he ran out of the pasture, leaving that gate open as well.  He came to discuss the sheets with me and promptly forgot that he had left two important gates open.  I suggested we leave the sheets to re-dry.  He went into the house.
    As Hailey and I went back to work, I marveled at the fact that the slightest diversion from the norm will set a series of mishaps into motion out here on the ranchita.
    The sheets dried again.  There were no discouraging words.  Just a bit of squealing, mooing, and barking.


   

CMA 04

Did y’all watch the Country Music Awards last night?  I thought they were great.  Lots of performing; that’s what I like.  I was late to turn it on, though.  When I did, Martina McBride was singing the last line of a song I haven’t heard.  She sang; “I met God’s will on Halloween night, dressed as a bag of leaves.”  Hey, now, that’s what I like about country music.  The lyrics.
    There is none of this, “I saw you had a boyfriend, who looked like a girlfriend that I had in February of last year.” Like in pop music. 
There are gut level, underbelly, “double suicide drinking songs” like “Whiskey Lullaby.”
    Did you hear Allison Krause talk?  How annoying.  She should just sing.  Like Mel Tillis.
    This reminds me of a story that Mel told on a talk show once.  Seems he noticed flames coming out of the barn, so he ran in to tell his father.  Of course, the more excited he gets, the more he stutters, and a fire is certainly a cause for excitement, so he stood there saying, “th th th th th…!!!!!!!!”  Finally his dad, seeing that whatever Mel had to say was important, yelled,  “Just sing it, Mel!”  So, Mel sang, “Oh, the barn’s on fire” to the tune of Amazing Grace.
    So, back to the CMA’s…
My mouth just hung open when Big & Rich performed their song.  Did you notice that they had a DANCING MIDGET???! 
That ain’t country.
 “He put the bottle to his head and pulled the trigger” is country. 
“She left the suds in the Bucket and the clothes hangin’ on the line,” is country.
    I love “Girls Lie, Too”  Yeah them old gray sweatpants turn us on…We love to see deer heads hangin’ on the wall.  Yep.

I, too, say “Hey y’all and Yee Haw!”

CMA's o6

Lynn’s Review of the CMA Awards

Reba.  Well, she had on a purty dress.

Brad Paisley opened with his trite and simplistic song “The World.”  The tune is boring and the main words have been floating around on the Internet forever in those flowery-send-this-to 25-of-your-best-friends things.

“Oh, no,” I thought.
But things improved after that.

A new girl, Miranda Lambert, sang a song about her guitar.  She had a guy in her band with a Mohawk!  I felt Tammy Wynette spinning in her grave over that!

Brad Paisley’s “Time Well Wasted” won album of the year, with the great song, “Alcohol” on it.  It “helps white people dance.”
See?  He can do good songs if he wants.

Toby Keith should get an award for, “The Best Cowboy Hat Ever.”  I have liked him since he went toe to toe with Peter Jennings.  His band had cellos and violas in it, which I liked, but I’m sure I felt Hank Williams rolling in his grave over that!  Furthermore, if Hank weren’t already dead, he would have croaked over Dirks Bentley and his cute little face and his curly hair, along with the next guy, Jason Aldean, and his earrings.

Big and Rich brought down the house with their, “ Eighth of November.”  It was stunningly heart wrenching.  I like them and their usually wacky, off the wall style.  This was a new side of them.

Jennifer Nettles IS Sugarland and she needs to use her name, and drop that “Sugarland” business.  Have you seen her sing “Who says You Can’t Go Home” with Jon Bon Jovi?  That girl has got it going!  Anyway, SHE won the award for best new DUO!!  Who is that other guy, anyway?

Carrie Underwood, or as she is known in my home state, “Our sweet little Carrie,” wearing a princess dress, sang the winner of the best single award, “Jesus Take the Wheel.”  I don’t know how that song won over the seriously strong competition, but it did.
Carrie also was the winner of the best new female vocalist, bless her heart.

Some quick musings;

“Honky Tonk Badonkadonk.”  Trace really knows how to upset one’s spell checker, doesn’t he?

Did I hear correctly?  The politically “Un”correct, Gretchen Wilson, chews tobacco? 

Little Big Town was the only group who earned the word “BUY” in my notes this year.  Great harmony in their song, “Boondocks.”

I loved it when Vince Gill (Happy Cheeks) gave his humanitarian award to the little girl who was there courtesy of the Make A Wish Foundation.

I did NOT like it when Reba made her Dixie Chick “joke.”
Singing with their foot in their mouth, indeed.

Rascal Flats won the best group prize.  They sang a song with Kelly Clarkson.  (Geez, why do I always think of Steve Carell when I hear her name now?)  Their song was wonderful but it certainly wasn’t a country song.

The tribute to Buck Owens was good.  His son looks just like him!  I have thought about Buck and “Hee Haw” since we moved to Whitmore.  I always want to tell people my phone number is BR549, because our whole township has the same prefix and people only have to give the last four numbers.  Anyway, Dwight Yoakam, Blink 182, a guy from ZZ Top, and Brad Paisley played Buck, and I feel pretty sure I felt him spin in his grave over the drummer.

Kenny Chesney?  Entertainer of the year?  I think not. 
Keith Urban, yes.  I am always impressed by people who can play the piano and sing at the same time.
Brooks and Dunn? Yes, they had me at Neon Moon.
Toby Keith and Rascal Flats? Yes and Yes.
But, Kenny?  Nah He’s a weenie beach boy.

Baggin' On the Country Music Show

    Y’all aren’t going to believe this, but I went to a school board meeting on Tuesday.  I swore I’d never attend another boring event again in my life and a school board meeting is the definition of boring.  But, there I was missing the first part of the CMA’s.
 Rob donated the money for a new playground at the Whitmore School in Leigh’s honor.  I was there for the presentation and that’s the only thing that would get me to go. 
When I could sneak out, I came home to the Award show in progress.  Willie was singing a Paul Simon song about being crazy, and then Paul sang a Willie song about being crazy.  Loved it! 
Then.  They gave the best song award.  Now didn’t Whisky Lullaby win the best song last year?  I’m almost sure it did.  I remember a double-suicide-by-bottle recording won.  There aren’t TWO of those songs, are there?  I personally like “As Good As I Once Was.” And “Alcohol” (that helps white people dance.)  I didn’t hear a thing about “Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off”
An aside; when the family was all together last week, we heard that tequila song and I said, “There’s your song, Barb.”  She said, “I thought it was Your song.”  Martie said, “I thought it was MY song!”  Whitney said, “Actually, I believe it’s my song.”
 Like mothers: like daughters

Here comes some of my genteel, compassionate, benevolent musings, bless their hearts:

Kris Kristofferson looked like he’d been pulled through a sick cow backwards.

Who dressed Martina McBride?  And who did her hair?

How did Lee Ann Womack get best album!?  She’s only made one good recording in her whole life! (I Hope You Dance) and her voice is WIMPY.

George Strait is a big black hat with a nose and a mouth under it.  Ditto on the one good song. (You’ll Always Be a Fire I Caint Put Out) yes caint.

Kenny Chesney is a weenie.

Dolly Parton looks like a caricature of herself.  I especially liked her sock monkey mouth.  I DID covet her jeans, though.  I’ll bet Elton John wanted her whole outfit.

Shania Twain’s dress with that tight band around the vicinity of her knees made her walk like a two-year-old who has her panties down around her ankles as she rushes to the potty.

But of course, who am I to criticize?

Good stuff:
Keith Urban!
No wonder my niece stalks him!

Alan Jackson—still sexy after all these years.  I see he wore his lucky jeans. (They must be because I know he can afford some newer ones.)
Alison Krause did a great job with her bluegrass, and she didn’t talk!

Who is that girl who sings in Sugarland!  Great voice.  Time to dump her back up group.  Did you notice that Pat from SNL was playing the guitar?  Plus, do you think something is going on with her and Jon Bon Jovi? Whew!

Vince Gill is still cute.  I love a man with substance!

Faith and Tim -- Great!  Their new CD is all good.  Thanks, Duane!  Did anyone else notice how much better and more confident Faith got when her hubby joined her?

Brooks and Dunn.  Again.  Can’t beat ‘em.

All in all it was a great show, however the best song of the evening didn’t even get a mention.  It was the Fruit-of-the-Loom commercial, “You Can’t Over Love Your Underwear.”

It Ain't Easy Being Me

I am having a terrible horrible no-good very bad day.
First a guy came to discuss remodeling stuff and he found mold at the base of the bay window in the front.   He said the house was basically a dam for all the water heading for the creek and we must level the hill in the front yard and build a retaining wall.  Then he found termites.
    Then I had to go to the dentist, (since we finally found one, and we haven't been since last February.)  Before I left home, I remembered to take my antibiotics, so I wouldn't die when they did the cleaning. (I used to ignore that pill-taking instruction until a guy I know who has a prolapsed valve like I do and he spent a year in the hospital trying not to die.) The pills are so big that they stuck in my esophagus and I forgot my water and the only thing I could find in the car as I sped down the freeway was a gold foil-wrapped chocolate coin to eat to try to push the pills on down.  Who eats chocolate on their way to the dentist, I'd like to know.  It didn't work.  The pills were still giving me a lot of grief.
    When it was time to turn off the freeway all I could remember of the directions was to take the Park Marina off-ramp.  I did so and pulled over to see if I had remembered to bring the map that Richard had so carefully drawn for me.  I had forgotten it.  He was at school at his Part Time Job even though the school is still closed for Christmas break, but they are working on the bathrooms and God forbid they do something without him to boss them around.  I looked for the school phone number.
    He has these little business cards that say he's the boss of the world, mayor of Whitmore, president of the Men's General Store Coffee Club, and Superintendent of the three room school district,  They are literally all over the place.  They are on every surface in our house, garage, and automobiles. Could I find one in my time of need?
    I called Rob.  He said he'd look up the dentist's address for me and the calm lady could direct me there .  Unfortunately I couldn't remember the guy's name.  He looked up the school number and gave it to me, I called Richard, who rolled his eyes and shook his head.  I did not need to see him to know this.  My esophagus is, by now, on fire and I'm feeling a bit nauseated.  My anxiety level is such that I am wishing I had taken Xanex instead.
    THEN, and here's the good part, the dentist apparently needs a new boat or something  because the report on my teeth is so dreadful that they aren't even going to clean them.  NOOOO, they are going to rotor rooter them.  You know the part where they stab you with that sharp stick all over your gums and say numbers to their nurse?  Well, I got a bunch of fours, which isn't good and then I got a NINE on one of my bridges.
    This is not fair.  I floss.  I have one of those Sonicare torture instruments.
    I go back there tomorrow for the first of many visits.  I'm thinking two Xanexs.  I can remember when I wouldn't take any pills that made me dizzy.  Now I check the bottle to make sure it has that little picture of the swerving car on it.
OK, Who's driving me?
   

Dear Whoever

Dear Shoplifters,
Thank you so much for adding the impossible to open blister packs to our lives.
Really what are these made of, anyway?  This material ought to be used by the military, to reinforce tanks or something.  



Dear Safeway Musac Makers,
     If you must put “Three Times a Lady” in your music feed, you are just going to have to put up with my out of context maniacal laughter.
See, all I hear is “You un, ti, tee time da wady”
Ala Buckwheat.  And that’s just how it is.

Dear Dr. Dentist,
    When you are getting ready to do your root canal thing, surely there is a better way to test for the correct tooth than poking it with dry-ice-on-a-stick. Why did you take all those x-rays? And how am I going to get down from the ceiling? And what are you going to do now that I cleared your waiting room with my scream?

Dear People who send me “Public Notices” that look like traffic tickets or one’s grades or mid term reports.  Putting “Important Documentation, Do not discard” stamped in red will not work any longer.  I know it is an advertisement for hearing aids.  You are wasting your stamp.

Hunting

Hunting.
It was a necessity once.
Men loved it then, I understand.
I read something about that when I was in college getting my degree in English Literature.  Back when I had to read what I was told.  It was about the phenomenon called, “deer fever.”

Some men love it yet today.  Why?  We have grocery stores.  There is an abundance of meat there.  It’s less expensive.  Waaay less.

I went round and round with my brother-in-law, Ches; may God rest his deer killing soul.
He lectured me on, Thinning Out the Herd.  He told me there wasn’t enough food for them all and they’d die anyway.  He ate his kills and tried to convince everyone that it tasted delicious, when the smell of it cooking told me otherwise.

He asked me where I thought those steaks and hamburgers that I ate came from.  He loved to remind me that I was eating dead chickens.

He didn’t stop with deer.  He murdered rabbits, turkeys, and any other animal that had the misfortune to wander into his sites.  I loved Ches, but we disagreed on this subject.  I told him once, long before he got sick, that when he died, he was going to meet up with all of those animals, standing there in the “Tunnel” with their arms folded and tapping their feet, impatiently.


 I’m not opposed to killing animals for food.  I love hamburgers.  I just don’t want to kill them myself.  I don’t want to think about it.  My children used to take great pleasure in asking me questions that would make me stop eating.  “Mom, what did they do with the veins in this chicken?”

 I could not eat an animal that I had known on the hoof, so to speak.  One time I had a student, whose sister was in the 4-H program at the local high school.  She was raising two pigs to sell.  Richard thought it might be a good idea to invest in a pork belly.  We went over to put our claim on one half of one of her pigs.  I met them.  Their names were Martini and Rossi.  I couldn’t eat a bite of that pork.  My family enjoyed it.

Once, when we were living in Tulsa, a neighbor brought us two steaks when she came back from a weekend at her father’s farm.  Seems he had just slaughtered a cow and…
Richard enjoyed both of the steaks.  I realize I’m unreasonable in this area.  But.  Still.

Ches was never able to explain it to me properly.
Can someone tell me how an otherwise sensitive, good person can derive pleasure from watching a magnificent animal drop in his sight?

Incidentally, I finally found a way to stop my children from grossing me out at the table.  I told them that I had washed the potato skins they were eating with the same brush that I had used to clean the hamster cage.

Letter From Scarlet

To Rob Love, Love, Love, Kiss, Kiss:         
        I loved you from the minute I saw you.   Remember that day when Mom brought me home from her school?  She was a real nice lady and I am sure glad she took me from those people who were going to take me to the pound, but it was you I loved the most. I wanted to be by you all of the time. 
I love you for putting all those papers all over your floor when I was a puppy.  I love you for letting me sleep with you on your soft sheets with all those sheep on them.
I love you for coming to get me from the park down the street all of those times I got a little bit lost while I was trying to find you.
I love you for taking me to the beach so I could find my ball in the surf.  The water there didn’t scare me but that water in that big hole in the back yard did.  It tried to get me one time, remember? 
I love you for making those little kissy sounds that I could hear from anywhere.  I love you for taking me on walks so I could find special sticks to carry home when we were living in that tall house with those kitties. 
     I liked the kitties ok, but I loved when we found Leigh.
    Thank you for getting that little boat for me and for giving me rides to the shore so I could have a little rest from the big boat.
     I love you for letting me play with your socks. 
     I loved that you called me “Puppy” even when I wasn’t a puppy any more.

I love you for taking me with you, always.
        I love you for loving me.  I can feel your heart. 
If you sit really still and think about me, you will feel me beside you, and some times I will visit you when you sleep.        
      You might have a dream that I happen to be in, but sometimes I will come to visit you.      
    You will be able to tell the difference.
                     You and me---we are special.  

                                                     Love, Scarlet