Heidi in Real Life

Chapter 1: Black Friday Purchase Inflatable-Illuminated (6-foot) Santa was purchased flat, boxed and hopeful. Included are two guide wires and light bulb and a magic inflation pump. Santa filled quickly and stood erect and happy with his one “mittened” hand waving and the other hand at his side, standing guard outside our window, facing out—a seasonal sentry, bidding glad tidings to passers by. “Welcome Christmas, bring your cheer.” (Fa-who-Foraze) Chapter 2: Rockin’ Around the Barberry Bushes Inflatable-Illuminated Santa sways back and forth in the wind, sideways and across, danci ng to an unheard song. Santa does not stand tall anymore, but manages to look jolly. Even with the two guide wires, two rigged guide wires tied to water-filled milk cartons, and Santa himself propped against a half-buried shovel, he can not stand upright. Possibly the anticipation of Christmas Morn is too much for the eager, plastic elf; his enthusiastic dirty dance shameful to th...

Just the idea of a juicy, succulent, roast turkey on Thanksgiving afternoon makes me want to get up and dance. Roast turkey is on my “Top 20 List of Happy Things.” Prior to its entrance into my oven, however, and subsequent applause-worthy exit; all dressed up and tan, the necessary steps to achieve true turkey perfection are the cause of many a turkey-related case of hives. I’m not very adventurous anymore on Thanksgiving. I choose my holiday “standard” so I don’t have to deal with a NEW bird and have something go miserably wrong. I want my enormous breasted Butterball in his plain, white plastic coat. I don’t care how he got so big either . The first of many “Turkey-Go-Wrong” years began when, once, my Mom cooked a turkey in a Nesco in our garage.  What we ate that night not only smelled like car  and grass clippings, but somehow the turkey exploded, leaving only a bony pile.  Another year I bought a less expensive, generic brand of turkey. I prepared him as I...

My fri end and I usually take turns sitting with each others dogs when we go on vacations. Bear is Jasmine’s BFF.    Once, when caring for my dog, my friend taught her to “drop” and give up her “booty” Now--no matter where she is, or what’s in h er mouth, if you even whisper the word, “Drop,” Jasmine opens her mouth, spits it out imm ediately, looks at you and says: “There---it’s OUT. Happy?” I am not skilled enough to teach Bear tricks, but last spring, when we had her for a week, I documented her diary: Bear's Sp ring Break:   Vegas this Ain't Hello Family! Having a great time—wish you were here! No-really, I wish you we re here. Although Jasmine’s family is providing a fun-filled vacation for me complete with DELICIOUS PUPPY FOOD (which is WAY better than that “Club” Lamb and Rice crap you buy me, FYI), and entertainment in the form of a constantly “up”, hyper dog who, in my opinion needs to be MEDICA TED, I miss you. Bringi...

Recently, I wanted to make homemade vegetable soup.  While searching through my kitchen, I found a shrunken onion, a dried-out garlic bulb on the top of my stove growing green legs and a tail and a bag of slime labeled “favorite greens".  This would not do. My recipe called for celery.  When I reached for it on my shelf, it spoke to me: Celery voiced by Kevin Hart:  "I know you don't expect me to be hard any more.  Damn baby.  The force was with me a week ago, but now I'm limp!  That's on you, boo.  That's on you." Flaccid or not, Kevin, soup you will be. Next I needed carrots from the vegetable drawer.  These 5 carrots all had yellow hair and the voices of Donald Trump: Carrot 1:  I am the slimiest carrot in the entire world--better than any other. Carrot 2:  This is my natural coloring, not a self-tanning product. Carrot 3:  Do you want your pussy grabbed? Carrot 4:  Let's make this refrigerator great aga...

My friend, Karen, had the nerve to put in a backyard pool with no ladder or steps.   The s ides w ere too high for me to get good elbow leverage. I “ali-ooped” my daughter out on my shoulder a few minutes prior and witnessed my friend launch herself out of the water like an elephant seal (sorry, Karen) which made us laugh hysterically.  “Oh my God. How am I going to get out of here? ” I quickly brainstormed putting on high-heeled water shoes or getting myself up on a raft and then rolling over on their deck. Now…. “Oh my God. I’m next.” I tried to jump up and lift myself out of the pool. Nope. Tried again. Nope. Started laughing, which rendered my muscles weak. Tried again. Nope. “Is she going to live in our pool?” my friend’s 5- year-old said. “I’ll bring you a chair” Karen suggested. She fetched a green plastic lawn chair which was light and floaty.  She jumped back in to help me hold it under water. As I stepped on the ch...

I spent an afternoon with my family at the zoo while on vacation. It was so hot. Looking around it would seem the animals were also feeling the heat. Their way of coping was to …lie down and do absolutely nothing . I can totally relate to these animals.   I completely understand their need to remain motionless. BUT...I paid to see them and I want to see some animals looking alive! In addition to the comatose animals that are visible, there are many more animals you simply can’t see due to the arrangement of their habitat. I long for the zoo animals of my childhood that were in your face and doing stuff year round. Is it SO wrong for me to miss those days? I remember Bongo the mountain gorilla, swinging on tires and throwing things in the air, indoor elephants and polar bears diving and retrieving things for fish. I’m not at all advocating animal cruelty or abuse---I’m just saying…. I miss seeing zoo animals actually moving. The zoo we visited has...

During my first few years of life, I believed all my Grandma’s lies intended to fool me into socially acceptable behavior.  Instead of just saying, "Eat your spinach!", I'd get a load of crap, gypsy-type lore warning me what would happen if I didn't eat it.   This is a reckoning, Grandma--I'm exposing the untruths! Lie #1: "If you eat your bread crusts your hair will get curly."   Nonsense. What would make me believe that?  The grown ups must have given each other looks over the table, congratulating themselves in my gullibility   Not cool   Lie #2: "If you swallow your gum it will get stuck in your stomach."   Is my thick, middle-section the result of years of swallowing gum wads which ultimately created a gigantic stalagmite in my stomach? I think not! It’s probably not a good idea to swallow gum, just because it isn’t food. Still….. swallow your gum if you want to--it will get processed and end up in Lake Michigan. Lie...

In preparation for a reunion I’ve decided to go to, I’ve been refreshing my memory of names with faces. I own two different high school yearbooks which are strewn on the floor near my computer for quick reference. “What does KIT mean?” asks my daughter, holding my senior yearbook. “ Keep in Touch .” I say. “What about RMA?” she asks, pointing. “That’s Remember Me Always .” I answer KIT and RMA were “great-grandmothers” to the more modern OMG and LMAO. We were WAY ahead of our time. “What about SEXY?” “ WHAT ?? ” In a milli-second, I rapidly flash back to all the autographs, forget-me-nots, comments and notes that were written in my two books. Not knowing for sure how many things she read before she asked me a question, I say: “I need to look at that, dear.” Mother has some damage control to do . I see what she meant. Someone had written: “If you read Gertrude’s yearbook- I am just kidding about what I wrote. We all think you look ...

CHING, CHING, CHING, CHING, chingcingchingching, shimmy, chingcingchingcing. Click,click,click,click…click,click,click,click Jasmine, the Canine Alarm Clock is ringing. It doesn’t matter if she stays up all night. I could take her for a 20 mile run, she would still get up earlier than I intend to, shake her noisy collar, and clack her four sets of toenails on our hardwood floor. Even if I gave her slippers, took her collar off for the night and kept her in her kennel—she would jostle, hmpf, rattle, whine and generally make it known she is awake. And no one hears her but me. Why won’t she sleep in? I have a lot of questions like this stored up. I thought—for the purposes of this Blog and for dog owners everywhere, I’d conduct an unprecedented interview with my dog: Heidi: Good Morning, Jasmine. Jasmine : Yes, Good morning to you as well. Heidi: Let’s get right to it. Why won’t you sleep in? Jasmine : Well, we dogs have heightened senses. We h...

All women know if you hold in a fart long enough, it goes into an appointed fart-holding area; a special female-fold in our colons. It waits there until the coast is clear, when you’re perfectly private and you’re perfectly alone. Then…on your command only….blastoff.   NEVER in all my years in school did I ever even THINK of squeaking a noisy fart out—not at recess, not in the locker room, not even in the high school bathroom with the burn-outs. The potentially disastrous impact on my vulnerable social life wouldn’t allow it. No girl I knew ever did. We have trained ourselves to manipulate the air …just so… to be absolutely certain that in case of an emergency, we could slip it out silently. It’s not something we’re taught—it is instinct. And… this goes DOUBLE for dating and/or wooing a boyfriend---no gas—EVER!! I’m sure there are men out there that hold it in and pass it out silently too. But the consequences of noisy-release aren’t as severe. You might hear some snickers,...

Members of my household generally agree we clean for company because we want to make our guests feel comfortable, and by comparison, our normal cleanliness level isn’t. Most days I honestly don’t see the mess. I am complacent until such time we are notified that someone is coming over. The “I-live-in-a-clean-house” drug wears off and I come out of my trance to the reality that…(gasp), I am a messy housekeeper! If you arrive unannounced at our home, you will most likely “bust” us as we truly live—as dusty oafs, sitting around in a living room of filth, dirty dishes and dog hair. You will definitely find clutter, unfolded towels in the bathroom and the toilet paper roll off its dispenser. If you’re lucky, you might even see the artwork my daughter sculpts with the nearly-dry toothpaste in the sink. If you give us notice , however, the scene is quite different. The counters will be sparkling, knickknacks dusted on the coffee table, vacuum cleaner stripes on the carpet,...

When y o u decide that bikini underwear really isn’t all that comfortable, you know you’ve crossed over. Once I chose briefs, I felt the arms of women all over the world embracing me as I grew into a new level of maturity—another consciousness. I am in a new group—the Sensible Panties Sisterhood--“High-Cut Briefer” brigade. I am reminded of the sisterhood this past week when I was doing a mountain of greasy, nasty, college male laundry. My washer and dryer were monopolized for several days and I was seeing the barren bottom of my underwear drawer while waiting to do my laundry. Way in the back, where I haven’t been in years was the last pair of clean underwear. It was the jade-green pair. The pair that is way too tight. I am embarrassed to think how old they must be. I think the reason I keep them is that they remind me of a thinner, younger me. I keep them to test how close I am to my goal weight. They are Cinderella’s glass slipper. If they fit, I will be transf...

Lunch ladies have a bad rap. Sure they look weird with their eyebrows scrunched down by the webbing of the hairnets. Sure they’re grouchy and abrasive. People don’t realize what a tough job it is to be in a cafeteria behind the scenes . To really understand a lunch lady, one has to walk in her orthopedic shoes. I have limped in those shoes. I accepted a job at our local middle school lunchroom. How hard could it be? When I showed up on my first day, I quickly assessed that I was at least 15 -25 years younger than the other employees. This was going to be no problem. Never underestimate a senior citizen wearing a hairnet. Day 1 . Lifting, moving, baking, hot pads, freezers, lifting trays, steam---Holy Crap!  Those old women can move boxes like bulls.   They never stop moving and it’s hot in the kitchen.  I was sweating down planes of my body that had never been sweat down before . The food service general issue “Lightly-Powdered Surgical Gloves” I was wore...

Yesterday, my daughter Krista said, “Mom, I just saw an ant on the floor.”  I froze. “Was it just one ant, honey, or more than one?” I asked. “There might have been two” she said.   In my experience, two ants are a plague. We have ants every year, they come out some wall in the house frenzied.  Like the queen ant said, “Run like crazy, serpentine, go in circles! I command you--Freak out the humanoid!”   When this happens, I have a total meltdown. No one else seems to be bothered by the ants like I am. I call my hero, the exterminator, to spray the interior and exterior of the house. I feel fairly safe when my perimeters are soaked with ant chemical. Inevitably, though, there are ants that are sacrificed and break through the force field and show up on the inside. I’ve tried all methods of ant termination. It’s useless really, since our entire neighborhood is one giant ant hill. I’ve tried ant goo, which you squeeze on a tiny piece of cardboard. T...