Frosty the Snowman or Rudolph?

Writing is very important at the school where I teach. In fact, even though I am a math teacher, I am still expected to ask my students to write at least once a week. I usually do this on Fridays during their “bell work” -- something the students work on during the first five minutes of class. At times I ask serious questions, and at other times I have some fun. Of course, most of my students like my second type of questions the best. I was inspired by a Creative Writing teacher I had in high school who would ask questions like, “What would you rather be and why: an apple or an orange?” I love those questions! This past week (the week before Christmas break), I had the students answer this: What would you rather be and why -- Frosty the Snowman or Rudolph? I just finished reading over 100 student responses, and some of them made me laugh out loud. I have some very creative students! Rudolph won hands down, and most of the answers rotated around being able to fly, meeting Santa, and having a red nose. Now, why anyone would be excited about having a red nose, I have no idea. (Of course, I have a cold right now and really hope my nose does not get red.) Below are some of my favorite responses that I got from my students (some clever…some bizarre). I hope they make you smile!

I want to be Rudolph because then I can fly. Also as Rudolph, I don’t have to die every Spring. Also I would not have to worry about squirrels because in my neighborhood squirrels eat the snowman’s nose.

I would rather be Frosty the Snowman because I would like to run all around the square having fun with friends. I would want stick arms once and I want to have a hat on my head. Then when the sun goes down SPLAT I want to get hit by a car but not die.

I would rather be Rudolph. I won’t melt in the summer, and I’d have a shiny nose. I would never die, and I’d be with SANTA. If I’d be Rudolph I could read at night! My name will fit on more things than Frosty the Snowman.

I would rather be Rudolph because the other day, on the news, Frosty got hit by a car. I want to live past Christmas if you know what I mean.

I’d rather be Rudolph. I chose this because I could command one of my evil elf minions to write a fake letter to Santa telling him all I want for Christmas. Then when we went to drop off the presents I would shut off my light. Santa would crash and I would pick up my presents. Then I would live safely under the name of Albert L. Georgenson in case of a lawsuit. I would have a fake mustache and beard.

I would be Frosty so I could melt myself down then scare the crud out of playing 2-year olds. I would do that because 2 year olds have it too good. They’re always playing and screaming. So that’s why I’d be Frosty.

I would rather be Rudolph. I would melt and dogs would pee on me if I was Frosty.

I would rather be Rudolph. I would rather be Rudolph because I could fly. Also, because I could have a built-in flashlight. Plus, since I would be magic I could create snowmen that did everything I told them to do and hurt people I don’t like. They would be my minions.

If I could choose to be Frosty or Rudolph, I would rather be Frosty because when somebody throws a snowball at me, It wouldn’t bug me as much. And I would be a talking and hopping snowman. 

I would rather be Frosty because Rudolph has to work. I admit I’ve worked a lot at my Mom’s, but I’m tired. I don’t want to do work anymore.

I would rather be Rudolph than Frosty because I could fly. I’d have a “shiny nose” that lights up. I’d be able to see in the dark and I’d go down in history. Plus a talking snowman is creepy.

Giggles, Menopause, and Tissue

Do you ever get into one of those moods where everything makes you giggle. And I’m not talking about the soft, polite heehee giggles. I’m talking about the uncontrollable snorts and the “if I had milk in my mouth it would come out my nose” type of giggles! By the way, I am the Queen of Snort! I can’t help it. Let me tell you - it can be totally embarrassing if done around someone I wanted to impress! If something tickles me just the right way, the loudest snore-like noise flies out of my nose in a quick, short burst! I try to hold it in, but it doesn't work!  Sometimes that makes it worse.  At some point in my laughter, I just lose control over the Snort!  Some people think it endearing; some believe it disgusting; I just know it is me…plain and simple Me on a giggle high. What can I say? Ha! (or Snort!)

The problem with these giggle moods that I get into is that they just don’t seem as funny later as they did when I was holding my tummy. Later, I just laugh at how much I laughed at something that maybe wasn’t so funny after all. Can anyone relate? (Can anyone follow that last statement? Ha) I remember one of those times during my freshman year at college. My roommate and I realized that we were “Amy Lou and Jenny Sue” -- we thought it was fun that our names rhymed. I really do believe this was the first week of school. We had a telephone and started coming up with ways to answer it. This is when the belly laughs started happening. “Amy Lou and Jenny Sue, we would like to talk to you.” OR “Amy Lou and Jenny Sue, we want to know who are you?” And the most bizarre one: “Amy Lou and Jenny Sue. Miss Piggy lives here too!” (My roommate liked Miss Piggy.) I know it is silly, and it is probably one of those “I guess you should have been there” moments, but 26 years later and I still remember how bad my stomach hurt as I curled on the floor (because I couldn’t stand anymore) laughing at all of our rhyming, phone-answering ideas. The best was when the phone actually rang and we used one of our new lines. Unfortunately for the person on the other end of the phone, we couldn’t talk after that because we were riddled with laughter again!

Today I had a couple giggle moments. These weren’t the “rolling on the floor” instances, but they just seemed silly to me (so I’m sharing them). This evening as I was driving through downtown Fort Wayne, I drove by the grand Embassy. On the marquee they were advertising a show that was coming to the Embassy in February -- Menopause the Musical. Really?? (This is when I started to giggle.) Why would anyone even think to write a musical on menopause much less actually write it? A play maybe…but a musical? Realize that I am still driving as I am trying to come up with what songs might have been written. Let‘s see, here‘s hot flashes and mood swings: “Oh, I’m hot…no, I’m cold…no, I’m hot!” and “I love you so much, and now I’m going to bite your head off !” Of course, now I’m trying to find tunes for these new songs. Ha! The Hot-Cold song could be sung to “Frere Jacques” -- hmmm, maybe I should sing some bars for you. (Snort!) Here‘s what I put as my facebook status tonight: “I passed the Embassy today and they were advertising a show that will take place in a couple months: Menopause the Musical. REALLY?? All the other musical ideas are taken?” I got a few fun replies. Apparently some people have seen this musical and really liked it…and there IS a song about Hot Flashes! I already have a couple friends who want to go see it with me in February. This could be a fun Girl’s Night Out where more giggles might erupt! Might.

Okay, I have to admit that the other moment of giggles today happened in the girl’s bathroom at school. (I know…very odd spot.) I usually use the “adult” restroom located in the main office, but sometimes when all of the students are in class and I have a break, I’ll run into the restroom that is across from my classroom. (“Run” being the key word. Grin) Today I was sitting there…you know…doing what needs to be done, and my shoulders dropped as I looked over at the toilet tissue. What is it with School Toilet paper? You pull and out comes one little square. Seriously? Pull pull pull pull pull….. How many squares will do the job? As I hold a wad in my hand, I start to make my plan. Do I make it a tight ball or try to fan them out to look like a line of toilet paper? One or two sheets could get lost back there! Gosh, I realized that maybe I should have brought my tape into the bathroom!! “Hey Jen, are you still in there? What am I hearing? Is that tape?” Ha! “Oh, I’m just making my own toilet paper by taping all these squares together. I should be out in about 30 minutes! Hmmm, I wonder if this is long enough…” See why I started to giggle?? All of these thoughts were going through my head, and I was still sitting there. Tissue should stay in gift bags, NOT the bathroom!!

Well, these may not have made you giggle like they did me, but I know you have had those belly-holding moments in the past. I hope my little blog here makes you remember one of your own moments. Everyone should laugh at least once a day!  It's good for the soul!

Sometimes Clumsiness Can Be a Good Thing

I had one of those moments today when everything seemed to fall apart. I was on my own, and after church I went through the Wendy’s drive-thru and got lunch – spicy chipotle boneless wings Yum! I brought them home and decided to eat at my computer desk (multi-tasking: eating and facebooking at the same time). As I put my hand into the bag to pull out my meal, I found that the top of the container had come off. These wings are spicy because they are covered and surrounded by a lot of chipotle sauce – a red sauce that was now starting to cover everything else in the bag (my fries, my napkins, my straw). Right beside my printer, I set the open container on the cleanest napkin I could find in the bag. Next, I pulled everything else out of the bag – only dripping sauce a few times on my desk. As soon as I thought everything was taken care of, the pile of miscellaneous papers that I had stacked on my printer decided to fall – right into my bowl of spicy chipotle boneless wings!! Arghhh. I grabbed the next cleanest napkin and started wiping off all of my papers. Now I was done, right? I grabbed one of my sweetner packets to mix in my tea. I shook it before opening it and wouldn’t you know it – apparently it also had some sauce on it. This time I got splattered! Really? Lunch was supposed to be so much simpler than that!

I had to laugh about that just like I laughed at myself last night when I was checking out at Meijer. I had purchased some Christmas lights and went through one of the self checkout lanes. Everything scanned in just fine, and I used my card to pay for my purchase. After I signed my name on the little electronic line, I tried to hang the pen back on the display. It fell out. I tried again. It fell out again. One more try – and yes, it fell out once again. (Big sigh.) I finally flipped it over and stuck it in. YES! It worked. NO! The string attached to the pen had somehow looped through the handle of my purse, and I was now connected to the machine. Are you kidding me? I laughed and tried one more time to get it all put together right. Rolling my eyes at myself, I wondered who was behind what video camera laughing themselves off a chair!

Not every clumsy moment is bad. As I read through the notes that my basketball teammates wrote in my high school memory book, a common theme runs through them – “Thanks for letting us laugh at (with) you.” I had a knack of alleviating the most tense moments without even trying. I do remember one of those times. We were at the Coliseum practicing for an upcoming tournament game. The coach was having us go through a drill where we were being double-teamed (more than one person was trying to get our ball when we were holding it). Our goal was to pass the ball to another teammate without losing it to the two defenders. We were not doing a great job, and Coach was getting mad (which meant some yelling). All of a sudden I got the ball where the guards usually stand, and I panicked! (I played near the basket and rarely ever dribbled the ball.) I got rid of the ball alright! In my alarm at being double-teamed, I threw the ball straight up and HIGH – it hit the marquee hanging from the ceiling of the coliseum (really high). If you have ever been in the Fort Wayne Memorial Coliseum, you should be able to picture what I am talking about. Coach just started laughing, and I think that ended our drill. It definitely ended the tension that had been mounting!

I can’t fake anything. That makes my clumsiness come in handy at times. More than once in my life, I have been on a date and accidently slipped or fallen. (Truly, those were definitely accidents.) That’s when my date would tuck my hand in the crook of his arm or even put his arm around my waist. Very nice. If I had tried to trip “on purpose” it would have come out so fake! I think I just have an ornery angel who hip chucks me to the ground sometimes to encourage the romance of the moment! Ha!

I got a call yesterday that made my day (maybe my month). What led up to the call happened a couple years ago when I had quite a fall. My children and I were in Toronto, Canada, with some friends of ours. We had been in a beautiful place called High Park where I was taking a lot of pictures with my Canon Powershot camera (a very nice and somewhat expensive camera). You have to understand – photography is one of my favorite hobbies and I love my camera! As I took a sidewalk that slightly ramped down to the street, my foot hit a patch of mud and I went flying. Bodily, my knee got the worst of it. As for my clothes – let’s just say we went through lots of baby wipes to get the mud off my pants. What really hurt was the other effect of my falling. When I slipped, my right arm flew up hard (probably as a balancing instinct), and everything in my hand went flying. I had a bag and it landed with a small thud (nothing major)…but what flew higher (because it weighed more) and caused us all to silently watch in horror as it bounced down the street not once but THREE times was my camera! Argh!!! My son quickly retrieved it, turned it on, and then slowly shook his head sadly at me. I didn’t move. I didn’t want to think about it. Of course, I had to move because I was sitting in a mud pile in the street. I didn’t touch the camera until after I and my pants were as clean as they could be. Then I said a little prayer and turned on the camera. It worked! It did have some problems – like it wouldn’t zoom in and the lens would not go in when I turn off the camera. It also would once in awhile turn off as I was trying to take a picture, and  it would tell me I had a lens error. Other than that, though, it was working fine and still taking great pictures. That was good because the next two days were going to be spent at Niagara Falls. When we got back home, I took my camera to the Geek Squad at Best Buy. I had accidental insurance (lovingly called accidental death insurance) on my camera thanks to my father who knew how I sometimes don’t land on my two feet. After a few weeks, I got my camera back. It worked, but I never thought it was as good as it was before it went bouncing down a parking lot. Fast forward to a month ago. We were with our same friends in a beautiful place in Kentucky (the Red River Gorge). My camera starting having lens error problems again. I was able to take pictures, but it definitely was not working the way it should. A week before Thanksgiving, I took it back into Best Buy, and I hoped that I would see my camera sometime before Christmas. That leads me to yesterday’s phone call. A geek from the squad at Best Buy left a message on my phone – I had been approved for a replacement camera. Replacement?? Very nice! I went in and was given the very latest Canon Powershot. For those of you camera enthusiasts – this camera has 35x optical zoom! My goodness, you can see the nosehairs on a fly with this thing! Without my muddy fall a couple years ago, I would not have this great Christmas present right now. Yep, sometimes clumsiness can be a good thing!

Snow and Ice

“It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas, every where you go. La de da de da da de da la la la le la le la…” Yep, that was me singing! Earlier this week we had our first real snowfall. My classroom curtains were closed, but during the passing periods students and teachers alike saw the snow through the windows near the doors. It was beautiful! I did what came naturally – I started to sing. My students from the past can attest to the fact that sometimes I just break into song. I’m quirky that way! Ha. The problem with this song, though, was that I only knew the first few words. After that, I really did have to go to the la’s and da’s and de’s….which completely bewildered my poor sixth graders who had finally seen me for the first time in 11 weeks since my knee surgery. (“Uhhh, maybe the doctors tweaked something in our teacher’s brain, too.”)

I do love snow as long as my car isn’t spinning and I’m not driving behind someone who treats snow as if it will jump up and bite them. The best place to watch the snow is cuddled up in a warm blanket on the sofa! My first winter in sunny southern California was quite a change from frosty Indiana. I remember one afternoon it actually snowed for a couple minutes. I literally cried! I missed snow that much. (I know….I said it before – I’m quirky!) The question is why do I like snow so much? Maybe it's because I had some great times as a kid in the snow. I remember back then. It took us forever to get bundled up for a romp in the snow. Long underwear, tights, tube socks, snow pants, a couple pairs of mittens, coat, hat, scarf, and boots. I must have gained 20 pounds just in that stuff alone! I walked like the Stay Puft Marshmallow man! Heaven forbid if I waited too long to go to the bathroom! It took grand maneuvers just to remove all those items – especially when they were caked in snow.

My favorite snow was the Blizzard of 1978. The snow drifts reached the sky! Ok, maybe not, but they were definitely much taller than me. We didn’t have snow blowers back then – all of the snow had to be shoveled by the entire family to the side of the driveway. That created some huge snow piles. We got creative and made snow caves and tunnels in those piles. I have NO idea how I managed to hang out in the snow caves with my claustrophobia. I do remember I also tried an experiment that year. (You are going to wonder how I got A’s and B’s in school when I tell you this one!) A lot of the sidewalks were mostly cleared off and dry for a few feet away from the driveways. They would abruptly end in huge snow bank that no one wanted to shovel through. I decided to get my bike out, ride as fast as I could, and speed into one of those snow banks without braking! I learned a nice little science lesson that day (and yes, one that I brought up with my students the year I taught science). While the bike stopped suddenly, my body did not! You know when guys get hit down below and they suddenly curl up in a ball? Well, it can happen to girls too! I flew right into the handlebar column and curled up like a boy! Ha!

I think snow also reminds me of romance. I don't know why.  Maybe it has something to do with all of the old Christmas movies I watched as a child (ok, and as an adult). A couple times in my teens, I went walking by myself during almost white-out conditions. (I always knew where I was – it wasn’t a blizzard…yet.) It was so quiet and peaceful surrounded by all of that snow. I’m sure that sounds weird to most people, but it was nice. I wouldn’t mind doing that again sometime.

I like snow, but ice isn’t really my friend! I have had so many tumbles or almost tumbles on ice that it is amazing someone isn’t following me with a video camera everywhere I go just to see if they could win some money on America’s Funniest Videos! The best is when I almost fall – my arms and legs go in every direction as I try my hardest not to land on my back end! Ice is only my friend when I can photograph it. A couple years ago, we had a terrible ice storm that left my family without electricity for several days right around Christmas. My home was terribly cold, and I ended up losing a nice water heater because of a frozen pipe. On the flip side, I did get some very nice photos once the storm had passed.

Ice on lakes makes me panic. I remember as a youth, my father drove our car onto a lake near his boyhood home in Wisconsin. I hated that. Even though there were several other cars on the lake, I just knew OUR CAR was going to be the one to hit a thin spot and break through the ice. I was going to DIE that night! When Dad was ready to get off the ice, I was probably the most relieved in the car. That incident didn’t stop me later from getting onto the frozen lake where I went to college. A bit after dinner, I was walking with my boyfriend around the ice-covered lake. We would periodically throw chunks of frozen snow and ice at the lake and watch them punch through the thin layer of ice. On the far side of the lake, the water level was lower and the ice was thicker. In fact, it was thick enough that we could get on and “skate” around a bit. In one place, I saw that a small reed was poking through a tiny hole in the ice. As I skated by, a little water bounced out of the hole. “That was neat,” I thought. “What if I jump? Will the water shoot out higher?” Crazy crazy me! I jumped, and I didn’t land until I was standing on the bottom of that lake! Next thing I knew, I had a Jenny-sized hole of ice around my waist, my bottom half was in ice-cold water, and I was staring at the shaking knees of my boyfriend as he was laughing out loud! I couldn’t get out of the hole on my own.  Eventually my boyfriend pulled me out of my hole (after he stopped holding his side from laughing so hard...ok, I'm not sure if he did that or not, but I do remember he didn't get me out as fast as I wanted out).  The long walk back to my dorm was painful as my pants started to freeze. Just in case you’re concerned – I also laughed out loud…all the way back to my dorm! I guess it was invigorating to face death even when death really wasn’t one of the options with water that was only waist deep!

We now have our first snow advisory for the season. I have a couple hours of driving tomorrow, so I hope God holds off the snow until I get back home (or provides the many angels around my car that he usually needs to send my way). Once I get back home and am curled up warmly on the sofa, I hope it snows several inches. As for ice – well, I did just get a new camera AND there are no lakes nearby…grin! Sure, bring it on!

What Color is Your Turkey?

One of the great events to prove that you have finally made it to adulthood is to host a Thanksgiving meal at your home. Not long after I got married, I had such a chance. My husband’s sister was going to spend Thanksgiving with us. Normally, I am not a fan of cooking. I have problems with meals that take longer to make than to eat. Something just seems wrong there. Now, don’t make the mistake that some people do. Don’t equate my dislike of cooking with an inability to cook. I can cook…well, for the most part. I admit that I do have a lot to learn. Here is an example -- something that I am still teased about. Five years ago I worked at a small school. We decided that the teachers and students were going to cook a big Thanksgiving meal for our families. When it came down to what each class was going to do, I breathed a huge sigh a relief when my group was the beverages group. Woohoo! A few liters of soda and apple cider and we were good to go. That’s when the first grade teacher spoke up -- they were tasked with mashed potatoes. Did we really want these little children playing with knives? Darn, suddenly they got the beverages and my group got the mashed potatoes. Help! I had no idea how to make them. I suggested (strongly) that instant potatoes were just as good. I was denied! Oh, okay…how do I make mashed potatoes? One of the other teachers started telling me how in the middle of the school hallway. (Wait, I need to write this down!!) Basically she told me that we had to skin the potatoes, cut them up, and beat them with a mixer. Now in her mind she boiled them until them were soft before using the mixer. But she didn’t tell me that! My eyes got wide as I tried to imagine how to beat these raw chunks of potato with a mixer. I could completely see in my imagination pieces of hard potato flying across the room in all different directions. My teacher friend questioned the horror she saw in my eyes. “How do you keep the pieces of potato in the bowl as you mix them? Won’t they go flying?” I asked. At first she was confused. Suddenly she saw the extent of my lack of knowledge. “Oh no,” she laughed. At this point she gave me the FULL set of directions on how to make mashed potatoes. (I still think going Instant would have been just as good. Grin)

The first time I was in charge of the entire Thanksgiving meal (with my new husband and his sister), I was actually excited to cook. I planned out everything. I had a piece of paper with a timeline reminding me exactly when I was going to put what in the oven. I even asked the gals at work all of their ideas on how to make the best turkey possible. I don’t know what brand of turkey we had, but the one thing I remember is that it came with directions. That was such a wonderful thing. This also meant that I remembered to remove the bag of giblets -- something that my friends at work had mentioned more than once. In the last hour of cooking the turkey, I remembered one of the suggestions my friends made -- basting the turkey with honey. I quickly got out the honey and used it for the last 30-45 minutes. Oh, that turkey tasted good! In fact, the whole meal was great. By the way, I didn’t plan mashed potatoes for this Thanksgiving (probably because I had no idea how to make them….and I wasn’t a complete fan). They got made, though. My husband’s sister felt the meal would not be complete without them, so I let her take on that task.

Fast forward to the next Thanksgiving. This time my in-laws were coming! I had such a great success the year before that I thought I was completely prepared for this. I relaxed a bit and didn’t have a timeline printed out. The first clue that this was not going to be as easy as I thought was when I pulled the defrosted turkey out of the refrigerator and found that it lacked something very important to me. It had NO directions!! I totally laid into my husband on this one; he was the one who had purchased the turkey. How could he be so thoughtless as to buy a turkey with no directions when I had to make the perfect meal for his parents? Ha. Poor man. This was almost twenty years ago -- there was no internet to go running to when directions were missing. To be honest, I am not sure what I did. Maybe I referred to one of those food books that some people lovingly refer to as “cookbooks” or maybe I just tried to remember what I had done the year before. I do remember one thing I did. Since basting the turkey the year before with honey for 30-45 minutes made the turkey so tasty, I decided to baste this turkey with honey for the full four hours. Did some of you have eyes that just popped out? If so, you must have more cooking experience than me. Two things (other than a bit of cooking inexperience) were against me. First, our apartment kitchen was basically a hallway. It was very tiny. Second, the light in our oven didn’t work. Therefore when I would open the oven to baste the turkey every 30 minutes or so, I couldn’t see a problem building. Finally it was time for dinner. The table was filled with tons of Thanksgiving goodies, and all that was left was to bring the turkey from the oven to the table to be carved. My in-laws were seated at the table as my husband and I were in the kitchen removing the turkey from the oven. This is when I almost cried. As we removed the turkey, I noticed for the first time that it was completely and totally BLACK! It looked more like a burnt, melted appliance from a house fire than something we were all thankful we got to eat. My heart fell. I was less than excited to show my in-laws my failure in cooking. I had to though -- we brought the charred black turkey to the table and then held our breathe as we started to carve it. God is good. Even though the turkey looked terrible, the meat inside was incredible. The burnt exterior had held in the juices which made the meat so tender. By far, that was the best turkey meat I have ever cooked. Still -- it would be a “Jen” thing to have to serve a black turkey to her in-laws!

I have found that when I do something “Jen-like”, people like to tell me their horror stories. My favorite turkey story was one of those that was told to me after I served my charred turkey. I usually don’t share other people’s stories in my blog, but this is too fun not to share. The particular woman telling me the story had used the bag method to cook her turkey. I have never done this, but if I understand correctly, the turkey stays in a special bag the entire time it is cooked. My friend realized that due to other activities she had planned, she was not going to be home in time to put the turkey in the oven for its four hours. Therefore, she put it in the oven early. She decided to double the time (make it 8 hours) and split the heat in half. It sounded like a good idea to her, and by the end of the eight hours, the turkey smelled great. She put the bagged turkey on the Thanksgiving table and proceeded to open the bag. To her horror, 8 hours at a low heat made the meat so tender that it ALL had fallen off the bones. When she opened the bag, all that anyone at the table could see was the turkey skeleton! All of the meat was at the bottom of the bag. To make things worse, she had forgotten the giblets. The giblets bag did not fall to the bottom -- it was sticking proudly between a couple bones in the turkey skeleton! What a riot!

Painted Lines and A Cactus or Two

"Jenny, ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! That’s what you made me do all year. I’m going to miss you. I have never known anyone to trip over a line painted on the floor!"

The above note was written in my Senior Memory Book by a basketball teammate. I had a reputation for tripping over the painted lines on the basketball court. We never knew when it would happen, but I am pretty sure it happened more when I was running backwards than forward. I’d fall and then pop right back up. On the basketball court, nothing less than a sprained ankle was going to keep me down for long. Later, off the basketball court (and off the painted lines), I would still find myself tripping over invisible items. I would laugh (it is better to laugh with the people who just witnessed the fall than to look sad and be laughed at) and then I would announce that I just had my own personal earthquake. A few months ago I “liked” a saying on face book -- “No, I didn’t trip. The floor just looked like it needed a hug!” Funny thing is that I am not alone in liking this saying! Apparently there are a bunch of us lurching towards floors all over the world. (I can just imagine what we might look like to God -- I wonder if our many personal earthquakes make a wave around the world like people sometimes do at a football game. Ha!) I have to say - add crutches to the mix, and I can be fun to watch! When I did have crutches, I learned quickly that I should not wait until the last possible moment to “run” to the bathroom. Flying headlong into the wall because my body went a different speed than my crutches does NOTHING to help hold the bladder! I’m just saying….

The other day I was thinking about the phrase “That’s one small step for man; one giant leap for mankind.” For me it could be redone a little: “That’s one small step for man; one big trip for Jen!” I have a “tripping“ story for you. This one, though, might make you squirm just a bit. Years and years ago, I lived in sunny California. My husband and I would take off with friends to the desert to do some off-roading, hiking, and camping. I had a blast with this group! One particular afternoon, we found an abandoned railroad and decided to hike along it for awhile. After about a mile, we came to a tunnel. The tunnel was blocked off on our end, but we could see that it was open on the other side. We decided to climb the hill and enter the tunnel from the far side. Once on top of the hill, we saw that we were pretty high up. We had rented a video camera, and at this point I had a hold of it. I started videotaping the landscape -- including the tops of some palm trees that were very far down. (I had to use the full extent of the zoom to capture them.) As I was finishing, the guys were already down and inside the tunnel (which was still high compared to the rest of the scenery down the hill). I turned off the video camera (too bad I did that) and started my descent. I didn’t get more than 3 steps down the hill when I tripped and started to slide the wrong direction -- towards those palm trees WAY DOWN below.  I grasped for anything that would stop me from what in all honesty looked like my death. What I grabbed worked. I stopped. Oh, that is not the end of the story. What saved me was a cholla cactus! These nasty babies have needles shaped like fish hooks. The needles go in easily, but their barbed tips keep them from coming out without taking some skin with them. The needles are also filled with a poison. The poison was not going to kill me, but my hands started swelling and turning black and blue almost immediately…not to mention that there was lots of blood also in the mix!

At this point, the men were already in the tunnel. I called out, “Uh, can anyone help me?” I must have sounded pretty bad off because they ALL came running. I was sitting on the path with a battery-ejected video camera beside me. (Thankfully the camera only had a tiny bit of damage from my fall.) They guys ran up the hill and then suddenly stopped about 10 feet away. “Why aren’t you coming?” I called out. They couldn’t see the damage yet by the cactus and thought my dilemma involved a rattlesnake (something also common in that desert). I assured them that there was no snake but that I was injured from a fall.  In close inspection, we all found that I had needles in my hand, leg, and my bottom (how I managed to also sit on the cactus, I do not know). Later we were able to do some counting. I had over 150 needles in my hand alone! Amongst the men in our group, we had one National Guardsman and one guy who used to be an undercover detective in Los Angeles. They took over and began deciding how to work on me. Apparently I started to go into shock, so while I had needles being pulled from my hand, leg, and buttocks, I was also being asked to recite my name, address, telephone number -- anything to get my mind back to normal. The pulling of needles (four different guys were working on me) went on for 45 minutes until I was in a position where I could be moved and hike the mile back to the trucks. It was clear that my puffy, bruised hand was going to have to be looked at by the experts in the emergency room (which was 3 hours away). At this point, we were also concerned that I had fractured part of my hand during the fall.

We got to the hospital and they didn’t do much for me other than give me a very nice pain killer. They did x-ray my hand and verified that it was not broken. A few days later when we met up with the rest of the guys, they told me about that part of my hand. They reminded me about one particular moment out in the desert when one of the guys told me that at the count of three he was going to pull a needle that had bunched up my skin a lot in one place. When he pulled, the needle gave but it did not come out. With the pain that came, we all wondered if the needle had punched through a muscle or tendon or ligament (whatever is in that part of the hand). I still had a lot of needles in my hand and leg by the time we got to the hospital. They asked me to take off my wedding ring. I told them that I couldn’t, but when they threatened to cut it off, I figured out a way to get it off by myself. The problem was that my hand was still swelling. They did not want the wedding band to cut off my circulation -- another big reason I figured out how to get that ring off quickly. As for the rest of the needles, the hospital staff would not pull them out. The doctor explained that every time a needle got pulled, more poison would be released into my hand. He wanted the needles to come out on there own. You know how that happens? They fester and get puss like acne and come out that way. Yuck. My hand got wrapped in gauze so that I wouldn’t accidentally snag the remaining needles on anything. It remained that way for about a week. The longest needle to come out of my hand was a quarter of an inch long. The last one to eventually leave my body came out 2 ½ months after my accident. It was in my leg and was over a half an inch long! As painful as this all was, it sure beat the death that awaited me down the steep side of the hill! Just the same -- I bet you have not met too many people who have grabbed a cactus to save themselves!

Ever since that trip, my group noticed that I couldn’t enter a desert without getting poked by a cactus in some manner. I don’t do this on purpose!! I just think cacti like me! It became the running joke. “I wonder when Jen is going to get attacked by another cactus!” OR “Hey Jen, watch out -- this is what a cactus looks like.” At least I could laugh with them. One cactus poke, though, had no witnesses (thankfully) but still hurt a lot. Have you ever seen a Yucca cactus? It has long “leaves” with large, sharp needles at the end of each. I backed up into one of those with a bare rear end! How? Our group was known for going to remote places to off-road and camp. None of these places had any type of bathroom -- not even an outhouse. Girls went one direction and guys went another. Sometimes, though, you weren’t as hidden as you thought, or the guy-girl routes got confused and you’d suddenly hear footsteps (and a male voice) coming your way as you were still squatting. For these reasons, I tended to make sure my bare backside was towards a big tree or rock or something to hide it. In this particular moment, the rock that was shielding my backside also was the home to a Yucca plant. I backed up a little too far! Ouch! And then jumped forward probably a bit too far! Nothing like getting poked in the bottom to make sitting a little more difficult around the campfire.

I miss our trips to the desert. We moved from California in 1994, and I haven’t been back there since. I was recently reminded about my cactus adventures when we were in a desert in New Mexico this past summer with some friends. I was happy to see that the cactus curse has ended. I was able to enter and leave that desert without ever being poked by a cactus. The fifty or so tarantulas we saw, though, were a different story!

Claustrophobia and My Fear of Tourniquets

I am a claustrophobic! I have met so many people like me that I know I am not alone in this. I’ve been like this ever since I can remember being afraid of something. As far as I know, nothing specific has caused this. (No, my parents did not lock me in the dryer when I was young.) It’s just the way I am. I remember as a kid the scariest thing was the elevator at the mall. I would actually have dreams about wonderful, spacious elevators that had sofas and refrigerators! That way if I ever got stuck in one, I could relax on the sofa and have something to eat. Oh yes, and the lights were always on in my elevator dreams. I look back now and laugh – my dreams never had a bathroom in my elevator. Guess it wasn’t as important back then as it is now that I am an adult who likes to drink three glasses of tea with dinner!

I did face my elevator fear once and lived to tell about it. I was in a big hotel during a convention. I had already lugged my suitcases into my room and was downstairs for one of the meetings. I realized that I had left something important upstairs, and hopped on an elevator to quickly go retrieve it. That was when 50 million other people also got on the elevator. Alright, maybe not that many, but I was crammed in the back corner as several women with their hordes of luggage came for the ride. Sure enough, not too far along on our trip, the elevator stopped between floors. Breathe in … Breath out. We were stuck there for twenty minutes. You better believe that when I got out, the stairs were my next best friends!

Tied in, I believe, with my fear of small spaces is my fear of tourniquets and loss of blood circulation. I bet that’s a new one for most of you. I tried to see if there was a name for this phobia, but all I found on the Internet was someone else asking if there was an official name. (Which made me feel pretty good that I was not the only one in this world with this fear.) This first manifested itself in ninth grade health and drivers-ed class. (Same class with two objectives.) We had been “scared” by earlier students of this class that the drivers-ed movies were gory and might make some people faint. I fainted! But it wasn’t a drivers-ed movie that did it to me – it was a health movie. I remember some guy on the film was chopping wood. The view went to the scenery around as you heard the man cry out in pain. It was obvious that he had hit his leg with the axe. Oh yes, I think they even showed blood spurting out. The next thing to be done was to get a tourniquet on the man. THAT is when I lost it! Down I went onto top of my desk. Isn’t that crazy?? I just can’t handle the idea of stopping the flow of blood.

This carries over in several areas of my life. I cannot stand to see people put rubber bands around their fingers. They giddily watch as the top of their fingers turn white. I stare in horror and think they are idiots! Band-aids around my fingers are not allowed to get too tight. If I even think for a minute that it is too tight, I am frantically trying to tear it off….sometimes with my teeth!  Recently I had knee surgery and had to wear an ace bandage from my toes to above my knee. It wasn’t too bad while I was on the pain medicine. Life seemed oh so simple then! (grin) As the medicine wore off, though, I would imagine that the ace bandage was too tight around my knee. I ended up taking it off more often than I should. Finally the physical therapist gave me a compression sock instead. Believe it or not, that was better.

Giving blood is torture. Due to high cholesterol and a thing called PCOS, I have blood tests twice a year. I hate these. Seeing the blood is fine; that is not my problem. The needle – again, no problem. It is that awful rubber thing that the nurse ties around my upper arm! I know by now that as soon as the blood starts flowing to the tube, that rubber thing can come off. Some nurses apparently have not figured this out yet. I am sure my eyes are bulging as I am trying to somehow telepathically scream at the nurse to release my arm from this rubbery device of pain and suffering! Getting my blood pressure taken is the same sort of torture. Pump pump pump…listen (can’t hear what she wants to hear)…pump pump pump up some more….listen again. If she does this one more time, I usually will groan out loud. Somehow in my mind I am convinced suddenly that even though I came in for a routine checkup, I will be leaving with one less arm! It’s horrible. I know some of my blood pressure readings have been high in the past because I am freaking out about how to live the rest of my life as a left-hander. Can anyone relate??

One more area of my life is affected by this terrible fear of tourniquets and blood circulation being cut off. This is a little bit more PG-13, though. Imagine one article of clothing that women for some reason wear that ties a tourniquet around their chests. It squeezes tightly not allowing the lungs to have full functionality when it is time to breathe. It is something that I for one would have fun burning – the bra. I hate those things, and I wear them as little as possible! (I know -- you are shaking your head in bewilderment! ...but at least I can BREATHE!  HA!)  Thank goodness the Lord did not endow me too much. (I can’t believe that I just said that.) This is why I can get by with less time under the bra-niquet. I know what you are thinking, Ladies – what about those times when…well…you need the bra more for modesty than for support. I have one word for you – Band-aids! (Oh dear, will I totally lose all my readers after this blog??) I have two friends who do this, and one of them runs in much higher social circles that I do. (If it is good for her, then surely it is okay for me!) It is definitely not an everyday thing (maybe once a month); especially not for me because I am allergic to the adhesives in band-aids. I got to tell you, though, please remember your full schedule before using the band-aids. Standing in the changing room for your annual ob/gyn checkup is not the time to remember that you are wearing band-aid bras…especially if you rash from the adhesives! (Thank goodness for a doctor who said nothing during the exam.)  Enough said!

How do I overcome my claustrophobia and my fear of tourniquets? I have no idea. Instead, I avoid very small spaces (like tiny caves and the cabinets under my sink), try to give blood as little as possible, and wear shirts with a lot of decorations!   ...and by the way, I won't even get started on my fear of that spider that was crawling on the wall just a few minutes ago while I wrote this and now is missing from my sight....

Jen's Vehicle Adventures

Before I write this blog, I want to make sure that you know that I have never been seriously injured or killed in any vehicle accident! Neither have I ever seriously injured or killed anyone else (although, I think I have freaked out my sister once or twice). With my luck, my history in running into simple things like doorways, and some of the stories I am going to tell you, you might be surprised that I am still around to tell you about any of my vehicle adventures.

I was never the best driver, but I was one of the few gals from my high school basketball team that had a car accessible to drive friends around to various events (like trying to TP the coach’s house). A dad of one of my friends always made fun of my driving. I liked to brake hard in front of my friend’s home just to add to the teasing. I also wanted to get a t-shirt that said, “If you don’t like my driving, stay off the sidewalks!” At this time in my life, I never had an accident and never got pulled over by the police. I should have been pulled over once, though. I had a very full car of friends as we were driving back to school from a basketball banquet that occurred downtown. As I was on one street, I thought one of the gals in the backseat yelled, “Stop!” So I stopped. Suddenly. That’s when she pointed out the COP. Oops. I continued on my way as the cop just shook his head at me.

I did have a small incident during my school years. When my father was carpooling, I was able to drive his big, black Buick Skylark. This thing had no power anything! I remember turning and turning and turning the steering wheel to get around a corner – and then letting it go and watching it spin back to its normal position. I’m not the only one who remembers me doing that. I recently ran into the mother of one of my students. Apparently I gave this mother rides to school once in awhile when we were in high school (why can’t I remember this, I don’t know). She convinced me that she rode with me by mimicking how I let the steering wheel spin after a turn. :) This big bad car, though, had great acceleration – especially from stoplights. I raced more than one car from a stoplight in my day. Now, just to ease my parents’ minds if they read this – I raced until I got to the speed limit and then stayed there. BUT, I did get to that speed before the other cars. The thing about this Skylark is that it sometimes was hard to turn off. I would stop the car, pull the key from the ignition, and it would still be sputtering. My father called it “dieseling" and gave me a way to fix this when it happened: Put a foot firmly on the brake. Turn the key in the ignition while at the same time putting the car into drive. (I believe that was it.) So, one day I had arrived home with my sister in the front seat beside me. As we were in the garage, I turned off the car, but it was dieseling. This was my first chance to try the advice I had been given. There was only one problem – although my foot was firmly on the pedal, it was not on the brake pedal….it was on the accelerator! The next thing my sister and I know, the car has lurched forward towards the furnace and the family room! I quickly braked and then slowly backed up as my brother came ripping into the garage. I asked him later what it sounded like. He said, “It sounded like you were driving into the house!” As I backed away, I saw that I had knocked the furnace door loose. What was funny (well, is funny now) was that there were two old school desks between the car and the furnace. One of those desks got wedged into the grill of the car and came with the car as I backed away. It just looked funny attached to the car like that.

I have had a couple bigger car accidents as an adult. One completely totaled my car and was done right in front of a policeman. It was my fault as I t-boned a car. I could not see the other car, though, because of the hill I was on and the cars lined up along the side of the street blocking my view of oncoming traffic. My insurance agent talked with me a couple days later and asked what type of car I hit. “A purple one,” I told him. I don’t think that was exactly the answer he wanted. (Grin) Later in life I managed to do about $4000 of damage to our SUV as it hydroplaned and spun out of control on a freeway and smashed into a cement barrier. I had just left my sister’s hospital room after visiting with her and her new baby. This was also about four weeks after a major surgery for me. In the accident, I had a lot of pain at my incision and decided I better have it checked out. I ended up in the emergency room of the same hospital where my sister was resting. She looked much better in the hospital gown than I did, by the way.

When I got married, we did not have enough money to get me a car. For the first few weeks of my job, I biked. Thankfully it was during the summer and in sunny San Diego area. Finally one weekend, we bought a bright red, shiny motor scooter. That thing could get up to a full 35 (maybe 40) miles per hour and got 60 miles to the gallon (although, I think it only held one gallon). I loved it, though. It was an “automatic” motor scooter which meant that although it had a kickstart, all I really had to do was press a switch and it started. To move forward and accelerate, I turned the right handlebar towards myself. It worked fantastic and was so much easier than biking the few miles to work every day.

Of course, nothing is ever easy with me. One morning on my way to work, I was a bit worried about my boss and the fact that she had not liked the fact that I had been on vacation (to be in my friend’s wedding back in Indiana). My routine once I got to the daycare center where I worked was to turn off my scooter, lift it onto the sidewalk, and park it beside the building. This particular morning my mind was on my boss, and I forgot to turn the scooter off before picking it up. Let’s think about this. I grabbed both handlebars to pick up the front of the bike to put it over the curb. This meant I pulled back on the right handle bar which accelerates my bike. Before I knew it, my bike was trying to run away from my grip and headed straight towards one of my daycare kids and his mom! I veered to the right next to the chain link fence and pulled on my bike to bring it to a stop. Unfortunately, pulling harder on the right handlebar just made it accelerate faster. Now my bike was “bronco-ing” as the front wheel was high in the air! I finally let go and expected to watch my scooter take off down the lawn. Thankfully, though, once I was no longer holding onto the handlebar, the bike engine stopped and the bike fell down right where I let go of it. By the way, this meant another emergency room visit. As I was pulling on my bike, my right hand lost a lot of skin along the chain link fence. My boss sent me to the emergency room because she was sure I would need stitches.

Fast forward a couple years to a time when I was teaching. By now I didn’t use the scooter much because it was starting to have some problems. I either walked to school or my husband drove me there. One summer, though, I wanted to go to the mall while my husband worked. I dusted off the scooter and took off. Unfortunately, it did not work perfectly. Every time I got to a red light and had to idle, my scooter would turn off. Plus, it would not turn on by the switch anymore. I had to stand to the side of the scooter, kick start it and then hop on. I also needed to rotate the right handlebar towards myself to get it going or it would think that it was idling again and stop. Of course, to add to the fun, I seemed to hit every stoplight on this particular street. One of the first times I did this, the scooter almost took off without me on top of it. Whew! I told myself right then that if my bikes takes off without me, all I had to do was to Let Go of the handlebar. That is so much easier said than done! When the scooter starts taking off, the natural reaction is to pull it back towards yourself. Letting go just seemed wrong.

Well, it finally happened. I kick started the bike, tried to hop on, but this time it took off with me running beside it. I veered it towards the right and saw to my horror that we were aimed straight for the glass window of a florist shop! As I was running and pulling back on the bike, I was also yelling out loud to myself at the top of my lungs, “Let go! Let go!” What a sight I must have been!! This poor young mother with a stroller just watched me go from one side of the street to the other running beside my scooter and yelling (maybe she thought I was screaming at my imaginary friend). I finally did let go and the bike did not go careening into the florist shop. It just stopped and fell. Oh my! My heart raced for probably an hour after that! I think I walked the bike (with it turned off) for awhile and hoped the lady didn’t call the police on this crazy woman!

It wasn’t long after that that we did get another car. Unfortunately it was only for a year or less before I totaled that car. (Remember the hill and the purple car?) We didn’t have money to buy a new or used car for me, but with the little bit of insurance money we received, we were able to buy another motor scooter. This time it was a Honda Helix motor scooter – the Mother of all Motor Scooters! This 300-pound bike was the same size as a motorcycle with wheels smaller than bike tires. I could sit upright on it with my feet flat on a floorboard. It had a large windshield, a radio, and a seat for a second person to ride behind me. Oh yes, and it could to highway speeds! Are any of you worried yet?? This bike was located 45 minutes from our home with 3-5 highways in its path. I was the only one in our family with a motorcycle license. (I had to have one with the smaller scooter.) Maybe that is why I had to drive it home from the dealer. I was scared to death!! I woke up the morning that we were to go get it and truly thought that I might never see another morning. I made it, though. I even got that thing up to 70 mph – the same speed as the traffic around me. It wobbled a bit at that speed, but it worked.

I was taking my Masters classes at this time, and they were all in the evening. This meant that I had to do a lot of driving in the dark. Therefore in addition to my helmet and hand-protecting gloves, I got a geeky-looking orange and yellow reflective vest. (I was so lovely! Ha.) Of course, then I would ride my scooter in sandals. What?? I was so young and a bit loony back then. I had to laugh many times, though. In the dark, I looked like the motorcycle police that were on the highways. More than one car slowed way down when I got behind it. The only accident I had with this motor scooter happened as I was coming up to a red light. The road was slippery and the scooter quickly slid sideways dropping me spread-eagle on the 4-lane road. Thankfully I was more shaken up than hurt. Someone helped me get the scooter upright, and I was back on my way.

I miss my scooters (especially in the summer), but I do not miss the danger I at times put myself in. Knock on wood (quickly) – I have not had any major vehicle adventures lately. Although, in three years my son will be at that driving age. Aaaaahhhh! Hopefully he does not have my crazy gene!

Jen's Crazy Cats

I love cats! As an adult, I have been “Mom” to six different cats, and all of them have had their quirks! Is that a surprise to anyone that I have weird cats? Back in my early married years, my husband would joke around with people. He said that he had heard that if you give your wife a pet, that extends her desire to have kids by two years. By the time we were six years married, we had no kids and 3 cats! I guess it worked! Ha.



Sherlock



Our first two cats were a boy named Sherlock and a girl named Misty. Sherlock investigated everything and Misty was a pretty, long-haired gray cat. These two little fur balls cracked me up. There were so active, and yet they loved to be held. I remember one day (not too long after we got them) I was holding Misty upside down. Now, although I have had cats in my past, I was not too familiar with how to tell if cats where boys or girls. You’d think being married would have given me a clue on some of the parts! As I was holding my fuzzy baby girl, I saw something that surprised me. Suddenly I have grabbed my boy Sherlock, and I had them both turned upside down in my lap. Sure enough -- they matched! I still wasn’t completely sure about Misty, but we went ahead and started calling “her” Mystery (because it was becoming a mystery as to what sex this cat was). Not too long after that I got confirmation that my girl cat was actually a boy. Being two boys sure didn’t stop them from “play acting” -- especially in the middle of the living room when we had guests over! I guess that was giving me practice dealing with embarrassment for years later when both of my kids ran downstairs completely naked when I had friends over! By the way, I now know for certain how to tell a girl cat from a boy cat!



Mystery



Christmas time arrived and my husband and I decorated our 5-foot, artificial Christmas tree. It was a thing of beauty with tons of ornaments and strings of tinsel. The cats thought so too! Our biggest mistake was to place the tree at the end of our long sofa. The cats used the sofa as a launch ramp! They ran across the top of the sofa, jumped into the tree, and slid down (bringing ornaments and tinsel down with them)! Wheeeeeee! Oh my goodness! By the middle of December, I had to redo the Christmas tree. From 3 feet down, the tree was completely bare and all of the limbs where pointed down. I re-bent the artificial limbs and redecorated the bottom of the tree. This was all for nothing. By the time Christmas arrived, the bottom of the tree was bare again! We learned never to use tinsel (we think that was the main attraction) and never to place our future Christmas trees at the end of such wonderful launch ramps called sofas.

My husband and I decided to take our cats to the park one day. We put leashes on both of the cats. Next we tied a rope to the end of Mystery’s leash, threw the rope over a thick branch of a large tree, and finally tied the other end of the rope to Sherlock’s leash. This way they could roam without getting too far away from us. We set out a blanket and had a relaxing afternoon talking and playing card games. Mystery, our less active cat, spent a lot of his time lying next to us on the blanket. Sherlock, on the other hand, had to investigate everything! At one point, Sherlock found a flying insect and took off! Before we react, Sherlock had gone the length of his rope and all of the slack from Mystery’s rope. Poor Mystery didn’t see if coming! Suddenly he was jerked halfway off the ground. If a cat could have a surprised look, Mystery had it! I quickly grabbed his leash and kept him from being dangled. Bless his heart! I believe it was about this time that we decided to unhook the “children” and take them home.

About five years after we got Sherlock and Mystery, we moved from California to Virginia. By then we had a third cat -- a black cat named Chelsi. Our trip across the states was done in a Uhaul with our vehicle towed behind. We placed all three cats and their litterbox in the back of our vehicle. (It was a Rocky which didn’t last long in the US. It looked a lot like a jeep.) As we talked with the vet before we left, she mentioned that we needed to keep lots of water on hand (jugs of it). We would be driving through the desert for several hundred miles. Apparently cats don’t sweat. She said that if it was getting too hot, we would need to pour water on the cats. Really? Have you ever thought, “Hey, I want to hold a cat while I pour water on him?” Uh, no….at least not if you want your arm intact. It’s good thing that we brought the jugs of water, though. We ran out of gas in the desert! My husband took off to get gas, and I was left alone with our three cats for three hours. As it was getting warmer, I decided that I better do what the vet suggested. Thankfully, none of the cats took off when I held them. The large trucks rumbling by scared the cats enough to realize I was their only safety. They didn’t like having water poured on their bellies, but at least I didn’t end up with my arms in shreds. I did this at least once or twice and hour. Mystery was the problem; although, I didn’t know it at the time. Mystery’s attempt to hide once he was in the car was to crawl into the litter box and lie down in there. The litter was clumping litter. Mystery had long hair that I had just soaked with water. Let me put those two together for you -- by the time Mystery came out of the litter box, he had large clumps of litter dangling from the ends of all his long fur! He looked like a Christmas tree with little dirt ornaments surrounding his body! Later that night I tried to brush out the clumps, but some of them held on tight. In fact, Mystery’s fur was never the same after that. We finally gave in and let his new vet give him a Lion Cut (most of his body shaved). I’m including a picture so that you can see how silly he looked! Poor boy. The first time he put his bare bottom on our cold floor, he jerked it up so fast! It took him awhile to get used to his new hairless body.

I loved those two cats (and the four others that have become additional family members). Mystery was my cuddly one - he would actually wrap himself around my neck or just fall asleep on top of me. Sherlock was my intuitive one. When I had those awful surgeries in the first couple years of my married life, Sherlock always knew when I was sad and would just lie in my lap and purr. That was a comfort. Sherlock and Mystery (and Chelsi and JR) are gone now, but we definitely enjoy the antics of the two gals currently taking over our home and hearts -- Boo and Megan. Life is never dull when you have a cat!

Ants in my Wedding Cake

Yes, I had ants in my wedding cake. Not many people can say that! I told you weird things happen to me all the time. It should have been a sign. (Grin.) Of course that is easy to say now that the marriage is over. Truthfully, it was my pride that took a hit that day. I’ll tell you what -- if there is anything that you are proud about in your wedding, that is probably what is going to be attacked! I heard a story about a gal who loved her wedding veil. Unfortunately, she didn’t hold onto it when she and her groom blew out their candles. Whooosh! The veil hit the flame and went up in smoke. I have a friend who was very proud of the music in her wedding. I believe it was when the Maid of Honor was about to go down the aisle, the music stopped. Oops. The quartet had finished the song and didn’t realize that she was not up to the front yet. When they did realize their mistake, she was almost at the front of the church. Instead of letting it go, they quickly played one stanza -- it was very awkward. For me, if there was one thing that I was the most proud about for my wedding, it was my cake. I remember actually drawing pictures of it in letters that I sent to my friends. (This was before email was available.) This cake was going to be big, beautiful, and have a fountain! Oh, I was so proud.

On the day of my wedding, the bridal party and some of their spouses came to help us decorate the fellowship hall for the reception. The cake lady arrived, and we helped her move all of the different cakes into the area we were decorating. (If I remember correctly, there were eight different cakes -- three round and 5 heart-shaped.) The ones that I helped carry were on the floor of her van, but I didn’t think much about it. She had more than one wedding cake to deliver that day -- other cakes were on a second level in the van. As the cake lady was starting to assemble the magnificent cake structure, she realized that she had left a couple important pieces at home. I had made the trip to her home when I helped design and order the cake, so I knew that she wouldn’t be back for over an hour. We were either done decorating or taking a break at some tables near the table that held the individual cakes. Suddenly one of the gals jumped up and yelled, “Ants!” There were ants on the cake table. The deal was, they were not going to the cakes; they were walking out from between the cakes and the foil-covered plates. They had their fill and were leaving! Yuck!

Flashback to my childhood -- I was a kid and was dared to eat an ant. I did, and ever since then I have hated ants more than most insects. For ants to be crawling out from my wonderful, beautiful, prized wedding cake was more than I could handle. I left the fellowship hall, fled to the dressing rooms, and gave in to some tears. I left everyone else to take care of the mess. (And how thankful I am that they did!!) I don’t remember being there when the cake lady came back over an hour later. She totally didn’t believe it. I learned later from a friend that she blamed it on a dirty tablecloth (said that the ants must have been going into the cakes), but the table cloth had been washed the night before. Some of the other details are a bit hazy, but I know that one or both of my parents ran to the local grocery store. The bakery had just pulled out two very large sheet cakes. The cooks weren’t sure what they were for, but they had made them. This was perfect! (Thank you, God!) My parents bought the cakes. They had to cool for a couple hours, but when they were ready the cakes were frosted with the wedding colors and cut into little squares. The heart cakes were the only cakes where ants were seen leaving the premises -- they may have been the only ones that were transported on the floor of the lady’s van. With that said, though, we could not try to serve our guests from the remaining cakes. Oh how horrible if someone bit into a piece of cake and found an ant!!! (They would have a “Jen Story” to share.) The circle cakes were set up in a tier with the fountain underneath. (Yes, at least I got my fountain. Grin.) Our guests walked past the pretty setup and then were served from the local grocery store’s sheet cake. It worked.

By the time we were taking pictures, I was cool about the whole thing. In fact, while we were taking a wedding party picture, someone shouted “Say Ants!” We all laughed. Fast forward to our first anniversary. My husband and I had kept the small cake that topped the wedding cake structure to eat on our first anniversary. How nervous I was about possibly seeing a dead ant in that cake! We didn’t see one, though. Whew! Of course, we didn’t eat all of that cake. It actually tasted horrible! Ha.

Dating

Oh the dating years! Flirting, going out, laughing, dancing, long walks, holding hands…the highs, the lows. Do you remember them? I bet if you do, you are picturing yourself in your teens and early twenties. That’s how I picture dating. Except for the lows, I remember those dating years with fondness. I started a little late compared to my friends. I “went with” a boy in 8th grade, but I didn’t start dating until the second half of my senior year. After that, I dated several guys in college before meeting the man who would eventually become my ex-husband.

And that’s the rub -- he is now my ex-husband…has been for several years. It’s time to start dating again, but how do you do that in your forties and with children?? This is not the same scenario as when I was a young adult with no wrinkles, a youthful waistline, legs that went on forever, and unlimited free time. Not even close! Ha. It has been 8 years since my husband left, and I have yet to have one of those “he asked her out” dates. I’ve gone to dinner and to the movies with a man, but I was the one who suggested to my friend that we go. I spent a great day with another man, but it still was not a “he asked her out” date.

I am looking forward to a “real” date, but I am scared to death about it at the same time. I’ve had a couple friends offer to set me up with their friends but nothing has ever transpired. A blind date makes me panic, to be honest. Why? I think because I am afraid I will see disappointment in his eyes when he sees me. How horrible is that? Just a few days ago, I was having lunch with a friend and she realized that she had a friend that I might like. I just nodded. I didn’t push the matter because I am too afraid. Isn’t that funny! I can confidently face 150 middle school, hormone-driven children and their parents, but meeting a man I don’t know for dinner has me shaking at the knees. Back in our youth, we didn’t need to rely on blind dates. We met each other in classes, activities, and as friends of friends. We met, talked, had crushes, and finally one person would ask the other on a date. It was simple…well, sorta simple. Now I am a mother and a teacher. Basically almost everything I do has something to do with children, not adults. My friend told me I needed to go to a bar. She laughed because she knew that wasn’t my style. I laughed too.   :)

So what does a gal do when she would like to date but can’t do it the way she did when she was young? A few years ago on Valentine‘s Day, I ate through an entire box of chocolates as I spent an hour filling out the questions for eHarmony. How excited I was that I had 14 matches (or something like that) as soon as I finished. The excitement quickly faded as those matches started to close. After several months, I had seventy “rejections” and decided that I didn’t have an eHarmony face…or body for that matter. Online dating just was not for me. I’m listed as single on facebook, which means I get a lot of facebook ads for online dating. There are the ones that I have seen before: eHarmony (which is now on face book), Zoosk, and Match.com. A couple years ago I saw the ad for “Meet Millionaire Men” -- an online dating service for women looking for rich men. I laughed and as a joke created an account. For the next several months, I kept getting requests for communication from “Millionaire Men”. That cracked me up! I might have seen where it would lead, but if I remember correctly the fee to “talk” with these men was around $60 a month! Somebody was getting rich, that was for sure! Ha. Today I saw that “Meet Christian Singles” was advertising that “Autumn is a season for romance.” Hmmm, interesting.  (Fall for your man in the fall?)  I have received a couple ads for SeniorPeopleMeet.com. Oh dear, I don’t think I am ready for that yet. (grin) The other one I saw today made me laugh out loud. It advertised “Men who love curves…Men who prefer the woman in their life to have curves.” Okay, what man doesn’t want some curves? Seriously. Nowhere do I see a site advertising “Men who want flat-chested women.” I’m holding out for a website that advertises, “Men who are looking for big hips and tiny chests.” Ha! Okay, I’m done making fun of these online dating sites.

So, will I ever get a real “he asked her out” date? Yep, I think so. When? Oh, who knows?? I would love to go on a date right now, but it might not happen until my children are grown and in college. One thing I know for sure, if I do go on several dates, I bet I will have something else to write about. No way can I go on too many dates without having one of my famous “Jenny Moments” -- statistically it has to happen at least a couple times. And won‘t you have fun reading about it! (Grin!)

Tongue Tied

Have you ever said something and wished you could take it back?? I do that all the time. Sometimes, like this weekend, I say (or email) something that just comes out all wrong. It’s like this quote, “I open my mouth to switch feet!” There are other times, though, that I speak and the world laughs at me (or with me if I am in the mood). I don’t have to try; I am already an expert at this!

Here is an example. I teach math in the middle school. Last year I was becoming more and more frustrated with my honor students waiting until after the bell rang to go sharpen their pencils. I finally decided to broach the subject. It was quite ineffective, though, when I very seriously and very adamantly said, “You must PENCIL your SHARPENS before the bell rings!” Ack! Instead of nodding of heads and compliance, I received shaking of heads and snickers. Oh dear. I do that all the time – switch words – especially if I am trying to talk quickly. In math we end up fractioning the reduces, problem the solves, and finding the triangle of a perimeter. Believe it or not, my students do fairly well in math despite my twisted tongue issues.

I have messed up with my students’ parents, too. (It is a wonder I still have this job! Ha.) Last year during Back to School night, I was sharing with the parents my procedure for missing assignments. I have these pink pieces of paper that the students must fill out. While I was talking, I suddenly wanted to say “sheets” of paper and “slips” of paper at the same time. What came out was a combination of the two – I pretty much used the word “sheets” but with the vowel of “slips” – pink $@#& of paper! Oh my goodness! I know my face got red immediately. The parents (and there were a lot of them) just started to laugh at me. Whew! I looked at them, grinned, and told them I would be getting my resume ready. That just made them laugh more. :)

How about those times when you say something like “bye, love ya” and then realize that you just said that to a cashier at a grocery store? I always finished phone calls with my husband by saying “bye, love ya”. That wasn’t a big deal until I started working a job where I had to use the phone quite often to talk with customers and staff members. More than once I’d finish a call with, “bye, love ya”. I would realize my error as soon as I put the phone down and then wish to melt under my desk and into the floor! I would hope that maybe, just maybe, they disconnected before I did – maybe they didn’t hear my affirmation of love. I KNOW I am not alone in this. I have heard co-workers do the same thing. And do I nod in their direction with sympathy and understanding? Heck no – I double up with laughter. Sorry, I just do. :) It has even happened once to me – a customer said “love ya” as he was hanging up. Again, I laughed out loud (after I had hung up the phone). I think I was just so glad that I am not the only one who accidently does this.

How about talking to yourself? Alright, I might be the only one who does that. :) One day I was driving and making a mental list of everything that needed to get done when I got home. I suddenly had the bright idea to use my cell phone to call my home phone and leave myself a message with the list. At the end of my message I said, “Well, I think that is it. Talk to you later. Bye.” Talk to you later??? Talk to myself later?? I laughed and then looked around to see if anyone had caught me saying that to myself. Then I had to laugh at myself again. I was driving…with the windows up! Everyone around me was driving…with their windows up. I’m not sure who I thought was going to overhear my conversation with myself. Oh dear (shaking my head…and then laughing again).

Some of my favorite Jenny Tongue Tied moments came my first year of teaching. That year, my assignment was with ESL students (English as a Second Language). I had three years of Spanish in high school, but that barely got me started in communicating with these students. One poor boy kept getting called the Spanish word for “alligator” because I was not pronouncing his name correctly. I used wrong words more than once. Imagine the confused look on one father’s face when I told him (in my Spanish) that HE was doing well in my class (instead of his son). In teaching multiplication for the first time to some of these students, I was using some Popsicle sticks to show that multiplication is just grouping (3 groups of 5 sticks is 3 x 5). I did have a translator in that class who finally asked me what I was trying to say in my broken Spanish. When I told her, she laughed and then told me that I was actually talking to the students about “tiny hairs” not “small sticks”. Oops. No wonder they looked confused.

My favorite “oops” from that first year of teaching came during parent-teacher conferences. It just happened that all the classes got changed. This meant that I would be talking with parents that I would no longer have their students in my classes after the conferences. In my broken Spanish, I tried to say, “Wednesday was my last day with your child. Monday, he/she will have a new teacher.” Oh, the confused looks I would get!! Time after time, I would just get this blank stare from the parents. Finally during a break, I went to one of the other teachers to find out what I was doing wrong. You know what it was? Instead of using the word for Monday, I was using the word for Never! I was telling the parents that Wednesday was my last day and their child would NEVER get a new teacher! Ha! No wonder they stared at me with glassy eyes. Thankfully none of those parents ever complained. Obviously they realized I was a young lady who maybe shouldn’t have been trying her Spanish on them.

I have to leave you with one last story from that school year. This time it was not me who had the language problem. It was one of my students. In Social Studies I had the students do a hands-on project where they matched state names with their capitals. One perplexed student raised his hand and asked me, “What is the capital of Alaska?” I answered, “Juneau.” He looked at me so sadly and cried, “No I don’t.” :) It took everything I had not to laugh out loud (sorry kid), and then I explained that I had not just said, “you know!” Yes, that really did happen.