Author Archives: Humor Happens

Opal & Sandy vs. Theda

Of all of the delightful people in the church I have attended most of my life, there are three women in particular whom I will remember all of my days.

Theda, who passed on years ago, was twice or thrice married. She loved her husbands, she loved being married, and she wanted everyone in her life to have the same love in their lives. Theda would tell of the love and affection, the companionship, and the joy a marriage can bring to your life. She was thoroughly fulfilled by this commitment.

Opal and Sandy were best friends, neighbors, and saw each other through their respective divorces while they had young children. These women had no intention of ever marrying again and were horrified at the thought of anyone else bothering to cross into such an institution without being thoroughly informed of all it’s aspects. Opal and Sandy would share how confining and cruel a marriage can be when you don’t have the definition of love. Life is better if you aren’t limited to living by someone else’s ideals. There was no love lost for their one and only marriage each.

My grandmother passed on when I was young. She had been my very best friend, and I treasured my time with her. The women at my church became my surrogate grandmothers. Opal, Sandy, and Theda were among these amazing women.

Unlike my grandmother whom I only had the pleasure of enjoying until I was 11 years old, these women I got to know for another twenty years. Just as my grandmother’s love never changed in her devotion and caring for me, these three women never changed in their advice to me. All of these women had valid points to make. If ever anyone asked about my dating life in the presence of Opal or Sandy, they would interrupt, “No need, she’s not getting married – ever!” But Theda was more up front and needed no prompting. If ever I saw her, she would open with “When are you getting married?”

So far, I’m falling in the camp with Opal and Sandy. However, I might be swayed into Theda’s way of thinking if I were to meet the right man. Only time will tell. I’m seeking not only loving, but a sense of humor, good cook, auto mechanic, plumber, accountant, gentle spirit, loves animals, lawn mower, masseuse, millionaire, and kind. Any suggestions?

Moral of the story: Advice, given with love, isn’t about the advice.

Do you know the difference between a green thumb and a black thumb? I do! My mom, a thirty-year plus member of her local Garden Club has a green thumb. Her daughter (me) on the other hand, has a black thumb. Mom can make pretty much any plant life stay alive and thrive if she so desires. I can basically kill anything that was intended to be naturally green, sprout flowers, or be pretty out of doors or in pots.

My beloved Aunt Gladys, my mom’s favorite/only sister, could not be bothered to waste time believing the worst in any living soul. When it came to having a positive attitude, her image was the only description necessary in the dictionary. In her eyes, I could certainly not be death to every plant in my possession.

We often went to visit my grandma, aunt Gladys, and Uncle Jim. My grandma lived with aunt Gladys and uncle Jim. Mom and I enjoyed their company endlessly so we would visit at least once a week or so while I was growing up. On one such visit, aunt Gladys said that she had something for me. This is a woman who has the cookie jar from Heaven – an endless supply. She also has a whole room filled with toys for any child who might stop by, from infant to toddler to teen, she had something for all of us. I could only imagine the delight she had in mind for me.

To my horror, it was a cactus. Not only did I not want another plant to kill, this one could fight back before the death bells toll! She reminded me of my tall tale about being able to kill any plant. She promised me that this one would survive no matter how I treated it. Just water it once every two months and keep it in a sunny window.

Yes, it said a sunny window. But I live in Michigan. Isn’t this one of the least sunny states in the nation? Sure enough, it did bite me before it took it’s last breath. My window was between my bed and my dresser. With the pointy little monster of a plant between the two, I kept bumping into it. It did manage to die in all of six weeks. She nor my mom could resuscitate it. I never even made it to the first watering.

Moral of the story: It’s important to think well of others, but that still doesn’t make it true.

That darned cat!

We are the fortunate people to be kept by a few cats. One of which is a wee bit feisty. She is gifted at entertaining herself and getting her way. This cat’s name is Merry, as she was a Christmas present to my Aunt Gladys. Merry Christmas! And put away all fragile treasures and shiny things!

My mom inherited Merry when her sister passed away. We miss her sister dearly, but we now know something of the changes Aunt Gladys endured in her last months. Of course, this cat is so beguiling, that both Aunt Gladys and my mom gladly endure her shenanigans.

One such activity that Merry enjoyed altered the way my mom wears her hair. My mom is in her 70’s. For the last 60 plus years, she has worn her hair short and curly. It gets curly because she wears curlers to bed at night. We’re talking six decades here.  It took Merry a while, but she did manage to end this practice. How can one 15 pound cat alter the way a woman wears her hair after a lifetime? Well, well, you haven’t met Merry.

Merry delights in getting her way. If one method of doing so does not work, she will simply find a new venue. Within days of arriving at Aunt Gladys home, my dear aunt had to put away her numerous porcelain dolls. Why? After displaying them for years? Because Merry can jump six feet easily without a running start. The dolls were coming down quickly from their displays in the living room.

Now, why, would a woman who had spent years collecting porcelain dolls put them away and not give the cat back to the giver? Because this cat has a rare talent of wrapping the humans she loves around her pinky toe. She rubs the top of her head on their chins. She purrs so loudly and lovingly, you can’t help but smile. She sings for you to give her attention – so that you think you’re the only one who can pet her properly. She curls up in the lap of those she loves and claims their souls.

So, yes the dolls went away. The cat stayed. When Merry moved into our home, the glass decorations went, and the cat stayed. No cat before her had so adamantly knocked over items with such purpose. Late feeding her for a meal? Bye-bye glass vase. Not putting the paper down to pet her? The paper is ripped in half when she jumps into it to take over your lap. Not getting up on time to feed her breakfast? Bye-bye candle holder!

When we learned her tricks, we removed the class and breakables. All was well for a while. But her two most important meals cannot be late. So, what is a poor starving kitty to do when her breakfast or dinner are late? Put her long, slender, muscular arm through the curler and pull. Where is this curler? Attached to the  hair on my mother’s head!

Let’s just say that after a few weeks of this new behavior, someone stopped using curlers all together. Yep, my mother has now grown out her gorgeous gray locks and wears them straight or in a bun. Funny thing is, she is just as beautiful with long straight hair as she was with short curly locks.  That darned cat is still with us, and the love is undeniable.

Moral of the story: Love outweighs home decor and hair styles.

For the most part, I dislike birds.

Normally, parking downtown for work is a joy. The parking lot is plowed in the winter, summer it is convenient between the car and the office door to avoid the heat, autumn is gorgeous for the trees, and spring is full of flowers and … birds. Did I mention that I’m not a fan of birds.

I had a bird once. It was messy. The mess was not contained to its cage (which I felt dreadful about its living in a cage). The mess was everywhere! The outside birds are always pooping on the windows of the house, and they fight each other at the bird feeder my mom insists on having. Okay, she “had” one. Even she got tired of feeding bigger and bigger birds, and the wee ones only getting the left overs.

So, imagine my delight (not) when I go out to my car in the spring, and there, right on the door handle, is fresh bird poop! Worse yet, the bird had eaten berries. Black or purple berries. This I know for a fact. YUCK! I go to the passenger side instead, reach in and find a handy wipe. I love those things! Of course, being OCD, I had some handy. I was relieved it wiped right off of the door handle, and I was able to get into the car in the driver’s spot.

However, I no sooner sat down in the car, and what should I see on the windshield in front of me? More of that big, giant bird poop splatter! Disgustingly purple with digested berries! Fortunately, I still had some of the handy wipes. I was able to clean off that spot on my windshield so I could see to drive home. Goobers! It’s just gross.

Thinking, foolishly, this was the end of it, I put my seatbelt on and begin to leave the parking lot. Ha! Those little lunatics weren’t done with me! No! One pooped on the passenger side of my windshield just as I was waiting to turn onto the street. That was it. This called for drastic measures. A car wash.

Those little beasts cost me $8 for a car wash, when I’d just had a car wash only a couple of days before. Seriously, I don’t like birds! Birds do rhyme with turds. Hmmm…. something to think about.

Morale of the story: These seasons are delightful – summer, autumn,  and winter. Spring leaves much to be desired.

Hansel and Gretel.

Walking in the woods.

Marked their path.

With bread crumbs.

My brother Bruce lives next door. He went away for a week’s vacation. My mom and I promised to care for his dog Rufus while Bruce was away. With great joy, we always welcome Rufus into our home.

As much as Rufus enjoys our company, he loves his home next door. Each morning, my mom would let him out. He would walk to his home and rest there for the day. Each evening, I would go down to bring him up to our home. Each evening, Rufus would mark our path.

Rufus and Kim.

Walking on the farm.

Rufus marked their path.

With pee every 20 feet or so.

In exactly the same locations each night.

For four days straight.

Morale of the story: It never hurts to mark the path to travel home safely.

While in college, I led the youth group for church. I had many lessons learned during these years:

1. I don’t care to lead children; I’d rather join in the fun.
2. It’s vital to teach that not all questions have answers.
3. Don’t get pulled over with two dozen doughnuts in the passenger seat and two giggly girls in the back seat (guaranteed ticket).
4. These children can be your best friends.

As the youth leader, I invited my niece Erin to join the fun. Erin was exactly 7.5 years my junior. We celebrated each others’ birthdays and half birthdays. She accepted the invitation on one condition: could she bring along her friend and neighbor Lynn. This meant two more people to join the group. Answer: YES!

Each Sunday evening, I would drive over to Erin’s and then to Lynn’s to pick them up. They would pester me about picking up a snack on the way, and I would wear down and agree to do so after each meeting. Yep, they had me wrapped around their pinky fingers!

This was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Of course, the friendship started with me as their chauffeur. I would take them to the mall, movies, etc., and they always included me in the fun. They entertained themselves by pretending they were my body guards. Tall (compared to me) and blond, wearing all black. They would walk together either in front of me or just behind me, always watching out because they couldn’t let anything bad happen to their chauffeur / meal ticket / entertainment.

Erin and Lynn were part of the youth group their last two years of high school. Yet, we had a need to enjoy each other’s company continually over the years. We’d start by having dinner together and maybe a movie. Later, we would have craft days at Lynn’s home with lots of snacks, movies, and a bit of crafting. Often teaching each other a new craft or technique: Erin teaching Lynn to sew, Lynn teaching me to bead, and me teaching them to scrapbook.

Sadly Erin passed from this earth October 15, 2005. We had just enjoyed a lovely lunch together to celebrate my birthday only the week before. Our craft days are not the same, but Lynn and I will continue to get together and always honor Erin with our time. We will always miss our dear, vivacious Erin, but we will always have countless memories of the joy and delight she brought to us.

Morale of the story: Teenagers can become an adult’s best friend and provide memories that will never be forgotten. Those who go before us are never forgotten.

Migraine, migraine go away.
Never ever come any other day.
(Sung to the tune of Rain, Rain Go Away).

I have too many migraines. It’s a constant issue. Please don’t ask what I have tried. The list is long, and I’d rather talk about anything else.

Two of my many beliefs:

1. I believe in the power of prayer.
2. God has a sense of humor.

One night, I had a migraine that was a level 10 on a pain scale of 1 – 10 with 10 being the worst. I had tried all of the medication for which I am allowed. This was my last possible assistance without going to the emergency room.

I prayed for no migraine as I tried to sleep at midnight.

I woke up at 2 a.m. with no migraine.

Instead … strep throat. Yep, the migraine was gone. Hmmmm…. yet it was not the answer to prayer I had been seeking.

Morale of the story: Beware of what you pray for. God has a sense of humor.

So, I get back from a fantastic weekend scrapbooking at an awesome little Scrapbooking Retreat in Marshall, Michigan called the Riverside Inn (http://scrapbookriverside.com/). I recommend it for all scrappers. It is a ranch house, it’s rented either as individuals and they host it and cook, or a group can rent it and cook for themselves. It is on a river and has lots of scrapping room and tools. I was pleasantly exhausted.

Finally, I unpack. I only have one brown fuzzy slipper. I get the suitcase back from the attic. No slipper. I check my laundry. No slipper. I check my sock drawer. No slipper. I reach under the edge of the bed. No slipper.

These slippers are cute AND comfortable. They’re fuzzy brown. They are normally all of $10 for a new pair. I got mine at the Discovery Shop (where all profits after utilities go to the American Cancer Society) for all of $1 – never even opened (they sometimes under price things). I miss my other slipper!

I e-mail the scrapbooking retreat. She replied only days later that the slipper is not found in either the room I slept in nor in the scrapping room. They have adorable rooms, each in a color theme with either two or three beds. Each bathroom also has a selection of shampoos and soaps.

Months later…

I drop something on the floor and it rolls under the bed. Laying on the cold wooden floor, scouching around to reach the item, I find there is a HUGE pile of items in the far, deep, dark back corner. I get a broom, pull the pile toward me, and I find … the missing slipper!

I was so excited, it took me a moment to realize what was in the rest of the pile. Let’s see, it included individual socks, toy mice, underwear (yuck!), left over stands of yarn, catnip toys, and one bra.

Not only do my cats lie about being hungry only moments after they’ve eaten. They are stealing items and dragging them to the least reachable portion under my bed. These things have no dust build-up. They are all clean. My cats don’t slouch, they only steal the best and keep them nice and neat.

Morale of the Story: Dust bunnies might not be the only thing under your bed if you room with mighty fine felines.

I was walking out of church with a woman in her 80’s. She was taking notes. I was in my 30’s. I was taking notes.

She then says to me, “Ever since my stroke, I have to take notes to remember upcoming events and prayer requests.”

Ummm, I’ve been taking notes to remember such things since I was in my teens! 

Morale of the Story: Some of us have the mental capacity of a stroke victim … without benefit of a medical condition.

My mom and I live together in the family home that my father built. In this beautiful farm home, we each have two cats. Those cats … are liars.

My mom is in her mid-70’s and isn’t working outside of the home. I am in my late 30’s and do work outside of the home. What my mom does do is attend meetings and programs. She is active in her garden club, a local historical society, and the women’s group at church on a regular basis. She has other activities that she attends now and again as well. I go out in the evenings and on weekends as well now and again. No matter where we are, we never allow our cats to miss one single meal. You wouldn’t know it to hear them tell the tale.

In has come to the point that when one or the other of us has fed all of the cats because we are leaving home, we leave the other a note. Why? Because our cats … are liars.

If my mom fed all of the cats at 5:30 p.m. because she was leaving for a meeting, and I arrive home at 6:00 p.m. the same day, they will tell me they haven’t eaten for three days by crying out their tall tale of sorrow.

If I feed all of the cats at 9:00 a.m. because my mom went to an early breakfast with friends, and she arrives home a couple of hours later the same day while I’m away, they will throw themselves on the floor before her acting out the pain of their supposed starvation.

If ever, for any reason, anyone heads down the hallway to my mother’s room, her cats will race that person to my mother’s room, nearly knocking them over, to make sure they are fed if the opportunity arises. This remains true if they’ve been fed not even five minutes ago.

Yep, our cats lie for food. Some people stand on corners with signs offering to work for food. Some people have to wait in line at shelters for the hope of a meal. Some feel fortunate to have a once-a-day food drop-off in their area after surviving a hurricane. Our cats, who receive three square meals each and every day without fail will beg, borrow, and steal for an extra meal in between.

Moral of the Story: There is none. Our cats are just plain old beggars.