Summers in my family can be described by just one word -- CHAOSMany of my followers know my father died, leaving my mother with five kids -- ages 2, 3, 14, 16, and 17. Mom tried, she really tried. But sometimes I wonder how none of us were permanently committed to an institution. Every summer, my mother loaded the station wagon with coolers, sandwiches, beach towels, chairs, her kids and the neighbor's kids and sat in the 70 mile long stretch of traffic headed for the Jersey Shore. In 100 degree weather with no air conditioning in the car, we sat yelling and complaining while my mother made threats we knew she would never keep. "Just keep fighting and I'll turn this car around right now." Yeah, okay. HOW? There's a thousand cars here and nowhere to go even if you wanted. ![]() I'm still not sure why my mother preferred Brigantine, but us kids loved the haunted castle and pier filled with arcade games and junk food. When I was about six years old, I distinctly remember all my siblings and the two neighbor girls standing in the velvet rope line, swatting at "green head flies" to keep them from biting us. We were so anxious, and all so very different in personalities. My oldest sister, Renee, has always been whimsical, yet somewhat reserved. She's never been loud or aggressive like the rest of us. We talked her into a tour of the castle knowing that even at 20 years old, she was too afraid to go in. After waiting an hour in line, and walking about thirty feet into the attraction, she grabbed my brother's hand and ran out. She tried to tell us he was scared, but we knew it was her. Our group was taken into a room with a fireplace, adorned with a portrait of Dracula. While a worker distracted us, the picture slid sideways and a live "Dracula" jumped from behind the picture ... threatening to suck our blood. Abby's response was, "Did you brush those fangs today? How hygienic is blood sucking?" He stomped his foot and threatened us some more before we were led to another room. Lee yelled at him, "You're not so scary!" Abby grabbed her arm, urging her not to push her luck. This time, a mad scientist produced a fake hypodermic needle and lunged toward me. I hid behind my sister, Lee, who pointed in the woman's face, "You ain't touchin' my baby sister. Go pick on someone else." I think Lee was more terrifying than the "ghosts" in the castle. Our neighbor, Chantel, pushed her sister forward, "Here! You can shoot my sister with a needle. I don't even like her!" The two sisters jostled each other as screams were heard from other parts of the castle. The next room was an undertaker asking us for our last will and testament in the event we did not survive the castle. We were assured black roses would be delivered to our funerals, then informed of the cause of our impending doom. "Our pets have not been fed lately. Do you hear them scurrying across the floor? Monster-sized rodents who hate the lights, so we apologize for the darkness in the next hallway. Should you wish to survive, I suggest you repeat our chant: Ratsy, Ratsy, big and slimey, please bite the person that's behind me." Abby started mouthing the words right away as we felt along the black painted walls ... until the rats showed themselves. Abby screamed, "Oh my God! I felt one across my leg! I can feel their tails!" Lee shouted back, "Nah uh! And stop chanting, cause I'M the person behind you. Do you want them biting me? If I get bit, I'm biting you!" Being so short, I figured out the "tails" they were feeling were rubber hoses glued to the walls. And naturally, I slunk between the girls and wiggled the hoses, making my sisters and the neighbor girls scream and shout. By the time we got out of the castle, Abby was hyperventilating, Lee was threatening all the workers, I was laughing, and the neighbors were fighting with each other. We teased Renee for being chicken, spent the rest of the day playing games and hanging on the beach ... then headed home ... but with a "passenger" we didn't expect. Lee found a jellyfish washed ashore and decided to keep it. A DEAD jellyfish. Unbeknownst to any of us, she scooped it into a soda cup and carried it the whole two hour car ride home. She kept it in her bedroom, and it smelled so badly, my mother finally put it on a paper plate and threw it out the back door on a the patio.
Thanks again for reading another "Short & Silly". And be sure to check out my FREE Kindle books in June! :)
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MY CRAZY LIFE CONTINUES ...![]() Many of my followers know my writing career started when I published "Goin' Postal: True Stories of a U.S. Postal Worker." The wild stories in that book seemed indigenous to postal life. But perhaps they are indigenous to MY life. Last summer I decided I needed some serious changes to my life and found an outstanding trucking company that taught me how to drive big rigs and I have since been driving coast to coast. Along the way, I have found my Jersey Girl attitude has created some serious laughs. Upon meeting my trainer he said, "I take all my students over this one bridge on their second day. It will make or break you as a truck driver. It's called the GW." Me: "Uh, forget it. I don't drive over the bridge with my car, I'm not doing it in a 75 foot long, 80,000 pound truck." Trainer: "I do it will all my students." Me: "I've never driven a stick before, and I'm not starting by driving that. You're last student was 23 and from California. I'm 42 and from NJ. I KNOW that bridge. Go ahead, try to make me drive it. I'll park that big bitch right on the bridge and walk to Jersey to have my brother pick me up." Three days later the trainer got us a run to Connecticut. While leaving, the trainer set the GPS for the George Washington Bridge that connects New York and New Jersey. I took a different route. Trainer: "Where you going? You gotta take I-95 South." Me: "No I don't. I'm driving and I'm taking the Tappen Zee Bridge." He continued to protest until I told him "I just commandeered your truck. I'm driving and I say this way is better. When we head back to the Midwest where you live, you can tell me where to go. I live here and this is where I want to go." When he told this story to another trainer friend the guy said, "That is the kind of student I want. One who won't follow the GPS and can make a decision regarding safety." I thought "Wow... a job where my attitude is a good thing!" hahaha I realized while riding on my trainer's truck I could in no way ever have a CB on my own truck when I went out solo. Here's why: One night I was driving through a construction zone with a 55 mph speed limit. The zone had concrete barriers on both sides of a single lane, shifted and curved, and the asphalt was tilted which made me feel I would roll over. I was doing 50 mph. Driver Behind me on CB: "Hey driver, you can DO 55 here" My response: "Hey Jerk, I can DO 45 here also. So keep talking and see how that works out for you." On another occasion, I had my hazard lights on while driving through a 5 lane industrial park. I pulled all the way to the right at 15 mph trying to find the correct customer drive way at 3am. Not only was there a passing lane but also a center turn lane. I was in no one's way. Driver Behind me on CB: "Hey, why you have your hazards on? You're in my way." My response: "Cause I love the blinking lights! It reminds me of Christmas!" The worst part about trucking is learning to back up. It's hard and takes lots and lots of practice. One day while I was backing into a dock door, a man came shouting "Hey, you almost hit the pole on the other side!" Me: "Almost, or did?" Him" "Almost." Me: "So it's still standing? What is your problem then?" Thanks for reading today's Short & Silly. Now that I am out of training and in a truck of my own, I'm going to start posting regularly again. I have quite a few books I need to review for other authors, and I thank you all for the support you have shown me over the past year during my career transition. Goin' Postal and Zodiac Lives will be FREE on Kindle during June, be sure to look for them! Who could resist a job with
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| Considering a Dalmatian? Check out this video for some fun facts. They are not just "cute" like the in movie. They are smart and need training as well as room to run. They are extremely loyal, and sometimes goofy. They can be extremely protective. |

I adopted my dalmatian, Rainy, when she was five years old. Before then, she never lived in a house, but in the kennel in the back yard. I found out quickly just how incredibly smart AND stubborn she could be.
It took me a long time to housebreak her. She knew she was supposed to go outside, but she didn't want to. She would pee right by the front door, staring at me. Taunting me. It got to the point where I wouldn't let her in the house until she squatted and peed outside. Her response? She would squat outside and pretend to pee, then come in and pee by the door.
During this time, I went on vacation, and my mother watched Rainy for me.
"Is she behaving? Is she doing her business outside?"
"Yeah, she's been really good. She's outside right now."
"I told you, you have to listen while she's squatting. Makes sure she pees, or she'll come inside and do it."
"Are you insane? I'm not listening to a dog urinate!"
Mom didn't listen. And Rainy did as I suspected. Stubborn dog.
She did eventually get fully trained, it took a whole year---I've trained other rescue dalmatians in two weeks. But she was just so stubborn. None of those "expert" methods worked with her. I tried them all.
Anyway... something funny about her was that she acted like rain was acid and would burn her spots off or something. No matter how badly she needed to go to the bathroom, she did not want to go outside. Rainy then decided to push her butt out the screen door to pee, as soon as she was done bolted back inside. I wish I could find my pictures of this dog with it's upper body inside the door and the back end outside. This became her ritual during rain storms from that moment on.
Everything with her was an adventure. One day I was on the phone with my mother, and as I looked out my back window I saw Rainy digging. digging deep. She pulled up a very large bone that looked like a femur. "Mom, oh my god. I think Rainy dug up a leg!"
The property had been in my family for about 25 years at this point, so I knew no one was buried there, but living on the creek, you never know if someone washed up and got stuck in reeds where it wasn't seen. My mother hung up, and as strong a person I am, I hesitated to go outside. I saw my dog drag the long bone to another part of the yard, then go back to her hole where she dug some more. "Oh Jeezh! She's looking for more body parts."
My mother arrived, and we went to the yard together. I sneaked up on the hole where Rainy still dug. Nothing. "The leg bone is over there." I pointed, nervously. I figured my directionally challenged mother needed me to point it out. Maybe she'd be able to find her way this time.
Her face went from one of fear to one of guilt. "Rhoda, this is a bone I threw over the fence about six month ago. I went to Petsmart and forgot to tell you." I never saw the bone, so Rainy must have buried it immediately. Which is weird, cause it's the only time I ever saw her dig.
Ordering pizza was a pretty crazy event in my house. Rainy hated the delivery people. She didn't want anyone near her yard. She owned it. She owned the street and even the playground across the street. Anything in her line of sight was hers. Fighting with a 100 pound dog who's viciously hopping up and down barking while you try to open the front door is not fun. So we wound up with a routine in my house.
When the pizza guy would arrive, I would scream, "Al!!!" To alert my brother of the arrival. Then he would go out the back door, get the food and come in the front door. At which time the barking attack dog would run outside into the yard, barking hysterically. But, with her entertained, we could eat in peace without her whimpering for food.
After awhile, we proved Pavlov correct. If I yelled, "Al!" at 3 am, Rainy would attack the front door, expecting the pizza guy.
And yes, she was a purebred, I have papers. She weighed about 96 pounds of muscle. The vet insisted she should lose weight because of her breed. However, the only time she ever lost weight was when she had worms, "I've never seen an overweight dog with worms." She ran constantly... I never had grass in my yard. My other dals were about 50 pounds. One vet suggested she was from the "British line of dals". Apparently, they are bigger breeds.
It took me a long time to housebreak her. She knew she was supposed to go outside, but she didn't want to. She would pee right by the front door, staring at me. Taunting me. It got to the point where I wouldn't let her in the house until she squatted and peed outside. Her response? She would squat outside and pretend to pee, then come in and pee by the door.
During this time, I went on vacation, and my mother watched Rainy for me.
"Is she behaving? Is she doing her business outside?"
"Yeah, she's been really good. She's outside right now."
"I told you, you have to listen while she's squatting. Makes sure she pees, or she'll come inside and do it."
"Are you insane? I'm not listening to a dog urinate!"
Mom didn't listen. And Rainy did as I suspected. Stubborn dog.
She did eventually get fully trained, it took a whole year---I've trained other rescue dalmatians in two weeks. But she was just so stubborn. None of those "expert" methods worked with her. I tried them all.
Anyway... something funny about her was that she acted like rain was acid and would burn her spots off or something. No matter how badly she needed to go to the bathroom, she did not want to go outside. Rainy then decided to push her butt out the screen door to pee, as soon as she was done bolted back inside. I wish I could find my pictures of this dog with it's upper body inside the door and the back end outside. This became her ritual during rain storms from that moment on.
Everything with her was an adventure. One day I was on the phone with my mother, and as I looked out my back window I saw Rainy digging. digging deep. She pulled up a very large bone that looked like a femur. "Mom, oh my god. I think Rainy dug up a leg!"
The property had been in my family for about 25 years at this point, so I knew no one was buried there, but living on the creek, you never know if someone washed up and got stuck in reeds where it wasn't seen. My mother hung up, and as strong a person I am, I hesitated to go outside. I saw my dog drag the long bone to another part of the yard, then go back to her hole where she dug some more. "Oh Jeezh! She's looking for more body parts."
My mother arrived, and we went to the yard together. I sneaked up on the hole where Rainy still dug. Nothing. "The leg bone is over there." I pointed, nervously. I figured my directionally challenged mother needed me to point it out. Maybe she'd be able to find her way this time.
Her face went from one of fear to one of guilt. "Rhoda, this is a bone I threw over the fence about six month ago. I went to Petsmart and forgot to tell you." I never saw the bone, so Rainy must have buried it immediately. Which is weird, cause it's the only time I ever saw her dig.
Ordering pizza was a pretty crazy event in my house. Rainy hated the delivery people. She didn't want anyone near her yard. She owned it. She owned the street and even the playground across the street. Anything in her line of sight was hers. Fighting with a 100 pound dog who's viciously hopping up and down barking while you try to open the front door is not fun. So we wound up with a routine in my house.
When the pizza guy would arrive, I would scream, "Al!!!" To alert my brother of the arrival. Then he would go out the back door, get the food and come in the front door. At which time the barking attack dog would run outside into the yard, barking hysterically. But, with her entertained, we could eat in peace without her whimpering for food.
After awhile, we proved Pavlov correct. If I yelled, "Al!" at 3 am, Rainy would attack the front door, expecting the pizza guy.
And yes, she was a purebred, I have papers. She weighed about 96 pounds of muscle. The vet insisted she should lose weight because of her breed. However, the only time she ever lost weight was when she had worms, "I've never seen an overweight dog with worms." She ran constantly... I never had grass in my yard. My other dals were about 50 pounds. One vet suggested she was from the "British line of dals". Apparently, they are bigger breeds.
Hope you enjoyed my Short & Silly today. Please tell me about your dog's adventures!
Short & Silly: 04/20/2015
Before I can get to Lee's funeral, I have to explain Lee's relationship with "Mike", I'll call him. They started dating when Lee was 17 years old, and when she was 21 he bought a house in his name. A week later, he fell 80 feet down the hull of a ship while working as a longshoremen. He was in a coma for a long time, and his witch of a mother responded, "Pull the plug, I'm too young to take care of an invalid."
At 21 Lee became nurse, caregiver, rehab aide and much, much more. Mike was in traction, a "Halo", and a rehab center for quite some time. They said he would never walk again... but they did not know my sister. She was relentless and wouldn't give up. I remember him lying in the hospital and she was drinking a milkshake. He still hadn't spoken. His eyes moved all around, but she told him, "You ain't getting none unless you say it. If you want it, you gotta say it." Thus, his first word was milkshake. I was there at 10 years old.
Even passing gas was funny to her. The doctors told her he needed to move his bowels or they might never function properly. When he would pass gas, she would dance around the room singing, "You Dropped a Bomb on Me" by The Gap Band. Here was her boyfriend of four or five years---many people would have left. His own mother left. But she sat by his side day and night. She didn't drive at the time, so my mother was driving her back and forth between NJ to Philadelphia every morning and night--- before and after work and dealing with younger kids. So my mother needs to be commended here as well.
Mike eventually walked again, he even drove and rode the Harley. He could not grasp with the right hand, so the controls were moved to the left side. He couldn't write, so he handled all the paperwork. He'd never be able to have kids. Lee always said she would never marry, but she must have felt old when she hit 30. The day after her 30th birthday, they got married. By this time they'd been together for 13 years. They lasted another 7 years before chaos erupted. At 37, the marriage counselors told her, "Move back in together, but get divorced. You belong together, you just can't be married. That piece of paper makes a big difference in your dynamic." (Come on... how many times have you heard that?).
The divorce got ugly--much uglier than it should have for a guy who owed his entire life to her. I think that is my major problem with him. They had extremely good times and extremely bad times. But somehow he always felt he had the right to control her. He hit her in the head with his cane once, so she picked him and body slammed him, breaking his leg on the microwave. Now keep in mind, she was tiny, but had put him in and out of the tub bathing him for years. She had the strength. Then she called my mom, "Oh my god. oh my god. I just hurt him bad and I called 911 but the cops want to arrest me." That was their relationship though. Extreme, both good and bad.
So they got divorced, and although they always fought, they remained living together. Until "John" entered the picture. Now this gets really funny too... John was married with five kids, and his wife and Lee were friends--- and I mean, they remained friends while Lee & John moved in together. Lee watched the kids from time to time. It was a crazy situation. John was not the volatile personality that Mike and Lee were, so he didn't like the screaming and fighting. Lee wound up in an apartment where Mike paid the utilities and bought the groceries, and John paid for her rent, car insurance and more. I wish I could get some guys to do that for me. I often joked that neither guy wanted her, so they paid to keep her away. I once refused to bail her out of jail because I was just plain tired of it. Who bailed her out? Not her ex hubby cause he was the one who put her there. Not her boyfriend, cause he was the one she got arrested with. Her boyfriend's wife bailed her out!!! I'm serious. I couldn't make this up if I tried--and I write some twisted novels!
She eventually moved back in with Mike, and while living with him, he was still paying her $700 a month in alimony--- which in my opinion was nothing compared to the life she gave him. She got no marital assets in the divorce because the house, cars, everything was in his name before they married.
When she died at 47 years old at 4 in the morning on Mike's living room couch. The bastard saw her seizing and went to bed instead of calling 911. He "came back to check on her a half hour later, but she was dead." Then he expected sympathy. Jerk....
The funeral was funny though :) It was done the way she would have wanted.
At 21 Lee became nurse, caregiver, rehab aide and much, much more. Mike was in traction, a "Halo", and a rehab center for quite some time. They said he would never walk again... but they did not know my sister. She was relentless and wouldn't give up. I remember him lying in the hospital and she was drinking a milkshake. He still hadn't spoken. His eyes moved all around, but she told him, "You ain't getting none unless you say it. If you want it, you gotta say it." Thus, his first word was milkshake. I was there at 10 years old.
Even passing gas was funny to her. The doctors told her he needed to move his bowels or they might never function properly. When he would pass gas, she would dance around the room singing, "You Dropped a Bomb on Me" by The Gap Band. Here was her boyfriend of four or five years---many people would have left. His own mother left. But she sat by his side day and night. She didn't drive at the time, so my mother was driving her back and forth between NJ to Philadelphia every morning and night--- before and after work and dealing with younger kids. So my mother needs to be commended here as well.
Mike eventually walked again, he even drove and rode the Harley. He could not grasp with the right hand, so the controls were moved to the left side. He couldn't write, so he handled all the paperwork. He'd never be able to have kids. Lee always said she would never marry, but she must have felt old when she hit 30. The day after her 30th birthday, they got married. By this time they'd been together for 13 years. They lasted another 7 years before chaos erupted. At 37, the marriage counselors told her, "Move back in together, but get divorced. You belong together, you just can't be married. That piece of paper makes a big difference in your dynamic." (Come on... how many times have you heard that?).
The divorce got ugly--much uglier than it should have for a guy who owed his entire life to her. I think that is my major problem with him. They had extremely good times and extremely bad times. But somehow he always felt he had the right to control her. He hit her in the head with his cane once, so she picked him and body slammed him, breaking his leg on the microwave. Now keep in mind, she was tiny, but had put him in and out of the tub bathing him for years. She had the strength. Then she called my mom, "Oh my god. oh my god. I just hurt him bad and I called 911 but the cops want to arrest me." That was their relationship though. Extreme, both good and bad.
So they got divorced, and although they always fought, they remained living together. Until "John" entered the picture. Now this gets really funny too... John was married with five kids, and his wife and Lee were friends--- and I mean, they remained friends while Lee & John moved in together. Lee watched the kids from time to time. It was a crazy situation. John was not the volatile personality that Mike and Lee were, so he didn't like the screaming and fighting. Lee wound up in an apartment where Mike paid the utilities and bought the groceries, and John paid for her rent, car insurance and more. I wish I could get some guys to do that for me. I often joked that neither guy wanted her, so they paid to keep her away. I once refused to bail her out of jail because I was just plain tired of it. Who bailed her out? Not her ex hubby cause he was the one who put her there. Not her boyfriend, cause he was the one she got arrested with. Her boyfriend's wife bailed her out!!! I'm serious. I couldn't make this up if I tried--and I write some twisted novels!
She eventually moved back in with Mike, and while living with him, he was still paying her $700 a month in alimony--- which in my opinion was nothing compared to the life she gave him. She got no marital assets in the divorce because the house, cars, everything was in his name before they married.
When she died at 47 years old at 4 in the morning on Mike's living room couch. The bastard saw her seizing and went to bed instead of calling 911. He "came back to check on her a half hour later, but she was dead." Then he expected sympathy. Jerk....
The funeral was funny though :) It was done the way she would have wanted.
Thrice Dead

I've gotten some emails asking me what happened to Lee. Go figure, the coleslaw wrestling post got shared 44 times. Either I have a bunch of mail readers who enjoyed the thought, or that was a really funny story. So more about Lee and how she was pronounced dead three times.
Cell phones were not common when I was 16 years old, so it was impossible for me to contact my family when a cop came to the door. He told me my sister was dead and he took me to identify her body. Apparently 16 is old enough to see a dead body, but not old enough to take custody of her from a police station after an arrest... New Jersey is crazy.
The officer and the medical examiner gave me the "brace yourself" line-- like that ever works. The sheet was pulled back, and WOW... it's not Lee. When I told them, they didn't believe me. "This is your sister, you're just in shock. The car accident caused injuries to her face so she looks different."
No dude, I think I know who my sister is. We've had enough fist fights and broken enough furniture and windows while doing it for me to know who she is. The woman on the table looked like her, was the same size as her.... but it wasn't her. I called her stupid husband to ask where she is, "I don't know. We had a fight and she took off. Where did you say you were?"
"The Medical Examiner's office, why didn't you talk to them when they called?"
"Medical Examiner? I thought they said Mental Health Center-- I owe them $50 for our marriage counseling sessions."
"Wait... I'm 16 years old and was brought down to identify my sister's dead body all because you are a freaking idiot? No amount of counseling is ever going to help you anyway." Then I slammed down the phone.
It turned out that my sister's purse was in this woman's car, therefore because of the characteristics of the woman, they assumed it was Lee. Then I called her work. It was her day off and she was not really the responsible type. She floated around from job to job, often because her crazy, stupid husband would call and argue with her. (Can you tell I despise the man?). She answered the phone at the pizza place, and I asked her where her purse was and who she had been with. It turned out she had been with her friend, Desiree, got dropped off by her, forgot the purse cause her husband was already screaming at her in the street, then she got in her own car and took off. She figured she would go into work and make some money.
When she arrived at the Medical Examiner's office to explain, they told her she was already certified as "Deceased". What the point was of having someone identify the body if they were going to do what they want anyway is beyond me. She yelled and screamed in typical Lee fashion, then the man finally held up a picture of both women. "Can you tell these two woman apart?"
Lee grabbed her photo, "Yeah, this is me! You think I don't know ME????"
It took her about three months to get herself declared alive again.
Keep reading.... it gets better....
Cell phones were not common when I was 16 years old, so it was impossible for me to contact my family when a cop came to the door. He told me my sister was dead and he took me to identify her body. Apparently 16 is old enough to see a dead body, but not old enough to take custody of her from a police station after an arrest... New Jersey is crazy.
The officer and the medical examiner gave me the "brace yourself" line-- like that ever works. The sheet was pulled back, and WOW... it's not Lee. When I told them, they didn't believe me. "This is your sister, you're just in shock. The car accident caused injuries to her face so she looks different."
No dude, I think I know who my sister is. We've had enough fist fights and broken enough furniture and windows while doing it for me to know who she is. The woman on the table looked like her, was the same size as her.... but it wasn't her. I called her stupid husband to ask where she is, "I don't know. We had a fight and she took off. Where did you say you were?"
"The Medical Examiner's office, why didn't you talk to them when they called?"
"Medical Examiner? I thought they said Mental Health Center-- I owe them $50 for our marriage counseling sessions."
"Wait... I'm 16 years old and was brought down to identify my sister's dead body all because you are a freaking idiot? No amount of counseling is ever going to help you anyway." Then I slammed down the phone.
It turned out that my sister's purse was in this woman's car, therefore because of the characteristics of the woman, they assumed it was Lee. Then I called her work. It was her day off and she was not really the responsible type. She floated around from job to job, often because her crazy, stupid husband would call and argue with her. (Can you tell I despise the man?). She answered the phone at the pizza place, and I asked her where her purse was and who she had been with. It turned out she had been with her friend, Desiree, got dropped off by her, forgot the purse cause her husband was already screaming at her in the street, then she got in her own car and took off. She figured she would go into work and make some money.
When she arrived at the Medical Examiner's office to explain, they told her she was already certified as "Deceased". What the point was of having someone identify the body if they were going to do what they want anyway is beyond me. She yelled and screamed in typical Lee fashion, then the man finally held up a picture of both women. "Can you tell these two woman apart?"
Lee grabbed her photo, "Yeah, this is me! You think I don't know ME????"
It took her about three months to get herself declared alive again.
Keep reading.... it gets better....
Little Sister -- Lee's favorite song to sing to me. I can't tell you how many times I heard this. :) Now I play it just because. | |
When I was about 21, i received a call that Lee was involved in a multi-car accident and was in the trauma unit of a major hospital in our area. That did not sound good. My mother was still on the night shift, so I called to pick her up. The hospital would not tell me if Lee was dead or alive, just the "We cannot discuss such matters on the phone." I didn't want my mom driving and getting into her own accident out of anxiety and nerves.
We got to the hospital and were told it was a three vehicle accident. One was drunk who caused it, one was dead, and the other was unconscious. For hours they had all three families in the same waiting room, not knowing if our relative was dead or killed someone else. It was the worst feeling in the world. Finally, someone pulled me aside and asked to take me to the body. I didn't tell my mother, I just followed. The sheet was removed, again... it WASN'T her! I started laughing from relief, then realized this was the daughter of the family from the waiting room.
"Oh my god. Where's the other family? Do they think their daughter's alive?" Yep, the staff took the dead girl's family to Lee's room where she was unconscious. Those poor people lost a 22 year old daughter because the other vehicle had a drunk driver. It took some time before they told us Lee was sober and just leaving work when it happened.
How did this happen you ask? The paramedics took them out of the cars and wrote the vehicles on the toe tags. They wrote the wrong car, so they believed my sister to be the other girl. She looked young, so even at 32 she could have passed for 22.
So now you can understand when I tell you this.....
On New Year's Day 2011 I received a call from my mother at 10 am, "Lee's dead." I blinked, "Lee who? My sister Lee?"
I didn't believe it. How could I? I didn't believe it until I saw the body. Her funeral is a post for another day... and YES.. my family even makes a funeral funny.
It's taken me a long time to come to grips with her death. Writing these stories online makes her immortal. She was 47 years old when she died, and I often think it is for the best. She was young at heart with such a free spirit that I think if she turned 50 the entire world would have exploded from the emotions she would have unleashed.
It's mean to say, but she hated old people. She refused to work her retail jobs on Tuesdays and Wednesdays because they were "Senior Citizen Discount Days". The worst thing that could possibly happen to her would be to be stuck in line behind, or driving behind, some old person. She'd yell and beep. I think her life just moved really fast, and she didn't have time to waste. Yet, if an older person needed help with something, she was there...... she just couldn't be there on a regular basis. It was the same with kids... she loved kids, as long as she didn't have to put up with them for hours-- future posts on that topic will be coming as well.
"I'm never getting old," she would say. And she was right.
We got to the hospital and were told it was a three vehicle accident. One was drunk who caused it, one was dead, and the other was unconscious. For hours they had all three families in the same waiting room, not knowing if our relative was dead or killed someone else. It was the worst feeling in the world. Finally, someone pulled me aside and asked to take me to the body. I didn't tell my mother, I just followed. The sheet was removed, again... it WASN'T her! I started laughing from relief, then realized this was the daughter of the family from the waiting room.
"Oh my god. Where's the other family? Do they think their daughter's alive?" Yep, the staff took the dead girl's family to Lee's room where she was unconscious. Those poor people lost a 22 year old daughter because the other vehicle had a drunk driver. It took some time before they told us Lee was sober and just leaving work when it happened.
How did this happen you ask? The paramedics took them out of the cars and wrote the vehicles on the toe tags. They wrote the wrong car, so they believed my sister to be the other girl. She looked young, so even at 32 she could have passed for 22.
So now you can understand when I tell you this.....
On New Year's Day 2011 I received a call from my mother at 10 am, "Lee's dead." I blinked, "Lee who? My sister Lee?"
I didn't believe it. How could I? I didn't believe it until I saw the body. Her funeral is a post for another day... and YES.. my family even makes a funeral funny.
It's taken me a long time to come to grips with her death. Writing these stories online makes her immortal. She was 47 years old when she died, and I often think it is for the best. She was young at heart with such a free spirit that I think if she turned 50 the entire world would have exploded from the emotions she would have unleashed.
It's mean to say, but she hated old people. She refused to work her retail jobs on Tuesdays and Wednesdays because they were "Senior Citizen Discount Days". The worst thing that could possibly happen to her would be to be stuck in line behind, or driving behind, some old person. She'd yell and beep. I think her life just moved really fast, and she didn't have time to waste. Yet, if an older person needed help with something, she was there...... she just couldn't be there on a regular basis. It was the same with kids... she loved kids, as long as she didn't have to put up with them for hours-- future posts on that topic will be coming as well.
"I'm never getting old," she would say. And she was right.
The Legend of Bogart
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My brother-in-law, "Ant'ny" as we pronounce it here, found an adorable puppy tied to a post outside of his business in Philadelphia. He brought it home and my other sister fell in love with the puppy immediately. My sister, Lee, the wild one. His name was Bogart and he was now in his forever home. The vet told her he was a Belgian shepherd, but mixed with what who knows. He was huge, over 110 pounds and on hind legs easily stood six foot tall. It was kinda funny to see my tiny sister with this massive beast... but he was a baby to her.... and you DON'T mess with her baby!
Knowing the dog would be big and powerful, she enrolled in doggie training. The instructor also trained police dogs, so Lee asked for the same training techniques. If in danger, the dogs were trained to first bite the shoe laces of the assailants, then the pant legs--as a warning. Apparently the dog remember this years later.
One summer night, Lee had her door open so the breeze could come in the screen door. She didn't hear the screams from across the street, but Bogart did. The door was locked, but that did not stop him as he lunged through the screen and sprinted across the street barking. An abusive husband was viciously attacking his wife. He flung the woman to the ground, and Bogart snapped as he stood over the woman in a protective manner.
This did not stop the man as he tried to kick both the dog and his wife. Lee started screaming from across the street. Bogart went for the laces and the pant legs, but the man kept kicking. He yelled to my sister, "Get your f---ing dog before I come over there and beat your a-- too!"
Lee shouted back, "I'd like to see you try a--hole!" Bogart's head turned to Lee as if asking for a command. She shouted, "Get him, Bogart!" The dog then tackled the man to the ground, growling with both paws on the man's shoulders until police arrived. The man kept screaming that he was going to get revenge. The whole time Lee screamed, "Be glad that's a good dog! I should have him tear your a-- apart you wife beatin' m-fer!"
After that, Bogart watched the man so closely, expecting revenge. Even if the man just walked from the house to his car, Bogart barked to alert the man he was being watched. The couple moved about six months later. Maybe he was afraid Bogart would get him some day.
Knowing the dog would be big and powerful, she enrolled in doggie training. The instructor also trained police dogs, so Lee asked for the same training techniques. If in danger, the dogs were trained to first bite the shoe laces of the assailants, then the pant legs--as a warning. Apparently the dog remember this years later.
One summer night, Lee had her door open so the breeze could come in the screen door. She didn't hear the screams from across the street, but Bogart did. The door was locked, but that did not stop him as he lunged through the screen and sprinted across the street barking. An abusive husband was viciously attacking his wife. He flung the woman to the ground, and Bogart snapped as he stood over the woman in a protective manner.
This did not stop the man as he tried to kick both the dog and his wife. Lee started screaming from across the street. Bogart went for the laces and the pant legs, but the man kept kicking. He yelled to my sister, "Get your f---ing dog before I come over there and beat your a-- too!"
Lee shouted back, "I'd like to see you try a--hole!" Bogart's head turned to Lee as if asking for a command. She shouted, "Get him, Bogart!" The dog then tackled the man to the ground, growling with both paws on the man's shoulders until police arrived. The man kept screaming that he was going to get revenge. The whole time Lee screamed, "Be glad that's a good dog! I should have him tear your a-- apart you wife beatin' m-fer!"
After that, Bogart watched the man so closely, expecting revenge. Even if the man just walked from the house to his car, Bogart barked to alert the man he was being watched. The couple moved about six months later. Maybe he was afraid Bogart would get him some day.
| Dog defends owner from robber! |
I explained in an earlier post that I had grown accustomed to police calls involving Lee. So it was no surprise to me when an officer called, asking me to come pick her up from her home. She and her husband were fighting---both of them were violent. I hate the guy, but I have to be truthful here. She was an aggressive personality in a small package if she was mad--- or just plain hated you.
I got to the house, and an officer stood between Lee and her husband as they are screaming and yelling. She shoved clothing and belongings into trash bags and carried them out to my car. She screamed the entire time. Then she said something that erupted into a volcano worse than Mount St. Helen. "I'm not leaving him here. You don't deserve him. He's coming with me."
Oh my God, for the next twenty minutes the two of them yelled and threw things while two officers tried to calm them down. Finally the officer said, "Custody is something you have to decide in court. We can't get involved or make a decision. File for divorce and have the lawyers work it out. In the meantime, it is probably best for him to stay here in the home and follow his regular routine. Divorce is going to be traumatic enough. Don't put him through worse."
This guy was being so nice and patient. I almost did not have the heart to say, "You don't realize they are talking about a dog, do you? A 100 pound dog that wouldn't fit in my car to take anyway. It would be like Marmaduke sitting in a corvette." Apparently this officer was new to the area, because the others in the town were used to the couple. They knew, as did I, that she would be back and things would be all lovey dovey for awhile.
I got to the house, and an officer stood between Lee and her husband as they are screaming and yelling. She shoved clothing and belongings into trash bags and carried them out to my car. She screamed the entire time. Then she said something that erupted into a volcano worse than Mount St. Helen. "I'm not leaving him here. You don't deserve him. He's coming with me."
Oh my God, for the next twenty minutes the two of them yelled and threw things while two officers tried to calm them down. Finally the officer said, "Custody is something you have to decide in court. We can't get involved or make a decision. File for divorce and have the lawyers work it out. In the meantime, it is probably best for him to stay here in the home and follow his regular routine. Divorce is going to be traumatic enough. Don't put him through worse."
This guy was being so nice and patient. I almost did not have the heart to say, "You don't realize they are talking about a dog, do you? A 100 pound dog that wouldn't fit in my car to take anyway. It would be like Marmaduke sitting in a corvette." Apparently this officer was new to the area, because the others in the town were used to the couple. They knew, as did I, that she would be back and things would be all lovey dovey for awhile.
Thanks for reading my Short & Silly. Please consider sharing my blog and comment below. I would love to hear your dog/pet stories! :)
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This post is written with the utmost respect for law enforcement. These people put themselves on the line everyday, never knowing what kind of situations they will face. From dealing with dangerous criminals to dealing with absolute nuts, they deserve our respect.
The Cabbage Patch

My sister, Lee, was a firecracker. Beautiful and vibrant, afraid of nothing, and a total free spirit. If she loved you, she'd do anything for you. If she hated you, she would beat your @#$. And I mean that literally.
She was the epitome of the term "Biker Babe", and she lived in two completely different worlds---one of family and one of her friends. Every once in a while, one life would trickle into the other. Here's an example: Bike Week, Daytona Florida
Every year she went to bike week with her husband, and they often won prizes and contests for their customized Harley-Davidson. One time she called my mother, "I'm so mad! Would you believe I came in second place this year? That's impossible. That winner cheated!"
Mom replied, "Cheated how? Did her bike have some sort of illegal addition?"
Annoyed, Lee responded (and in my head I can see her pouting and stomping her foot), "Not the bike contest! The wet tee shirt contest! I came in second! She cheated.... her boobs were fake. That isn't fair!"
"Oh my god, Lee! What did your husband say?"
"He was furious."
Apparently these two were on totally different brain waves, as my mother replied, "I guess he would be. I can't believe you entered a wet tee shirt contest. What were you thinking? You better apologize to him."
Lee got confused, "Apologize for what? And he was mad. He paid $50 for me to enter, and I win every year. So he's fuming that we just lost the $2,000 prize."
One year she called me, "I just won a lot of money. next year you are coming to the cabbage patch with me. We could make a killing together."
I knew I shouldn't have asked. I should have kept my mouth shut. As a girl born in the 1970's, The Cabbage Patch was a doll. But stupid me inquired, "What's the cabbage patch?"
"Coleslaw wrestling! We'd kick butt in a tag team!"
She was the epitome of the term "Biker Babe", and she lived in two completely different worlds---one of family and one of her friends. Every once in a while, one life would trickle into the other. Here's an example: Bike Week, Daytona Florida
Every year she went to bike week with her husband, and they often won prizes and contests for their customized Harley-Davidson. One time she called my mother, "I'm so mad! Would you believe I came in second place this year? That's impossible. That winner cheated!"
Mom replied, "Cheated how? Did her bike have some sort of illegal addition?"
Annoyed, Lee responded (and in my head I can see her pouting and stomping her foot), "Not the bike contest! The wet tee shirt contest! I came in second! She cheated.... her boobs were fake. That isn't fair!"
"Oh my god, Lee! What did your husband say?"
"He was furious."
Apparently these two were on totally different brain waves, as my mother replied, "I guess he would be. I can't believe you entered a wet tee shirt contest. What were you thinking? You better apologize to him."
Lee got confused, "Apologize for what? And he was mad. He paid $50 for me to enter, and I win every year. So he's fuming that we just lost the $2,000 prize."
One year she called me, "I just won a lot of money. next year you are coming to the cabbage patch with me. We could make a killing together."
I knew I shouldn't have asked. I should have kept my mouth shut. As a girl born in the 1970's, The Cabbage Patch was a doll. But stupid me inquired, "What's the cabbage patch?"
"Coleslaw wrestling! We'd kick butt in a tag team!"
| This woman made me laugh so hard, "I take Cymbalta, I'm ready to explode, and I didn't take my pills today. I break people's arms." |
The best would be when she would get arrested. Which happened quite frequently, but usually for fights or being disruptive somehow. She was only 5 foot tall and didn't weigh much. She was gorgeous, and because of it, she got away with a lot more than others would have. I had a look at her arrest record when she was 37 years old, and she had already been arrested 107 times. <----- That's a real number people! And she lived another ten years, so god only knows what the final number was.
My mother worked the overnight shift when I was 17 years old (Lee was 28). One night at 2 am, I got a phone call from the police in Lee's town. "This is Officer Perry. We have your sister, Lee, here and we need someone to come get her."
When the officer told Lee her ride arrived, she started screaming and yelling, "I hate all you pigs! The only good cop is a dead cop! None of ya's ever do anything good. All the killers are running loose on the street and you picked me up for nothing." (No, she wasn't drunk. Just crazy. It happens. lol) "My sister's taking me home now!"
I could hear her from the lobby of the police station. I asked the officer if I could yell back to shut her up. He responded, "Oh my god, please do. She's been screaming like that for an hour."
I obliged, "Lee, shut the hell up or I'll leave you here. You know I will!" Silence. She thought it was our other sister, not me. She knew I would leave her if she didn't behave.
The officer looked to the air, "Thank you, God." He turned his attention to me, had me sign a release paper and brought her out. He then realized he omitted a crucial step, he failed to get a photocopy of my driver's license. I handed it over and his face went white. Dread crossed his face as he lifted his eyes up at me, "You're not legally an adult. I can't release her to you."
Once again, Lee exploded in a series of rants that mimicked a vicious dog. Throwing her hands in the air and screaming, she ran after the officer. I wrapped my arm around her waist and lifted her off her feet, swirling her behind me. I said to the officer, "Come on. I'm obviously more responsible than her. My mother's at work for another six hours. It is either release her to me, or you're stuck with her until then."
Still screaming, "Don't talk about me like I ain't here! I want out of this place. I'm gonna sue you for harassment! I hope you all die!"
The officer raised his brow, took my license and turned up the ink on the photocopier. He made sure to blur my date of birth. Then waved good-bye. Poor guy.
That was the start of me picking Lee up from the police station, it was not the last. I become such a regular at the Paulsboro Police station (a city in which I never lived, and rarely ever go) that I was on a first name basis with the officers. We would run into ether in public when they were off duty and exchange pleasantries.
Every once in awhile they would say, "How's your sister doing? I haven't seen her lately. When she's quiet, I get scared."
My mother worked the overnight shift when I was 17 years old (Lee was 28). One night at 2 am, I got a phone call from the police in Lee's town. "This is Officer Perry. We have your sister, Lee, here and we need someone to come get her."
When the officer told Lee her ride arrived, she started screaming and yelling, "I hate all you pigs! The only good cop is a dead cop! None of ya's ever do anything good. All the killers are running loose on the street and you picked me up for nothing." (No, she wasn't drunk. Just crazy. It happens. lol) "My sister's taking me home now!"
I could hear her from the lobby of the police station. I asked the officer if I could yell back to shut her up. He responded, "Oh my god, please do. She's been screaming like that for an hour."
I obliged, "Lee, shut the hell up or I'll leave you here. You know I will!" Silence. She thought it was our other sister, not me. She knew I would leave her if she didn't behave.
The officer looked to the air, "Thank you, God." He turned his attention to me, had me sign a release paper and brought her out. He then realized he omitted a crucial step, he failed to get a photocopy of my driver's license. I handed it over and his face went white. Dread crossed his face as he lifted his eyes up at me, "You're not legally an adult. I can't release her to you."
Once again, Lee exploded in a series of rants that mimicked a vicious dog. Throwing her hands in the air and screaming, she ran after the officer. I wrapped my arm around her waist and lifted her off her feet, swirling her behind me. I said to the officer, "Come on. I'm obviously more responsible than her. My mother's at work for another six hours. It is either release her to me, or you're stuck with her until then."
Still screaming, "Don't talk about me like I ain't here! I want out of this place. I'm gonna sue you for harassment! I hope you all die!"
The officer raised his brow, took my license and turned up the ink on the photocopier. He made sure to blur my date of birth. Then waved good-bye. Poor guy.
That was the start of me picking Lee up from the police station, it was not the last. I become such a regular at the Paulsboro Police station (a city in which I never lived, and rarely ever go) that I was on a first name basis with the officers. We would run into ether in public when they were off duty and exchange pleasantries.
Every once in awhile they would say, "How's your sister doing? I haven't seen her lately. When she's quiet, I get scared."
Scouting Serial Killers

My mother is fascinated by the news. No matter where she is, whether at home or in the car, she is tuned into the latest happenings. She's so comical about it that I wrote the character, Eva, in Tower of Tears after my mom. Every time I do something, she has to tell me how dangerous it is, or that someone got killed doing it. She also watches all the CSI shows and knows as much about forensics and serial killers as the FBI--no lie. I have often thought that she could kill a man and get away with it. But don't worry, even if she was caught, she would not be able to lead them back to the body because she is directionally challenged. I realize I'm nuts because mom had me reading books about Ted Bundy in middle school. It was her way of preparing me for life. So if you folks every need a body dumped, I'm your girl!
A few years ago, I visited a friend in Seattle. I flew alone, which I am very confident in doing, unlike some people. Upon meeting my friend in the airport, I called to let Mom know I was safe and made my contact. Her response, "Be careful. You know Seattle is where all the serial killers are. Bundy was there, and The Green River Killer might get you."
Unbeknownst to her, I was fully prepared for this argument. "Bundy was executed when I was in high school remember? You made me watch it on the news, because executions are the perfect form of family entertainment. And The Green River Killer was caught."
"Are you sure?"
"Wow, Mom. You're either slacking or you are just trying to be manipulative. His name is Gary Ridgway, he's in jail."
"Well, you be careful anyway. And stay away from Volkswagen bugs. All the serial killer drive them."
"Mom, do ya seriously think someone is going to kidnap me? Don't you remember what you used to tell us as kids?"
A brief pause. "Oh, you mean that the kidnapper would pay ME to take you back? Yeah, I remember. But that was before they just killed for no reason. Now they don't even bother to find out if you would drive them crazy or not. Well have a great time and call me!"
Yeah... a load of laughs I'll have while scoping out serial killers in a state of paranoia. Oh the fun!
But Seattle was just one trip. I have gone on many, including Alaska, Bahamas, Aruba, and most of the states in the US. I am a bit of a daredevil and try to find some sort of "extreme" activity type of attraction on my trips. Over the years, I have gone bungee jumping, parasailing, trapeze swinging, sky coastering, snorkeling, jet skiing, SCUBA. I swam with dolphins, snorkeled with sea lions, even played with an adult tiger. Let's just say I have lived a decent life. Crazy and chaotic at times. Deprived of privacy due ot a large family, definitely. But decent all the same.
A few years ago, I visited a friend in Seattle. I flew alone, which I am very confident in doing, unlike some people. Upon meeting my friend in the airport, I called to let Mom know I was safe and made my contact. Her response, "Be careful. You know Seattle is where all the serial killers are. Bundy was there, and The Green River Killer might get you."
Unbeknownst to her, I was fully prepared for this argument. "Bundy was executed when I was in high school remember? You made me watch it on the news, because executions are the perfect form of family entertainment. And The Green River Killer was caught."
"Are you sure?"
"Wow, Mom. You're either slacking or you are just trying to be manipulative. His name is Gary Ridgway, he's in jail."
"Well, you be careful anyway. And stay away from Volkswagen bugs. All the serial killer drive them."
"Mom, do ya seriously think someone is going to kidnap me? Don't you remember what you used to tell us as kids?"
A brief pause. "Oh, you mean that the kidnapper would pay ME to take you back? Yeah, I remember. But that was before they just killed for no reason. Now they don't even bother to find out if you would drive them crazy or not. Well have a great time and call me!"
Yeah... a load of laughs I'll have while scoping out serial killers in a state of paranoia. Oh the fun!
But Seattle was just one trip. I have gone on many, including Alaska, Bahamas, Aruba, and most of the states in the US. I am a bit of a daredevil and try to find some sort of "extreme" activity type of attraction on my trips. Over the years, I have gone bungee jumping, parasailing, trapeze swinging, sky coastering, snorkeling, jet skiing, SCUBA. I swam with dolphins, snorkeled with sea lions, even played with an adult tiger. Let's just say I have lived a decent life. Crazy and chaotic at times. Deprived of privacy due ot a large family, definitely. But decent all the same.

On my last trip, my mother called me, "I hope you're not going on a cruise. You know all those boats are getting people sick. And didn't you go para-sailing? A guy was doing that last week and got killed when the rope broke, slamming him into a billboard. There was another guy who got eaten by a shark while he was SCUBA diving. You better be careful. One of these days, you might not be so lucky."
I thought for a second then said, "Mom, if I happen to die, doing something I enjoy, in a tropical paradise many people can't afford, or can't because they have kids... then be happy for me. I'd rather die in Aruba by a shark than get killed by a drunk driver in the depressing state of New Jersey. I might have a fighting chance with the shark, and if I kill it, I won't go to jail--- unlike if I survived and killed the drunk driver. THAT would be when you should worry about me and feel sorry for me."
She was flustered, "What am I supposed to say to that?"
"I don't know? Bon Voyage? My life insurance pays for shark mauls and cruise poisonings. So don't worry about that. Just put on my headstone, 'She went out with a bang'."
"You're not funny! Don't you have a bucket list? Isn't there anything left you wish to do in life?"
Hmmm.... matricide went through my head at that moment. I'm a postal worker... I could probably get off with temporary insanity... hmmmm..
Ok.. I admit, that was mean. But it was still funny. I love my mom. She's given me these great memories to write about. Although sometimes her memories don't mesh with ours.. but that I will save for another day.
Thank you for reading! Please be sure to share this blog on Twitter and Facebook if you enjoy it. Catch you tomorrow.
I thought for a second then said, "Mom, if I happen to die, doing something I enjoy, in a tropical paradise many people can't afford, or can't because they have kids... then be happy for me. I'd rather die in Aruba by a shark than get killed by a drunk driver in the depressing state of New Jersey. I might have a fighting chance with the shark, and if I kill it, I won't go to jail--- unlike if I survived and killed the drunk driver. THAT would be when you should worry about me and feel sorry for me."
She was flustered, "What am I supposed to say to that?"
"I don't know? Bon Voyage? My life insurance pays for shark mauls and cruise poisonings. So don't worry about that. Just put on my headstone, 'She went out with a bang'."
"You're not funny! Don't you have a bucket list? Isn't there anything left you wish to do in life?"
Hmmm.... matricide went through my head at that moment. I'm a postal worker... I could probably get off with temporary insanity... hmmmm..
Ok.. I admit, that was mean. But it was still funny. I love my mom. She's given me these great memories to write about. Although sometimes her memories don't mesh with ours.. but that I will save for another day.
Thank you for reading! Please be sure to share this blog on Twitter and Facebook if you enjoy it. Catch you tomorrow.
Day of the Silly Dead
You would think a trip to a cemetery to visit my father's grave would be a somber or loving moment. You would think. But when you're related to me, apparently nothing is normal.
As I have said before, my father died when I was three years old, leaving my mother with five kids--ages 2-16. With that many kids, and a mother who can't find her car parked in front of her house, many unique experiences are created.
When I was about ten years old, my mother loaded up the station wagon with all five siblings, packed snacks and blankets then headed off to a garden nursery to buy flowers to plant on my father's grave.
Mistake number #1 - Not eating at home before we left.
What happens when you get a bunch of kids together who are kicking and screaming? They want soda, ice cream, to go the bathroom, etc. On our way past Jack in the Box someone hollered they wanted to eat. Of course I shoved my head out the window to yell into the speaker of the funny clown. I shouted what we wanted, as the entire car shouted different things-- and EACH kid had to have something different... one likes cheese with no ham, one wants ham with no cheese... you know the deal. Booming chaos..... and the reason they invented Bayer Aspirin. The cool thing about stopping off at Jack in the Box was that they had toys we would put on the grave next to my dad's of a 3 year old boy named Max. His parents are not there. Just him with a little lamb stone. I don't remember in what year he died, but it always felt as if we were the only ones to visit him.
Mistake #2 - Buying Flowers
Kids never agree, and everyone argued over what flower they wanted. It's not like we couldn't have planted all the flowers... we just couldn't fit them in the car. So of course that took about an hour. And those who didn't finish their breakfast in the car before the nursery now screamed the food was cold. Why the hell didn't I invent a microwave for the car for parents on road trips?
Mistake #3 - Letting My Mother Drive
By this time Dad had been buried for seven years, but my mom still only knew one way to get there. One very long, winding way. She insisted on driving through center city Philadelphia then through a ton of horrible neighborhoods and God knows where else we went before arriving. I always thought it took 2 hours to get to my dad's grave... until I drove the 40 minutes myself---with traffic.
Mistake #4 - Bringing a Video Camera
No lie. I don't know on what planet it is proper etiquette to bring a video camera to a cemetery, but here on Planet Nuthouse it was perfectly acceptable. My older sister received the video camera as a gift from her boyfriend, and she soon thought of herself as Steven Speilberg. Only, she couldn't hold the camera straight and you would get seasick by watching anything she filmed.
Mistake #5 - Expecting Not to Get Lost Inside the Cemetery
My father, grandfather, and two sets of great grand parents are buried side by side. Still, the only way we ever found the plot was by driving around looking for a huge statue of a soldier that memorializing all the German soldiers who died in wars.
Random Kids Chattering:
"Look! There's Schneider. I think we're close! Aren't Schneiders in front of our grave?"
"Yeah. Ours and everyone else's. It's a German freakin' cemetery, and that is one of the most common names."
"Would you people shut up? I'm trying to film."
"Film what? Dead people? If you see any, let us know so I can drive. We got a better chance of getting out of here with someone else at the steering wheel."
"Why would you want a silent movie anyway? They suck and are in black and white. Isn't that a color camera?"
Holding the video, "I'm trying to zoom and find the soldier statue that is across from our stone."
"Then why do you need the record on? You can still see it."
"Some of these mausoleums are so pretty I wanted to film them. Mom, just make sure you don't stop in front of a tree. This is a great shot."
"You didn't want me talking on your movie, but you can talk? Not fair!"
The car stops. At this point in the video, a 3 ft wide elm tree makes a cameo appearance, taking up the entire screen.
"MOM! I just told you to not stop in front of a trrreeeeeeeeee"
"Sorry, but I'm looking for the names, not watching you."
Eventually we found my dead family. But the adventure didn't end there......
My oldest sister hopped out the car, and trudged to the grave with the flowers and gardening tools. She had worked at a florist and enjoyed this sort of thing. Even today, to me it is just like playing in the dirt-- like the worms in my other story. As she used the little hand garden shovel thing (see, I don't even know what it is called), someone shouted, "How far down are you going to dig? Anymore and you'll hit the body!"
While they were doing work, I decided to go visit 3 year old Max's grave. I took the toys and Ms. Speilberg followed me with the camera. When I got to the stone, I found a horrible sight, and looked at the camera. "Oh my God. The lawnmower came along and chopped off Max's head!"
As my sister burst into laughter at my declaration, I became hostile. "It's not funny! The poor lamb has no head." I shouted some insults and the camera goes back to the family plot. Watching the video now is hysterical, because I did not realize what my words sounded like.
Then you hear from my brother, "I have to go to the bathroom!"
Mom suggested, "Then go behind the tree. There is no one else here."
"No! That's gross."
Mom then replied, "Oh come on, you're the only boy here. The rest of us would have to squat. At least you get to aim. Just don't aim for anyone's grave. Peeing on somebody's head isn't nice."
The poor kid went to pee behind the tree, but Ms. Speilberg followed him. She did not violate his privacy, but when he emerged, she started singing, "Smilllllleee.. You're on Candid Camera..." (An old 1970's television show of hidden cameras).
After we had been there awhile, with nothing else to do in a cemetery, we wandered around looking at headstones. There is a whole family who is buried nearby. Each has their own stone, and you can see the mother died first and the husband remarried.
On the mother's stone it read, "Meet me in Heaven"
On the daughter's stone it read, "Going to meet my mother in Heaven."
On the son's stone it read, "Going to meet Mom and Sis in Heaven."
The father died before his second wife, it read, "Going to meet my family in Heaven".
A shout from behind me, "Oh no he ain't. That man is going to burn in hell. Not only did he get remarried, but he died first leaving the second wife with all the money."
"First, what makes you think they have money? And second.. it's DEATH do us part."
"If he gets to heaven, that first wife is kicking his butt out! There's no place else to go but hell. That death to us part stuff won't matter to a scorned woman."
Then my eyes blinked. I saw something surreal... my grandmother and her third husband's name on a headstone. Just the names, cause they were living. (This is the one from My Guzzling Granny). "MOM! Why is Mom-Mom and Pop-Pop on a grave? Is there something we should know?" Mom explained that people sometimes buy plots in advance. But having the names on the stone... That was just creepy.
As my sister walked toward me, she stepped in a hole in the ground and shouted, "Oh my god! Something's got my leg!"
"CARRIE'S REAL!" I shouted.
"IT'S ALIVE!" said my brother. We both ran to the car and left everyone behind.
We finally calmed down and loaded back in the car. By now, it was time to eat again.. .so off to Chicken George we went. The screams for orders started again.... I swear my mother's a glutton for punishment.
Thank you for reading today's entry of "Short & Silly". If you smiled, then please share with your Facebook and Twitter.
As I have said before, my father died when I was three years old, leaving my mother with five kids--ages 2-16. With that many kids, and a mother who can't find her car parked in front of her house, many unique experiences are created.
When I was about ten years old, my mother loaded up the station wagon with all five siblings, packed snacks and blankets then headed off to a garden nursery to buy flowers to plant on my father's grave.
Mistake number #1 - Not eating at home before we left.
What happens when you get a bunch of kids together who are kicking and screaming? They want soda, ice cream, to go the bathroom, etc. On our way past Jack in the Box someone hollered they wanted to eat. Of course I shoved my head out the window to yell into the speaker of the funny clown. I shouted what we wanted, as the entire car shouted different things-- and EACH kid had to have something different... one likes cheese with no ham, one wants ham with no cheese... you know the deal. Booming chaos..... and the reason they invented Bayer Aspirin. The cool thing about stopping off at Jack in the Box was that they had toys we would put on the grave next to my dad's of a 3 year old boy named Max. His parents are not there. Just him with a little lamb stone. I don't remember in what year he died, but it always felt as if we were the only ones to visit him.
Mistake #2 - Buying Flowers
Kids never agree, and everyone argued over what flower they wanted. It's not like we couldn't have planted all the flowers... we just couldn't fit them in the car. So of course that took about an hour. And those who didn't finish their breakfast in the car before the nursery now screamed the food was cold. Why the hell didn't I invent a microwave for the car for parents on road trips?
Mistake #3 - Letting My Mother Drive
By this time Dad had been buried for seven years, but my mom still only knew one way to get there. One very long, winding way. She insisted on driving through center city Philadelphia then through a ton of horrible neighborhoods and God knows where else we went before arriving. I always thought it took 2 hours to get to my dad's grave... until I drove the 40 minutes myself---with traffic.
Mistake #4 - Bringing a Video Camera
No lie. I don't know on what planet it is proper etiquette to bring a video camera to a cemetery, but here on Planet Nuthouse it was perfectly acceptable. My older sister received the video camera as a gift from her boyfriend, and she soon thought of herself as Steven Speilberg. Only, she couldn't hold the camera straight and you would get seasick by watching anything she filmed.
Mistake #5 - Expecting Not to Get Lost Inside the Cemetery
My father, grandfather, and two sets of great grand parents are buried side by side. Still, the only way we ever found the plot was by driving around looking for a huge statue of a soldier that memorializing all the German soldiers who died in wars.
Random Kids Chattering:
"Look! There's Schneider. I think we're close! Aren't Schneiders in front of our grave?"
"Yeah. Ours and everyone else's. It's a German freakin' cemetery, and that is one of the most common names."
"Would you people shut up? I'm trying to film."
"Film what? Dead people? If you see any, let us know so I can drive. We got a better chance of getting out of here with someone else at the steering wheel."
"Why would you want a silent movie anyway? They suck and are in black and white. Isn't that a color camera?"
Holding the video, "I'm trying to zoom and find the soldier statue that is across from our stone."
"Then why do you need the record on? You can still see it."
"Some of these mausoleums are so pretty I wanted to film them. Mom, just make sure you don't stop in front of a tree. This is a great shot."
"You didn't want me talking on your movie, but you can talk? Not fair!"
The car stops. At this point in the video, a 3 ft wide elm tree makes a cameo appearance, taking up the entire screen.
"MOM! I just told you to not stop in front of a trrreeeeeeeeee"
"Sorry, but I'm looking for the names, not watching you."
Eventually we found my dead family. But the adventure didn't end there......
My oldest sister hopped out the car, and trudged to the grave with the flowers and gardening tools. She had worked at a florist and enjoyed this sort of thing. Even today, to me it is just like playing in the dirt-- like the worms in my other story. As she used the little hand garden shovel thing (see, I don't even know what it is called), someone shouted, "How far down are you going to dig? Anymore and you'll hit the body!"
While they were doing work, I decided to go visit 3 year old Max's grave. I took the toys and Ms. Speilberg followed me with the camera. When I got to the stone, I found a horrible sight, and looked at the camera. "Oh my God. The lawnmower came along and chopped off Max's head!"
As my sister burst into laughter at my declaration, I became hostile. "It's not funny! The poor lamb has no head." I shouted some insults and the camera goes back to the family plot. Watching the video now is hysterical, because I did not realize what my words sounded like.
Then you hear from my brother, "I have to go to the bathroom!"
Mom suggested, "Then go behind the tree. There is no one else here."
"No! That's gross."
Mom then replied, "Oh come on, you're the only boy here. The rest of us would have to squat. At least you get to aim. Just don't aim for anyone's grave. Peeing on somebody's head isn't nice."
The poor kid went to pee behind the tree, but Ms. Speilberg followed him. She did not violate his privacy, but when he emerged, she started singing, "Smilllllleee.. You're on Candid Camera..." (An old 1970's television show of hidden cameras).
After we had been there awhile, with nothing else to do in a cemetery, we wandered around looking at headstones. There is a whole family who is buried nearby. Each has their own stone, and you can see the mother died first and the husband remarried.
On the mother's stone it read, "Meet me in Heaven"
On the daughter's stone it read, "Going to meet my mother in Heaven."
On the son's stone it read, "Going to meet Mom and Sis in Heaven."
The father died before his second wife, it read, "Going to meet my family in Heaven".
A shout from behind me, "Oh no he ain't. That man is going to burn in hell. Not only did he get remarried, but he died first leaving the second wife with all the money."
"First, what makes you think they have money? And second.. it's DEATH do us part."
"If he gets to heaven, that first wife is kicking his butt out! There's no place else to go but hell. That death to us part stuff won't matter to a scorned woman."
Then my eyes blinked. I saw something surreal... my grandmother and her third husband's name on a headstone. Just the names, cause they were living. (This is the one from My Guzzling Granny). "MOM! Why is Mom-Mom and Pop-Pop on a grave? Is there something we should know?" Mom explained that people sometimes buy plots in advance. But having the names on the stone... That was just creepy.
As my sister walked toward me, she stepped in a hole in the ground and shouted, "Oh my god! Something's got my leg!"
"CARRIE'S REAL!" I shouted.
"IT'S ALIVE!" said my brother. We both ran to the car and left everyone behind.
We finally calmed down and loaded back in the car. By now, it was time to eat again.. .so off to Chicken George we went. The screams for orders started again.... I swear my mother's a glutton for punishment.
Thank you for reading today's entry of "Short & Silly". If you smiled, then please share with your Facebook and Twitter.
Snakes R Us
I wrote earlier about being a "Jersey Hick" and how my Philadelphia "City Folk" family didn't understand the suburb lifestyle. This post is something you will understand or not, depending on where you live.
Living on a creek, you get all sorts of wildlife: raccoon, opossum, beavers, turkey buzzards, field mice, foxes, etc.... we even had bald eagles nesting at one point. The wildlife laws stated we could not make noise along the creek or they might not mate. Really?? How is one to determine the acceptable decibel of a bird?
I bought my house at 22 years old, it was old but it was home. It had a detached garage with barn door type of entrance. One beautiful day shortly after moving in, I decided to go check out the garage and do some yard work. When I opened the doors, falling into my face like a hangman's noose was a six foot long snake skin. I freaked, screamed, jumped around. I thought it was the snake itself. Then I closed the doors and told my husband, "We don't need the garage anyway. That thing was here first, he can keep it."
Don't get me wrong, I knew it was not a poisonous snake, and snakes are useful to keep wildlife away.... I just don't want one in my house. So Harry--that's his name--and I made an agreement: You stay out of my house, I'll stay out of yours. We would see each other in the yard every once in awhile and say hello... but for the most part, we just avoided each other.
So winter rolled around, and I had a couple field mice (the small, cute kind, not the big hairy rat kind) that wanted to camp in my utility room. I didn't want to share my home with them either, but I couldn't kill them. What can I say? I'm a Jersey Hick with a heart. In the dead of winter I trapped the mice with "Mice Cubes" from Walmart. Seriously, these are the best traps I ever used, and it doesn't kill them. I'd walk them down the end of the street and let them go near the woods. I sorta always assumed they would go right for the nearest house, but hey, that was on them. I gave them a shot.
Eventually we decided to knock down the garage, and I never thought about Harry. That was very inconsiderate of me. The next winter, I bought my mice traps and checked them everyday. Nothing. Hmmm. That was weird, because every winter we would get them. The whole winter went by and no mice. One night while I was lying in bed, I figured out why. I heard something shift upstairs in the attic. It is a creepy thing to hear something like that, and it sounded big. Really big. It also sounded like something was being dragged across the floor.
I sent my husband into the attic-- You didn't think I was going, did you? He found a snake skin. Harry grew. Harry was now eight feet long. Apparently when we knocked down the garage, Harry made residence in the attic and decided to do some decorating as his slithered across my attic. He also ordered room service and must have eaten the mice that normally lived in my utility room. After some careful thought, I figured it was better to have an 8 ft snake in the attic who never leaves his room, than mice in the main part of the house that could nibble in my kitchen.
After my dalmatian, Rainy, passed away, I joined a dalmatian rescue and fostered two dalmatians who had been abused and neglected. Harry and the dogs had a slight disagreement as to whose yard it was. Harry struck at the dogs like a cobra, it was scary and fascinating at the same time. The snake did not have a chance if the dogs worked together, but he wasn't giving up. I got the dogs before a physical confrontation ensued. But... I soon found out... Harry was really Harriet. She had a nest near the creek she was tying to defend.
This was not the only snake in the house incident I ever had. As a kid, I was in the living room playing the Atari 2600. My mother was washing the dishes and putting them in the cabinet above her head. She is so short, "five foot nothing" as we say. She start yelling, "Who put a rope in the cabinet with the dishes? What are you kids up to?"
Now think about this a second. She was a grown woman who could barely reach in the cabinet.... how did she think my brother and I would reach it? And WHY would we have rope. It was too close to the kitchen sink.... near the dirty dishes... near "chore' activity. Do you really think kids would be anywhere near work????
She reached in to pull out the "rope" and found a five foot long snake in her hand. She screamed for me to help her. I was like 8 years old, what was I supposed to do? I jumped on a table and screamed. Then I ran outside and found a neighbor kid. The boys in the neighborhood loved fishing, turtle trapping and other animal oriented stuff. So a boy named Bobby came in and grabbed the end of the snake. It quickly wrapped the rest of its body around the thin strip of wood between the two open cabinet doors.
Bobby was not the brightest star in the sky, and started pulling the snake's tail. The entire cabinet work start shaking as he pulled and pulled. Had he stopped, it might have relaxed and tried to slither away where he could grab it, but no. With one last pull, he not only ripped the snake down, but also pulled down the entire cabinet structure.
"Uh, sorry, Mrs. D'Ettore." He held up his prize, "but I got the snake."
I hope you enjoyed this edition of Short & Silly! Please be kind enough to share it on Facebook & Twitter, and subscribe on the RSS button on the right.
Living on a creek, you get all sorts of wildlife: raccoon, opossum, beavers, turkey buzzards, field mice, foxes, etc.... we even had bald eagles nesting at one point. The wildlife laws stated we could not make noise along the creek or they might not mate. Really?? How is one to determine the acceptable decibel of a bird?
I bought my house at 22 years old, it was old but it was home. It had a detached garage with barn door type of entrance. One beautiful day shortly after moving in, I decided to go check out the garage and do some yard work. When I opened the doors, falling into my face like a hangman's noose was a six foot long snake skin. I freaked, screamed, jumped around. I thought it was the snake itself. Then I closed the doors and told my husband, "We don't need the garage anyway. That thing was here first, he can keep it."
Don't get me wrong, I knew it was not a poisonous snake, and snakes are useful to keep wildlife away.... I just don't want one in my house. So Harry--that's his name--and I made an agreement: You stay out of my house, I'll stay out of yours. We would see each other in the yard every once in awhile and say hello... but for the most part, we just avoided each other.
So winter rolled around, and I had a couple field mice (the small, cute kind, not the big hairy rat kind) that wanted to camp in my utility room. I didn't want to share my home with them either, but I couldn't kill them. What can I say? I'm a Jersey Hick with a heart. In the dead of winter I trapped the mice with "Mice Cubes" from Walmart. Seriously, these are the best traps I ever used, and it doesn't kill them. I'd walk them down the end of the street and let them go near the woods. I sorta always assumed they would go right for the nearest house, but hey, that was on them. I gave them a shot.
Eventually we decided to knock down the garage, and I never thought about Harry. That was very inconsiderate of me. The next winter, I bought my mice traps and checked them everyday. Nothing. Hmmm. That was weird, because every winter we would get them. The whole winter went by and no mice. One night while I was lying in bed, I figured out why. I heard something shift upstairs in the attic. It is a creepy thing to hear something like that, and it sounded big. Really big. It also sounded like something was being dragged across the floor.
I sent my husband into the attic-- You didn't think I was going, did you? He found a snake skin. Harry grew. Harry was now eight feet long. Apparently when we knocked down the garage, Harry made residence in the attic and decided to do some decorating as his slithered across my attic. He also ordered room service and must have eaten the mice that normally lived in my utility room. After some careful thought, I figured it was better to have an 8 ft snake in the attic who never leaves his room, than mice in the main part of the house that could nibble in my kitchen.
After my dalmatian, Rainy, passed away, I joined a dalmatian rescue and fostered two dalmatians who had been abused and neglected. Harry and the dogs had a slight disagreement as to whose yard it was. Harry struck at the dogs like a cobra, it was scary and fascinating at the same time. The snake did not have a chance if the dogs worked together, but he wasn't giving up. I got the dogs before a physical confrontation ensued. But... I soon found out... Harry was really Harriet. She had a nest near the creek she was tying to defend.
This was not the only snake in the house incident I ever had. As a kid, I was in the living room playing the Atari 2600. My mother was washing the dishes and putting them in the cabinet above her head. She is so short, "five foot nothing" as we say. She start yelling, "Who put a rope in the cabinet with the dishes? What are you kids up to?"
Now think about this a second. She was a grown woman who could barely reach in the cabinet.... how did she think my brother and I would reach it? And WHY would we have rope. It was too close to the kitchen sink.... near the dirty dishes... near "chore' activity. Do you really think kids would be anywhere near work????
She reached in to pull out the "rope" and found a five foot long snake in her hand. She screamed for me to help her. I was like 8 years old, what was I supposed to do? I jumped on a table and screamed. Then I ran outside and found a neighbor kid. The boys in the neighborhood loved fishing, turtle trapping and other animal oriented stuff. So a boy named Bobby came in and grabbed the end of the snake. It quickly wrapped the rest of its body around the thin strip of wood between the two open cabinet doors.
Bobby was not the brightest star in the sky, and started pulling the snake's tail. The entire cabinet work start shaking as he pulled and pulled. Had he stopped, it might have relaxed and tried to slither away where he could grab it, but no. With one last pull, he not only ripped the snake down, but also pulled down the entire cabinet structure.
"Uh, sorry, Mrs. D'Ettore." He held up his prize, "but I got the snake."
I hope you enjoyed this edition of Short & Silly! Please be kind enough to share it on Facebook & Twitter, and subscribe on the RSS button on the right.
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