Quacks Like A Duck

I am sometimes enthusiastic when meeting new folks. Just have to hear their story. And usually share bits of mine.

Was in Narragansett some time ago and visited a kayaking place.

While talking to the guy I detected an accent. Not the Rhode Island or New England local parlance.

I patiently waited the recommended obligatory time before plunging in with that cringe-worthy, tired old phrase, “You’re not from around these parts.”

Not even in the form of a question. Just a “putting it out there cuz it’s true” statement. Not said, though, in any mean-spirited “you don’t belong here” vein.

I know it totally sounds like something you would hear in the South. “Son, you ain’t from around these parts, are ya?”

He said, “No, I am not.”

I ask, “Texas?”

He replies, “Close.”

Arkansas.

Anyway, we began chatting. I was accompanied by my friend, Karla  (who I met when I lived in Dallas) and my youngest daughter.

Karla says, “I’m not from Rhode Island but I live here now. Mary’s a native.”

I exuberantly exclaim, “But we first met each other in Texas!”

And proceeded to tell him our “it’s a small world” story.

Later, I texted her and said, “Oh my gosh, I just realized. The way I described our meeting that fellow must have thought we were a lesbian couple with an adopted daughter!”

Not because Karla was sporting a short, new haircut but because of my enthusiasm for the relationship.

She immediately texted back, “The ones who thought “lesbians” were the authors at the book signing last week. When we asked them to autograph the book beginning, “To Karla and Mary.”

I literally laughed out loud.

Who does that?

It’s true though.

In this particular scenario, it was simply a case of us being cheap, avid readers. Not lesbianism. I can certainly understand the confusion. Lesbian couples would totally share a book.

If it looks like a duck. If it quacks like a duck. And all that.

But it might not always be a duck.

Surround yourselves with friends who truly make you laugh and enjoy the rest of your week!

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Purpose Driven Present

I have been visiting a nursing home each day in a nearby town. Just before Thanksgiving, in support of the residents, there were tables lined with many theme-styled gift baskets/hampers. Sports, pets, wines, spas, games and lottery were some of the themes. A person could buy tickets and then put their stubs in a tin can associated with the basket. The staff would pull the winning tickets on December 16th.

So, I thought I’d show my support. Bought a string of tickets and plunked them down in the various tins. Baskets that appealed to me.

Well, December 16th rolls around and I am making my daily visit. The receptionist sees me and exclaims, “Mary, you won!”

“TWO baskets!”

Funny, it just happened to be one of those days. God must have thought I needed a little pick-me-up.

One was a “Pot of Gold.”It had fifty scratch-off lottery tickets.

The other was a “Family Games” hamper.

I brought them home and under the Christmas tree they went. Thought it would be fun to have my adult children open them on December 25th.

Christmas morning arrives. After exchanging gifts, we all furiously scratched the fifty tickets. Some small winnings here and there. No big jackpots.

No one seemed interested in the “Family Games” basket so I opened it later in the day.

Table tennis, whiffle balls and more!

Wait, one box contained a juggling kit. Something new to learn! To hell with the on-line Latin course!

Donum cape! Seize the gift!

But what’s wrong with the following photo?

I cannot lie. The word “video” on the box didn’t capture my attention. Too intent on the contents.

I opened the box and noticed a few things not quite right. The leathery balls in bright, primary colors seemed to almost flake in my hands. I quickly put them back in the box before they disintegrated. There are already too many messes to clean in the house.

The other thing was that there was a musty smell coming from the box.

There was also a video. A video??? It’s been ages since we have had a VCR in this home.

So, yes, this particular box in the basket was quite dated.

Was I disappointed? No. I thought it was funny.

I totally understand how this happened. These were all gift baskets donated by friends and families of nursing home residents. While some folks went out and purchased items I am quite certain a few donors looked around their houses, attics and garages to happily contribute/compile a theme basket.

There are some lessons here.

If you are hanging on to something?

Let it go! Let it go! Let it go!

It does not even have to be a material, physical thing.

Give your gifts while they are fresh. Current. Useful. While you are fresh. Current. Useful.

Do not save your gift giving for a rainy day. Or a rainy year. Or a rainy decade.

It might not serve any purpose.

There is no time like the present. A purpose driven present.

Wishing you all a happy and healthy new year! A purpose driven 2023!

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Caughterized

Hope you all are doing your best to enjoy the new year. Wait, what? February almost a thing?

Hello, summer!

Speaking of sunny climes, my older brother is in Florida for a bit and loving it.

When I visited last March he showed me small holes in the lawn left by some varmint. There were no sightings of the animal. Just the piles of dirt each day.

He started off the new year buying a brandy new cage. I guess enough was enough.

On January 30th, he sends me (and my other brother) an email with the caption, “Finally caught him!”

This is the critter.

It’s an armadillo for those of you not familiar with the animal. I lived in Texas for a dozen years so had my fair share of them poking in my gardens.

Anyway, I was glad that all of my brother’s hard work paid off in the end. I know the battles that can be waged. Humans vs. nature.

My dad was forever on the losing end with the skunks and squirrels. He’d trap and release them at the nearby golf course. I felt like they played a quick round on the links and hightailed it right back home. He never made a dent in his backyard squirrel population.

I have also kept myself up, many a night, plotting revenge and planning strategic moves to stop squirrels from eating every single bit of the backyard bird food. My mind is like a game of freaking Stratego. Serious stuff.

Yes, I am not ashamed to admit that I have greased the pole (that holds the bird feeder) with oil so the squirrels couldn’t climb up it. They did anyway. Sure, they looked like little strippers in an adult club but they did it.

I sprayed a mixture of cayenne pepper and water on the food-supposedly it doesn’t bother birds but squirrels don’t like it. Didn’t work.

Bought special bird feed that was already treated with “hot” spices.

Also measured the space where the feeders were positioned-far enough from bushes and branches so they couldn’t catapult themselves. But they still managed to attend the early bird special. Munching away. They’ve chewed on the feeders and broken them.

I’m not gonna lie. I feel like I’m being mocked.

So I can appreciate the glee that comes with winning. I can’t wait for all of the juicy details. Tell me, brother, every step of the hunt.

After my initial “Wow!” I send another email.

Gonna lob an easy one at him-for starters.

“What did you use as bait?”

Eagerly anticipating the blow by blow. The hunter and its prey story.

I’m thinking maybe he put a slab of meat or peanut butter in the cage.

He sends me a response,”Didn’t even bait it. Took three weeks till he finally wandered in. Lol”

What???

I immediately text back, “I do not think THAT constitutes a “Finally caught him!” header on an email. While you’re floating around the pool in your lanai slurping on a Bud Lite doing absolutely nothing!” For three weeks. And then Dopey wanders into the cage.

Update: Today he sends me an email. “Caught another one. Could be the same one. LOL.”

Mocked and burned.

I hope everyone enjoys the rest of the weekend!

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Turn It Around

My youngest daughter, home for the holidays, walked out of our pantry and commented, “Really, Mom?”

She had a glass jar in her hand. In black print was a single word.

“Flour.”

Wait. That’s not unusual for a pantry staple, is it???

Except, to her dismay, it didn’t actually contain flour.

I glanced over and said, “Ah. Never mind. Just turn it around.”

She turned the container around and it now displayed, “Light Brown Sugar.”

All was right in the world again.

Got me thinking. What a great piece of advice for this new year. For you and me.

Just turn it around. 

It might be about making small changes. Or big!  Could be our attitude or how we are dealing with something.

Just turn it around.

It’s not just for pantry items anymore.

 

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Signs Everywhere

There are signs everywhere. I mean that literally. For bathrooms. Exits. Stores. Everything.

Thank God most of us can read.

And we always see the same old ones.

Stop. Emergency Exit. Toilet.

We read them on autopilot. Not thinking twice about them.

I was in Mumbai last month. As I was waiting for the elevator I read the sign on the wall.

Do not use elevator in case of fire. 

Made me pause. Because I’ve only ever seen that sign displayed, “In case of fire do not use elevator.”

Putting “Do not use” at beginning of the sentence caused me to hesitate for a second. Like I almost didn’t get on the lift. Not out of spite. Just because I was leaning toward the “Do not use.” Because it was at the beginning of the sentence.

Here is another sign. Located at an institution of learning. I won’t mention the name to protect the innocent.

What’s wrong with this picture? Besides me capturing a tree and a partially constructed KL building in the reflection.

First of all. Just for the record. I am cautious about bathroom signs. I pay very close attention. Probably stems from me possibly wandering into the gents’ bathroom when I was about six years old. At the old Tiano’s Five Acres during a turkey raffle for Little League baseball. Scarred for life. I read and reread bathroom signs all the time before entering. Just to make sure.

I stop and stare at this door. You can’t see this part in the photo so you’ll have to trust me.

It actually says “Push” and yet it has a handle. Me no like. At all.

But that’s not the part that confuses me.

I know for a fact that there are three toilets behind that handled door. So if only one woman is allowed at a time how on earth will I know if someone is already in there??

Me no like.

But I understand it was not intentional.

However, there was a sign at a restaurant in the U.S. that was totally intentional.

I would enter the bathroom door that displayed the “Women” sign.

As soon as I closed the door it had a sign, “Welcome to the Men’s Room.”

Yikes! What? What?

The sadistic beings got me every time. Every single time.

I second guessed myself with a mini heart attack every time. I have to assume I wasn’t the only one. Or the sign wouldn’t exist. They (those evil restauranteurs ) knew the world was full of doubting Thomases –not sure how to make Thomas plural so that will have to suffice. People doubting themselves and their ability to read. And make the right decision.

The world is full of signs. Go for the one that makes you feel good.

 

 

 

 

 

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Just Pause

Thought I would share some photos taken while I lived in Malaysia. They made me smile. Or laugh. Or shudder. Or just pause.

Who would try to feed that bad boy?

Ummm, okay. Not sure I would ever be a regular customer.

Why are people always complaining about hospital food?

I prayed, “Please don’t slip in your socks!” Most of the fellas go barefoot.

Not exactly sure what this is but I think I could use one.

Fast service no matter how long it takes. Good to know.

Needed cash so I was excited to see the ATM. Until. Sigh. It’s happened to me on more than one occasion.

Day at the zoo. Adult wristband. Validation!

I know it shows no right turn but that blinker was flashing anyway. Hope they’re okay.

Those folks obviously didn’t read the sign.

Dunkin Donuts. Not just donuts.

Sign in the hospital. Way to motivate.

Pretty birds just wandering around the neighborhood near school. On the correct side of the road.

So proud to have grown up in Ode Island. Malaysian heat toasted my bumper sticker.

When you’re not like the rest of the gang.

This photo was taken by a friend. LOL.

I will leave you with this one.

Who’s a mess? Amma mess.

 

 

 

 

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Girl Part

I received an email from my husband the other day. Most likely from his phone. He is currently living in India while I have been in the U.S. with my daughter for the summer. We were fortunate to see each other for a few days this past July in New York.

The email’s subject was  “Girl Part Needed.”

Ummm, okay.

I was a little taken aback. I know that we have not seen each other in a month and I get that he misses me but he usually verbalizes this and doesn’t ever put anything racy in writing. He knows the woman he married–I am a bit conservative when it comes to that sort of thing.

Then I see the three accompanying links and I am afraid to click on them.

I shouldn’t have worried.

The three links were for grill parts. He wanted me to order them and bring them to India. So that we can barbecue when I finally arrive in India.

I should have known.

#autocorrect

 

 

 

 

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Creatures of Habit

Stayed a week in Vermont this past summer with my cousin.

Two of the nights were at a family run motel. Not my family but a family.

First morning I woke up, grabbed a cup of coffee and went to the grassy area near the parking area.

Spied a woodchuck leisurely foraging in the newly mown grass.

I love wildlife. Think I’m a bit fascinated with their behaviors.

Next morning I wake up, grab a cup of Joe and head to the same place.

Who’s there?

The woodchuck. With his same old song and dance routine.

I chuckled and thought, “Well, isn’t he just a creature of habit?”

Second thing that popped into my mind was, “He’s probably thinking the very same thing about you, Mary!”

It is so true.

God forbid my razor is not in its usual place in the shower. I’d have a conniption fit.

I think about my daily routines.

My shower routine is better choreographed than a Riverdance production. Shampoo first quickly followed by conditioner. Next up is the cleansing of the face and body with a grand finale of the Venus. Two quick strokes under the arms and maybe six on each leg -under the knee of course.

I don’t want to detail the day. You get the picture. You are also a victim of routine.

I tease my Mom all the time. She eats at the same time every day. On the dot.

But here’s the thing. We are all creatures of habit.

It’s comforting and makes life a little easier to navigate.

We all use phrases like, “Getting back into the school routine” or “Have to get back to the routine.”

I just love wildlife. We’re fascinating.

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Arrival

I’ve spent a lot of time in airports. My last posting was about arrival gates.

I suppose I will just continue with that thread.

Some years ago my daughter, in high school at the time, was returning from Syria where she had been studying for the summer.

I was sort of jacked up anyway. Having just experienced the thrill of seeing/feeling the international airplanes arriving, flat on my back, staring at their bellies.

https://foursquare.com/v/the-airplane-park/4bca5832511f952199adafc7

So, my heart was fluttering while I was waiting for Rory at LAX.

I kept asking, “Is that her? Is that her?”

It was a long time to be separated from my first born. I’m not sure what I was expecting in my emotional state.

I spied a young girl in the crowd at the arrival gate.

“Is that her??????”

Finally, Annie said, “No, Mom, it’s not her. Unless she’s grown five inches and is now a Latina.”

LOL.

 

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Speaking Portuguese

A childhood memory popped into my head. Made me laugh.

My best friend, Diane and I were just little kids and sitting under a tree in front of her neighbor’s house across the street.

Portuguese folks lived there. Not unusual in our town.

We had twigs in our hands and we waved them around like they were cigarettes. And spoke animatedly in Portuguese while we “smoked.”  Just nattered on and on in front of this house.

We probably only knew three words or phrases in Portuguese.

Cale a boca. Shut your mouth. We pronounced it like collabuca.

Va’ para casa. Go home. Our pronunciation was Vapadagaza.

Maybe a couple of others.

I’m sure there was a lot of gibberish filler under the tree that day.

Everyone had a parent who smoked back then. But I do not remember the Portuguese moms ever smoking. So I’m not sure where we picked up that scenario.

This memory made me smile for a few reasons.

Because we are still best friends and love each other dearly.

Because our kids are friends.

Because we were a couple of goofballs.

Because I can actually remember something so clearly after forty two years.

Sadly, neither one of us ever learned Portuguese. A pity since we had such promise! 🙂 

Have a lovely weekend. I hope you all remember something that will make you laugh or smile. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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