First of all, let me say that I know I suck.  I haven’t posted for a couple of weeks because life simply got in the way.

And secondly, this picture has nothing at all to do with this post. It just makes me laugh. Big Mags and the Mean Toofies. Hey, she could be her own band! ha ha ha

And thirdly, (is ‘thirdly’ a word?) this is also not the post I had planned to do, but sometimes inspiration happens in funny ways.

Like the dream I woke up in the middle of the night before last. I wish I could say this was the first time I’ve done this.

At this point in the story, a little insight into the way my mind works might be helpful here.

On any normal day, my mind works in a constant stream of chatter. And run-on sentences.

This is why I can relate so much to my friend Heather’s yellow lab, Libby. Libby does the same thing.

When Libby is outside to potty, I can sense her internal dialogue goes like this:

“Woohoo! I’m freeee, where should I go first is there anything new out here who’s car is this oh it must be her car I smell something there I like to ride in cars I wonder if she’ll take me a ride in her car [shooting a look at me, this is how I  know she is thinking this] she must have dogs I HAVE TO POOP gotta find a spot where where where where no that’s not right I don’t like this spot gotta hurry I gotta go AHHHHHHHH Unnnhhhhhhhhhh woohoo that felt great I love the way it feels after a poop where’s Bear I don’t see him gotta find Bear he might have found something cool has he found something BEAR there you are WOW what did you find gotta see!!!!….

My thoughts, fortunately, aren’t as urgent. I think I wore myself out just typing that.

So the night before last, I was in the middle of a dream.  And I happen to dream in full-blown, living color, very realistically.

Fortunately, I believe most of my dreams are just fragments of thoughts that somehow got buried under something in my brain, and they get all jumbled up and come to the surface when I sleep. Most of my dreams I can trace to a random thought from some point in the last day or so.

Sometimes people I know are in them; sometimes there are people who are representations of people I know. Once in a while a hot celebrity will pop up, and I guarantee you I will wake up right before it gets to the good part. Every. Single. Time.   And, sometimes if I don’t like the direction of the dream, I will change it. Sort of like changing the channel.

Like the other night.

So, the dream started as a murder mystery. Several people and I were on an unrecognizable college campus (I assume it was a campus, because it was older, institutional-like buildings), and one of my Realtor(r) friends, Scott, was there wearing a striped shirt. There’s a reason I remember this particular shirt so well; it’s because he had forgotten his shirts at one of our Leadership retreats, so literally the only shirt he had with him was the one on his back.

Aside from a few…um…bad-tempered moments that I might possibly have had….I’m normally a happy person by choice. So to find myself embroiled in a murder mystery was somewhat disturbing. It was like watching Anna Nicole Smith’s reality TV show: utterly painful to watch, but hard to look away.

And then, it turned out that I was one of the killers and had to figure out a way to get myself out of the mess I was in. And it turns out Scott was the investigator, and since he is a pretty smart guy, it was only a matter of time before Scott and I wouldn’t be friends anymore and I would never have to worry about cooking a meal again.

Well. That’s a pretty heavy dream which takes a lot of brainpower at 2:00 a.m. while sleeping. It looks like a change of channel is in order.

The next thing I know, I’m standing on a stage in this same building on the same campus watching someone on stage sing.  So let’s be in a pageant instead! It’s SOOO much easier and less stressful. Not.

I turn to my friend Michelle, our trainer at work, who’s standing next to me. I have about 30 seconds to make a decision before it’s my turn on stage.

“Michelle! What am I going to do? I DON’T HAVE ANY TALENT!” I’m panicking.

“Of course you do. Just go out there and sing something. You’ll be fine.” Michelle has clearly never heard me sing.

“What am I going to sing? I don’t know any songs!”

“Just pick something you know. You will be fine, it’s not a big deal.”

Telling an overachiever that something is not a big deal is like telling someone who’s wearing mis-matched shoes that no one will notice. It just doesn’t compute.

Panic, panic.

Then suddenly the light dawns. I’M A STORYTELLER! I will just do a comedic monologue.

Piece of cake.

So I launched into my monologue, stumbling a little, trying desperately to remember some of my funnier stories to share with this very serious audience who really wasn’t amused. It was mostly men, and they were all wearing lace-up dress shoes and dress pants. And one of them had on white socks. (See what I mean?)

And then I woke up.

Well, I actually woke up because I had to pee.

But I didn’t want to leave my audience hanging, so I finished the monologue first. 😀

Me in First Grade

In honor of school starting this week and all the adorable “first day of school” pictures on Facebook, I thought it would be fun to reminisce about my first day of school.

What I learned from this is that I really, really need to work on organizing my pictures better. In other words, I couldn’t find the picture I was looking for, probably because I was looking for it.

This, however, will do. This is my first ever school picture when I started first grade (we didn’t have kindergarten in Elmer when I was a kid.)

I remember my first day of school. My dad took me to school in my brother’s Impala convertible. (It was cream, with red interior.) I might have been scared to death and painfully shy (yes, really), but at least I had a cool ride. 😉

I wore a dark green dress with a white collar and black patent leather shoes with gray plastic buckles. With socks.

My teacher, Mrs. Eitel, remembers it too. We reminisce about it every once in a while at the Moose (Lodge).

“I saw an old man bring you to class, and I thought ‘What’s this old man doing bringing his granddaughter to school?” she says. And we laugh.

It’s very simple: I was an accident. Yes, a bona-fide accident. My mother was convinced she had cancer, and swore she would jump off the bridge if it was anything but.

She was mortified to discover it was me.  They were 40 years old! Their kids were grown! And everyone in town wondered what on earth they were doing having a baby at their age. The slogan for Pepsi at that time was “For People Who Think Young” or something to that effect. I quickly earned the nickname of “The Pepsi-Cola Kid”.

Now, if you knew my parents, you would know that I was anything but unwanted. My parents really enjoyed me, and I like to think I kept them young. I know I enjoyed them. Well, mostly. Except for a brief period during my teen years.  😉

And Mrs. Eitel? We laugh particularly because some years later, she was in the exact same spot: nearly 40 years old and having a baby girl.

And as for my short hair? I would tell my mom I wanted to grow it out. My mom kept telling me, “But you love short hair!”

This always makes me think of the Far Side cartoon where the guy is stuck in quicksand. He shouts to the collie in front of him, “Lassie! Go get help, Lassie! Go get help!”

So ‘Lassie” runs through the forest, swims through the pond, rides the jet plane on her way to get help. Suddenly, about four frames later, she stops.

“Wait a minute!” she says. “My name’s not Lassie!” 😀

Trees at Knight’s Key

Okay, first I have to tell you that this picture has nothing at all to do with this story. I just liked the picture, and it has trees in it. So now you know. 😉

15 years ago this fall, I moved back to Missouri to be with my beloved, now my husband. He had a cute little house, and had done a nice job making some improvements. It just needed to be…”girly-fied.”

One particular Saturday I was at the Wally World picking up some things to do just that.

You know how it is there…you end up going back and forth throughout the store. You forget things, they move things, you search for things…

One of the things I had on my list was a ficus tree. We had one corner of the living room that really needed some color, and at that time, silk plants were all the rage, and you could get them at the Wally World.

Toward the end of the excursion, I was browsing the greeting card aisle, deciding on which card or cards I was going to buy. Another lady who’d came behind me stepped up close and spoke to me.

“Excuse me ma’am,” she said politely. “Did you know you have underwear in your tree?”

I’m sure my eyes were as big as saucers. “No!” I told her. Shocked, I stepped around to the front of the cart where the ficus tree was hanging over the edge.

There, in front of God and everybody, were two pairs of brightly-colored men’s Speedo-type bikini underwear.

On hangers. Swinging merrily as I moved the cart. Probably waiving at everyone I passed.

I was mortified, at the time. I thanked her profusely, and promptly removed them from my tree, glancing around me to see if anyone else noticed. (Can you imagine watching this on a security camera?)

The moral of the story is: whatever mortifies you today may become favorite cocktail party conversation later! 😀

Mr. Groundhog and the Shed

So, this isn’t the best picture in the world. I had to dig through some film camera archives and pull it out. But trust me…you’ll understand why when you keep reading.

In the last installment of “As the Groundhog Turns” (he he) we had just left Jimmy being green in our smoke-filled house. If you missed that story, you can read it here:

https://carmenstanton.com/groundhog-tales-chapter-1/

We hadn’t seen Mr. Groundhog for a while. This is one of the first pictures I took of him.

At least, we’re totally assuming it’s a him. It’s not like we have supporting evidence to back up that assumption. You can see him through the deck spindles, with our old shed in the background.

I’ve circled him, just to make it easy.

I was home one afternoon when Jimmy burst through the back door, shouting:

“Where’s my gun?!  I went in the shed to look for something, and that @#$%&* groundhog nearly jumped on my head. I’m gonna shoot that [expletive deleted]!!!”

I’m not sure if he was more mad or excited. It was sort of hard to tell.

He grabbed the gun, which at the time, was conveniently located next to the back door. It must have been close to deer season.

He disappears into the shed.

The next thing I hear: BLAM! (pause) BLAM! (longer pause). Then: BLAM!BLAM!BLAM!BLAM!BLAM!BLAM!BLAM!

Several minutes later, the back door opens.

“Well, did you get him?”I asked.

“I’m not going to tell you. With you being an animal lover, you might be upset. So I’m not going to tell you.”

I’m reasonably certain that meant No.

That was the last we saw of Mr. Groundhog for a while. At least until Spring. BWAH HA HA HA HA HA 😉

The Newest Groundhog

Yes, that is really a groundhog in our mulberry tree. Apparently, groundhogs are really related to squirrels. Who knew?

The Stantons have a rich and storied history with groundhogs.

In September, 1998, I moved back here from Las Vegas, Nevada to be with Jimmy and start our lives together. After 11 years of desert living, where winter lasts about 2-4 weeks and then it gets warm-warmer-HOT, I was completely in love with experiencing Autumn again.

We especially enjoyed watching the roly-poly groundhog, as he lumbered around our yard stuffing himself with acorns in preparation for a long winter’s nap. We were temporarily dog-less, as my girls were still in Las Vegas with my parents for a few months until I got all settled in back here.

So Mr. Groundhog had free rein; he came and went, and we enjoyed watching him come and go, his increasingly rotund body going about his business. He was so cute!

And then he moved in under our front porch.

Our front porch sank several inches on one side as his tunnels got larger. And our basement began to leak when it rained.

Concerned, I called my friend’s dad, who worked for the conservation department at the time, and asked him what to do.

Always a man with a sense of humor, Hollis replied, “Oh, just wait a few weeks, he’ll go to sleep and you’ll never know he’s there.” There’s a comedian in every crowd, isn’t there? LOL

One Saturday I came home after being gone most of the morning. A house full of smoke greeted me when I opened the door.

“What happened?” I was horrified as I looked at Jimmy sitting on the couch.

He was green.

“I was trying to flush out the groundhog, so I put two mole smokers into his tunnels under the porch. I feel sick,” he said weakly.

Fortunately, as soon as I opened windows and the air cleared, Jimmy’s complexion returned to its normal color.

And apparently, it was enough for Mr. Groundhog too, because he moved out from underneath the front porch. We assumed he’d gone back into the forest and found somewhere else to live.

But you know what happens when you assume things….

I learned this valuable tip during my college years. (This was early on in the 12-year plan.) Clearly my dad was an optimist. He kept allowing me to go.

Oh, the memories of being a sorority pledge.

I hope I don’t go to Sorority Prison for telling this long-kept “secret.” Man. That would be terrible.

As lowly pledges, we all did this to earn the highly-coveted status as “Active”.

If there was more than one pledge at a time in the Chapter Room serving them, the room was a harmony of “Cheez-It?’s”.

This would be a great conversation starter at your next party. Or hey! What a great activity for your kids!

It’s very simple to prepare:

Buy a box of Cheez-Its.

Straighten the hook end of a wire hanger. Thread the Cheez-Its on the hanger.

Place the hanger on your head, with the Cheez-Its in front.

You (or your kids) then approach your guests, one by one. Tilt your head, so the Cheez-Its are within reach, and ask them if they’d like a Cheez-It.

In those days, the Actives had to eat the Cheez-Its directly from the hanger. That could be a little tacky at a cocktail party.

The bounds of sisterhood go far and wide. Even to Gulf Shores. And balcony stories.

Here’s to memorable parties, laughter, and sisterhood.

CheezIt? 😀

I loved the 80’s. The 80’s rocked. And I mean that literally.

Hair metal bands, such as Bon Jovi, Warrant, Poison, Mottley Crue, Foreigner. Is it any wonder they are still going today as us baby boomers are aging? (Thank goodness without the leggings and makeup. EEK.)

Dallas. Dynasty. Knots Landing. Miami Vice.  Was anybody hotter than Sonny Crockett?

Saturday Night Live, Animal House. American Bandstand! Madonna, and the birth of pop culture. Leather. Big hair. And…RAY-BANS!

If you were somebody in the 80’s, you had a pair of Ray-Bans. Ray-Bans were cool. People noticed if you had a pair of Ray-Bans. I just liked saying the word: Rayyyy-Banss. Ray-Bans!!

I was cleaning out a drawer recently and it was with great excitement I stumbled upon my old Ray-Bans. AHHHH, that old feeling came back. I ran to the bathroom and put them on again. Black lenses, with the gold across the top. These.Were.Bitchen.  (I’m wearing them here, with half a can of hairspray and Bret Michael’s signature pout.)

I immediately had to tell Concrete Man. He loves the 80’s as much as I do. “Hey! Guess what?! I found my old Ray-Bans! Aren’t they cool?”

He looks up at me from the project he’s immersed in. Pause. “They make you look like a bug.”

So perhaps there’s a time and a place for my Ray-Bans. And it’s not out in public. 😀