tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-88235661341809807082024-03-05T20:38:02.524-05:00Mind Over MullisI don't have an empty nest. I have a cuckoo's nest!Amy Mullishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09650408133826832302noreply@blogger.comBlogger560125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8823566134180980708.post-46340423866201570342024-01-08T07:33:00.000-05:002024-01-08T07:33:04.395-05:00<p> </p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b>Only Make Believe</b><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I can’t believe they won’t let me move my stable.” I huffed
at the unfairness of video game logic.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My son, voice dripping irritably with common sense and
reason, “So you’re upset because your imaginary horses can’t get to your
imaginary barn?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“It’s on an island, so there’s not much space. The bride and
groom don’t have room to get out.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Right.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My son doesn’t understand the urgency. I recently installed
a game on my tablet that runs on hidden pictures, and I have to buy items with
game currency to fuel the game to produce more hidden picture scenes. It’s all
very technical.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I need to organize my decorations before my observatory
finishes renovating or the stable won’t fit.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He squinted over my shoulder at the cartoon island.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“It says you have 11 hours and 29 minutes to go. I could
clean my room in that much time.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Let’s see it.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I thought we were still talking make believe.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I have to hurry. I have two wedding carriages and they
shouldn’t be near each other.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I don’t even want to know why.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“They should each have their own wedding experience.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Are there any
imaginary people inside the imaginary wedding carriages?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“No.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“And what is that?” he pointed to a sandy pit.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“That’s a Zen garden. People go there for peace and
contentment.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“It looks like a litter box.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“It doesn’t fit anywhere. Last night I dreamed the wedding
carriage got stuck in it.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“You’re having nightmares about your peace garden? Who
designed this game, Stephen King?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“They said the lighthouse is haunted.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Who said? Your imaginary people?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“No, that wouldn’t make sense. The lighthouse keeper said
it.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“There’s a lot of empty buildings and the keeper of a
haunted lighthouse? Where is Scooby Doo and Shaggy? In the carnival tent?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“You talk big for somebody who plays a game full of
chickens.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Those chickens are saving the world.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“If I see one chicken on my island, we’re having it for
dinner.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Let me see your tablet.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He performed some magical flourishes over the surface of my
tablet and handed it back.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Wedding crisis averted.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Where is my carriage and flower-strewn path?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“On your cargo ship.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I have a cargo ship?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Yep. They’re going to have their unique wedding experience
on board.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“But where will they go on their honeymoon?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Well I don’t want to give you ideas, but. . . “<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Yes?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Your haunted lighthouse and nightmare litter box make a
package Scooby would die for.”<o:p></o:p></p>Amy Mullishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09650408133826832302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8823566134180980708.post-80490928519385606072022-12-18T20:40:00.004-05:002022-12-18T20:54:46.640-05:00<p style="text-align: center;"> <b>Christmas Symptom Countdown</b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheqrBvuZff5Lsnsj1y5mxlU01SRi-Nt49S4PBJCuBMwjP2oWa2smUPRPsC4z1Nme-LS_awZQP8rkzDaEFHPYI7I0ux2xzH1KlOZ5u328_bYbqdHCQp0zu1ZsDt-T_RpiAqlt76nuXrAWGwnqnhowmKpSSkqKfqlamvzT3GUa9hzmMxYfkVRAuhYqt7pg/s1288/anniversarymasks.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="966" data-original-width="1288" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheqrBvuZff5Lsnsj1y5mxlU01SRi-Nt49S4PBJCuBMwjP2oWa2smUPRPsC4z1Nme-LS_awZQP8rkzDaEFHPYI7I0ux2xzH1KlOZ5u328_bYbqdHCQp0zu1ZsDt-T_RpiAqlt76nuXrAWGwnqnhowmKpSSkqKfqlamvzT3GUa9hzmMxYfkVRAuhYqt7pg/s320/anniversarymasks.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">It’s been a year since I retired. And now that the
pumpkins are packed away and Christmas is hovering just around the cranberry
sauce comes the season I anticipate all year. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">The joyous season of “I’ve Met My Medical Insurance Deductible”
is upon us.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;">The beginning of Advent marks the time allotted to visit
all the doctors who have an interest in my health plan before New Year’s draws
the curtain and the annual Rite of CoPay It Forward begins anew. It’s a lottery
of how many doctors I can fit on my physical symptoms Bingo card before
December ends and that mysterious rash goes unrequited. I count down with my Days
of the Week pill caddy.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;">It seems like I’ve won the medical specialist lottery. These
days I collect professionals whose titles end in -ist like TikTok followers
collect new dance moves. I keep cardiologists in my contact list the way the
Kardashians keep cosmetologists. My days rotate around medical tests. The Cologuard
people send me flowers on my birthday and the local mortuary offered me a
discount on my final arrangements.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;">It wasn’t always this way. The second I lit that 60<sup>th</sup>
candle on my birthday Triple Decker Hot Fudge Chocolate Madness, my knee went
out, my heart skipped a beat, and the skin in my neck draped over my chest like
Spanish moss. I used to toot my own horn; now I can’t lift my knee without
banging my gong.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;">I’m not the type that revels in sickness to get extra
attention. I’d rather shave my legs with a cheese grater than have a
well-meaning Boy Scout help me across the street. If I want somebody who
worries about my every need, I’ll trade my cat for a Golden Retriever. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;">I’m the youngest sibling in my family. Now that we’re all
retired, our family potlucks have turned into a medical version of Rock, Paper,
Scissors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Neurologist beats Cardiologist,
Cardiologist takes out Orthopedist, Oncologist wipes out Neurologist. We swap
for medical supplies instead of gifts. Last year I got the grand prize. It was
an enema kit and a picture of George Clooney.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;">I can hardly wait for the results of my physical to let me
know what I can’t eat this year. Carbs are out, sugar is out, salt is out. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;">Maybe I’ll just go out.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;">Merry Christmas to all. With no side effects.<o:p></o:p></p><br /><p></p>Amy Mullishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09650408133826832302noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8823566134180980708.post-63194315402189690822022-11-24T14:05:00.004-05:002022-11-24T14:05:50.039-05:00<p>Thanks to Dale for reminding me of this memory. Thankful I didn't serve Bill up for Thanksgiving. (First published in Huffington Post.)</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkypuZ2sKEC9Ol9xN6q669lpMOD22zsjKS7OqvT_zle9eXnoeRuls5mJbaA6WQZWm4smxf6NBNEJaSDU6kVGPMbFPUlkUn-A9ArzCgQVjB0oBwxKSPuTBaLhlIC0YVQ18UOvqatNbxdw8heghdG0xfo5eHynN4IMEn_oW_jS4fc8jB1k-POPPrfqYFvQ/s2026/FigFeast.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2026" data-original-width="1745" height="165" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkypuZ2sKEC9Ol9xN6q669lpMOD22zsjKS7OqvT_zle9eXnoeRuls5mJbaA6WQZWm4smxf6NBNEJaSDU6kVGPMbFPUlkUn-A9ArzCgQVjB0oBwxKSPuTBaLhlIC0YVQ18UOvqatNbxdw8heghdG0xfo5eHynN4IMEn_oW_jS4fc8jB1k-POPPrfqYFvQ/w142-h165/FigFeast.jpg" width="142" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">The Cough Drop<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>Bill and I were sitting in that special kind of traffic jam
that comes just before the holidays and is the result of a small town growing
like an overdose victim of Jack’s magic beans, leaving mundane things like
convenience and city planning behind.
The roads were packed like the straw in a peach milkshake. Fruit gets stuck in the end, all movement
stops, and nobody gets any relief. With
a milkshake you can pull out the straw and suck the peach pulp out. With overburdened roads, the obvious answer
is to block off one lane with orange cones and commit to a ten-year
construction project.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We had dropped our kids off at a mega-bookstore at what
seemed like a short time earlier, doling out the last bite-sized candy bars
from Halloween left in the bottom of my pocketbook to hold them until we got
back and could hit a nearby buffet extravaganza. Sometimes eating out, even with two teenaged
mouths to feed, is a better idea than a sound investment plan. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>In the meantime, the Highway Patrol issued an
all-points-bulletin to every mall-bound traveler in the area, describing our
location, destination, and current state of irritability. That’s the only reasonable explanation for
the fact that our car began to attract morons like a pan of biscuits attracts
men named Bubba. Traffic stalled and
Christmas shoppers begin to share the joy of the season with their fellow
travelers one finger at a time. I
attempted to retain my normal good nature even though Bill was getting testy. He always gets that way when he misses snack
time.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>Bill: Do you have any
more candy in your pocketbook?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>Me: Why? Are you hungry?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>Bill: No, I thought I
would toss some out the window to lure people out of our lane.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>Me: You’re being sarcastic because you’re too hungry. (Pointing
across six lanes of stationary traffic.) There’s a Wendy’s. And a Chinese buffet. And a pizza place.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>Bill: Are you hungry?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>Me: (Fumbling through
my pocketbook.) No. Why do you keep
bringing it up? There’s that place with
the wonderful barbecue ribs. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>(I find a cellophane-wrapped object which I pull
surreptitiously from my bag. I wince as
a tiny crinkling sound gives me away.)</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>Bill: What’s that?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>Me: Nothing.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>Bill: What <i>is</i> it?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>Me: <i>Nothing.</i>
Leave me alone, willya?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>Bill: You have food.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Me: No I don’t. It’s a cough drop. (Here I wave the cough drop with a
flourish. It’s of a nondescript color
somewhere in between magenta and pink eye.)</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>Bill: I want half.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>Me: It’s mine. I found it.
(I fondle the cough drop like it was the One Ring.)</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Bill:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We can take
turns licking it.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Me: (Pensively) I
don’t think I’ve bought any cough drops this year. . .not since I had the flu
that year we had the big snow.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>Bill: You can have
it.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Me: No you. I can wait.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Bill: I can wait,
too.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We laughed together, the warm laughter of two people coming
together over misfortune.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Under cover of the laughter, I shucked the paper off the
cough drop like it was a peel and eat shrimp and popped it in my mouth.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Just then traffic parted like the men’s restroom line for a
father-daughter combination. Nothing
clears the tracks like a man doing daddy-duty with a lace-clad toddler in tow. We picked up the boys, and wheeled into a
nearby restaurant.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Bill: See, it all
turned out okay because we made sacrifices and worked together. That’s what Thanksgiving is all about.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We all smiled at each other like the Brady Bunch on the 29<sup>th</sup>
minute of each 30 minute show. And I
secretly gave thanks for a cough drop appetizer that kept me from acting like a
turkey.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Amy Mullishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09650408133826832302noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8823566134180980708.post-63410853308617022832022-11-11T16:35:00.005-05:002022-11-11T16:39:31.311-05:00<p style="text-align: center;"> <b>Love and Lawn Care</b><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAxtCQYV_6nHGb-I9-55tnpoijrFNKm623NcCEFkNjNV1nRykUZbud9qMmi-065HQYGElgqUnq3X7VgTkHE6htSPpRTX5qqUCNnMI5tnEQhhyAL4n7DDH0MDUNq5yme-1fnftAK7I6RR_YPVR5JYdT6pRqPI57omdd4_pk6y1ee0Hgd0x5X-Njup7w6g/s1600/GardenMastuh.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAxtCQYV_6nHGb-I9-55tnpoijrFNKm623NcCEFkNjNV1nRykUZbud9qMmi-065HQYGElgqUnq3X7VgTkHE6htSPpRTX5qqUCNnMI5tnEQhhyAL4n7DDH0MDUNq5yme-1fnftAK7I6RR_YPVR5JYdT6pRqPI57omdd4_pk6y1ee0Hgd0x5X-Njup7w6g/s320/GardenMastuh.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>As hurricane-driven rain pounded the windows, I scanned an
advertisement for getaway packages to my favorite hotel located on the shore of
my favorite beach.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Look,” I said to the Captain of my Love Boat who was
staring out the window as the mole holes filled with water. “They have a holiday
package for Jingle Bell lovers, a Paws package for Floof lovers, and a Romance
package for. . .”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Great Gophers! Can you believe that!?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“So much for romance. What is it?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“That guy next door is working on his yard again. In the
middle of a Category 3!”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My guy doesn’t normally escalate above tropical storm level.
He’s so cool, the ice in his tea doesn’t melt. The last time I saw him this
upset was when the same guy took his new lawn tractor for a spin in our yard. I called it being neighborly. He
called it trespassing and threatened to border our yard with the kind of spikes
that make hay out of John Deere’s tires.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“He wants to make sure his yard looks nice come spring.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“He wants to make me look like I learned lawn care on a
seaweed farm.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I waved the hotel brochure like a white flag.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Why don’t we take a nice trip where someone else takes care
of maintenance? They have a romantic getaway with chocolate covered strawberries
and rose petals.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“They have chocolate covered rose petals?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“No, they sprinkle them around to look nice.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“When they’re sprinkled around our yard you make me rake
them up.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“We could get the Paws Package and take the dog.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Remember when we let the dog sleep with us? It smelled like
burning tires in our bedroom for a week.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I tossed the beach brochure in the recycle-when-we-remember
bin. "Let’s just order pizza delivery for the guy next door and turn in for a
nap when he stops mowing to gorge on pepperoni.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Now that’s a romance package. I don’t have rose petals, but
the rosemary in the yard is going to seed.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It goes to show. The weeds in your garden just might be the
spice of life.<o:p></o:p></p>Amy Mullishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09650408133826832302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8823566134180980708.post-72596211132244493272022-08-25T12:46:00.003-04:002022-08-25T15:45:30.684-04:00<p><b> CAT AND MOUSE</b></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKbl62_UBnRoyHTZC6blQyO3b2B9Y8c8XpBR9K91oTlRA98verGhxINbL7qIyvpB8y-cru_N1v8i2Hycsgg4eFcZ_CJFrxKUE0c4jQ4I27FiF-pFETog9yLLdhL5EG7QCJZjmk8Q8WiELb4CbuwGkpJ85wZ497NtJUxOKRTPwz6Wl80ozSkNIi35Gy_Q/s297/IMG_2220%20(002).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="297" data-original-width="237" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKbl62_UBnRoyHTZC6blQyO3b2B9Y8c8XpBR9K91oTlRA98verGhxINbL7qIyvpB8y-cru_N1v8i2Hycsgg4eFcZ_CJFrxKUE0c4jQ4I27FiF-pFETog9yLLdhL5EG7QCJZjmk8Q8WiELb4CbuwGkpJ85wZ497NtJUxOKRTPwz6Wl80ozSkNIi35Gy_Q/s1600/IMG_2220%20(002).jpg" width="237" /></a></div><br /><b><br /></b><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Some people retire to write the great American novel.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Some people retire to beautify their home or garden.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Some people retire and start a second career, helping the
homeless in Martha’s Vineyard.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I play fetch with the cat.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I was relatively easy to train. Sort of like teaching Koko
the gorilla to ask for a banana. But Koko caught on faster. Probably because
she already liked bananas.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Coco, no relation to Koko but just as devious regarding takeout food, brought me the mousey, all white fluff with pink felt eyes and a
distinctive death rattle. I tossed it out of the way. She brought it back again
and gazed at me with the air of excitement I usually exhibit while perusing the dessert cart at a place where somebody with a fancy hat does the cooking.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I was engrossed in an intellectual pursuit on my electronic writing
tablet. By writing I mean gaming. By gaming I mean trying to find the scarf in
a hidden picture scene. Also, I was engaged in begging Siri to solve the day’s
Wordle in less tries than my husband used. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Retirement is a very busy time for those who have multiple
interests. And I’m pretty sure my husband lies about Wordle.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I tried to ignore her, with her big green eyes, quivering
whiskers, and six-inch claws plunged into my leg.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I don’t like to brag, but because I was the only one not
afraid to risk a broken nose by looking up to catch a fly ball, I was the star
right fielder the year my church had a girl’s softball team, and therefore qualified
to toss a few practice rounds of fluffy toy mousey with the cat.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I forgot two things:</p><p class="MsoNormal">1. That softball season hidden in the clouds of time took place in 1974. That's almost half a century in mousey years.</p><p class="MsoNormal">2. Cats have more persistence than a car warranty salesman.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I threw the mouse enough that I was eligible for Tommy John
surgery.</p><p class="MsoNormal">Now if I could just get her to bring me a banana.</p>
<br />Amy Mullishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09650408133826832302noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8823566134180980708.post-67797918476717353122022-05-11T11:54:00.005-04:002022-05-11T11:56:21.388-04:00<p style="text-align: center;"><b></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMS05J_rnvhszUP1UQiTPCTGFkRpawKPyYWxetWXojA6VqKxzy9sv7zHSrbX2Klsaqjr8q7Feb35JR73ShqZB_XPb1qsS6nSQ7Cje1LLTpDRx8FLB1C7Gnzb98cV52cXDpPJNa-LVDFGlaCaE6pui9AGtuM3tvAgryxb3X7zukcQxhBYIoFK58oCAfoQ/s2592/IMG_20190928_132131907.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1944" data-original-width="2592" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMS05J_rnvhszUP1UQiTPCTGFkRpawKPyYWxetWXojA6VqKxzy9sv7zHSrbX2Klsaqjr8q7Feb35JR73ShqZB_XPb1qsS6nSQ7Cje1LLTpDRx8FLB1C7Gnzb98cV52cXDpPJNa-LVDFGlaCaE6pui9AGtuM3tvAgryxb3X7zukcQxhBYIoFK58oCAfoQ/s320/IMG_20190928_132131907.jpg" width="320" /></a></b></div><b><br /> STEPPING OUT</b><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">"I do what?"</p><p class="MsoNormal">“A half step. Like a baby step. But with bigger feet.”</p><p class="MsoNormal">The Captain and I are standing face-to-face in the living
room. We’ve decided, after a half century of ignoring choreographed moves, that
we should learn the proper way to do the Carolina Shag, the official dance of
the South Carolina coast. Around these
parts children learn to Shag before they learn to blame broken dishes on their
little brother.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Just now we’re stuck at the most difficult part. Getting
started. The Captain can slow dance smoother than morning fog on a bass pond, but when it comes to following directions, it's like asking a cat to walk a straight line.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Which direction do we step?”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I guess toward the beach.”
We are presently five hours and six more weeks of winter away from the
shore. We pause and gaze serenely eastward in honor of the ocean.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“What are you doing?” The Captain wipes his eyes with the
sleeve of his Jimmy Buffett t-shirt and peers at me.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I’m gazing eastward.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>“You’re gazing toward the kitchen. East is the other direction.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>“It’s the thought that counts.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>“You’re thinking of
the cheesecake in the refrigerator.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“It reminds me of the beach”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>“Because it’s round like the sun?”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Because they both remind me my swimsuit doesn’t fit.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We observe a moment of silence in honor of the good things
in life and traitorous swimwear.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He takes my hand. “So
where were we? Half. . .”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Step.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>“Okay.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We immediately step in opposite directions, then back, then
smash each other’s toes into the biological equivalent of strawberry jam. Our arms are locked around each other and we’re stuck
together like purse-bottom postage stamps. Every time he breathes, my glasses
fog up in a half moon shape.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I glare at him through a sliver of light at the bottom of my
right lens. “The men on the video were light on their feet.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>He grimaced and limped to a chair. “I wish you were light on my feet.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>“You need to practice. You’re supposed to look like you’re
hovering just above the ground.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“The last thing I saw hovering was just above swamp level in
a bad science fiction movie.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> “What happened in the
movie?”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“The hovering thing got beat up before I got the butter on
my popcorn.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“So you don’t want to learn the Shag?”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I’d rather line the bed of my truck in taffeta and throw an
afternoon tea for the Sugar Tit chapter of the Hell’s Angels.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>“The only motorcycle in town belongs to Old Man Pirkle, the
Volunteer Fireman and Assistant Mayor.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>“We could just watch You Tube demos and eat cheesecake.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>“Turn on the laptop. We have six more weeks to buy a
swimsuit.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><br /><p></p>Amy Mullishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09650408133826832302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8823566134180980708.post-20410661943888533112022-05-03T11:54:00.004-04:002022-05-03T17:34:24.418-04:00<p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimBw4vFGUrMmpO9edXtEgB6cZyYPhpswYiK2zk3d5YH3PM9pUTi7Jzix388chtGGk9y8PGHqIF4LiuhSdn_xMTkKG5vFuNddAYWKR2rQNKx2KKPXuGd-L4N0YXeDoVKZ08AIltzCC70x7f_MD1XITGWTO0kAsXj-5mg7jVMhfyWWF9fmSyxDuS6SN_zA/s1280/toilet-g58f9174a9_1280%20(002).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="1280" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimBw4vFGUrMmpO9edXtEgB6cZyYPhpswYiK2zk3d5YH3PM9pUTi7Jzix388chtGGk9y8PGHqIF4LiuhSdn_xMTkKG5vFuNddAYWKR2rQNKx2KKPXuGd-L4N0YXeDoVKZ08AIltzCC70x7f_MD1XITGWTO0kAsXj-5mg7jVMhfyWWF9fmSyxDuS6SN_zA/s320/toilet-g58f9174a9_1280%20(002).jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b>POTTY BLOSSOMS</b></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I didn’t do it intentionally; I avoided it with
tenacity for half a century, even when the neighbors added a creative touch. But somehow it happened without my consent, which
is the sort of thing that will get your name in the news these days if you’re
not careful.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I am one of <i>those</i> people. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Through no fault of my own and in a twisted turn of fate
that makes me question my life choices, I’ve<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>sprouted a toilet in my back yard. I've taken in many things over the years - cats, dogs, an escaped ferret, even a baby possum. But this is my first time to play host to a passing potty. The term Squatter's Rights takes on a whole new meaning.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">A plain, white nonfunctional no-value-added porcelain pot is nesting by my back gate. It’s
not situated in a cunning garden sunhouse that serves as the urban equivalent
of a greenhouse/outhouse combination. This is a two-piece victim of a hasty
removal job and a failed prayer, nestled in a bed of weeds and wild onions like
an out-of-date Easter egg. A Peter Rabbit practical joke.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I can’t decide whether to plant geraniums in it or to top it
with a beach-themed cushion for a jaunty seaside-inspired cabana spot. It’s sort
of like a Kodak moment that you don’t want anybody to see.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I didn’t start out to be a plumbing failure. Life has a way
of turning your best laid plans into sewage and before you know it – boom – you’re
a casualty of a flush with death.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We are not Do-It-Yourself people. We’re lucky to open our
own envelopes. My husband can build a supercomputer from the ground up with
spare parts from a Waring blender, but faced with a simple flood of Biblical
proportions in the bathroom, he acts like Noah had the right idea: hop a passing
raft and row like crazy. This is not something you can turn off and on again to
see if it rights itself.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So when the fixture in the bathroom put out enough
whitewater rapids to start a rafting expedition, my team ripped the thing from
its moorings and pitched it out the back door like a ninth inning fastball. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And time passed. And seasons changed.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Now it’s baseball season again. The tulips have bloomed, the
dogwood has blossomed, and the crepe myrtle is fuzzy with new growth.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In the meantime, a leafy green vine awash in tiny white
flowers has wound around my backyard porcelain, giving it an air of casual domestication,
sort of like Mother Nature’s version of Shabby Chic.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I guess everybody celebrates Spring in their own
fashion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In Augusta, the Masters has
acres of azaleas, Washington is sprinkled with delicate cherry blossoms, and
the Midwest is bathed in fields of sunflowers. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But in my little corner of the country--just below the Bible
Belt and just above the Sweet Tea Bag--we have our pottied plants. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p></p>Amy Mullishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09650408133826832302noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8823566134180980708.post-13138126365272996762022-02-23T16:21:00.005-05:002022-02-23T16:28:16.444-05:00<p style="text-align: center;">WONDER-FULL</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiNuWObujLG2sq6Oa1dG21yyyJuBgopXUMQ9Df9L_ikbhR3v0wRYLmBn5PPqbKSV3fJ0kc3ZNQ8LwXdXBFR9WQl69SHuIUnAE9KQ7ikOZrjHE23oYzd7W8TAT_lUYdPqxyhSkDwYEZKf2PKde2rYtUdan7luv0Ecuo26ZcbekzrjIALjNdGh4BYD-87TQ=s320" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="240" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiNuWObujLG2sq6Oa1dG21yyyJuBgopXUMQ9Df9L_ikbhR3v0wRYLmBn5PPqbKSV3fJ0kc3ZNQ8LwXdXBFR9WQl69SHuIUnAE9KQ7ikOZrjHE23oYzd7W8TAT_lUYdPqxyhSkDwYEZKf2PKde2rYtUdan7luv0Ecuo26ZcbekzrjIALjNdGh4BYD-87TQ=w185-h248" width="185" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Dear Wonder® Bread People,</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">First, let me acknowledge that I’m aware I eat wrong. You can generally view the day’s menu offerings cascading down the front of my shirt like Niagara Falls after the spring thaw. I consider gravy an accessory and ketchup splotches a classic look akin to Coco Chanel’s little black dress. So it could be my fault.</p><p class="MsoNormal">I checked the package. You said I could put all the toppings I want on your extra soft bun. You DID NOT say that <a name="_Hlk96521686">mayonnaise would melt the fibers of the bread like hot </a>butter on a brown biscuit. Imagine the difficulties involved in holding enough pieces of bread together to make a fair-sized quilt while keeping the meat from jettisoning out the back of the bun into the drooling mouth of the hippo-sized terrier waiting in hope beside my chair.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">The onions, seasoned and grilled to glistening perfection moments before, oozed down my arms into my lap, and since onions are on the doggie no-fly list, I engaged in evasive maneuvers to prevent them from becoming dog chow. This action resulted in a perky elbow flap repetition reminiscent of the Chicken Dance that is so popular at parties.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">As I was waving my elbows to prevent the onset of onion catastrophe and rearranging my fingers like I was playing a flute solo in order to keep my bun from launching into space, a potato chip dropped to the floor. Since it was covered in the sort of barbecue that elicits unspeakable lethal aromas from the dog in question, I shuffled my feet to keep dog and potato chip from joining forces. If I had those moves all the time, I would be champion of my Dance, Dance video.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Meanwhile, my son strolled into the kitchen just in time to catch my Bun Dance, and although your buns are enriched, mine are not, so I regret the video that is set to trend on all available social media.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Wonder People, let’s be friends. I’m not interested in achieving the status of Thanksgiving Queen Sharon, whose<a href="https://www.boredpanda.com/karen-burns-her-pie-blames-marie-callenders-people-react/?utm_source=google&utm_medium=organic&utm_campaign=organic"> burnt</a> Marie Callendar pumpkin pie set the Internet on fire along with her dinner. I just want to know the peace of launching into my lunch without having the bun split down the middle like the Earth in a dinosaur-era meteor strike.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Let's get together on this. All people could benefit from a warning label on your package right beside the picture-perfect hamburger overflowing with condiments.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">“Caution: Cracked Buns May Go Viral!"<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Thank You.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Amy Mullishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09650408133826832302noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8823566134180980708.post-34297497958305574722022-02-14T13:23:00.004-05:002022-02-16T15:06:23.270-05:00<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><span face=""Verdana",sans-serif" style="color: black; font-size: 10pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: black;">POINT AND SHOOT<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEho0PXDyep43teeRvpAm2ErLg2VaDRJKVaKHZt8oSZS7GVBuSJbWhR4rdEfaBjI6w7KmohdYHOdAaLfQyZkq__rXDVDjmLTCYVSQ4JuehYIO83KvWxzB-sQ1n88oMrU7UPPXlKZiKeg-v17N1iuMIjQbjuyMAH06qGMroWEVpAtYWR4XcHz-02K2j3C0g=s1493" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1478" data-original-width="1493" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEho0PXDyep43teeRvpAm2ErLg2VaDRJKVaKHZt8oSZS7GVBuSJbWhR4rdEfaBjI6w7KmohdYHOdAaLfQyZkq__rXDVDjmLTCYVSQ4JuehYIO83KvWxzB-sQ1n88oMrU7UPPXlKZiKeg-v17N1iuMIjQbjuyMAH06qGMroWEVpAtYWR4XcHz-02K2j3C0g=w226-h224" width="226" /></a></div>I was born in February and I’m a
little concerned that the symbol for my birthday month is a fat, naked stalker
baby with underdeveloped wings and a bow and arrow. I don’t know about you, but
I go some places a baby should be afraid to follow, even one armed with
projectiles. <p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black;">Somehow the thought of an
undiapered toddler, especially one packing a weapon designed to shoot warm
fuzzies, accompanying me to the mall clearance sales and auto-flushers seems
horribly inappropriate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I still bear a
French manicure-shaped scar from reaching for a cunning pair of Capri pants on
the red dot clearance rack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If that
naked baby grabs the last pair of Prada pumps on the sale table, he’s likely to
lose something more important than a finger.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black;">I can see why he’s armed. Anybody
named Cupid who goes parading around in his birthday suit here in the red mud
section of the South is likely to suffer grievous knuckle prints from guys
named Pork Chop or Tiny. And if he ventures out to watch the Nascar drivers go
fast and turn left, he just may get tire marks someplace where parking is
prohibited.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black;">So just to be sure we’re on the
same track, I checked with Cupid to see how he felt about his job.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="color: black;">Me:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, Cupid, how does it feel to go to work
naked every day?</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black;">Cupid, the God of Love: Well, I
save a lot on dry cleaning and there’s no dress code, so it’s kind of
empowering. I use an awful lot of Chap-Stick, though. I’m trying for a
corporate sponsorship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My endorsement
deals keep me living in the lifestyle of my dreams.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="color: black;">Me:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You dream of flying naked for the rest of
eternity?</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black;">Cupid:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t knock it. Even in the weather that
frosts my feathers, it beats a business suit and 80-hour work weeks. And I
don't have any place to carry a cell phone, so the boss can't ever call me on
my lunch hour.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="color: black;">Me:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But do you think it’s safe for a baby to fly
around by himself?</span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal">Cupid: It’s not like I’m unarmed. (He tested the
point on a heart-tipped arrow.) Hey, I’m the one that made Kanye apologize
to Taylor Swift. I just grazed him enough to let all the hot air out.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>Me: If you’re such a sure shot, why are there so
many divorces? You know, I was married
and divorced before I settled down with the Captain of my Love Boat and I’d
rather have my legs done in the hot wax section of the car wash than go through
that again.</b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Cupid: Hey, everybody makes mistakes. Actually I was
aiming for someone else, but, when you bent over it was like a heat seeking
missile and a barn fire.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black;"><b>Me: So you’re saying the whole
fiasco was my fault?</b><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Cupid: Well every action has an opposite and equal
unexpected consequence. That’s math, you know. Or science. Whatever. I was a Liberal Arts major.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>Me: I can identify with that. I graduated with
honors, but they don’t take GPA in the <st1:address w:st="on"><st1:street w:st="on">Express Lane</st1:street></st1:address> at the Piggly Wiggly.</b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Cupid: Well, don’t be eyeing my job. I had to knock
off a guy with winged feet to get this gig.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>Me: So now that Valentine’s Day is almost past,
it’s the off season for you. What keeps you busy the rest of the year?</b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Cupid: Oh, there’s lots to do. I like to spend part of the summer posing as
a sculpture in a wishing well fountain.
All that loose change comes in handy for the bathroom vending
machines. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>Me: Is that all you do? Make people think their
wishes will come true, then steal their money?</b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Cupid: Of course not. Somebody’s got to keep up with the Kardashian
sisters. And Jennifer Lopez. I think I’m
gonna need a bigger box of arrows.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Amy Mullishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09650408133826832302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8823566134180980708.post-42213830036626011962022-02-02T15:32:00.002-05:002022-02-02T15:33:35.685-05:00<p style="text-align: center;"><b> SECRETS</b></p><p class="MsoNormal">Why is it that you will tell all your secrets to a total
stranger, but won’t give your Facebook password to your firstborn child?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Strolling into Lowe’s because I can’t wait until that shadow-challenged
groundhog gets the weather right so I can purchase my first victim, I mean ornamental
flowering shrub, of the year, I came across a husband-and-wife pair trying out
a fancy chair in the garden department. I’m sure Lowe’s has other departments
because Bill is always announcing he’s going there to buy a part. I’m not sure
what parts he buys or if he’s just going there to sniff the lumber, because I
break more things than he ever fixes, but maybe I’m better at breaking than he
is at fixing. We all excel at something.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">This couple was about my age, which is the age of needing to
sit down as soon as you walk from the parking lot to the front door of the
store, and this chair was the first thing past the bugacide and the weed
killer, so you can see that this store knows what goes on at my house.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">This chair was big enough for two people or one person, a
bag of Oreos and a Big Gulp. It was round like a globe and had cushions all
around the inside. It was just the sort of chair you would snuggle in to read a
book on a rainy day or hide from a solar panel salesman at the door any time.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">This couple tumbled out of the chair with a flourish in just
the same form I use to fall down the front steps when I’m taking the dog out to
soil the lawn. The conversation led to a natural turn of events which, of
course included the fact that I had a comfort height (think vertical stretch limo in porcelain form) toilet and that as far as
I was concerned it might be comfort height for Shaquille O‘Neill, Big Foot, and
the Jolly Green Giant, but for me was reachable only with an Olympic quality
springboard and a trampoline.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We were chatting happily when my son texted me for my
Facebook password. Since this particular defendant is still under investigation for unauthorized
video footage of me napping instead of peeling potatoes for supper, his request
was denied. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Besides, I was busy bidet shopping with my new best friends.<o:p></o:p></p>Amy Mullishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09650408133826832302noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8823566134180980708.post-40822383192504850062022-01-20T11:55:00.003-05:002022-01-20T11:56:37.579-05:00<p> </p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I’m Not the Corn Rake Victim</span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgYRHbcZ-C1Yy9FDl_hIkb93Zh4jEAWAP-5N0u0_SQEpLssYXTiSzCcC5B33xNoh8tXgriGFC87QRKnL2R9CX5bRgZsr0oS782TdqYvlM6SbyRCKqIda6c1Hon1ykMQnMUbLXS_IH-svmfCCANUzIoelZXFRO90vNMbJJtdUO4AQIIG2SmFbvCf9KNKVA=s1288" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="966" data-original-width="1288" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgYRHbcZ-C1Yy9FDl_hIkb93Zh4jEAWAP-5N0u0_SQEpLssYXTiSzCcC5B33xNoh8tXgriGFC87QRKnL2R9CX5bRgZsr0oS782TdqYvlM6SbyRCKqIda6c1Hon1ykMQnMUbLXS_IH-svmfCCANUzIoelZXFRO90vNMbJJtdUO4AQIIG2SmFbvCf9KNKVA=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">You’ve said it. Probably after
you’ve been quarantined with a child who whiled away the time pasting together the
leg holes of all the underwear in the laundry basket with homemade silly putty.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’d write the story of my life, but no
one would ever believe it.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Sure, you’ve had some adventures.
Like the one when you were stopped by the police one dark, foggy night while
dressed as, well, a woman who wears too much makeup for a living. <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Chicken-Soup-Soul-Overcoming-Challenges/dp/1611590760/ref=asc_df_1611590760/?tag=hyprod-20&linkCode=df0&hvadid=509191820350&hvpos=&hvnetw=g&hvrand=17680461327772609030&hvpone=&hvptwo=&hvqmt=&hvdev=c&hvdvcmdl=&hvlocint=&hvlocphy=9010475&hvtargid=pla-1216108215039&psc=1" target="_blank">Okay, maybe that’s just me.</a> But how did the world get to a point where I had to include the
following paragraph when applying for an online job:</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It is important to note
that I am not the woman in the Corn Rake Murder who allegedly suffered a
gruesome death at the hands of her husband, an Iowa pig farmer. Even
acquaintances who Google my name, Amy Mullis, are sometimes astonished that I
am still alive, especially those who know me well. I am sorry for her fate, but
also quite relieved that I am still around to annoy my own husband. But if you
Google me, you are likely to find someone who was not so fortunate.</span></i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Granted, the Captain of my
Love Boat has lived through moments when the thought of throwing me overboard
was just the other side of tempting. And while it’s true that if everyone has a
button that sends them over the edge and down the waterfall of madness, I tend
to nest on his, he has always resisted the urge to aim a farm implement in my direction.
Luckily, the closest we have to a farming tool is a pair of rusty hedge
clippers that turned our dogwood tree into a weeping willow.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">There was the time I crashed
to the floor behind him while climbing on an antique—by antique I mean old, rickety,
and unreliable—stool that he warned me not to use.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Or when I tried to round up
wild dogs.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Or distributed the Easter ham
to the neighborhood feral cat population.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Or when I moved all his clothes
to the front door coat closet to make him feel at home when we got married.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Or when I hit the railroad
tracks at high speed driving him to the hospital when his bladder was on the
verge of exploding.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Maybe I’d better get rid of
the clippers.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Amy Mullishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09650408133826832302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8823566134180980708.post-28384967731526366422022-01-06T16:12:00.004-05:002022-01-06T16:12:52.038-05:00<p> </p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b>SERVED</b><span style="text-align: left;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Why do recipes with more than three ingredients exist? I’m
not counting cheese that you sprinkle on top of things. That’s not an
ingredient, that’s just a law of nature.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Invariably I’m trying out an attractive new meatball on the
buffet table at the Office-Wide Potluck Holiday Food Festival and Grazing Day
when someone says. “This is so easy. You take 16 pounds of free range, home
grown 93% lean ground tofu. . .”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Or I’m flipping through last year’s Southern Living at the
dentist’s office, and I find an enticing photograph of a plate of beguiling
pasta dotted cunningly with out-of-season vegetables and Beluga caviar,
only to turn to the part of the recipe that wasn’t stolen in July by a truck
driver with an abscess and find a list of 43 ingredients including home-harvested
greenhouse oregano that everyone keeps on their pantry shelves.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My pantry is a box I got from the scratch and dent section at Home Depot. It
holds an out-of-date can of cream of celery soup, a jar of Tandoori Chicken
sauce that I’m scared to try, and a pack of macaroni and cheese powder in case
of an Apocalyptic Event. Looking there for help is like having the heroine in a
horror movie look for a flashlight in the darkened cellar.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I have a friend who could make a delicious meal with a bag
of frozen peas, a can of Spaghettios, and the creative use of fresh herbs.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The only fresh herb at my house is crabgrass. I don’t see
that in Martha Stewart’s “must have” items.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But I still have a trick or two up my apron. I have frozen
pizza. I have caramel popcorn.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>And I have Applebee’s on speed dial.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>Amy Mullishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09650408133826832302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8823566134180980708.post-48222598744872550132021-12-24T22:54:00.001-05:002021-12-25T09:41:11.382-05:00<p style="text-align: left;"><i>This piece first appeared in the Huffington Post blog on December 7, 2015. Merry Christmas to the child in all of us.</i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>ILLUMINATION</b></p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjbPgglfzirL2UJBmsMUmCahPg9uSXe5p1dGpPv-aiCLmLfVdrN7yGvvKNmID3g33yVNi0bYXSkZk9tWW-dXpW9VsnFNtWMcT1mdYjmfvakinx7HNOjZh5c-N25rrE8iggdBgBKxiSaf0Dljx3qSeBOQx5aMhQQ1gG8s0r-rsLw5_xOi23uMX3t95tVVw=s1381" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="906" data-original-width="1381" height="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjbPgglfzirL2UJBmsMUmCahPg9uSXe5p1dGpPv-aiCLmLfVdrN7yGvvKNmID3g33yVNi0bYXSkZk9tWW-dXpW9VsnFNtWMcT1mdYjmfvakinx7HNOjZh5c-N25rrE8iggdBgBKxiSaf0Dljx3qSeBOQx5aMhQQ1gG8s0r-rsLw5_xOi23uMX3t95tVVw=w233-h153" width="233" /></a></div> <p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Who knows how old I was?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was the age of strings of lights with screw-in bulbs that squeaked with
age and once-a-year use when you tightened the ones that worked themselves
loose over the seasons. The one in my hand was a dull red, almost dusty rose
with age. How could that be pretty on the tree? How could it shine with the
light of Christmas on our wonderful tree? I wanted to throw it away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But you didn’t waste, not even a single
lackluster bulb that lived in the hidden cupboard under the stairs all the
months of the year save one.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i>Bring that light, Amy.
This one’s broken.</i></p><p class="MsoNormal">I held back, sure the cloudy bulb would ruin Christmas,
would cast an ugly shadow on the beauty and take away the magic of the day.
Mama held out her hand. I dropped the bulb in her open palm and thrust both
hands behind my back. I wanted no part of this.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">There. Let’s plug them
in and see how it looks. Run turn off the lights.<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Toe-lifted, I reached up and turned off the lights. I stared at the wall, not wanting to turn
around.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i>Ohhh! Look!</i>
Assorted sounds of admiration floated like fairies around the room.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I squeezed my eyes shut and turned around on a moment that
hung in time, then chanced a peek through one eye.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It WAS beautiful. All of it was beautiful! And the loveliest
light of all was the red one that shone with a deep, lustrous beam when lit
from inside.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And so do we all.<br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Merry Christmas.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Amy Mullishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09650408133826832302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8823566134180980708.post-75588123121977141732021-12-20T16:16:00.002-05:002021-12-22T10:41:41.189-05:00<p style="text-align: center;"> SNAPPED, SPACKLED, AND POOPED</p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">When the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come starts spreading its merry magic around, anything can happen. One year, the spirit of Snap, Crackle, and Pop possessed me, and with a joyful heart I set about making Rice Krispie treats.</p><p class="MsoNormal">I might not bake like Betty Crocker, but I mix like a lidless
blender. Ingredients disappeared into
the bowl like bathtub toys down the drain.
Seeing what I was up to, my husband volunteered to do a store run to buy
emergency rations of vanilla extract. I’m not normally a baker, but when the
situation calls for it I can preheat like Paula Deen. It was Christmas, and if the kids wanted Rice
Krispie treats to take to school, why I was going to snap and crackle if it
killed me.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I was elbow-deep in white fluff and crunchy bits when the
phone rang. This was prehistoric times, before the days when a cell phone would make it easy to check a shiny screen for pertinent information.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I looked at the phone on the shelf.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I looked at the mass of seasonal sweetness glistening in the
mixing bowl.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Ring Ring</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Surely it was a late night salesman calling with an offer on
reindeer rides or antler cleaners.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Ring Ring</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>O</o:p>r it could be. . .</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Ring Ring</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Santa.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I lunged for the phone.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Across the dog napping by my chair. Across the table. Across the mixing bowl full of sticky,
marshmallow goodness.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Which immediately grabbed my sweater like a Hoover on a
hairball.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I squealed and grabbed at the sticky mass stuck to my
sweater. My hands stuck tight.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The phone rang forlornly. Would Santa wait? I couldn’t take that chance.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I wedged a rubber spatula somewhere very inconvenient for a
spatula to go and tried to pry myself loose from the goo. No luck.
Finally, through the use of my gourmet kitchen superpowers, I pulled a
hand free and grabbed the phone. Crispy
Christmas spirit clung to my clothes like a solidified lava flow.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Hello, Santa?!” </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Dial tone.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I sat back to ponder the situation, one hand stuck to my
shirt in a modified Pledge of Allegiance salute, the other hand held fast to
the telephone, wondering if there was a known antidote for marshmallow crème
super glue.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">About that time the man who promised to love, cherish, and
pick up milk on the way home from work came in the back door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Why didn’t you answer the phone?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wanted to ask you about the ingredients for
the . . .”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I looked up at him, festive clumps of cereal globs hanging
from my sweater like Christmas tree ornaments and marshmallow crème tipping my
eyelashes like disco balls. The black Labrador dozing at my feet dreaming of
sugarplums looked like a Candyland Appaloosa.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">That night I discovered the true meaning of Christmas. Sure,
now I know that the combination of crispy rice cereal and marshmallow crème
must have some sort of unstable effect on the individual ingredients, some sort
of recipe for disaster than an entry-level biology student has memorized. Or
maybe, as my kids suggest, the unstable effect dealt mainly with the cook. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I’m not sure where I went wrong, but the next day my family
strung electrified razor wire around the kitchen door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now I have to sign a consent form to check
out a spatula and I only have access to marshmallow creme when accompanied by a
guardian under the age of 12. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But I learned a good lesson the hard way. When the chips are
down and your snap and crackle have lost their pop, a man who will chisel
petrified puffed rice off of your Partridge in a Pear tree sweater is worth
more than a herd of flying reindeer. He headed right back to the store for a sleigh-load
of store bought Rice Krispie treats.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And these days?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I eat
oatmeal.<o:p></o:p></p><br /><p></p>Amy Mullishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09650408133826832302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8823566134180980708.post-53195458675971006362021-12-08T13:41:00.005-05:002021-12-08T13:41:46.942-05:00<p> </p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">THE DOCTOR IS IN<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">For those of you who gaze wistfully in the distance when I
mention being retired, please understand that this life is fraught with difficulty,
but is waiting nonetheless for you, too, to arrive at the day you can take your
morning shower at three in the afternoon if you so desire.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">For instance, my action-packed schedule today left no time for
reading my overdue library book or baking banana muffins.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Today I ate breakfast in bed. (Thanks #2 Son who is not
afraid to employ technological advances, such as Door Dash, for our mutual
benefit.)<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I had a post-breakfast nap.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And I had a doctor visit.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did all this without
venturing outside in the cold or taking off my bunny slippers. Well, I didn’t
put my bunny slippers on until after the nap, so technically I just had them on
for the doctor, who wasn’t aware of having a conversation with a woman wearing,
among other things, pink Christmas tree earrings and biscuit crumbs.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Normally I’m not a big fan of the telephone, having answered
it professionally (and in some instances very unprofessionally. I once slipped
and called the doctor who employed me Hon) for forty years, but when the doctor’s
office left me a lovely voicemail (see, no phone love here) suggesting I speak
to the doctor by telephone instead of trooping down the stairs in the cold to
the car and engaging in an updated version of Frogger on the highway to get there,
I voted in favor of the phone.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Because I hate cold worse than telecommunication.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So instead of leafing through old magazines in a waiting
room, I whiled away my time shopping online for a desk. Instead of complaining
about the doctor running behind schedule, I played computer games. Instead of
wearing my Leave the House outfit, I donned sweatpants and an old sweater. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And bunny slippers.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The doctor is in. And so am I.<o:p></o:p></p>Amy Mullishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09650408133826832302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8823566134180980708.post-29482941583927783902021-12-02T12:25:00.001-05:002021-12-02T12:25:58.682-05:00<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><b>An Open Letter to the Man Chasing Chickens With a Leaf
Blower</b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I worked in public service for many years, so it’s pretty
tough to throw me a scenario that leaves me speechless.</p><p class="MsoNormal">I worked in a psychiatrist’s office when
answering the phone was a lot like playing <st1:place w:st="on">Hollywood</st1:place>
squares. You never knew if the answer would have anything to do with the
question. </p><p class="MsoNormal">I worked in manufacturing where anything could happen when the
machinery was having a bad hair day, and in a church where everybody on the outside
thinks its peaceful on the inside. </p><p class="MsoNormal">I
have a lot of experience in dealing with the situations that pop up in everyday life.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But I never saw a man chase chickens with a leaf blower. </p><p class="MsoNormal">Until today. </p><p class="MsoNormal">The chickens were racing
toward the road like your driveway was the final stretch at Churchill Downs. You had to
think fast. You reacted with the speed of a mama who hears her toddler answer her phone.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">There are well-paid individuals who make a hearty living
teaching other people to think outside the box. They have seminars and interact
in role playing exercises so that people will find new ways to solve problems.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I’ll bet those guys never thought of herding chickens with a
leaf blower. I don’t really think they could
handle the concept, because they would want to form a committee to find the best solution. They would create a Chicken Chasing Team.</p><p class="MsoNormal">They can think
outside the box.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>B</o:p>ut YOU can think outside the coop.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>Amy Mullishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09650408133826832302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8823566134180980708.post-52494090524130491572021-11-18T09:11:00.003-05:002021-11-18T09:11:24.324-05:00<p style="text-align: center;"> LET'S GO TO THE DOCTOR - MORE RETIREMENT FUN!</p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">One benefit of retirement is that you have extra time for
medical tests. You may believe that there will be extra time for sleeping
longer in the mornings or lingering over cheesecake at lunchtime, but this is
not true. You have to be up early to get to your medical tests before the
doctor has time to fall two hours behind in his schedule, thereby throwing off
your afternoon nap plans.</span></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK8q3Rk0FOdR5xmhrkD5B44a7LD7IS4ixakdFFfji5nKvHLTBQdb7Fgjs6XHqAEOCXCQa_aRwKVdlDjSVVGYOUtXkfSTOnZKDuxpKsOtVtGTmHrf2BPar_QFQ1hFd0YvToZxF14CskABWg/s4160/IMG_20200907_213742545.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3120" data-original-width="4160" height="107" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK8q3Rk0FOdR5xmhrkD5B44a7LD7IS4ixakdFFfji5nKvHLTBQdb7Fgjs6XHqAEOCXCQa_aRwKVdlDjSVVGYOUtXkfSTOnZKDuxpKsOtVtGTmHrf2BPar_QFQ1hFd0YvToZxF14CskABWg/w143-h107/IMG_20200907_213742545.jpg" width="143" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal">One thing doctors are concerned with is measuring things,
such as your blood pressure, which goes up because you have to drive on the highway
to get to the doctor’s office, and your weight, which goes up because you
reward yourself with doughnuts for taking such good care of your health that
you go to the doctor All. The. Time.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Before you retired you probably made many fun plans to
travel and to have lunch with your friends. This will not happen because the
warranty will expire on your body a week after retirement and you will spend
all your time at the doctor learning about replacement parts as if you’re an
old Chevy. Also, your friends are at work and get inexplicably cranky if you
ask them to go to lunch at ten so you can get home for your nap.<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4kNbc9c4KQduQzs6VtDs7HQsj-AwTFuVyyzHHNlFde5UMMs8MnVJE5kThqKY4oIXKsWMQekSw61MdMdlHQx9Ov-ZdEiqrQBYf9gxmktSFcsFiXlKxtTo1wJN6a5ZLey1fdZstPilqXWAl/s1280/LunchMDay.jpb.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="104" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4kNbc9c4KQduQzs6VtDs7HQsj-AwTFuVyyzHHNlFde5UMMs8MnVJE5kThqKY4oIXKsWMQekSw61MdMdlHQx9Ov-ZdEiqrQBYf9gxmktSFcsFiXlKxtTo1wJN6a5ZLey1fdZstPilqXWAl/w138-h104/LunchMDay.jpb.JPG" width="138" /></a></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Sleeping is important in retirement because you have to make
up for 40 years of waking up at ten minutes until dawn and thinking, “Is it
Friday yet?” and pining for retirement because you don’t know yet about the
doctor visits and medical tests. The one time you can’t sleep in retirement is
when the doctor sends you for a sleep test and your eyes stay wide open for
eight hours because you’re in a strange bed, hooked up to 100,000 wires, and
are busy wondering what sort of noises they’ll hear when you’re asleep. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Then they tell you to relax.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">That’s a good time to take your blood pressure.<o:p></o:p></p><br /><p></p>Amy Mullishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09650408133826832302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8823566134180980708.post-21595361176307627592021-11-17T14:44:00.001-05:002021-11-17T14:44:25.794-05:00<p style="text-align: center;"> JOBS WHERE I WOULD GET FIRED THE FIRST DAY</p><p style="text-align: center;">(With many, many thanks to the people who excel at them.)</p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Waitress (Server ) <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The first time someone threw a napkin on the
floor, I would pop them with my tray and give them the “If we want to have a
nice place to live, we clean up our messes“ speech. Then I would take away
their phone and dessert privileges.</p><p></p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Truck
driver. I would stop at every rest station. It would take me a week to deliver
a load to the next town. Also, I can’t reach the pedals.</p><p></p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Bounty hunter for identity thieves and computer
hackers. Unnecessary roughness. With a smile.</p><p></p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>House painter. Aversion to heights. Houses would
have a band of paint that circled the house, reaching 5 feet, two inches above
the ground. Also, I'm likely to paint ornamental shrubbery, potty-bound house pets, and random passersby.</p><p></p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">5.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Caterer. Eating is my jam. I love jam. And all the stuffed mushrooms would disappear along with the icing from the birthday
cupcakes.</p><p></p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">6.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Welder. Fire. Seriously.</p><p></p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">7.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Speech therapist. Not that I have a Southern
accent, but can you imagine learning to pronounce words from someone who
requires five syllables just to say yes? And six to say no.</p><p></p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">8.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Fashion designer. My idea of haute couture is a shirt
that will button across the chest and not ride up to show belly overlap. Also bunny slippers with ears that exceed two inches in height.</p><p></p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">9.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Pet trainer. To me a 100 pound pit bull is a lap
dog that just needs more leg room.</p><p></p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">10.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Teacher. See number 1. Also, I'm cranky if I skip naptime.</p><p></p></blockquote></blockquote><p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p></p><p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p></p><p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p></p><p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p></p><p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p></p><p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p></p><p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p></p><p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p></p><p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p></p><p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><o:p></o:p></p><br /><p></p>Amy Mullishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09650408133826832302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8823566134180980708.post-67888993306499329112021-11-03T14:38:00.000-04:002021-11-03T14:38:07.310-04:00<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b>JUST HIT SEND</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcqdLJr5k0u_KUPSp10f65xrgZt1ByXzlYHRueeI9cTTTjixTmheQpIg6o7KVP0rysh9-MhkV5J3CDjAhfN2J6Kq_aDIafnV0cCpapLf0z3x_XFW6RfqZvs0dLw-MxcKoP2fMoZbcA8Iph/s1600/Keyboard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcqdLJr5k0u_KUPSp10f65xrgZt1ByXzlYHRueeI9cTTTjixTmheQpIg6o7KVP0rysh9-MhkV5J3CDjAhfN2J6Kq_aDIafnV0cCpapLf0z3x_XFW6RfqZvs0dLw-MxcKoP2fMoZbcA8Iph/w166-h198/Keyboard.jpg" width="166" /></a></div><br />Many thanks to <a href="https://www.thewriterscollege.com/just-hit-send/?fbclid=IwAR3P5VErtPPkp3GYL6wBycTok2F0-BGVO2mTZMAitu9G--h1FlZThVhqtbI" target="_blank">The Writers College</a> for showcasing my work. My Just Hit Send group helped me send stories and essays out into the world for many years. That group turned the Enter key from terrifying to terrific!<p></p>Amy Mullishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09650408133826832302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8823566134180980708.post-52538470466906662152021-10-25T10:17:00.000-04:002021-10-25T10:18:37.294-04:00<p></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">HEALTH AND WHAT TO DO
ABOUT IT <o:p></o:p></p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9QvgJ4g0CifWdztCB_bvCnSXZtD1GW1gsTCplW2GBuOy0YlbdullpUBruPjfksjGzTqOg92FKD31x2HC9XTok0fSu2R1u129NFVvLL6oQ5J2az7c5LRaC8KHdRpkRgZcQWCwfyn6AlHsi/s320/PTBand.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="240" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9QvgJ4g0CifWdztCB_bvCnSXZtD1GW1gsTCplW2GBuOy0YlbdullpUBruPjfksjGzTqOg92FKD31x2HC9XTok0fSu2R1u129NFVvLL6oQ5J2az7c5LRaC8KHdRpkRgZcQWCwfyn6AlHsi/s0/PTBand.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">One of the activities I enjoy most about retirement is
taking pills. I never had time to go to the doctor before, but now I see
doctors for body parts I didn’t even know I had. They gave me pills and then gave
me more pills to cure the ailments caused by the first pills. I saw a
commercial for one of my prescriptions on TV. They said it could cause certain
side effects such as death, but not to stop taking it without my doctor’s
permission. I have a feeling my doctor’s brother-in-law is an undertaker.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Also, I graduated from Physical Therapy this week. When it
first started, I didn’t want to go, but then I found out it was really gym
class where you don’t have to wear an unflattering outfit or run laps, and your
insurance pays for it. If high school had been like this, I would have lettered
in track. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My PT instructor gave me a yellow elastic band for resistance
training. I wrote “Police Lines Do Not Cross” on it and hung it on the vacuum
cleaner. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">At Physical Therapy I got to play tennis inside in the air
conditioning while standing in front of a chair in case I wanted to sit down.
My therapist brought me ice water and chased the ball whenever I missed it. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I’m ready for Wimbledon and she lost twenty-five pounds.<o:p></o:p></p><br /><p></p>Amy Mullishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09650408133826832302noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8823566134180980708.post-18793443376950349892021-10-18T13:28:00.001-04:002021-10-18T13:28:58.407-04:00<p> </p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Weathered<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW9JglU88uRgdHNxL-YzXb-iZ6OL_jYMRYWPlXL_6dA4_rQOcLIe-4qptcZN-rAvZe-eDxTj0D2lCztVLhh24PE3iAAxasuKdFRiFjtvETHxfj9r28bxFeqium2MNgI0R75UkDhleItFvE/s320/Rain.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="240" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW9JglU88uRgdHNxL-YzXb-iZ6OL_jYMRYWPlXL_6dA4_rQOcLIe-4qptcZN-rAvZe-eDxTj0D2lCztVLhh24PE3iAAxasuKdFRiFjtvETHxfj9r28bxFeqium2MNgI0R75UkDhleItFvE/s0/Rain.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In the Spring and Fall, seasons in the South change not only
day to day, but sometimes hour to hour. It’s not unusual to find someone sporting
a sweat-wicking tank top under their Let It Snow Christmas sweater.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Wondering if I should grab my jacket when I went outside, I
asked my living room meteorologist, Bill, if it was raining. He whipped out his
cell phone and in seconds I knew the temperature and average rainfall in
London, Alberta, and Sydney. He threw in the humidity and air quality for free,
but noted that I need to sign up for updates concerning UV index and wind
direction.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He was sitting beside the front door.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Just open the door and peek outside.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He looked at me like a newborn robin looks at mama just
before she coughs up the worm.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I’m not going to build an ark. I just want to snip some
rosemary for my sauce.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He consulted his phone.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I slipped on my jacket and strolled outside. It’s not that
it was hot and dry, but the moisture in my skin evaporated immediately, giving
me the jaunty air of a body with a shrunken head and dusty dirt clods<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>for eyes. It must have been a fetching site,
because the neighbor called Emergency Services for the Kool-Aid Man.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I snipped several sprigs of rosemary and felt my way back
into the house, making a mental note to add my house number to the door in
Braille.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Don’t forget to work on the gutters this week,” I quipped
as I staggered past Bill’s chair.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He clicked out of his weather app and headed toward the
door.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“And don’t forget your coat.”<o:p></o:p></p>Amy Mullishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09650408133826832302noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8823566134180980708.post-57819947086331325432021-10-13T14:20:00.000-04:002021-10-13T14:20:29.466-04:00<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The Twelve Steps (Give or Take a Few)
of Retirement<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Everyone will perish without you<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Everyone won’t.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">You’ll die, simply die because they
won’t.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">It will be okay.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">5.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">You sit on the porch to watch other
people go to work.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">6.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">You sit on the porch because you’re
not going to work.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">7.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">You decide to cook homemade meals
from scratch every day.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">8.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">You rediscover the Crock Pot so you can
go back to bed every day.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">9.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">You order Chinese takeout and wear
something without stains to pick it up.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">10.</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">You order pizza delivery wearing your
bathrobe.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">11.</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">You find yourself wearing work
clothes as play clothes.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">12.</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">You order play clothes off the Internet.
<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">13.</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">You discover that takeout food has
made the new clothes shrink.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">14.</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">You do a sit up.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">15.</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">You discover the danger in doing
floor exercises and pull yourself up using a chair.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">16.</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">You decide that exercise is dangerous
and could involve your health insurance.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">17.</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">You shouldn’t put yourself in danger
because everyone will perish without you.<o:p></o:p></span></p>Amy Mullishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09650408133826832302noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8823566134180980708.post-78185090588691799542019-05-12T13:46:00.003-04:002019-05-12T13:47:22.692-04:00The Legacy<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">As far as legacies go, my tastes lie with
something simple, like a check. Or stock. Or heirloom china. Unfortunately Mama
wasn’t the heirloom china type. What I got when she departed for the peaceful
place where mothers don’t have to cook, clean, or say, “If I told you once, I
told you a million times,” was not the inheritance I assumed was my birthright.
What she left me was the very thing I was the least qualified to handle.
Wisdom.<br />
<br />
Giving me a lapful of life lessons is like tossing me a copy of the Atkins diet
and a size six sheath dress and telling me the party starts at seven. You may
as well shove the plans for building a biplane into my arms and tell me to be
in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Paris</st1:place></st1:city> by
midnight. When it comes to legacies, it’s best to just go ahead and hand me a
gold bar.<br />
<br />
Now that I’m in the stage of life where good advice usually involves a recipe
loaded with fiber, I realize that what Mama left me was a handbook for life.
Thanks to the seeds my mom planted in the rocky garden of my mind over the
years, I’ve sailed through many of the stormy seas of life without having to
evacuate to life boats. Turns out Mom knew best all along. Here are Mama’s
Rules to Live By—along with some of my own observations for those who, like me,
have trouble following directions.<br />
<br />
1. <i>There is something to love in every person.</i> However, there are some
people who hide that something really well. Actually, Mama just said that first
part. I learned the second part from my sister.<br />
<br />
2. <i>If you rip a page out of your brother’s comic book, he can rip a page out
of yours.</i> This is a mother of four’s version of The Golden Rule. I learned
to treat friends, family, and their possessions with respect. And I’ll never
know what happened to Archie and Jughead that day at Riverdale High.<br />
<br />
3. <i>Give a child two cookies; one for each hand.</i> This is a smart idea
because it keeps the child busy for twice as long, diverts him from
"helping" with your biscuit dough and prevents you from having to
walk every morning for a week to work off two cookies that you would have eaten
to relieve stress if your child had two hands free to plunge into the dog's
food.<br />
<br />
4. <i>Don’t honk your horn at anybody.</i> At first I assumed this was Mama’s
version of traveling etiquette, but now I realize that she understood road rage
long before anyone held up traffic trying to read road signs through the wrong
part of skinny designer bifocals.<br />
<br />
5. <i>Always have a skill you can fall back on.</i> By this, I know now that
she meant a skill that will continue to be of service to the Community of Man.
Unfortunately the skill I chose was typing, which caused typewriters to
immediately become extinct.<br />
<br />
6. <i>If you’re not tall enough to see out the car window, sit on a pillow.</i>
Improvise. Adapt. Overcome. Even the Marines agree with her.<br />
<br />
7. <i>If something particularly unpleasant is happening to you, there’s
probably a lesson involved</i>. Wade through a puddle or two on the linoleum
and you’ll remember to let the new puppy out. You’ll also remember to buy a
mop.<br />
<br />
8. <i>Don’t sell things you can give away.</i> That might not make sense in an
e-Bay world, but knowing that someone who needs it will have a warm coat for
the winter goes a long way toward offsetting the thrill of bagging $1.50 for
your old hula lamp in an online auction.<br />
<br />
9. <i>Play to win. Unless that gets in the way of playing for fun.</i> When
playing Scrabble with an elderly woman who can’t see past her elbow, give her a
break if she thinks she drew five blanks. Come to think of it, that’s how Mom
always won at Scrabble, so there’s probably an extra lesson tucked in there.<br />
<br />
10. <i>Always take time to watch the birds at the birdfeeder</i>. Time spent
with nature is a peace of mind investment. And last winter, a tiny chickadee
who muscled his way through a crowd of rowdy cardinals to have lunch gave me
some great ideas for handling the next family reunion. And the big project due
at work.<br />
<br />
11. <i>Don’t worry, it’ll get worse.</i> This was my mom’s slogan. When I was
three and ran to her with a skinned knee, she said it. She was right. I broke
my arm. When I was thirty-three and getting divorced, she said it again. And
soon my kids became teenagers. But by then, I had it figured out. If things can
get worse, the problems that seem overpowering right now aren’t the end of the
world. Things can also get better. So if teaching two teenaged boys to drive
and adding them to my insurance is the worst life has to offer, I can handle
it.<br />
<br />
But I sure wouldn’t turn down a check.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<br />Amy Mullishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09650408133826832302noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8823566134180980708.post-122688459722668912018-11-22T10:29:00.001-05:002018-11-22T10:29:57.439-05:00The Cough Drop<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj3ClLRaCPegrjFEJdIsmmWRJC-XWwK5BoYh8hV1vVYlvPLnVvXHl1sL9rNlqeQ7elVtaCCPXeHHyntpVhv1cGlYbSkqBhNiUhvJ-kzRj9UtBjmGfa6P2Vi0QHVGRAc4THJEP7voljHsLx/s1600/Easter2018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj3ClLRaCPegrjFEJdIsmmWRJC-XWwK5BoYh8hV1vVYlvPLnVvXHl1sL9rNlqeQ7elVtaCCPXeHHyntpVhv1cGlYbSkqBhNiUhvJ-kzRj9UtBjmGfa6P2Vi0QHVGRAc4THJEP7voljHsLx/s200/Easter2018.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-size: large;">Bill and I were sitting in that special kind of traffic jam
that comes just before the holidays and is the result of a small town growing
like an overdose victim of Jack’s magic beans, leaving mundane things like
convenience and city planning behind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">The roads were packed like the straw in a peach milkshake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fruit gets stuck in the end, all movement
stops, and nobody gets any relief.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With
a milkshake you can pull out the straw and suck the peach pulp out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With overburdened roads, the obvious answer
is to block off one lane with orange cones and commit to a ten-year
construction project.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">We had dropped our kids off at a mega-bookstore at what
seemed like a short time earlier, doling out the last bite-sized candy bars
from Halloween left in the bottom of my pocketbook to hold them until we got
back and could hit a nearby buffet extravaganza.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes eating out, even with two teenaged
mouths to feed, is a better idea than a sound investment plan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">In the meantime, the Highway Patrol issued an
all-points-bulletin to every mall-bound traveler in the area, describing our
location, destination, and current state of irritability.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s the only reasonable explanation for
the fact that our car began to attract morons like a pan of biscuits attracts
men named Bubba.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Traffic stalled and Christmas shoppers begin to share the
joy of the season with their fellow travelers one finger at a time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I attempted to retain my normal good nature
even though Bill was getting testy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
always gets that way when he misses snack time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Bill:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do you have any
more candy in your pocketbook?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Me:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Are you hungry?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Bill:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No, I thought I
would toss some out the window to lure people out of our lane.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Me: You’re being sarcastic because you’re too hungry.
(Pointing across six lanes of stationary traffic.) <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s a Wendy’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And a Chinese buffet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And a pizza place.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Bill:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Are you hungry?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Me:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Fumbling through
my pocketbook.) No.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why do you keep
bringing it up?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s that place with
the wonderful barbecue ribs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">(I find a cellophane-wrapped object which I pull
surreptitiously from my bag.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wince as
a tiny crinkling sound gives me away.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Bill:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What’s that?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Me:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nothing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Bill:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">is</i> it?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Me:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Nothing.</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Leave me alone, willya?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Bill:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You have food.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Me:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No I don’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s a cough drop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Here I wave the cough drop with a
flourish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s of a nondescript color
somewhere in between magenta and pink eye.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Bill:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want half. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Me:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s mine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I found it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>(I fondle the cough drop like it was the One Ring.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Bill:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We can take
turns licking it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Me:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Pensively) I
don’t think I’ve bought any cough drops this year. . .not since I had the flu
that year we had the big snow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Bill:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You can have
it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Me:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can wait.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Bill:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can wait, too.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">We laughed together, the warm laughter of two people coming
together over misfortune.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Under cover of the laughter, I shucked the paper off the
cough drop like it was a peel-and- eat shrimp and popped it in my mouth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Just then traffic parted like the men’s restroom line for a
father-daughter combination.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nothing
clears the tracks like a man doing daddy-duty with a lace-clad toddler in tow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We picked up the boys, and wheeled into a
nearby restaurant.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Bill:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>See, it all
turned out okay because we made sacrifices and worked together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s what Thanksgiving is all about.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">We all smiled at each other like the Brady Bunch on the 29<sup>th</sup>
minute of each 30 minute show.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I
secretly gave thanks for a cough drop appetizer that kept me from acting like a
turkey.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />Amy Mullishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09650408133826832302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8823566134180980708.post-59341566623319113402018-11-16T22:01:00.002-05:002018-11-16T22:08:24.421-05:00<a href="http://www.mamabearcancercoach.com/products?fbclid=IwAR367O5ZTghb1KGO7QpUMEykCb0fmQPVb2r6TYcdBUOrDzooUC9Tp5wOKOY"><br /></a>
<span style="font-size: large;">Laugh Out Loud is <a href="http://www.mamabearcancercoach.com/products?fbclid=IwAR367O5ZTghb1KGO7QpUMEykCb0fmQPVb2r6TYcdBUOrDzooUC9Tp5wOKOY">Mama Bear Cancer Coach</a> approved! "Laughter IS the best medicine." Find me on page 25 surrounded by loads of Laugh-Out-Loud ladies.</span> <span style="font-size: large;">Check us out on <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Laugh-Out-Loud-Humorists-Celebrate/dp/0692076190/ref=sr_1_4?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1542423921&sr=1-4&keywords=laugh+out+loud">Amazon</a>. We make house calls!</span><br />
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