Posts Tagged ‘ dog ’

Children Disappear Into UFO

Wednesday, July 31st, 2013

 

The UFO That Whisked The Kids Away!

Here is the UFO that swallowed my grandkids.

Lexi, 10, has assured Loch, 7, that he will love being slammed and flattened against the wall, defying gravity as the UFO spins rapidly in the air.

I’m not so sure that we won’t have to stop the ride and go into the UFO and save Loch from his folly.

We’re at the local Fair. What I’ve noticed  about this Fair is that most people here, (the public and the carnival workers,) need to wash their hair.  Also, most folks are a bit more than just fat; they’re pretty much dragging loose flesh around as they slap through the dust.

I feel my own hair and pinch the skin muffin around my own waist.

We’ve been here for several hours. I’m tired and hot and I want to go home and wash my  hair and lose weight.

Here is the joke Loch tells Bill and me as we drive to the fair:

” What do you get when you cross the road with a dog and a rose?” The answer: “A cauliflower!”

We think he means, ‘What do you get when you cross a dog and a rose?’

We find his joke hysterical and he is much pleased. Then Bill tries to explain that you don’t cross a road with a dog and a rose to get a cauliflower, you cross a dog with a rose.

Loch doesn’t get it. Neither does Lexi and they are outraged when we laugh even more.

They keep shouting, ‘Why are you laughing so much! Explain it!’ We do, again and again in various ways and get no where. Maybe because there are a lot of holes in their understanding of the birds and the bees. In Loch’s case, he knows nothing, and Lexi has had only had a bit of ‘The Talk’ which sent her into outraged hysterics, at the time.

At the fair, it’s getting late. The kids want to eat dinner and then come back and do more Rides.

Lexi chooses chips with melted fake Velveeta cheese as her meal and Loch gets a hot dog. For dessert, they can’t decide. Caramel corn, waffle cake or poison dyed snow cones.

I’m glad when they choose the evil snow cones. Do you know why? Because the kids are anxious to get back to the Carnival for more Rides. It’s getting cold and dark and I want to go home.

My approval of the snow cones works perfectly. After the kids are halfway into them, because they are wearing shorts and tiny tops, they get chilled and want to leave!

And so we do.

Once on our way, the kids start badgering us about that darn dog crossing the road again, but I tell Bill, ‘Let’s leave this one to their folks!’

And so we do.

(And, now that I have finished this Blog, I am going  to the kitchen and make another peach cobbler. The one I made last week with an oat topping, didn’t turn out so well. I had to eat it as a breakfast cereal!)

*Do you know the kind of work I do when I’m not busy having Adventures?  THIS YEAR is a great time to have a Phone Reading with me!   Visit me at www.GodIsAlwaysHappy.com for rates and availability.

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*If My True Life (this Blog) gives you a lift, please consider EMAILING it to your friends. You will keep me writing and that is good for my mental health. Better To Get These Weird Things Out Of Mind, Rather Than Keep Them In, right?

*You can also find me on Google+ and FB Fan Page under venus andrecht.  


 

 

 

 

My Mother’s Friend

Wednesday, May 8th, 2013

My Mother’s Friend, Martha

My mother’s friend Martha is 90 years old. She is mainly blind from birth, and now her hearing is drifting off. I imagine words coming towards her and curling into a gentle, blue puffy cloud.

Martha lives alone with her dog friend, Gretel.

Martha considers my mother her best friend. But, my mother is dead… and hence so is Martha’s best friend.

Martha calls me on the phone one day, wanting to return a book to me. She must have borrowed it from my mother.

I say, “Keep it or give it away, whatever you want.”

There is a silence.

“Oh. Do you want me to come and get it?” I ask.

Yes. She does.

She’s lonely. She wants to see me. I haven’t seen Martha since my mother died 2 1/2 years ago.

The next day when I arrive at her gate, I park my car, get out and wait for her to push her way down the drive with her walker. She unlocks the heavy wire gate and I step through the opening.

She reaches toward me, takes my face in her hands and peers closely up into my face.

“Oh. You look just like your mother. It’s like having your mother here with me, again.”

I am going to be my mother for an hour or two as I spend some time with Martha.

We inch our way up the long drive. Martha tells me she has to use the walker because her dog, in her great thrill with life and running, ran over her one day when they were outside. Greta knocked Martha to the ground and Martha broke her leg.

“But, I’m fine now,” Martha tells me once we are settled in the house at her table. “I only bring the walker outside with me so Greta can’t take me down when she’s chasing rabbits and squirrels.

Martha has a nice old house. It’s not fancy. It’s plain. The kitchen where we are sitting has old coffee cans dotting the sink, mismatched dishes and cracked drinking glasses. It looks like my mother’s kitchen.

Martha’s husband died 25 years ago. I remember him. A tall man with a great, big dark moustache that ran up at the ends into a wide smile.

They raised chickens. Looking out the kitchen window I notice the long old chicken houses, rusted with age and neglect.

Martha has been alone for a long, long time.

Her children live in places like China and Nepal. One lives across a wide field near Martha but she is gone for ten and more hours a day.

I look around and silently wonder, ‘How do you live alone when you are old and nearly blind and can hardly hear?’

“How do you do it?” I ask her.  “How do you feel about living alone?”

Martha says she is healthy. That even her knees are good. She thinks a minute. “About living and being alone for so many years? I just do it.”

She says it used to be easier when a bus came by and took her uptown but that it’s been years since that bus came by. Once a week, a friend takes her for a senior lunch at the Centre. The daughter that lives across the big field, takes her grocery shopping and they have lunch every Sunday.

I hear the ticking of an old wooden clock on the kitchen wall. We sit quietly and I listen to the tick. Martha has been listening to that clock tick her days away for at least 25 years.

“I have to go now,” I say, reluctantly. “I have to be somewhere else.”

“Oh. It’s been so nice having you here for awhile,” she says. She is disappointed that I have to go.

“In a couple, of weeks,” I say, “I’m going to call you and come and get you and take you to my house for lunch and tea. Would you like that?”

She would!

Now, we both have something to look forward, too.

Martha sees my mother in me…and I see my mother in Martha.

My mother’s old friend is now my new friend.

My mother’s friend is now my friend, too.

Suddenly, I feel all sweet and warm inside.

….*Do you know the kind of work I do when I’m not busy having Adventures?  THIS YEAR is a great time to have a Phone Reading with me!   Visit me at www.GodIsAlwaysHappy.com for rates and availability.

*Would you like to receive my NEWSLETTER: ‘The Juicy News’ ? Sign up where you see the Blue Head Phones on the right side of this blog story on the original blog page: http://www.godisalwayshappy.com/blog

*If My True Life (this Blog) gives you a lift, please consider EMAILING it to your friends. You will keep me writing and that is good for my mental health. Better To Get These Weird Things Out Of Mind, Rather Than Keep Them In, right?

*You can also find me on Google+ and FB Fan Page under venus andrecht.  


 

 

Blessings Of An Unusual Kind

Tuesday, April 6th, 2010

My mother, who is 87, has been talking lately about the tea kettles.

“The tea kettles are doing this, the tea kettles are doing that.”

It took me awhile to understand that she is talking about the recent American political group, The Tea Party! I had been thinking, ‘Why? Why are tea kettles out doing things?’

My mother and I are sitting on her deck, watching the cars go by on the road on the other side of her wide field. My mother smiles broadly and her white hair glistens in the sun. She’s wearing her little red, dog-hair decorated sweater over her blue, green and purple top with the coffee stains on the front, with hot pink sweat pants and high rider tennis shoes.

“You look good, Mom,” I say. “I’m glad you stopped that cancer medicine. You don’t look terminal to me.”

This is the medicine that cost $4400.00 (!) a month and caused Mom’s nose to swell to the size of a small potato.

I had come over to visit her after she had been on the medicine for a few days. I kept looking at her face. Something wasn’t right, but what was it? She didn’t look like my Mother. I had studied her, carefully.

“I think your lipstick is wrong,” I said. “It’s going up over your top lip somehow and it seems odd.” (more…)


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