Tuesday, July 28, 2015


"Are you making fun of Russian people?"
"Absolute.......ly not. I love Russians and vodka. The Russians invented Vodka didn't they? If they did, the Lord should watch over them in a special kind of way."

I have made progress on my dog walking/Russian watching mornings. Somethings going down. Check this post if you haven't been keeping up.
I saw the round woman one morning and she was dressed up again heading for the ishkabibble bus stop. As she drew near I engaged her in conversation,
"Good morning."
And in her thick Russian accent she replied,
"Good morning."
Stepping closer I asked,
"Have you been to the pool lately?"
This is when I realized that she was a different round woman. The original round woman has a stunt double. A doppelganger. Or she has been replaced for phase 2 of the world domination mission. Dear God.
I don't know if she realized I might be on to her but she adapted quickly to her new role,
"The pool, yes the pool."
By this time we were passing each other. I didn't look back but braced myself for certain annihilation, as I may have blown her cover. I lived to see another day though to continue my watch.
The next week, faux round woman was on her way to the ishkabibble bus stop again but this time she was on the phone. No eye contact was made. I heard part of her conversation,
"Yes. No. No as soon as possible."

Sunday, June 21, 2015

Happy Father's Day Superman

     Daddy don’t let go, please don’t let go. My arms wrapped around my fathers neck and I willed him to take me home. I could feel his grip on me tighten as he carried me down the hospital corridor. I rested my throbbing head on his strong shoulder, while my tears soaked through his flannel shirt.
     I fell on my head. It explains a lot, so people tell me. The hospital terrified me. But when you have a lump on your forehead the size of a tennis ball and you throw up, you’re going on a middle of the night trip to the Emergency Room. Having my father’s strong arms around me made it bearable.
     My father has always been a source of strength for me. My mother calls him stubborn. Because he would proceed when others would give up doesn’t always mean stubborn, it means perseverance and strength. My father does not quit.
     Going through my wallet I found a crumbled receipt. On it were cell phone numbers, my mom’s, my brothers and my sister-in-laws. I wrote on the first piece of paper I could find. Written down so we could all get in touch with each other at any time. These phone numbers were also for our kids if they needed us because someone was always at the hospital, my father had a heart attack.
     Because of a raging infection it was three months before we got him home. This is when I saw his strength in a different light. He spent two months in intensive care. That’s where he decided he could breath on his own and he took his breathing tube out himself. He beat the odds, amazed the doctors and kept the nurses on their toes. He left the hospital without his sternum and his left hand holding up his sweat pants.
     “They told me I can’t drive.”
     “Yeah dad, because of the air bags and not having a sternum.”
     “So I’m supposed to sit in the back seat, let your mother driving me around like she’s my chauffeur?”
     “She can’t drive in the snow.”
     “I can drive in the snow.”
     “I’m going to the Feds.”
     I opened my mouth to speak, but he was going to the Feds?
     For the next month my father was on the phone with the federal government explaining his medical situation. He filled out papers, his doctors filled out papers. While waiting for the Feds to okay an on/off switch for his airbag, he scoured the area for a mechanic. He received his okay, had the mechanic come to him and do the job in his driveway.
     From the time I was a child in my father’s strong arms to now when I see him struggle because his grandsons have to cut his grass, my father has taught me strength. Through the years I have gained confidence because I learned to per severe and be strong. I believe my father is Superman. I believe he is the source of my strength.

Tuesday, June 16, 2015

Let’s run in the rain

If I could have, if my home owners association would have let me, I would have bought a cow when the boys were young and let it graze in the back yard. I'd go and squirt out a gallon or so of milk when I needed it. We were always at the store buying milk. As I watch the pouring rain I can remember back in 19 something, before the turn of the century, we were sitting in our mini van in the grocery store parking lot because we had to buy milk. The boys had their noses pressed up against the window, it was raining, monsoon type raining.
While a February rain is a damp, dreary unwelcome rain, summer rain can be embraced. It splashes down in our neighborhood leaving behind a rainbow of green grass, ripe red tomatoes, purple and pink petunias and that just rained fresh cleansing smell is in the air.
We sat in the car, like everyone else in the parking lot. We watched from our windows as people gathered under the stores overhang, all of us waiting it out. The raindrops were as big as grapes, they slammed down onto the hot pavement with a hiss creating a misty fog. I looked back at my boys, perhaps at that moment I saw an opportunity to make a memory or maybe I realized that they wouldn't be my little boys forever. Whatever it was, it was impulsive.
"Let's run in the rain."
All three heads whipped around towards me, with their mouths hanging open. By this time in their lives, they knew how I felt about getting my hair wet.
"Really mom?"
"Yes, let's run in the rain."
They grinned from ear to ear and bounce up and down in their seats.
"All of you go to the sliding door, I'll run around the car while I'm running you guys open the door, everybody gets out, we'll all hold hands and run for the doors. We still have to watch for cars. Sound like a plan?"
"Yeah." Said in unison. And still with those big grins on their faces.
According to plan the four of us ran in the rain, holding hands, stopping to look both ways for cars, giggling and laughing. Everyone that watched us laughed. Once in the store we dripped down every aisle we went. Our shoes sloshed and squeaked, we were soaked to our skin and happy as ever because we shared an unforgettable moment in time. We were rebels. Those are the times I look back on, those are the times I miss the most. I miss running in the rain.

Saturday, June 13, 2015

Fire Sale!

Or just FIRE! My WalMart was on fire. I had just started shopping when I saw smoke. I thought to myself,
"WalMart you never disappoint. You big beautiful building of 7 kinds of crazy."
I walked towards the smoke because I'm nosy and a blogger. I found myself in the Men's section with three blue vested, name tag wearing, WalMart employees wielding fire extinguishers. They had a pair of smouldering men's shorts surrounded.
I observed the situation and asked,
"Are we going to be evacuated?"
"Oh no." Said one of WalMart's finest. And she waved her hand back and forth to clear the smoke,
"The fire's out."
Thank God, with my inside voice.
I've been looking for toe rings every week for about a month, finally find them and I wasn't going to leave them in my shopping cart for a pair of burning shorts. The middle of June and they finally set up the toe ring display. I've been wearing flip flops without toe rings for a month. Any body that knows me, knows that's not me.
All this time I've spent on planet Earth I have never seen a fire extinguisher used except on TV. It's isn't the same in real life. I think they put shaving cream in the TV prop fire extinguishers. The real life ones sprayed out a yellowie mist that added to the smoke. Once I started to feel woozie I decided to leave, I had enough material and a good story.
So if anyone is looking for a pair or two of men's shorts, they might be on sale soon. Just a little charbroiled with a hint of a bonfire smell.

Thursday, June 11, 2015

Taking back the reins as neighborhood Russian watcher

I've been keeping my eye on the Russians since 2010. It's hard to believe, time does fly. I let my guard down last year, I got lazy. I feel terrible because I don't think anyone else stepped up while I struggled with my raging hormones.
But the dog and I are back on our almost daily morning walks. If the Russians are planning world domination it isn't going down in my 'Ville'. And a nice little write up in the history books on how I thwarted Boris and Natasha's evil plans would look great on my resume.
Let me fill you all in on what I have discovered since taking back the reins as neighborhood Russian watcher. A bus with Russian words on it! What the hell? And the most visible Russian, the round woman that swims, got on it. And she got on the ishkabibble bus at the end of the street, not in front of her house. And her house had mounds of garbage at the end of driveway because it was garbage day. A highly suspicious chain of events.
I don't know what garbage day is like in Russia but we Americans put our garbage in garbage cans and recycle bins. We rinse our plastic bottles and glass jars, stack our newspapers and cardboard and the rest of the garbage goes in the trash cans. It really is exhausting. The Russians house had all their garbage thrown to the end of the driveway, haphazardly. 5 years I've been watching them and I ain't never seen nothin like it. They are drawing attention to themselves, making my job so much easier.
The round woman that swims, who got on the ishkabibble bus, was dressed up. Make up, jewelry and an outfit that matched. Usually, when she isn't at the pool, she walks around in a flowery dress and a sweater that doesn't pick up any color in the flowery dress, ever. I deduced she was on her way to meet Fearless Leader. Or a doctors appointment because under the Russian words it said Medical Transport. I hope she's okay.

Monday, April 27, 2015

Driving with Mother

Spring has sprung in Northeast Ohio. The birds are singing, the flowers are in bloom and my mother is like a wide eyed child at Christmas. For some reason Forsythia in bloom turns her on. Since I was a child she has been pointing out Forsythia bushes that have burst open their yellowness. Each Spring she points them out in strangers yards as we drive by on our way to some two hour away mall because Macy's is having a sale in the cosmetic department. I leave her in that department and go look at shoes. If I stay with her in there she will spray me with perfume. But that's another story for another day.
I can be in mid sentence talking about her grandchildren and she will interrupt me,
"Oh look at that Forsythia, it's beautiful. Isn't it?"
"Yep beautiful. And then the principle called......."
"Look there's another one, it's gorgeous."
I always accommodate and look. But Forsythia just doesn't do it for me. I have one in my yard but she never seems to notice or maybe she points it out to my dad when they drive by.

I am almost certain that I could be driving my mother to Macy's during Spring and the end of times decides to show up. We will be driving down the highway and behind us the Earth is crumbling and falling into the deep dark abyss that is hell. While I am trying to 'get right with God' I'm looking at my rear-view mirror and see the four horsemen of the apocalypse breathing down my neck and my dear mother will say,
"Slow down you're missing the Forsythia."

Don't tell my mom about this post, pretty sure she'd be mad at me.

Thursday, March 19, 2015

Read This, It's Short

Is this some kind of record setting allergy season? Some kind of banner year, an urban legend? A year where the official pollen count is off the charts? Has an allergen been released in the air by insurgents to make the US population sneeze until we are rendered idiots?
I have been sneezing continually for about, hell I don't even remember. I'm already an idiot. If I'm not sneezing I am so congested that not even a wisp of air can sneak past my stubborn snot. I attempt to suck air into my nostrils and my nose squeaks. Squeaks.
Are we not suppose to be still reaping the benefits of the 'first frost'? Or was my mother right when she told me I need to dust more often then just when I'm having company?

Saturday, February 14, 2015

The Vise Grip aka Mammogram

I shall explain my post before you read any further. Women's magazines are going to be banging my door down and begging me to write for them when I'm done here. In other words Erv probably shouldn't read this.
I can't think of a better way to start blogging again than with my annual gynecological event. It isn't an appointment, it's a torturous event that women go though annually for their health and well being.
We start, and when I say we, it's exactly what you think, I talk to myself. I am my own smart and witty best friend. Several of the voices in my head have been armed, for months, with an arsenal of questions for my gynecological doctor. We will focus mainly on menopause and the hellish nightmare that it has become. I am pro medication because becoming an alcoholic seems like too much drama for me.
If I am heavily medicated then signs like the one I saw on the medical facilities front door wouldn't have the psychological effect that had me pause before entering. Wondering if everyone that had touched the door handle before me took the time to read,
"If you have been to the continent of Africa in the past 21 days and are experiencing flu like symptoms......blah, blah, blah and yada, yada, yada."
The under-medicated me stopped to weigh my options. Menopause or ebola? I guess I chose ebola because I entered. I wanted to go back home and build a blanket fort in my living room. Drink hot chocolate from a Mickey Mouse cup, stare at the swirling mini marshmallows without a care in the world and wait for my hormones to get a grip. But I was so desperate to hang on to anything that resembled my youth, I risk my life to enter a building that may have been harboring a deadly disease.
In the first waiting room I waited. I wasn't in a big hurry to wear a paper gown but I did want to get "it" over with. Once in the exam room several of my voices decided to remain silent. I don't know if they did rock, paper, scissors or what but it was important that we looked sane enough for strong medication and not insane that we would get strong medication and a straight jacket. Whatever we said worked because we got out of there with a prescription and a third stop to get blood work done.
With one stop behind me until next year we went to the pancake factory. This is where your breasts become Play-Doh and they are manipulated in such a way that your first concern is not whether they will eventually retain their original shape but instead it is will they be ripped off your body in horror movie fashion. They are stuck in a machine that squeezes down on them so tightly that you feel the skin of your neck growing taunt. A grip so tight that the jaws of life could not free you should the power go off in a freak thunderstorm during the middle of winter. And what do they tell you when you call to make an appointment for this ominous day?
"Don't wear deodorant."
What? Are they afraid we will slip out of the vise grip? The girls ain't going no where once they are smashed in that mammogram machine.
In the next waiting room I sat and contemplated life in general. No seriously, I watch some moron in the parking lot try to invent his own parking space, gave up and parked next to me. I secretly hoped he hadn't left the country in the last 21 days. My name was called yet again and this time they wanted blood.
After being violated on so many different levels I voluntarily stuck my arm out for a needle to be jabbed into it. I didn't feel it because my boobs still hurt. At that very moment you probably could have hit me over the head with a frying pan and I still would have complained about my boobs.

Hopefully I made you laugh today because that was my intention. But do not neglect your boobies. Get regular checkups because you have to. Then you can join the boob smashing conversations.