Hello all, I have moved my blog from BlogSpot to
http://veryfunnystories.webs.com/index.htm Although I have not figured out how to do an RSS feed on that site, but that is where I will be blogging from now on. There are pictures and other stories besides humor there also.
I wanted to thank you for buying my books, the sales have been pretty good and I am very grateful to all of you.
Sunday, February 5, 2012
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Sales Goal
I have reached my goal for January and still have part of a day left. I sold 80 books in December on Amazon and hoped to sell 100 in January - I did - plus the one to Spain (which is really weird). I am going to set my goal in February to 100 because it is a short month, but you never know. Some people are selling 100 a day or even a 1,000 a day; but those are novels that have to do with vampires or romance.
Actually, I found out that 100 a month is pretty good for most ebooks and for humor it is excellent, since everyone's taste is different and what I think is funny is probably not to most others.
I entered some of my books in the Global ebook awards thing - cost me $79, but you also get some instructions on how to promote your books. So far I have been lazy and have not been doing that. I am hoping I can get a couple of good reviews from the judges even if I don't win the "coveted gold sticker" for the cover of the book. I still haven't figured out how the sticker would be applied to the cover if it is an ebook... ha ha.
I wish a few of the people who bought my books would go back and write a review on the book page because that helps sales, but so far nothing yet. This is why I spent the $79 so that maybe a judge will write one (hopefully positive and not too critical).
Anyway, that is my news for the day.
Tah tah
Actually, I found out that 100 a month is pretty good for most ebooks and for humor it is excellent, since everyone's taste is different and what I think is funny is probably not to most others.
I entered some of my books in the Global ebook awards thing - cost me $79, but you also get some instructions on how to promote your books. So far I have been lazy and have not been doing that. I am hoping I can get a couple of good reviews from the judges even if I don't win the "coveted gold sticker" for the cover of the book. I still haven't figured out how the sticker would be applied to the cover if it is an ebook... ha ha.
I wish a few of the people who bought my books would go back and write a review on the book page because that helps sales, but so far nothing yet. This is why I spent the $79 so that maybe a judge will write one (hopefully positive and not too critical).
Anyway, that is my news for the day.
Tah tah
Friday, January 13, 2012
Reviews
I am hoping that putting a link in the back of the books to my author page will make it easier for readers to review the book, but so far either the buyers have not read the book or just don't like to write reviews.
Sales are moving along at a slow steady pace, so I am very thankful for that; it means that there are people out there who like to laugh.
I have a recommendation for a really funny novel that comes from another Pacific Northwest Author: David Moore; Title: David & Suzanne's Big Frickin' Canadian Motorcycle Adventure. It is available in paperback for $14.95 and is currently free on Kindle. I do not know how long that will last, so get your copy ASAP.
Enjoy the read!!!
Sales are moving along at a slow steady pace, so I am very thankful for that; it means that there are people out there who like to laugh.
I have a recommendation for a really funny novel that comes from another Pacific Northwest Author: David Moore; Title: David & Suzanne's Big Frickin' Canadian Motorcycle Adventure. It is available in paperback for $14.95 and is currently free on Kindle. I do not know how long that will last, so get your copy ASAP.
Enjoy the read!!!
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
New Book Covers
I am in the process of changing my Funny Stories book covers from the Party Pig to the Laughing Tiger. Hopefully it will help book sales on Amazon. Not sure if I will change the covers on Smashwords, they take forever to republish, but I might do it in a couple of weeks. Here is what the new cover looks like. I have also posted links to the books and my author page at the end of each book for the convenience of the kindle owners. 
Saturday, October 29, 2011
More News
I have been readinging several novellas and am behind on writing reviews, but will get them done this week. I highly recommend "Rabbits in the Garden" by Jessica McHugh, "Farsighted" by Emlyn Chand, and "If Tombstones Could Talk" by Stacey Joy Netzel. I have several others I am reading and will recommend later. If you want to read a really different humor novel, I recommend "Echo Station One" by Edwin Stark. I did not think I would like it because it is not the type of humor I normally read, but it held my interest and, to my surprise, was really a good read.
Of course since I am reading, I am not writing so my teen novel is just sitting on my computer, patiently waiting for me to do something with it. Promising myself I will get back to it after the holidays and then will write like a crazy woman!
Of course since I am reading, I am not writing so my teen novel is just sitting on my computer, patiently waiting for me to do something with it. Promising myself I will get back to it after the holidays and then will write like a crazy woman!
Sunday, October 23, 2011
New News
I finally figured out how to add an RSS feed; however, I don't usually blog so I am not sure of the point of all of this.
I have published several books on Smashwords now and they should go out for sale on Nook and other places within two or three weeks. I have the same books for sale on Amazon Kindle, and now have an author page there.
I have almost enough stories to publish a 7th Twenty Funny Stories book and really wish I would spend more time on my teen novel, but that I will work on that after Christmas if not before!
I have published several books on Smashwords now and they should go out for sale on Nook and other places within two or three weeks. I have the same books for sale on Amazon Kindle, and now have an author page there.
I have almost enough stories to publish a 7th Twenty Funny Stories book and really wish I would spend more time on my teen novel, but that I will work on that after Christmas if not before!
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Baking Cookies
Not all Moms and Grandmas bake, I decided to try; how hard can it be?
I had a package of cookie dough in the bottom of my fridge for awhile; you know the kind you break off the little squares and bake in the oven. I kept them there to bake some quick cookies when the children complained that there was nothing to eat. The children grew up and moved out; they had kids and the cookie package was still there. I found them while cleaning the fridge and am pretty sure it had been there for some ten to fifteen years; so I thought, “Maybe I should do the mommy/housewife thing and bake cookies.”
Take my advice, if you find yourself in the same boat - put the package in the garbage - but I came from the “waste not, want not” generation. I sprayed Pam on the cookie sheet, placed the little squares all around and put them in the oven for 10 minutes. Nothing was happening, so I checked to see if my oven was on - it was; another four minutes and I was beginning to smell the Pam baking, but there was no cookie smell. OK, I took them out of the oven and smashed each square down with the back of a teaspoon then put them back in the oven for another 4 minutes. They have got to be done after 18 minutes, so I decided to take them out of the oven to cool.
You know how good a warm chocolate chip cookie tastes when it comes out of the oven - these did not. There was no smell or flavor, just a little flavorless crunch. I let them sit and cool (maybe they will get better). They became flavorless rocks; but at least now there was no weird aftertaste. Hubby told me to give them to the pig, but I thought it might make him sick (chocolate is not good for animals). I told Hubby that he needed to try one and let me know what he thought. He declined, but I am going to let them sit on the counter for the evening to see if he is tempted; after all, I ate two and did not die.
There are two more cookie-dough rolls in the fridge but I am pretty sure they have been in there longer than the package that was baked, and am thinking they will find their way to the garbage can. I really wanted to make a roll of Pillsbury cinnamon rolls, but that can exploded last month and I had to discard them as well. I guess I will just snack on some Cheerios (right after I check the expiration date on the box).
I had a package of cookie dough in the bottom of my fridge for awhile; you know the kind you break off the little squares and bake in the oven. I kept them there to bake some quick cookies when the children complained that there was nothing to eat. The children grew up and moved out; they had kids and the cookie package was still there. I found them while cleaning the fridge and am pretty sure it had been there for some ten to fifteen years; so I thought, “Maybe I should do the mommy/housewife thing and bake cookies.”
Take my advice, if you find yourself in the same boat - put the package in the garbage - but I came from the “waste not, want not” generation. I sprayed Pam on the cookie sheet, placed the little squares all around and put them in the oven for 10 minutes. Nothing was happening, so I checked to see if my oven was on - it was; another four minutes and I was beginning to smell the Pam baking, but there was no cookie smell. OK, I took them out of the oven and smashed each square down with the back of a teaspoon then put them back in the oven for another 4 minutes. They have got to be done after 18 minutes, so I decided to take them out of the oven to cool.
You know how good a warm chocolate chip cookie tastes when it comes out of the oven - these did not. There was no smell or flavor, just a little flavorless crunch. I let them sit and cool (maybe they will get better). They became flavorless rocks; but at least now there was no weird aftertaste. Hubby told me to give them to the pig, but I thought it might make him sick (chocolate is not good for animals). I told Hubby that he needed to try one and let me know what he thought. He declined, but I am going to let them sit on the counter for the evening to see if he is tempted; after all, I ate two and did not die.
There are two more cookie-dough rolls in the fridge but I am pretty sure they have been in there longer than the package that was baked, and am thinking they will find their way to the garbage can. I really wanted to make a roll of Pillsbury cinnamon rolls, but that can exploded last month and I had to discard them as well. I guess I will just snack on some Cheerios (right after I check the expiration date on the box).
Men & Grocery Shopping
In all our 41 years of marriage my husband has gone grocery shopping with me twice until he retired. This is because I banned him from the stores. He picked up expensive cheeses and other items and then freaked out because the bill was so high; somehow he could not fathom that the rest of the family needed to eat too.
He has been retired for almost a year now and one of his “fun” things is to drive to the next town where the only Safeway store in the county is located. He cannot buy one of something, but buys at least six so he goes alone because I am not a shop-together kind of a person. Being a man’s man, he loves steaks, but only rib bone-in and (he says) Safeway has the best, so whenever they are on sale off he goes to buy a half dozen family packs for me to freeze in single-steak packages (he is the only one that eats them).
The only other store he is allowed to go to is the Dollar Store where he buys reading glasses. He comes home with a half dozen pair in all colors and sizes. He used to buy other things in the dollar store like pickled cauliflower, but being that he did not have his glasses on he would get six jars of unknown pickle types thinking he made a big score in the pickled cauliflower isle. I have shelves of pickles that no one will touch. The new rule is “Do not buy anything without your glasses.”
Another week, another sale and back to Safeway he goes. He is always so pleased when he comes home and goes on and on how friendly everyone is to him. Finally, Mr. Hermit is coming out of his shell, maybe we will actually go out to dinner sometime soon (it has been four years). Since we both forgot our anniversary this year, we have another 364 days to wait for date-night.
After Safeway and the Dollar Store, can you imagine what would happen if he went into a hardware store? Six hammers, I don’t think so. This is why I am the one that does all the rest of the shopping, even at the hardware store.
Of course it is not just the stores, it is garage sales and “side of the road bargains” that are a pox to his wallet. For awhile he was coming home with broken riding lawnmowers. At one point we had six, but my son took one home, two are for parts and the other three we mow lawn with or just use them for transportation around the yard (easier than walking). His latest acquisition, 6 top-hats with monopoly pieces glued to them. Maybe I should give up and let him buy the fancy cheese.
He has been retired for almost a year now and one of his “fun” things is to drive to the next town where the only Safeway store in the county is located. He cannot buy one of something, but buys at least six so he goes alone because I am not a shop-together kind of a person. Being a man’s man, he loves steaks, but only rib bone-in and (he says) Safeway has the best, so whenever they are on sale off he goes to buy a half dozen family packs for me to freeze in single-steak packages (he is the only one that eats them).
The only other store he is allowed to go to is the Dollar Store where he buys reading glasses. He comes home with a half dozen pair in all colors and sizes. He used to buy other things in the dollar store like pickled cauliflower, but being that he did not have his glasses on he would get six jars of unknown pickle types thinking he made a big score in the pickled cauliflower isle. I have shelves of pickles that no one will touch. The new rule is “Do not buy anything without your glasses.”
Another week, another sale and back to Safeway he goes. He is always so pleased when he comes home and goes on and on how friendly everyone is to him. Finally, Mr. Hermit is coming out of his shell, maybe we will actually go out to dinner sometime soon (it has been four years). Since we both forgot our anniversary this year, we have another 364 days to wait for date-night.
After Safeway and the Dollar Store, can you imagine what would happen if he went into a hardware store? Six hammers, I don’t think so. This is why I am the one that does all the rest of the shopping, even at the hardware store.
Of course it is not just the stores, it is garage sales and “side of the road bargains” that are a pox to his wallet. For awhile he was coming home with broken riding lawnmowers. At one point we had six, but my son took one home, two are for parts and the other three we mow lawn with or just use them for transportation around the yard (easier than walking). His latest acquisition, 6 top-hats with monopoly pieces glued to them. Maybe I should give up and let him buy the fancy cheese.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Missing Sox
Laundry day and another half-dozen socks go missing. Generally not sports socks, but the dress socks or children's socks take off for parts unknown. I have drawers full of single sox waiting for mates and am running out of drawer space for other things like underwear, jeans or sweaters - my junk drawer has more single socks than junk. Once I purchased some of those sock-mate thingys where you clip pairs of socks together before you wash them - they magically changed places with each other during the wash and though two socks were connected, they no longer matched.
Even though I buy my husband the same style and color of dress socks so that when one goes missing, I can pair the missing one up with another who has lost its mate; they become chameleons and change during the wash so they still don't match any other sock. This leaves me wondering if it is some sort of plot by sock manufacturers to get us to purchase more socks and they aren't really matching in the first place. Do we really compare the socks when we open a new package to see if they actually match or are merely close? I never thought about it, but I am going to start; more than likely the sock stores will not let me in after I prove to them that the socks in a package do not match, heck some are not even close - look, one is black and the other is blackish.
I often thought that my wash machine was sucking them out and down the drain during the spin cycles, but after some twenty-five years with the same washer, you would think the hose would plug up eventually and it would no longer drain. I decided to run my hand along the top of the bucket thing that holds the clothes, maybe there would be the tip of an escaping sock that I could save. You really don't want to do that, I got a handful of what looks like mud and I am not sure I want to put my clothes in that wash machine any more.
I filled the machine with soap and disinfectant and ran it through a cycle, but that didn't help. There are still layers of mud along the top and outside wall of the wash bucket. I am left to wonder if there are sock-eating monsters living in the mud, but I am afraid of taking the wash machine apart to look, I could lose a hand and I need my hands to type.
My husband is not a plumber, but that may be the only option at this point - what wife wouldn't want their husband's groping hands eaten by the sock monster? On the other hand, after twenty-five years, maybe a new wash machine is in the cards. Now I know what the Maytag man does all day, he takes the old wash machines apart and sells sock puppets on EBay.
Even though I buy my husband the same style and color of dress socks so that when one goes missing, I can pair the missing one up with another who has lost its mate; they become chameleons and change during the wash so they still don't match any other sock. This leaves me wondering if it is some sort of plot by sock manufacturers to get us to purchase more socks and they aren't really matching in the first place. Do we really compare the socks when we open a new package to see if they actually match or are merely close? I never thought about it, but I am going to start; more than likely the sock stores will not let me in after I prove to them that the socks in a package do not match, heck some are not even close - look, one is black and the other is blackish.
I often thought that my wash machine was sucking them out and down the drain during the spin cycles, but after some twenty-five years with the same washer, you would think the hose would plug up eventually and it would no longer drain. I decided to run my hand along the top of the bucket thing that holds the clothes, maybe there would be the tip of an escaping sock that I could save. You really don't want to do that, I got a handful of what looks like mud and I am not sure I want to put my clothes in that wash machine any more.
I filled the machine with soap and disinfectant and ran it through a cycle, but that didn't help. There are still layers of mud along the top and outside wall of the wash bucket. I am left to wonder if there are sock-eating monsters living in the mud, but I am afraid of taking the wash machine apart to look, I could lose a hand and I need my hands to type.
My husband is not a plumber, but that may be the only option at this point - what wife wouldn't want their husband's groping hands eaten by the sock monster? On the other hand, after twenty-five years, maybe a new wash machine is in the cards. Now I know what the Maytag man does all day, he takes the old wash machines apart and sells sock puppets on EBay.
Packaging that drives people crazy
Just about everything you buy is double or triple wrapped with safety foil, have un-squeezable plastic caps and hard plastic impenetrable covers. Some of them, I could not open when I was younger; but now opening anything without help is impossible. Of course you know packaging is a plot of manufacturers to have less returns. If you damage the product trying to get it out of the package, they will not take it back because it did not come damaged - you damaged it. All warranties are void and you cannot get your money back.
I purchased a robot dog for my granddaughter one year. Not only was it taped and tied in the package with little ties, it had big plastic screws (that would not unscrew) that you had to remove first before you could move the dog. This took my neighbor's 17-year-old three hours to figure out the code of which plastic handle to move first so that the other screws would undo. I am thankful for her patience and knowledge as I would have used a hammer and told my granddaughter that the dog died in shipping. But of course I would have to go back to the store and spend another $85 to get a replacement, so I am happy there was help available.
The packaging I hate the most is the squeezable caps on detergents and other poisonous house-cleaning items. My arthritic hands cannot squeeze a tomato, so my new bottle of Clorox toilet bowl cleaner (with bleach) looked like it was going to remain unopened for at least a decade. After reading the directions several times and trying to squeeze and open, I decided it was not going to happen. I grabbed a table knife and tried to pry the lid off holding the plastic bottle steady with my knee - stretch, stretch, pry, and pry - phoosh. The lid came off and the contents managed to squirt all over the toilet, the wall, the floor, the toilet carpet, my clothes, and even the ceiling.
Quick, towels to wipe up the messy gel; not quick enough, I have bleached streaks on the toilet, the wall, the floor, the toilet carpet, my clothes, and even the ceiling. The bottle was nearly empty and not one drop got inside the toilet. I poured the remaining gel into the toilet and still had to scrub to get the hard-water stains out. Great, here is a product that bleaches everything in sight except for what it is suppose to bleach.
I painted the ceiling, bought a new toilet carpet, got new wall paper and wall tile, new linoleum, burned my clothes and even replaced the toilet. The next time I have rust build-up, I will buy a new toilet, it is way cheaper than a bottle of Clorox toilet-bowl cleaner in the long run.
I purchased a robot dog for my granddaughter one year. Not only was it taped and tied in the package with little ties, it had big plastic screws (that would not unscrew) that you had to remove first before you could move the dog. This took my neighbor's 17-year-old three hours to figure out the code of which plastic handle to move first so that the other screws would undo. I am thankful for her patience and knowledge as I would have used a hammer and told my granddaughter that the dog died in shipping. But of course I would have to go back to the store and spend another $85 to get a replacement, so I am happy there was help available.
The packaging I hate the most is the squeezable caps on detergents and other poisonous house-cleaning items. My arthritic hands cannot squeeze a tomato, so my new bottle of Clorox toilet bowl cleaner (with bleach) looked like it was going to remain unopened for at least a decade. After reading the directions several times and trying to squeeze and open, I decided it was not going to happen. I grabbed a table knife and tried to pry the lid off holding the plastic bottle steady with my knee - stretch, stretch, pry, and pry - phoosh. The lid came off and the contents managed to squirt all over the toilet, the wall, the floor, the toilet carpet, my clothes, and even the ceiling.
Quick, towels to wipe up the messy gel; not quick enough, I have bleached streaks on the toilet, the wall, the floor, the toilet carpet, my clothes, and even the ceiling. The bottle was nearly empty and not one drop got inside the toilet. I poured the remaining gel into the toilet and still had to scrub to get the hard-water stains out. Great, here is a product that bleaches everything in sight except for what it is suppose to bleach.
I painted the ceiling, bought a new toilet carpet, got new wall paper and wall tile, new linoleum, burned my clothes and even replaced the toilet. The next time I have rust build-up, I will buy a new toilet, it is way cheaper than a bottle of Clorox toilet-bowl cleaner in the long run.
Humor: Funerals
I was raised Catholic and of Croatian descent, this alone means you go to every funeral of every Croatian in town. By the time I was 27, I left the church, opting for a more fundamentalist approach to my beliefs. I still was required to attend relative's funerals or be blackballed from the family. The Catholic funerals have many traditions; for example, waving the incense and later at the burial, the individual incense blessing. Not believing this will help the deceased, I never informed my children about any of the funeral traditions, so they were pretty clueless.
My aunt had always taken photos of the relatives in their open caskets so that she had a memory of them on their last day. Mind you, the cameras at that time were not digital and the color was bad; add this to the bad coloring of the deceased and you got pictures that looked like various versions of "Grandpa" on the Munsters. She was pleased though and made copies for everyone in the family, I would bring them home and my children would make comments on what a creepy family they were born into.
Finally, my aunt met her maker and we, as a family, went to her funeral. This was the first Catholic funeral my children had to attend. Most of the older women were donned in their "mourning" attire - black long dresses, black shawls, and black scarves. They were moaning and crying which made my three younger children look constantly over their shoulders wondering if this was some kind of witch cult and wondered if they were going have a spell cast on them. The Mass was very long and children, being children could not sit still. I am still known in that congregation as a very bad mother who couldn't keep her children respectful and still.
So, once the Mass was over, we jumped into the cars for the procession to the cemetery. I am glad we had our own car and did not ride in the limo as my two older boys and I were joking about the various funeral "criers" that were present. Once at the cemetery, the family gathered around the casket and the priest said a few words (of which I have no idea), then he passed around something that looked like a microphone that was dipped in the incense bowl. Each person shook it over the casket as a blessing to the dead person. My 8-year-old looked at me as it was being passed to him and I said, "No, your hand will fall off if you touch it." He withdrew his hand in horror and it was passed, instead to the next person. Of course my older boys and a couple of nephews had a very hard time keeping a straight face, also the comment brought many glares from the mourning relatives.
My mother, who I am sure I was responsible for sending to an early grave, scolded me and said, "I suppose you will do the same at my funeral." I told her that I probably would, but she would be dead and wouldn't care. With that, she started to laugh and we all enjoyed the rest of the day at the potluck. Of course, no one would talk to me but my mother and my children - hey, the food was great and I was too busy eating to visit anyway.
A few years later my mother died and to our surprise, she did not want a Catholic funeral or Mass. She opted for a simple ceremony at the funeral home and graveside with no incense throwing. Some of the grandchildren stood up with wonderful eulogies and mom's friends from church commented that they have never before been to a funeral like that and it was, surprisingly, beautiful. Way to go Mom!
My aunt had always taken photos of the relatives in their open caskets so that she had a memory of them on their last day. Mind you, the cameras at that time were not digital and the color was bad; add this to the bad coloring of the deceased and you got pictures that looked like various versions of "Grandpa" on the Munsters. She was pleased though and made copies for everyone in the family, I would bring them home and my children would make comments on what a creepy family they were born into.
Finally, my aunt met her maker and we, as a family, went to her funeral. This was the first Catholic funeral my children had to attend. Most of the older women were donned in their "mourning" attire - black long dresses, black shawls, and black scarves. They were moaning and crying which made my three younger children look constantly over their shoulders wondering if this was some kind of witch cult and wondered if they were going have a spell cast on them. The Mass was very long and children, being children could not sit still. I am still known in that congregation as a very bad mother who couldn't keep her children respectful and still.
So, once the Mass was over, we jumped into the cars for the procession to the cemetery. I am glad we had our own car and did not ride in the limo as my two older boys and I were joking about the various funeral "criers" that were present. Once at the cemetery, the family gathered around the casket and the priest said a few words (of which I have no idea), then he passed around something that looked like a microphone that was dipped in the incense bowl. Each person shook it over the casket as a blessing to the dead person. My 8-year-old looked at me as it was being passed to him and I said, "No, your hand will fall off if you touch it." He withdrew his hand in horror and it was passed, instead to the next person. Of course my older boys and a couple of nephews had a very hard time keeping a straight face, also the comment brought many glares from the mourning relatives.
My mother, who I am sure I was responsible for sending to an early grave, scolded me and said, "I suppose you will do the same at my funeral." I told her that I probably would, but she would be dead and wouldn't care. With that, she started to laugh and we all enjoyed the rest of the day at the potluck. Of course, no one would talk to me but my mother and my children - hey, the food was great and I was too busy eating to visit anyway.
A few years later my mother died and to our surprise, she did not want a Catholic funeral or Mass. She opted for a simple ceremony at the funeral home and graveside with no incense throwing. Some of the grandchildren stood up with wonderful eulogies and mom's friends from church commented that they have never before been to a funeral like that and it was, surprisingly, beautiful. Way to go Mom!
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Humor: Christmas Decorating
I grew up with a mother that liked the spruce trees because of their almost equally separated branches. After the bulbs and lights were on, she would string at least ten boxes of aluminum icicles on the branches so it looked like it was raining silver. By the time I got married, it was such a tradition to me that my trees were exactly the same. After ten years into this, I looked at the tree one year and decided it looked like an imitation aluminum tree and it was pretty ugly. For a couple of years I had to put a couple of boxes of tinsel on the tree because the kids said it looked naked, but after that we went cold turkey – no more tinsel to clog the vacuum cleaner – yippee.
We did the manger scene and had some animated figures placed at various locations inside the house, since the outdoor decorations would blow away because of the wind where we live. We tried one year and they all blew away, never to be found again (I am thinking neighbors found them and had a garage sale), but that is only an opinion.
One year I decided to put a cross on top of our shop with red lights flowing from it(blood) and 15 or 20 strings of white motion lights extending from either side (grace). Of course no one was home to help me and while I was 15 feet in the air on the ladder, it slipped and down I went. I landed on my feet, but I am sure that is where I lost my 2” in height as my spine crunched together.
I got back up on the ladder and finished the display; it was beautiful for two days until a gust of wind blew it all apart, then it was just a blob of red lights, with non-working (motion) white lights hanging down from the peak in a long, fat stream. It looked like a rocket ship with a red nose and again, the neighbors were amazed at my lack of decorating ability and wondered what theme I was trying to convey – Rocket Rudolph perhaps.
Finally, I decided the outdoor decorations were not worth it; and since I am short already, I could not afford to lose another two inches in height; so I opted for a short, imitation, rotating fiber optic tree (in the house). Take it out of the box, straighten the branches, plug in and the decorating is done. (Play the hallelujah chorus here).
Over the years we have acquired boxes and boxes of decorations and as each child married I was able to send them off with a box or two as a starter package. We had five kids and you would think my decoration supply would be depleted, not so. We have boxes and boxes still stored in every nook and cranny of the house. Lights, ornaments, mini ornaments, wreaths, imitation greenery and don’t forget the Christmas village that is so big, it would take a whole room to set up.
Last year is the first day-after-Christmas sale I did not attend, if I bought anything at all, we would not have anywhere to store it, we also have enough wrapping paper and ribbon to last at least for three years after I die. My kids already have their own ample supply of decorations and don’t want to inherit any more, so I am thinking that hubby will make a killing on eBay for at least a year or two after my demise. (Play in its entirety, the Handel’s Messiah here).
We did the manger scene and had some animated figures placed at various locations inside the house, since the outdoor decorations would blow away because of the wind where we live. We tried one year and they all blew away, never to be found again (I am thinking neighbors found them and had a garage sale), but that is only an opinion.
One year I decided to put a cross on top of our shop with red lights flowing from it(blood) and 15 or 20 strings of white motion lights extending from either side (grace). Of course no one was home to help me and while I was 15 feet in the air on the ladder, it slipped and down I went. I landed on my feet, but I am sure that is where I lost my 2” in height as my spine crunched together.
I got back up on the ladder and finished the display; it was beautiful for two days until a gust of wind blew it all apart, then it was just a blob of red lights, with non-working (motion) white lights hanging down from the peak in a long, fat stream. It looked like a rocket ship with a red nose and again, the neighbors were amazed at my lack of decorating ability and wondered what theme I was trying to convey – Rocket Rudolph perhaps.
Finally, I decided the outdoor decorations were not worth it; and since I am short already, I could not afford to lose another two inches in height; so I opted for a short, imitation, rotating fiber optic tree (in the house). Take it out of the box, straighten the branches, plug in and the decorating is done. (Play the hallelujah chorus here).
Over the years we have acquired boxes and boxes of decorations and as each child married I was able to send them off with a box or two as a starter package. We had five kids and you would think my decoration supply would be depleted, not so. We have boxes and boxes still stored in every nook and cranny of the house. Lights, ornaments, mini ornaments, wreaths, imitation greenery and don’t forget the Christmas village that is so big, it would take a whole room to set up.
Last year is the first day-after-Christmas sale I did not attend, if I bought anything at all, we would not have anywhere to store it, we also have enough wrapping paper and ribbon to last at least for three years after I die. My kids already have their own ample supply of decorations and don’t want to inherit any more, so I am thinking that hubby will make a killing on eBay for at least a year or two after my demise. (Play in its entirety, the Handel’s Messiah here).
Humor: Advertisements
I like to watch commercials as some of them are pretty funny, but some are so bad that I cannot understand how they are allowed to be viewed. A particular pet-peeve of mine is the Reebok ad that makes the claim that if you wear their shoe, your butt will develop into a perfect, tiny little thing that will make men drool and women hate you. An update of that ad is saying it will also do wonders for your bust line – these are some talented shoes.
Of course, being 85 pounds overweight, I want those shoes, never mind that my butt could not be fixed with a hack-saw let alone a pair of tennis shoes. Being overweight, my bust line does not need help (except for the gravity problem that causes sagging), so I wonder if the shoes can be adjusted to "butt only" shoes. I haven't noticed any disclaimers like "this is a model, stupid, and won't work on you;" so I am saving my money and it looks like 2010 will be my year. I have not had a perfect butt since 1943 when I came into this world, so I am very excited about the new me at 67 years old.
When reality sets in and there is nothing left for me but the drug ads; I think, "is that really all I have left to my life?" There are more ads for drugs to clear my veins, to help me breathe, keep my bones from crumbling, and stop my painful joints; the side effects are worse than the cure, some of which include blindness and death (yet another government plot to get rid of the aged on Social Security).
There are the ads with people trying to outrun a hospital bed that follows them everywhere, only to find themselves at the scooter store because they can no longer outrun that nasty bed. Oh, then don't forget the ads for term life so that you can be buried without burdening your family; and just in case you don't die today, you can join a retirement community that has fun stuff to do. Joining a retirement community depends whether you have any cash left after paying for all your pills and whether any of your body parts are still able to move. If your parts still work, do not take the exercise classes; I tried to touch my toes and my angry, saggy breasts almost strangled me.
Of course TV being all about beauty, it has thousands of makeup and hair ads which I avoid like the plague. There is nothing they can do for my hair which is now in the state of “thin gray frizz;” the soft skin creams and the makeup – well, what’s the point? I have no eyelashes (I really have no idea where they went) and if I tried to soften my skin, no one could tell because of the overlapping wrinkles, pouches and bags. I tried to cover it up with makeup and you don’t even want to hear about that – I still have nightmares! Perfume ads are still viable for us old folks, it covers the "old, almost dead" smell that no amount of soap will get rid of.
I absolutely hate car ads, mostly because they are all geared to youth, speeding, and partying; none of which I am able to do because I can't stay awake long enough. At least I don't need the sleep-aids and should the Lyrica butterfly come in my room, the can of Raid will come out. There was a time when I would have purchased a Bow-flex or a Nautilus Tread-climber, but thank goodness I could not afford either because now I can simply purchase a pair of Reebok's and have the body of a model - in my dreams at least.
Of course, being 85 pounds overweight, I want those shoes, never mind that my butt could not be fixed with a hack-saw let alone a pair of tennis shoes. Being overweight, my bust line does not need help (except for the gravity problem that causes sagging), so I wonder if the shoes can be adjusted to "butt only" shoes. I haven't noticed any disclaimers like "this is a model, stupid, and won't work on you;" so I am saving my money and it looks like 2010 will be my year. I have not had a perfect butt since 1943 when I came into this world, so I am very excited about the new me at 67 years old.
When reality sets in and there is nothing left for me but the drug ads; I think, "is that really all I have left to my life?" There are more ads for drugs to clear my veins, to help me breathe, keep my bones from crumbling, and stop my painful joints; the side effects are worse than the cure, some of which include blindness and death (yet another government plot to get rid of the aged on Social Security).
There are the ads with people trying to outrun a hospital bed that follows them everywhere, only to find themselves at the scooter store because they can no longer outrun that nasty bed. Oh, then don't forget the ads for term life so that you can be buried without burdening your family; and just in case you don't die today, you can join a retirement community that has fun stuff to do. Joining a retirement community depends whether you have any cash left after paying for all your pills and whether any of your body parts are still able to move. If your parts still work, do not take the exercise classes; I tried to touch my toes and my angry, saggy breasts almost strangled me.
Of course TV being all about beauty, it has thousands of makeup and hair ads which I avoid like the plague. There is nothing they can do for my hair which is now in the state of “thin gray frizz;” the soft skin creams and the makeup – well, what’s the point? I have no eyelashes (I really have no idea where they went) and if I tried to soften my skin, no one could tell because of the overlapping wrinkles, pouches and bags. I tried to cover it up with makeup and you don’t even want to hear about that – I still have nightmares! Perfume ads are still viable for us old folks, it covers the "old, almost dead" smell that no amount of soap will get rid of.
I absolutely hate car ads, mostly because they are all geared to youth, speeding, and partying; none of which I am able to do because I can't stay awake long enough. At least I don't need the sleep-aids and should the Lyrica butterfly come in my room, the can of Raid will come out. There was a time when I would have purchased a Bow-flex or a Nautilus Tread-climber, but thank goodness I could not afford either because now I can simply purchase a pair of Reebok's and have the body of a model - in my dreams at least.
Humor: The Problems Associated With Growing Old
I am almost twice as old now as my mother was when I thought she was really old, of course I was only 15 at the time, and at that age everyone over 25 is near death. I am well on my way to passing that age for the third time (less than a decade to go), and up until the last couple of years I still believed I was young (something about a poem of the mind being deceived would be inserted here if I could remember even one line of it).
Anyway, hubby and I worked hard all our lives, and now our bodies ache and creak and just plain don't work most of the time. I have always had a slight balance problem and have never been able to walk a straight line. Now when I walk, it looks like I am doing the Serpentine in the movie "the In-Laws". My husband bought several riding lawnmowers in case one wore out, we would always have a spare; one of them is now my mode of transportation around the yard. Granted, it is a bit louder than the scooters from the "Scooter Store," but it serves its purpose for me. Although the initial investment was much cheaper than a scooter, if I live much longer the cost of the gas will do me in.
I often wonder what my neighbor across the field thinks when I try to walk across the lawn or when I get on the mower to go back to the shop. We have a very big yard and the shop is over a city block away so there is no way I could walk that far of my own volition. Or what he thinks when hubby and I each get on a lawnmower and drive around the yard without actually mowing the lawn. I am pretty sure he thinks we are snockered most of the time. I have only talked to him once a few years ago, and I think it was because he had to investigate us a little closer than with binoculars; maybe he thought if he actually talked to us, his fears would be unfounded. He has not been back, so I am assuming he is sitting in his window observing us from a safe distance.
I was seriously thinking that we should qualify for some type of disability and asked hubby what he thought. He explained that we would not do well in any kind of SSI interview; mainly because we could not answer questions with a straight face and they would think we were drunk or senile. We do spend a lot of time laughing at ourselves and the many things we cannot do, so silliness has become a way of life; the SSI people would probably take the farm and put us in a home thinking we were both totally insane.
We are continually amazed that other people do things in the evening (like going to dinner or the movies), I mean how can they stay awake past 5 p.m.? Sometimes I have to go grocery shopping or to the bank; grocery shopping is fine because there are 24-stores; but most banks open at 10 and a few at 9 - the day is almost over before they even open - it is a strange world we are living in, when there is nothing open until so late in the day.
For the time being we will continue to shuffle along (much like Tim Conway doing his old man walk), and continue to amaze the neighbor by our lack of normal behavior. We are usually up at 4 waiting to greet the sun (even though it seems to take its time showing up) and pass out long before it sets. Our TV remains mostly unused and our food consumption has gone to nearly a quarter of what it once was. Our vitamin shelf has noticed an increase in bottles; however, and our minds remain young - at least that's what we believe.
Anyway, hubby and I worked hard all our lives, and now our bodies ache and creak and just plain don't work most of the time. I have always had a slight balance problem and have never been able to walk a straight line. Now when I walk, it looks like I am doing the Serpentine in the movie "the In-Laws". My husband bought several riding lawnmowers in case one wore out, we would always have a spare; one of them is now my mode of transportation around the yard. Granted, it is a bit louder than the scooters from the "Scooter Store," but it serves its purpose for me. Although the initial investment was much cheaper than a scooter, if I live much longer the cost of the gas will do me in.
I often wonder what my neighbor across the field thinks when I try to walk across the lawn or when I get on the mower to go back to the shop. We have a very big yard and the shop is over a city block away so there is no way I could walk that far of my own volition. Or what he thinks when hubby and I each get on a lawnmower and drive around the yard without actually mowing the lawn. I am pretty sure he thinks we are snockered most of the time. I have only talked to him once a few years ago, and I think it was because he had to investigate us a little closer than with binoculars; maybe he thought if he actually talked to us, his fears would be unfounded. He has not been back, so I am assuming he is sitting in his window observing us from a safe distance.
I was seriously thinking that we should qualify for some type of disability and asked hubby what he thought. He explained that we would not do well in any kind of SSI interview; mainly because we could not answer questions with a straight face and they would think we were drunk or senile. We do spend a lot of time laughing at ourselves and the many things we cannot do, so silliness has become a way of life; the SSI people would probably take the farm and put us in a home thinking we were both totally insane.
We are continually amazed that other people do things in the evening (like going to dinner or the movies), I mean how can they stay awake past 5 p.m.? Sometimes I have to go grocery shopping or to the bank; grocery shopping is fine because there are 24-stores; but most banks open at 10 and a few at 9 - the day is almost over before they even open - it is a strange world we are living in, when there is nothing open until so late in the day.
For the time being we will continue to shuffle along (much like Tim Conway doing his old man walk), and continue to amaze the neighbor by our lack of normal behavior. We are usually up at 4 waiting to greet the sun (even though it seems to take its time showing up) and pass out long before it sets. Our TV remains mostly unused and our food consumption has gone to nearly a quarter of what it once was. Our vitamin shelf has noticed an increase in bottles; however, and our minds remain young - at least that's what we believe.
Humor: Grade School
When I was in the first and second grades, I had Mrs. Bowsher for a teacher both years. She was always very frustrated with me, and thinking that she was doing the right thing, she would make fun of me in class when I did something wrong. I had a hard time learning to write and because ADHD kids want everything to be perfect, I would write over and over on each line during penmanship making a real mess out of my paper. On the blackboard, she showed the whole class how I wrote thinking it would straighten me up. I was humiliated, so I purposely made messes out of my papers to "get even" with her.
Since no one ever heard of ADHD, I was considered a brat, and because I lost my dad to cancer in the spring of my first-grade year, I was traumatized and angry. This resulted in bad behavior and caused the teacher much grief. I remember losing my milk money one day, and she made fun of me because I was upset and crying. She is probably rotting in "bad teacher" hell.
In the fourth grade, our class went to the hatchery and, for a quarter, I could bring home my very own baby chick. Quite a few of the kids brought one or two of them home; I fell in love with a little black and yellow chick and brought him home. My mother said no because rats will come if we have chickens, and the next day I had to bring it back to school. Never mind that there were two houses on the block with chickens and we already had rats in the neighborhood from the nearby dump, so I didn't see why I couldn't have a chicken of my own. My teacher was angry with me because I had told her I had my mom's permission - which was a lie. One of the other kids took the chicken home. After that, signed permission slips were required for anything we brought home from our field trips.
We used to have playgrounds at elementary school - real playgrounds. Now they have all this safety stuff, and the kids don't know any better so they still think they are having fun. Do you remember the old wood swings? We could stand up and swing, and it was so much more fun than sitting. The swings were tall; the chains were at least 10 - 12 feet long. We stood on the seat and pumped and pumped, trying to get the swing to go straight out, sometimes we succeeded too. Moreover, the ground was blacktop or concrete... none of this soft gravel or sand for us. We cracked our heads open, scraped our knees, broke our arms, and became tough! There was a twelve-foot high slide that was not enclosed, not only would we climb up the ladder and slide with no safety concerns whatsoever, we would swing off the side and shinny down the posts. Great fun!
We had a merry-go-round with a "pumper" on each half of the circle; the rest of the circle was a bench that we sat on, with a metal railing above our knees that we could hold onto. This was up off the blacktop about two or three feet, so if we fell, we would definitely get hurt. At recess we used to race for the "pumper" seats, so we could try our hand in going fast enough to either get the others sick, or make them fall off. Sometimes when we were not in the pumper seats, we would let go of the railing positioning our legs under it, and lean all the way back with our arms out above our head. The trick was to try to stay there without sliding out onto our heads - not always successful, and there were many bruises, cuts and scrapes as a result.
The teeter-totters were very large and we would get several kids on each side competing to see which side could bump the ground hard enough to make the other side fall off onto the blacktop. The teachers were in their little private room having coffee; they could care less what we did during recess. We did keep the school nurse busy, and in those days, parents did not sue the schools every time their little angels got hurt. No one died either, just in case you were wondering; but we don't know why.
Since no one ever heard of ADHD, I was considered a brat, and because I lost my dad to cancer in the spring of my first-grade year, I was traumatized and angry. This resulted in bad behavior and caused the teacher much grief. I remember losing my milk money one day, and she made fun of me because I was upset and crying. She is probably rotting in "bad teacher" hell.
In the fourth grade, our class went to the hatchery and, for a quarter, I could bring home my very own baby chick. Quite a few of the kids brought one or two of them home; I fell in love with a little black and yellow chick and brought him home. My mother said no because rats will come if we have chickens, and the next day I had to bring it back to school. Never mind that there were two houses on the block with chickens and we already had rats in the neighborhood from the nearby dump, so I didn't see why I couldn't have a chicken of my own. My teacher was angry with me because I had told her I had my mom's permission - which was a lie. One of the other kids took the chicken home. After that, signed permission slips were required for anything we brought home from our field trips.
We used to have playgrounds at elementary school - real playgrounds. Now they have all this safety stuff, and the kids don't know any better so they still think they are having fun. Do you remember the old wood swings? We could stand up and swing, and it was so much more fun than sitting. The swings were tall; the chains were at least 10 - 12 feet long. We stood on the seat and pumped and pumped, trying to get the swing to go straight out, sometimes we succeeded too. Moreover, the ground was blacktop or concrete... none of this soft gravel or sand for us. We cracked our heads open, scraped our knees, broke our arms, and became tough! There was a twelve-foot high slide that was not enclosed, not only would we climb up the ladder and slide with no safety concerns whatsoever, we would swing off the side and shinny down the posts. Great fun!
We had a merry-go-round with a "pumper" on each half of the circle; the rest of the circle was a bench that we sat on, with a metal railing above our knees that we could hold onto. This was up off the blacktop about two or three feet, so if we fell, we would definitely get hurt. At recess we used to race for the "pumper" seats, so we could try our hand in going fast enough to either get the others sick, or make them fall off. Sometimes when we were not in the pumper seats, we would let go of the railing positioning our legs under it, and lean all the way back with our arms out above our head. The trick was to try to stay there without sliding out onto our heads - not always successful, and there were many bruises, cuts and scrapes as a result.
The teeter-totters were very large and we would get several kids on each side competing to see which side could bump the ground hard enough to make the other side fall off onto the blacktop. The teachers were in their little private room having coffee; they could care less what we did during recess. We did keep the school nurse busy, and in those days, parents did not sue the schools every time their little angels got hurt. No one died either, just in case you were wondering; but we don't know why.
Humor: My Husband's Hobbies
My husband has several hobbies, most of which include drinking beer. Is drinking beer an actual hobby or just an accompaniment, of that I am not sure, although it seems to be a major player at the very least. Now that he is older, he is not able to drink more than three or four a day, so he drinks slower to make the flavor last longer. He is somewhat obsessed about his beer and will buy twenty cases at a time, storing them in his hidey-hole out in the shop. When his stash is down to ten cases, he will order another twenty so that he never runs out. I am almost certain that the beer is keeping his body flushed of poisons and it is the only thing that is keeping him alive and healthy. So if this is a hobby, it is a good one.
He not only loves working on old cars, growing tomatoes, collecting frog figurines, antiques, and various vintage lighters, he collects memorabilia too. You might ask what his favorite hobby is; nope, not drinking beer, it is collecting beer signs and memorabilia. Who would have guessed? I really try to have a normal house, but every place you look when you walk in are frogs, beer glasses, beer signs, beer trays, various old stuff that doesn't yet qualify as antiques, and a few empty beer cans. We have beer posters, and lighted beer signs in the living room, kitchen, bedroom, family room and even in the bathroom. We have a complete set of plastic wildlife signs with plastic animal figurines saying "It's the water" on one bedroom wall, which is only outdone on the opposite wall with various beer trays and wooden wall plaques hanging from it. I have bumped my head on several low-hanging signs in the family room thus yelling unflattering remarks toward hubby and his hobbies.
He wonders why I spend all my time on my computer, but it is the only place I can sit down and not stare at beer signs or the spider webs hanging from them. I am thankful though, because should he die first (which of course he won't, because he has no stress) I will have one heck of a garage sale for old beer memorabilia and use the money to redecorate. On the other hand, my best hope should I die first is to NOT having a casket in the shape of a beer keg.
Among his collections are antique car fenders, a tractor (with another one for parts), several old cars that are now rusted beyond recognition, an old tear-drop trailer that his folks used to own, three of their cars that he inherited when they died which he refuses to sell, several other cars that he wanted to fix up eventually and never did. He brought home his third riding lawnmower so just in case one breaks down we will have a couple of spares handy. Oh, and a 1950 Ford dump truck that runs, but has no brakes or a working dump truck box. It is now the home to many pesky hornets and wasps; that (he says) have to live too, so this truck will rot in place and never be moved.
When I first met him 41 years ago he collected stamps and old coins; wow, a guy with a hobby, how special he is!
He not only loves working on old cars, growing tomatoes, collecting frog figurines, antiques, and various vintage lighters, he collects memorabilia too. You might ask what his favorite hobby is; nope, not drinking beer, it is collecting beer signs and memorabilia. Who would have guessed? I really try to have a normal house, but every place you look when you walk in are frogs, beer glasses, beer signs, beer trays, various old stuff that doesn't yet qualify as antiques, and a few empty beer cans. We have beer posters, and lighted beer signs in the living room, kitchen, bedroom, family room and even in the bathroom. We have a complete set of plastic wildlife signs with plastic animal figurines saying "It's the water" on one bedroom wall, which is only outdone on the opposite wall with various beer trays and wooden wall plaques hanging from it. I have bumped my head on several low-hanging signs in the family room thus yelling unflattering remarks toward hubby and his hobbies.
He wonders why I spend all my time on my computer, but it is the only place I can sit down and not stare at beer signs or the spider webs hanging from them. I am thankful though, because should he die first (which of course he won't, because he has no stress) I will have one heck of a garage sale for old beer memorabilia and use the money to redecorate. On the other hand, my best hope should I die first is to NOT having a casket in the shape of a beer keg.
Among his collections are antique car fenders, a tractor (with another one for parts), several old cars that are now rusted beyond recognition, an old tear-drop trailer that his folks used to own, three of their cars that he inherited when they died which he refuses to sell, several other cars that he wanted to fix up eventually and never did. He brought home his third riding lawnmower so just in case one breaks down we will have a couple of spares handy. Oh, and a 1950 Ford dump truck that runs, but has no brakes or a working dump truck box. It is now the home to many pesky hornets and wasps; that (he says) have to live too, so this truck will rot in place and never be moved.
When I first met him 41 years ago he collected stamps and old coins; wow, a guy with a hobby, how special he is!
Humor: Overpopulated Grave Yards
Have you ever noticed ads for cemeteries? They advertise beautiful views, and a peaceful atmosphere. I really wonder why the beautiful view matters, after we are dead, we are not going to be sitting there looking at the scenery. Nevertheless, we seek out the perfect cemetery and the perfect plot location for our loved ones. Better views are, of course like any other real estate, higher priced.
Then the funeral homes have caskets with engravings, and are made of various materials including bronze and padded with colored satin that will enhance your loved one's features. These are in the price range of most new cars because our loved ones deserve the best. I am not being disrespectful when I say "What?" My mother, bless her heart was poor and would be extremely angry if she knew we paid $10,000 for her casket. Her brother insisted that our mother deserved the best. She did, but she is gone and doesn't really care at this point, so she would have been happy with a cardboard box if the choice was hers.
In my opinion, this is why the graveyards are over-crowded; there are too many fancy caskets that have to be buried in big cement liners (to protect the casket - who really cares, no one is going to be looking at it again). A note here, cremation would be the best solution to saving space, but many religions oppose it; so back to the casket solution.
On the island where I come from, they buried people vertically. This saves much space and you can get almost as many people into a family plot this way as you can if they were cremated.
You would no longer need fancy caskets, just some kind of a four foot by 3 foot box since the person would eventually crumble and be at the bottom 8 to 15 inches of the box anyway. If you are concerned with "looks" at the funeral, you could rent a fancy casket and then have the morticians dump the body in the box afterwards. I know, deaths are very traumatic and "dumping the body in a box" sounds disrespectful to the dead, but their feelings are not being hurt - they don't care and they would not want you to go in debt so they could be buried in bronze with satin sheets and padding.
I suppose this is a futile dream because the funeral homes and cemetery owners would lobby the politicians to block any space saving ideas. The politicians would side with the lobbyists and everyone would continue making a fortune from our dead. Eventually, we will run out of cemetery land because of this, but as long as there is money to be made, we need not rush into anything rash.
Then the funeral homes have caskets with engravings, and are made of various materials including bronze and padded with colored satin that will enhance your loved one's features. These are in the price range of most new cars because our loved ones deserve the best. I am not being disrespectful when I say "What?" My mother, bless her heart was poor and would be extremely angry if she knew we paid $10,000 for her casket. Her brother insisted that our mother deserved the best. She did, but she is gone and doesn't really care at this point, so she would have been happy with a cardboard box if the choice was hers.
In my opinion, this is why the graveyards are over-crowded; there are too many fancy caskets that have to be buried in big cement liners (to protect the casket - who really cares, no one is going to be looking at it again). A note here, cremation would be the best solution to saving space, but many religions oppose it; so back to the casket solution.
On the island where I come from, they buried people vertically. This saves much space and you can get almost as many people into a family plot this way as you can if they were cremated.
You would no longer need fancy caskets, just some kind of a four foot by 3 foot box since the person would eventually crumble and be at the bottom 8 to 15 inches of the box anyway. If you are concerned with "looks" at the funeral, you could rent a fancy casket and then have the morticians dump the body in the box afterwards. I know, deaths are very traumatic and "dumping the body in a box" sounds disrespectful to the dead, but their feelings are not being hurt - they don't care and they would not want you to go in debt so they could be buried in bronze with satin sheets and padding.
I suppose this is a futile dream because the funeral homes and cemetery owners would lobby the politicians to block any space saving ideas. The politicians would side with the lobbyists and everyone would continue making a fortune from our dead. Eventually, we will run out of cemetery land because of this, but as long as there is money to be made, we need not rush into anything rash.
Humor: Rocks & Stars
In my husband's early years he developed a great interest in geology due to the fact that there was a rock collector's store across from his junior high school. He would spend his lunch money on rocks for his collection and on the weekends he would drag his dad out to one of the several known places in the county where fossils could be found. As he grew, his interests changed to girls and cars, but he still kept his rock collection. He joined the navy and after his tour, he met me, we married and he moved his rock collection from his parent's home to ours. Oh goodie!
"You have a lot of rocks," I said.
He said, "Look, this is a fossil of a centipede and one of a fern leaf. I also have a lump of petrified dinosaur poop, look, here it is."
"I am so proud dear." I would say. "Where am I suppose to put all this, we have no shelves and only one end table so far?"
He decided that he would keep them in his cardboard boxes in the bedroom until we could afford a display case. Life got busy and his rocks stayed in the cardboard boxes until one day after we had three children (not all at once), I decided to buy him a display case for Father's Day. Of course this display case would not fit in the house because it was as big as a coffin (only deeper and heavier); it sat on little wooden pedestal legs. I put it in the shop, wrapped it in newspaper and told him to leave it alone. He was curious and thought I had bought him a motorcycle. He had two whole days of happiness thinking about riding his new motorcycle under the stars with his balding head blowing in the wind.
When Father's Day finally rolled around, the kids and I excitedly watched as he peeled the newspaper off his new glass, rock-collector case.
"What the heck is this?" he said trying not to sound too disappointed. After we told him it was a display case for his rock collection, he faked happiness, but for awhile was pretty miffed that we did not buy him a motorcycle. He still has the display case in the shop displaying his collection; although he never did any more with the collection, his chosen occupation deals with rocks - he drives a gravel truck.
We had two more kids, and in the meantime, he saved enough money for a motorcycle. He drove it the eight miles to work one day and scared himself to death. He discovered he was no longer a young man who wanted to ride under the stars, but someone who was barely strong enough to keep his motorcycle from being sucked under a passing truck. He came home and sold it; then he went out to the shop and polished his rocks.
"You have a lot of rocks," I said.
He said, "Look, this is a fossil of a centipede and one of a fern leaf. I also have a lump of petrified dinosaur poop, look, here it is."
"I am so proud dear." I would say. "Where am I suppose to put all this, we have no shelves and only one end table so far?"
He decided that he would keep them in his cardboard boxes in the bedroom until we could afford a display case. Life got busy and his rocks stayed in the cardboard boxes until one day after we had three children (not all at once), I decided to buy him a display case for Father's Day. Of course this display case would not fit in the house because it was as big as a coffin (only deeper and heavier); it sat on little wooden pedestal legs. I put it in the shop, wrapped it in newspaper and told him to leave it alone. He was curious and thought I had bought him a motorcycle. He had two whole days of happiness thinking about riding his new motorcycle under the stars with his balding head blowing in the wind.
When Father's Day finally rolled around, the kids and I excitedly watched as he peeled the newspaper off his new glass, rock-collector case.
"What the heck is this?" he said trying not to sound too disappointed. After we told him it was a display case for his rock collection, he faked happiness, but for awhile was pretty miffed that we did not buy him a motorcycle. He still has the display case in the shop displaying his collection; although he never did any more with the collection, his chosen occupation deals with rocks - he drives a gravel truck.
We had two more kids, and in the meantime, he saved enough money for a motorcycle. He drove it the eight miles to work one day and scared himself to death. He discovered he was no longer a young man who wanted to ride under the stars, but someone who was barely strong enough to keep his motorcycle from being sucked under a passing truck. He came home and sold it; then he went out to the shop and polished his rocks.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Computer Humor
The same man that taught my son to fly taught me how to use a computer. When my son was twelve, I brought him to the radio-control plane field and a very nice man taught him everything he needed to know about building and flying planes. My son went on to take real flying lessons and soloed at fourteen; then he ran out of money for flying and began working on cars and trucks. He still flys, but not as often as growing up and having having a family has taken priority.
In the meantime, the man and his wife became friends of the family and he convinced me that I needed a computer. I ventured out and bought an old 286 (the yellow and black-view monitor) for $60. I mean all I really needed it for was to keep track of business inventory. He installed a few programs for me while shaking his head at what a dumb-A* I was for buying that old of a computer. I think during the next several weeks, he spent more time at our house than his own; finally he gave me a "Dos for Idiots" book and told me to read it. I still refer to it at times even though XP will not let me go there.
As time progressed, I learned many things; however, this nice man took pity on me and built a computer from extra parts he could no longer use (COLOR), it was only a 486, but at least I could play solitary. I still had DOS, but I also had Windows 3.1; the man says, "You need Windows 95." I fought it, but of course he installed it and I had to learn, then came Windows 98 - "Oh come on, I am happy now, please no more upgrades!" Well, he was the tech after all, and I should follow his wishes since he keeps my baby running. During these times I had many computer crashes, rebuilds, and I am sure I drove the man absolutely insane. Eventually, the man passed on and so did my computer. I asked around and found a place to put it all in working order again. They said (and this is true, I am not making this up; as Dave Barry would say), "We are not allowed to work on Windows 98; you will have to get Windows XP." Of course they lied to get me to purchase a new system; I fought it, but they assured me all my programs would still work - I knew better than that, but I really didn't have a choice.
Every time I have to take my computer to the shop I am like the expectant father in the waiting room (back when they actually did that). I pace the floor and plead for them to at least move it from the floor to the work bench. What will I do? How will I talk to anyone? My life is over, I need my computer tooodaaaayyyy. They push me out the door and promise me in two-day's time, they will be done. In two days, I am in their doorway at 6 a.m., although they don't open until 9. The guys are sneaking in the back door and hoping that the desk clerk will be late so I won't be able to come in. Finally, at 10:30, the tech carries my baby to the register and I am sure charges me double. We both smile happily, him with cash, and me with my baby. I know they fixed it right because they do not want me back.
Now I have XP and even though I hate it, I will keep it as I am too old to learn another system. I learned how to install hardware and have my own network; generally on the phone with tech support, I am helping them find the problem rather than the other way around (it is usually a problem with the Internet provider and not my computer), my friend would be so proud. Yes, I have turned into a real computer nerd (in my eyes only); everything else around the house is falling apart, but my computer works its tail off - so I am very thankful to the man that taught my son to fly.
In the meantime, the man and his wife became friends of the family and he convinced me that I needed a computer. I ventured out and bought an old 286 (the yellow and black-view monitor) for $60. I mean all I really needed it for was to keep track of business inventory. He installed a few programs for me while shaking his head at what a dumb-A* I was for buying that old of a computer. I think during the next several weeks, he spent more time at our house than his own; finally he gave me a "Dos for Idiots" book and told me to read it. I still refer to it at times even though XP will not let me go there.
As time progressed, I learned many things; however, this nice man took pity on me and built a computer from extra parts he could no longer use (COLOR), it was only a 486, but at least I could play solitary. I still had DOS, but I also had Windows 3.1; the man says, "You need Windows 95." I fought it, but of course he installed it and I had to learn, then came Windows 98 - "Oh come on, I am happy now, please no more upgrades!" Well, he was the tech after all, and I should follow his wishes since he keeps my baby running. During these times I had many computer crashes, rebuilds, and I am sure I drove the man absolutely insane. Eventually, the man passed on and so did my computer. I asked around and found a place to put it all in working order again. They said (and this is true, I am not making this up; as Dave Barry would say), "We are not allowed to work on Windows 98; you will have to get Windows XP." Of course they lied to get me to purchase a new system; I fought it, but they assured me all my programs would still work - I knew better than that, but I really didn't have a choice.
Every time I have to take my computer to the shop I am like the expectant father in the waiting room (back when they actually did that). I pace the floor and plead for them to at least move it from the floor to the work bench. What will I do? How will I talk to anyone? My life is over, I need my computer tooodaaaayyyy. They push me out the door and promise me in two-day's time, they will be done. In two days, I am in their doorway at 6 a.m., although they don't open until 9. The guys are sneaking in the back door and hoping that the desk clerk will be late so I won't be able to come in. Finally, at 10:30, the tech carries my baby to the register and I am sure charges me double. We both smile happily, him with cash, and me with my baby. I know they fixed it right because they do not want me back.
Now I have XP and even though I hate it, I will keep it as I am too old to learn another system. I learned how to install hardware and have my own network; generally on the phone with tech support, I am helping them find the problem rather than the other way around (it is usually a problem with the Internet provider and not my computer), my friend would be so proud. Yes, I have turned into a real computer nerd (in my eyes only); everything else around the house is falling apart, but my computer works its tail off - so I am very thankful to the man that taught my son to fly.
Humor: Cell Phones
I have a land-line complete with wires that go in my wall and to the local telephone pole. It rings and I answer it (or not - since the invention of caller ID). I get in the car and listen to the radio or tapes because I do not have a CD player. I don't have to worry about the phone ringing while I am driving to ask me if I want to partake in a survey of some sort and can listen to my tapes and even sing-along if I so choose.
In the meantime there are other folks driving by happily chatting, forgetting to put their turn signal on or touching their brakes because the light turned red. There are wrecks all over the place, but the injured are still on their phones making arrangements for this or that after they get out of the hospital. My husband has a cell phone for work - a Nextel beeper thingy because no one in trucks use the CB's anymore; it was an easy transition for him because a beeper phone is similar to a CB - he doesn't use it to make phone calls because he can't figure out (or see) which buttons to push to actually use it as a phone.
We finally made the BIG adjustment and got Cable TV and the Internet. The company came up with an offer we could not refuse, three-for-one price forever. We can have a cable phone which makes long-distance free and we could keep our same phone number. We went for it and more often then not, our phone doesn't work because the Internet is out. No Internet no phone - something they neglected to tell us. I march to the neighbors, who also still have a land-line and call tech support. Being that I am at the neighbor's it is hard for tech support to fix my computer because I am not in-house to push whatever buttons they tell me to. They need a cell phone number, well; I don't have a cell phone. The tech guy is shocked, even street people have cell phone, what is wrong with you lady? We cannot send a tech guy out without him calling your cell-phone number to let you know he is coming. I will be home, just send him out... can't do it. I go buy a throw-a-way cell phone, activate it and call them back. Unfortunately, I spend twenty minutes on hold and have barely enough time to give them my new cell phone number before all my minutes are gone.
Tech support is happy because now the tech guy can call me although it will go to voice mail, but since they assume I got the message, they are allowed to drive in my driveway and fix my computer and phone.
I was just informed that they do not make tape players - or tapes for that matter and I am going have to transition to an MP3 player - I don't even know what that is. So now that I am tape-player-less I drive along happily talking or singing to myself; no one knows the difference, they think I am on my cell-phone. I can talk to myself, tell jokes, and laugh out loud in the aisle of the grocery store and no one gives me a second look. Cell phones are a wonderful invention, you can be a totally insane person and people just think you are on your phone.
In the meantime there are other folks driving by happily chatting, forgetting to put their turn signal on or touching their brakes because the light turned red. There are wrecks all over the place, but the injured are still on their phones making arrangements for this or that after they get out of the hospital. My husband has a cell phone for work - a Nextel beeper thingy because no one in trucks use the CB's anymore; it was an easy transition for him because a beeper phone is similar to a CB - he doesn't use it to make phone calls because he can't figure out (or see) which buttons to push to actually use it as a phone.
We finally made the BIG adjustment and got Cable TV and the Internet. The company came up with an offer we could not refuse, three-for-one price forever. We can have a cable phone which makes long-distance free and we could keep our same phone number. We went for it and more often then not, our phone doesn't work because the Internet is out. No Internet no phone - something they neglected to tell us. I march to the neighbors, who also still have a land-line and call tech support. Being that I am at the neighbor's it is hard for tech support to fix my computer because I am not in-house to push whatever buttons they tell me to. They need a cell phone number, well; I don't have a cell phone. The tech guy is shocked, even street people have cell phone, what is wrong with you lady? We cannot send a tech guy out without him calling your cell-phone number to let you know he is coming. I will be home, just send him out... can't do it. I go buy a throw-a-way cell phone, activate it and call them back. Unfortunately, I spend twenty minutes on hold and have barely enough time to give them my new cell phone number before all my minutes are gone.
Tech support is happy because now the tech guy can call me although it will go to voice mail, but since they assume I got the message, they are allowed to drive in my driveway and fix my computer and phone.
I was just informed that they do not make tape players - or tapes for that matter and I am going have to transition to an MP3 player - I don't even know what that is. So now that I am tape-player-less I drive along happily talking or singing to myself; no one knows the difference, they think I am on my cell-phone. I can talk to myself, tell jokes, and laugh out loud in the aisle of the grocery store and no one gives me a second look. Cell phones are a wonderful invention, you can be a totally insane person and people just think you are on your phone.
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