#152-TOTALLY TUBULARY TUESDAY(Toby)

Uhhhh, Hi.  My name is Totally Tubular Toby; you can call me Toby.  I think I'm a people, but my mom keeps calling me "her baby".  Is a "her baby" people?  Her father calls me "that dog."  When I make mistakes she calls me other names (but I don't think I should tell you).  This world is so hard to understand.


Today I have a very scary and confusing story to tell you.

You'd look sad too if you went through what I just went through!

The other morning my mom had a very serious look on her face.  She held me and hugged me, but I just squirmed and chewed on her shirt sleeve because I didn't want any of her gushy, gooey, lovey, dovey, stuff that early in the morning.


Mornings are for romping, chasing the cat, getting into as much trouble as possible, and eating.  This is when I knew something was up.  Mom wasn't fixing my food.  PANIC ATTACK!  WHY ISN'T MOM FIXING FOOD?  I tried to tell her my fear as I cried, "WHERE IS MY FOOD?  MOM, YOU KNOW HOW I LIKE FOOD!  I NEED FOOD, NOW!"  She ignored me (well, she tried anyway, I'm kinda hard to ignore when I hangin' onto her pant leg with my teeth).


Finally, she got my blanky out of that darned kennel, picked me up and headed for the "ride" (STILL NO FOOD!).  We got into the "ride" and went to the place of smells.  It is a place that stinks of a lot of different kinds of animals along with a yucky smell that I can't quite put my nose to (not that I'd want to. Well, maybe).  


I remember being there before and, as I recall, I was poked and prodded and then felt a sharp pain in my neck.  Mom just stood in the corner and kept saying, "You're ok, you're ok."  Well, if having something shoved up your you know what is ok then I'd hate to see what she thinks is NOT ok.


Back to the other day.  We rode in the "ride" until we got to the place of smells.
Mom handed me over to a complete stranger (along with my blanky) and walked away...are you reading this SHE WALKED AWAY!  A COMPLETE STRANGER!  I set up such a howl that it made her stop for a second, then she went on out the door.  I screamed and accidentally went potty on the lady.


My blanky and I were put into this kennel (without a treat, Mom always give me a treat when she puts me in one at home...THAT DOES IT!  NO FOOD!  NO TREAT!  I'M IN HELL!) and there I sat along with a few other unfortunates.  Each one of them was as confused as I was.  I tried to talk to them but they weren't interested.  This one "baby" looked really sad.  He said he thought he was in here because he pottied on his mom's best rug.  (OMG it that why I'm here?  It's all your fault Heathcliff!  You're the one who told me I could do it!  Growl!)

I didn't mean to...honest!

The lady came back in and took me to a room of even more awful smells and that is the last I remember until I woke up.   My head felt strange and so did my lower body.  They had a thing around my neck to keep me from checking out why I felt funny down there.  In fact it took me a while to figure out why I couldn't see if my feet and tail were still there (Could I survive with just a head?  Sure, as long as I could eat...eat?...suddenly I didn't care about food...weird, huh?).

Mom finally came to pick me up (PHEW!) and I pottied all over the lady again as she handed me off (on purpose, take that, lady!).   Mom wrapped me in my blanky and took me to the "ride."  That is when I got more of the  gushy, gooey, lovey, dovey, stuff.   And, boy did I want it this time.  When we got back to my home Mom and I cuddled and slept the rest of the afternoon.  For some reason I suddenly liked the gushy, gooey, lovey, dovey, stuff.

I still don't know what happened, but I think my bark is higher that it used to be and there is less to lick than before.  Heathcliff seemed to know where I was going.  Mom told HIM, but not me!  By the way, Heathcliff, thanks for the note.  I AM milking it for all it's worth.

Toby

kt 2011

#151-AN AMUSING MUGGING

       







Suddenly, we were assaulted by no less than 15 crazed animals (a feeding frenzy) and my children had disappeared from sight.  My hand was trapped and I couldn’t get free.  I was yelling for help but, no one came!

That is what my English teacher called a grabber.  Let the reader get a taste and want to find out more.

This was just a simple day excursion for my children and me (in 1972).  Nothing like this was supposed to happen at Magic  Mountain in Southern  California.

We had just arrived at this beautiful park and the first attraction was a fantastic petting zoo.  It had pigs, llamas, calves, and all kinds of goats.  It was early in the morning and the usual throngs of people had not arrived as yet. 

My children wanted to feed the animals.  The feed dispensers were inside the enclosure.  I watched as other parents and kids were robbed of the joy of hand feeding by apparently starving animals.  The animals would crowd around and get the food before the kids had a chance to hold it in their hands.

Figuring that I was "smarter than the average bear" (a quote from Yogi Bear) I deduced (through careful observation) that it was the sound of the feed hitting the metal shoot of the dispenser not the quarter going into the slot that sparked the conditioned response (ok, I'm a show off) of the animals.  Therefore, I led my children to the far end of the “farm” and quietly slipped a quarter into the machine (after carefully placing my fingers into the shoot so the feed would fall silently into my hand). 

All right  guys,  I will 

make the initial hit.  

You follow me in for 

the kill.

Boy, was I wrong.  It was the click, click, click of the tumblers that alerted the animals and unlike Pavlov's dog they were not tethered, or in a cage.  They REACTED immediately.

Before I could yell, “Run for your lives!” a HERD of STAMPEDING animals hit me from behind.  A calf (which was more like a small cow) rammed its head into my elbow, launching my fingers and part of my left hand up into the machine.  At that time the tumbler rolled over again and trapped my middle finger in the danged thing.  A llama was on my back and hanging over my shoulder with it’s long tongue slapping at my hand.  And, its conditioned response (saliva) was dripping all over me (and there was also evidence that it may have been an excited male llama).  Several goats were between my legs lapping at my hands (more saliva) and the pigs were under them (salivating on my shoes, I'm sure).

Both of my children had disappeared in a dust storm of Biblical proportions.  The noise was deafening.   After what seemed like minutes instead of seconds, the air cleared  and I saw my 9 year old son sitting on the fence laughing until tears ran down his face.  My 6 year old daughter had rolled under the fence and was sprawled on the ground (with glazed over eyes and covered in dust).  I was still being held hostage by the machine.  I called for help but, no one came.  My son finally extricated me from the bully machine.  I had to go to the first aide station for medical attention to the finger I planned to FLIP at the Children’s Farm as I walked by (Yes, it was the middle digit of my left hand).

     That is not the end of the story.  Apparently, someone watching the “show” took advantage of me and took my wallet out of my purse (or possibly one of the goats) because my wallet showed up at a local gambling establishment the next day (smart goat!).  Of course the person (or goat) had $50 cash to spend (money it took me months to save).  I had to threaten to sue to get the park managers to get them to cash a check.  I was determined that a mugging was not going to stop our FUN on the MOUNTAIN.

     This picture was taken after the mugging.  That poor lion was so drugged that all he could do was snore.  The kids were thrilled, the lion was in la la land and I was faking a smile on my  face!   So, 3 out of 4 were happy.  Not a bad percentage.

kt  3/2011

#150-SAFE (Phil Wickham)

SO MANY TIMES IN OUR LIVES WE FEEL AS IF WE ARE ALONE.  WHEN THIS HAPPEN TO ME I HEAD STRAIGHT FOR MEMBERS OF MY CHURCH FAMILY WHO SHOW ME THEIR LOVE AND REMIND ME OF HOW MUCH JESUS LOVES ME.

Phil Wickham is new to me, but I really like his song, "Safe."

#149- DULDRUMS: A STATE OF OR PERIOD OF INACTIVITY, STAGNATION, OR SLUMP

DISCLAIMER:  This is not one of my usual posts. But, I have been doing some heavy thinking and it's wearing me down.  Therefor I decided to share (after all this IS my therapy.  I guess that makes you guys my shrink).  If you choose to read on then you AUTOMATICALLY enlist as a "guest shrinks" and are expected to ride this out with me.


It is Tuesday, March 1st and I am sitting at my computer reading over all of the February comments I  received.  You see, I have been thinking about when the end will come.  No, Silly, NOT THAT!  I could care less about leaving this earth behind.  I was thinking about this blog.

My mind has been... ...(can't think of the word I want)... ... but I have been experiencing the...(I got it)... DOLDRUMS.  Perhaps this has been caused by the long, bleak, dreary, dismal, miserable, wretched, saturnine (look it up), frigid, snowy, winter. (See the depth of my condition?)  Perhaps it is because I reached my 70th birthday without achieving something extraordinary (like being national teacher of the year).  Perhaps it is because I am always late for everything (and just now experiencing a mid-life crisis).

Ahhhhhh, Mannnnnn, I knew it!  I answered all but 2 with YES.
On #1 my hair is already totally white (I perfer to call it platinum blond).
On #6 (as you know) I just got a tattoo.

I need to recharge, get away, to something new besides body art!  But, I can't right now.  My dad needs me here.  He would be gone in three months if I put him in a nursing home (not to mention that we can't afford it).  I could go sky diving (there is a place only an hour away from here).  I could take scuba diving classes (there's a place only 30 minutes from here).  But what if I flame out or bubble up, who will take care of Dad?

Ok, Charlie pull the chord...
Charlie....Charlie....oh, $#*!

When I was teaching I would recharge every summer and greet the first day of school with all kinds of ideas and enthusiasm.  My promise to myself was that I would retire from teaching when it became hard for me to get pumped back up.  My promise was to quit teaching when it stopped being fun (and I kept that promise).

I have made the same promise to myself about this blog.  These last two weeks I have been worried that the time has already come.  I haven't felt particularly humorous lately (and that is what my blog is all about..sharing the the humor in my life).  I guess I bit off more than I can chew.  I shouldn't have tried to post daily but, everything I read about blogging said that daily post were necessary (that is if one wanted to have someone to read the blog and leave the nourishing comments).  I spend HOURS developing posts (and reading comments) and then more HOURS reading the posts of others and commenting (after all if one says they are a follower then they should follow...right?).  I am finding that I am up later and later, trying to keep up.

Will I burn out if I keep this pace up?  Maybe that is what I am experiencing.  Another fear I have is that I will run out of things to write about about which to write (oh bother, I worry about that kind of stuff too). 

So, I am in a quandary.  I know that with spring and summer coming soon I will want to get outside, do more, visit my daughter, and on and on.  Therefore I need to cut back, but where?

Maybe go to a Monday, Wednesday, Friday posting schedule would help.  But, I love the Sunday's Song (so that has to stay).  Plus, I like Thursday's Therapy because I get to respond to the comments of others (however that is one of the harder posts to do and it takes me longer and gets more visits from the C.R.A.P. team).  I guess Totally Tubular Tuesday's could move to Wednesday (but, that is such a cool name for a post.  What could I call it if it moved to Wednesday?).  Friday Flash backs will stay for now as they are (obviously) the easiest ones to do (and they give me a chance to recycle some of my better posts to new readers).  Saturdays can be dropped because that is when I get the least traffic.  Ohhhh, mannn, this kind of thinking is a real bummer (I don't get headaches, but if I did I would be having one right now).


I guess I need to figure out why I am writing this blog in the first place.  Why would I want more readers or to even keep the readers I have?  Has this become an ego thing?  I HOPE NOT!

I started this blog because my daughter suggested that I write some of the stuff down that I share when I visit with her (face to face, on FB or over the phone).  She would crack up (but she has to, she's my daughter and she loves me).  


Then I thought it would be nice for me to write some of my stories down for my grandchildren to have as my gift to to them.

But, now, I seem to be writing more for YOU, my readers.  Although the subject matter is still about my goofy interactions with this world we live in, I have found that pleasing YOU has become more important to me.  My daughter laughingly called me a blog "ho" because your comments are a big payoff for me (I guess that would make my daughter my pimp because she started me off on this).  Actually, I think I am addicted (and before I "Sheen" I think I should take action).
No, I am not fishing for pats on the back, or encouragement, because you guys are already good about that.  However, if you have any suggestions, just spit it out.

After going through all of this I have made one decision...(see the therapy helps) I will be dropping  Thursday and Saturday.  Starting today I will let Friday's post hang over into Saturday and Wednesday's post hang over into Thursday. (Boy, I feel better already.)  I will make other decisions when spring finally gets here and maybe my funny bone will start tickling me once more (if I have to I will wash my feet in the basin again [see #47], maybe glue something else to the floor [see #148], pull another one of my Tim Taylor routines [see #138], or whatever I have to do to recharge).  I will probably post this several Saturdays so everyone can find out about my concerns and my new schedule.


Phew (3 hours later), I'm done!  Now I have Saturday, and Thursday to recharge.

kt 3/2011

#147.5-WHAT'S UP WITH THAT!

Lately I have been receiving all kinds of junk mail aimed at enticing me to join a dating service (SeniorSingles Match, Senior Match, Perfect Matches, etc).  What's up with that?  I'm 70 for crying out loud!

At one time I was on the look out for someome to share my life with.  After all I have been divorced for over 40 years.  However, when I discovered I had to either pick one up a the local shelter (an buy him teeth), steal one from someone else (probably have the same problems as most used cars, like too much mileage), or wait for someone's wife to die (what a morbid thought).  Therefore, I decided it wasn't worth it.

However, if I WERE in the market there would be several criteria I would have to insist on.  For example:

Oh, YES, I WOULD have specifications.  I would like:

1.  a man who loves to cook but, also likes to clean up the mess.

2.  a man who likes to travel, alone!

3.  a man who still looks good with my glasses on.

4.  a man who has lots of money, but can't remember he has given it ALL to me.

5.  a man who does not dwell on his past.

6.  A man who has good insurance (especially for nursing home care and "final expenses").

7.  A man who has absolutely no children (or ex-wives).

8.  A man who does not need to wear depends.

9.  A man who insists on separate bedrooms (so it ok if he snores = my one concession).

10.  BUT MOST IMPORTANTLY A man who loves to cuddle, but has prostrate prostate trouble (get my drift).

So, with this criteria do you think I should go on one of those dating services?  Neither do I!

I WASN'T FINISHED WITH THIS ONE YET!  IT WASN'T SUPPOSED TO POST UNTIL 3/21 BUT THE C.R.A.P. (Computer Related Attacks by Poulterguists) STRUCK AGAIN.  OH WELL!  kt 3/2011

# 147-THURSDAY'S THERAPY (Comments on #83 O Christmas Tree... ...)

I love reading people's comments.  Therefore, I have decided to pick a comment each Thursday to post.  Of course this will fall FLAT if you guys aren't making comments!  This is no longer an issue.  In fact, I have so many wonderful comments to choose from that I am having a hard time keeping up.  THANK YOU!  ALL OF YOU! 

(And yet another change.  I decided to rename this meme THURSDAY'S THERAPY because I consider this blog to be therapy for me as your comments keep me going!  Also, since I have been getting so many comments I am going to do several of the comments on a particular post, again.)

jhitomi said...

My family had one of those silver foil trees and the rotating circle of colored lights illuminating it. I thought it was really great.
clenna said...

My mother was so proud when she bought a silver tree. We all thought she'd lost her mind. And those rotating color lights - ugh! 

My first year married we got a real tree - scrawny tree. (all that we could afford). The water stand broke the first day, so we just leaned it against the wall. Do you know that a year later we were still finding pine needles in the carpet (last year that I had a real one!)

 I just looked them up!  They are now termed "vintage"  or  "retro" and a 7 ft tree with a color wheel cost $675.00!

Gina Alfani said...

Having raised baby birds . . . I know what you are talking about!

You know what . . . I absolutely hated those silver Christmas trees.

Thanks for visiting my blog . . . I'm partial to the squirrel cartoon too :)

Have an awesome day . . . Gina



ape2016 said...

How funny! I had a parakeet named Kiki. She was sweet and I often took her from her cage and she would walk all over me and perch on my shoulder and make all sorts of little 'talky' noises at me. I started working a lot, so I got her a friend. Another parakeet, Coco. Coco turned out to be evil and made my Kiki evil, too. Where once I had a sweet bird that loved to 'groom' me, I ended up with 2 that tried to peck my eyes out. One day when I was cleaning the cage, they both pecked me up badly and then got out of the cage. I used to kill myself trying to catch them, this time I didn't even flinch when the flew out the door when the kids came in from playing. I know, I am bad!

The Desert Rocks said...

I bet you look for them in the trees every time you hear chirping birdies.

And, please explain to me how I can get this when looking up parakeetlip art (really!)?

                     

                                                     








Raynata said...

Newest follower! Can't wait to read all your uncommon thoughts!

Jenny said...

Found you on the blog hop! I'm your newest follower! 


Well, I guess I didn't live up to their expectations because I just checked and I have not heard from them again.  This is why I call this post Thursday's "Therapy." This is helping mt to learn to live with stuff like "rejection".  I have also learned that there are a lot of wonderful strangers out there who accepts this looney lady just as I she is!  kt 3/2011

#146-WEDNESDAY WORDINESS (A Letter to Larry)

IN ANSWER TO THE MANY WORDLESS WEDNESDAY ADVOCATES I HAVE DECIDED TO DEMONSTRATE MY OPPOSITIONAL BEHAVIOR BY BEING MY USUAL WORDY SELF!

My cousin Larry will be 70 tomorrow and I have a lot of memories clustered around spending part of my childhood on his parents farm.  A lot of these memories (although not all) centered around my cousins.  Larry, who is one month younger than me, was an easy going kid, shy kid who often came under the spell of my ornery, older, cousin John (another story all together).  This is the letter I enclosed in Larry's birthday card. 

I REMEMBER WHEN:

Larry used to squeal like a little girl when he fell into a pit in the Great Larry/John Hay Bail Maze.  It's a wonder we weren't all killed.

Larry helped sucker this female cousin into that very pit (and several dead ends). It's a wonder that I wasn't lost in there forever.

Larry got into trouble with the Great Larry/Karen Excavation at the corner of the farmhouse.  It's a wonder that the corner of the house didn't fall into the hole we dug.

Larry made me mad with the Larry/John  Great Dirt Clod Fest that kept this female cousin treading water in the stock pond.  It's a wonder that I didn't drown.  I treaded water for what seemed like hours.

Larry helped perpetrate the Great Larry/John Canasta Fraud played out against same above-mentioned cousin (for pennies).  It's a wonder it took me so long to determine that they were cheating.

Larry joined in the Larry/John  Great Cherry Bomb Fiasco aimed at …guess who!  It's NO wonder that I never came out of my room that fateful day.

Larry when he co-conspired in the Larry/John  Great Picture Caper that started with an early morning glass of water thrown into the sleeping face of said teenage cousin (with curlers falling out of hair), picture taking, and the posting of said picture in town.  It's a wonder that I didn't kill them both!

Larry made a pact with the same teenage cousin to co-author a science fiction novel.  It's a wonder that both of us were science fiction nuts at the same time.

Larry thought that somehow there was a father mix up because John was built like Larry's dad and Larry was built like John's dad.  It's a wonder 

that we never considered the genetic distribution made so clear by the punnett squares in science class (huh!)

Larry was the sweetest, most thoughtful, kid/young man who was often caught under the magnetic personality of his scheming cousin John.  It's a wonder that John's personality didn't rub off on Larry (thank God.)

And it's a wonder that I love my cousin Larry, BUT I DO!

Now, how many kids today have GREAT memories like that?  There is nothing like a farm to offer all kinds of interesting things to do (not to mention all kinds of trouble to get into - or is it all kinds of trouble in which to get - nawh...I like it better the other way!).


SEE NUMBER 171 COMING UP ABOUT AN EXPERIENCE ON THIS FARM.

kt 3/2011

#142/#144-A MAIDEN VOYAGE aka THE TATTOO VIRGIN

(1/26/11 @ 1:PM) THOSE DARNED POLTERGEISTS STRUCK AGAIN!  WHEN I FINALLY CHECKED AT 1:00 PM THIS ONE HADN'T POSTED.  I SO WANTED EVERYONE TO GET TO SEE MY TATTOO. THAT MADE ME DECIDED TO POST THIS AGAIN ON THE 28TH!  kt
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
(1/27/11 @ 5PM) OK, NOW THIS HAS TO STOP!  I JUST CHECKED MY BLOG AND THERE WAS MY TATTOO POST.  NEXT, I CHECKED THE SCHEDULED DATE AND IT READS 1/28/11...6AM...  BELIEVE ME I AM GOING TO HAVE TO HAVE AN EXERCISM (EVEN THOUGHT I'M NOT CATHOLIC) BECAUSE THIS REALLY PISSES TICKS ME OFF! (I'M PUTTING IT BACK ON THE 28TH!) kt
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Well, I said I was going to get a tattoo on my 70th birthday.  But, it didn't work out that day.  You see, February 4th was the day after the biggest snow story of the quarter century hit Missouri and the Slippery Monkey (the tattoo parlor) was closed.  In fact, even McDonalds was closed (now that's some snow storm).

This is what the road to his place looked like (well, kind of).

And to yourself you said, "Wait a minute.  Run that name by me again." You read it right.  SLIPPERY MONKEY (as in the monkey on your back).  According to Helpme.com (and an article I found there) the mind is a tree and in this tree there is a monkey and a bird.  From Walt Whitman's Song of Myself,  "The monkey, called the slippery monkey, races about, chattering constantly. If one can silence the monkey then the bird sings."..."By stilling the slippery monkey and hearing the song of the bird one gains enlightenment shedding the ego in order to attain enlightenment in Buddhism."  Other sites refer to the slipping the monkey of addiction off one's back. (See, one can get a classical education reading my blog.)

This is his logo!  That monkey looks more mad then slippery.

Any way when I googled Slippery Monkey, I came up with well over 10 sites about this particular tattoo business in my home town.   

So, a week before my tattoo, I went in, talked with the owner, and picked out my tattoo. 

The owner, Harold, looked like he just jumped off a chopper on his way back from Woodstock.  But, what surprised me is that he is a very conservative man with strong moral values.  You see, I am not immune to stereotyping either (although I thought I was). 

I asked Harold if I should take something for the pain.  His response was, "Take a couple of aspirins or a shot of tequila."  I shuttered to think of what I might choose to do if Tequila were introduced into the mix.  So, I opted for Tylenol.

And, this is Harold!  I put life and LIMB (literally) in his hands.

Over a week later, Harold had the parking lot cleared and I ventured into the devils den (according to some of the people in my church).  Undaunted, I popped up into the chair and offered him my right ankle.  He described the THOUSANDS of needle pricks that would be necessary as he proceeded to prepare his pallet of needles.  He poured what looked like poster paint into little tubs that fit onto the needles.  He looked at me over his GLASSES and said, "Well?"  Totally unfazed by the lecture and the sight of the six or so needles I said, "Go for it!"  Not too original, I know, but that is all I could come up with.  I was busy thinking, "Mannnnnn, this is gonna hurt!"

Harold's mouth (and needles) never stopped moving the entire time.

But, to my surprise, it didn't hurt at all!  Not that it really mattered because I was determined to get this done even if I had to bite down on a tree limb.  It kind of stung once in a while but, Harold kept me busy listening to his continuous running commentary on everything from the environment to teenagers today.


Now, I am the proud wearer of my first (and probably last) tattoo.  However, my shoulder would look cute with a small butterfly on it....(I'll save that for my 80th birthday).


I did think about covering all my wrinkles with tattoos, but then I would look something like the Illustrated Man Woman.  No, don't think that would go over too well in this small town.  


When my daughter showed my nine year old granddaughter my tattoo, Shay said, "THAT'S CRAZY."  Well, maybe  it is, and maybe I am but, I have definitely decided that I AM going to do some of the things I have always wanted to do.  As I said before, my new mantra is, "Adventure Before Dementia"(after this tattoo some people think I am already too late).


Oh, I almost forgot did you want to see it?????  

Now I don't even have to shave...keen, huh!
at least I won't have to shave as often!

OK...OK....HERE IT IS:

See how tame this looks after showing you the first one.
Smart huh!

kt 2/2011

#143-SUNDAY'S SONG (Homesick)

I AM LISTENING TO THIS SONG AS I WRITE.  I AM AT THE AGE THAT MOST OF MY FAMILY MEMBERS HAVE PASSED ON.  THIS SONG EXPRESSES MY DESIRE TO SEE MY LOVED ONES AGAIN.  kt 2/2011