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Showing posts from April, 2015

The Diaper Bag

Before my injured shoulder, I carried large purses.  I had everything in them that one would need in an emergency.  Rarely have we been somewhere when someone would not ask if I had ____ and I would whip it out of my purse and impress them with my super powers. But because of my injured shoulder I cannot carry large, heavy purses anymore.  I have to limit myself to small bags that do not weigh very much. I kept the other purses but I treat them like a carryon. I have a packed purse that I take with me and leave it in my car when I go someplace.  It has the stuff I used to carry with me everywhere in case of an emergency, but if anyone breaks into my car thinking the big purse has money or valuables, I hope they like stale gum, a toenail clipper, and a half-used chap stick.  I also carry a small purse but it stays with me.  It has the usual necessities:  keys, wallet, cell phone.  The smaller purses are not big enough for all the things I have to carry but I have no choice.  Any larger…

Living Off the Grid

My too-cool-for-his-grandma, thirteen-year-old grandson asked me the other day if me and his grandpa “lived off the grid.” The little toot was referring to the fact that we live on three, shaggy acres six miles outside a small town.  We do not mow the lawn until the spring wildflowers go to seed, so our ecosystem is a little WILD. Grandpa HoneyBunch attempts a summer vegetable garden every year and he collects rain water to care for his plants. Those big, bulky rain bins do not lend themselves to the esthetics of the place, neither does the compost pile, so we do look a bit RUSTIC. HB loves to hunt and fish, so it is not unusual for me to fix a roast one does not usually find in the meat department at the grocery story.  At our family gatherings the grandchildren are expected to eat whatever I fix, and they are expected to finish whatever is on their plate. Their grandfather does not believe in waste. Our nearest neighbors are an acre away, but our most frequent visitors are usually sku…

My Big, Fat, Wide Screen TV

Back in 2003, I bought one of the first wide screen TVs on the market.  It is a huge, 50-inch, HD-compatible Toshiba, about five feet tall and three feet deep.  It takes four, able-bodied, muscled men with strong backs to move that big boy. It cost me $2000 back in the day, but that is with all the extras I had to purchase.  It demanded a controller through which all the other attachments are channeled.  I had a VCR player back then and a few DVDs, but since then I got rid of the VCR player and added a Wii, a Blu-Ray machine, and the Direct TV monitor. Most of these were invented after I bought the TV so additional machines and wires have had to be purchased and attached to the old boy to bring it up-to-date. The same goes with subscription services.  The TV is not “smart,” so since it cannot connect to the Internet or Wi-Fi service, we cannot access Hulu or Netflix or other modern services like that.  We can do it on our computers but not on our TV. My three kids have grown accustome…

Two Faced

In the 9th grade, I was “going steady” with a boy who attended the same Catholic Church and school as I did. We had known each other most of our lives, but we didn’t “notice” each other until the seventh grade and started “going around” in the 8th grade.  This was the 1960’s – before smart phones, iPods, and the Kardashians – so we hardly talked or did much of anything else. Every Sunday, the families in our church sat in the same pews, so it was easy to see who was there and who wasn’t.  After the service, the kids gathered in the courtyard on the church grounds and we talked while our parents visited with each other.  This one Sunday, my boyfriend wasn’t there, so when I walked over to our crowd of friends, one of the girls asked about him.  I meant to sound “cool,” but instead I said something cruel, something I have never been able to take back.  I said, “I know he always follows me around like a lost puppy, but I am not his trainer.” I even smirked. Instead of laughing, the girl’s…