A Royal Flush

My mother-in-law, Evie, was cleaning out her refrigerator several years back and came upon an old jar of pickles. Personally, I think pickles last as long as nuclear waste, but Evie decided to flush them down the toilet, rationalizing that the pickle shape resembles the usual waste product. With timing that was just a little too coincidental, her condo neighbor ran out her door exclaiming that her toilet was spontaneously overflowing.  Evie said something like, "Oh, I wonder how that happened," all the while thinking, 'Kosher Dills.'

The following Christmas my kids decided to give Gramma Evie some jars of pickles and used the following labels:

(One jar was filled with those miniature cocktail pickles) 
"GRAMMA'S BEST FLUSHABLE PICKLES"

(Another jar held a humongous, fat, 10 inch long pickle from a deli) 
"GRAMMA'S BEST GIANT DELI PICKLES---DO NOT FLUSH"
©12/2012  Jana B Patrick,  janasrandomwriting.blogspot.com                                                     MERRY CHRISTMAS, EVIE!

Big Apple Meets the Gals from Minne-Apple

One of my Mom's favorite things to do was an annual October trip to New York with her friends and cousin. As I used to go to New York on business, I often had the pleasure of joining them on some of their outings.

Back in the hotel after a day of shopping, cousin Joni shrugged out of her warm, furry wrap and recalled a coat she had seen that she really wanted. "I just can't buy it, I've got this beaver coat Jim gave me, but I DO like that other one so much." Mom's friend Gloria said, "Joni! You're in New York! Just go down on the street and sell your beaver!"

Gloria used to tie an old pair of pantyhose around her waist, put her money in one of the legs, then tucked her stash safely under her trousers. Mom, walking down to the subway behind her nearly wet her pants laughing when she saw that Gloria's tail had come teasingly free and was wagging back and forth begging to be taken.

My son Ryan and I were in New York and joined the group for dinner. The ladies were fascinated by an old guy dating a young chick at the table behind us and went so far as getting out the compact mirrors to watch the goings on. I hope the couple's real story was half as fascinating as the one the ladies were conjecturing. 
There's nothing quite like going to New York and tipping a few with your Mom--here's to you, Jackie!
 ©12/2012  Jana B Patrick,  janasrandomwriting.blogspot.com

Gloria!

Jackie, Gloria, Marlene and Joni, 2000

 Joni and Jackie with New York's finest

It Must Have Been His Dancing

My parents met on a blind date in 1952. My Dad took one look as Jackie arrived at the University of Minnesota fraternity house, ran upstairs, did a little 'YES!!!' dance, bounded back down and got 60 years of romance started.

This dating tip worked for him:  (Don't try it. Not recommended.)  My Dad raised grand champion Aberdeen Angus steers as a teen, and for county fair competitions, the animals were brushed to a lustrous, ebony shine.  On one of my parent's first dates, he said, "Oh, Jackie, your hair is as black as an Aberdeen Angus!"  ...And she went out with him again... 
(Technically, I should not exist.)
©12/2012  Jana B Patrick

He misses you lots, Mom!

P.S. I remember when I was growing up, my parents would go out at night, and I would wait up until the wee hours, watching out the window until they came back, safe, home again.  If I had known then that they would have nearly 60 years together, I could have got a lot more sleep.

Jackie: September 1931-December 2012

Jackie Was the Gift to All Who Knew Her

Very sadly my mom passed away Monday.  She was a dear, sweet woman that everyone loved. I wrote the following blog in honor of her 80th birthday last year. She was one of my faithful blog followers, always giving the gift of her attentiveness to her children and grandchildren, great grandchildren, relatives and friends.

Back in the 1960's my debonair, bachelor uncle, Harry, would send festive boxes from Woodward and Lothrop Department Store in Washington, DC every year on my mother's birthday.  The package arrival would get all seven of us kids into a frenzy until the unwrapping of that year's new hat.  Some had mink trim, one sported pheasant feathers, all were so sophisticated, some so 'Jackie.'

As with any fashion, the era of hats waned.  Weren't we surprised when the boxes in the 1970's arrived with...wigs!  Auburn, black, frosted, short, long, shaggy.  My Mom loved them--Suddenly, she didn't have to wash or set her hair--just stretch on that wig and voila!  One the 'Harry' wigs was so tight, she had to take two Tylenol every four hours.  It surely is better to look good than to feel good!

The 1980's ushered in decades of jewelry as Harry's gift of choice.  Now that NEVER goes out of style!
©9/2011  Jana B Patrick

Mom, you will be missed.

The Stars at Night are Big and Bright

The Stars at Night are Big and Bright...and boring.  Lauren and I went stargazing in Arizona with about twenty others who had nothing better to do.  
Two amateur astronomers brought big, hulking telescopes for which Galileo might have bartered his three offspring. Believe me, these 'scopes were WELL loved babies.  The two guys excitedly programmed them to see each astral treat with TV-like remote controls. (Cheaters). We expected to see the fiery bits of carbon up close and personal. No. Instead, they still looked like a bunch of little pinpricks--just lots more of them. I politely asked the astronomer geeks how they got so into this. (And they were REALLY into it).  Both had become obsessed at about age ten causing me to conjecture that stellar addiction MUST occur before puberty or not at all. I recalled how badly I had wanted a telescope at that age.  Oh, how fortunate that letter to Santa never made it to the star-studded North Pole.
©10/2012  Jana B Patrick

Thanksgiving Guest

Our front door is all glass and you can imagine my surprise when I turned around the corner and saw a GIANT, fat turkey standing at the front door.  No, I didn't take a picture, (drat)  instead I called our catatonic, perennially somnolent little doggie to the door to see what he would do. He actually barked.  He scared the turkey a total of about five feet away.  Tom turkey and friends hung out in the yard awhile discussing how to get inside.  They had heard of previous generations being the Guests of Honor at November gatherings and wanted a piece of the action.  As far as I was concerned, they were not welcome unless they came frozen, featherless, headless and dead.
©11/2012  Jana B Patrick

Happy Thanksgiving.  Gobble, gobble.

Dizzy! I'm So Dizzy, My Head is Spinnin'

I think that someone gave the USA a frontal lobotomy when we were napping. Perhaps it was a Groupon deal. Both hemispheres of our collective brains seem polar and permanently divided. Both sides of the gray matter are spinning at vortex speed creating doubt and subterfuge about the actions or perceived actions of it's mirror image. Both sides need psychiatric help. With a co-pay of just $938 billion, help is SOON available from Big Brother! Unfortunately, the lobotomy makes reading the 2300 page health care program with accompanying 13,000 pages of regulations a bit tricky. 

©11/13/2012  Jana B. Patrick,  http://janasrandomwriting.blogspot.com/

United We Stand, Divided We Fall

"Peeeee-yew!"

I went hiking up on the Continental Divide in Colorado this past weekend with my daughter, Lauren, and her dog, Spartacus.  It was cold, windy and trying.  I think ALL of the above highlighted words describe aspects of this year's elections...
Sparticus has a new backpack and was able to carry his own sh!t off the trail.  I would be willing to use tax dollars to supply politicians with much larger versions of these.
©11/06/2012  Jana B. Patrick,  
http://janasrandomwriting.blogspot.com/

Random Hockey Thoughts

I play hockey year round and sometimes go right to picking up the grand kids and hanging out with them. Someday they will walk into a stinky, rancid locker room, inhale deeply and exclaim fondly, "Hey!  This smell reminds me of...Nana!!!"

My hockey shot is pathetically off course.  I told a pacifist friend of mine that I was going to take some shooting lessons. "You have a GUN?!!" she asked incredulously.  No, just a hockey stick.

"I forgot my hockey stick at the airport!" I cried out while we were being driven away to Scottsdale, Arizona from Minnesota in early October.  (This was during my 6 week online shooting course, so naturally I needed the stick to practice while I was gone.)  The limo driver turned around abruptly and said, "YOU play hockey? I played for the Detroit Red Wings back in the 70's and 80's."  How cool is that? ( As he laments, "the guys now make more in one week than I made in a year...") Yeah, but you got to play in THE NHL!!!
I used to usher at the North Star games back when he was playing against them.  I only got $1.65 an hour, (and , okay, FREE North Star games)--Quit your whining, dude!
©10/2012  Jana B Patrick

Random Hiking Thoughts

I hiked Pinnacle Peak in Arizona last week, and, as I do with any physical activity I am not in shape for, I allowed my mind to wander so as to ignore the death rattle that my breathing had become.

I decided to notice the other hikers.  One had on some ladies sensible dress shoe pumps--not so sensible on a rocky, gravelly mountain, but much more sensible than the rhinestone studded high heal sandals one of my sisters sported on the same trail some years back.

I noticed an 80 year old guy wearing a "BEAT ARMY" T-shirt racing up and down the five mile mountain trail. When I commented on seeing him again, he said it was his third lap that morning.  Show off.  Probably told his great-grandkids about passing up all of us losers...

I also noticed one out-of-shape laggard that stopped every 25 yards or so to supposedly 'check her I-Pod.' Sure.  I noticed this because I was keeping pace just behind the slacker.  Since I don't have an I-Pod, I merely would stop and check my moles to see if any had suddenly turned cancerous.

Now I am back in flat Minnesota treading the monotonous elliptical and wondering how in the world that lady ahead of me got into the spray-on camo spandex...and why the over-the-hill guy over there thinks short shorts are remotely attractive.  I really have to get an I-Pod.
©10/2012  Jana B. Patrick,  janasrandomwriting.blogspot.com

Friendly Fire

Intestinal bacteria, referred to as probiotics, are microscopic critters creating your very own private universe--a microbiome--in your gut. (I suspect my personal parasites have been partying lately and abusing their curfew.) 

According to the journal, "Science", "(Intestinal) bacteria are organized into socially cohesive units (gangs) in which antagonism occurs between, rather than within...defined populations (rival gangs)"  Whoa.  I see a Spielberg movie. Casting the bacterial warriors could be interesting...

Dr. Joseph Mercola says, "...certain bacteria have the ability to produce chemical compounds that inhibit growth of other bacteria, while not harming their own kind or "close relatives."  These...natural antibiotics act as a type of chemical warfare, (in your stomach!!!) allowing the bacteria in question to gain a competitive edge by killing off the competition.  Meanwhile, other "allies" are spared, as they are resistant to the antibiotic chemicals produced."  Interesting, huh?  World War Three going on in every living gut.  The Allies versus Bacterial Terrorists.  May the good guys win.

Eating probiotic, fermented foods such as sauerkraut, kefir, pickles etc. makes for happy bacterial campers.

Now for casting the movie: Arnold?--Good guy or bad boy?  For SURE a bad guy part for JERRY SANDUSKY.  Especially since he is now introducing bacteria at both ends...  (Same for Minnesota creeper, Curt Wehmeyer)
©10/2012  Jana B Patrick

Sir Schmuck

(This is Part 1 (of 5 parts) of a 9th grade paper explaining feudalism written by my daughter a several years ago.  It cracked me up, so I am sharing)

By Lauren Patrick ©2005  

            My name is Sir Schmuck.  I am a knight living in France.  We are in the year 1234; four years after I acquired my beautiful manor and manor house which I like to call “Schmuck’s Shack.” 

            I can see the muddy hills rolling on endlessly, until they fade into haze.  The land is not all mine, though I wish it were.  Baron Birdbrain gave me this fief, all eleven soggy fields, and now I am his vassal. 

When we made this deal, we had an investiture, a ceremony when Birdbrain gave me my land, and in return I pledged him my loyalty. King Charlemagne started this system of government, which we call feudalism, about 400 years ago. It is based upon landholding in exchange for military service.  Here and everywhere, local government is more important than national.  Let me explain…    

It is my duty to answer any of Monsieur Birdbrain’s calls for help.  I have fought along side him, defending his manor, too many times to count.  Two years ago, dear Birdbrain was captured by Barney “Buff” Baron and none but yours truly was there to pay the ransom.  I admit, sometimes I get burned out on all the fighting, and I just want to take a nap in the “Shack.”   But I know that I am obligated to give the Brain my loyalty, because of what he gives me in return.

My land is my most important and valuable possession.  Some days however, even though I know I shouldn't  I feel a little sorry for myself.  My mud hole is minuscule compared to the Brain’s.  But when I stop to think, I know that I am luckier than most.  Baron Birdbrain protects me from invaders and gave me the land I am building my life on.  Because of this land, I am able to profit. 

I have about 50 serfs.  They farm the sludge and pay me taxes, and I give them permission to stay on my land.  Pretty good deal, if you ask me.  In the future, I hope to become vassal to more barons, earning more land.  Once I have enough land, maybe I can even become a baron myself, and have my own vassals.  I can hope, at least.  

Heart Attack, ack, ack, ack, ack, ack!

Short (FUNNY) video on Heart Attacks--Please Watch!
I thought 'how can this be funny...'
But it is great!  Please share!
Very well done, funny, but scary, too!

http://www.surreywellness.com/go-for-red-women-premiere-short-film-just-a-little-heart-attack/
Thanks for sending me this, Lynne!

Zumba For Dummies

I don't think they make ice packs large enough for all of my body parts that hurt. My St. Paul gym offered a 'Zumba' class tonight so I thought, "Why not?  It might be a good aerobic workout--whatever Zumba means." I guessed it meant we would zoom around the room a little.

Not quite so.  It is Latin dancing on steroids.  My hips do not do Latin dancing. I am built anatomically incorrect.  ---After all, my ancestors did the Polka.  The instructor, a young, energetic woman with hips that gyrated like a set of hyperactive maracas, was built for such movement. She was amazing.

I was at least two decades older than most of the participants who will likely go about their day tomorrow as if tonight's torture had simply energized them.  I, on the other hand, will appreciate why older people like homes with no stairs and use walkers.     
(P.S.  It really was fun--if you are into pain and humiliation in any small way.)
©9/2012  Jana B Patrick

World Champion Crepitationist

Lauren and Alana adored their older brother, Ryan, and fell for his tricks EVERY time. He would excitedly shout, "Hey girls!  I have something for you!"  Happy with anticipation his little sisters, five and six years his junior, would ALWAYS say, "What is it!!???"  He would run into the room, let loose a ripping fart, laugh devilishly, and bound away...

Boys grow up and nothing changes.  Below is a link to a 1946 radio broadcast of the Great Crepitation (fart) Contest. Scroll down to the 'Listen Now"  Listen as least to the part where the opponent from 'Australia' joins in the trumpeting. 
©9/2012  Jana B Patrick
http://randsesotericotr.podbean.com/2008/05/14/the-great-crepitation-contest-of-1946/

Everything You See I Owe to Spaghetti

The first thing I noticed from the air as we were landing back in the U. S. from Italy was the depressing sight of a giant McDonald's.  My daughter, Alana, and I had just spent eight days eating delicious, healthy, real food.
The Italian grocery store I went to had half the store devoted to fresh fish on beds of ice, gourmet cheeses, crusty bakery breads, miles of fresh vegetables and fruits and their 'to go' foods were homemade lasagnas, grilled vegetables, and savory sandwiches of prosciutto and goat cheese.  Italy's truck stops had shelves of home made cheeses and Delis complete with chefs; the condiment counters had 27 varieties of olive oil.

In America, if  'food' doesn't have 57 additives we eye it with suspicion.  If it doesn't have a shelf life of 35 years we forsake it.  Cerulean Blue, Bubblegum Pink and Day-Glo Green are considered acceptable food colors.  'Homemade' means making something from a box. And most importantly, our edibles must be breaded and deep fried to be recognized for human consumption. 

Italian Quote:  "Everything you see I owe to spaghetti." -- Sophia Loren

American Quotes:  "Everything you see I owe to SpaghettiOs."  Rosanne Barr  (I'm kidding!) 

  "My doctor told me to stop having intimate dinners for four unless there are three other people." -- Orson Welles

"Never eat more than you can lift." -- Miss Piggy, Muppet 

"Health food makes me sick." -- Calvin Trillin 

"Give me liberty or... OOOooor... A jelly donut!" -— Homer Simpson
©9/2012  Jana B Patrick

In the Land of Sky Blue Water...or Blue-Eyed Water....

 We have a friend, Kevin, who sells home water filtration systems.  Consumers may soon have another reason to buy one.  Minnesota just became the second state to have fire-free "Green Cremations." Where it normally takes about 25 years for a body to decompose, it can now be done in a three hour water and chemical spa treatment.  When this final bath is over (and I personally hope it's a nice warm one), then the 'liquids,' which contain 'broken down organic matter' are all drained into the municipal water treatment facilities and then into...the water supply.  The bones are left, and you can see a previous blog of mine to see how those are reduced for consumer packaging. (http://janasrandomwriting.blogspot.com/2012/06/bf-cuisinart.html )

So, Kevin, here is your new marketing spiel:  "Our filters take out contaminants including chlorine, rust, bacteria, parasites, and, what's more,  you never, ever have to worry about Great Uncle Herbert's remains clouding up your drinking water. Our filtered water will have no unpleasant odors--no chlorine, bromine, sulfur; no Grampa Ken who never, ever took a bath; no Gramma Carlita who wore perfume like the force field of the Starship Enterprise. You can rest in peace knowing that you will only taste clear, clean water--no rancid  feet, sweaty arm pits; no cousin Kermit's flatulence that, while he was alive, had busted a hole through the ozone layer."

Kevin, I realize I could get the big bucks for these marketing tips, but they are yours for FREE!  People will appreciate their filtered water even more as the demographics of H2O begin changing...  
©8/2012  Jana B Patrick

A World Gone Batty

Brian vs. the Bats:  6 Games to Zero.  
A friend of ours recently played tennis against bats in his cabin.  "Love" may have been his score, but certainly wasn't his sentiment toward his opponents.
So, he called an exterminator.
Who said he couldn't help him.
Because bats have babies this time of year.
And therefore are legally protected.
Brian, an avid hunter and bearer of arms, can legally shoot a human intruder but the trespassing bats are protected.  
(Who is really running this country anyway???) 

P.S.  Rats and mice are lobbying for equal treatment under the law.  
©8/2012  Jana B Patrick

The Clear People

"Who is God?  Where is He, Mom? I just want to see Him!"  Thus spake my 3 1/2 year old grandson, John, to his mom, Caroline.  I'll let her tell the rest of the story:

"Before I could answer him, the questions just kept coming and so did his frustration.  He didn't like my answer that God is everywhere; in his heart, in Heaven, all around us in the air and at church.
There was silence as I watched his little brain wheels cranking.  Then, "Mom, can you get me a kite so that I can fly it high, up to Heaven and I would hold on so tight and I could climb up the kite so I could see God?"
Later that night as we were coloring, I asked John to tell Daddy about our conversation.  He right away perked up and said, "GOD!   Do you know Him, Daddy?!" We talked about how God is always here to help us make good choices.  Right away John asked, "He leaves when I make bad ones?"  We explained that He is always with us!"

*******************************************************************************

Caroline's story reminds me of when our daughter, Alana, was four.  She and Steve had just finished prayers.  Alana whispered, "I never knew about the Clear People."

"What?!" asked Steve.

"The Clear People; I never knew about them." she said.

"Who are they?" asked Steve.

"The Clear People." she re-stated.

Steve asked, "Who told you about them?"

"Mom," she replied.

"Well, who are they?!" he asked.

Alana said, "The Clear People, you know, like God."
©8/2012  Jana B Patrick

Sending a Myriad of Good Wishes Your Way!

I take this opportunity of thanking my readers for helping me get to the 10,000 mark for total blog views!  Thanks much!!!

Did you know the English language has a name for 10,000?  "Myriad."  Now you know when someone says that they have "a myriad of activities that day", that, in fact, they have 10,000 things to do. 
A mathematician wishing to add to a dinner conversation might mention that "A myriagon is a polygon with 10,000 sides."  Noting the amazement on the glazed over faces of the other guests, the professor of Ancient Languages sitting two seats over would hastily add, "10,000 is represented by  'M' in Greek, and the letter is called 'Murious' which the Romans later converted to 'Myriad.'"  To which the high school kid stuck in between them would roll his eyes while groaning audibly.  
©2012  Jana B Patrick

Dave the Elephant

I painted a Safari scene in my two year old grandson Stephen's room complete with Mt. Kilimanjaro and an assorted menagerie of animals that were un-named as far as any of us knew.

Stephen is one of those perennially happy toddlers that usually gets up from his nap bursting through the door with a brilliant dimpled smile.  Not so one recent day.  Frowning with righteous indignation, he thrust the door open and stated, "Dave the Elephant was LOOKING AT ME!!!"
©10/2012  Jana B. Patrick,  janasrandomwriting.blogspot.com

I think Dave needs sunglasses

In the Eyes of the Beholder

I painted a Sonoran desert mural in my 3 1/2 year old grandson John's room.  He wanted to 'help.'  I outlined a small lizard on a painted rock above his bed and gave him the red paint he requested.  He started out very carefully painting the curling tail then took a big blob of crimson and scribbled the paint brush all over the rest of it.  I quickly said I was pretty sure his mom had lunch ready and he happily trounced out of the room.  I scrubbed off the mess and cursed the fact that the pencil outline also came off.  Rapidly redrawing, I soon had a nicely painted red lizard.
John came up after lunch and looked at the lizard and just beamed at 'his' handiwork and proudly showed it off to his mom. "Look what I painted!"  The scrubbed aura of reddish patina surrounding the lizard adds to it's charm.
Every night artist John kisses it goodnight.
©7/2012  Jana B Patrick

Tune in, Turn on, Drop Out

I haven't watched TV on my own in over 20 years.  I can't.  I don't know how to turn it on.  Even if I did, I couldn't navigate the remote.  'Surf the channels?'  I would drown.

Even if I COULD turn it on, I don't think I would like the content--I would miss the old shows.  A modern 'Leave it to Beaver' would have a whole different meaning...  'The Lone Ranger' today would be about a psychopathic serial killer.  'Father Knows Best': What kid now would seriously EVER watch that? They'd think, "Dad knows sh!t"  or "who IS Dad?"

I'll stick with the hockey and baseball games when my family tunes in.  The only changes there are that the players look younger and younger each year...  
Yippee that the Minnesota Wild just signed Zach Parise and Ryan Suter--I'll be watching!
©7/2012  Jana B Patrick

Twas the Night Before the American Revolution

Okay, I wrote this in college.  Must have been during a very boring lecture on Calculus or something.

Twas the night before the Revolution and all thru the town

Colonists were stirring against the British crown.

The Declaration was written and all signed with care

In hopes King George‘s army wouldn't have a prayer.

The Patriots were hunkered, all smug in their cause

With visions of freedom writ in each clause.

Soon out in the colonies there arose such a clatter

The Redcoats shocked to find out what was the matter.

Away to the war Patriots flew like a flash

To tear up the battle field, an enemy to smash.

When what to their wondering eyes should appear

But a Minuteman regiment; thirteen colonies cheered.

More rapid than eagles the horse and riders they came.

And now to recall the instigators by name:

Now Hancock, Adams, Ben Franklin and Lee

Now Wilson, Witherspoon, Ross and Ellery

On Taylor, Clymer, Morris and Morton

On Rush, Smith, Harrison, Rodney and Thorton

Now Gwinnet, Hooper, Wilton and more;

56 signers began a treasonous war!

On the Fourth of July, in Independence Hall

They Signed it, signed it, signed it all!

(P.S.  I dropped out of Calculus...)

©7/4/2012  Jana B Patrick

Barry Manilow--Sizzling Marketing Man

Is this really newsworthy?  I heard on the radio that Barry Manilow offered two free tickets to his recent Michigan concert.  In exchange for the tix, you brought in an old musical instrument to be donated to local schools.  The radio announcer declared, "25 instruments were brought in!"  THAT makes national news?  Wow, Barry, 25?  Those tickets are something HOT!  Paul McCartney tickets would only fetch instrument donations of, say, 24.....million.
What'd you get, Barry?  A couple kazoos?  A Kleenex box rubber-band-guitar? Spoons?
I'd be willing to turn in my 40 year old guitar for the cause, but if it's okay with you, Barry, just keep the tickets.                     ©6/2012  Jana B Patrick

There Was an Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe...

I'm on my third generation of singing nursery rhymes to kids:  First to my younger siblings, then to my own kids and now to my grandkids.  I live in fear that I will be doing the same in the nursing home someday...

Stephen:  "HI Nana! I hope all's ok-- I see the doc and nurses just left..."
Me:  "Five little ducks that I once knew, wibble, wobble, wibble wobble to and fro..."
Stephen:  "Yeah...  So, Nana, I'd like you to meet my girlfriend, Jill."
Me:  "Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water..."
Stephen:  "Rrrrrright.   And I met Jill while I was studying in Ireland--"
Me:  "In Dublin's fair city, where the girls are so pretty--"
Jill:  "Um...thanks?  Stephen told me you used to write a blog--"
Me:  "Hot cross buns, hot cross buns, one-a-penny, two-a-penny hot cross buns."
Stephen:  "She did, until she went nuts..."
Me:  "Hey diddle diddle, the cat and the fiddle the cow jumped over the moon...Hey, Stephen, did you bring me back any Guinness?"
©6/2012  Jana B Patrick

The BF Cuisinart

Right after 9/11 my mom and I were sitting at the desk of the manager of the local cemetery.  Mom was buying real estate for her and Dad's long term use someday in the distant future.  She and I were discussing the plight of the 9/11 World Trade Towers victims.
Mom:  "I wonder if they will find many of the bodies."
Me:  "I doubt it, it's been burning for several days."
Cemetery Dude who looks up from crunching numbers on his calculator:  "Oh, I'm sure they will find some bones.  Even with OUR cremation at 1500 degrees, the big bones don't burn so we have to put them in a giant 'Cuisinart' type thingy to grind them up so they can fit in the urns."  
eeeeeeeuuuugh!   TMI!!!
©6/2012  Jana B Patrick

PS  Ryan read this then said, "I suppose Dad would want his ashes sprinkled on a golf course, and Mom, YOU would want yours on a hockey rink, and that would get pretty messy after the zamboni came through..."

Just Great Golf. Period.

Steve's phone has "predictive text" where the phone guesses the word you are typing as you go and fills it in.  He THOUGHT he sent the following text to his friend, Pete:

"We are signed up for the Mendakota (name of golf course) Guest Day event...Lunch 11:30 followed by golf - that work for you?"

Pete texted back:
"Check what you wrote in your text..."Menstrual Guest Day"? 
Sounds messy...but I'll be there.

Hahaha!  Then Pete showed up with a sleeve of  Callaway "golf balls" for Steve, but the balls had been replaced with tampons...   :)!
©2012  Jana B. Patrick,  janasrandomwriting.blogspot.com

I think Callaway COULD use these purse-sized boxes for a line of TAMPONS--They are named HEX.  Ladies, is that appropriate or what??  

Then the box lists "6 points of performance" (seriously)

1.  Superior greenside spin   (That sounds painful)

2.  Penetrating tour distance  (hmmmmm)

3.  Soft feel  (that's a good thing)

4.  Holds line in wind  (In case you've overindulged in bean burritos during your time of the month)

5. Consistent distance control  (No accidents during long road trips)

6.  Enhanced durability (Oh, rats, I forgot to take out that tampon last week...)

Who would NOT want to buy these tampons???  Go for it, Callaway!

©6/2012  Jana B Patrick

One More Week and Counting...

I can't wait for our daughter Lauren to come back from a school year in Northern Ireland!!!  Here's a few stories from when she was little  (I miss her so much that I've been going thru the baby books!)

Almost 2:  She toddled over to Steve and asked, "You have any money?"
Steve laughed, "What do you want money for?"
"I need to put some in my pockets."  Then she patted the sides of her shorts and exclaimed, "Oh! I don't have any pockets!"  And toddled away.

Age 3 1/2:  Lauren came into our room and Steve said, "Lauren, what are you doing up so early?"
"I was sleeping, but then my fingernails were growing and I woke up!"
Steve asked if she was going to go back to bed.
"Not until you cut my fingernails!"

Age 4:  Older brother Ryan (9) had drawn several really nice pictures the night before.  I noticed Lauren busy coloring in the morning.  She stood up so sweetly and said, "I accidentally colored on one of Ryan's pictures--accidentally!"  She shrugged her shoulders and shook her head in disbelief, " I colored on this one, and this one and this one and this one --but accidentally just!"

Age 5:  Lauren and younger sister Alana were counting their fingers and both came up with different amounts.  Lauren said, "Well, I must have less fingers than you do, Alana.

The years slip by so quickly!  Maybe this week will, too.
©/2012  Jana B. Patrick,  janasrandomwriting.blogspot.com

Flying the Friendly Skies

A woman was laying down across three seats at New York's Laguardia Airport. She was softly crying.  Her husband was comforting her.  I was on my way back to Minnesota and assumed she must be going there for a very sad funeral or something.
As fate would have it, they were seated across the aisle from me.  She continued to cry as the plane was loading.  We began to taxi to the runway.  The crying increased.  We took off.  Now she's got her head between her legs sobbing.  
Aha! She's afraid of flying.
Soon the pilot gets on the microphone and tells us we will be leveling out at 30,000 feet.  "WAAAAAAAA!"
And that we are traveling at 700 miles an hour...."WAAAAAAAAA!!!!"
And that we will be flying over Lake Michigan...  "WAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!"
So I press the call button, and, when the flight attendant comes, I indicate the sobbing, out of control aerophobic, "She's freaking out over there.  Could you please tell the pilot to quit with the statistics?"
So the next thing you know, the co-pilot comes sauntering down the aisle to talk to her!  She really flips out, "WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!  WHO'S FLYING THE AIRPLANE?!!!"
©5/2012  Jana B Patrick

Moving Sale: 25 Years Worth of Sh!t

We saw the above sign while in Arizona last winter.  Pretty funny. Sure wish we had gone to the sale--we've had fun thinking of things we would like to have said:

"Hey, you've got some really good sh!t here."

"Look!  They got some Collectors sh!t over there!""

"Wow!  Great prices for good sh!t like this!"

"Would you take ten bucks for that sh!t?"

"Does this piece of sh!t work?"

"How much do you want for that pile of sh!t over there?"

"Hey man, you got any, you know, car sh!t...or yard sh!t...or any kinda tool sh!t?"

"I wonder if this sh!tload will fit in my car.

"Buy that for the kids--They love playing with sh!t like that."

"Look at that old sh!t.  They just don't make sh!t the way they used to"

"Oh, look!  Here's a box of FREE sh!t!"
©5/2012  Jana B Patrick

Requiem of a Lightbulb

Eulogy of Edwin C. Wattage (ALL of fictional Edwin's maladies from CFL's can happen--just sayin')

     We are all going to miss Edwin badly.  If only he hadn't sat so close to the lamp with the compact florescent light bulb--a CFL.  All he ever wanted was to read romance novels--is that asking too much?  Should a person get cancer just from wanting to read a book with Fabio on the cover? Poor Edwin who never was much to look at anyway--getting severe UV ray burns...from a CFL light bulb, for crying out loud!  How was he suppose to know that long lasting CFL's would give him a face the color of ketchup? After all those years of carefully applying SPF 80 for sun protection--who would have guessed he needed to lather up before reading by the CFL? It just brings tears to your eyes.  
     Oh, and the mercury! Bless Edwin's soul, how did he know that knocking over his lamp during a particularly vapid Romance Novel Climax, accidentally shattering the CFL and sweeping it up would be a BAD IDEA? It was poor timing that his toxic waste bio-hazard outfit was at the cleaners that day.  
     All this was tragic enough, but we'll never know for sure if he wanted to just end it all when he put that last fateful CFL in the socket with a dimmer switch.  Did he know CFL's in a dimmer can cause a FIRE?  It proved to be his final bright flash of light before eternal darkness.  Poor Ed, rest in peace! 
©5/2012  Jana B Patrick

FYI:  From The CBS Early Show (http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052748703445904576118530602868542.html) The hosts were praising the government's 2007 energy bill which will phase out traditional incandescent Edison bulbs in January 2013.  The hosts like the CFL's--good for the environment, use less energy etc-but the part of the dialog below has me scratching my head:

Wragge said: "And the CFLs are also better for the environment and that's one of the big reasons behind this push." Cochran admitted: "Well, yes and no. I mean, they're burning less carbon or creating less carbon. But when you get rid of them, there's a little bit of mercury in them....So I wouldn't say they're necessarily better for the environment, at the end, if you break them." Wragge added: "And you also have to be very careful of them...they can break very easily." Cochran made a suggestion: "Yeah, you don't want to, maybe, use them in your kids' room where they can knock it over and the mercury inside can possibly – you know, mercury is not something you want to play around with."

At one point, Cochran explained: "Sometimes they [CFLs] have to be recycled or your city or your county may require a certain method of getting rid of them." The Environmental Protection Agency has a three-page manual describing how to properly clean up a broken CFL bulb. The "before cleanup" steps include: "a.) Have people and pets leave the room. b.) Air out the room for 5-10 minutes by opening a window or door. c.) Shut off the central forced air heating/air conditioning system, if you have one."

My friend Carol W's comment:   

yeah...I was aware of the mercury--but not the other UV danger--or that they wear out if you turn them on and off! A ways back--I had puchased a nice "costco size" pack of the 'mercury bulbs" (as I like to call them)... and of course I broke one. got on my hands and knees--nose close to the floor for the final clean-up. They shatter into micro sized bits like nobodys biz! Had to use the wet paper towel method to clean it up completely (and I'm sure I didn't get it all!). Weeks later I was thowing the box away and something, in very tiny print, caught my eye. Guess what it was? The little bit about there being mercury in them! Good grief! Me and my dogs walked in it AND inhaled it! criminy !!!!

I came across some info on the subject that is both good news and bad. The industry has an alternative to the 'mercury bulb"... it will be free of harmfull chemicals and last (I think) some incredible long period of years! However, they will be mighty expensive! I think the laws were changed to 'out-law' normally bulbs a bit too soon!

Are Surprise Parties REALLY a Good Idea?

My brother-in-law Kerry was relating how he and his wife, Dianne, had felt sheepish having not done much for their daughter, Alexis, and son-in-law, Paul's, February birthdays.  A two month late surprise party would be just the ticket. They called up Alexis asking her to stop by on a certain April evening and to make SURE she bring Paul, too--that is was VERY IMPORTANT that they BOTH come over.


When those doing the inviting are in their twenties or thirties and give such instructions, the invitees smile to themselves and think, "Oh!  They must want to tell us they are engaged!"  or, "Oh!  How wonderful!  They must be pregnant!"


When those doing the inviting give such instructions and are in their SIXTIES, the invitees (Alexis and Paul in this case) suddenly freeze and think, "OH NO!!! One of them must have CANCER OR SOMETHING!!!"


So, the birthdays were celebrated without the surprise fanfare after Alexis was assured that Kerry and Dianne were indeed healthy and plan to stick around and continue depleting her inheritance...


Kerry also told me of the time Dianne turned thirty. Dozens of friends and family waited in the darkened house for them to arrive after dining out. Just as Kerry guided Dianne toward the front door, she saw a shadow move in the window. She tried to dive behind Kerry and whispered frantically, "I think there's a burglar!  YOU go first!" Knowing the group would soon jump out and surprise Dianne, Kerry prodded her forward insisting SHE go first.  I'm sure he said something reassuring like, "Oh, Dianne, if it's just a silly burglar, I'm sure we can scare him off! And the chances he's armed are slim---maybe as low as 20%. YOU go ahead, dear."


So, bottom line: Surprise Parties: Are they a good idea?  Half the time people figure it out ahead and have to PRETEND they are surprised, and for the other half, the birthday victim is scared into a possible CORONARY. (which might make it their LAST birthday.  In which case, the cupcakes and crock pot weenies wouldn't be entirely wasted as it would instead become a send-off party of sorts.) 
 ©4/2012  Jana B Patrick

Wouldn't it be Grand to see the Sunrise?

We visited the Grand Canyon last week and it brought back memories of a family trip there 15 years ago in a rented 30 foot RV. (recreational vehicle) Steve had heard about the fabulous not-to-miss sunrises over the Canyon. Wanting to see one but not wishing to wake the rest of us at such an early hour, he thought he would just quietly drive over in the dark pre-dawn. One of the nice things about an RV is that you sleep in it and then can just hop into the driver's seat. Which is what Steve did.  What he forgot was that the RV was plugged into an electric outlet pole outside.  A large canopy extended from the RV with the obligatory party lights also plugged into the outlet.  As he pulled the behemoth away from our parking site, we all jolted awake to the engine roaring, sparks flying, cords snapping and the canopy crashing into something. 

I'm pretty sure he never saw the sun rise that morning...just a few tempers.
  ©4/2012  Jana B Patrick

What a Grand Mess We are In!

Sound waves from an 1849 conversation have actually bounced back to scientists studying at the Lowell Observatory in Flagstaff, Arizona.  Below is the amazing sound bite. 


Apparently a pioneer family was traveling west to the California territory...and the 217 mile long, up to 17 mile wide, one mile deep Grand Canyon more or less got in the way...


"What in tarnation is THAT BIG ASS CRACK IN THE EARTH???!!!"


"Jedadiah!!!  Watch your language---little pitchers have big ears!"


 "Little pitchers??--dad-blast it, Adelaide!!!  Looky at that HOLE!!! --We are lightin' out for Callyforn-I-A and what happens, I ask you??! The no account DEVIL opens up this big, long, ruinatious HOLE STRAIGHT DOWN TO HADES-- Dad-blast it anyway!"


"Now, settle yourself, Jedadiah.  There are always the frequent flyer miles we have yet to partake of."
©2012  Jana B. Patrick,  janasrandomwriting.blogspot.com

Slovak Easter Continued...

Our Canadian friend, Daniela, of Slovak descent, sent me the following e-mail after reading my last week's blog about the odd Slovak tradition of the males whipping and dousing the females Easter weekend...  http://www.janasrandomwriting.blogspot.com/2012/04/slovak-easter-whipping-and-dunking.html

I read your blog... too funny. I do remember when I was a kid, my Dad and brother (who were usually the first to get us), plus all the Slovak men that were family friends, would come over and SOAK my Mom and I all morning with jugs, or sometimes even buckets, of water. 

You can only imagine the fear of going to bed each year before Easter morning, knowing my Dad and brother took great pleasure in watching others soak us down. One year, I was still in bed when a young man did this to me. The bed was soaked and I was pi**ed! Not only was there screaming, yelling, running and lots of water everywhere each year, but the custom was for the "violated" women to give the men a gift for doing this, and then of course mop up the mess without the culprit's help!!! Can you believe it? With regards to getting whipped with branches or canes, I think my Mom drew the line there. In more affluent families, I guess the tradition is to douse the ladies with a nice spray of expensive perfume, especially if you were courting her. We got plain ol' cold water. We provided a nice breakfast for each man that came over, plus some nice Easter chocolates. Now that you mention it, and now that I reflect on this, I think perhaps this is one of the many reasons I became a feminist at such an early age!!!

Daniela

Slovak Easter--Whipping and Dunking?

Happy Easter!  I asked our family friend, Maria, what the Easter tradition in her country of Slovakia is.  Here is her email response:

Our Easter tradition? Well we eat something green like spinach or salad on Thursday, because it is called Green Thursday here,  we don't eat anything on Good Friday and on Easter Sunday we have a cake in the shape of a lamb. And for the Monday after that we do the weirdest thing:) Of course, our family doesn't do this!

Easter Monday boys pour water over girls in Slovakia, and in Western Slovakia the tradition also includes the boys whipping the girls with thin willow branches. The tradition was that if the girls wanted to be beautiful, healthy and full of life, they must not try and avoid the water soaking or the whippings. 
(Surely beautiful Maria and her three lovely, delightful sisters must have been to this  Easter Monday 'spa' at some point) (And I can't imagine how their lone brother would have wanted to miss all this fun!)   

 

March Madness/ Good job Washburn Millers!

Somewhere around Roseville, Minnesota
National Weather Service photo

National Weather Service Warning--Unseasonably warm March 'winter' weather in the 70's and 80 degrees in Minnesota has caused chaos in the air--Robins, wrens and sparrows arriving too early for Spring are colliding with bewildered snow geese getting the heck out of Dodge (county).  The resulting collisions have caused many of the freaked-out-fowl to unleash a blizzard of snow-white droppings on Minnesotans who have been outside grilling, biking, roller-blading and drinking Grain Belt Premium on their decks and, in some cases, boats. A weather advisory is in immediate effect for Minnesotans to remain inside their homes until weather is normal again (COLD) and danger of falling white detritus is past--unless, of course, it is in the form of snow crystals. Where or where is the State High School Basketball Tournament Blizzard????
(This just in:  National Weather Service advisory:  Washburn Millers boys basketball:  MN State AAA 2nd-- 57 to 56 championship game )
     ©3/2012  Jana B Patrick

"....Grumble, grumble, grumble...dam'n birds!!!"

Where is Miss Manners When You Really Need Her?

Our friend, Greg, recalled a tale from when his daughter, Kimberly, was little and had gone to visit her grandparents for a few days.  They had taken her and a cousin out for breakfast, to the children's museum and then mini-golfing.  While back at the grandparents for lunch, Kimberly asked, "OK, so what's next?  I didn't come to sit around here all day!"

Air On the Side of Caution

    WASHINGTON D.C.-- Last Monday the Environmental Protection Agency released the results of a 7 year, $1.5 billion dollar study on the effects of urban air pollution.  The 7,111,200 page report finds that to remain healthy, people in cities with very poor air quality such as Los Angeles, Phoenix or New York City should refrain from breathing.  "Human lung disease directly attributed to poor air quality can be virtually eliminated by simply holding one's breath, " states study director Errol Shtinks.  He concedes that,  "If one is not willing to hold one's breath ALL the time, then at least do it  when encountering smokers huddled pathetically at building entrances."
     Shtinks team was encouraged by a surprising benefit to folks not breathing within the cities--"CO2 emissions, when one normally exhales, were virtually eliminated thus cutting way down on greenhouse gasses.  Instead, upon leaving the city, the pent up CO2 can be released from one's lungs and be more fairly and equitably distributed within the suburbs."
     The protocol  shows statistically insignificant side effects including severe migraine headaches, turning a deep shade of cerulean blue, and asphyxiation.


     Upon completion of this study, Shtinks feared his staff would be laid off and has written a proposal for a $1.5 trillion dollar federal grant to determine how the words 'illegal alien' affect our culture. He states, "While we acknowledge that most people know perfectly well what those words mean, there may be one, possibly two Americans that think we are being invaded by extraterrestrial outlaws
--as if the Earth is a giant Australia-esque holding tank for outer-space bad guys. We want to find out what those one or two Americans really feel about it:
     "(A) They may not give a rat's a.ss,
      or (B) They may do desperate things like abduct the perceived E.T's (extraterrestrials) to, say, New York City, Phoenix or L.A  and force them to 'breathe deeply!'"
 ©3/2012  Jana B Patrick
From Mike B:  I am holding my breath they get the next research grant!

Plumber's Butt

As happens when getting older, the conversation meanders around to health issues. On a recent evening it did just that. Several of us just had or were anticipating colonoscopies.
The protocol is to have someone else drive you and check you in as they do not want you driving home alone afterwards due to the anesthesia.
You spend the day before the procedure drinking drain cleaner and staying very close to the bathroom. Everything is to be sparkling clean for the snakey camera.
The instructions advise to 'leave plenty of extra time for getting there in case you have to stop and relieve yourself on the way over.'  Now, seriously, what to they mean by that?


    PASSENGER:   "Pull over NOW!!!"
   Breaks are slammed on, car stops and passenger jumps out hurriedly and goes about his business.
   DRIVER:  "WHAT ARE YOU DOING????  THIS IS A BUSY STREET!!!!"
   PASSENGER:  "Oh, that's okay if it's BUSY, dear, no worries; we left with PLENTY of extra time for getting there."


And, bottom line, (pun intended)  who goes into this profession???


    One medical student trying to hit on a hot new First Year student: 
  HE:  "So, what specialty are you going into?"
  SHE:  (thinking he's kind of cute) "Oh, brain surgery or maybe electrocardiology.  What about you?"
  HE:   "I'm gonna check out butts; you know, do colon safaris, lasso some polyps, that sort of thing."
  SHE:  "Oh................. I have to go--I have some plans that I haven't made yet, that I am very late for."
 ©3/2012  Jana B Patrick 

Breaking Out

(I wrote this piece a year ago and was reminded of it as my daughter’s hockey team split two games with St. Catherine this last weekend)

(Jan. 2011)  My daughter Alana’s St. Olaf College hockey team played my Alma Mater, St. Catherine University, at Ridder Arena on the campus of the University of Minnesota. It brought back the memory of when, in the fall of 2004, I played the same opponent at the same venue…And that’s where any similarities end.

There was to be a St. Catherine hockey scrimmage and any alumnae, no matter what their skating ability, were invited to participate. I like to skate--how hard could this be? I had heard through the grapevine that some women who graduated with me had played in the event the year before, and they had no more training than I—it would be fun to see them again. The sum total of my experience was having played about twenty pickup games with a bunch of middle aged moms.  Why not give it a go?

First of all, none of the women I know showed up, and I soon found out why.  While standing on the blue line at Ridder Arena, our names and years of graduation were announced over the loudspeaker.  “Jana Patrick, 1979.” The player next to me observed, “I wasn't even born yet.” (Thanks)  The next closest alumnae had just graduated!!  We were playing against the current St. Catherine’s varsity team for crying out loud!!!  The arena darkened as The Star Spangled Banner melodiously described the ‘perilous fight’ and ‘the home of the brave’, and I was imaging myself anywhere but on that sheet of ice.  We had just finished warm-ups where I wasn’t sure what end of the rink to be on as everyone was wearing purple. Players had been accelerating around the zones, pucks careening hard off the boards and ice shavings flying off their speeding blades which all added to my increasing confusion.  Backwards Russian Circles?  Me? Really???

On my first shift the referee had to bodily re-position me on the correct side of the face-off circle.  The players smiled encouragingly and were so nice to this bumbling mom who really had no clue. I soon flew back to the bench and said I would like to be a spectator. My team told me I was doing just fine and coaxed me out for another shift. Being the good sports that they were, they quickly passed me the puck.   ...And I shot on the wrong net. But it didn’t matter.  My shot was so wide it missed by a mile. “Good pass,” they cheered as I returned to and remained firmly on the bench…and when no one was looking I slunk out the back of the players’ box and bolted for the locker room.

Thanks, girls—it was…fun? Albeit briefly, you helped me give it the old college try.
 ©1/2011  Jana B Patrick

The Hair of the Dog

"Mom!  No wonder you have insomnia!" complained our exhausted son Ryan when house-sitting last year. Steve and I sleep on a rock.  It's true, even campers look for softer ground than what we endure nightly. About six years ago we bought a very expensive 'healthy' natural latex mattress (rock) from a catalog furniture club.  It was to last 20 years (most rocks do indeed have long lifespans) so, of course, Steve insists that it should.
I tried everything: A thick mattress pad. A deep feather bed topper--all the feathers settle where we are NOT sleeping thus creating small feather mountain ranges. 'Unhealthy' petroleum based memory foam toppers 2" thick, 4" thick, yet, while providing softness, they are hot, smelly and itchy. We even layered ALL of these things like in the fairy tale "The Princess and the Pea" only instead of feeling the pea under it all, we felt a slab of granite.
I finally convinced Steve we NEED a new mattress so we went to Macy's and bought one to arrive in a month. I hate wasting anything, so thought we should use the rock up at the cabin--maybe cut it in half for two twin beds. I was going to get one of those popular 1970's electric knives at Goodwill and have at it. (This idea makes no sense on so many levels--most of all, why torture our cabin guests?)
I did some nocturnal Internet research, and have put delivery of the pricey new mattress on hold. We will try one last thing--the 'hair of the dog'. I went to a store and tried a SOFT, healthy, talalay natural LATEX 3" topper to go over the old, hard latex mattress and it was darn comfortable. Who knew latex came in different levels of softness? Steve wants to go try it so we'll see!  Right now, I am writing this in the middle of the night while taking a break from Plymouth Rock.          ©2/2012  Jana B Patrick
('The hair of the dog':  An expression meaning a small drink to cure a hangover--original saying:  'A hair of the dog that bit me')

Natural Latex coming out of a Rubber Tree.
Who wouldn't immediately think "mattress" when seeing this stuff?

Duct Tape Night Stand--gotta see it!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QN06zru018s&feature=uploademail

Click on the youtube link above to Check out Lauren's latest bit of duct tape art!  She said she didn't have a plan ahead of time, just winged it as she went!  amazing!

Awww! I Paid $50 For That Shampoo!

WHAT IF there really were explosivs in one of those large bottles that gets tossed as you can't take more than 3 ounce containers of liquids through airport Security?  The mega barrels outside of Security are loaded with contraband water bottles, hair products, cigarette lighters, soda pop, toothpaste, Play-Doh, deodorant, and who knows what else. (With the thought that something in there COULD be lethal, it's a real safe location, huh?)  
So, what if the stuff DOES ignite? Given the huge amount of water and shampoo in the mix, the dire outcome would be an airport filled with a sudden intense spewing of mountainous, spuming bubbles.  ©1/2012  Jana B Patrick

  TSA guarding the bad stuff                       Concourse "B"