Those Fictional Writers on TV

Someone on Facebook, sorry I can't remember who, posted about how TV shows aren't about writers because no one wants to watch them sit at a computer all day.

Actually there are quite a few shows where one of the main characters is a writer. But in most cases, you don't see them working as a writer. Even if they are wildly successful they have a day job which is frankly dumb. Most writers would be more than happy to kick the day job. Often giving a character the job of the writer is great for TV because it leaves them free to do stuff that they wouldn't have time to do if they had a real job. Plus since TV shows are written by writers it makes sense that they want to write about writers.

So following are some shows with writers and some drool worthy critique because when it comes to male writers, that's what's important.

Castle - Richard Castle is a multimillionaire murder mystery writer. He also solves murder crimes in his spare time through his connection to the city mayor and the police force. We never see him actually writing although his work is mentioned all the time because that's why he's working with the police force, and his muse is his partner. Occasionally we see him at book signings. He's rich, he's handsome, he's kind, he loves his mother (but is not a mama's boy), he loves his daughter, he is a big kid but still responsible, he's funny and he's totally drool worthy. I could storm his castle anytime. He would probably put up the drawbridge though because he can so easily get a prettier princess.

Criminal Minds - David Rossi is a successful true crime writer. He started his career as a criminal profiler, left to become a famous writer, and then feeling guilty for making money from making criminals famous, he's back to being a criminal profiler. One episode had him refusing to take his vacation. Most writers would happily take a vacation so they can write, but not Rossi, yet he still does write. Someone needs to profile him. For an older man, he is worthy of some drool.

Bones - Temperance Brennan is another multimillionaire writer. But in the daytime she plays with dead bodies. That's not creepy at all. However she did manage to snag a sexy vampire. Oh wait, he's not a vampire here. That was a different show. He's definitely drool worthy too.

Smallville - It took eight years for Clark Kent to find his career as a journalist. True, he was in high school for four years (and my goodness wasn't he a grown up looking fourteen year old). But when he did become a journalist (without going to journalism school) he took it seriously, that is when he wasn't rescuing everybody he knew from certain death and traveling between planets, and fighting off other worldly bad guys, and rescuing the Green Arrow from himself, and chasing Lana, and chasing Lois, and fending off every woman that noticed how drool worthy he was. Oliver Queen (the Green Arrow) was totally drool worthy too.

Lois and Clark - Clark Kent gets the job right away and spends four years chasing down the story, chasing down Lois and capturing those criminals while wearing spandex and a cape. Yes, he was drool worthy but far more drool worthy as Clark Kent than as Superman.

Ugly Betty - Betty Suarez worked at a fashion magazine as an assistant while she waited for her break as a magazine writer. She rarely ever wrote anything since her job was mostly getting coffee, rescuing her boss from his various forays into stupidity, competing with gay office guy, fending off the wicked witche's evil plans, and volleying fast balls from the receptionist.

8 Simple Rules for Dating My Teenage Daughter - Paul Hennessey is a newspaper columnist. I've been a newspaper columnist. I've never been able to afford lunch from a column never mind raise three teenagers in a nice house. I guess they lived off of his wife's pay from being a nurse. Paul is always around to make his daughter's lives miserable. After all, that's what a father is for. He may not be totally drool worthy but he was nice.

Everybody Loves Raymond - Raymond Barone is a sports writer. Sometimes he goes off to work somewhere. Mostly he stands around and whines. He wouldn't have time to stand around and whine if he had a regular job. He is not drool worthy. Mainly because he never backs up his wife on anything and she has to do all the work. Did I mention he whines?

Sex and the City - Carrie Bradshaw is a columnist in New York writing about sex. Although her apartment isn't fabulous it is decent and she can afford to pay several hundred dollars for one pair of shoes, and she has like a thousand pairs of shoes. I have no idea how a columnist is able to afford to live in New York let alone buy collector shoes. Yes, I said collector, not designer because how often do you wear those shoes? She and her friends have sex with every man they meet and she writes about it. She also wears ugly clothes but they are all a fashion statement. She went to live in Paris with a boyfriend and left her laptop behind so she could take a scarf with her and then had a miserable time because she had nothing to do. Like a writer is actually going to do that.  Writer's go to Paris to write! She also got a fabulous book party when she got published. So being stupid wins. As for Mr. Big, the actor might be drool worthy to some people, but Mr. Big is not.

Just Shoot Me - Maya Gallo is a magazine journalist who can only get a job at Daddy's magazine. She fights against the fluff while carrying on with the bald photographer who frankly wasn't even interesting until he showed up on Flashpoint.

Murder She Wrote - Jessica Fletcher is a very successful cozy murder mystery writer. We get to see her write in the opening credits. Everywhere she goes a murder happens which she has to solve. She is walking death. You would think that people would run when they see her. It's easy for her to write mysteries because after she solves the mystery she goes home to write about it. No one yet has caught on that she's probably a serial killer who kills these people, frames someone else for it, and then makes a couple of million off the story. I bet David Rossi would figure her out.

Newhart - Dick Loudon writes how to books while running a New England inn with his wife Joanna. He should be writing strange but true books instead because he comes up against Larry, Darryl and Darryl. Turns out it was all fiction anyway and it was all a dream. He wasn't a how to book writer but a psychiatrist. It would make anyone crazy. Not drool worthy and you wonder how he even got his beautiful wives - oh yeah, he dreamed one up.

The Waltons - Johnboy Walton is the oldest of seven kids during the depression. The show opens with a voice over of his memories and closes with him at his desk in his room writing by hand (there weren't computers back then and the family is too poor for a typewriter). Johnboy does write and several episodes are about his writing adventures including starting his own newspaper. The only odd things in this heartwarming series is that Johnboy isn't the least bit embarrassed that his name is Johnboy.

The Mary Tyler Moore Show - Murray Slaughter is not a murder mystery or a crime writer in spite of his name. He's a news writer and we do get to see him write. In fact that's all you see him doing. His entire roll involved sitting at his typewriter and insulting Ted Baxter the newscaster and mooning over Mary. Not drool worthy but a nice guy to have around if you don't annoy him.

The Odd Couple - Oscar Madison was a sports writer who worked out of his apartment. He spent his time fending off his roommate Felix Unger from his desk and totally destroying his mojo. Oscar was a happy slob except when finicky Felix got in his way. Not drool worthy in the least, but that's not his fault. He was funny.

The Dick Van Dyke Show - Rob Petrie was the head writer for the Alan Brady show, a variety show on TV back when variety shows were popular and funny (how I miss those days). Rob actually went to work everyday and we saw him work with his other writers, Sally and Buddy. Some of the funniest bits from the show came out of the creativity in that office. Of course some of the funniest bits came from home life too and you could totally see what Laura (Oh Rob!!!) Petrie saw in him. Definitely drool worthy.

So that's what I came up with. If you can think of others, by all means add on.

How to Escape From the Kids - Hunker in the Bunker, Secret Rooms & The Winchester House

Apparently there’s this guy in BC who built himself a bunker. And no, it's not the marijuana bunker.

Most bunkers are holes in the ground where food and water and ammunition are stored. I always think of that Twilight Zone episode where the guy and his family holes up in a bunker and threatens to shoot the neighbors who are trying to get in. I mix that up with the story of the guy and his friend who are holed up in a bunker not realizing they’re underneath a nuclear dome.

And then there’s the movie of the family who are living in one for twenty years with their kid not knowing that life goes on as before up top. Now there was a bunker for you. The guy had his own supermarket.

And this is like the bunker in BC. This man hasn’t built a bunker, he’s built a house under his house. There are secret passages and doors that go nowhere and four stories. Yep, four stories of this place.

I like it.

It’s the secret passages and fake doors that have got me. I grew up reading girls adventure stories. There were always secret passageways and hidden rooms in them. I would go around whatever house I lived in searching for a hidden room or passageway. If Nancy Drew could find them, then why couldn’t I?

I never found one.

I searched whatever yard we had. Surely there would be a tunnel somewhere. Those English kids in Enid Blyton books who had a parrot that carried on conversations and parents who would let them sail around the world without adult supervision, always found tunnels.

I never found one.

I went into forests hoping to stumble across a cave somewhere. One of those caves that go on forever and smugglers used to hide their booty. After all, I lived on an island, there was bound to be some kind of smugglers cave somewhere filled with treasure chests of jewels and coins.

I never found one.

I’ve always wanted to live in a castle. There was bound to be secret passageways and rooms, unfound for generations that I could discover where some poor woman had died of a broken heart, and her hair could still be found in the brush on her dressing table beside the dried rose that her lover had given to her before he was captured by pirates, never to return.

I can’t even find a castle, never mind a hidden room.

The Winchester House

I remember when I was little, seeing something on TV about the Winchester House. The Winchester widow was, lets say, not able to keep her six shooters straight, and felt guilty over the money she had from the sale of guns. She was also convinced that if she kept building she would never die, or something like that.
There's secret rooms a plenty. Stairs that go nowhere. Doors that open to nothing. It's a maze where no one has been able to completely count the rooms although they estimate 160. And that's after the earthquake that toppled the top three floors of the seven story structure. The floors were never rebuilt.
I want that house. Sure it's haunted but the kids would never find me there. But then with my sense of direction, I would never find my way out. I would be sentenced to wandering that place forever.

Still, it would be nice to have a hidden room, one that the kids don’t know about. I could have pens.

I could have pens and chocolate. It would have a doorway hidden behind someplace they would never go, like a cleaning cupboard, and I would hide there whenever they’re searching for me because they want me to settle an argument which they won’t listen to me about anyway.

There would be no phone in my secret room. I hate the phone. Have you ever noticed that just as your getting settled down to a project, most likely one that you haven’t wanted to do and have procrastinated about forever but you’ve finally got your self doing it, and you’re going along at a nice clip, the phone rings and you have to climb the stairs or come down from the tree, or fall off the roof, only to be greeted by someone who has a great deal for your long distance calls.

And then the kids come home and wonder why the phone has been smashed to pieces.

And then of course something distracts you and you never do get back to that project even though you’ve left the pieces of it all over the place. So now you’ve got a new project to procrastinate about.

Yep, I need a secret room. Now, where did I put that spade?

And Now For Something Truely Ridiculous: 10 Ways to Kill Someone With a Door Knob

Please note. This is for entertainment purposes only. Do not try this at home. If you do try this at home, do not take me to court saying that I made you do this because your home/school life is miserable and you hate Mondays and nobody understands you and your mother made you wear the sweater that your Aunt Flora made you for Christmas or your boss just announced that you have been transferred to the same town where your in-laws live.

10 Ways to Kill Someone With a Door Knob

1. Attach 3000 volts of electricity to door knob and then meow outside the door.
2. Send away for a kit from the Acme Company. Using the paint that comes in the kit, paint a door on the inside of an outside wall on a fifty story building. Attach Acme doorknob. Write “Fire Escape” over the top of the door. Set off the fire alarm.
3. In front of a regular door, build a trap door over an alligator pit. Attach a mechanism that opens the trap door to the door knob on the regular door. To get victim to open regular door, play Mini Pops on your stereo over and over again.
4. On a freezing cold day, dare your ex-husband who doesn’t pay child support but has enough money for limos for girlfriends, to stick his tongue on a frozen door knob (tell him it tastes like beer and you’ll give up asking for money). Leave him there. Oh yeah, you might want to think about picking his pockets first and hosing him down. Ah, while your at it paint a target on his butt and pretend your Robin Hood. (Note: this is not a reference to anyone in particular. Really. It isn’t.)
5. Hand several parents socks with door knobs in them. Now have Barney come to visit and ask him to sing the I Love You song. Come to think of it, you could dress up that ex in a Barney suit first.
6. For a change of pace to your boring old snowball fight, have a door knob fight instead.
7. 

   To add excitement to your pillow fights, insert door knobs into pillow cases.
8. Send away for Acme kit. Insert bomb making supplies that come in kit into door knob. Invite friends to play “hot potato” with door knob. Have anvil fall on someone’s head.
9. Tell someone that calling a mobster a “door knob” over and over again is a term of respect. Introduce them to a mobster.
10. Use Acme paint from Acme kit to paint a door on a brick wall that leads to an entirely enclosed secret room. Invite someone to go inside. Erase door.

Hmm, I was just thinking. I’ve got that secret room in the basement that I’ve been digging with a spoon. I wonder when it’s fully excavated and furnished, if I could go in and erase the door from the inside and paint it back on when I’m ready to come out. They’d never find me.

If a Five-Year-Old Ruled the World

"There are two people who rule the world," my five-year-old grand-daughter explained to her audience of me, her parents, two aunts and an uncle. "They are Jesus and me."

The ego on this child is not lacking.

However I found it an interesting proposition.  What would life be like if the world was run by a five-year-old?

People would be fed and everyone would get to have milk and cookies as well.
We would all have to share.
Animals would get cuddles. 
We would play tag and races.
We would spend time with each other.
There would be more artists, singers and actors.
Soldiers would carry toy guns or sticks and not real guns. So would police officers, because you can play at war but not actually kill each other. In fact there wouldn't be any real guns or bombs because they hurt people.
Everyone would have a nice place to live.
Stay-at-home mom's would be paid what they're worth.
So would teachers.
Bad people who hurt people and destroy or steal other people's stuff would have to go somewhere away from good people.

Tantrums would be allowed and then forgotten.
There would be more dress up and pajama days.
It wouldn't matter what you looked like. Everyone would be equal.

Hmmm. Maybe age doesn't equal wisdom.

Letter to Truckers

Dear Truckers,

Let me first thank you for all the work you do. I am aware that you work long hours and drive in dangerous conditions in order to bring supplies to people like me. I appreciate it. Really I do.

And I try and do my part to make sure that you do so safely. I do not travel immediately behind you. I maintain quite a bit of distance. When I pass you I try and do it in a way so that you can see me. When I have passed you I make sure I can clearly see you in my rear view mirror before moving in front of you. I may annoy cars behind me in order to maintain such safety, but that's their problem. I can't hear them swearing at me.

In return I ask some things.

Please do not pass me on narrow winding roads in the black of night. I know that you have places to go and things to do, but so do I and I would like to get there. Sure I may be going slower than you like, but that's because it's a NARROW WINDING ROAD IN THE BLACK OF NIGHT and 180 km an hour is simply not safe. Your actions could very well result in meeting up with someone coming from the opposite direction and if you're beside me when you do this or close in front of me the results might not be pretty.

When the rain is pouring down I tend to go slower than the posted speed limits. Why? Because if I go the speed limit I won't be driving, I'll be flying as my car hydroplanes along the road. My car is not built to fly and so the normal safety controls like brakes and steering are not in place. I know it's frustrating to follow a pokey little car when you want to travel 180 kmph but when you pass me you create hurricane conditions where water engulfs my car and I am completely blinded. If you still choose to create a tsunami for me then at least do it on a straight road with no other cars around so that I don't drive off a cliff while I'm blinded. Better still, if it's night time pull over and go to sleep. I may not have that option but I know you've got those trucks all pimped out with stereos and beds and lights. Oh and snow conditions aren't much safer for passing. You create a blizzard when you pass by. It's hard to see when everything has turned completely white.

As far as I know, and I could be wrong about this and if so I will apologize and take back my statement, yield signs are for everyone. Including truckers.

                                          They look something like this.


Or this.





                                           Or this.



However they look they tend to be a triangle with the pointy side down and more often than not actually have the word "YIELD" printed on it. This does not mean "speed up and force whomever's coming into the ditch". You actually have to slow down and maybe even stop if there is a car coming because believe it or not, just because you're bigger does not mean you have the right of way. I know it's inconvenient when you're traveling 180 and you're pulling a hundred thousand tons of stuff, but I have yet to see a sign that says "YIELD IF YOU WANT TO".

Before you pass the vehicle in front of you, please check and make sure that I'm not trying to pass you. Sure, I could stay behind you my entire trip and not see a thing in front of me, including important signs, but I prefer not to do that. I do not suddenly swing out from behind you. I start my pass well enough back that you should see me. I cannot help it if at some point I am in your blind side. It's inevitable that there is at least one. So you actually have to make sure there's no one in the passing lane before you pass. If I hit you, because you've suddenly swung out right in front of me, or you hit me, you probably won't feel it. I'm just a bug. But it might actually kill me and the children I have in my car. We will be on the side of the road in a grisly mess while you travel your merry little way.

Some highways go through the center of towns. You cannot travel highway speeds through the center of a town. In the movies when cars are zooming through towns people merely jump out of the way because everyone is an olympic athlete and can do so, and no one gets hurt because they have the body composition of Gumby, but in real life, a truck traveling at highways speeds could actually kill someone who is on a crosswalk with their groceries in one hand and their toddler's hand in the other. Did you know that pedestrians have the right of way in a crosswalk even if you are bigger and badder? It's far easier to stop if you go the posted speed and since there's so much more of you to stop you should actually go slower than the posted speed. In fact it would be nice if you could just avoid those small towns all together unless you are actually delivering to a store in town. There is usually a way around a town.

I think that's it. I appreciate your time.

Sincerely,

Anna Maria Junus (who does not drive a truck)

Why Does Disney Hate Mothers?

Why does Disney hate mothers?

Think about this, Snow White’s mom—dead. She had a wicked step-mom instead—in fact a wicked witch of a step-mom.

Pinocchio didn’t have a mom, just a lonely wood carver that created him.

Bambi’s mom got killed so he had to look up to a father that was never around—but in the end it turns out that he was a good father in spite of never being around.

Cinderella didn’t have a mom either, just another wicked step-mother with two bratty daughters. Her father picked well on his second marriage.

Sleeping Beauty’s mom gave her away. And it wasn’t like she was some poor teenage mother, she was a queen. Aurora was sent away from her grand palace to live in the forest in a little hut with three batty fairies. She wasn’t even told who she was.

Dumbo had a mom. But they put her in prison for being a mom and protecting her baby.

Jasmine, no mom. No mention of a mom. Maybe her dad had a harem and so her mom wasn’t that important.Where were all those women in that harem anyway?

Come to think of it, Aladdin didn’t have a Mom either and there’s no mention of his mom. He just had a monkey that got him into trouble.

Belle didn’t have a mom. She had a lunatic father. And in spite of living in town where everyone knew her, there didn’t appear to be any women who stepped in to be a mother-like figure. Like the lady down the block who bakes homemade cookies, or the seamstress that helps teach sewing. No women, nadda.

Simba had a mom, but it appears that she played no role in his upbringing since the whole story surrounded his dad and how much he looked up to his dad and how he wanted to be like his dad. I guess his mom only gave birth to him.

Mulon had a mom who only cared about marrying her off and what kind of impression she made. Mulon sacrificed everything for her father.

Tarzan’s mom was killed by a tiger. Sure he had an adopted gorilla mom who loved him and his gorilla dad wasn’t nice, but his real mom still got killed.

Ariel, again no mother in sight. There’s a lot of kids in that family though. I guess merpeople don’t need mothers. However Ariel did turn into a nice mother, but then I guess Disney couldn’t kill her off. That would be too traumatic. Can you imagine if they had started “The Little Mermaid II” off with the murder of Ariel?

Lilo has no mother, just a sister whom Lilo drives nuts.

Nemo’s mom gets eaten by a shark before Nemo is even born. Why couldn’t it have been Nemo’s dad that gets eaten by the shark and Nemo’s mom be the one to have to find Nemo?

Rapunzal's Mom stole her from her real mom and kept her a prisoner in a tower.

Sure, there are a few moms scattered here and there. The Aristocats has a mother, 101 Dalmations has a mother, and there is a mom on Treasure Planet. And there's a real mom on The Incredibles that all moms can be proud of. I watched it thinking “Finally, a Mom. And a really cool Mom too! I wish I could be that flexible.”

But still, the pickings have been slim. It’s like they go into a room and think “Mom’s just get in the way. They don’t let you go on adventures and they tell you to eat your spinach and put on clean underwear. Let’s kill them off.”

Admittedly, many of the Disney stories come from fairy tales and the Brothers Grimm are responsible for killing off a lot of moms, such as Snow White’s and Cinderella’s. And some stories like Tarzan come from famous novels where the writer has killed off the mom.

But really, does every mother have to suffer the fate of death? And does every step-mother have to be wicked? And why is it that the bad fathers in Disney stories are not really bad, but just misunderstood, or they come around and realize that they’ve been unfair and all is forgiven.

Where’s the fathers that run away and don’t send child support? Or the wicked stepfathers who brew up potions to kill their step-children? I mean, lets have some equal opportunity badness here.

In Disney’s world most families are one parent families with the father being the main caregiver.

Of course, no one has ever accused Disney of presenting real life.

But it does make me wonder, why do so many Disney executives hate their moms?

While I Am Sleeping or Why Can't I Have the Shoemaker's Elves

Do you remember the story of the shoemaker and the elves?

The story goes that there was a very poor shoemaker (it seems that all shoemakers were poor which makes you wonder why they went into the business in the first place. Do shoemakers even exist anymore? I guess they must to make specialty shoes).

Anyway, this shoemaker didn’t make specialty shoes, he just made ordinary shoes at a time when you couldn’t go to Walmart and pick out a pair for 14.99 which sounds like a good deal until you realize while you’re in Walmart that you need a new set of sheets, and a broom to replace the one the kids broke while they were playing Harry Potter, and you notice a really cute purse, and while you’re there you might as well pick up a cheap movie to watch for family night and a, okay I’m rambling…

Anyway, this poor shoemaker was struggling trying to get his work done and one night he went to bed and when he woke up in the morning all of his work was finished.

See, it wasn’t about him having a lack of work, it was more about supply and demand and he couldn’t keep up with the amount of work that he had which is bad since then you get the reputation of not being reliable and you end up losing business and so instead of hiring someone to help him retain the business he had he decided instead to do everything himself. I guess he was the “I can do it all” kind of guy and he didn’t like to ask for help and he definitely didn’t like to pay for help especially for something that he could do himself. Only he couldn’t do it all himself and he was falling behind but he wouldn’t admit it. Just like a man.

Where was I?...Oh yeah, he woke up and all his work was done, which was great for business and it continued to happen night after night until he wasn’t poor anymore.

Then he decided to find out how his work was being done. See if it had been me, I would have been wondering the first day but this guy waited until he was well off before his curiosity kicked in. I know I would have been wondering, “How did those shoes get finished?” and then I would have asked all over the place and then I would have seen if it happened again and then when it did I would have done a stake out like in the movies.

Which is what he ended up doing. He and his wife stayed up all night waiting to see what would happen. Nowadays we would just put a hidden camera in a teddy bear but they didn’t have them back then (cameras or teddy bears) so they made some popcorn and curled up in a corner hiding and waiting for the show to start.

I know these elves aren't naked but I couldn't put
 naked elves on my family blog



Suddenly these naked elves appear and start fixing all the shoes. These elves can make shoes but they can’t tie a piece of cloth around themselves and call it a toga. Nowadays there would have been a big blur or dot put in strategic places but since this was live and had no 10 second delay, there was no big blurs or dots.

So the next day his wife decides that she can’t have naked elves in her house and decides to whip them up all new outfits. Now anyone who sews knows that it’s almost as much work to make something little as to make something big.

She designs them little outfits and figures out what size the elves are (I guess she mentally measured them while watching) and she sews up all the clothing by hand since they didn’t have sewing machines back then and she has them all ready by nightfall. Which makes me wonder, if she was able to design, fit, and sew so quickly why wasn’t she helping her struggling husband by taking in sewing from rich people?



Or why didn’t he teach her how to make shoes because she could have had a dozen pairs made up to his one and then they wouldn’t have needed the naked elves.

They laid out all the clothes and made some popcorn and hid in a corner to watch the show.

The elves came, tried on all their clothes, danced around in happy delirium and left never to come back and make any more shoes.

I don’t know what the moral of this story is. If you pay someone they will leave you. Or elves can only make shoes when they’re naked. Or if you don’t ask for help someone will come and give it to you anyway. I don’t know. None of this sounds right but that isn’t the point.

I don't get elves that help me like the shoemaker did. I get the other kind of elves.

While I sleep, elves enter my home and steal single socks, hide my keys and put dishes in my sink, both clean and dirty dishes, which make the clean dishes dirty.

They overload the garbage, make the cordless phone disappear, and take all the batteries out of the remote controls that I can find. Of course there are the remote controls that I can’t find.



Elves play on my computer and store files in odd places, change my desktop, download weird programs, and put in sneaky little viruses and worms that confound my virus scan. They also make quadruple copies of spam email. They empty the ink from my printer, hide all the 100 pens that I keep on my desk and rearrange all my papers.



In my bathroom, they go into my linen closet and throw sheets on the floor, soak towels in the bathtub, make toilet paper streamers, put toothpaste on the mirrors, unwrap and wet down several bars of soap and take all the papers off of the band-aids.



In my fridge, they loosen salad dressing lids, knock over ketchup bottles and jump up and down on them, hide my leftovers so that I can’t find them until my nose does and they add chemicals to my vegetables to make them rot faster than they normally would.

While I sleep, in my room they mix my clean clothes with my dirty ones, hide the latest book I’m reading, and change the time and alarm on my clock. In my closet they shrink my clothes, tangle up my hangers, and separate my blazers from the matching skirts and pants.

In my children’s bedrooms they throw all the clothes on the floor, break all the toys, scatter legos, undress dolls, and spill nail polish on carpets.

They like to take all the movies and either mix them up in the boxes or hide the boxes and throw everything on the floor.

On my bookshelves they place Stephen King next to Louisa May Alcott.

They put strange appointments on my calendar and hide my important phone numbers.



They call my phone number and leave wierd messages or no messages at all.

I often wonder why I didn’t get the kind of elves that make shoes. I could use some new shoes. Especially since my elves hid mine.

Maybe if I made them little clothes they would go away. Of course they could always wear the clothes that they take off of the dolls.

I wonder if I could trade my elves in for house fairies. I hear they're pretty nice to have around.

From 2004: The First Snowfall of the Winter Happens Before the Beach Umbrellas Are Put Away

I rarely take all my kids shopping.

I was reminded the other day why.

Just with that line I can see some of you writing your own columns in your head. Go ahead, it will probably be funnier than mine.

It was the Saturday of the first snowfall. I decided that it would be a good idea to take the kids shopping for winter things.

Do you have any idea how many pairs of gloves I buy? You would think I was buying for octopuses or something, because it seems that every year I have to buy several pairs for each child and several pairs for me. Not all at once mind you.

“Okay, here’s your gloves. These are YOUR gloves. Do not LOSE them. These are MY gloves. Do not WEAR them. If you lose your gloves I will not buy you more gloves and your fingers will freeze and fall off, and then your hands will freeze and fall off and then you won’t be able to hit your brother/sister anymore, and you will have to steal all my pens using your teeth.”

And so the day following the first glove useal, someone announces to me “Mom, I lost my gloves, can I borrow yours?”

And knowing that if my kids fingers freeze and fall off, I will have the school upset because my child will have to write his/her school work with his/her teeth and end up slobbering al over it, and then Social Services will come and take the children away, I allow the glove loser to wear my gloves.

Which they promptly lose.

And of course it will be the day when I have to go out to the car and sweep snow and ice off my car with my bare hands because someone decided to use the snow brush for something that snow brushes aren’t used for and they will have lost it.

If my fingers freeze and fall off, no one cares because that’s what mothers do for their children.

Anyway, we went out shopping that Saturday.

Turns out, everyone in the city was at Value Village and Walmart that day. You would think it was the Saturday before Christmas.

Now, I’m one of those rare folk who are fine in FRONT of crowds. If you put me up on stage, I will not lose my lunch, become speechless or paralyzed, or forget my name. In fact, I enjoy being up in front of crowds.

I do not like being IN crowds.

So while my children are pulling on my six arms demanding things and telling me to look over there and fighting over who gets what and who needs what and who’s turn it is to get what, I am also being pushed around by crowds who want to get somewhere while I’m stuck behind people who won’t let me get anywhere and it’s everything I can do to not suddenly stop in the middle of the store and scream.

It’s a wonder I haven’t seen this happen yet with anyone.

It will one day you know. Some poor mother is going to stop in the middle of Walmart, scream, “Stop this merry-go-round! I want to get off! And then curl up in a ball on the floor sucking her thumb.

I thought I was alone in this. A few days later I talked to some friends and found out we all feel this way.

“They need to have an express lane for panic attacks,” Mira said (all names have been changed to protect the guilty), “that way you don’t have to leave everything when you run screaming from the store.”

“You know how they have those signs asking you to leave knapsacks and suitcases at the customer sevice desk when you come in,” Gloria said, “well they need to have duct tape at the front doors with instructions that no child may enter without their mouths being taped up first.”

“Yes, that way none of us will be singled out and pointed at for being abusive mothers when we do it,” Trudy said. We all nodded in agreement.

“You know in some stores they have those taste testing stands…” Hazel said.

“Do I,” said Gloria, “I had to wrestle my kid away from those things just the other day. He thought he could eat lunch there.”

“Well they should have Prozac stands,” Hazel said.

“Then they would have to wrestle me away from them,” Gloria said.

So the next time you’re all out there, keep an eye out for those mothers. Our eyes are glazed over and we are smiling.

Always watch out for smiling moms. It’s a dangerous thing.

*****

Note: While searching for a picture to go with this story I googled in "shopping with kids clip art". All I got was pictures of happy shoppers. Obviously the artists who create these images have never been shopping with kids. Or, they were warned by merchants that if they conveyed the truth they would get cement shoes and a chance to go swimming while wearing chains.

Welcome to Earth 101

“Welcome to Earth 101. I am your instructor, Henry. Is there anyone here that is not supposed to be here? Good. I am passing out packages for this course. Please take the one with your name on it and pass the rest down.


You have each received a different package. Although it may appear to be the luck of the draw, it is not. These packages have been specially chosen for you. There will be no trading.

You will notice in each of these packages a dossier. Take a look at the pictures. Read the biographies. Those people you see will be your family. As we get further on in the course we will be observing them. Study them. It is important that you know and understand them. You will be living your lives around these people.

“Excuse me?”

“Yes?”

“There seems to be some mistake. I put in for a mission for a rich family in the United States and this package says I will be serving in Ethiopia among the poor.”

“I can assure you. It is not a mistake.”

“Moving along, although your memories will be taken away, there will be certain things that you will instinctively know how to do. We will teach you these things here.

For instance you will learn here how to make a production of going to bed. Baths, stories, pyjamas, hugs and kisses, goodnights, prayers, lost teddy bears, baby blankets, snacks, drinks of water, trips to the bathroom, scary monsters under the bed or in the closet, all will be techniques you will use to delay night time sleep.

Another example - when you are taking a long trip in the car, or on a train, or a bus, or a plane, you will repeatedly ask your parents, “Are we there yet?” Furthermore, even though you have just been at a rest stop and assured your parents that you do not need to use it, ten minutes later while you are driving down the highway you will suddenly announce that you must go to the bathroom immediately."

“Excuse me, sir. What is this ‘go to the bathroom?’

“That will be one of the things you will learn on earth that will teach your parents many things.”

“We will be teaching them?”

“Yes. You will teach them things such as love, patience, fortitude, endurance, and forgiveness. They will learn to be as a child again, yet they will have tremendous powers. You will also teach them time management, delegation, charity, sacrifice, unselfishness, and the ability to learn to accept imperfections yet still be able to motivate you to go beyond what you thought you could do.”

“We’re going to teach them all that?”

“Oh yes, all that and more.”

“Now, we are not expecting that you will accomplish this immediately. You will start small. We will give you the tools. Initially you will be given an annoying cry that will break out sometime in the evening when your parents will be under the foolish impression that they can relax. Along with that cry you will be given the endurance to keep it going until well into the early hours of the morning. As you grow older you will be given other tools. An annoying whine, a piercing scream, the ability to climb great heights without fear and a quick brain that will allow you to think of things that your parents had not thought of yet. You will be able to eat things that are not for normal digestion, yet have the willpower to turn away from those foods that others find tempting. As you grow older you will question your parents at every turn. Keep those questions coming. That’s how they learn.

“Before you get too cocky about this, I have also given your parents tools. For instance, mothers will have the ability to see out of the backs of their heads, and fathers will be able to make you feel like slugs under rocks just by looking at you.

Are there any questions?”

“I don’t want to go to Ethiopia.”

“Was that a question?”

“Can I get a transfer?”

“No. Next question.”

“I’ll trade a villa in Italy for something in France”.

“How about a trailer park in Iowa?”

“I’ll take the villa for a chateau in Paris.”

“You’ve got it.”

“STOP! STOP! STOP! You cannot transfer, trade buy or sell your missions! You get what you get! Now there’s the bell. Homework tonight is…”

“You’re giving us homework on our first day?”

“Your homework for tonight is to study those dossiers. There will be a test on them tomorrow.”

“Oh man, a test already?”

“I can see now that you will teach your parents well. See you first thing tomorrow.”

The Flood, From a Woman's Point of View

“Noah, what are you doing?” Noah’s wife asked him. “You’re making a big mess. I hope you don’t expect me to clean this up.”

“I’m building an ark.” Noah replied.

“What’s an ark?

“It’s a big boat.”

“You’re building a boat in the middle of the desert?”

“Yep.”

“Do you know anything about boat building?”

“Nope.”

“I guess not, since you’re building it in the middle of the desert. Why are you building a boat in the middle of the desert?”

“God told me to.”

Her eyebrows rose up, “God told you to build a boat.”

“Yep.”

“In the middle of the desert.”

“Yep.”

“I can’t even get you to fix the front door, and you’re building a boat.”

“God didn’t tell me to fix the front door.”

“God isn’t the one who cooks your dinner either.”

“I’ll fix the front door when I’m done here.”

“When are you going to be done here?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know how long it takes to build a boat. I’m still getting the trees.”

“Well, when you’re done building the boat, I’ll get your dinner.”

“All right, Woman, I’ll fix your door.”

“Honey, is this because of your 600th birthday? Are you having a mid-life crisis?”

“I am not having a mid-life crisis.”

His wife shook her head, “Other men just buy a fast horse or lose a little weight, mine builds a boat, in the middle of the desert, no less.”

Noah ignored her and continued working.

“How big is this boat going to be?” she asked him.

“Big. Big enough for two of every animal and all of our family.”

“Hmm, I suppose I could always turn it into a bed and breakfast.”

“Hey, Mom!” Three boys called out to her. She looked out into the distance to see her strong strapping youths coming towards them carrying tree trunks.

“Did you hear, Mom? Dad’s building an ark!”

“Yes, I heard, Shem. I see you’re helping him.”

“It’ll be cool.”

“Well, I doubt that it will be wet,” she replied.

Ham laughed while his brothers and Noah and  glared at him.

“Didn’t Dad tell you?” Japheth asked.

“Tell me what?”

“It’s going to rain.”

“Oh, well in that case, by all means build a boat. Don’t let me stop you. But I still need someone to fix the front door.”

***

“They have to get wives.” Noah said to her one day.

“They’re too young,” his wife said.

“They’re all around a hundred years old.”

“Barely out of babyhood. Do you really think Ham is ready to get married? That boy can’t even make his own bed.”

“A wife could do that.”

“Oh yes, that’s what we women are good for.”

“Nevertheless, I have sent them out to get wives.”

“Just like that! Do you know how long it takes to plan a wedding, never mind three weddings?”

“Hey, if I can build an ark, you can plan a few weddings.”

“Fine! But I still need my front door fixed!”

***

She watched as Noah and the boys brought the animals on two by two into the ark. Then she sighed, “I won’t be able to turn that boat into a bed and breakfast now.”

She overheard her sons singing “The ants go marching two by two, hurrah, hurrah.”

***

After a nasty battle with sea sickness, she was able to get back on her feet and wander around the ark.

“Whose turn is it to clean up this mess!” she shouted looking around in disgust at the animal quarters. “Honestly, you people want pets and then you don’t even take care of them!”

“It’s Shem’s turn!” Ham shouted.

“It is not! It’s yours.”

“It is not. Maybe it’s Japheths.”

Noah’s wife stood with her arms folded in front of her. “I don’t care whose turn it is, you all can do it!” She spun around and stepped on a shovel which sprang up and hit her on the face.

“Who left this shovel in the middle of the floor!” she shouted.

“Ida Know,” they all said.

“Ida Know didn’t get permission from God to be on the boat! Where’s your father?”

“He’s talking to God.”

“Of course he’s talking to God. He’s always talking to God when there’s something to be done. Well, he’s going to talk to me.”

***

Ham’s wife sighed and said to her husband, “I’ll be so glad when we don’t have to live with your mother anymore.”

Shem and Japheth’s wives nodded in agreement. “Yeah, she makes us do everything around here.”

***

Noah and his wife stood on dry land gazing out at the water that was receding. He held her hand. “I love you,” he said.

“I love you too,” she replied. They were silent for a moment. “We don’t have to live in that boat anymore, do we? There wasn’t much for windows.”

“I’ll build you a lovely home with a white picket fence and you can have a garden where our grandchildren will come and play.”

“Will you give me a front door that works properly?”

He smiled. “Of course.”

She sighed and cuddled close to him. “Who knew that a midlife crisis would come to this?”

Lunch On a Skyscraper

A few years ago I belonged to a writers group that sent out prompts. One of them was this picture. I discovered this while looking for another piece that I had written. Still haven't found that one. So here is what I wrote for this picture. I'd love to see other responses.

“Okay, everyone places.”

“Lois, they’re not looking rough enough, put a little makeup on them.”

“Sean, stop jumping off the beam. I know it’s just a couple of feet, we’ll be putting in the city shots later.”

“Okay guys, line up and look like your eating lunch.

“What do you mean ‘what’s my motivation’? You’re motivation is eating lunch.”

“No, you’re not getting danger pay for stunt shots. There are no stunts. You’re only three feet from the ground.”

“Where’s the caterer? Darcy wants horseradish for his roast beef.”

“No, Craig, there’s no Grey Poupon. You’ll have to live with regular yellow mustard.”

“Jordan, if you guys all cooperate you’ll have plenty of time to make it to your JLo video rehearsal.”

“Yes, Brock, I’m aware that we ruined your manicure. I promise, everyone can have manicures after these shots.”

“And loofah’s too.”

“Okay, look rough and mean. Pretend you had a fight with your wife.”

“Sure, Vincent. You can pretend you had a fight with your husband. Just don’t look like it.”

“I know Tigh is blowing smoke in your face, Mackenzie. You’ll just have to put up with it for the shots. We’ll get you a cancer screening test right after.”

“Jaimie, what’s in that cigarette! You can’t smoke that here! Lois! We need a tobacco cigarette!”

“Hold it, Carrigan is holding up a newspaper with one of his own ads in it. We can’t have a construction worker holding up a photo where he’s modeling underwear! Someone get another newspaper!”

“Dean, stop asking me what your motivation is! You’re a construction worker eating lunch on a skyscraper! What more do you need?”

“Fine, Dean, you’re a suicidal construction worker with vertigo eating lunch on a skyscraper. Whatever works for you.”

“Everybody stop smiling! I know you all spent a fortune for caps, but this isn’t the time to show them!”

“Okay, great shots. You can all go now.”

“I should have listened to my mother and become a brain surgeon. It would have been less stressful.”

Lessons in a Calgary Park on Canada Day

I was in a park in Calgary on a beautiful sunny Canada Day when a man passed by with a couple of dogs. I watched one of the dogs as it seemed slower than the other one. Not just physically but mentally as well. Noticing that I was watching his dog the man explained,  "He's blind," and then called the dogs name. The dog followed his voice.

The man threw the dog a ball. I watched as this dog crashed into trees and bushes yet still managed to find his ball. When he dropped his ball he would nose around to find it. Part of me felt bad for the dog and another part couldn't help but laugh (yes, I know it's cruel but imagine a dog that walks into trees) and another part admired his spirit. His master would allow him to muddle around a bit, then he would call him and the dog would follow the voice until they reached a big open field where the ball was thrown and discovered. Instead of resenting his master, the dog enjoyed the exercise and the game, a game that kept the dog young and alert.

I should have been thinking about how we are all blind and we need to listen to our Master's voice to know where we should go. I should have thought about how we all crash into trees and bushes, skinning our knees and hurting our pride and how our Master allows us to muddle around. I should have thought about the balls we drop and nose about to find them and pick them up again. I should have thought how with persistence we can overcome obstacles and enjoy the sunny days and the challenges that keep our hearts and minds young and alert. I should have thought of that. But I thought of something else instead.

Can a blind dog get a seeing eye dog?

From the Annamaniacs Files: Driving Me Crazy

I had a request from my daughter - yes the same one in this story - to post this particular column from my heydays as a humor writer in newspapers.  Apparently she thinks that this story of herself somehow impresses people. I am not going to argue.

*****

                Having seven kids means that you eventually learn to handle stress fairly well.  You learn not to pull out your hair when kids draw on the walls. You don’t freak out at the first sign of blood. And watching two-year-olds walk along the backs of couches or four-year-olds climbing trees, doesn’t strike fear into your heart.

            So I’m cool, I’m calm, I’m collected, and I’m in control.

            Or at least I was until my sixteen-year-old got her learners permit.

            To be fair, we’ve been after these teenage girls to get drivers licenses.  Here in Alberta they can get their learners at fourteen. They can get their license at sixteen. I have a seventeen-year-old that still hasn’t made the first step. The sixteen-year-old finally has. I want my daughters independent. I want them to be able to drive themselves places instead of having to ask mom and dad or rely on unreliable friends. Most of all, I don’t want to have to get up at 6:30 in the morning to drive them to their scripture study class.

            So I was happy she finally got her learners. And yes, I would teach her how to drive. I could handle this.

            I can’t handle this.

            “First rule,” I say to my daughter, “do not hold on to the steering wheel like a two year old does. It causes the van to sway all over the road.”

            “I’m not going to do that Mom,” I know how to stay straight.”

            “That would be fine if this was a straight road. But it curves.”

            “So how am I doing?”

            “Don’t look at me when you say that.”

            “Mom, why are you pretending that you have a brake?”

            “Why are you looking at my feet?”

            “Mom, I’ve driven this road plenty of times.”

            “You mean once.”

            “No, three.”

            “Three times is not exactly plenty.”

            “Now wasn’t that a good turn?”

            “Yes dear, it was the best turn in the entire history of the world, except for that car that you hit.

            “Mom, there was no car there.”

            “Well if there had been you would have hit it.”

            “Well if there had been a car there, I wouldn’t have turned so wide.”

            “That’s right, you would drive so much better with more traffic on the road.”

             My husband came home from a driving lesson and declared “I’m never letting her drive again! You teach her.”

            “What happened?” I asked smiling.

            “She shone the high beams right into an oncoming car.”

            “I couldn’t see.” My daughter said.

            “Neither could the other driver.” My husband said.  “He nearly drove into the lake.”

            So it was up to me. Not only that, but it meant that whenever I picked my daughter up from work I had to take the clunky old van instead of the nice new car, so that she could drive home. There was no way she was going to be allowed behind the wheel of the car.

            “Would you relax.” She said one day on the way home from her work.

            “I am relaxed. I’m having a nice relaxing drive sitting in the passenger’s seat. The next time we do this, could you remind me to bring your brother’s bike helmet and the cell phone?”

            “Well, at least you haven’t freaked out yet.”

            “Not even when you shone your high beams into an oncoming car and almost drove into the ditch trying to shut them off.”

            “Yeah, you were pretty cool about that.”

            “I was speechless.”

            “You know, if you want me to learn how to drive, you’re going to have to let me.”

            “That would be logical. My brain understands that. It’s my body that hasn’t grasped the concept.”

            So I am warning everyone out there as I uncurl my body from its fetal position. My daughter is driving. Please be patient. Mistakes will be made. And keep your fingers to yourselves.

 

*****

Now that I posted it, could my daughter post in the comments section and tell what happened in drivers ed class and at school after this column appeared in the newspaper.

Frankie, Squeeze My Rubber Duckie!

I'm pretty easy going when it comes to movies, TV and music. When something questionable comes on I don't put my hands over my ears, shut my eyes and sing "la, la, la, la" until I think it's safe  to stop. I have no problem with people who do this unless they tell me that I should do it too. I just choose not to do it because I have a wicked side and I admit it.  I know people who only watch G rated movies and still think they're risque. I am also not one to go purposely looking for problems. When a Christian coalition accused Bert and Ernie of being gay, I rolled my eyes. I roll my eyes a lot which may be why the words on medicine bottles have gotten smaller.

My grandchildren are visiting. The fact that I have grandchildren is causing me panic attacks. When did I get old enough to have grandchildren? My birth certificate says I'm old enough, but I swear this whole thing has snuck up on me. Shouldn't there be warning signs? Like alarm systems that go off screaming "Danger" when you reach certain birthdays? Celebrities my age are having children for the first time. When my first grandchild was born I still had young kids. Is it any wonder that I am in denial about my age and my growing sense of foreboding that I am running out of time and I still haven't made a million, gone to Europe, fit back into normal clothes, or been kissed since...since...see, I've forgotten. Memory loss is a sign of old age.

Anyway, with my grandkids here  the cable channel Treehouse is on all the time. I don't normally watch Treehouse. It wasn't a station that was on when my kids were little. Sure there were kid shows but not on all day and all night for those two year olds who stay up late partying with beer and drugs. It was while I was watching Treehouse that I became perturbed and realized that I am just not mature enough to handle the material that is being presented. During a one hour period I heard these following statements from various kid shows geared to the pre-school crowd.

"Frankie, squeeze my rubber duckie."
"Spread your legs. Now spread your cheeks."
"Dam the puddle."

I was shocked. I wanted to put my hands over my ears, shut my eyes and sing "la, la, la, la". But it was too late. The damage had been done. My psyche had been irreversibly compromised. I had not been prepared for such phrases. In the past I knew I was going into enemy territory when I watched  Sex and the City and so I was prepared for the dangers I would meet there. But this was different.  I thought I was safe and so I had not been careful.  My 12 and 13 year old were affected by it too. "Frankie, squeeze my rubber duckie" has become a catch phrase around here.

A warning out there. Treehouse is like walking through a landmine.

"I've Fallen and I Can't Get Up"

My friend Trisha came to church with us Sunday. At the end of church, when I dropped of my mother at her apartment building, Trisha got out of the van to change seats and consequently fell on the sidewalk while attempting to close the sliding door. How she did it I don't know. But she did, and then she couldn't get back up. She has a bad ankle and she's a little on the heavy side, which is not a judgement on my part because I am too. Okay, I'm a lot on the heavy side.

So I'm trying to get her back up, and then my 75 year old mother, who is also on the heavy side and has a walker, and has purple legs due to some condition, decides to help Trisha. Before I know it, Mom comes over without her walker and bends down to help pull Trisha up. I could see what would happen. I knew what was going to happen. I tried to stop it from happening, but before I could tell Mom to stop whatever she was doing, my mother fell down.

If we thought getting Trisha up was a problem, (she did get up) it was nothing compared to helping my mother off the ground. She was unhurt (except for banging her head) but she simply could not get her legs under her to get herself up even with help. And she was wearing a skirt.
"No, don't help me anymore," she said after several attempts, which I can't blame her for since I was useless.

We called 911.

Once I knew my mother was okay and it was only her dignity on the line, I could see the humor in the situation and the resulting domino effect.

“Tell them I've fallen and I can't get up,” my mother told Trisha who was on the phone with the dispatcher.

“She wants to know how far she's fallen,” Trisha said.

“She fell from standing to sitting,” I replied.

Three handsome paramedics, who looked like actors in a show about paramedics rather than real paramedics, came and immediately asked my mother if her head and neck were okay and if she had any injuries.

“I just need help getting up,” she insisted.

One cute paramedic asked Trisha and me what happened. When we explained the situation he couldn't help laughing.

“It's a good thing you didn't fall down too,” Trisha said to me. "Can you imagine all of us lying in the grass unable to get up?"

“I would have gotten myself up again,” I said wanting to maintain my dignity in front of these guys who like I said, looked like they belonged on a television show instead of in front of my mother's building.

They managed to get my mother on her feet easily because that's what big, strong, handsome paramedics do.

“Do you want me to walk you to your apartment?” I asked her.

“No, I can get there myself,” she insisted. “I'm independent.

“All right,” I nodded allowing her some shred of dignity.

You can bet those guys went back to the fire station and had a good laugh.

I swear I saw this episode on Emergency.

My nine-year old daughter having overheard my remark about being able to get myself up couldn't resist saying "Two grandma's, one who can get up and one who can't."

My life is a sitcom.

*****
To enter a giveaway for a gift certificate and find out more about LDSWA go to Anne Bradshaws blog Not Entirely British.

Someone's In the Kitchen...

I got a call from my friend Trisha today who's investigating the church. “Do you have the number for the missionaries? The Elder I talked to yesterday at church gave me the wrong one. Everytime I call it, they answer that it's someone's kitchen.”

“That's odd,” I said. “Here let me look it up.” I looked it up and gave it to her.

“That's the same number I have. It sounds like the name of a business? Are they living at someone's kitchen?”

“I don't know,” I answered puzzled.

“Could you call them and find out for me?”

So I dialed the number. The voice on the other end answered, “Hello, this is Elder Kitchen.”

I am not making this up.