A Flighty Attendant.....

One of my former students became a flight attendant after college. Bless her heart, she was always a little............air-headed.

I'll call her Shelley. That's not her name.

Her mother, also a teacher, was mortified that when she went for her college interview, one of the committee members asked her what type of books she liked to read.

Shelley likened reading to volunteering for a root canal.

She said, "Nancy Drew?" Yes, it was a question.

But she finished college, which is more than I can say for many of my former students, and that is NOT a commentary on my teaching ability. It's mostly a commentary on where I taught at the time.

She became a flight attendant for Delta, which I thought was the most glamorous, coolest career a young single woman could have. Particularly a young single woman without a brain.

Shelley and four of her flight attendant friends had apartments in five cities. They split the rent for each one five ways, and it was like each of them paying for her own apartment. But in at least five of the cities they flew to and out of, they had a familiar place to lay their heads instead of sleeping in hotels. I thought it was ingenious.

One of the cities where they had an apartment was New York City. You'd have to know Shelley to grasp what a leap that must have been. Small town girl goes to the big city.

Shelley's mother had told her over and over again to keep some cash on hand at all times. But like many......most.....young girls, Shelley didn't pay a whole lot of attention to her mother's advice. I really have no room to criticize on that point.....I rarely have cash myself. But this was in the days before debit cards were everywhere.

One night when Shelley was in New York, she got called in for an early morning flight that she had not been scheduled for originally. She got up and got ready, donning her crisp navy blue uniform and preparing her hair and make-up as expected. She had no money for a cab, so she got on the subway.

Shelley knew when she got on the subway that there was no way it would get her to the airport in time for her flight. But she had no money for a cab.

So she stood there on the subway in her crisp navy blue uniform, impeccable hair and make-up, crying her eyes out because she knew she wouldn't make the flight.

In the words of Larry Munson, "Get the picture....."

It's 3:00 AM. In New York City. On the subway.

A stranger asked her what was wrong. I'm sure that in addition to telling her to keep spare cash on hand, Shelley's mother had also told her not to speak to strangers on the subway in New York City at 3:00 AM. Shelley didn't listen to that advice either.

So she told him.

This stranger put Shelley off at the next subway stop and gave her money for a cab to get her to the airport in time for her flight.

At 3:00 AM. In New York City. On the subway.

Man, I love that story.

Feeling Risky.....

Let me preface this blog post with the statement that some things shouldn't be shared even with faithful friends and blog readers. People should have enough self-respect not to tell some things about oneself.

I know that.

But tonight I'm feeling particularly risky. Not to be confused with frisky.

Don't you hate it when you do one thing, but accomplishing it requires that you do something else, and that thing requires that you do yet another thing?

That's why I don't get much housecleaning done. It reproduces itself exponentially.

Today I could not summon my usual litany of excuses not to go to the grocery store, because I was already out and I had to go right past the grocery store to get home. So I stopped to get that onerous chore done, because I knew once I got home I wouldn't want to go out again to shop for groceries. I hate grocery shopping.

Because they had a good sale on cereal, I bought three boxes of it. And when I got home, there wasn't room in the cabinet for all three boxes.

So I started cleaning out the cabinet over the stove, which is where we keep the cereal. I knew there were some items up there that predated my existence in this house.

Did I mention recently that Hubby has lived in this house since 1973? That explains the harvest gold tile in the hall bathroom. We got rid of the avocado green shag carpeting in two bedrooms when I moved in twelve years ago.

But it can't explain some of the things I found in the cabinet today. Please don't judge me based on the fact that I don't regularly clean out cabinets that I can't reach. I just shove things in at the front and hope they don't fall out on my head next time I open the door.

I cannot explain the presence of not one but two unopened bottles of Karo Light Corn Syrup in the cabinet. Even before Hubby was diagnosed with diabetes, we didn't eat pancakes much. And when we did, we certainly didn't put this on them. He says his most recent ex-wife sometimes made pecan pies, and that might be why one bottle is in there. I would suspect that it's the cloudy one that dates back to her days here. Did I mention I've lived here for 12 years? I may have bought the other bottle in the throes of some temporary insanity that made me think I might make candy or something. But I really don't remember.

These cute little guys were tucked back in the corner behind the vegetable oil and some margarita salt. I can't imagine either of Hubby's former wives using these; perhaps they were a gift. I just know that I had never laid eyes on them before. Until today, when I looked at them briefly just before dropping them in the trash can.

This one is really embarrassing. Hubby almost exclusively drinks beer these days, so I was puzzled about the packets of whiskey sour mix. He said he and ex-wife #1 sometimes drank whiskey sours.

They divorced when my step-daughter was a teenager.

She just turned 40.

Oh.

My.

Lord.

I also found a box of instant oatmeal that I DO remember buying. The box said "Weight-Loss Formula" on it, and I remember thinking that was a great concept. Just eat this oatmeal and you'll lose weight. It didn't work, and I don't particularly like instant oatmeal (although I love the old-fashioned kind), so it got relegated to the back of the cabinet. Not only did it say "Weight-Loss Formula" on it, it also said "Best by February 2006." Sigh.

This one, however, takes the cake.

The only thing I will offer in my own defense is that there are inherent dangers when you get married and your spouse already has an established household. You can't go in and dump EVERYTHING in the trash right off the bat, because you don't really know what was his, what was hers, and what was theirs. So you have to kind of ease into it, throw things a little at a time so as not to ruffle any feathers. I've merely been polite and considerate of Hubby's feelings by allowing these things to stay in the kitchen cabinets for the past 12 years.

No wonder he pales every time I mention a new house. Our basement is like the kitchen cabinets on major steroids.

I think there should be a law requiring citizens to move every five years or so, just so they have to go through cabinets and basements and get rid of junk.

Particularly following divorces.

Movin' Out.....

I wish I could take pictures in here, but I'm a rule follower. Yeah right. The Fox Theater in Atlanta is gorgeous beyond words. It's intermission in Movin' Out, and I'd love to tell you what it's about, but I don't have a clue. I thought there might be some dialogue to go along with the music, but apparently Twyla Tharp doesn't do words. The dancing is phenomenal, but it's an ADHD nightmare. Lights flashing...gotta go. Had to post, might get home after midnight.

Ice Cream Truck......

When I was little, I heard about ice cream trucks. I suppose I read about them in the many books I read.

But I didn't think they were real. I put them in the same category as Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. People told stories about them and hoped they would bring them some nice treats, but in actuality the only way you got ice cream was for your mother and father to go to the store and buy some.

I guess the ice cream truck man didn't figure trailer park kids had any money for ice cream.

After we moved out of the trailer park, I wouldn't consider the places we lived "country," but they weren't exactly urban either. They were distant enough from any towns of any size that we didn't have ice cream trucks. Or pizza delivery. Or cable t.v. Maybe it WAS the country and I didn't know it. There were cows across the road, come to think of it. But road was paved! Doesn't living in the country require a dirt road?

The first time I actually saw an ice cream truck for myself, I was living with Nurse Jane in an apartment complex in a suburb of Dallas, Texas. The ice cream truck came through the neighborhood, and I stood there with my mouth agape. It was as if Santa had come chugging down our chimney. I'm pretty sure I didn't have any money on me at that time, and by the time I came to my senses, the truck was probably gone. But I'd be willing to bet that next time he came through our complex, I was ready.


I was outside this afternoon, brushing leaves off the pool cover in preparation for opening the pool. I DID NOT HINT! Okay, maybe when I came in and said to Hubby, "The leaves are off the pool cover," some people MIGHT consider that a hint.

I heard the ice cream truck approaching, and I stopped what I was doing. I ran to the fence and stared. And then I ran inside to get the camera. I tried to be sneaky while taking his picture, because I didn't want him to think I was some kind of nut parent who was afraid the ice cream truck driver was some kind of kid stalker. And I also didn't want him to think I was some kind of nut who was an ice cream truck driver stalker.



Coming around at 4:30 on a Thursday afternoon seems a little odd, but I'm not really well versed in ice cream truck schedules. However, I plan to be ready next Thursday. I'm going to have my dime ready, and I'm going to run out there and yell back at the house, "Do you want an ice cream sandwich? Or a Nutty Buddy?" as if there is a small child in the house who has polio or swine flu or something else that keeps him or her from coming out to the ice cream truck personally.

I'm going to buy enough ice cream from the ice cream truck this year to make up for all those years I was deprived of even the knowledge that the ice cream truck man is real.

Strange Dreams Installment #2.....

I know people who put a lot of stock in the symbols of certain things in dreams. I look for symbols in literature all the time, but I don't pay a whole lot of attention to what things in dreams mean.

Other than if I dream about death, I figure it pretty much means..........somewhere, somebody is going to die.

If I dream about snakes, I figure I'm afraid of snakes.

If I dream about running and not being able to get away, I figure that's an accurate account of what would happen if someone really WERE chasing me.

I dream about flying a lot. And not in airplanes. In my dreams, frequently I just have this ability to sort of jump up in the air and take off flying. It's a pretty cool thing to have, particularly in high traffic situations.

If I dream about falling, I figure my talent for flying has gone on hiatus.

Those dream symbol-seeking souls (love the alliteration?) might just have a field day with my dream last night.

It wasn't at all clear, as my dreams most often are, and I have a feeling there were several vignettes that may or may not have all tied together. The plot line of this one escapes me.

But there was a toilet involved.

It was made out of concrete. It had the correct shape, but it had no moving parts.

And it was in my classroom.

And no, I wasn't drinking champagne this time.

Go ahead. Figure that one out and get back to me.

Dancing with the Stars Dilemma......

Because it's the end of the school year and the end of the online world semester and I'm tired and didn't want to go back to school after Spring Break and my brain is mush, I'm going to blog tonight about something I don't have to think very hard about. Unlike all my other postings, which are fraught with intelligence and angst and humor and meaningfulness.

Or not.

I am in a quandary about whom to pull for on Dancing with the Stars as the season winds down. There are only 6 stars left, and I like them ALL. I know someone will have to go tonight, though, and it makes my heart hurt.

But please don't tell me, because I won't know until tomorrow morning, when I watch the recording.

Unlike the NCAA Gymnastics Championships, whose outcome I already know, but I will STILL record it when it is televised on May 9th AND I will save it to watch over and over during the off-season. (Wonder if I would still do that if we hadn't won? Hmmmmm.......)

I felt really sorry for Lawrence Taylor when he was eliminated last week. But he was actually relieved, because it meant he wouldn't have to miss any more tee times. In our house we know just how important that is.

Here are the remaining stars and the order in which I think they will be eliminated.

Ty Murray has come a long way, and the dancing cowboy is just so cute. Plus he has that precious wife of his, Jewel, who got knocked out of the competition with an injury before the season even started. But I'm afraid his niceness won't keep him in the game, especially after Len told him last night that it's time for him to "hit the road," but I will HATE it when he has to leave. He's just had such an upbeat attitude about it the whole time, and he's funny to boot. No pun intended. No, really. I didn't mean to.

After Ty, I think Shawn Johnson will be the next to go. My heart doesn't want to say that, because she IS, after all, a gymnast. Her little girl charm is endearing, and I really LIKED all the back handsprings she did in her Lindy Hop. Or Jive, or whatever it was a few weeks ago. But in the end I don't think she'll be able to summon enough sultriness to hang with the likes of.....

Lil Kim. Not that I would necessarily call what she's got "sultriness," but she can move body parts that shouldn't look like they have hinges in them, but they do. I've tried not to like her, because after all she dedicated her whole experience to the girls she was in prison with, but she sure can dance. I think Derek Hough will keep her in the competition longer than anyone else would have been able to, but I don't think she'll make the top three. I could be wrong, however, between her and...


Chuck Wicks. I don't necessarily think he's that much better than the others, but he DOES after all date Julianne Hough in real life, and if necessary she'll keep him in that studio 24/7 until he gets the steps right. He's already come a long way, and he can swing those hips like Elvis. Okay maybe not, but he's still come a long way. I have no idea how he sings, but he's cute in satin. He was even cute in a one-armed leotard and tights last night, and that's saying something.

It really hurt Melissa Rycroft in the standings when she couldn't dance last night and had to be judged on her rehearsal performance, but I don't think it will be enough to eliminate her from the competition. I could be wrong; it's happened before. Once. A long, long time ago. Not only does she have the advantage of having been a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader, she gets all the sympathy vote for having been dumped on national television by the Jerk. I mean the Bachelor. [I would like to offer full disclosure here and say I have never, ever watched The Bachelor, nor will I. At least not on purpose.] She entered the competition late, and she has been amazing from the beginning. She and Tony are an excellent match, and I just love her sunny personality, her wit, and her style. I don't care too much for the tattoo on her back that they paintakingly cover up every week [why not just give her a dress that covers it up? Now THERE's an idea], but I love her dancing. In the end, however, I think it will be....

Gilles Marini who takes it all. I have never seen the movie Sex and the City. Come to think of it, I haven't even seen a single episode of the series, and the entire set is sitting on my shelf. So I didn't know he was the naked neighbor and have never seen the shower scene. He's not really my type, so I doubt he'll make my teeth sweat like he apparently does for millions of other American women. And some in other countries, too. But he can dance, and he is paired with Cheryl Burke, who could make Orca look graceful.

So there you have it, my predictions, for what they're worth, and I'm sure that's not very much, especially to those of you who don't watch Dancing with the Stars. Or even abbreviate it DWTS. Or even know that's how OTHER people abbreviate it.

I promise that future posts will have more meaning, more gut-wrenching emotion, less fluff. I may post about the great shoe purge, where I will disclose which of my many pairs of shoes I will discard and which ones I will keep. And even the basis for my decision.

I may post about the myriad items in our basement and ask for your feedback as to why you think we are forced to walk around some of them. Honestly, I'd like to hear from someone much more intelligent than myself on some of these.

I may catch Gus on video when he tears across the yard in pursuit of a squirrel and then stops at the base of the tree and turns around as if to say, "Hey! Where'd he go?"

Those topics, however, all require that I get out of the recliner.

Kayaking.....

Being on the water brings me peace.....


Paddling around the lake......


Nosing into nooks and crannies not accessible by the shore......


For some reason, I enjoy the swampy, scary-looking places......