Wednesdays Off

Apples & Trees

2009-07-11T18:12:00.000-07:00

My Friday night was embellished by an invitation to make apple dumplings with the CP and Sarcas-sis. I went to their house with a store bought pre-made pie crust and a box of vanilla pudding. Sarcas-sis had the apples sliced and waiting. And so the cinnamon stick was passed to the youngest generation, The CP cut the dough, piled in the apples and butter and the spices. He folded each one up as a present. Of course, as he is only 4 he had to rely on sous chef Mom to put them in the oven and to cook the vanilla sauce on the stove.
Apple dumplings remind me of my Mom. I don't remember how it started, but, on the rare occasion that my Dad was not joining us , we would make 2 huge dumplings, each big enough to fill a vegetable bowl, and we called it dinner. The deal was always that I made the crust, from scratch, and my Mom did the rest. Because, she always swore she couldn't make a decent pie crust. Funny, me either. Hence the store bought pre- made crust on Friday night. I guess, as she would have said, that apple didn't fall far from the tree.
My Mom was also good about reminding me of things. One day. years after the fact she asked me if I remembered when my girls used to make "shows" down in the basement. When they were little the girls, often joined by this one, and by another as well, who I shall hereby and forever on this blog refer to as The Girl Next Door, spent whole days in our basements, making up a show. Using whatever was at hand from the toy boxes Sarcasdad built, they decorated, made costumes and crafted a "show . When all was ready, any adults on hand were invited in to view their extravaganza. The memories came flooding back, as soon as Mom mentioned it. It was however a shock to realize that I had let that memory slip away.
Being the grandmother now, I can see how the day to day can push those memorable moments aside. I am writing this post more for myself, my daughter, and for the CP, in case I forget to remind them about it someday. I have seen a few articles online recently, comparing blogging to social networking sites. Twitter & Facebook are bullet points for the here and now. But blogs are forever. Or at least as forever as your provider is up and you pay the bill.
After we enjoyed our apple dumplings we adjoined to the basement, where the CP has a miniature electric piano. It is white and is made to look like a baby grans with the slanted top and has a matching bench, and a microphone. He slid on the bench picked up the mic and announced that we were going to recreate "Little Red Riding Hood". Being short on actors, Sarcas-sis played Red's mother, grandmother, and the wolf ! Being 6 months pregnant she did all while seated. What a performance. This left me free to devote my acting talents to the role of Little Red. The CP provided the background music with his piano, and , knowing that the show must go on, jumped in at the end to portray the heroic Woodsman who saves Little Red. The performance was loudly applauded by the three of us when it was over.
An encore was called for and the CP called on us for "The Three Little Pigs". He assumed much more of a directorial role this time, assigning us our parts. I, was the wolf and Sarcas-sis, having proved herself multi-talented was all three pigs. Except for when there were 2 pigs in one scene and then we traded off. Sounds confusing, but wasn't if you were there. Things went smoothly until Sarcas-sis blew a line by saying , as a pig,"not by the hair of my chinny -chin chin".
The CP immediately called a halt over his mic, got up and walked over to Sarcas-sis. "It's not by the hair of my chinny- chin -chin, " he explained "it's YOUR chinny -chin -chin. The wolf has the hair on his chin, not the pig" Sarcas-sis protested that she hadn't gotten a script and was therefore ad -libbing. He said we could start again and this time she got it right, and I was commended from the piano bench for my portrayal of the wolf. Although to be completely honest, the CP did have to stop production one time on my account because I was building a house of twigs and he wanted a house of sticks. Directors ! right?
When it was over, there wasn't a dry eye in the basement. Sarcas-sis and I were laughing so hard we were crying.
When the CP was more a toddler he would insist that all the adults in a room get up and ance with him, or play Simon says. Sarcas-sis predicted he would one day be The CP, cruise director. I think he has an Academy Award in his future. But then he is only 4.
Anyway. It was a lot of fun. And I don't want to forget.

Give My Regards to Target

2009-06-28T15:05:00.001-07:00

When I visit the local Target I like to browse the dollar bins right inside the entrance. I have found many a treasure there. A $1 package of water balloons gave us an afternoon of fun the other day. There's $1 Spiderman place mat marking the CP's spot at our table. The bins are a reliable source of stickers, workbooks, and rubber bugs. The CP accompanied us on a Target run on Wednesday. I steered him to the dollar bins while Scarcadad checked out some electronics. He zeroed in on one item and made a beeline for it. A hat. A plastic top hat, covered all over in silvery glitter, with red and blue stripes. A Fourth of July party hat. It was in the highest row of bins but he stretched for all he was worth to reach one.

Well, there must have been some magic in that plastic hat he found. Cause when he placed it on his head he began to dance around. Like he was in the cast of "A Chorus Line". He did a very impressive side step-cross step routine down in the aisle in front of customer service, ending with a big hat-in-hand flourish. I clapped and told him he was a wonderful dancer, and it might have ended there. Except for the lady at customer service. She smiled and laughed. More than enough encouragement for an encore.

The child who would not that long go hide behind me rather than say hello to someone, took his show down the main front aisle in front of the cash registers. We steered him through checkout, where he doffed the hat and held it upside down in his outstretched hand. I think he was hoping people would throw money.

They didn't . But the whole show only cost us $1.

To (F)B, Or Not To (F)B

2009-06-16T20:07:00.001-07:00

Well, that' is the question, isn't it. I have steadfastly resisted the call to join Facebook. Well, not totally resisted. When invited by Practigal to join up, I decided to forgo my reservation. To overlook my foreboding of either spending more time at the keyboard than I already do, or, feeling guilty that I am neglecting yet another online outlet. I tried to join, and it turned me down. Flat. There was a problem with my name. It was unacceptable. Really? I took it as a sign that I was not intended to have a wall.
It is getting tougher to ignore. Everyday I get another email from someone I haven't heard from in years. "The girl who snubbed you in High School invites you to join Facebook and view her photos." Who can resist that invitation. Everyone at work has friended everyone else, which seems a bit unnecessary since we see each other everyday. And they keep in touch with people who have transferred to other locations. Almost dailyI get messages from so&so that a co-worker found on Facebook. Invariably they say we should get together. Have a reunion. All this time I have only been a phone call or an email away. Not marooned on a desert island.
So I have stood firm in my refusal to join. But the other day I heard that a friend posted the 3D ultrasound of her soon to be born twins, and how neat it is. And when I asked Sarcasis if she had told her sister that her ultrasound shows the CP has a little sister, she replied that she had, and Sarcasmo Jr. posted a reply on her Facebook page. She told me I should join so I could see it. Yeah maybe.
I was actually afraid it would be awkward if I had a Facebook Page. Should you friend your kids? Is that invading their privacy? What if they don't friend you back? What does that mean? My girls have assured me there is nothing on their pages I cant see. So that excuse is gone.
I'm wavering.
If anyone knows a reason why Facebook and I should not be joined together in a state of social networking, speak now. Or forever hold you peace.
But I'm not changing my name!

Rebel Rebel

2009-06-10T18:57:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was Star's birthday. She would have been 36. We went to Rittenhouse Square to kiss the frog. We also went in search of the brick. The one which you may remember, that her co-workers dedicated to her. As we understood it, the brick was to be on a walkway, outside of the Ruth & Raymond Perelman Center of Advanced Medicine across from the Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania. I first mentioned the brick back in November, when her co-workers also generously remembered her by dedicating skylight, and commissioning a painting in her memory for a new hospice center. We visited the hospice, but due to winter weather , crazy work schedules and early sunsets had yet to locate the brick. This day, her birthday. seemed like the day to do it.
I was unable to locate the walkway online, but easily located the Perelman Center at 34th street and Civic Center Blvd. Also the location of the aforementioned U.of P. Hospital ,a sprawling major medical campus,and Childrens Hospital of Philadelphia. All of it a stone's throw from the Pa. Veteran's Hospital and University City. In other words, a traffic nightmare, and parking hell. We made more trips around the circle, looking for spot, than the Griswalds made around Piccadilly Circus. We were waved off from one garage by a city employee diverting cars from a construction site, and denied access to the Children's Hospital lot because we were honest about our destination. We finally located the Perelman Center parking garage entrance, cleverly hidden down a side street and camouflaged by scaffolding.
The car secured we took the elevator into the Perelman Center, and exited onto the street looking for the walkway.We looked at bricks up one street and down another, sidestepping a roped off area on the Convention street side of the building. None of them had Star's name, or anyone's name for that matter, on them. We asked a valet parking attendant, and he had no clue. We tried the information desk inside.
"We don't have that information" we were told. Apparently we were not the first people to come asking. Not that they had bothered to find out anything. The information desk seemed willing to remain uninformed. Sarcasdad and I had invested too much in the day to accept that. I showed them the email I had gotten from Star's supervisor, and I think the fact that she was affiliated with U. of P. convinced one of the attendants to make a call. She came up with a phone number, and she was done. Sarcasdad took it from there. That number led to another number, and then finally the answer. The walkway was, if you hadn't already guessed on Convention street, right where the roped off area was. We so informed the information desk.
Back outside we tried, we really did, to locate the brick without breaching the orange barrels, traffic cones and barrier tape. But the "walkway" was actually an area under an overhang and right next to the building. We were denied access past the curb. I looked up at the men working from cherry pickers over our heads. They looked to be doing windows. I figured at worst they could drop sponge on my head so I said to Sarcasdad, "Cover me, I'm going in". "Wait " he said, and pointed up the street. "If you're going to do it, go in up there". He was right. I had less of a chance of being seen from there. A man in hard walked by and we waited him out. As I was searching for the best entry point I heard the widow guy whistling at some one. I turned to see Sarcasdad , on the sidewalk, past the tape, searching the bricks for Star's.
No way was he getting arrested without me. That has to be on one of those memes floating around the internet , right? You know. Repost and highlight the ones you have done. One more in my have done column. It took us a couple of passes but we found it. The whole time I was waiting for a security guard to approach and demand we leave. Of course, I planned to throw myself at him pleading and sobbing until Sarcasdad found what we were looking for. I never got the chance, as the worst we encountered was the whistling window washer. But I like to think I could have carried it off. Unless the him was a her in which case Sarcasdad might have had to throw himself.
Anyway, it was quite the adventure. One Star would have gotten a kick out of.
Here's the brick.

I rotated it on Flickr, but for some reason it won't upload that way.

It was well worth all the effort I would say.

Its Enough to Make You Drink

2009-06-03T10:53:00.000-07:00

Today I discovered that Twitter is a good tool for stress relief.
The day started out with a not all together unexpected disappointment. The installation of a new bow window, which we contracted for a month ago, was once again postponed. So I was already annoyed when I made my phone call to the Pa. Liquor Control Board to inquire of the whereabouts of our bi-monthly wine selection. The ill-advisability of the timing seems obvious now.
I'll give you the basic facts of the situation and then tell you about the phone conversation.
Our kids gave us a very much appreciated anniversary gift in December. They enrolled us in the PLCB Wine Connection, which entitles us to 2 bottles of wine, selected for us by someone who has more knowledge of wine than we do. It is illegal to ship wine to a private home in Pa., due to the antiquated laws, closely monitored and lobbied for by the patronage laden aforementioned PLCB. And, also by the AFL-CIO, which I am by accident of employment, a dues paying member. Therefore the selection is shipped to a local state store for us to pick up. The PLCB has been trying to appear more customer friendly to try and stem the tide of busy Keystone Staters trying to abolish the "state store" system " so they could buy wine at the grocery store like the rest of the free world. Instead of "state store" they would like their retail outlets to be called Wine and Spirit shops. Our usual W&S shop wasn't on the list so the kids picked the nearest one. It's minutes away.
January was coming to a close when I remembered we had not received the promised phone call announcing that our first shipment was ready for pick-up. So I called them. And they had no idea what I was talking about. It took a week for them to figure it out, we got the wine,and it was good.
End of March, no phone call. Call the W&S store. They have no idea what I am talking about. Deja veaux all over again. We went to the W&S store where we make most of our wine purchases. The staff there has always been friendly and helpful. They tried to have the shipments redirected to them but were not successful. The manager promised to find out what she could, and , amazingly enough that very afternoon the store that gets the delivery called and said they had our wine. Co-incidence ? I think not.
Here we are, past the end of May. No call. I call. I swear to you that they said they didn't know what I was talking about. I wouldn't make that up because I wouldn't expect you to believe it. Yet, it is true. The store manager said she would call me back. She didn't. I called her. She said she had been really busy and she hadn't had time to call anyone but she sort of thought there was an email about the wine connection but she couldn't remember what it said. She would find it and call me back. For the record that was 23 hours ago. Still waiting.
So, this morning I went online and found a notice that the Wine Connection has been "temporarily suspended". I called customer service. I recounted all of the details.
The customer service representative acknowledged that the club had indeed been suspended, but she really did not know why as she is new to the position. It will start up again in the fall. She assured me that no one is billed until the wine is shipped so the kids aren't paying for nothing. (I'll be checking on that). I questioned why we weren't notified. Oh, but we were, I was told, it was in the newsletter. Each shipment comes with information about the wine, country of origin, recipes and PCLB news. Or did until it was temporarily suspended. "Didn't I read it?" she asked. "It was right on the front page of the April edition". It took several attempts but I finally got through to her that my club was for Jan.,Mar.,May, July, Sept., &Nov.. No April. "Well", she said, "there's a problem we hadn't considered". She also said that the poor customer service I had encountered, in her words, "makes my blood boil". that diatribe was delivered with the same amount of emotion one reserves for reading a grocery list aloud. And when I asked how I would know when the club started up again, she said,
"The W&S store will call you".

And thats when I tweeted. I let it all out in 140 characters or less. And it felt good.

Master of The Obvious

2009-05-25T13:56:00.000-07:00

The CP is, as is mother dubs him, Master of the Obvious. There is no clarity like the reasoning of 4 year old mind. He was outside playing with a new found friend from down the street. They were having a day of water fun with a pool and a slide and water balloons. At one point the CP wrapped his towel around his arm and made a puppet mouth with his hand. "I am Cockroach Man" he declared. I have no idea why, but it made sense to him. I suggested he remember that little bit of shtick for his mother. She has a "thing" about cockroaches. Not particularly bugs, just cockroaches. Always has. So I knew she would be , shall we say, amused.
At dinner, I prompted him to tell his grandfather about Cockroach Man. Pop-Pop asked if he knew what a cockroach was. "Some kind of bird" said the CP. So we enlightened. "What does he eat?" the CP wanted to know. We told him bug food, but that wasn't specific enough. So we told him that if we drop food on the floor, and didn't clean it up, a bug could come and eat it.
When his Mom arrived I reminded him about his new super hero incarnation. "I am Cockroach Man' he proclaimed. Not in her house, his mother assured him. The CP had an argument ready. He told his mother that if you drop food on the floor, a cockroach will come and clean it up for you. He thinks it would make a good pet.
I hope she lets him come back.

By Any Other Name

2009-05-09T17:52:00.000-07:00

So, obviously, the CP and I are far from the only pre-emptive spellers out there. It was somewhat therapeutic to find out that all of you have name recognition challenges as well. My favorite comment of all was Cheryl's "De Wolfe, as in Hungry Like DeWolfe". Whatever it takes, right? Yesterday I interviewed a young woman, a college sophomore who spells her first name Brighid. When I commented on the unusual spelling she told me that people usually tell her she spells it "wrong". I told her she spells it "incorrectly' and she laughed so I hired her on the spot.

A couple of name related stories popped into my head, so I thought I would share them with you.
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Quite a few yeas back I was at the hairdresser. It was the week leading into Christmas and the salon was crowded with women getting their holiday do's. I was sitting and waiting along with two other women, when one of the salon employees stopped in her tracks, put her hand on her chest and said "Oh my God". Naturally , the three of us looked up from our complimentary salon copies of Cosmo. The employee pointed to each of us in turn. "Noel, Holly and Star" she said. "What are the odds?"" Indeed.
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Not as many years ago, but still a few years. a member of my office staff went and got herself engaged to a young man who's family regularly graced the society page of our local paper. We were invited to the engagement party, held in an area we refer to as "the Main Line". Think "Philadelphia Story" and you'll have the general idea. Sarcasdad and I pulled up to the circular driveway, in our Hyundai, and were welcomed by the local constabulary, who were, as you would of course expect, parking cars. I think they parked ours back in Philadelphia so it didn't have to sit amongst the Jaguars and BMW's . The party was set up on "the grounds". I remember the menu being comprised of hor'devours and not many of them. However, the booze flowed freely. After a bit, my co-workers and I needed the restroom. We actually thought this would be our chance to get inside the house. Silly us. When we got to the front door we discovered that there were 2 bathrooms, 2, just inside the entryway. One on each side. Outside each bathroom door there was stationed a "maid". These maids looked like linebackers and they did not admit to speaking English. They were however clear on one point. No one got past the foyer, through the french doors which if they were open would have given access to the fountain. Yes, an actual working water spouting fountain, in-the-house. In our state of blissful inebriation we thought we could bluff our way through, Again,silly us. However, while we were thusly engaged we spied two of the bride's sisters tip-toeing past the fountain on the other side of the doors. They held their shoes in one hand and used their other hand to form the international sign of SHHHH while imploring us with their eyes to not let the "maids" turn around and see them. We happily made idiots out of ourselves until the bridesmaids were in the clear. Later they reported back to tell us they had made it all the way up to the second floor and that the rich people were slobs. I knew those weren't really maids by the door.
I bet you are wondering what this story has to do with names. The next day myself and another party guest were at work retelling the nights events to people who had no attended. My fellow tale teller was stuck on one theme. The groom's mother's name was "Angel". She kept harping on it, and asking me what kind of a name that was for a grown woman. I finally pointed out that I felt unable to comment as my name is Star. "Well yeah," she said. "But that's your name." Odd is obviously in the eye of the beholder
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One more story.
A few years ago my daughter Star and I visited a local museum, the Rosenbach. I know it wasn't Star's first visit, as it was mine, but I think it was the first time she took the tour. As it happened on this particular day, when the tour stepped of we were the only two there. So we had the undivided attention of the docent. A lovely man. A very elderly man. He reminded me of the men who sell poppys for veteran's day. He led us into a room where photos of authors and presidents and other really cool people who had a part in the history of the museum were displayed. He began his presentation by introducing himself. Loudly. Loudly as if his hearing was not as sharp as it once was. I was immediately gripped with the fear that the next step was going to be for us to introduce ourselves. This was not going to go well. Two of us, with the same , unusual name, and a man who can't hear right to begin with. At worst we were going to confuse the poor man with two people who have the same name, which he was going to hear as Doris. At best, we were going to sound like an episode of "I've Got a Secret".
"My name is Star Foster"
"My name is Star Foster"
Luckily, he never asked and Star and I were treated to his delightful and informative presentation, followed by a self guided tour of the museum, which we greatly enjoyed. As soon as we were back outside, I turned to her and said:
"If that man had asked our names, and you went first, I was going to lie about mine."
She laughed and said. "If you went first I was going to lie about mine".
You know what they say, like mother, like daughter.
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And on that note I wish a Happy Mother's Day to all the moms.

T.H.E.C.P.

2009-04-30T06:51:00.000-07:00

The CP and I like to note when we have things in common. Like the fact that we both like vanilla icing. Or if we are both wearing blue shirts. Stuff like that. Just the other day I discovered something new that we have in common, although I haven't pointed it out to him yet.

A newly made friend asked the CP his name. He replied "The CP. -T.H.E.C.P." He said his name and then immediately spelled it. All in one breath. I thought he was showing off a little bit. The new playmate was female, and slightly older to boot,and the CP does like to impress the ladies. The next day I accompanied him to the birthday party of a preschool friend. It was held at one of those fun centers where the kids can play games and eat pizza and you don't have to clean up anything. Genius! The center also supplied a party co-ordinator. She peered down at the CP from over her clipboard. "Name ?" she queried. He replied. "The CP. -T.H.E.C.P". He wasn't showing off. He was just trying to forestall the inevitable. It is, a case of preemptive spelling. I know it well. I do it all the time.

The CP's name is really only four letters long. Four simple letters. Just like mine. Something else we have in common. To me it seems simple enough. But I have had many many people ask me to repeat it when they hear it,or ask how to pronounce it if they see it written. And , you don't hear it much on this side of the Atlantic. He's no Tom Dick or Harry. Or Jason , Justin or Jeremy. About a year ago we took the CP to a show. The people behind us had a small child with the same name. As they settled into their seats, they used the name a few times. "CP sit down, CP don't touch that" and the like. Our CP, not knowing anyone else with his name kept answering. Finally frustrated by being corrected and directed by perfect strangers, he asked them why they kept calling him, It turned out that while the names sound the same, the other parents were using an Anglecized spelling, while the CP's parents kept the orinial Welsh.

I spell my first name often. Especially over the phone. Otherwise, I risk being called Doris. Yes , Doris. how one gets Doris from Star, I never will know. I have to confess that I have once or twice just gone with Doris because it was just easier. Years ago I was at the dentist, having my teeth cleaned, and chatting, as much as one can, with the hygienest. The new receptionist came in and said that Star was on the phone and needed to change her appointment. The hygienist pointed out that I was right there. The receptionist thought perhaps it was another Star. The hygienist said she was sure I as the only patient named Star who came to that office. The receptionist went back to the phone. When she returned she said it was her mistake. It was Doris who had to change her appointment. Even in reverse my name gets misconstrued.

And so we spell T.H.E.C.P. & me (S.T.A.R)

I

Casting Call

2009-04-24T04:12:00.000-07:00

The CP is a big fan of let's pretend. He always gets to assign the roles. Such as "Ill be the Policeman, and you be the Police woman Mom Mom". Or "I'll be Spiderman and you be Spider Girl". Yes, I am always assigned the girl part. Even if there is not a natural female counterpart to his male role, it is achieved by adding the word "girl" to the name. Such as Hulk-girl. We are working on that.
The other day he was here, presumably to help Sarcasdad put together his new BBQ grill. He brought along his own tool box. The actual helping lasted about 5 minutes. Then the CP busied himself with the large cardboard box and Styrofoam shipping pieces that had contained the grill. I sat on the front steps watching him play with his plastic tools and his new building materials. After a bit he decided to include me in the fun.
"Mrs Claus" he said. "I have some good news and some bad news"
See, still the female part for me. Don't you wonder what was going on in that cute little head prior to that statement? I do.

Follow the Bouncing Ball

2009-04-20T16:17:00.000-07:00

Today I went to a reading. It was billed as a meeting, but in reality it was not. A meeting is a gathering of people who have a common topic , or topics, to discuss. A give and take of information and ideas. What I attended today was a power point presentation, supplemented with a handout, which had all of the text of the power point presentation printed on it for me. So I sat while someone read to me, the words I am quite capable for reading for myself. A reading.
Normally I "delegate" these events to someone else, thereby allowing me to stay behind and get some actual work done. I wasn't able to ~~weasle out of~~ reassign today's task.

So I found myself sitting in a room on a folding chair surrounded by strangers. Each of us facing a white screen and balancing a handout on our laps. There was the usual period of adjustment as the people in charge realized they didn't know how any of the equipment worked and the laptop froze and six people ran over and tried to unfreeze it, and the only person in the building who knows where the switch to turn out the lights was located. The topic to be "discussed" was changes to the Pa. Women Infants and Children Program. We were instructed at the beginning of the presentation to hold all questions until the end. Of course, that didn't happen.

About halfway through the presenter went over a list of vegetables not permitted for purchase on the WIC program. On the list , white potatoes, including red bliss and yukon gold.Immediately there was a voice from the audience.
"Why does it say red bliss potatoes are not allowed if it is white potatoes that are not allowed?
The presenter explained that is was the color of the inside of the potato and not the skin that was white. And he moved on. But not too far.
Same Guy" Aren't all potatoes white inside?
Presenter : "Yams and sweet potatoes are allowed.Just not the white potatoes."
He changed the slide and we went to the allowable whole grains list.
Same Guy: "I thought potatoes were good for you"
Presenter: "White potatoes have little nutritional value" He clicked us on to allowable legumes. There was a brief respite from the potato guy, lulling us into a false sense of thinking this whole ordeal would soon be over. Then he spoke.
"What about mashed potatoes?"

How was your day?
Did I mention that I drove 45 miutes each way in the pouring rain?

All You Zombies

2009-04-15T04:46:00.001-07:00

The lovely Leanne has bestowed the honor of the Zombie Chicken Award on yours truly. My first thought ? "You like me, you really really like me". Of course, like all of you I blog merely for my own self expression and sense of accomplishment. Not for the accolades. That's why we have comment counters.

The Zombie Chicken Award means a great deal to me. First because it came to me from Leanne, one talented lady. And also because I have a soft spot for zombies.

From what I have read , failure to follow the rules of the Zombie Chicken can lead to bad blog karma.

The rules of the zombie chicken say…

“The blogger who receives this award believes in the Tao of the zombie chicken -
excellence, grace and persistence in all situations, even in the midst of a
zombie apocalypse. These amazing bloggers regularly produce content so
remarkable that their readers would brave a raving pack of zombie chickens just
to be able to read their inspiring words. As a recipient of this world-renowned
award, you now have the task of passing it on to at least 5 other worthy
bloggers. Do not risk the wrath of the zombie chickens by choosing unwisely or
not choosing at all…”

So in order to appease the chicken and because I want to, I am passing the award on to 5 inspiring & entertaining bloggers.

Kenju always has something to share. A collection , ephemera, a quote or a joke. Mitey Mite is always on the go. Not even hurricanes can stop her. Melody has bravely traveled the world and let me tag along. Ally has faced a lot of challenges with strength and grace. And she amuses me with stories of chickens and bees. Moon has a wonderful spirit that shines through her words.

That was 5. But I also want to send it back to the very talented Leanne. Her amazing creativity shows in her art, her photos , and her words. Since she already has one, I don't think I am breaking any rules.
Each of you makes my little corner of the blog world a little brighter.

Okay, all you Zombies, show your faces.

“

Snapshots That Might Have Been

2009-04-11T18:39:00.000-07:00

One of these days I'm going to get that photo. The one where you are just in the right place at the right time with a camera at the ready. And the light falls just right and you frame it perfectly. I see them on other people's blogs all the time. I know they are often prettied up a bit, but still they had the photo to start with.
Three times just this past week there were photos I wish I had snapped, but didn't.
On Tuesday I was leaving the dry cleaners which shares a parking lot with a car dealership. A maintenance person, small in stature and slight of build was holding the strings of about 2 dozen helium balloons in a red white and blue bouquet. The dealership puts them on cars on the lot every day. We were experiencing 50 to 60 mile an hour winds that day. Just as he hit the center of the lot, one of those gusts came roaring through. It took all of his strength to hold those balloons as the winds blew them perpendicular to the ground. It looked like a tug of war; man vs. balloons. I focused my iPhone camera on the sight, but wasn't sure how receptive the balloon man would be to having his picture taken by a stranger. So I didn't.
On Wednesday I was outside with the CP. He was riding his Harley Davidson style Hotcycle. He had a bike helmet covering his noggin and pinned to the back of his swearshirt was the 2008 Phillies Championship flag Sarcasdad got on opening night at the ballpark,which the CP was using as a cape. His legs were pumping hard, his head was down low over the Harley's handlebars, and the steady breeze, a remnant of Tuesday's gale force winds was causing the cape to stream out behind him as though he were flying. That picture will be in my head forever. But not on my Flickr page because I had no camera or phone with me.
On Thursday on a walk with a neighbor we passed an absolutely beautiful tree. We passed it four times because we were walking around the local high school track. The tree was in a yard across the street. It was big, and mighty oak-like. It was sporting a perfect crown of exquisite pink flowers. There wasn't even a breeze to stir the branches and it was showcased against the most beautiful clear blue sky. Every time we went around that corner I thought that when the walk was through and my neighbor and I parted ways I would go back and get a picture of that tree. Because you just got the feeling it had reached the peak of its perfection on that very day. But I didn't. I just forgot.
So I was hesitant, unprepared and forgetful. Hard to get a candid shot that way.

Vacancy

2009-04-05T11:39:00.000-07:00

I have been so intently watching the tree outside my front window for signs of it's former tenant, that I totally missed the momma bird nesting in the other tree on my front lawn. I don't think this is a robin as I saw a bird with a white stripe under its tail land on the branch by the nest. And I saw no red breast. But I am far from an expert on birds. I won't be able to watch this nest from my seat on the sofa, but I am more than willing to get up to see the little ones when they hatch. Feeding time was really something to witness last year. Momma bird seemed to be worm hunting all the time, and the baby birds stayed out of sight until she showed up with a wriggly morsel. Then they would pop up with their little beaks wide open, clamoring to be the one who got fed. I don't know how she decided. I am hoping still that since the nest is still there, that robin might yet return to have another family this year. Maybe I should put a "vacancy" sign on it.
Another family I know is also waiting for a new baby. The CP is going to be a big brother. Not long after the momma birds take off for warmer climates.
I know there is a term for mothers who blog. What about grandmothers? Am I a grandmommyblogger? Or maybe a Mom-Momblogger?

I Need a Hero(ine)

2009-03-26T05:07:00.000-07:00

I knew that new Target store would be trouble. There were already two local Target stores, each about 7 miles away in opposite directions. Just far enough that I only went there for a specific purchase. Then they went and put one right smack in the middle. Only 3 miles from door to door. Actually right across the street from where I was working until the last transfer. Seriously, on a clear day around here you an see Target in any direction.

If I had to go seven miles when I realized I had nothing appropriate to wear to Super Hero Day last Sunday, I would have just let it go. But three miles? No problem. There and back in a Flash ! I had gotten the CP a super hero T-shirt to wear to the ball. Not that he has any lack of super hero apparel but the kid is growing like a weed and can always use a new shirt. It hadn't dawned on me that I should dress for the occasion too. Especially since the mailer said if you came in costume you got a break on admission. It was a pretty good bet there would be a lot of costumed crusaders present and I wanted to be somewhat in the spirit of the day. Sarcasdad used to have a Superman T-shit, but odds of putting my hands on it, if it even still exists, were slim. So off to Target I went.

The floor plan at Target takes you right into women's clothes. I check the T-shirts, the pj's and then everything else. Not one super hero. Not one. On the way to the men's section I passed the little boys clothes where Spiderman, Ninja Turtles and Ironman were everywhere. Even on the underwear. The men's department had a choice of several themed shirts and I went with the simple Superman S on a blue background.

I wasn't wrong about there being almost as many costumed adults as kids. Most like me, were sporting a token piece of apparel. But some had gone the whole route. Among them I did not see one female crime fighter represented. One woman did come as Robin, the Boy Wonder, but that was as close as it got. There were 2 young ladies dressed in sparkly spandex and tights as we entered the museum. Their function was to hand you a map. I asked the CP who is my resident expert on Super Hero identities who they might be. "Nobody" he answered with a shrug, confirming my suspicion that they were dressed like that only because they could be. Wonder Woman did make appearances throughout the event, courtesy of another museum employee or volunteer.(trivia question: Can you name Wonder Woman's alter ego? Answer at the end of the post) It was obvious why none of the women attending had chosen her to represent. Most had one, or more children, mostly male and mostly between the ages of 4 and 6 in tow. It's tough to tote an over sized bag of snacks and playful diversions for long waits in long lines when you are sporting that bare shoulder look. And the cape just gets in the way. Although I could have used it when the CP and I made our own Super Hero masks at the craft table. He went a little heavy on the glue. And those boots would have been treacherous on the marble museum flooring. The golden lariat might have been useful however, just to reign the little crime fighters in now and then. There was also the museum's own personal Super Hero, Super Museum Girl. She was more suitably dressed. In fact she was so covered head to toe that we only knew she was female because it was written in felt on her chest.

And to be perfectly frank, neither of the women got much attention from the crowd. Whereas Wolverine and Batman were swamped by the adoring masses whenever they appeared. We women like to dress to impress. And on Super Hero Day it meant being one of the boys.

trivia answer: Diana PRINCE ! A not so subtle nod to the guys.

The Classics

2009-03-11T17:39:00.000-07:00

I was told by other experienced grandmoms, that the CP would go through stages. The Teletubbies stage, the Barney stage, the Wiggles stage, the Thomas stage, and most currently, the Dora/Diego stage. And so he has. And we, as doting grandparents have gone along for the ride. Suffering through the purple dinosaur and learning the words to "Chugga Chugga Big Red Car." Each stage has been supported by the purchase of books, cd's ,dvd's and show tickets, marketed by some very smart people. Most likely other grandparents.

When we were flying home from Italy. I was watching "American Gangster" on my personal in -flight video screen. The CP, seated next to me with head phones and his own video screen poked me in the side. "Mom Mom" he said. "I just love that duck and that rabbit" . I leaned over to see what he was talking about and was delighted to see that he had been watching a Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck cartoon. He just didn't know their names, because they are not on Nickleodeon. Apparently he has pursued his interest. On the train to New York in December, out of the blue he turned to me and said "Mom Mom. it's wabbit season" We did the "duck season/wabbit season" routine from Newark to Secaucus.

Last weekend the CP stayed overnight. On Sunday morning, both his grandfather and I were in the kitchen making waffles. He stayed, by himself, in the living room/ Usually he doesn't like to be alone for long. But this Sunday morning, not only did he not come running into the kitchen to drag one of us out, we could here him laughing. Curiosity got the best of me , and I went to see what he was watching. It was The Pink Panther. The episode, Sherlock Pink, originally aired in 1976, the year the CP's mother was born. I wondered if he would really understand it since there is no dialogue. He laughed in all the right places, and later gave his mom a spot on synopsis of the cartoon.

He has also seen Popeye while at our house, (he loved the theme song) and is quite taken with Tom and Jerry. I have to admit that I inwardly cringed when seconds into the cartoon, Tom took a coffee table to the head , raising quite a goose egg. It seemed so violent. But you know, my girls watched these cartoons, (as did I ) and to the best of my knowledge they never hit each other with frying pans or flattened one another with a steam roller.

Already I am planning ahead to share other classics with him, like , this one.

To Potty

2009-02-18T09:59:00.000-08:00

Sarcasdad & I took the CP to see "Dora the Explorer Live". The Nickleodeon show was terrific. If you have a Dora or Diego fan in you life I highly recommend it. There was plenty to amuse us both on and off the stage.
Crowd control was handled by "Big Guy" who held a stance in front of the stage, arms folded across his chest, eyes on the arriving audience. "Hey little guy, did you get a star?" he inquired of the CP. "If not I got some in my pocket" Big Guy was ably assisted by Drummer Dude, a younger guy who kept the beat by pounding on the chairs,on the stage , on the speakers and on anything else that was stationary, stopping only to show people to their seats. Judging by the tattoos and the bling I pegged him as the drummer for a band with a Satanic reference in it's name. Big Guy made sure parents knew that the seats had a tendency to fold up on the littler kids and sheepishly admitted he was used to larger fans sitting up front. He also told us the kids were welcome to come up front and dance. And they did. By the time the finale was reaching it's peak, the floor between the first row and the stage looked like a pre-school mosh pit. In front of it all, laying stretched out on the floor was Big Guy, imploring the kids to take a step back and giving them a thumbs up when they complied. Not because they posed a threat to the actors on stage, but because they were small enough to actually walk under the stage where there were wires and cables and speakers. Big Guy was working hard. I wondered how he compared it to the Slipknot concert over the weekend.
There is a scene in the show where Dora and Boots hope to gain entrance to the number pyramid by answering questions posed by the numbers 1,2, and 3. First question? What is the greatest city in the world? Dora's answer? Philadelphia Pa, even though we were at the Susquehanna Bank Center in Camden New Jersey. This only validated the perception commonly held by most Philadelphians, that anything south of New York City and north of D.C. is a suburb of Philly.
When the curtain came down, signalling intermission, the CP asked if we were going home. I started a longer line of reasoning but Sarcasdad cut to the point by likening it to a commercial break. A thread that was taken up by the father behind us. "Yeah, it's like a commercial" we heard him explain , so either he read the same father's guide to short explanations, or he was eavesdropping. I invited the CP to accompany me to the restroom Since he is still young and cute I can take him in the ladies room. Our second row seats were closest to the facilities. When the CP saw everyone pouring out the many doors and heading in the same direction he said "Is everyone going potty?" "Pretty much" I told him. We secured a stall and the questions continued. "Is Dora going potty?" I said she most likely was. "Is Boots going potty?" Even though I thought it more probable that the guy who had spent the last 45 minutes in a monkey suit, swinging upside down and dancing, in front of stage lighting was trying to re-hydrate, I just said "Probably". The CP , gesturing like a man about to have an epiphany said "Mom Mom. Is the whole point of the break to potty!!?"
I never heard it used as a verb before.

And, It Was Friday the 13th

2009-02-16T16:55:00.000-08:00

So, I was already on my way to work the other day when this thought popped into my head.
"Did I unplug the straightening iron?"
A couple of months ago I called Sarcassis and asked her to go to my house on her way to work because I couldn't remember if I had unplugged the iron. Sarcassis said she had known me for 30 plus years and in all that time I had never forgotten to unplug anything. But she still checked.
This time when I called I got her voice mail, told her it was her crazy mother and that I wasn't sure I had unplugged the straightening iron. That I wasn't unsure enough to turn around and go back home myself, but unsure enough that I would ask her to check it out . That I had actually gone into the bathroom right before I left the house and I was pretty sure that had I left the straightening iron plugged in I would have seen it, and unplugged it. Pretty sure, but not definitely sure.
By the time she called me back, a major crisis at work, followed by a ripple effect of minor crisises at work had put the plugged/unplugged straightening iron out of my mind.
"Go ahead" I said. "Just tell me the house burned down" . The way the day was going it made perfect sense. " I haven't been there yet" Sarcassis replied . "I just wanted to tell you this. Last night I had a dream that I was at your house and I went into the bathroom and your straightening iron was plugged in. So I unplugged it"
How come she couldn't dream that I won the lottery?
Just for the record, it wasn't plugged in.

What Else Can You Get For a $1 an Hour ?

2009-02-11T10:22:00.001-08:00

You know the saying "the buck stops here"? Of course you do. Well, the forward stops here. Most of them anyway. There was a time that if I received an email promoting an urban myth, I would take the time to go to Snopes.com and research it. Then I would attach the proof that the email was bogus and and reply to all, confident that I had performed a service for the public good. Eventually I realized that nobody cared. In fact, they were probably re-forwarding that email. Resigned to an overflowing inbox, I just hit delete. The emails that promise me I will have good luck if I forward and bad luck if don't also hit the iconic trashcan. And I have yet to see anything dance across my screen when I forward and email to everyone in my mailbox in under 30 seconds. Now I know some of you are thinking that you have gotten a forward from me now and again. Every once in a while I get one I realy like. And I share.
My sister-in-law sent me this one. I'm glad I read it.

The Price of Children

> > > > This is just too good not to pass on to all. Here is something absolutely positive for a change. I have repeatedly seen the breakdown of the cost of raising a child, but this is the first time I have seen the rewards listed this way. It's nice. The government recently calculated the cost of raising a child from birth to 18 and came up with $160,140.00 for a middle income family. Talk about price shock! That doesn't even touch college tuition. But $160,140.00 isn't so bad if you break it down. It translates into:

$8,896.66 a year,> >

* $741.38 a month,> >

* $171.08 a week.> >

* A mere $24.24 a day!

> Just over a dollar an hour.

> > Still, you might think the best financial advice is: don't have children ifyou want to be 'rich.' Actually, it is just the opposite.

What do you get for your $160,140.00?> >

* Naming rights. First, middle, and last!

> >Glimpses of God every day.> >

* Giggles under the covers every night.> >

* More love than your heart can hold.> >

* Butterfly kisses and Velcro hugs.> >

* Endless wonder over rocks, ants, clouds, and warm cookies.> >

* A hand to hold usually covered with jelly or chocolate.> >

* A partner for blowing bubbles and flying kites.> >

* Someone to laugh yourself silly with, no matter what the boss said or how your stocks performed that day.> > > >

For $160,140.00, you never have to grow up. You get to:> >

* finger-paint,> >

* carve pumpkins,> >

* play hide-and-seek,> >

* catch lightning bugs,> >

* never stop believing in Santa Claus.> > > >

You have an excuse to:> >

* keep reading the Adventures of Piglet and Pooh,> >

* watch Saturday morning cartoons,> >

* go to Disney movies, and> >

* wish on stars.> > > >

You get to frame rainbows, hearts, and flowers under refrigerator magnets> >

and collect spray painted noodlewreaths for Christmas, hand prints set in> >

clay for Mother's Day, and cards with backward letters for Father's Day.> > > >

For a mere $24.24 a day, there is no greater bang for your buck. You get to> >

be a hero just for:> >

* retrieving a Frisbee off the garage roof,> >

* taking the training wheels off a bike,> >

* removing a splinter,> >

* filling a wading pool,> >

* coaxing a wad of gum out of bangs, and

* coaching a baseball team that> >

never wins but always gets treated to ice> >

cream regardless.> > > > > >

You get a front row seat in history to witness the:> >

* First step,> >

* First word,> >

* First bra,> >

* First date,> >

* First time behind the wheel.> > > >

You get to be immortal. You get another branch added to your family tree, and if you're lucky, a long list of limbs in your obituary called grandchildren and great- grandchildren. You get an education in psychology, nursing, criminal justice, communications, and human sexuality that no college can match..> > > >

In the eyes of a child, you rank right up there under God. You have all the power to heal a boo-boo, scare away the monsters under the bed, patch a broken heart, police a slumber party, ground them forever, and love them without limits, so one day they will, like you, love without counting the cost. That is quite a deal for the price!!!!!!!> > > >

Love & enjoy your children & grandchildren & great-grandchildren!!!!!!! It's the best investment you'll ever make!!!!!!!!!

Snow Day

2009-02-04T05:58:00.000-08:00

Today is a snow day for me, in as much as it snowed and I was off from work anyway. I didn't name this blog Wednesdays Off for no good reason. I already shoveled and am looking forward to possible snowman making activities with the CP later today. The weather person said we got 8 inches. I don't think it is quite that much. But it is all light and fluffy and pretty. Not so bad as snow goes.
Last night Sarcasdad & I joined Sarcassis, the CP and some friends in celebrating restaurant week. We were supposed to dine at Paradign in center city last Tuesday night, but the outing was cancelled, due to snow ! We rescheduled or last night. Wondering if Mother Nature was trying to keep us on our diets, the more intrepid of us defied the weather and went to dinner.
We had a very nice time. The food was good, although I would not say outstanding. The service was fantastic, which may have been due to our group of 9 being the only customers except for a couple seated in the corner.
On the walk from the restaurant to the parking garage, the CP had a great time pelting us all with snowballs. One we got to our house, he and I had a one on one in the backyard. He has amazing aim for a 4 year old.

Customer Service

2009-02-01T15:31:00.000-08:00

I got a phone call at work early on Saturday morning. A neighbor identified herself and quickly assured me that nothing was wrong as in the 30 years we lived here we have never spoken more than when we meet on the street. You may remember her from this conversation. She is the aardvark/ anteater participant.
"The newspaper guy broke your window" she said. The bow window in the front. She was out walking her dog and she heard the paper hit and the glass break. Then the guy walks up to her and hands her the paper. She said she confronted him and made him go back and look at the window. He didn't seem to care much.
The not so bad news is that the window is divided up into 9 panes of double paned thermal glass. He only broke the outside pane of the middle window so at least the Arctic wind is not a blowin through the living room. Also on the upside is that I display china that I collect in the window, and nothing was broken. As Sarcasmo Jr. pointed out, you almost have to be impressed. The window is shaded by an open porch with a roof and the porch is framed by 2 large pine trees. Odds of making that shot are slim. Sadly, he was tossing the Sunday edition compleat with ads, which gave it some weight. I doubt the daily edition would have broken the glass.
After thanking my neighbor I called the local paper. Of course, the call was answered by automation. It was quick to inform me that if I had customer service issues, the customer service desk is open Monday to Friday from 8:30 am to 1pm. Do you get the feeling they would rather not hear from you? This was not acceptable so I pushed #3 for "delivery issues". I held because my call was important to them. When I finally got Sonia on the line she took my info and said someone would call me back. When I pressed for details, like when I would get a call she said she didn't know but I should feel free to call them back and let them know the status of the situation.
When Sarcasdad got home he took pictures and cleaned up the glass. and he emailed the paper which responded with a stock "we will look into it email".
Sunday morning rolled around and we had heard nothing. So I called again. I only had to redial (why do I say re-dial? there's no dial on my iPhone. ) 3 times because apparently if you hold for six minutes while all operators are busy it just disconnects you. When John answered I told him that while I didn't expect the window to be fixed today i thought that a big gaping hole in my front window deserved a response. A personal response. Just to say "we got your call and we are addressing it". John said that the Saturday call had been logged and a District Manager would call within 72 hours. I told him I thought that was pretty shoddy customer service.
What do you think ? Is 72 hours a reasonable amount of time to respond to a complaint? I'm pretty sure it wouldn't fly where I work.

Fractured Fairy Tales

2009-01-12T16:19:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I spent a perfectly lovely afternoon with some friends from the Borough. You remember the Borough, right? It was an all female get together, and it went pretty much like you would expect. We gathered around the table and ate, and drank, and watched the Eagles game. Words like "orgasm" and "fat free" were bandied about in otherwise polite conversation. When the topic of discussion was the present economic situation, one of the party goers made the following observation. It reminded me of a fable I had heard as child. I know it was about two of the same kind of animal. One responsible, and one not. I think it may have been grasshoppers. Or ants. Or squirrels. I really can't remember. Anyway, my friend who I know to be intelligent and hard working, had a plan for her life. The Borough was a part time job , that supplemented her income as a state government employee. She, being the responsible one systematically put away money with an aim at early retirement. Her nest egg was going to carry her through until the pension kicked in. Her brother was the irresponsible one. He did whatever he wanted, and never worried about tomorrow. The irony is that current market free-fall has left her in about the same financial position he is in. Only he had fun getting there.

The story is really similar to the fable, but I'm not sure the moral is the same.

My Life is in the Recycle Bin

2009-01-08T16:55:00.000-08:00

It was a dark and stormy night. But more on that later.*

I can cite any one of a number of reasons for my not having blogged for a while. There was holiday shopping and wrapping and cleaning and decorating and cooking. Sarcas-sis was home for a visit, and the CP had a four night sleepover at our house. Then of course there was the post holiday cleaning and un-decorating which I have not actually done yet, but have spent time thinking about doing. And somewhere in there was a bout with a stomach flu.

Not blogging does not mean I was not reading. I did keep up with all you guys. And all of the best of the year lists. The best movies of 2008, the best songs of 2008, the best celebrity scandal of 2008. You know, all the usual stuff. I tried to think of one I could author with some authority, but New Years Eve was probably too late to be throwing something together. Average Jane put up a post listing the first sentence of her first post of each month of 2008. Kind of an Average Jane Year in Review. I thought it was a brilliant idea and set out to do the same. Except my sentences were less than thought provoking, and for the most part gave no clue as to the gist of the story to follow.

Just so you know it is my sentences, and not my life which are dull, I am going to share the most exciting news I have had in 2009. Ready? Here goes. The mayor has announced that we can now recycle weekly, instead of bi-weekly. I am beside myself with joy. First of all, I like my trash neat and tidy. Having to keep the glass, plastic, aluminum and paper for two weeks was really not ideal. And now I don't have to worry about the trash person getting a hernia lifting all those wine bottles at once. I will miss the little game all the neighbors played. I don't know what it was called, but the idea was not to be the first person to put your recycling out, thereby signalling that it was recycling week, which in turn would cause everyone else to haul their cans to the curb. Because if you were wrong, boy was everybody mad. Of course you could call their bluff and not put your recycling out, but if it was recycling week, well then, didn't you look silly. Especially two weeks later when you needed a U-haul to get your contribution to a better world out to the front of the house. My immediate next door neighbor had a great signature move. He would put his papers and bottles right outside his front door. Sort of halfway to the curb. He wasn't saying t was recycling week and he wasn't saying it wasn't. Well played I always thought.

As soon as I heard the news I shared it with Sarcasdad, who masked his own excitement with a stifled yawn. Soon after, Sarcas-sis came by and she was just as excited as I was with the new schedule. Life just doesn't stand stil here in the big city.

* It has nothing to do with anything, but it was a much better first sentence than the actual one. Just in case I want to do a Sarcasmom 2009 review.

Merry Christmas

2008-12-25T05:00:00.000-08:00

I tried to post a Christmas wish yesterday. There was a cute little image of a stocking hung by the chimney with care with the CP's name on it. For some reason, it just wouldn't happen. I tried until I had to leave for work where I was treated to the best and the worst of humanity for nine hours. Today all is calm and all is bright after an evening with family and friends We are waiting for the CP to come over, to find out if he got his scooter.
Have a wonderful day.
Merry Christmas.

Madonna

2008-12-16T16:57:00.000-08:00

Working in retail keeps me in in contact with the younger generation, the backbone of the night and weekend sales force. I swear they are getting younger and younger. And the generation gap is getting wider and wider. Like a few weeks ago when my reference to phone booth stuffing was met with a distinct lack of recognition.
The following exchange took place in my store between one such young man, and a woman of my generation. The young man, whom I shall refer to as YM, is intelligent and personable and about 20 years old. I do not know a lot about him as I have only been at this location a few weeks. Judging from his last name, his appearance, and the very slight inflection when he speaks, I am guessing he is the first generation to be born in this country, to an Asian family. He performs many different tasks in the store. On this day he was working customer service. The other person involved is the Bookkeeper. A woman I have known for years, worked with before, and consider a friend. She was the one who relayed the story to me, so the conversation will not be verbatim, but close enough.

Bookkeeper: YM, a lot of people are going to want to buy postage stamps today. I'll give you some nutcracker stamps, and some with The Madonna.
YM: What is she doing on a Christmas stamp?
Bookkeeper: Who ?
YM: Madonna.
Bookkeeper: Not Madonna, The Madonna.
YM: Whatever. What has she got to do with Christmas?
Bookkeeper: YM, The Madonna is another way to refer to the Blessed Mother.
YM: (according to the Bookkeeper, he was a little defensive) Well I didn't know. I'm not Christian and I never heard that before. You Catholic people assume everyone knows what you are talking about.

We had a Little chuckle over Madonna/The Madonna after I got into work. Without exaggeration, at least 10 people came to the counter that morning and asked YM for Madonna stamps. And we didn't prompt any of them. Later that day, Bookkeeper was relating the story to another coworker, I'll call Parochial Mom. A young woman approached the counter for service. She was mid- twenties. Very nice, and very well spoken. She offered up that she also had never heard the Blessed Mother referred to as The Madonna. She said she would have assumed the same as YM, that we meant Madonna. She also said that with all the things Madonna has done over the span of her career she would not be at all surprised that she could be on a Christmas stamp.

Just then, Parochial Mom's daughter came in to work to start her shift. She just turned 20. "Daughter", said Parochial Mom "who's the Madonna?". Daughter, feeling somewhat ambushed replied ' Is this a trick question?" "Just answer" said Parochial Mom. "The Madonna" said Daughter, "is the Blessed Mother", proving that all that Catholic school tuition money had not been wasted. "Unless of course you mean, you know, Madonna".

How about you? Feel old lately?

40 is the New 30

2008-12-09T19:07:00.000-08:00

The computer mouse turned 40 today! All things considered, Sarcasdad said I had to post about it. When he's right, he's right.