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Mother’s Day
May 12, 2008 - Leave a Response
by MaryBeth
I have survived 15 Mother’s Days. So I consider myself a veteran. Now if your children are small, you have to rely on your spouse to carry the day for you. Think about it. The man has probably gotten through life signing his name on his sisters’ cards, or piping up with “It’s from both of us!” with his Dad….after College he may have gotten Mother a card if she was lucky and happened to live close by. (The added complication of putting a stamp on it and finding a mailbox, let alone figuring out what her new address is at least three full days beforehand was probably too much to ask. Many a beautiful Mother’s Day card spent the year as a fly swatter in the front seat of the car…) But that’s OK because this really has no bearing on the amount of love a man feels for his mother. I will tell you why. Men don’t get Mother’s Day. Why should they? Birthdays, sure that’s easy. Valentine’s Day is a little harder to grasp but most men catch on because there is always the hope that at the end of the night all will be rewarded in the form of the thing a man feels is worth the extra effort. But Mother’s Day…not so much. As a husband, it is confusing to have the responsibility of honoring your wife as a mother, when honestly, she hasn’t had nearly the time for you she used to have, and doesn’t seem to mind that at all. And yet, she seems to expect a lot for Mother’s Day. For many men, the pressure is too great and you may find that on this one day of the year your spouse will consistently pick a fight with you. On Mother’s Day! Or he may choose Mother’s Day to go out with The Boys for a pick up game of basketball. This is the escape mode. If he’s a drinker, you can add a 6 pack of beer to the scene. These poor fellows are so flummoxed by Mother’s Day they don’t know where to turn and thus, retreat into their favorite happy place. If you find your spouse asleep on the couch with the game on and the paper over his head, you know he is out of his mind with anxiety. Best to just take the children and go feed the ducks in the park at this point. You will find lots of other mothers in your same situation. The only solution for a long term improvement is to relieve the pressure. There are many ways to do this. A good romp in the hay is one. It is amazing how quickly and easily this will turn a bad Mother’s Day into a “What Can I Do For You Baby” Mother’s Day. If possible, this is a good way to start the morning, and that odd breakfast of Godonlyknows that the kids bring you will really taste good afterwards. For some, this may not be possible due to the kids waking up first and bouncing on you until someone gets up to play “Where’s Waldo.” For those poor souls, I suggest simply taking all the pressure off Mother’s Day, days in advance, by insisting that the only thing you want is a bouquet of flowers and new batteries for the remote control. If you say this and mean it, I guarantee the Day will be yours and you probably won’t be making dinner. Of course a roll in the hay somewhere in there will help your cause considerably, but we all do what we can. Just remember ladies, that you mustn’t judge each Mother’s Day on its own merit, but rather you must judge them over time. You will notice, as I have, that the Mother’s Day graph of Years As A Mother on the x axis, over Time Mother Spends Crying on the y axis, will yield a nice little downward trend if you follow my advice. No Mother’s Day is perfect, remember, but they can be made pleasant with just a bit of attention. And remember the old standby: A Box of Chocolates in the laundry room has gotten many a mother through the most trying of Mother’s Days.
The Two Dog Love Knot
May 9, 2008 - 3 Responses
by MaryBeth
When I lived in Alaska I had a dog. Sky was half wolf and half husky and he was probably the smartest dumb dog I ever had. He could play dumb better than Gracie Allen. Oh for pete’s sake, she was an actress; how OLD am I? Anyway this dog could make you think he was dumber than a box of rocks and then pull off a bakery heist like nobody’s business. So this town I lived in was a tourist town and when the tourists started returning in the Spring, you’d have thought it was the Second Coming, the way the town spruced up and everyone put on their smiley face and pretended we all liked each other. My friend Vicki lived right in the tourist district and she had a husky too, named Shay. Shay was a beautiful little vixen and all the dogs in town loved her including Sky. And when she came into heat they all loved her a little more. Well one day Sky got away from me at my house, and I just knew where he was headed, so I high-tailed it down to Vicki’s, but a husky-wolf can definitely outrun a crazy woman who is trying to avoid another “Dog-At-Large” ticket and he did. By the time I got to Vicki’s, there was a two dog love knot in the middle of the Main Street of the Tourist District. Now some of you may not know the mating habits of the canine species, but take it from me, it is painful to witness. Sure the first minute and a half are downright rapture, but the next 20 have got to make the poor fellow wish she had pulled the praying mantis bit and just bit his head off instead. So here is my dog and Shay, stopping traffic, going at it in front of all the cruise ship tourists on a lovely spring morning. Once it starts, you can’t pry them apart for love or money. Nature just has to take its course and that takes time.
So Vicki comes out on her front porch and sees what’s happening and we both know that the town policeman (and we were lucky to have one) was definitely not going to miss this and she could not afford another Dog-At-Large ticket either. (Alaska has dog issues that are a whole nother matter and they take them real serious. We’d all rather have our hands slapped for drunk driving than deal with the Animal Enforcement Officer – who often doubles as the Town Coroner…) So she says, “Let’s get them into my yard at least.” Well you try moving two huskies who are stuck together tail to tail after the moment of truth. It’s just like humans: all he wants to do is go to sleep but he can’t get away from her! All he needs to do is just relax, but she keeps yanking him here and there to sniff stuff! By now he’s at least 6 inches longer than he used to be, and it hurts, dag nabbit! So he’s yelping, I’m pulling, Vicki’s pushing, and just as we get them in her yard, the police car arrives.
“Ladies?”
“Hi Joe.”
“Problem?”
“No Joe.”
“Looks like Shay’s in heat.”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Vicki, you know when Shay’s in heat you’ve got to keep her inside.”
“I didn’t know she was in heat Joe.”
“I’m writing you a ticket.”
Now I can’t take it anymore, so I have to pipe up.
“So you’re writing Vicki a ticket? For what?”
“Unrestrained dog-in-heat.”
“Her dog’s in her yard.”
“Doesn’t matter. The males can’t help themselves. Then we have dogs running all over town.”
“So my dog gets away from me, runs down the middle of Main Street, jumps poor little Shay and she gets the ticket?”
“Do you want a ticket?” Silence. “OK then.” At this point the two dogs are trying anything and everything to separate, Shay is rolling on the ground, Sky’s manhood is being stretched to lengths that have got to require surgery and there is quite a crowd of Alaska Tourists gathered enjoying the show. Pretty soon Jerry shows up.
“Hey Jerry.”
“Joe.”
“What’s up?”
“Getting a picture for the paper.”
“Hold on, let me get my good side.”
So the paper the following day was a nice picture of the town lawman writing two ladies a ticket in front of two huskies with their butts stuck together, and the only one smiling was Officer Joe.
The Tree
May 7, 2008 - Leave a Response
by MaryBeth
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I just love insurance. That seems like such a win-win situation. May as well be playing the craps table in Atlantic City. No wait, those odds are better.
You see, out at the farm, we have a dead tree next to our house. It’s a big tree. A real big tree. We wondered what we should do with such a big dead tree. Chris thought maybe we could make it into the East Coast’s Only Drive-Thru Tree. Put The Boy to work hollowing out a tunnel with his penknife. Then maybe we’d finally make some money on the land for which we pay taxes.
I thought maybe we top it and build Sweetie a giant nest so she could live out her teenage years peacefully and we could still keep an eye on her from the second floor. Of course the woodpeckers might pose her a bit of a challenge. Those jackhammers are murder in the morning. Talk about leaving a mark…
When the tree first died we relied on our neighbors for advice. Here in the country, your neighbors are pretty much your solution to any problem. And if they can’t solve it, it probably isn’t worth solving. The only thing they could all agree on was that it was dead. Being so close to the house on one side and the wires going up to the house on the other, no one wanted to advise much further than that. Doing nothing with the tree seems like a good option to us. Of course it does make for a good topic of conversation down at the diner.
“Seen that dead tree up at their house?”
“Yeah, I seen that.” Head shake; coffee sip; lean back.
“They gonna cut it?”
“Don’t appear so.” Head shake; coffee sip; lean forward.
“She likes the woodpeckers.” Chuckle chuckle; head shake; coffee gulp.
As the years have carried on, the Dead Tree has withstood ice storms and blizzards that have leveled many of its healthy peers. Yet still it stands. But it is only a question of time. Trouble is, the only space to park our cars is under The Tree.
So I called our insurance company.
“If a tree limb falls on the cars, are we covered?”
“Are they your cars?
“Yes.”
“Then no.”
“What?”
“We’ll cover your neighbors’ cars.”
“I pay the insurance, but you’ll cover the neighbors’ cars?”
“Right.”
“Why?”
“Your car insurance should cover yours.”
So I called the car insurance.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Your homeowner’s should cover it. It’s a tree.”
“They say you should cover it. They’re cars.”
“They’re wrong.”
So there she stands. A bark peeling, limb dropping, woodpecker ridden giant, daring the common UPS man to pass under and risk certain delays in his appointed rounds. Our boxes are now chucked out at the road. I don’t blame him. The kids have all gotten in the habit of holding their lunchboxes over their heads when they get out of the car. For Christmas, we all got hard hats. Me, I just leave all the trash bags under it and use it as a trash compactor. It works.
Before… After.
