Sometime, somewhere, somehow I was told that if women are frightened by something when they are pregnant it can/will affect the unborn baby that is thoroughly enjoying life (up to that time anyway) in their mama's bulging belly. This I believe to be the absolute truth.
I am quite sure that during the months I spent gestating in the mobile lazy-boy of my mother's womb she must have been scared by a multitude of things. I will mention just a few here.
1. Buttons.
OK, I'm not afraid of buttons. I can touch them, hold them, and have even been known to sew one back on when absolutely necessary. I just hate them. Actually they aren't so bad on their own, but when I have to put them into those little slits in my shirts that they call button holes, I want to vomit. It's too frapping HARD! Even when I was younger and had the nimblest of fingers, it took more time that I was willing to waste just to wear a shirt with a collar. That's why tee-shirts were invented. I still think collared shirts should come with velcro instead. Don't even get me started on those stupid buttons on shirt sleeves that you have to do with one bleeding hand.
2. Peanut Butter.
Why in the world would anyone want to ruin perfectly good and tasty peanuts by turning them into PASTE? Yes, I tried the school paste. It, like peanut butter, smelled so very good but tasted like stuff you would squeeze out of Shaquille's sweat socks. Yuck, no thank you. It's like eating modeling clay and yes, I tried that too.
3. Shoe Laces.
I think this harkens back to the button thing. If they weren't so dorky looking I would wear only velcro shoes.
When I was little and living in Atomic City, Idaho we were about thirty miles from town (Blackfoot). I immensely enjoyed going to town because it meant going to at least one store (or why else would you go) and I could usually whine my Mom into getting me some candy or a toy.
One fine day I got wind of the fact that my brother Stanley was going to be taking my Mom to town as she never learned to drive in her entire 80 years. I immediately began to take up the whiny pleading to be allowed to come along. "Sure!" said Mom. What? Had I wasted my best whining just to have her cave in so soon? "Sure you can come along Ronnie." "As soon as you tie your shoes."
Rats! She had me there. I could no more tie my shoes than I could kiss my own elbow (I tried that too). I was stuck. No town, nor candy, nor toy for young Ronnie. Or so they thought. I trudged off looking as forlorn as I possibly could then ran around to the back of the trailer where the station wagon was parked and hid in the back.
And waited, and waited, and waited. I waited until I could see that we were about to cross the Snake River bridge that has Blackfoot/Camelot waiting on the other side. I jumped up and hollered, "Guess how I tied my shoes?"
At this point Stanley drove into the ditch.
After we got back on the road, Mom finally got her blood pressure down to the point where she could speak once again and asked, "How did you tie your shoes?" "The wind tied them," says I.
They were indeed tied and to this day I have no recollection as to how they got that way.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Sesenta y Dos
The title is Spanish for sixty-two because I can't remember how to spell it in French. It also coincides with the number of years I've been walking this big blue marble. Well, I guess I was carried for a while then crawled a bit but you get the picture. We had a nice get-together last Sunday evening with the Tucson Howes and the Clarks along with Aunt Lorna and Mia. Per tradition, we had earlier feasted on the meal of my choice which happens to be German pancakes and bacon.
Babs had treated me to "Zinburger's" the previous afternoon before the Wildcats lost to Washington in the PAC-10 championship game. I even whined enough that she got me a blizzard after the game to soothe my sadness.
It's way past weird being sixty-bleeding-two years old. I really didn't see it coming. Senior discounts without lying about my age. It's a good thing I love my job so much or I could collect Social Security and live off of all the taxes we all have paid over over our lifetimes.
I feel much younger of course except when I get up from a chair or am startled when I see that fat bald guy looking at me from the mirror.
The good news is that I see that guy on a regular basis staring back all red-faced while I'm straining away on some of those Spanish Inquisition machined at the "Old Man's" gym on base.
My last few doctor visits have been quite outstanding too. Who'd a thunk that diet and exercise doo doo would actually pay off.
Even at the dentist. I had an exam last Tuesday. Look Ma, no cavities! They still yang at me about flossing but I just smile, nod, and tell them "No thanks." Why mess with success? These pearly-whites have lasted me lo, these 62 years and will probably last however long I need them without putting strings in my mouth. Perhaps my mother was frightened by some dental floss while carrying me.
More on that next week...
Babs had treated me to "Zinburger's" the previous afternoon before the Wildcats lost to Washington in the PAC-10 championship game. I even whined enough that she got me a blizzard after the game to soothe my sadness.
It's way past weird being sixty-bleeding-two years old. I really didn't see it coming. Senior discounts without lying about my age. It's a good thing I love my job so much or I could collect Social Security and live off of all the taxes we all have paid over over our lifetimes.
I feel much younger of course except when I get up from a chair or am startled when I see that fat bald guy looking at me from the mirror.
The good news is that I see that guy on a regular basis staring back all red-faced while I'm straining away on some of those Spanish Inquisition machined at the "Old Man's" gym on base.
My last few doctor visits have been quite outstanding too. Who'd a thunk that diet and exercise doo doo would actually pay off.
Even at the dentist. I had an exam last Tuesday. Look Ma, no cavities! They still yang at me about flossing but I just smile, nod, and tell them "No thanks." Why mess with success? These pearly-whites have lasted me lo, these 62 years and will probably last however long I need them without putting strings in my mouth. Perhaps my mother was frightened by some dental floss while carrying me.
More on that next week...
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Time
It has been some time (more about that later) since I have been able to bore my reader(s?). I have an excuse, lame though it may be. When I was ensconced in my hotel room in Florida listening to a BYU basketball game by tuning my trusty laptop to KSL, I happened to touch the power supply and came back with 3rd degree burns. This is not right, thought I. But even after checking the connection it was still hotter than the shady side of the sun. I tried it again the next day with the same results so I figured it was toast (hee hee).
A while after I got home I had Pete order a new one online. They said it would ship in 5 or 9 weeks so I knew that poor reader would get withdrawal symptoms but, low and behold, it was delivered to our front door the very next day! It was like they had a guy waiting with his engine running just to get it to me. Cool huh?
Some time ago I got an offer in the mail to try Time magazine for $12 for a year. 52 issues for $12 seemed like a great deal to me so we got it. I was sure they would really sock it to me when it came time to renew because I was rather hooked on reading each issue from cover to cover. It seems to be much more evenhanded and not as left-leaning as most of the media.
I got a notice last year that I would need to renew if I wanted to keep getting my news fix. Now it was going to cost me $20 for a year or, get this, $30 for FOUR years. No-brainer. I'd like to think I'm much smarter now too.
February 22 was George Washington's birthday. I don't know how old he would have been since he's quite dead but my sister Bonnie (also dead) would have been 63 years old. She died in 1985, the year after being named the Utah Poet of the the Year. I wondered what she would have been like at 63. How many more poems we would have and how many more beautiful paintings and how many more young people she would have influenced in art and life.
As a tribute to her and my Dad, here is what I consider her best poem:
THE PROVIDER
He gave us all it took to get along.
Including bowls of laughter with our soup
And closets full of teasing till we cried.
He spoke too loud because he couldn't hear
With the ear that was hurt when he picked a fight
With someone twice as big and just as drunk.
I never saw my mom pass his chair
and miss a friendly grab.
Her primness tabled, she would buss him back.
His hair was mostly salted, partly black.
The caterpillar of his eyebrow
Humped above his spangle-damp brown eyes.
And he could almost flap his ears
Like they were hinged next to his head..
And he would flap in church.
Our dignity would suffer, mom's face would furrow.
For work he wore a red-plaid lumber-jacking shirt.
And boots it was mine to lace up.
As it was his to brush and braid my hair.
And he would whisker-burn and sting my cheeks
Bur how I loved that hurt and loved that man.
His rowdy life was like a rowdy day
So busy that you get caught up with it
Forgetting that the night will ever come.
Night was like his undetected fragile heart.
And like the night that came, my father died.
Thank you Bonnie.
A while after I got home I had Pete order a new one online. They said it would ship in 5 or 9 weeks so I knew that poor reader would get withdrawal symptoms but, low and behold, it was delivered to our front door the very next day! It was like they had a guy waiting with his engine running just to get it to me. Cool huh?
Some time ago I got an offer in the mail to try Time magazine for $12 for a year. 52 issues for $12 seemed like a great deal to me so we got it. I was sure they would really sock it to me when it came time to renew because I was rather hooked on reading each issue from cover to cover. It seems to be much more evenhanded and not as left-leaning as most of the media.
I got a notice last year that I would need to renew if I wanted to keep getting my news fix. Now it was going to cost me $20 for a year or, get this, $30 for FOUR years. No-brainer. I'd like to think I'm much smarter now too.
February 22 was George Washington's birthday. I don't know how old he would have been since he's quite dead but my sister Bonnie (also dead) would have been 63 years old. She died in 1985, the year after being named the Utah Poet of the the Year. I wondered what she would have been like at 63. How many more poems we would have and how many more beautiful paintings and how many more young people she would have influenced in art and life.
As a tribute to her and my Dad, here is what I consider her best poem:
THE PROVIDER
He gave us all it took to get along.
Including bowls of laughter with our soup
And closets full of teasing till we cried.
He spoke too loud because he couldn't hear
With the ear that was hurt when he picked a fight
With someone twice as big and just as drunk.
I never saw my mom pass his chair
and miss a friendly grab.
Her primness tabled, she would buss him back.
His hair was mostly salted, partly black.
The caterpillar of his eyebrow
Humped above his spangle-damp brown eyes.
And he could almost flap his ears
Like they were hinged next to his head..
And he would flap in church.
Our dignity would suffer, mom's face would furrow.
For work he wore a red-plaid lumber-jacking shirt.
And boots it was mine to lace up.
As it was his to brush and braid my hair.
And he would whisker-burn and sting my cheeks
Bur how I loved that hurt and loved that man.
His rowdy life was like a rowdy day
So busy that you get caught up with it
Forgetting that the night will ever come.
Night was like his undetected fragile heart.
And like the night that came, my father died.
Thank you Bonnie.
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