Menopause plus a teenager equals wine
In the beginning there were four clean teenage boys at the beach.
And clothed.
Then the dog headed for cover.
Because she sensed what was coming.
But one was not enough.
Thus we see what teenage boy bliss looks like.
Until next time-
C
At least there are no dirty socks and underwear.
Until next time-
C
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“Can I borrow $20.00?”
“Sure, but can I ask what for?”
“Yeah I guess so. I need to buy you a Father’s Day gift.”
Happy Father’s Day to all of you who finance your own presents. I hope you had a wonderful day.
Until next time-
C
Until next time -
C
During Christmas vacation when I was in grade school, my father would tell us to put on our warm coats and get in the car. It was Christmas lights hunting night. I’d grab my favorite coat and run out the front door.
My brother and I would race to the car, shoving and pushing to get the seat behind my dad in the old Impala. The air was crisp and cold, the stars bright and our breath appeared like puffs of smoke in front of our our faces. In the true spirit of Christmas, one of us would call the other, “stupid” or “jerk” and my dad would give us his “knock it off or we aren’t going” look.
My mother always brought hot cocoa in a thermos with extra cups, some napkins while ushering us into the car. If I tripped my brother just right I sometimes managed the proverbial choice seat behind my dad. Excitement crackled the air. This was the beginning of the last nights before Christmas.
After enduring weeks and hours of Catholic masses, bending to our knees, smelling incense, beating our chests with rosary beads and dodging holy water in our hair we are finally able to enjoy the more commercial side of Christmas. My father finds a radio station with Christmas music as my mother begins to sing.
We’d drive the back roads of Sonoma County making our way to Santa Rosa’s West side, known then as the Montgomery Village area. There, known to everyone is a street called, Christmas Tree Lane. It is a looped street with large one-story homes, massive front lawns, and everyone, and I say, everyone on this loop decorated their homes for Christmas.
We’d hold our breaths as my dad turns the car onto the Lane and the first Christmas display reveals itself. Lot’s of “ohhhh’s, awwws and oh my God’s” echo through the car. My dad pulls the car over we’d sit gazing at the row of homes covered in all varying types of Christmas decorations. There were the many manger scenes, some with actual sheep, large wooden statues of elves, Santa flying on a roof, angels hanging from trees, flashing stars, giant sized presents and figures with a mix of large Christmas lights.
We’d slowly move down the street pointing out every little detail. I was sure Santa was a secret angel who created this magic just for us. Towards the end of the loop my father would flip a u-turn and park the car with the heater running. My mother would pour the hot chocolate and we’d sit there thinking up stories about the people who lived in these houses. I expected Santa to come running down the street and wave yelling, “Catherine you are getting the life-size Barbie this year!”
But her never did.
Finally, when we felt we had seen it all, and my dad would slowly drive out of the loop, out from Christmas Tree Lane. I was sure the people who lived there had some special relationship with Santa and their kids probably got amazing gifts.
Tonight Brian and I went for our Look at Christmas Lights Night. They aren’t as plentiful as the once were, although we can find that occasional small blocks that out shine the rest of Santa Rosa. There is one favorite of ours where Santa’s reindeer are towing a classic VW Bug. We laugh every time we see it.
Merry Christmas everyone.
Until next time-
C
Only in my world, is humor mixed within tragedy.
Saturday, Dale my new boss stops by my home to drop off some financials and commercial development deals for me to work through while he is up North dealing with his father’s death.
Now mind you, I didn’t know he was coming, so there I was in house cleaning mode. Cleaning mode is no shower, hair up in a high bent pigtail, ugly sweats, barefoot, no make up and some god awful holy t-shirt. Oh yes, and my worst bra.
You see … I am one of those old-fashioned cleaning types, who scrubs everything on their hands and knees. The very last thing I do is take a shower. I clean the tub just before I bathe. I end the cleaning day all clean myself, and sit down to a nice glass of Pinot.
However, Dale arrives at 11:00 am, just after I scrubbed the kitchen floor and am in the bathroom cleaning the toilet. This is definitely not clean, Pinot Catherine. Visualize bright green rubber gloves with your lovely picture of my cleaning self and you can imagine what I look like as I round the corner to the sound of his “Hello” coming through the screen door.
There he is all 6 foot, god-of-something feet tall, dark Amazon man in shorts, a pressed t-shirt – sporting a tan. I’d smile big to distract him, but I haven’t brushed my teeth. I don’t want to turn him to stone.
In he comes right into my mid-morning cleaning. I notice Brian has dirty underwear at the entrance to his bedroom. I am hoping Dale won’t look that way, as I wonder how they missed the laundry I just completed.
Dale sits right down at my dining room table piled high with folded laundry. He opens his leather bag and begins pulling out documents. We make small talk, as I try to smell myself when he’s not looking. I am sure I smell something of laundry soap, boys old socks, Pinesol and dirty water.
Then my heart stops.
His left arm is resting on the pile of my folded underwear.
To the left of his hand, my folded bra – looking like some white boob laying face up on the table.
“Please God strike me with lightning at this moment and remove me from this place – NOW!”
Luckily Dale doesn’t seem to notice, or he is ignoring the pile. I, however cease to hear another word he says, because my eyes are fixated on my folded panties and white lace boob sitting on the table. I am in hell.
After what seems like three years, Dale finally has to leave. He gets up and says goodbye. To my relief my underwear isn’t clinging to his arm hair. Brian begins to come out of his room and steps on his dirty underwear while saying bye to Dale. Of course, Dale glances down at Brian’s feet. He grins. Well… Dale does have 5 children – 4 boys and 1 girl. He says nothing but a “Bye” to Brian.
Is there is big hole for me to jump into yet?
As he walks away I check out his backside to make sure none of my laundry is sticking to him. I am sure Cinderella had it better. At least no mice ran across Dale’s path as he walked out the door.
Until next time-
C
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