I think I've forgotten how to do this.. it's been so long.. Hello.. is this working?
I'm going to put down a few words, before I find another excuse, not to talk to you guys. I'm hopeless at this.. writing thing. My G+ family are so clever and amazing, I'm just getting in the way I think.. I find myself reading and commenting more these days, and placing car pictures (don't ask me why, just go with it) on G+ to make sure they don't take my account away!( could they do that?)
It's March already, gees it's racing on and I haven't sat down to enter anything, since like.. last year!, heck, that's so bad, and feeling embarrassed, calling myself a blogger!, Ha.
Look... way back in the beginning of this wonderful world of blogging I adopted the goal to write better, write better than a child, but I needed to learn to read first and I think I've achieved that goal. I'm much happier now, now that I can put words down before chickening out and deleting everything, because I'm not sure if, what I write even, makes sense or just down right dumb.
I've learnt so much following you guys, yes, I owe you all so much. My confidence in doing my daily job, as a courier driver, dealing with packages across town with ease. Yes, it's true, I know this because, since I've taken on this business, word of mouth has made my customer base, climb from 32 clients, too 40 clients coming on board. That's huge to me, I never thought in a million years, to trust myself to read directions, let alone deliver to the right places!. My business of 3yrs 3mths, has never let a customer down, all parcels delivered safely and on time, phew!, it can be crazy at times, but so rewarding.
I'm doing it guys, yep, with a little help from my friends (my lovely G+ family), giving me the confidence, holding my head up high and doing it myself!... this is my chance right now to thank you all xx
I recently read both E.M. Delafield's Diary of a Provincial Lady and George and Weedon Grossmith's Diary of a Nobody and was inspired to keep a journal. It reminded me of how entertaining ordinary happenings can be. I also began to feel that as I continue to live with my aging (and sometimes hilarious) parents, I should record some of these events for the sake of my brothers and for my niece and nephews. If I can manage to keep up the habit, I should have plenty of blogging fodder. Below is an excerpt.
August 31, 2017
In
the evening, I heard Mom in the kitchen frantically calling out for
help. I got myself unloaded from underneath my laptop and came down
to her. She was making a chicken and biscuits recipe for the Instant
Pot and needed me to whisk the sauce in the pot while she was cutting
chicken. She was nervous about neglecting her sauce while she did
that task. I got to work on that. Later, she called for Dad too and
got really frustrated that she couldn't make him hear her, announcing
he was “deafer than a doorbell,” probably imagining him upstairs
at his computer with his headphones on. At that expression, I burst
into laughter and made Mom laugh just as vigorously, and soon, we
were both laughing so hard we could barely function.
I
thought of the famous opening paragraphs from Dickens' A Christmas
Carol.
“Marley
was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. The
register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the
undertaker and the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it: and Scrooges'
name was good upon 'Change, for anything he chose to put his hand to.
Old Marley was as dead as a doornail.
Mind!
I don't mean to say that I know, of my own knowledge, what there is
particularly dead about a door-nail. I might have been inclined,
myself, to regard a coffin-nail as the deadest piece of ironmongery
in the trade.”
I
don't know what makes a doorbell particularly deaf either. Does that
mean it can not hear its own sound? If a doorbell rings, and it can
not hear itself, does it still make a sound?
At
some point, we both left the kitchen. I left to go to my bedroom and
Mom to her bathroom. The phone rang. I answered it. It was Dad …
calling from his cell phone … from the parking lot at the T-Mobile
store. I remembered then that he had told us he was going to the
store before he left the house. Both Mom and I had completely
forgotten he had even gone. I had to repeat to him Mom's mixed up
expression. Dad answered, “I guess I should have rolled the car
windows down so I could hear her from the highway.”
I
found Mom later at her bathroom sink and informed her how Dad had
called from T-Mobile. “I guess that's why he was deafer than a
doorbell.”
“That
would explain it,” she said and burst into laughter again.
Give yourself time, time to relax.
Breath in some of that fresh air. Your mind and soul needs you too.
.
This fabulous photo was taken, in the neighbouring area where our cousin lives, in AucklandNZ. Magical evening as the sun went down, to leave us for another day. Lets make more spare time for ourselves to enjoy the simple things in life, like just a walk on the beach, you maybe missing a perfect moment out there.
Parents are funny people. I laugh at my mother all the time, not always when she's actually intending to be funny.
Listening to myself speak recently on a recording of an interview with my client's daughter, I realize how often I pause when I speak, likely because I'm always searching for the perfect words. My mother does not pause often and sometimes speaks before she has the perfect words or changes her mind midstream in her speech, resulting in some funny expressions sometimes.
There are her strangely reworked cliche expressions like, "Kill two chickens with one hatchet." Well, "killing two birds with one stone" is fairly violent, but this version is much, uh, gorier. Can you tell she grew up on a farm in rural Nebraska?
Another time, she was angry at my father and declared that he was a "disaster on wheels!" This might have made a little bit of sense if my father had been driving at the time. He wasn't. I'm not exactly sure what she had in mind. Maybe she had conjured up some mental image of the Looney Tunes Tasmanian Devil scooting through on a skateboard. Maybe disaster is that much more destructive when it's on wheels. I couldn't seem to help myself but to laugh at her expression at that time.
Thankfully, my laughter was contagious. Dad notices me laughing, and his lips curl up one side. Then he is laughing softly before getting a little bolder and laughing with more energy. Pretty soon, Mom has joined us, forgetting to be in a bad mood. It was a pretty wonderful moment.
Lately, Mom seems to be mishearing me when I speak and coming up with some pretty colorful and sometimes illogical conclusions as to what I said. In a recent funny moment, I was trying to share some news with her about our family friend named Travis Skinner. Mom was upstairs in another room as I'm trying to convey this message. She walks downstairs, saying, "What, cabbage dinner?" It sounds like some sort of contrived sitcom dialogue, but this is actually what happened, and, no, apart from St. Patrick's Day once a year, we don't often have a "cabbage dinner."
There were some other misheard words recently, and this one also involves food ... actual food. Mom tells me that she and Dad would like to go out to lunch, adding that I was probably not hungry yet since I'd had breakfast late. I said, "Oh, I might be hungry. All I had was some leftover French bread." My breakfast that day consisted of the end bit of a French baguette that had been fresh and wonderful the previous day and now required a bit of sawing with a serrated knife.
"What?" Mom says. "Crunch bread?"
"Well," I answered honestly. "It might have been crunch bread."
Maybe, she is losing some hearing, I'm not sure, but I'm assured that she doesn't have Alzheimer's. It really is a terrible disease, and I have an uncle affected by it right now. One day, Mom and Dad were in line at our local pharmacy and were looking over some brochures at the counter about various health conditions. Mom had picked up one on Alzheimer's and announced happily -- and rather loudly -- "I don't have Alzheimer's! I know how to use the microwave!" Nearby shoppers turn to look. The brochure apparently advised that forgetting how to use appliances like the microwave was a sign of Alzheimer's.
I'm not sure we'll be able to tell if Dad -- God forbid! -- gets Alzheimer's, as he's always had one of those quirky absent-minded scientist sort of personalities, even when he was young and long before I entered the picture. Mom tells this story from when they were first married, before any of the kids were born, and still living in a one-room apartment. Apparently, one morning, Dad stared into the refrigerator for a considerable length of time before announcing,"Where in the world are my socks?"
Hello there my beautiful people, have you missed me?, maybe not but I've missed you guys.
Thought I better clock in after soooooooo long, you know, just in case there is a very small number that has wondered where and what I've been up too. well......
I've been pretty busy understanding my new adventure, that's is... buying a business!, that courier business I mention a few months ago. Slowly getting my head around it and still super busy meeting my customers and there needs. Didn't realize the full impact it was going to make on me, taking every inch of energy from me, as I only wish to please, to keep the courier running the same or better.
In the mean time as you can see, on my down time, I get to enjoy the summer, now that it's finally here and life is pretty good.
It has been a long couple of weeks. Work has been demanding, and at times trying. Mostly, it has been a combination of factors, kind of a wave effect, that crashes into our small warehouse occasionally. It should wash away soon.
Plus, I have been writing an article on suicide for the kind lady who publishes my work in her newspaper. It is called Street Speech, a homeless advocacy newspaper, and I think she is a kind soul who tries to help. Maybe it is all of her work trying to help the helpless, or maybe she is just a crusader, but I am not one to quibble, seeing my writing in print is thrilling. So, she said next months issue was on suicide, and asked if I could write something and I said sure.
But, researching suicide is a painful process, reading the numbers, the heartbreak of the survivors, the desperate straits of the victims can be very taxing. I love to write, and this was an experience not to be missed. I am a better person for the effort.
Additionally, I have been researching an article that I intend to sell about the repeated temptations to use atomic weapons that have gripped officials over the years. In places, at times and for reasons that seem ridiculous. It is terrifying how casual they were.
All of these factors weighed me down, and took a toll on me, more than I ever imagined. Thursday I went to lunch, tired, haggard, and feeling low. Low clouds made the whole area seem gray and deathly. A steady, light, uncomfortable, dreary rain made everything seem bleak, and mirrored my mood.
Our lunch room in on the fourth floor, and I stopped to look out the window. Along the edge of the
sidewalk a row of parking meters (conveniently shaped like a microphone) stood, ready to collect their fee. A lone man braved the weather, and potential shame. dancing up to and singing into one of the meters. Moving toward and away from the parking meter and singing an unheard song, his enthusiasm was delightful.
I watched for several minutes, I smiled, and felt better. Here was a man who entertaining the world, and nobody was watching except me, and he couldn't know I was watching, from a half block away, and four stories in the air. There was no way to know what he was singing, and it didn't matter, his talent and love for the material was obvious. Dancing in time to his own drummer made me believe the world still had some magic, if you looked.
Watching for several minutes the performance moved me, and for a few brief minutes there was a reason to believe in the future again. Whoever you are, thank you, don't ever stop performing. The world needs you.
There is a small town in Southeastern Ohio called Yellow Springs. Last week my wife suggested we
make the hour drive, and walk around sampling the unique shops and food choices. We both thought it a great way to spend a fall Saturday.
In what can only be considered a stroke of great luck that has almost heavenly implications the Yellow Springs Street Fair was taking place. It was almost a perfect coincidence. Who could resist?
On a scale of Difference Yellow Springs is several standard deviations above the mean. During Street Fair it generates a chart wholly individual, and unexpected. It is a crowded, bustling, noisy, circus of people in everything from zebra print stretch pants to baggy, hanging camouflage. And everything in between.
With both main streets crammed with vendor's booths featuring a variety of jewelry, homemade soaps, tie dyed shirts, hooded jackets, and dresses, art, pottery, woodworking and bent and welded metal creations shaped like animals there was something for everyone.
Almost every corner had a musician. A steel Every corner had a musician. A steel drum player making so many different sounds it seemed impossible that it was one instrument. A saxophone player strolling through smooth jazz rhythms, an electric guitar player wearing a horses head jamming to a grunge, garage sound, a guy playing serious blues on a three string guitar made from a cigar box. It ran the gamut of instruments, and styles, and dress. It raised a joyous sound everywhere we walked.
Food was plentiful and varied. We had street tacos topped with radishes, and cucumbers. And egg noodles, cabbage and sausage with Sriracha sauce and crushed red peppers. There was kettle corn and cotton candy, funnel cakes, and fair food galore, we passed on those, though we did buy the kettle corn, and just haven't opened it yet.
But, the crowd, the milling, moving amoeba like masses of humanity stole the show. It requires years of experience strolling down streets in places like Estes Park, CO, Gatlinburg TN, countless festivals and fairs, to navigate a scene like that. Planning is everything. Finding that little gap that leads to the booth with the candles. Once you make your move the crowd flows freely around you, a river of humanity flowing around an obstacle. Nobody minds, everything is fluid. The real secret is accepting your place in the universe, and remaining relaxed, tension destroys the peace required to navigate the maelstrom.
It was a fantastic day. Yellow Springs is a town with charm and character, a laid back little village, delightful, and fun. Street Fair is a crowded, bustling wrestling match. And both are delightful, and should be enjoyed for their own merits. We will be back to Street Fair, but we will make the trip to enjoy the unique, small town, too.
Today two wonderful things happened today. Number one was me and hubby played our first game of bingo here at The Darling Inn. I won a three-way split winning $1.50, it was a fun time especially the free cookies.
The second wonderful thing I got today was I'm all set with a ride to and from the Manchester Airport next September 19th by an agency that is right across the street from us. Life is wonderful, I can't wait to see my kids and grandkids!
When there is a power cut and it's too early to call it a night, it can become magical. Armed with a touch, paper & crayons, it can make for the best setting for storytelling.
Today is Son and Daughter Day which I think is a lovely sediment.
No one really knows how this fun holiday got started but I love the idea.
Small children or adult children it doesn't matter for no matter how old your child gets they are still 'your baby.'
Ways to celebrate can be if you have small children take them out for a fun outing.
I personally don't need much of an excuse to do something special for my kids especially when they were growing up and to this day I still love surprising them.
If you have no children of your own celebrate with your nieces and nephews or even your neighbor's or best friend's kids.
Amy, Tysen and Ariel...We love you to the Moon and back,
None of the people who know me well would describe me as a moody person..Maybe my personality is more prone to being emotionally steady, but, at the same time, I think I do work at my mental attitude. Even so, I had a very lousy mood earlier this week.
I once heard a psychologist say that the same things that bring us up can also bring us down. This makes sense. For the things that are important to us, our relationships, our jobs, can bring us a lot of happiness when they are going well but can give us a lot of grief when they are not. My lousy mood was brought on by my creative work. It was very high when my ideas were flowing and came crashing down when I ran into a tangle and problems.
We all are prone to problems and bad moods, so here are some tips for fighting a bad mood.
1) Nip negative thoughts in the bud.
It would be unrealistic to never think about a problem, but sometimes the way we think about problems is not productive. I can usually recognize when I'm going too far with a stream of pessimistic or negative thoughts and will make myself stop. Mentally rehashing painful things from the past is also not a good mental habit. It's mentally healthier to put past trauma out of your mind as much as possible. If you're finding it difficult to avoid worry for the future or dwelling on the negative things of the past, focus your mind on the present moment and the task at hand. 2) Talk to a friend.
It's possible to talk about problems excessively, but sometimes, talking to a trusted friend or family member, even when it doesn't bring about a solution, can do a lot of good. A couple of years ago, I had several incidents where I was treated badly by a number of untrue friends. Thankfully, I still have a good family and a number of loyal friends. Talking to my brother, who gave me some good insights, and talking to a close friend, who was very sympathetic and defensive of me, helped relieve some of those negative emotions. I was able to put those situations behind me. As a Christian, I also talk to God about my issues and try to leave them in His hands.
3) Do a kind deed for somebody else.
Sometimes, it helps to get your mind off of your own problems entirely. When you are going through some difficulty, you are also better equipped to sympathize with others going through difficulty. It truly is better to give than to receive. You will lift your own mood by taking a moment to send someone a card or kind thoughts and express some caring for someone who is having a hard time.
4) Listen to music.
Music can be very therapeutic, but not all music is equally good for lifting a bad mood. You may want to avoid songs about heartbreak and funeral dirges. One of my favorite movies is Sense and Sensibility, based on the Jane Austen novel. In the very beginning of the story, two sisters lose their father and then their house which is inherited by their brother. One sister, Marianne Dashwood, plays sad songs on the piano towards the beginning of the story. Her sister Elinor tells her, "Marianne, can you play something else? Mama has been weeping since breakfast." Marianne then switches to a dirge. Elinor tells her, "I meant something less mournful, dearest."
I actually can enjoy sad songs when I'm feeling good. I enjoy sympathizing with the characters in the song. If I'm inclined to melancholy, even the sad sound of the musical notes can perpetuate that mood, so I avoid sad songs during those times. I can remember a time as a child when I had a little conflict with a friend who was visiting and we were both feeling terrible. Mom put on the soundtrack to Mary Poppins and let us hear this song, and her plan worked in helping us forget our earlier grievance and causing us to laugh together instead.
5) Watch some comedy.
In similar thoughts, I enjoy dramas, even tearjerker dramas and Holocaust movies. These have their place, but, comedies are more therapeutic for when you're going through stress and difficulty.
My brothers introduced me to this comedian Tim Hawkins, and I've been enjoying him ever since. One of my nephews can practically deliver his routines from memory. This particular clip might be about marriage (in part) and I'm single, but I can still appreciate it. It makes me think of my parents. It also makes me think of myself when I'm riding with my father and am his "special helper in the car."
6) Set aside some time to think through proactive solutions.
A few of these ideas such as listening to cheerful music and watching comedy seem like escapism. I don't think escapism is entirely bad. I very much like a quote that was widely attributed all over the Internet to J.R.R. Tolkien. It turns out it isn't a direct quote of Tolkien but is a quote by Ursula LeGuin who was indirectly quoting Tolkien.
"Fantasy is escapist, and that is its glory. If a soldier is imprisoned
by the enemy, don’t we consider it his duty to escape?. . .If we value
the freedom of mind and soul, if we’re partisans of liberty, then it’s
our plain duty to escape, and to take as many people with us as we can!"
I agree with that philosophy. However, just because we need some escape, doesn't mean we shouldn't apply some more proactive thoughts towards solving issues. I'm putting this sort of thought in a different category than worry. A few years ago, I was very upset when I learned a doctor had upped antidepressant medication for a friend. (In a lot of cases, I hear testimonies that people feel better when they stop taking these medications.) One of the issues that was upsetting her was one that was very possibly solvable with some steps on her part. This advice, which I tried to give her, would have been more helpful than more medicine to artificially alter her mood.
In my own recent bad mood, relating to my creative process, I felt more optimistic when I took some steps towards untangling my snag.
When my kids were little I was in toy heaven. I got to color, 'test' out toys and generally have an excuse to see through the eyes of a child. Although my inner-child is ready to come out at a moments notice.
I am a big fan of the trampoline, all that bouncing until I fell off so I will continue to steer clear of those.
Adult coloring books are making a comeback which my daughter-in-law loves to do so I know what I'm getting her for Christmas. Clicking on the link you can get some free printables.
Happy National Pink Day! Everyone is invited to wear pink even the men can as well. Personally, I have seen men wear pink looking spectacular.
I myself have very few items of clothing that are pink for I tend to veer towards the darker colors but I do have a couple of shirts I can choose from.
You can make a pink cake with pink frosting with pink ice cream. While you are eating your pink cake and ice cream you can watch the movies Pretty In Pink or Pink Cadillac.
Pink is also used for breast cancer awareness which is in October. When it's Breast Awareness Day I have seen lots of ribbons tied to car antennas and mailboxes not to mention on people's shirts.
You can listen to Pink Floyd or Pink wearing your pink shirt, eating pink ice cream and cake. You can make a 'pinky swear' with someone.
Give your bestie, friend, mother, or anyone you choose a pink rose even. All in all, it's a wacky way to enjoy your day.
Today we celebrate eating your veggies. When I was growing up I used to hide my peas under my mashed potatoes thinking I was fooling my parents.
Today I love vegetables, I could live on them. A lot of people do live on just vegetable whether out of respect for animals or just plain want to be Vegan. Even people who enjoy meat balk at eating lamb or veal.
Here are some of the veggies you can grow indoors as well as out.
My childhood pets, Trixie the dog and Frisky the cat
So, today, I have another bit of scatalogical humor for you. How do you like that? Scatalogical humor. I confess that this is a new phrase for me. A college friend with whom I'm in contact through Facebook introduced it to me. I'd always heard "potty humor" or "bathroom humor" but scatalogical humor sounds much more dignified, doesn't it? It's also more inclusive, as the story I'm about to tell doesn't involve either a potty or a bathroom. It's not that I'm fixated on doo doo (I hope) but my recent blog about getting doo doo bombed by a seagull at Seaside Heights got me thinking about other, uh, interesting incidents in my life.
My good friend Adrienne is a fan of, er, scatalogical humor, and she is always surprised when I can appreciate it. She thinks I am too delicate a person for this sort of thing. I suppose I am selective. A contrived story is not nearly as funny as a true one. And then there is this. I came across a photo on the Internet where a woman was caught on camera, on an escalator, in a short white skirt, with liquid diarrhea dripping down her skirt and legs. Did you laugh at that? I hope not. If such a public disaster -- God forbid! -- should befall me, I hope someone doesn't photograph my humiliation and publish it to the Internet without my knowledge.
On the other hand, I laughed myself silly as I read about one man's nightmarish situation with a diarrhea emergency and a very unique bathroom situation on a private plane. I can laugh because the poor man clearly sees the humor in it himself. It's worth a read, if you can overlook a few fbombs that he drops. Then, no matter what embarrassing situation happens to you, you can (most likely) say to yourself, 'Well, at least, I didn't go through what that poor guy on the plane did."
The story you are about to read is true. The names have not been changed to protect the innocent, which is basically ... me.
During my college days, when I was home one summer, my brother Tim and I were given the task of carrying a ladder out to the backyard. (I should explain that my brother Tim would be a Tim Clark but that this Tim Clark is an entirely different person than the Tim Clark who owns and writes this blog.) I no longer remember the reason why a ladder was needed in the backyard. I only remember that something interesting happened in the process. I was on the far end of the ladder backing up with it, while my brother walked forwards with the other end, and I was barefoot, because I'm always barefoot whenever possible. Did I mention I had a dog? If you gather nothing else from this story, take note of this, that if you have a dog, walking backwards through your backyard barefoot is probably not a good idea.
Yes, you guessed it. I stepped in dog poo. Not only did I step in dog poo, I stepped in fresh, warm, moist dog poo that squished up really well between all the toesies. I suppose the wisest thing for me to do at that point would be for me to take the garden hose and hose off my foot. I didn't think of this however, because the backyard didn't seem like my realm. My older and wiser brother -- twelve years older to be exact -- could have pointed out this simple solution, only he was too busy laughing, doubled over, laughing really hard.
So, instead, I act like some slightly demented flamingo, hopping on one foot from the yard to the back door. Brother Tim never leaves my side, although not so much in support. He is still laughing. I think he is forgetting to breathe. Does he offer me advice? Tips? No. He just stays with me as my hysterical sidekick, my straight man who can't be serious. He's Harvey Korman.
I continue hopping through the house. I wish I could show you a "Family Circus" style map to show you just how far my trek through the house was to get to my final destination. I hopped through the family room, the dining room, the living room, up about five steps, a demented flamingo with fresh poo on her foot, down the hallway and into the bathroom. I then hopped into the tub where I could rinse off my foot.
And thus ends my "tail" of poo, which is very different from a tale of Pooh, although I hope you enjoy both.
In case I made my brother Tim out to seem cruel, I just want to say that he is the best brother in the world. The Tim who owns this blog is pretty cool too and, perhaps, he is my distant relative.
Uh oh, Cheerios. You are probably thinking, "Isn't the slogan, 'Uh oh, Spaghettios'?" Well, recently, just last Sunday, I had an "Uh oh, Cheerios" moment. That moment came when I looked down at my shirt at the end of the church service and saw a chocolate Cheerio that had somehow adhered itself to my shirt, probably with a little milk acting as glue. I noticed this at the end of the service, which meant that I had sung with the worship team in front of the congregation and socialized during the Chapelccino coffee time, all the while having this charming decoration stuck to me.
How had it survived all of this? Nobody likes to (hopefully) embarrass their friends, but a good friend will point out that you have a strand of toilet paper on your shoe or a bit of mustard on your face, particularly before you are going to be on a platform somewhere. I can remember a time when an elderly lady in the church choir had a serious wardrobe malfunction, her skirt splitting up the back, exposing a lot of slip and leg and rear end. The dear lady, either from a little bit of Alzheimer's or her dreamy artistic disposition, seemed completely unaware of this, but some other choir ladies formed a human barricade around her in the church foyer to protect her from humiliation.
So, a Cheerio on the shirt is not quite at that level of potential embarrassment, but I have to wonder if it was noticed or unnoticed. I sat down with a cup of coffee at Chapelccino time, and a church lady friend made sure I had one of her home-made zucchini muffins and told several of us a story of how she had met her husband. It had drama! It had conflict! She told us about the moment when she first met him and how she had felt electricity as he pressed a business card into her hand and then how he promptly lost her interest when he was over an hour late to their first appointment. I was left hanging then as we had to hurry upstairs and into the service.
Did the Cheerio blend into the paisley pattern on my shirt? Did it look like a little brooch from a distance? I can just imagine the inner dialogue of the church ladies. "I like her brooch. It's simple. It's minimalist. It's organic. Where can I get one?" Maybe I should go into the jewelry business and gradually expand from Cheerio brooches to Froot Loop earrings.
I did a Google search and found the earrings above from the Sweet Clay Creations shop on Etsy.com. Maybe cereal as jewelry is not too far-fetched of a fashion trend.
My cousin had a different suggestion when I told him my story. He said, "You can always claim it was a political statement and that you were raising awareness for the Church Mouse Hunger Project."
This is, unfortunately, not the worst of my embarrassing and rather recent mishaps with clothing. Over the Memorial Day weekend, I went with friends to Seaside Heights in New Jersey. I was initiating a brand new pair of white shorts from Anthropologie, shorts of a delicate embroidered fabric. There must be some sort of Murphy's Law in effect when wearing white. If you wear white, you are practically daring staining substances to jump onto your person.
I spent most of my time on the beach lying down on my beach towel and enjoying the sounds of nature, including those charming little sea gulls. I looked up and noticed how graceful they were in the air with their little black feet tucked up against their tails.
Photo from Wikipedia
At one point, I showed myself slightly less lazy and sat up, watching the waves and the birds and the children around me playing in the sand. One seagull rewarded my admiration with a fly-by doo doo bombing. That's right. I was the innocent victim of a fly-by doo doo bombing. Not only that, but the scheming creature literally did this behind my back over my towel that was so nicely exposed while I was sitting up. So, I unknowingly lay right back down in my nice fresh white shorts.
I didn't notice anything strange until we were getting ready to leave, and I noticed this nice bit of squashed unidentified brownish substance on my towel. I then asked my friends, "Do I have anything on me?"
My friend Iris answered, "It looks like the poop." My friend Iris is originally from Hong Kong, and although she has lived in the States now for many years, she can still occasionally insert a "the" where you don't expect it. So, I made my way from the beach with a towel wrapped around me to hide a brownish blot on my nether regions.
Just to prove that Murphy's Law is in effect while wearing white, Iris was also wearing a fairly new white sleeveless sweater that day. We had our dinner at a nice little Italian restaurant and pizzeria in Toms River where we could hear the owner singing away in Italian in the next room. While making a point, Iris touched the table and flipped a fork full of tomato sauce onto herself and her white sweater.
I suppose it could be worse. The seagull could have arranged his timing so that I was still lying down when he flew by, and then the doo doo bomb may have landed directly on me.
Sunday, June 12, 2016
I have always loved children. They are what makes the world go round bringing you laughter and joy. So let's celebrate Children's Day and give you child a hug.
