At our favorite diner & dive bar on a gray, quiet Sunday, my husband and I were brunching, he on his chicken fried chicken pile and I had a Hot Mess with a Dirty Mary. It wasn’t football season and the TVs displayed a trivia game, entertaining pictures, and an infomercial. We were seated below the infomercial for magical skin creams for exfoliation or buffing, just the thing to make your skin look decades younger. To my husband, I said, “No matter what you do though, you can’t undo crepe.” Wolf, my husband, looked at the screen and said, “What’s crepe?” I explained that as women age, neck skin develops wrinkles in a crepe paper appearance. His response, “Huh, never heard of that before, and you have lotion in your crepe.”
Clocking in for my garden center job at a large grocery store, I had my cowboy hat, sunglasses, and large water glass ready for the sun and heat. The head butcher walked up and said, “Well, good morning, Flower Girl!” Without thinking I answered, “Hello, Meat Man!” He said that was the nicest thing I’d ever called him.
About a week ago, I watched Rob and Amber react to “Nights in White Satin” on their YouTube channel, RobSquad Reactions. I pause to even tell this one. That was the very first time I realized it was “Nights” and not “Knights.” All my life I’ve been picturing knights in white satin. Creepy KKKish but I didn’t dwell, obviously. I’m so relieved it’s actually about nights in satin sheets. Much better.
To the reader – The following requires the ability to read between the lines. My German mother-in-law is moving in with us. I start with German as a descriptor because it’s what first comes to mind. Her husband of 40 years passed away a couple of months ago. My husband, her son, is her only family now, except for extended family in Germany. Alone now, in kinda the middle of nowhere, she didn’t know what to do next. Therefore, my German mother-in-law is going to sell her place and move here, probably this summer. I can’t imagine in my head what this will sound like or look like long-term. I’ll share some of the fun in future ramblings.
On one of the earliest dates for my husband-to-be and me, we went to Magic Mountain, just an hour down the freeway from where we lived in Southern California. Once in the parking lot we sat in the car, talking and talking. At some point, we agreed we really didn’t feel like dealing with the whole amusement park experience but decided maybe we’d check out a go-cart track. We just had to drive about 30 more minutes, into the San Fernando Valley. There were still a few spots open in the parking lot, as dusk settled. Again, we did not get out of the car! More conversation ensued. Once it was dark, kids were showing up to tear around in cool cars, so we drove further, taking only a couple of freeways more to a pretty big miniature golf course. By now, it was fully dark. It was the best looking putt putt course I’d seen with lots of multicolored lights and good looking structures. Made sense since it was next door to Burbank, home to many show and movie studios. We took it all in from the outside. We continued to laugh and talk. Hours and hours in the car, not going to a few different spots. I think we didn’t stay in that parking lot so long before we packed it in and drove home. We laugh about it still, 33 years on, agreeing we were meant to be.
Living in the same home for 20 years, our two sons grew up on our cul-de-sac off a deadend. It’s been a great village. The street is fairly long with many more neighbors than a typical cul-de-sac. Most houses were not home to children but the handful of boys present from three houses felt like a lot more. Pretty sure my sons, in particular, felt like the adult occupants without kids were strangers; I knew them, though. I found out a few years after the fact that my boys had knocked on doors at the opposite end of our street, presenting themselves as poor and “selling” rocks to raise funds. What?!? A few neighbors had opened their front doors in response to knocking or a doorbell, to see my guys plus one standing on their porch. My sons would literally announce that they had no money and show rocks “for sale.” Some of these folks felt terrible that we were struggling so and gave the boys money!!! When I questioned my kids about this after I learned of it, they fondly reminisced how they’d “earned” money. Embarrassed and appalled just begin to describe how I felt. For their part, my neighbors were relieved to learn we weren’t struggling to make ends meet and thought it was hilarious!
Called to the principal’s office in my senior year, I was sure I was getting busted for forged notes releasing me from classes, because the attendance office was performing a purge, comparing immunization and enrollment records to see if note signatures were consistent with those on school records. This was waaaay back when parents wrote notes to excuse absences or release kids from class. My best friend had been caught, so I thought it was my turn. I’d “used” my dad’s autograph in my fakes since I knew he didn’t fill out any of the school records, and this was before there was any mention of using that process for catching forgers. Following the overhead announcement from the office requesting my presence and the whole class responding, “ooooh,” I walked the empty hall with my mind swirling. When I entered the office lobby, one of the secretaries pointed to a chair. This was not the attendance office. Before long, my principal, who was also my psychology teacher, asked me to take a seat across from his desk. He was friendly and welcoming. I had no idea what was happening. Mr. Halvorsen explained to me that the district was putting together a team of teachers, administrators, and one student from each of the two high schools to evaluate and adopt a sexual education curriculum. Sex Ed. He told me he’d like me to represent our school in this group. Relieved I wasn’t in trouble, I accepted. Later, I wondered how I was going to explain this to my parents, the principal singling me out for this assignment. This subject had been a source of contention in our home for a few months, related to my relationship with my boyfriend. They just chuckled though.
- Regimen – a plan or routine. People follow a medication or exercise regimen.
- Regime – the ruling class. In Iraq, Sadaam Hussein’s regime was unseated.
- Regiment – a group or unit of soldiers or militia. A regiment of soldiers was moved forward.
Thank you, just needed to put that out there.