Immortal Humor

Thought for the day:  Running a cemetery is just like being President: you got a lot of people under you, and nobody's listening.  [Bill Clinton]

Oakland Cemetery, Atlanta, GA {Wikipedia]

It isn't my fault. Really. It isn't. I neeeeever would have thought about writing such a weird post as this one is gonna be if it hadn't been for that darned article in the newspaper. Then again, maybe I would have. It has been said that I do occasionally suffer from bouts of sick inappropriate humor.

Anyhow, the article. It was a little bitty filler piece about this year's Atlanta Regional Commission's Developments of Excellence Award, which for the last fifteen years has been presented annually to the location deemed tops in the metro area for livability and sustainability, and for serving as a regional model for future growth. Sounds nice, right? Well, would you believe in this, its sixteenth year, the award was presented to... a cemetery? (Oooh, dontcha know, that had to have ticked off some of those big shot fancy pants developers.)

[Wikipedia]

Now, don't get me wrong. Oakland Cemetery is a very nice cemetery, as far as cemeteries go. Lots of historical figures and famous people buried there... like famed golfer Bobby Jones, and author Margaret Mitchell (Marsh). Lots of really neat statues and such, too. And it's OLD... It was founded in 1850, so there are some really interesting old markers.

But does any of that equate to livability??? I mean, it's not like people are exactly dying to move into the place.

Oh shut up. You know what I mean. (hehe)

early 1900 postcard [wikimedia commons]

It isn't like people send postcards from the cemetery and tell everyone, Miss you. Wish you were here... 

or Please stop by, and have a nice stiff drink with me. (Or maybe a tall cold one?)

Then again, maybe some people, some people with a sick inappropriate sense of humor would do something that over the top...

[Morguefile]

Somebody really really cool like Bob McCully, Pittsburgh's long-time wagster, satirical writer, producer, and top of the crop ad man. The Christmas cards he created every year always featured his unique brand of dark humor, but his family and friends never expected anything like the one they got from the 88-year-old in 2011. Because, you see, he was already dead. He died that August, and most dead men don't send greetings from the grave. But he wasn't like most men; he wanted to get one more laugh.

Thanks to a co-conspirator relative, four hundred people received one last memorable Christmas card from McCully that pictured him on the front, sitting in an office, talking on a telephone, along with the words, Hello, please don't call. I recently moved to a quiet neighborhood. And on the inside, it shows the gates to the Allegheny cemetery, his tombstone, and the words, My new place doesn't have a phone, and our gates close after dark. 

What a guy.

[Night of the Living Dead- wikipedia]

Okay, so maybe that doesn't tickle your funny bone. Personally, I'd love to pull off something like that, but I can understand how the idea of reaching out from the grave might not be everybody's idea of fun. On the other hand, a lot of people who might not appreciate this kinda humor are fascinated by zombies. Whew. Not me. All that brain-eating is too hard for me to swallow. Maybe if they sipped tea and ate cucumber sandwiches or something, I'd feel a little better about them. And I think they should pick up after themselves, too. All those body parts left lying around is totally unacceptable. I'll bet their mamas taught them better than that.

[wikipedia]

So, if not the walking dead, how about the sitting, standing, motorcycling, or kayaking dead?

Yep, that seems to be the new trend. Instead of being laid out in a coffin, some people are opting to be... posed, so they can make their grand exit doing something they love. A lady in New Orleans was staged sitting at a table with a can of Busch beer in one hand and a menthol cigarette in the other. A Puerto Rican boxer stood in a boxing stance... wearing his boxing gloves, trunks, and hooded robe. There are lots more examples; there are even quite a few images to be found online, if you're curious. I chose not to post any of those pictures. (See? I have some class.)

                                                    But I will post this video...

Kinda made me wonder how I might like to be posed. Reading a book? Sitting at the computer? Singing a song and dancing the fandango? Nah. How about taking a nap? In a coffin...

[Morguefile]

Actually, I don't want a coffin, either. Like many others have chosen, I'm going with cremation. We've prepaid, and cheap frugal person that I am, since I'm a universal donor, I'm kinda hoping Smarticus might even get a rebate.

But ya know what would reeeeally be cool? There's a company in Alabama called Holy Smoke, and you know what they do? Mix cremains with gunpowder and then use it to pack shotgun shells or rifle cartridges. Then, Smarticus could take me to the shooting range with him one last time. Talk about going out with a bang...

[Morguefile]

Okay, I'll stop now. I hope I haven't offended anyone. Like everyone else, I've lost many dear friends and family members over the years, and of course, I grieve for them. It's hard to let go of the people we love, and we miss them terribly. Being without them leaves an empty spot in our lives that nothing or no one else can fill.  But I don't think death should be a taboo subject or free from humor. Nor is it something I fear.

Nothing to fear. Rabindranath Tagore put it so very beautifully: Death is not extinguishing the light; it is only putting out the lamp because the dawn has come. 

I plan on burning the lamp as long as possible, but always remember: there's joy in the morning. 

Elisabeth Kubler-Ross said, I've told my children that when I die, to release balloons in the sky to celebrate that I graduated. To me, death is a graduation. 

Sounds good to me. As long as we don't have to wear one of those stupid tasseled mortarboards.

Well, next Thursday is Thanksgiving. To all of you fine folks in the U.S., I wish you a very Happy Thanksgiving. To all of you fine folks outside of the U.S., I wish you a very happy Thursday. Not sure if I'll be posting next Friday or not. If not, don't worry about me. It'll just mean I'm still digesting.

                                 Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

For those of you who've been with me for the past few Thanksgivings, you didn't think you were gonna get away without having to read my stupid poem again, didja? (Sorry... no such luck, although I did make a teensy update. HAPPY THANKSGIVING, y'all!)

                                                   There once was a turkey named Jake,
                                                   Said, "How much must we poor turkeys take?
                                                   When Thanksgiving comes 'round,
                                                   We must go underground;
                                                   Why can't all those people eat STEAK?!"

                                                   Now, turkeys may not be so pretty,

                                                   Can't fly, and aren't very witty,

                                                   But with a leader like Jake, 

                                                   A chance they might take,

                                                   So a bunch of them left for the city.

                                                   Jake led a big march on D.C.

                                                  (The IN place for protests, you see)

                                                  "We don't want any fights.

                                                  But we, too, should have rights,

                                                  For this is the land of the free!"

                                                  Boehner came out on the green

                                                  With the most turkeys I've ever seen, 
                                                           (Outside of Congress)

                                                   Said, "The issue is not at all murky ...

                                                   Rights are for MAN and not TURKEY;

                                                   That's the way that it always has been."

                                                  Thanksgiving is special in the U.S. of A.

                                                  And turkeys are heroes, I'd like to say.

                                                  So thank the next turkey you meet on the street

                                                  For being so terribly tasty to eat

                                                  And have a great Thanksgiving Day!

In Praise of Creativity

Thought for the day: Appreciation is the highest form of prayer, for it acknowledges the presence of good wherever you shine the light of your thankful thoughts.  [Alan Cohen]

YAY! I won, I won! It's awesome to be appreciated, isn't it...?

Okay, so technically I didn't win anything. Technically, the talented Chris Fries passed a bloghop kinda virtual tour thingie to me. (Thanks, Chris!) Knowing how talented he is, and how talented the other participants are, I feel pretty doggone honored they even let me into their show. I feel a little like a flea-bitten mutt who's been entered into an AKC dog show. The truth is, I'd do lousy at a dog show competition. With these hips and knees of mine, I don't even roll over very well. But on the plus side, at least I'm housebroken.

(By the way, that dog show picture came from morguefile. Anybody know what in the world a best of opposite sex award means? Does that mean that cute little beagle is a... floozy?)

Anyhow, back to the tour. Its official name is Creative Artist Virtual Tour. Initially, participants were mostly authors of children's books, but over the past couple years, it has grown to include all kinds of creative people. For example, Chris is not only a talented writer, but he's also a kick-ass musician. And now... me. (Tsk-tsk. It's a shame the tour has fallen on such hard times.)

Even so, I'm more than happy to join this illustrious parade. (Especially if I can ride in a red convertible.)

Creativity is a drug I cannot live without. [Cecil B. DeMille]

Okay, here we go... the questions, and my responses:




1. What am I currently working on?

Let's see; there's a load of laundry doing its thing in the washer, and another's flopping around in the dryer. I'm desperately trying to write this post, but our resident felines are determined to thwart my efforts; evidently, they harbor a different opinion as to how I should be spending my time today.

But that's not what you want to know, is it? You want something creative. Well, how about another  (ta DA!) book? A really terrific book, as a matter of fact, and I don't mind saying it's terrific, because it isn't all about me... it's been a collaborative effort. Eight women from the U.S. and Canada, a brilliant Italian photographer, and a former male model turned terrific cover designer have joined forces to create a delightful book of poetry. A really fun book of poetry. Sometimes laugh-out-loud funny, sometimes lump-in-your-throat emotional, and sometimes evocative of a simple smile of recognition, but all good to the last syllable. And every cent from its sales will be going to CARE International. Can you tell? I'm pretty psyched about it. And it should be ready for release in a matter of weeks. Ready to hear its title? Ya sure? Okay, it's Old Broads Waxing Poetic. Classy, huh?

2. How does my work differ from others of its genre?

I guess we all want to think of ourselves as unique. Different. Special. Heck, I don't even know what my genre is, so it'd be kinda hard to compare it to other similar works.  My first novel is probably best classified as women's lit, I guess, but men are reading it, too. Some of 'em are even enjoying it, so go figure. My next book might be considered women's lit, too, but I'm not sure. There are some rooting-tooting explosions in it, so maybe it's an action book? Then again, the main character is a young girl, so maybe it's YA. Ooh, but it deals with adult topics. Oh, fuhgeddabout it. I dunno how it's going to be classified, to tell the truth. Guess I'd better finish writing it first, and worry about genre later.

One way my work may be different is I don't take it or myself too seriously. I know. Blasphemy. Why bother to write at all if I don't have secret dreams of winning a Pulitzer prize? Any creative endeavor I pursue, including writing, is for sheer enjoyment, and on my own schedule. Don't get me wrong. I'm thrilled Hot Flashes and Cold Lemonade has been published and is doing fairly well. I'd like to see Blast Rites get published, too, but when Smarticus asks me to go somewhere with him... I drop everything and go, because that's where my priorities lie. I started writing seriously (or about as serious as I get) late in the game, so I have no illusions of having a long and prolific career.  I'm no spring chicken, but that's okay. I'm happy with whatever I do. No naked ambition here. Just sheer delight to be doing what I'm doing. (Whatever that is...)

Creativity is contagious; pass it on. [Albert Einstein]

3. Why do I write/create what I do?

Life's too short not to create something besides carbon dioxide. Whether it's writing, singing, playing the guitar, painting, crocheting, building something with a soldering iron and schematic, or whatever, it's a way to make the most of the moment. It's self-expression; it's ME; and essentially, it's the difference between living and merely existing. And it sure beats the heck out of cleaning the toilet. As for why I create the things I choose to create... why not?

Think left and think right
And think low and think high.
Oh, the thinks you can think
If only you try.  {Dr. Seuss]

4. How does your writing/creating process work?

Not very well, I'm afraid. I'm not disciplined enough to generate an impressive output, because I get easily distracted, and like Alice, I happily plunge into every rabbit hole that spurs my curiosity. For me, a successful day isn't measured by how many pages I write or how much progress I make on any of my other projects, but by how enjoyable it is, no matter how it's spent. But when I do write, I prefer to do the first draft  (with much much scratching out and corrections along the way) with pen and paper. Then, one chapter at a time gets typed into the computer and corrected as I go. Many many rounds of tedious editing follow in pursuit of the illusive ideal of... perfection.

Have no fear of perfection; you'll never reach it.  [Salvadore Dali]

You can't wait for inspiration; you have to go after it with a club.  [Jack London]

From the moment I picked up your book up until the I laid it down, I convulsed with laughter. Someday, I intend on reading it. [Groucho Marx]

Now, Groucho, that wasn't very nice...

Okay, now that I've dutifully answered those questions, I'm supposed to pass this honor on to someone else. I haven't seen any requirements as to how many, but some participants have selected as many as three, while others have chosen one. Or none. I could wimp out and simply throw it out there for grabs like a bouquet at a wedding reception, but I've decided to pick one very wonderful person.

This wonderful person is Tracy Jo. No matter what challenges life may hand her, she always manages to create inspirational blog posts, made even more special by her excellent photography and writing skills. Even if she chooses to pass on joining this virtual parade of talent, I do hope you'll stop by her blog and say hello.

                                         Tracy? Your mission, should you choose to accept it...

isn't the slightest bit impossible. Just answer those four simple questions up there in a post on your blog, and then invite one or more others to join the tour. But, um, better decide quickly. You know, before this post self-destructs...

                                 Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.


P.S. To celebrate the imminent release of Old Broads Waxing Poetic, the e-version of Hot Flashes and Cold Lemonade will be available on Amazon for the next week for the paltry chump change price of ninety-nine cents.

Once More Around the Track

Thought for the day:  Know how the burglar got into the house? Intru-der window.

Not our house, but it DOES look cozy...

Nobody broke into our house this week, but  stuff crawled in the window, dragged me away from the computer, and made me (gasp!) do other things. So no new post for today. But, hey, come on in, anyway. (You can even use the door.)

What we're gonna do is sit back and relax with an oldie-but-goodie post, first published in 2011 as Vroom! Vroom! Since Smarticus and I are going to an Italian car show tomorrow... and (woo HOO!) meeting up with visiting blogger pal Mr. Charleston there... I figured a little fun something-something having to do with cars would be appropriate. I hope you enjoy it.

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

Thought for the day: Hey, I'm not old, baby ... I'm classic.

Hot Rod? Yeah ... sleek, classy ... I like it!

Since way back before we were married, my husband called me Hot Rod. Not sure why. Was it my classy chassis? My shiny good looks? Surely, it wasn't my rumbling exhaust system, because I never did that around him until after we were married. And he only wished I was racy ... or fast. 

Maybe it was just because ... he liked me? He sure as heck liked cars. Especially hot rods. Still does, because he's a real deal gearhead. Which means, since we were teenagers, he's been a skilled shade tree mechanic who can pretty much rebuild an engine with his eyes closed and both hands tied behind his back. Slight exaggeration, but not by much.

Now, as I've explained a few times before,  I come from a long line of wanderers ... y'know, people who possess an inordinate ability to get lost. When we were dating, Smarticus would entertain himself for hours by driving somewhere, and then letting me direct him home from the middle of that God-only-knows-where nowhere. So, I suppose it's somewhat understandable that my father was, shall we say, dubious when, in the fall of 1968,  I told him my favorite gearhead and I were going to enter a road rally. With him behind the wheel, and ME (har-de-har-har) as the navigator.

This is the car he drove back then. Big Red, we called her. A 1961 Chevy Impala. Not exactly the kind of car one associates with a road rally, is it?

At registration, each team received multiple pages of instructions. In code. Kinda. It might say something like 2 L after circle S. That meant to take the second left turn, and the circle S turned out to be a monogrammed screen door on one of the houses at the side of the road. Tricky, huh?

We ran into a teensy bit of trouble with one of the directions. It said RT. Right turn, right? That's what I thought, too. But it wasn't. It meant Right AT THE T. So we lost some time getting back on course. Not to worry. We (ahem) made it up quite handily. When we flew over a covered bridge, we pulled a regular yee-HA General Lee kinda maneuver. When Big Red came back to earth, I was sitting under the steering wheel. On his lap. Nice, but not terribly conducive to good driving. (He installed seat belts shortly after that.)





                                                                          Bottom line?

First Place Driver!!!

And if you can believe it, this direction-impaired, can't fold, let alone read a map person?

Holy moly! I won first place, too!!!!

After we moved to Georgia and were raising a family, he was too busy being an engineer at the foreskin of technology, (his words, not mine) to spend much time playing with cars. However, in the seventies, he and a buddy did build an econorail. You know ... a dragster?

That's ME sitting in there. Wow! It felt awesome.

Here's a better look at the champion window-rattler. The only sad thing is, after all the work it took to build her, they never got to race her. Not even once. Turned out the track didn't have proper insurance to cover that class vehicle back then, so they ended up selling her. Bummer!






Now, lo and behold, my happily retired better half is once again enjoying life as a gearhead. His three project cars are a gorgeous banana cream El Camino with a black racing stripe, a Corvette,  and my personal favorite, the Rat Rod:

1930 Model A

He put the original Model A body on an S-10 chassis, which facilitated a lot of modern safety features. How do you like that1958 Mercedes grill? We found it at a car show/swap meet when we went to Florida.

Another shot of his baby.

He took her out for a quick test run last week, and couldn't believe how FAST that girl can go. There's a long way to go before she's finished, but she is gonna be one awesome rat rod.

Hmmm, know what? He hasn't called me Hot Rod for quite a while. Shoot, I dunno,  maybe he oughta start calling me Rat Rod, instead.  After all, I may not have much rust, but I could use some extensive body work. And a good paint job. (But I still have plenty of VROOM under my hood!)

Oh, yeah. There IS a moral to my road rally story, if you think about it:

 With the  proper drive(r), you CAN overcome your weaknesses ... and you CAN win.

Still together, after all these years.

                             Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.


 **************************

A quick update. The rat rod looks even better now than she did two years ago... me? Not so much.

Brainiacs Just Wanta Have Fun

Thought for the day:  Gravity cannot be held responsible for people falling in love.  [Albert Einstein]

Some people believe science is boring, and think scientists have no sense of humor. Not me.

Most people are aware of the brilliance of Einstein's mind, but didja know he was also very witty? After all, he didn't just delve into relativity and declare that E=MC2. He also said,

Any man who can drive safely while kissing a pretty woman is simply not giving the kiss the attention it deserves.  

Yep, the same imagination and curiosity that leads people to pursue scientific endeavors very often fuels a keen sense of humor, as well. And nothing supports this notion better than the Ig Nobel awards.

Remember them?

Ig Nobel's official mascot, The Stinker

I wrote about 'em last year. If you missed that post, you can find it here

Or, I can simply do a quick recap.

These annual awards, whose purpose is to first make people laugh, and then to make them think, are the brainchild of Marc Abraham, editor of the Annals of Improbable Research.  Ten awards are presented each year at an irreverent ceremony held at Harvard University's Sanders Hall, and although the tongue-in-cheek event is full of hilarity, satire, and tossed paper airplanes, some of the seemingly trivial research highlighted there can and does lead to important discoveries. For example, the 2006 award in Biology went to scientists who discovered some malaria-causing mosquitoes are just as attracted to limburger cheese as they are to human feet. Yeah, I've known some people whose feet smell like stinky cheese, too, so this study is worthy of a snicker or two, but the study also led to mosquito traps being baited with limburger cheese to help combat malaria.

The essence of science: ask an impertinent question, and you are on the way to a pertinent answer. [Jacob Bronowski]

Scientists from all over the world gathered last week for this year's 22nd annual ceremony, and as always, the awards were presented by world-reknown Nobel laureates. As a point of interest, see that frog in the picture? He's alive, and he's being levitated magnetically. Cool, huh? In 2000, that unusual research into frog levitation earned Andre Geim and Sir Michael Berry an Ig Nobel in Physics. Ten years later, Geim won an honest-to-goodness Nobel prize in Physics for his work on graphene. He's the first to win both an Ig and a Nobel, but I doubt he'll be the last.





Facts are the air of scientists. Without them,  you can never fly.  [Linus Pauling]

Without further ado, I present to you (ta-DA!) the 2012 Ig Nobel winners:

 PSYCHOLOGY-  A team of scientists from the Netherlands and Peru won for their research, entitled Leaning to the Left Makes the Eiffel Tower Seem Smaller.















PEACE- This one went to Russian SKN Company for converting old Russian ammunition into nano-diamonds. (WOW! That's even better than turning swords into ploughs!)

ACOUSTICS- Ever been in a meeting or presentation where you wished someone would Just. Stop. Talking? Two Japanese researchers came up with the perfect solution. Their machine, called a Speech Jammer, disrupts a person's speech by enabling him to hear his own time-delayed voice. The speaker is so discombobulated by the effect, He. Just. Shuts. Up.

Basic research is like shooting an arrow into the air and where it lands, painting a target.  [Homer Adkins]

NEUROSCIENCE- A U.S. team showed that if brain researchers used the right statistical tricks, they could measure meaningful brain activity just about anywhere ... even in dead fish.














CHEMISTRY- This award went to a team who discovered why the hair of blondes living in a certain Swedish town turned green.

LITERATURE- Although no one showed up at the ceremony to accept this particular prize, (Gee, I wonder why?) it was awarded to the U.S. Government General Accountability Office, for issuing a report about reports about reports that recommends (you guessed it!) the preparation of another report about the reports about reports.

You cannot depend on your eyes when your imagination is out of focus.  [Mark Twain]

PHYSICS- Ever wonder why, when a woman with a ponytail jogs, essentially an up-and-down motion, her ponytail swings from side to side? A team of U.S. and British researchers won a prize for exploring the forces governing the shape and movement in a human ponytail.

Nothing can travel at the speed of light, they say, forgetful of the shadow's speed.  [Howard Nemerov]










FLUID DYNAMICS- This award went to a U.S. team who studied the dynamics of sloshing. Specifically, exactly what causes your cup of coffee to slop over when you carry it? (Other than clumsiness, that is.)

ANATOMY- Researchers from the Netherlands and the U.S. pooled resources to discover chimpanzees can identify other chimps from pictures. Not just ANY pictures, mind you, but pictures of their backsides. HUH! I don't know why that should come as such a surprise. Some men are like that, too. I mean ...

The world, after all our science and sciences, is still a miracle, wonderful, inscrutable, magical and more, to whosoever will think of it.  [Thomas Carlyle]

MEDICINE- The tenth, and final award, went to French scientists, who came up with a way to reduce the risk of causing an explosion while performing a colonoscopy. Really? I mean, REALLY??? (I always wondered why a hazmat team stood by when I was having those procedures ...)

Marc Abraham ended this year's ceremony just as he has every year ... by saying, If you didn't win an Ig Nobel prize this year--- and especially if you did--- better luck next time.

Wanta hear a little more about these awards? Take it away, Mr. Abraham! (And, yeah, that IS a brassiere he's holding ...)

                      When I die, I'm leaving my body to science fiction.  [Steven Wright]

                                                              Me, too.

                             Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

Strip Poker, Anyone?

Thought for the day:  Other people have wrinkles. I prefer to think of mine as character lines.

Well, looky here. An award. How cool is that? It's always nice to be considered ... kreativ.


This award came from a new blogging pal from the A-Z, Maryann Miller and I really do appreciate it. Except, the thing is, now I'm supposed to give up ten more things about myself that I haven't already blabbed about in earlier posts like this. Sheesh, with all the tidbits I threw into the pot in other bare it all award posts, if this were a game of strip poker, I'd already be shivering a little. For those of you interested in catching up on earlier revelations, you can look here and more here and even more here and ohmigod, please make her stop Okay, I stopped. Now, let's see if I can some up with a winning hand here without having to resort to telling you (UGH!) my favorite color. Okay, ten things. Here goes:

1. My parents didn't believe in doling out allowances, so if I wanted money, I jolly well had to find a way to earn it on my own. So I made and sold lemonade to construction workers, did yard work, washed and waxed cars, cleaned house, polished silver, and baked all kinds of goodies. And ya know what? It didn't kill me.

2. But looking back,  it's a wonder I didn't manage to kill myself in other ways. If someone dared me to do something, nine times out of ten, I was gonna give it a try. Like the time I accepted the dare to ride my bicycle down the steps outside the elementary school. The series of steps were built down a steep hill to the lower play areas, so that there were like eight concrete steps, then a small concrete landing, then eight more steps, another landing, and the final eight steps leading onto the field. Picture that? Well, I did fine on the first set of steps, and then the front tire hit the first landing KAPOW, and the bike went barreling down the second flight like a proverbial bat outta hell. Hit that second landing going about a bazillion miles an hour, and I kid you not, the bike flipped a complete somersault in the air. Heck, maybe it even flipped twice. All I know is it flew in one direction, and I went spinning through the air in another. Oh, did I happen to mention that the banisters on either side of those steps were made of steel? No? Well, they were. And I smashed into one of them, head-first. When I came to, luckily, I wasn't dead. Might very well explain my weird sense of humor, though.

3. The first boy-girl party I attended was a bit unusual. See, I spent half the party in the back room shooting craps with a bunch of guys. That is, until the boy hosting the party took me outside to show me how to hot-wire a car. (Told you it was unusual.)

4. When we were in high school, my husband, a few of the other kids, and I played strip poker in the bus on the way home from a field trip to Philadelphia. (from Baltimore) I mean, what can I say? The setting was just right. Dark outside, and there we were, safe inside the dimly lit bus with a bunch of tired kids. Besides, I'm a pretty darned good poker player, if I must say so myself. Oh, one thing. We only lost articles of clothing ... on paper. (Didn't even remove our shoes.)

5. Following President Kennedy's assassination, I joined the crowd in D.C. to see his casket carried by caisson from the rotunda to the cathedral. On that very cold day, masses of people of all ages gathered along both sides of the road to pay their respects. And with all those people, even young children and babes in arms, the only sound I can remember hearing, the only thing that broke the eerie silence, was the somber clop-clop of horses' hooves.

6. Following Martin Luther King's assassination, riots broke out in numerous parts of the country. The worst were in D.C., Chicago, and Baltimore. I happened to work in downtown Baltimore at the time, and had the misfortune of being caught in the middle of the riots. An angry mob of black men surrounded the car, glared in the windows at us, and then began rocking the car. It was the first time (and thankfully, the only time) I ever saw blind hatred with my own eyes.

7. Rather than waste my breath, I  hauled our sons' little keisters to the police station and got an officer to put some fear into their hearts. The boys had defied my orders not to buy ninja stars. (Remember when they were all the rage in the seventies?) They didn't believe ME when I told them how dangerous those things could be, but they definitely believed the policeman.

8. I like to dabble with oil paints every now and then. This picture hangs on our bedroom wall. People always used to ask if it was a self-portrait. (No, it isn't.) Funny ... nobody ever asks anymore. (sigh)

9. (Whew! Almost done!) I mentored several teenagers as part of our church's confirmation process, and every month or so, would take them to another church to attend a worship service. The week we were to attend a non-denominational charismatic church, I laughingly assured the parents that at the first sign of rattlesnakes, we'd hightail it out of there. As it turned out, I dunno if any snakes showed up or not. See, an hour or so into the service, the music started getting progressively louder and louder, faster and faster. Trumpets were blaring, and drums were thump, thump, thumping out a blood-stirring primitive beat. Then, here and there, people started to stand, and began swaying slowly in place, with eyes rolled back, and arms lifted skyward. Then began the remarkable sound of people all around us ... babbling in tongues. Um, not that it wasn't fascinating in a terrifying kinda way, but to tell the truth, some Lutherans aren't even comfortable with the whole sharing of the Holy Spirit awkward hug, ya know? So, talking in tongues? Let's just say it wasn't to our taste. We, uh, didn't hang around for the snakes.

10. I enjoy plunking on the guitar. After playing the same one (the one in the picture) for many many years, I treated myself to a shiny new one last year.Our son-in-law, a professional musician, took her for a spin and declared her to have a fine sound. Me, I immediately removed all the steel strings and replaced them with nylon. What? The heck with the fine sound. Nylon is easier on my fingers.


Woo, HOO! Didn't even  have to tell you my favorite color, did I? Now that you know much more about me than you ever cared to know, my task is to pass this award onto some other bloggers. Not sure how many. Probably ten, but I'm gonna pass it on to three. (Being rejected by ten would be highly devastating. Three, I can handle.) And psssst! If you three just wanta tell us your favorite color and what animal you'd be if you could come back as one, or whatever, by all means, go for it. Whatever ten things, long or short, silly or serious,  that you'd like to peel off and throw into the pot would be fine.

So, with a drum roll and no further ado, I pass this lovely award to

• Suze of Analog Breakfast I just met her through the A-Z, and am totally taken with her blog, which is always intelligent and thought-provoking. Check it out. You'll love the stimulating discussions.
• Geo of Trainride of the Enigmas His blog  is one of the best-kept secrets of the Blogosphere. His posts are always clever, well-written, and often, chuckle-worthy. I'm amazed that he doesn't have billions and billions of followers.
• Rubye of Rubye Jack I just met Rubye through the Challenge, too, and find her posts to be open, honest, and served with a grain of grit.

If you aren't familiar with these folks, I urge you to check 'em out. Go ahead ... I double dog dare ya! (Hey! Have I ever steered you wrong?)

                                   Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

VROOM! VROOM!

Thought for the day: Hey, I'm not old, baby ... I'm classic.

Hot Rod? Yeah ... sleek, classy ... I like it!

Since way back before we were married, my husband called me Hot Rod. Not sure why. Was it my classy chassis? My shiny good looks? Surely, it wasn't my rumbling exhaust system, because I never did that around him until after we were married. And he only wished I was racy ... or fast. 


Maybe it was just because ... he liked me? He sure as heck liked cars. Especially hot rods. Still does, because he's a real deal gearhead. Which means, since we were teenagers, he's been a skilled shade tree mechanic who can pretty much rebuild an engine with his eyes closed and both hands tied behind his back. Slight exaggeration, but not by much.

Now, as I've explained a few times before,  I come from a long line of wanderers ... y'know, people who possess an inordinate ability to get lost. When we were dating, hubby would entertain himself for hours by driving somewhere, and then letting me direct him home from the middle of that God-only-knows-where nowhere. So, I suppose it's somewhat understandable that my father was, shall we say, dubious when, in the fall of 1968,  I told him my favorite gearhead and I were going to enter a road rally. With him behind the wheel, and ME (har-de-har-har) as the navigator.

This is the car he drove back then. Big Red, we called her. A 1961 Chevy Impala. Not exactly the kind of car one associates with a road rally, is it?

At registration, each team received multiple pages of instructions. In code. Kinda. It might say something like "2 L after circle S." That meant to take the second left turn, and the "circle S" turned out to be a monogrammed screen door on one of the houses at the side of the road. Tricky, huh?

We ran into a teensy bit of trouble with one of the directions. It said RT. Right turn, right? That's what I thought, too. But it wasn't. It was "Right AT THE T." So we lost some time getting back on course. Not to worry. We (ahem) made the time up quite handily. However, when we flew over a covered bridge, we literally FLEW. Pulled a regular yee-HA General Lee kinda maneuver. When Big Red came back to earth, I was sitting under the steering wheel. On his lap. Nice, but not terribly conducive to good driving. (He installed seat belts shortly after that.)





                                                                          Bottom line?

First Place Driver!!!

And if you can believe it, this direction-impaired, can't fold, let alone read a map person?

Holy moly! I won first place, too!!!!

After we moved to Georgia and were raising a family, he was too busy being an engineer at the foreskin of technology, (his words, not mine) to spend much time playing with cars. However, in the seventies, he and a buddy did build an econorail. You know ... a dragster?

That's ME sitting in there. Wow! It felt awesome.

Here's a better look at the champion window-rattler. The only sad thing is, after all the work it took to build her, they never got to race her. Not even once. Turned out the track didn't have proper insurance to cover that class vehicle back then, so they ended up selling her. Bummer!






Now, lo and behold, my better half is once again enjoying life as a gearhead. His three project cars are a gorgeous banana cream El Camino with a black racing stripe, a Corvette,  and my personal favorite, the Rat Rod:

1930 Model A

He put the original Model A body on an S-10 chassis, which facilitated a lot of modern safety features. How do you like that1958 Mercedes grill? We found it at a car show/swap meet when we went to Florida.

Another shot of his baby.

He took her out for a quick test run last week, and couldn't believe how FAST that girl can go. There's a long way to go before she's finished, but she is gonna be one awesome rat rod.

Hmmm, know what? He hasn't called me Hot Rod for quite a while. Shoot, I dunno,  maybe he oughta start calling me Rat Rod, instead.  After all, I may not have much rust, but I could use some extensive body work. And a good paint job. (But I still have plenty of VROOM under my hood!)

Oh, yeah. There IS a moral to my road rally story, if you think about it:

 With the  proper drive(r), you CAN overcome your weaknesses ... and you CAN win.

Still together, after all these years.

                                        Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.