Happy Halloween

The kid is out trick or treating at a friends, who actually lives in a neighborhood unlike us. I am here trying not to OD on chocolate(since we have no trick or treaters at all this year it seems). I've decided to have a glass of wine to counteract the chocolate, well at the very least, get my mind off the candy. The one who is always decadent here. Feeling like my son's all grown up (at 12&1/2), I didn't even take a picture of him in his costume-that he threw together last nite when he found someone to go out with. He hadn't even put on his football pants tonite when he was getting ready- he had on basketball shorts. I told him he had to put on the football pants because he just looked like he was going to school with his usual baseball cap(tho it was a Patriots championship one). He didn't wear the Helmet because he informed me that his doesn't look anything like a Patriot's helmet - oh yeah, he's Teddy Bruschi. I put the black stuff under his eyes , but i got some on his eyelids too- not good. ok i'm done ramblin here - yes i've had way too much sugar. should be making an outline for the next month.
Oh here is a cool thing that Lane over at Pink Elephants created: The Nanobloplomo Randomizer.


Well here is something I can get excited about- found this wonderful idea over at Fussy's . Post every day for the month of November and there's prizes!! Last year when I heard about Nanowrimo, I jumped on the bandwagon (never one to miss a party)knowing full well that I would drop out at the first opportunity or when the going got tough. I have no great hopes of writing a book - well right now anyway. I would be thrilled though with a short story or even more my speed - maybe a flash piece- final a venue for me, or maybe even just stick to poetry and blogging for now.
Since my blog posts have dwindled to about 2 a wk. and 1 being my Joke Friday(which i never miss), and the other being my creative writing course homework, this is a little scary; but then being the professional cheater that i was in high school I already thought,well there's always those saved drafts to resurrect and then there's always my photos and over at Dinky's - you can see her organized list of ideas if you think you might need help. So,anyone else care to join me??

Assignment 4

Assignment 4 from Just Write:

The Bell

“Miss, Miss, excuse me Miss, have they been dismissed yet?” the disheveled, middle-aged woman on the bench asked with urgency, as she pulled her coat up around herself.
Tina tired from her day of cleaning, barely noticed her before the woman’s strained voice forced her to look at her. Now she looked towards where the distraught woman was pointing; it was Bayside High School, where she herself had graduated from.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know; I didn’t hear the dismissal bell she said to the strange woman. Now that she was looking at her, she saw that she had really dirty, dirty blonde hair and startling blue eyes.
“Oh, well I just came here to give my son some money. Ya see, this morning I told him I didn’t have any and well I just want to make sure he get’s some lunch money, I don’t want him going hungry.”
“Well, I remember being a teenage,” said Tina, I’m sure he’ll survive,” she told the strange woman as she strode off, out of the park.
As she was walking thru the gates of JFK Park she noticed a park security guard having a Coke. “Hey did the High School get out yet?” she asked the guard.
“Where are you from,” said the guard as he finished sipping his coke. “School’s been out for two weeks.”
“Oh,” said Tina, caught off guard by this statement. “Well, that lady sitting back there on the bench said she was waiting on her high school son to get out.”
“Yea I know..,” shrugged the guard flipping his head in the direction of the stranger, “well she’s really not all here” he said, gesturing at his head. “Ever since her son came back from Vietnam; well came back in a body bad, that is. She hasn’t been right ever since.” She comes here every day at Noon and leaves when the bell rings signaling that recess is over”
“That’s terrible” said Tina as she hesitated for a moment but then continued on down the street to her next customer, already thinking of the month’s worth of grime and dirt she would have to make disappear in the next four hours. Thoughts of the woman and her son were already left behind on the park bench.

Joke Friday

Subject: Never sit on a toilet seat!

Here's a visual!

My mother was a fanatic about public bathrooms.
When I was a little girl, she'd take me into the stall, teach
me to wad up toilet paper and wipe the seat. Then, she'd
carefully lay strips of toilet paper to cover the seat. Finally, she'd instruct, "Never,NEVER sit on a public toilet seat.

Then she'd demonstrate "The Stance," which consisted of
balancing over the toilet in a sitting position without
actually letting any of your flesh make contact with the toilet
seat. By this time, I'd have wet down my leg and we'd have to
go home to change my clothes. That was a long time ago. Even now, in my more "mature years, "The Stance" is excruciatingly difficult to maintain,
especially when one's bladder is full. When you have to "go"in
a public bathroom, you usually find a line of women that makes
you think there's a half-price sale on Nelly's underwear in there.

So, you wait and smile politely at all the other ladies, who are also crossing their legs and smiling politely. You get closer and check for feet under the stall doors.
Everyone is occupied. Finally, a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the
woman leaving the stall. You get in to find the door won't latch. It doesn't matter.
The dispenser for the new fangled "seat covers"(invented by someone's Mom, no doubt) is handy, but empty.You would hang your purse on the door hook if there was one - but
there isn't - so you carefully but quickly hang it around your neck.
(Mom would turn over in her grave if you put it on the FLOOR!).

You yank down your pants, and assume "The Stance" Ahhhh, relief. But then your thighs begin to shake.You'd love to sit down but you certainly hadn't
taken time to wipe the seat or lay toilet paper on it, so you
hold "The Stance" as your thighs experience a quake that would
register an eight on the Richter scale. To take your mind off
of your trembling thighs, you reach for what you discover to be
the empty toilet paper dispenser. In your mind, you can hear
your mother's voice saying, "Honey, if you would have tried to
clean the seat, you would have KNOWN there was no toilet paper!"

Your thighs shake more. You remember the tiny tissue that you
blew your nose on yesterday - the one that's still in your purse. That would have to do. You crumple it in the puffiest way possible. It is still smaller than your thumbnail.Someone pushes open your stall door because the latch doesn't work. The door hits your purse,which is hanging around your neck in front of your chest, and you and your purse topple backward against the tank of the toilet.

"Occupied!" you scream, as you reach for the door, dropping
your precious, tiny, crumpled tissue in a puddle, and sliding
down, directly onto the insidious toilet seat. You bolt up
quickly, knowing all too well that it's too late. Your bare
bottom has made contact with every imaginable germ and life
form on the uncovered seat because YOU never laid down toilet
paper - not that there was any, even if you had taken time to try.
You know that your mother would be utterly ashamed of you if
she knew, because you're certain that her bare bottom never
touched a public toilet seat because, frankly, dear,
"You just don't KNOW what kind of diseases you could get,"

By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is
so confused that it flushes, sending up a stream of water akin
to a fountain that suddenly sucks everything down with such
force that you grab onto the toilet paper dispenser for fear,
of being dragged off to China.

At that point, you give up. You're soaked by the splashing
water. You're exhausted. You try to wipe with a gum wrapper you
found in your pocket, then slink out inconspicuously to the
sinks. You can't figure out how too operate the faucets with
the automatic sensors, so you wipe your hands with spit and a
dry paper towel and walk past a line of women, still waiting,
cross-legged at this point, no longer able to smile politely.

One kind soul at the very end of the line points out that you
are trailing a piece of toilet paper on your shoe as long as the Mississippi River!
Where was it when you NEEDED it??) You yank the paper from your shoe, plunk it the woman's hand and tell her warmly,"Here, you just might need this."As you exit, you spot your hubby, who has since entered, used and exited the men's restroom and read a copy of War and Peace while waiting for you. Annoyed, he asks, "What took you so long, and why is your purse hanging around your neck?"

This is dedicated to women everywhere who have ever had to deal
with a public restroom (rest??? you've got to be kidding!!).
It finally explains to the men what really does take
us so long. It also answers their other commonly asked question
about why women go to the restroom in pairs. It's so the other
woman can hold the door and hand you Kleenex under the door

Take 2

This was almost what I was going to hand in for my next writing assignment - a rewrite of assignment 3, with dialogue. When I reread,or carefully read (damn ADD) assignment 4 I realized that this wasn't what the teacher had asked for but I thought it was good practice for me who is dialogue challanged. I prefer the first draft after all though.Please bear with me or just skip this. Thank goodness tomorrow is Joke Friday.

The Cleaning Lady

Did she hear me asking my son to help me look for ‘Product 409’? It was as if she welcomed the opportunity to extol on its pros and cons. “No I don’t think that’s the best thing to use on wood furniture, who told you that?” she said.
{Well actually, another stranger I met walking the aisles of Home Depot}, I thought to myself but replied instead, “Oh, one of my friends is a cleaning lady, you guys are truly amazing-how do you know all this stuff?”
We traversed that aisle, darting from one product to another, while she rattled off the virtues of all of them. Then she told me that she was on husband number two and also that she worked as an EKG technician. “Do you work at Emerson Hospital? Is that why you look so familiar?” she asked as I caught her glancing at my scrubs.
“No I work at North shore Health,” I shot back offhandedly not wanting to talk about work as I quickly steered the conversation back to cleaning products. “What about dusting, I never know what to use… Pledge, Endust??” I queried her as I found myself staring at the vertical lines around her mouth, imagining her puffing on a butt while slugging down a beer on a Friday night or Sunday afternoon at the local pub, maybe even with a chaser of blackberry brandy. All of it aimed at numbing the brain, clouding the judgment, making it possible for her to go home with yet another stranger from the bar.
By the end of our discussion on cleaning and the medical field, we were on agreement on one thing anyway- we had both made a lot of people, other than ourselves, a lot of money.
“Good luck” she called, as she headed down the next aisle of cleaning products.

Assignment 3

Finally feeling caught up ( for now) on my assignments over at Just Write.

The cleaning lady

I met her in Target the other day when I was moseying down the cleaning products aisle. We got into a lengthy conversation about cleaning products: glass products, wood products, and the pros and cons of each one. She was average height with dirty blond hair, and had a hard look about her. I could only imagine her difficult life; it was etched in her face, the grimace from years of working two jobs and surviving two failed marriages. But then she quickly smiled, brought up her hand to cover her teeth, her bad teeth; and laughed, as if she was always laughing at herself.

I found myself staring at the vertical lines around her mouth, imagining her puffing on a butt while slugging down a beer on a Friday night or Sunday afternoon at the local pub, maybe even with a chaser of blackberry brandy. All of it aimed to numb the brain, cloud the judgment, make it possible for her to go home with yet another stranger from the bar.

She certainly was an expert on the art of housecleaning and she was intent on imparting her wisdom on me. I left without the products I came in for but with two that I was sure would transform my dusty, dirty house into a palace. If only I could’ve convinced her to come home with me and show me just how it’s done.

Assignment 2

I kinda cheated and resurrected this old post for Assignment 2 over at Just Write.

The dirt road

I had just moved into a house, down a long dirt road, that belonged to a married couple. I was to have a room in their house. I didn’t know them, but they were taking me in. I was having the road paved for them, but I don’t know why. Then just as suddenly I was leaving; I didn’t know where I was going. I just remembered this overwhelming feeling of being lost,not settled. I was so lonely in their house; I just wanted to go home.

I was trying to get home to my son because I knew that he had been home alone all day. When I finally called him it was late at night and he hadn't eaten dinner yet. When I walked into the corner store there was a picture of him, on the front page of the Vineyard Gazette, showing him eating ice cream at the ice cream shop on Circuit Ave. in Oak Bluffs. The article said that I was a bad mother for letting him have ice cream for dinner.

The next morning I smiled when I came downstairs and saw him sitting there at the granite island, slumped over the sports page eating cereal and drinking orange juice.

Joke Friday

You may remember the old Jewish Catskill comics of Vaudeville days, viz., Shecky Green, Red Buttons, Totie Fields, Milton Berle, Henny Youngman, and others. No? Hold on, this won't take long.

There was a beautiful young woman knocking on my hotel room door all night! I finally had to let her out.

A car hit an elderly Jewish man. The paramedic says, "Are you comfortable?" The man says, "I make a good living."

I just got back from a pleasure trip. I took my mother-in-law to the airport.

I've been in love with the same woman for 49 years. If my wife ever finds out, she'll kill me!

What are three words a woman never wants to hear when she's making love? "Honey, I'm home!"

Someone stole all my credit cards, but I won't be reporting it. The thief spends less than my wife did.

We always hold hands. If I let go, she shops.

My wife and I went back to the hotel where we spent our wedding night, only this time I stayed in the bathroom and cried.

She was at the beauty shop for two hours. That was only for the estimate. She got a mudpack and looked great for two days. Then the mud fell off.

I was just in London - there is a 6-hour time difference. I'm still confused. When I go to dinner, I feel sexy. When I go to bed, I feel hungry.

The doctor gave a man six months to live. The man couldn't pay his bill, so the doctor gave him another six months.

Doctor: "You'll live to be 60!" Patient: "I AM 60!" Doctor: "See! What did I tell you?"

A doctor held a stethoscope up to a man's chest. The man asks, "Doc, how do I stand?" The doctor answers "That's what puzzles me!"

Patient: "I have a ringing in my ears." Doctor: "Don't answer!"

A drunk was in front of a judge. The judge says, "You've been brought here for drinking." The drunk says "Okay, let's get started."

I wish my brother-in-law would learn a trade, so I would know what kind of work he's out of.

The Harvard School of Medicine did a study of why Jewish women like Chinese food so much. The study revealed that this is due to the fact that Won Ton spelled backward is Not Now.

There is a big controversy on the Jewish view of when life begins.
In Jewish tradition, the fetus is not considered viable until it graduates from medical school.

Q: Why don't Jewish mothers drink?
A: Alcohol interferes with their suffering.

Q: Why do Jewish mothers make great parole officers?
A: They never let anyone finish a sentence.

A guy called his mother in Florida, "Mom, how are you?" "Not too good," said the mother. "I've been very weak." The son said, "Why are you so weak?" She said, "Because I haven't eaten in 38 days." The son said, That's terrible. Why haven't you eaten in 38 days?" The mother answered. "Because I didn't want my mouth should be filled with food if you called."

A Jewish boy comes home from school and tells his mother he has a part in the play. She asks, "What part is it? The boy says, "I play the part of the Jewish husband." The mother scowls and says, "Go back and tell the teacher you want a speaking part."

Q: Where does a Jewish husband hide money from his wife?
A: Under the vacuum cleaner.

Q: How many Jewish mothers does it take to change a light bulb?
A: (Sigh) "Don't bother. I'll sit in the dark. I don't want to be a nuisance to anybody."

Short summary of every Jewish holiday: They tried to kill us, we won, let's eat.

Did you hear about the bum who walked up to a Jewish mother on the street and said "Lady, I haven't eaten in three days?" "Force yourself," she replied.

Q: What's the difference between a Rottweiler and a Jewish mother?
A: Eventually, the Rottweiler lets go.

Just go home

I probably don't have a chance in hell, but here is my entry into a contest that I saw on Jeanette's (of Musings of a Middleaged Woman) new blog: Competizione, where she finds and keeps track of all sorts of contests - stop over and check it out, you won't be disappointed - there's something for everyone!

As I negotiated my way out of the Dunkin Donuts drive-thru, setting out for my eleven year old son’s way too early Sunday morning game, I reached down to make sure that I had the Map quest directions. I headed out the main highway of our one horse town and onto a major highway and got off at the exit on the directions. This is where my son took over reading the directions: “ok, go 1/10 of miles” (1/10 of a mile! - you’re kidding me, right?), “take a left on Wilson St.” (There is no Wilson St! Ok, whoa, stop) I pull off into the next gas station before we go any further. Sheepishly I approach the cashier, doing my best to pay attention to her directions and since they sound simplistic and straight-forward enough I confidently stride back to the car and head back in the direction that I came from. As I pass where I got off the highway in the first place, I sigh and say,” I still don’t see any damn Willow St.”

As soon as I can turn around again I do and not being one to give up quickly, I march myself into yet another convenience store. Five minutes later, I am still lost, downhearted and now reduced to tears. My son gallantly is letting me off the hook as he tells me, “Mom its ok, we can just go home.” As we are passing the bigger than life Foxboro for the third time, I think to myself - no more convenience stores.

This time I say to the couple that have stopped in the middle of a side street for me and have kindly rolled down their window to direct me, “just get me to Norton, I’ll stop for directions to the field when I get there.” It appears that the direction g-ds have decided to take pity on me (or more likely my son – poor kid with the wacko crying mother) and we cruise into the town. It somehow occurs to me as I enter the antique shop that I might wish I was back on the main thoroughfare. The woman sitting behind the counter is frail, on oxygen and looking at me over her wire frames. While she is formulating the directions, I can’t help but think -will we ever make the game?

Ok, we’re in the homestretch now; I can feel it in my bones, I can almost smell that football field (or is that cow manure?) We pull into the parking lot with just minutes to spare. My son sprints off in the direction of his team, I let out a big sigh and take a sip of my cold coffee, knowing full well that it’s far from over. I still have to get us home; but then I remember that ice cream stand that we will have to pass on the way back home and finally - I smile.

Slowing down part 2

Ok in the previous episode our young heroine was bemoaning the fact that she has "slowed down" in all aspects of her life and specifically in her once enjoyable hobby of blogging. Ok I am a self admitted lazy,creative type. I like to write and find it enjoyable; that is when "The Editor" is not rearing her ugly head and red penning every word as I write it.

Some of you know of my other creative endeavors and for those of you who don't, here is the list: Photography - i started out in college, with a 35mm Germany camara, under the supervision of a "real photographer" and I just loved seeing those black & white images appear magically in the tray in the dark room. He even said I had...."Talent" but unfortunately I also was lazy and we all know how much work "Art" really is. I took off in a Red Volkswagen bus for California ( but that's another story - literally in my "writing" folder on this computer - yup you guessed it - unfinished. Am I missing the "finishing" gene? I can't even count the drafts saved on blogger - maybe 50?

Oh yeah, the list: let's see actually first should be..."Musician". I've been playing the piano since 4th grade/age 9 and I can actually play Xmas carols fairly well and I can improvise Jazz if I've had enough alcoholic bevarages. I stopped lessons at age 13 when I discovered boys and also picked up a baton - another talent - baton twirler in High School. During this same time period was my interest in drama - I joined the Jewish Community Center's Adult Drama group. I was one of the teenage girls in the production of Bye, bye birdie. I had a lot of fun doing this - singing/dancing and fainting when Birdie came on.(I realize I have just dated myself beyond belief).

This is where I also got to practice my flirting skills; the lighting guy (several years older than me - actually only 3) was quite smitten with me. I also got to stay out late on a school night because of rehearsals and sometimes go to the uptown diner for ? pie. What did we eat so late at nite - burgers and fries? ice cream? I guess I'll save the diner chronicles for another post.

Jump ahead now and we will add "writing" to that list. I wrote my first poem my Freshmen year in college, which was also my last year as I dropped out in the middle of sophomore year - remember that Red Volkswagen bus? More about that someday. Remember now we are dealing with a world class procrastinator and one of the best little time wasters in the world and then there is my terrible indecisivness.
Now what's a girl to do? Guess I'll just keep on - like the Doodah man.

Slowing down

to a crawl, it seems - in all aspects of my life and not really liking it much, except for a few insights. Specifically- i've got to take better care of myself. I don't know, I just thought I could go on forever at my once usual frenetic pace.

I am starting to (having to) appreciate the one thing that i've got done today, instead of dwelling on all the things I didn't get done.

I thought I was actually appreciating the slower pace, time to think, notice, reflect; but maybe too much time.

A friend just recently pointed out to me that my blog posts have slowed down too. Am i thinking too much?? Has the muse taken a vacation when i wasn't paying attention.

Am i still clearly depressed? or just lazy as we have always known. Crazy I guess - did you notice the we there? Both, i reckon.

Or maybe i'm just too hard on myself. My arm is still bothering me and is a big bother!! I'm a middle-aged mother with marital problems. I'm not thrilled with my job anymore (key word - job).

Well I think i'm done complaining, whining and otherwise making excuses, for now
that is.

Joke Friday

At the National Art Gallery in Dublin, Ireland. A husband and wife were
staring at a portrait that had them completely confused.

The painting depicted three black men totally naked sitting on a park bench.
Two of the figures had black willies, but the one in the middle had a pink willie.

The curator of the gallery realized that they were having trouble
interpreting the painting and offered his assessment. He went on for over
half an hour explaining how it depicted the sexual emasculation of
African-Americans in a predominately white, patriarchal society. "In fact, "
he pointed out, "some serious critics believe that the pink willie also reflects the cultural and sociological oppression experienced by gay men in contemporary society."
After the curator left, an Irishman, approached the couple and said, " Would
you like to know the truth, what the painting is really about?"

"Now why would you claim to be more of an expert than the curator of
the gallery?" asked the couple.

"Because I'm the guy who painted it," he replied. "In fact, there's no
African-Americans depicted at all. They're just three Irish coal
miners. The guy in the middle went home for lunch.

Assignment 1

Since it seems like forever since I posted and wasnt' sure which draft to ressurect and as it was going to be much too hard to condense all of the recent happenings into a post, I decided to post my 1st creastive writing assigment from over at Just Write, Edie is the bestest writing teacher a girl ever had. Now please be gentle with me.


—As a child I learned that it was better to be seen than heard. Why then was it such a surprise that I turned out to be so shy? At age nine I had asked to play the piano, not to be an entertainer or trained monkey- asked to perform on command. I had asked because I loved music, specifically rock n roll. I had the biggest collection of 45’s of any six year old that I knew - Martha and the Vandells, the Supremes, the Temptations. Motown reigned supreme.

It didn’t matter who was in the house or for what reason, my mother would invariable ask me to entertain them and most times I would outright refuse, despite of or because of her persistent cajoling, “Oh come on honey just play a little bit of Moon River for Mr. Lewis” – their insurance salesman. Sometimes she would stoop to outright bribery – “I’ll give you a dime for the candy store later”. Hmm, a dime could buy my favorite – a Milky Way and some of those wax lips I liked or maybe even a roll of the paper dots. I never could quite get the appeal of those dots, since more often than not, you would wind up eating some of the paper that they came on.

I can just remember the first time that I heard that children should be heard not seen. It was in a variety or five & dime store and some terse store clerk muttered it to a lady she was helping (it might even had been my mother). But it wasn’t til some 30 years later that I would learn that just the opposite could be true as well; maybe it was better to seen than heard.

When my son was maybe three or four I made the mistake of taking him shopping with me one day to a Nursery where they also had an indoor shop with gardening tools, pottery and knick knacky things. When the inevitable crash came I knew it came from my irreplaceable darling boy. When we were asked to leave in no uncertain terms, I scooped up my denim clad, blond, curly-haired son ,kissed his head and breathed in his delicious smell as we fled the scene of the crime.

Joke Friday

Subject: His and Her Diaries


Tonight I thought he was acting weird. We had made plans to meet at a bar
to have a drink. I was shopping with my friends all day l ong, so I thought
he was upset at the fact that I was a bit late, but he made no comment.
Conversation wasn't flowing, so I suggested that we go somewhere quiet so
we could talk. He agreed but he kept quiet and absent. I asked him what was
wrong; he said nothing. I asked him if it was my fault that he was upset.

He said it had nothing to do with me and not to worry.

On the way home I told him that I loved him, he simply smiled and kept
driving. I can't explain his behavior. I don't know why he didn't say, "I
love you too."
When we got home I felt as if I had lost him, as if he wanted nothing to
do with me anymore. He just sat there and watched TV. He seemed distant and

Finally, I decided to go to bed. About 10 minutes later he came to bed,
and to my surprise he responded to my caress and we made love, but I still
felt that he was distracted and his thoughts were somewhere else.

He fell asleep - I cried. I don't know what to do. I'm almost sure that
his thoughts are with someone else. My life is a disaster.


I shot the worst round of golf in my life today, but at least I got laid.

Cute little 90 yr. old guy

Sometimes you do have to tell the patient to shut up(well, nicely). He was just like a little kid, couldn't shut up. His daughter kept telling him, "Dad, she's a professional, let her do her work" -(nice to be appreciated).
Interesting fellow/married 68 yrs. they've been together 75 sincethey were 15. The teacher had to separate us at dances (imagine being able to remember that!). They still went dancing up until 2 yrs. ago and they have "words" sometimes. (well who wouldn't after 68 or 75 years?) my goodness.
When I asked him what he did, he told me of factory work, Rantheon (chemical co.) built houses, quohoaged (clamming- for you not from New England). "Whatever I had to do - six kids he shrugged towards his daughter.
As he got out of the chair, he mentioned to his daughter see i'm stiff, I have to get back to the gym.
He plays golf, is a wonderful cook, his daughter told me.
I directed him into the Dr's exam room telling him that the Dr. would be in shortly. He said, "You mean, you're not the Dr.?" How many times have I heard that?
His chart was full of faxes, so I told the Dr. that I had arranged the retinal ones from most recent in front in the back of the chart and the duplicates and other ophthalmologist reports were on the front. So he says to me," so what's the bottom line?" I really should have stayed in school.