Monthly Archives: September 2019

Every Dog Has His Day

1 Reply

I open my eyes and look at my clock. As usual, I wake up five minutes before the alarm goes off. It’s a weird and really useless superpower, but it seems to be the only one I possess. If I had a choice, I would choose to be able to become invisible at will.

There are quite a few reasons why I would like to claim this power. At school, it would be especially useful. I could disappear when I was called on in class when I didn’t know the answer.

I could listen in on conversations that I was not supposed to hear. For instance, I could listen in when Sister Joseph Catherine and Sister Saint George, the other fifth-grade teacher, are planning on giving us a pop quiz. I’d know exactly what to study and not get the second-lowest grade in the class in Math. Robin Schultz is always last.

Although I don’t know if invisibility would help, sometimes it seems no matter how hard I study, my mind goes completely blank when I take a test. As soon as sister says, get out a piece of paper for a pop quiz. It is as if my mind is a chalkboard that someone has hastily erased. I can almost see what is written there, but it’s blurry.

As long as I’ve mentioned Robin Schultz, I might as well tell you how he is my arch-enemy. I don’t know why he hates me so much, but it seems his sole purpose is to make my life a misery in school.

As if I don’t have enough reasons to hate it. What with Sister Joseph Catherine using me as her slave and telling me twenty times a day how she doesn’t understand why I am so stupid and not as smart as my sister, Karen?

Oh yeah, did I forget to mention, I have a twin sister, not the cool kind that looks just like me and is your best friend, but the fraternal kind, who has a million friends, never studies, and gets straight A’s. We are in the same classroom and have been since first grade. She pretends that she doesn’t know me. Since, for some reason, she thinks I am weird.

Anyway, getting back to Robin Schultz, he takes every opportunity to get me in trouble or make fun of me when there are a lot of other kids around. Do you think he would have some empathy for me since we are the shortest kids in the class?

Maybe you know what that’s like? When they take the class picture, I always have to stand in the front. People think I’m younger than I am and talk to me like I am a baby. Even my mother does that sometimes. One day I ask her if I can walk to the Cherry Hill Mall with my best friend, Joanie.

She said, “No, you aren’t old enough.” But she lets my sister Karen go there all the time. The last time I said,” Why can Karen walk there, but I can’t?” Well, Susie, Karen is older.” But she’s my twin. And Karen is only seven minutes older for crying out loud. It’s ridiculous!

Anyway,  Robin Schultz is the bane of my existence. Just yesterday, I was called up to the front of the class to do a math problem on the blackboard. We’re studying adding, subtracting, and dividing fractions. I can never remember the common denominator.

I’m terrified of having to stand in front of the other kids in class. I’m afraid everyone will laugh at me, or I won’t know the answer. And then my whole class will think I’m stupid, just like Sister Joseph Catherine is always telling me. Whenever we are doing math problems on the board, I keep my head down behind my book, hoping that I won’t get called on. But I always do. 

So, anyway yesterday, Sister calls on me, and as I’m walking up to the board, Robin Schulz sticks his foot out. And then I trip and almost fall on top of Thomas Beck, who I have a secret crush on. Everybody starts laughing, and my face gets all red, and that makes them all laugh even harder. Even my friend Irene is laughing.

Sister screeches at the class,” That’s enough. Quiet down. Susan, get busy doing that problem!”

At that moment, I made a vow to myself that I would seek vengeance on Robin Schultz. He has had his last laugh at my expense. That night I can hardly sleep because I decide that tomorrow, I am going to get him and get him good.

The next day, right before the lunch bell rings, I raise my hand and ask, “Sister, can I go to the ladies’ room?”

She says,” Well, Miss Carberry, can’t you wait until you get home?”

“No sister, it’s an emergency, I can’t wait.”

She took this statement seriously because the last time I told her the same thing, she had said, “Well, you are just going to have to wait until you get home, missy!” But I couldn’t wait, and I wet my pants while I was in line waiting to go home for lunch.

After my sister excused me, I ran out of the classroom, and instead of going to the bathroom, I ran out the emergency door and took the shortcut home through Lombardi’s backyard.

Before I had left for school that morning, I tied a jump rope to a stake in Lombardi’s front yard next to their sidewalk across from the big Maple tree. I hid behind the tree with the rope clasped tightly in my hands. Robin lives on my street, about a block and a half away from my house. I know he’ll be passing by soon.

And just at that moment, I see him walking quickly in my direction, then he starts running. I quickly pull the rope as hard as I can. Down he goes, and he hits hard, a big whoosh of air came out of him when he hits the ground. I see tears erupt from his eyes, and his face becomes as red as a beet.

At that moment, I feel a mixture of joy and pity for him. I run over to him, and say,” Well Robin, how does it feel to be on the receiving end of a mean prank, not so funny is it?”

He probably would have gotten up at that moment and punched me if it wasn’t for the fact that the wind was knocked out of him. He slowly and deliberately says, “I’m going to annihilate you.”

“No, no, you’re not Robin, not today, and not ever again. Because if you do, I’m going to tell everybody in the whole class, maybe everybody in the whole school, how you cried like a baby. And the only person you can ever beat in a fight is the smallest girl in class!” And that is how I used my intelligence to beat Robin Schultz—the bully who terrorized and made me feel miserable for five years of school.

I know now that bullies are cowards since the only people they pick on are younger or smaller or afraid to stick up for themselves. If I ever see anyone bully, I tell them to stop. If that doesn’t work, I’ll tell a teacher or my Mom what is happening. No one has the right to bully or make fun of another person for any reason. Everyone has the right to be treated with respect and dignity.

DAY ONE

1 Reply

It was the first day of my new job. Would there never be an end to the first days? I have bad luck. Things never work out for me. It seems as if each position is one rung lower on the ladder of success. I’ve decided to do my very best at this job. Perhaps I’ll be able to move up the ladder instead of down. We’ll see, hope springs eternal.

Elementary School Cafeteria

Elementary School Cafeteria

I walk into the front door of the school to the principal’s office. I had come here for the initial interview, so I know the basic layout of the building. I studied the building map all last night as well. So, I feel pretty confident that there won’t be any problem.

In the past, I have had trouble with buildings like this, long narrow hallways with rooms jutting off in every direction. Everything looks the same. I would get lost in the maze of hallways and look-alike rooms. God, why is everything the same color? Oh, wait there’s the sign for the principal’s office. I’m fine.

I walk up to the long narrow reception desk only to discover that there’s a swarm of people ahead of me. Oh no, this won’t do. I can’t be late. That will set off a chain reaction for me that could only end in disaster.

“Hello, hello, miss. Can you tell me where I should go? It’s my first day working here. Am I supposed to speak to the principal or go directly to the cafeteria?”

No response, apparently this incompetent woman is unable to discern the importance of my question. And she is allowing all these bungling baboons to take her attention away from me. I push my way past two of the teachers and speak in a stern voice. “I said, can you please tell me where I’m supposed to report. It’s my first day working in the cafeteria?”

“What’s your name? Can’t you see I’m busy, and all these people were ahead of you?”

“Of course, I can see that. I’m not blind. Just tell me where I’m supposed to go and I’ll be on my way. Even you must be able to understand such a simple dilemma.”

” Go directly to the cafeteria, and speak to the supervisor, Ms. Nolan. She’ll tell you what to do. Do you know where the cafeteria is? If not, there is a map of the school on the wall.”

“Of course, I know where it is. What kind of fool do you take me for?”

She isn’t listening anymore. So, I head out of the office and down the hall in the direction I think the cafeteria is located. Unfortunately, I‘m wrong, and end up in the gym. I find the janitor sweeping the floor. He tells me how to get to the cafeteria. I’m starting to feel a bit flustered. By the time I arrive at the cafeteria I’m ten minutes late. Stupid, stupid bureaucracy, this is how it always turns out.

I rushed into the kitchen and asked a gray-haired old cow, where is Ms. Nolan?”

“Oh, so you’re the new worker, she’s not going to be happy about you being late. She’s a stickler for being on time. She told me to get you started on the breakfast trays. I’ll show you how it’s done. You’ll be fine. Let’s go this way. I’m Nancy by the way. We’ll be working together. ”

“Ok, Nancy I’m sure. You will only need to show me once. I’m a quick learner.”

Nancy shows me where everything is. And I start setting up the trays. Easy peasy. I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do and I don’t see Nancy anywhere. So, I start looking around the kitchen and the pantry, and the freezer. After looking around, I decided that things need to be organized.

I start in the pantry with dry goods. I check the expiration dates on all the cans and put all the oldest ones in front. I put canned fruit together, canned tuna, etc. I was working up quite a sweat. I even cleaned off all the shelves and the tops of the cans. I take a step back and look at my handiwork. I‘m quite proud of myself. I‘m sure Ms. Nolan will be quite impressed. Where is she anyway?

I stroll out into the cafeteria to look for her, and what’s her name, Nancy.

“Where have you been? Ms. Nolan is fit to be tied? The early breakfast kids have already come and gone. Ms. Nolan had to help. You are really up Shit’s creek. She hates waiting on the kids. She hates to come out of her office altogether. Jeez, I wouldn’t want to be you. You better double step it into her office right now. It’s that door over there.”

I walk over to the office and knock confidently at the door. I’m sure Ms. Nolan will understand that I was using my time efficiently since no one had told me to do otherwise. I’m sure she’ll appreciate my efforts in putting things to right.

“Come in, come in. Oh, it’s you. Where in the hell have you been? Nancy tells me you were late, and then you disappear altogether.”

“Well I appreciate your concern, but I finished the breakfast trays, and then I reorganized the pantry. Nancy didn’t tell me that I was supposed to serve them as well. Would you like to see the pantry? I’m sure you will appreciate the changes I’ve made.”

“Changes, who said you were allowed to make changes? I have been working in this school system cafeteria for thirty years. I set up the entire kitchen, pantry, and schedule. You had no business changing anything. Don’t ever again take it upon yourself to change our system. It works very well. Do you understand?”

“Understand, yes, but I think you’ll see how much improved it is now. If you would take a moment to look.”

‘”Think, who told you to think? You do as you’re told. Now go back to the kitchen. Nancy will show you the meal schedules and how to use the cash register system. That’s all, good day. I hope I will have no further problems with you.”

I back out of the office. I‘m shocked. I can tell you. Why the unmitigated gall of that little tyrant telling me that I wasn’t there to think. What does she think I’m some kind of automaton?

I walk briskly over to Nancy. She has a self-satisfied expression on her face. I have to use all my self-control to keep from wiping that expression off her face with the back of my hand. I get myself under control and say, “sorry for any trouble. It won’t happen again. Ms. Nolan asked if you‘ll show me the meal schedules and how to use the register system.”

“Right, right, let’s do that. It’s quite simple. We have the same breakfast every day; the lunches are on a rotating schedule. You’ll see.”

Nancy shows me the lunch schedule. Then she demonstrates the cash register to me. It doesn’t use cash at all. Each student has an ID card, which they swipe. And the cost of the meal is deducted from their account. Some kids have state-subsidized lunches, and they have a different kind of card.

When I look at the lunch menu, I think it can use updating. There’s only fast food and junk food. Shouldn’t the children be eating healthier foods?

“Nancy, what do you think about changing up the food menu? We can probably create healthier foods, and it would save money?”

“What are you crazy? Didn’t Ms. Nolan tell you that she set up this kitchen, the menu, and the budget? She will have your head if you change anything. You just got started here. Do you want to lose your job on the first day?”

“No, of course not. But I like to do the very best I can do at whatever I do. I think tonight I’ll make up a new menu and present it to Ms. Nolan tomorrow.”

“You’re out of your mind. But do what you want, many have come and gone before you. And I’m still here, and so is Ms. Nolan.”

The next morning, I walk through the school double doors full of optimism. I feel quite pleased with myself. Ms. Nolan will be so appreciative of my efforts. She’ll realize the meals are healthy and tasty and she can save money at the same time. I’m sure this is the perfect job for me. I walk through the cafeteria to the kitchen and over to Ms. Nolan’s office.

Nancy calls out, “Wait, where are you going? You are supposed to be helping me set up the breakfast trays.”

I nod at Nancy and rap sharply on Ms. Nolan’s door. It rattles. “Whose there? I’m on the phone. Come in, come in.”

I walk over to Ms. Nolan’s desk and hand her the new menus. I have a broad smile across my face.

Ms. Nolan says into her phone, “yes, I’ll take care of that right away.” She snaps the phone shut. “What is it? Can’t you see I’m busy?”

“Of course, I’ll only take a minute. I made up these new menus for the children’s lunches. I think you’ll find that they are quite an improvement over what you are using now. They’re nutritious, a good value, and easy to prepare.”

Ms. Nolan’s face turns bright red. She fairly rips the papers out of my hands. And without a how do you do, she tears the papers into shreds.

“This is what I think of your menus. I told you yesterday that this is my kitchen. You were to do as you are told, nothing more and nothing less. Now you can finish out the week, and then you are out of here.”

We’re a team, and I’m the head. You’re not a team worker. You’ll get your pay at the end of the week, and then you are out of here.

I’m so shocked that I turn on my heels and walk back to the kitchen and next to Nancy. I start preparing the trays for breakfast. I don’t look to the right or left. I can feel Nancy staring at me. But I don’t give her the satisfaction of saying anything.

“Well I tried to warn you, but you just wouldn’t listen.”

At the end of the week, I finish my shift and walk out the door, never to return. Things just never worked out for me. Everyone is always out to get me. I have bad luck. There’s nothing I can do about it. I keep saying these things over and over in my head like a mantra all the way home. Now I‘ll have to start looking for a new job. I‘ll have to try harder, that’s all. That’s all anybody can do.

For The Love Of All Things Feathered and Furred

2 Replies

One of the enduring facts of my lifetime has been that I have loved animals. And my life has been enriched by their presence and their companionship, their unquestioning love, and acceptance.

As a young child, I made it my business to get to know all the cats and dogs in my neighborhood. I knew their names and would visit them whenever possible. My favorite cat was a stray I called Strottles, he was a large orange and white cat who came when I called. He seemed to sense that I needed him and would stay by my side for as long as I needed him too.

My father loved dogs. In particular, he liked Cocker Spaniels. And we owned several during the years that I was growing up. The first dog I recall name was Nomie. My father believed that a dog should be free to roam wherever he or she wanted to go. I loved Nomie very much and spent a great deal of time petting her and playing outside with her. I was never alone while Nomie was in my presence.

Unfortunately, because of my father’s belief that dogs should be able to run free and not be fixed. As a result, Nomie became pregnant. After her puppies were born, she became ill. My father took her to the vet, and he said she had developed “milk fever.” I don’t know if she had died, or she had to be put down. I was devastated when she died. And then my father found a home for the puppies she had birthed. I had become attached to them. But of course, even if Nomie had survived, we would not have kept the puppies. But, no one had told me that. So, when Nomie died, the puppies were given away, and I felt a loss.

We didn’t get another dog until I was about ten or eleven years old. His name was Andy he was a mutt with some Cocker Spaniel in him. But it was clear from day one that he was my father’s dog. Andy’s day didn’t begin until my father was in sight. He followed him around the house and mourned his loss if my father went out for any length of time. My father was the head dispatcher for what was then called PTC, the Pennsylvania Transportation Company in Philadelphia for forty years until he retired. He worked the third shift and slept most of the day. On my father’s day off, Andy sat next to my father’s chair. And my father would scratch his head the whole time he sat in the chair.

Andy was allowed to roam all over the small town of Maple Shade where we lived. And it was not unknown for people to report seeing in Lenola which was another nearby town.  And his look-alike progeny. Since once again, my father refused to have Andy fixed.

My father spoiled Andy in every way possible. He asked my mother to cook him corn on the cob and chicken liver and hearts as a treat. You can imagine the result of a dog eating corn on the cob every day of the week. One of our neighbor’s houses was a location that Andy liked to visit. He would often leave a token of his visit and his last meal in her backyard. Our neighbor, Mrs. Gioiella, would come down to our house every time this happened to complain about Andy’s deposit in her grass. This didn’t change my father’s behavior. He continued letting Andy out to roam where he wished. One day a neighbor set a trap for Andy to stop him from doing his business in their yard.

One day Andy returned home with a trap on his foot, my father went through the roof. He interrogated every neighbor to find out who had done it. No one fessed up. Andy had to go to the vet to have his injured foot treated. My father was angry about it for a long time, yet he didn’t keep Andy in our yard. My father was a stubborn man and somewhat inflexible.

In the Summer, my father would go down to the Ice Cream store on the corner and buy Andy an ice cream cone. My sister and I would look on with envy as Andy would eat the ice cream on a hot summer night.

Andy was an intelligent dog, and he knew how to get his feelings noticed. When my parents and my sister and I went out, which didn’t happen that often Andy would get revenge. This was back in the day when people didn’t lock their doors. Andy would go into the house and bring out the bathroom towels and all the pillows and throw them all over the front yard. His feelings would not be trifled with for any reason.

Andy lived to be an old dog. He lived until my father was retired.  Andy quietly passed away while my father was in the hospital being treated for an illness. My father was broken-hearted when he heard the bad news. It was a sad day for us all. Andy was part of our daily lives for many years. He was an integral part of our family life.

During my childhood, I had many small pets, hamsters and parakeets and finches and a chicken. I loved every kind of animal, both feathered and furred. I can not picture my life without animals.

After I grew up and married my husband Bob and I had two dogs Ulysses, a terrier and Bogie a cockapoo. They traveled with us from Florida to California and New Jersey. They were my children before I had children. Two Cockatiels Peppy and Soda Pop owned a part of my heart for many years. They were entertaining and sweet-natured.

And then there was the enduring love I had since my early childhood for cats.  Over the years, we owned eight cats. One cat remains, Sloopy, who is twenty-five years old. And our tuxedo cat, Evie who just passed away a week ago, who lived to be nineteen years old. 

Also, I took care of a feral cat colony for years. I captured the female cats and had them fixed. I would get up and feed them every morning at five AM.

Our newest pets are Douglas, a long-haired Dachshund who has stolen our hearts. And we have two parrot’s BB and Travis that I adopted from the animal sanctuary where I volunteer three days a week. I care for over twenty Parrots and two Macaws. Not to mention the two hundred animals that reside there that I consider friends. 

I have no doubt that my life would have been narrower and missing an element without the love and companionship of all these wondrous animals. And if that is not reason enough to have pets as part of your life, here are a few more. Pet owners know how much furry friends improves quality of life. They benefit us on an emotional level. Owning pets decrease depression, stress, and anxiety. Health-wise they can lower your blood pressure, improve your immunity, and even decrease your health risk, including heart attack and stroke.

So, my final word is that pets have had a tremendously positive effect on the quality of my life. My life would seem so much smaller without them in it.

And The Winner Is

2 Replies

It’s early Saturday morning and my doorbell rings four times. Before I can answer the door, they knock several times using my new brass doorknocker, two Eskimos rubbing noses. I found it in an antique store in Philadelphia called Antiques R Us. I know that’s tacky but they have some really cool stuff in there.

I trip over my cat Sloopy in my rush to get to the door. Sloopy is trying to escape. He’s terrified of both the doorbell and knocking at the door. I step up to the door out of breath and a bit worse for wear. I see a UPS man standing there. He has his middle finger pressed firmly against the doorbell.

I flash him the universal signal for knock it off, a hand across the throat through the window in the door. I fumble around looking for the key to the front door. It’s in the top drawer of the desk next to the door.

I yank the door so energetically that I nearly rip the door off the hinges. “Hey, you can stop ringing the doorbell. What in god’s name is your problem? Couldn’t you just toss the package on the porch like you usually do?”

The man sneers at me. You probably don’t really know what that means until somebody actually directs that look at you. “I haven’t got all day lady. Can you please sign this?”

He hands me the electronic signature thingy. I sign it. My signature looks like Sanskrit or something. He thrust a heavy white envelope into my hand. He does an about-face and walks down the sidewalk and propels himself into his truck. He pulls out without even checking for traffic coming in his direction. Maniac.

I close the door and look at the envelope. I don’t recognize the return address. It looks like a wedding invitation. Good god, almighty is it possible that I’m being invited to yet another of my college friends’ second-time-around weddings? This will make the sixth one in two years. I don’t think anyone should expect their friends to go to another wedding and give another expensive gift for a marriage that probably won’t last until the second anniversary.

I tear open the envelope. Surprise it isn’t a wedding invitation. It’s an invitation to a Scavenger Hunt. Seriously a Scavenger Hunt, who am I Katherine Heyburn? Where’s my Cary Grant? I look at the invitation for the who, what, and where of it all. It’s from a mysterious someone who is an associate of my investment broker Bill Holden. It’s scheduled for December 31st, 2019 in New York City, from 8 pm until midnight.

Are they kidding New Year’s Eve in New York City? I throw the invitation down on the coffee table. I walk back to the kitchen to finish eating my now soggy Captain Crunch cereal. I sip my lukewarm tea.

I idly tap my spoon against the table. I imagine myself dressed to kill, wearing my to-die-for black fur-lined cape. It has a hand-embroidered trim with golden bumblebees. I haven’t really had an opportunity to wear it yet. New Year’s Eve would be the perfect occasion to make its debut.

Well, why not? It could be a wonderful adventure. I’ll use the limo service the invitation listed. I can drink champagne and eat caviar. Well, maybe not caviar. I hate it but definitely drink champagne.

I walk back to the living room and pick up the invitation and take it back into the kitchen with me. I read it over several times. There’s a contact email to RSVP. That’s kind of odd, but it’s the digital age. I walk over to my computer and boot it up. and send my RSVP to the email address.

I’m busy all day Saturday doing errands. I had to take some of my business suits to the dry cleaners and then I have my nails done and highlights added to my hair. I really want to make a good impression on New Year’s Eve. It’s only ten days away. I stop by on my way home to visit my mother. She lives about fifteen minutes from my house in an over fifty-community.

I knock at the door and my mother answers out of breath. “Santina, you nearly scared me to death coming to the door this early morning.”

“Mother it’s two in the afternoon. You must have slept in this morning.”

My mother has a very close relationship with Vodka Martinis. She likes to throw back a few every evening as she watches some man-hating movie on the LMN Channel. She just hasn’t been the same since my father ditched her and married his dental assistant seven years ago. She swears she wouldn’t have been as bitter if the woman had at least been a younger woman and not someone the same age. Somehow, I doubt that would have made that much difference.

“Can I come in mother?”

“Of course, who said you couldn’t?”

I follow my mother through the foyer and the pristine, never used, formal living room into the kitchen.

“Would you like a cup of coffee, Santina?”

“No thank you Mother, but if you have tea that would be great.” My mother refuses to acknowledge that I never drink coffee. It’s just another of her odd little quirks. “Mother guess what?”

Before I can continue, she says, “Santina, I’ve told you time and again that I don’t like guessing games. How in the world would I be able to guess?”

“Mother it’s only a figure of speech. I didn’t really expect you to guess. I was invited to a New Years’ Eve Scavenger Hunt in New York City, isn’t that exciting?”

“New York City, oh I don’t know Santina. That sounds dangerous. Who are you going with? Who is hosting this scavenger hunt?”

“I’m going by myself. I’ve rented a limo to take me there and drive me around. It will be perfectly safe.”

“You didn’t answer me about who invited you?”

“A friend of Bill Holden, my investments broker.”

“How long have you known him Santina?”

I hesitate for a moment and say, “oh I met him six months ago Mother. He’s very well known in the business community.” A bald-faced lie, but I was not about to tell my mother I never met the man.

“Oh well then that seems safe enough, but be aware that there are a lot of crazy people out there on New Year’s Eve in New York City looking for people to take advantage.”

“I know Mother. I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself. Well, I better get going I have a lot of things to do this weekend. I have a busy workweek ahead of me. I’ll see you later Mom. I’ll give you a call during the week.”

“What? You just got here. Why are you always in a rush to leave Santina? I didn’t even make you your tea.”

I stand up and awkwardly hug my mother. “Never mind Mother I wasn’t really that thirsty.” I head back to the front door and into my SAAB. Somehow my visits with my mother are always brief. I love her, but I just don’t enjoy spending time with her. It’s a shame, but that’s just the way it is with us.

The next week flies by before you know it; it’s New Year’s Eve. I’m dressed to kill.  Even if I do say so myself, I look stunning in my sequined gold vintage Valentino umpire dress. I picked it up for a song in an out-of-the-way shop on South Street in Philadelphia. My cape swirls around me with my every move.

The limo arrives right on time and the chauffeur comes to my door. He’s a handsome man with jet-black hair and a mustache. If that isn’t enough, he has a Middle Eastern accent that’s sexy as hell. When I open the door, I do it with a flourish. He greets me, “Are you, Madam Ferraro?”

“Yes, yes, I am, and you are?”

“My name is Amir Bashara, I am at your service.”

He looks like he could be a sheik, my heart starts pounding and my imagination goes into overdrive. I force myself to calm down. “Yes Amir, here is the list of destinations for the evening. I’m ready to go. I reach over and grab my purse and my digital camera. I follow him out to the limo. It’s gleaming in the light cast by a nearby streetlight. I feel like Cinderella on her way to the ball.

Amir opens the back door and says in his deep, melodic voice, “everything is as you have requested Madam, let me know if I can be of service in any way. There is an intercom in the back should you need anything at all.”

I sit down on the doe soft leather of the back seat. Six people could sit here comfortably. I see a discreet black refrigerator; within it are the chilled champagne I requested and a platter of horderves. I adjust my cape that had become twisted around my legs when I stepped inside the car. Capes are a thing of beauty but not really practical, like many things in life. I stare momentarily at Amir’s profile and dream of a thousand Arabia nights. I let my imagination visit there for a while.

I consider my coming evening. I think about my quest, the places I will visit, and the treasures I must capture. The instructions in the email I received said I must visit the 42nd and Broadway Theater and either take a picture of the theater where the musical Chicago is playing or somehow get a ticket stub for it.

The next goal is to stop in at the Pego Club and have one of their famous cocktails and take the glass. The third stop is the Ice-Skating Rink at Rockefeller Square. I must capture a picture of the Skaters in motion. The final goal is to visit the observatory at the top of the Empire State Building. Where I will meet up with my fellow scavenger hunters and find out who they are. And who is this mysterious person who invited me on this wonderful adventure?

New York City

Photograph by David Mark-Pixabay

The evening passes quickly, and the crisp air in the city is almost electric with excitement. People are walking up and down the streets in glamorous tuxedos and sparkling dresses. I arrive at the theater and see the sign for Chicago. “Amir, could you stop here and let me out? Could you drive around the block and then pick me up in front of the theater? It shouldn’t take me long.”

“Yes of course Madam, would you like me to accompany you?”

“What? No, that’s not necessary, but thank you very much for the offer. I’ll be fine. This won’t take me more than a few moments. I step out of the car and onto the street. It’s unbelievable how crowded the theater district is. There are actors walking around in costumes from some of the shows that are playing in the theaters. I walk up to the theater playing Chicago and take several quick shots of the Marquee and the people milling about. I look around on the ground for a ticket that someone might have dropped. It’s difficult to see because of the constantly moving feet of the people around me. I hear a deep and familiar voice say. “Madam is this what you are looking for?”

I look up at Amir standing there, looking like Aladdin. “Oh, Amir that’s very kind of you but unnecessary. I’m quite capable of taking care of myself. ”

“I have no doubt Madam, but such a beautiful woman as yourself should have company in this great city of New York.”

I look at him closely. I hope he isn’t some kind of stalker. I don’t see crazy in his eyes, but you never know. He hands me a ticket. It’s a stub for Chicago musical. “Wow thank you very much, Amir. I guess we can be on our way.”

“Follow me madam the car is right over here.”

Somehow, he found a parking spot right in front of the theater. He opens the door for me. I step in like Cinderella into the pumpkin carriage.

It doesn’t take very long to arrive at the Pego Club. There’s a long line of people waiting to go inside. I wonder how I will be able to go in and get a cocktail and grab the glass. And still, have time for the other two destinations.

“Madam if you would allow me to step out for a moment I will see if I can arrange for you to enter more quickly?”

“Really, why that would be wonderful. Otherwise, I think I will be waiting in line all night.”

Amir pulls the limo into a spot that miraculously appears in front of us. I look at his mysterious eyes in the rearview mirror. He’s looking back at me. I look down quickly embarrassed to be caught looking at his handsome face. He steps out of the car and disappears into the crowd. The car seems suddenly empty and missing some essential energy. He returns in a few moments and taps on my window. “Madam, I have arranged for us to go in long enough for a drink.”

Us, did he say us? He takes off his cap and puts it in the passenger side of the front seat. I realize for the first time how tall he is and that he’s wearing a very expensive suit that fits him like it was tailored for him. “Oh of course.” I stammer and somehow get out of the car gracefully. My cape flows out behind me like the train on a wedding dress. He offers me his hand as I step out onto the sidewalk. I feel a surge of electricity flow between us. I think I really shouldn’t have drunk that entire carafe of champagne.

I can’t help but notice that the crowd seems to make a path for us to the door. The bouncer lets us walk right in. There’s a low buzz of people talking in the background. A wonderful aroma of incense or perfume is in the air. It reinforces the feeling that I’m walking into a dream. Amir finds a space at the crowded bar and orders. He hands me my cocktail and drinks something dark and golden. After I finish my drink Amir hands me a bag.

“This is for your glass Madam.”

“Amir please call me Santina. I would appreciate it.”

“Madam, I mean Santina that’s a beautiful name. It fits you. Sorry I shouldn’t make such a personal comment.”

I stare at him. He doesn’t really look like he is embarrassed. I’m at a loss for how I should act since I have never been in a situation like this before. “Oh, that’s fine thank you very much. I guess we should be on our way.”

“Of course, let’s be off to the skating rink, I’ve only been there once as a little girl. I’ve been looking forward to seeing it very much.”

The next thing I know we glide up to Rockefeller Center. It’s very crowded. Apparently, everyone wants to skate on the small rink on this beautiful New Year’s Eve.

“Santina would you like to skate on the rink? I can arrange it for you if you wish?”

“What? Oh no, another time would be wonderful. I’m really not dressed for skating, thank you.”

“As you wish. If you would like I will take a picture of you, next to the rink. Then we can be off to the final destination of the Empire State Building observatory.”

We arrive at the Empire State Building at quarter to Twelve.  We are parked at the Fifth Avenue entrance. The street is a wonderland glowing with magnificent Christmas lights and gold and silver decorations.

As we exit the car, I see there are snowflakes beginning to fall. It really seems like a wonderful dream. Amir takes my hand as I get out of the car. I forget that he is my limousine driver. I feel like a princess whose hand is being held by her prince, her Arabian prince. I allow myself to be lost for this moment in this fantasy. We walk into the lobby. It’s an amazing combination of beautiful lights and soft music from a Quartet playing in the background.

“Santina, the elevator is this way.” He escorts me to what looks like a private elevator.

“Amir this can’t be the public elevator. This looks like a private elevator.”

“Santina, it’s alright we can go this way. It has all been arranged for you.”

For me? I wonder what he means by that.  Oh, he must mean for the scavenger hunt group. The elevator arrives at the observatory in what seems like a twinkling of the eye. Amir takes my hand as I step out of the elevator. The view is unbelievably beautiful. The city of New York City is ablaze with lights in every direction. I’m awed by the vision before me.

We walk over to the far wall. Amir makes a sweeping gesture with his arms. I look in Amir’s eyes and he’s looking back into mine. He leans down toward me. All the fireworks and whistles and horns are blowing, fireworks can be seen in the distance. I hear “Happy New Year Santina. It’s all for you. You have only to reach out and take it.”

Courage Isn’t The Absence Of Fear. It’s The Ability to Act Despite Fear

1 Reply

Life is challenging. Every day we face problems that must be solved, questions that must be answered, tasks that must be completed. If you think about it, these are the same problems we had to face since our childhood. It’s only the complexity of problems that have changed as we grow up and grew older.

As a young child before I started school. I was quiet, shy, reticent about straying too far from the familiar. Reluctant to be separated from my mother for any length of time. But still I was filled with curiosity about the world. The world outside my house, outside my yard, outside my neighborhood. I had a fraternal twin sister. It is hard to imagine anyone being more different from me than my twin sister.

We didn’t look alike. I had blond hair, she had dark hair. She was friendly and outgoing and talkative. I was shy and quiet. I kept my thoughts and feelings to myself. I avoided calling attention to myself. I like the familiar, she was more mature and tried different things. 

These differences became more obvious when we entered school. My sister made friends more readily. I made friends slowly and with more care. I did every thing I could to avoid calling attention to myself in the classroom. If I could have become invisible, I would have disappeared. I always tried to sit in the back of the classroom. If I was a turtle, I would have pulled my head inside my shell.

Because of my personality and my shyness, I often woke up on schooldays with a stomach ache. I would have trouble sleeping, afraid of failing in school, afraid I wasn’t smart enough. My concern about my intellectual ability was exacerbated by my father. When I was reluctant to go out with my parents to visit friends or relatives or I wouldn’t speak up when he asked me a question, he would say, “I don’t know what your problem is, are you stupid, or lazy?”

I sought comfort in my imagination, in making up stories. And by making friends with all the animals in my neighborhood, the cats, the dogs. I would imagine I was a bird and could fly.

But still I had this inner strength that kept telling me you can do it. And when I was afraid to answer that question in class, I decided I would just stand up and answer even if it made me feel uncomfortable, even if I was wrong. If I had difficulty one day, I would try harder the next. I became stubborn. If someone told me I was wrong, I would be even more determined to prove I was right. My father started saying, “Susan would argue with the Pope.”

If another classmate was being picked on by someone, I would stick up for them. I became braver to help them. Because I knew what it felt like to be picked on. I remembered those butterflies in my stomach when I was afraid. Even if I was shaking in my boots speaking up for myself or a classmate, I did it. I cared about other people and their feelings. I knew what if felt like to be afraid. Their fear, their pain became mine. And I wanted to help them, I wanted to help myself.

These changes did not happen overnight. They happened over years. Years when I learn to accept who I was, and what I was capable of doing. And when I learned to listen to my inner voice and not to the people who told me I was stupid, or lazy. I realized that I knew myself better than anyone else possible could. And so, I did not allow myself to be limited by their definition of who I was and what I could or could not do.

When I was old enough, I asked my father to teach me to drive although I knew he didn’t believe women should drive. He didn’t allow my mother to learn how to drive. I was afraid of driving. But I was more fearful of how my life would be limited by not knowing how to drive.

 

I started working part-time in my senior year of high school  as an dental assistant when I was seventeen. The only other job I had was baby-sitting for my nieces and nephews.

I wanted to go to college, but my father said, “girls don’t need to go to college they’re just going to get married and have children.” So, I didn’t go to college at eighteen even though I attended an all-girl college Prep High School, called St. Mary of The Angel’s Academy in Haddonfield, NJ.

I eventually attended college at the age of thirty-six at Temple University in Philadelphia, Pa. at The Tyler School of Art. I had been married for fourteen years and had two children who were six and three years old in my freshman year. I graduated Summa Cum Laud at the age of forty with two degrees. It was a dream I always had, and I made it happen. It wasn’t easy. I was the only adult student in the Freshman class in 1987. I enjoyed every moment of it.

The day I walked onto that campus as a first day freshman was the opportunity of a lifetime for me. But I have never been as frightened or nervous as I was that day. But I just kept putting one foot in front of the other. All the way up to the day I graduated at the top ten percent of Temple University. I was proud of myself, proud that I accomplished a very difficult goal, proud that I didn’t give up every time I was tired, overworked with school, taking care of my two children, taking care of our home, shopping, cooking and cleaning and staying up half the night or all night studying and doing homework.

Many years have passed since I was a little girl going to my first day of grade school. I have lived a long time. I have moved to another state when I was twenty-two by myself. I have lived in New Jersey, Florida, California and now have retired to North Carolina with my husband of forty-five years.

I have worked as a dental assistant, sold high risk auto insurance, went to hairdressing school in the mid-seventies, sold hats and wigs, worked as a houseparent at St. Vincent’s School in Santa Barbara, gotten married and had two children, went to college as an adult, taught art in my own art studios, had an online business selling one-of-a kind jewelry with my daughter. Worked in Social Services for a decade in Camden and Ranch Hope in Alloway, NJ helping at-risk inner-city kids.

So yes, I’m not that shy little girl who was afraid of speaking up and out. I have challenged myself hundreds of times. I have known people who from all of the world and from around the block. I’ve met and gotten to know millionaires and homeless people. And they are all just people struggling in their own way as am I. We all come into this world innocent and none of us gets out of this world alive.

Try and meet all the challenges that life brings to you and always do your best. Life is short and passes by so quickly, do good along the way. Fear may often be your companion but you don’t have to let it lead your way. You are the navigator of your life and don’t let anyone or anything keep you from living the life you want to lead.

And one final thought in case you think I spend everyday typing out stories and sharing my life in this blog. No, I’m still living my life as fully as possible. I work as a volunteer at an exotic animal rescue three days a week. I take care of endangered Parrots and Macaws. And some of my best friends now are lemurs, and a Coatimundi called Neffin,  a monkey called Teddy, a lemur named, Monroe, and a rabbit called Marilyn, eight dogs and too many cats to mention. Foxes as sweet and gentle as any dog. And a host of other animals too long a list to mention. 

It’s your life, lead it, my friends. It’s normal to be afraid at times, but don’t let fear especially fear of failure stop you in your tracks.

 

 

 

The Day The Earth Stood Still Or So I Thought

2 Replies

I shoveled in my oatmeal as quickly as possible without choking. I was watching my mother’s parakeet Prettyboy eat his morning treat of lettuce. Afterward, he hopped out of his cage through the open door and flew onto the kitchen table. He walks across the table, knocking the forks and the knives onto the floor.

My mother pretends she’s mad. “Prettyboy stop that. Get back into your cage.”

I think she secretly enjoys his mealtime antics. 

“Susie and Karen, please eat your oatmeal.”

The oatmeal feels like a ton of bricks in my stomach. My mother believes that every child should start the day with something warm in their stomach that sticks to their ribs.

Still, it’s a beautiful, sunny Saturday morning, my favorite day of the week. I can get up as late as I want. Well not really, if I wasn’t up by nine AM, my mother would come into my bedroom to see if I was still breathing. It’s late spring, which means I only have about eight more weeks of school. Then summer will arrive. I hate school more then I hate vegetables, and that was considerable.

As soon as I finish my last spoonful, I jump up so violently from my chair that it falls over. My father starts yelling,” Susan, you are being a pain in the ass.”

“Susan, please remember your manners and asked to be excused.” My mother chimes in.

I start explaining to my father. Sorry, sorry it was an accident.” He keeps going on about how I did the same thing every day and never seemed to learn. I was pigheaded and stubborn that I would argue with the pope. “Sorry, Dad, I won’ do it again.”

I run out the kitchen door, slamming the screen door behind me. I can hear my father yelling after me, “I’ve told you a thousand times, don’t slam the door.”

I was free now, free to go where I please and do what I want. I chose to wander over to Mrs. Collins’ yard and visit my friends who live in her cellar. But they’re allowed within the confines of the outside kennel to enjoy the good life out in their backyard.

There are about twenty to thirty cats, give or take a few. I know all their names and stop to pet them and exchange a few words with each one. They come rushing over to greet me. Each beautiful in their way. Some were black and white, some calico. Some had long tails that sway. Some had no tails at all. They’re my friends.

My best friend’s name is Strottles. He doesn’t live in the Collins’ cellar. He’s a wild cat. He had belonged to one of our neighbors, the Lombardi family, but he scratched up all their furniture and sprayed on the doors. So, they put him out of their house.

He survives on his wits and on food that people in the neighborhood put out for him. It wasn’t unheard of for him to kill and eat the occasional bird or mouse. Strottles is the biggest cat I have ever seen. His fur is orange, and mangy looking. He has scars and part of one ear missing. But to me, he was the most charming and handsome of them all. I love him.

As I crouch down in the grass petting the cats through the chicken wire, I see Strottles cruising through Mrs. Lombardi’s yard and heading in my direction. I call out to him, “Strottles, hi Strottles. How are you?”

He comes over to me slowly and bumps his head on my shoulder. I can hear and feel him purring. I start telling Strottles about my morning and how my father told me I was pigheaded. I told him how I was yelled at for knocking over my chair. He gazes at me with his enormous golden eyes and somehow conveys to me with his look that everything will be ok.

Strottles and I spend the morning investigating and saying hello to all the neighbors’ pets. Strottles is very tolerant of dogs and female cats, but he can’t abide other male cats.

In my room early in the morning, I have often been awakened by the sound of cats waling and screaming. When I look out my bedroom window, I see a whirling dervish as Strottles fights any male cat that dares to interlope in his territory. As far as I know, he remains the victor in all his battles. He wears his many scars and healing wounds as any great warrior would. I hear my mother calling me to come in for lunch from the kitchen door.

“Susie time for lunch, come home Susie, lunch time.”

“Strottles, I’ll see you later.”

He stares at me intently with his great orange eyes, and I stroke him from the top of his head to the end of his straggly, broken tail. As I run towards the side of my house, I take a last look at Strottles as he strolls away in the other direction. He seems in no great hurry to reach whatever his next destination might be.

As I open the kitchen door, I smell chicken noodle soup that’s steaming in a pot on the stove. My mother stands there in her housedress, covered by her everyday apron. She has a long line of safety pins hanging down the front of it. She claims that you never knew when you might need a safety pin, to pin up an errant hem, or replace a lost button.

“Hi, Susie.” She says with her beautiful smile. I’m making grilled cheese sandwiches, please go and wash your hands before you sit down.”

As I run into the bathroom, I hear my sister Karen, coming in through the front door.

“Hi, Mom, what’s for lunch?”

Then I close the bathroom door. As I finish my business in the bathroom, I hear a great commotion coming from the kitchen. My father is yelling, and my mother ‘s crying. I run into the kitchen to see what’s going on. I see my father at the kitchen door with a broom. He’s chasing what looks like the tail end of an orange cat. I have never seen my mother cry before. I feel my lower lip start trembling, and tears sprang to my eyes. My mother gives me a look that I had never seen in her eyes before. I know that something terrible has happened and somehow I‘m to blame.

My father comes back into the house, and his face carries an angry expression. I know that I was about to be on the receiving end of something terrible. “You and that stupid cat,” he spits at me, “look what you have done.” My sister looks at me, her mouth in a circle. Then everyone stares sadly up at Prettyboy’s now empty cage.

“Where is Prettyboy?” I beg as tears roll down my cheeks.

“That dammed cat of yours, he ran into the kitchen while your mother took out the garbage. He jumped up onto the kitchen table and he killed your mother’s bird.”

“Oh no, I sobbed, oh no, Strottles wouldn’t do that.” But I know in my heart he would. He’s always hungry and on the lookout for food.

My mother looks away from me. My father roughly grabs me by the arm and smacks me on my behind.

“Go down the cellar and stay down there and think about what you have done.” He pushes me through the door and closes it behind me. It seems I was down there a very long time. I cry and cry until my eyes are swollen shut. I hear my mother’s soft voice and feel her arms around me.

Parenting- These Things I Know To Be True

1 Reply

Parenting is, by far, one of the most challenging tasks that a mother and father must face. It’s not something that happens in a day. It’s a continuous progression of changes that occur over a long period. And if you have been successful as a parent, your child will be capable of making measured, responsible decisions although there will be many mistakes along that path. 

And yet, there is no line saying yes, this person is ready to be completely independent. He or she doesn’t need my input anymore. When my oldest daughter moved out into an apartment in Philadelphia in her last year of college, she made some financial mistakes. In her first couple of months, she ran her cell phone bill up to over five hundred dollars. She invited her friends over for dinners. She didn’t have the money to cover the $500.00 phone bill or to buy additional food.

I had to have a serious conversation with her regarding her financial status. And how much money or how little money we had to contribute to her living expenses. We were paying for her school expenses and her art supplies while she attended the Hussian School of Art. Also, we put the first, last a deposit on her apartment and furnished it for her. We had purchased her cell phone.

The good news is that my daughter graduated at the top of her class and excelled in every area.

It’s difficult to stand by and let a child make decisions that you consider inappropriate or immature without considering the consequences of that decision.

It was the same when that child took his or her first stumbling steps when they started to walk. You stood several feet away with your arms outstretched. And let them come toward you, knowing full well that they will fall at first, possibly get hurt. But allowing them because this is the necessary process, we all go through in learning to walk — their first steps to becoming an independent person.

Your child matures from an infant to a toddler to a young child to adolescent to young adult. Many changes take place. There were decisions to be made. When can the child play outside without the mother or father’s watchful presence? When can I allow him or her to walk to a friend’s house unaccompanied? How far can she or he ride their bike? When are they old enough to be left home without supervision? And later when are they ready to date, hold a job, learn to drive a car.

Each child is an individual and must be treated as such. There is no rule book for parenting. Many times, it’s a trial or error process. There is always a learning curve in parenting. Especially the first time around. And even the second or third time can be completely different than the others.

But the most significant and relevant factor in parenting is consistent. Consistent in rules of behavior, consistent in discipline. Consistent in love and acceptance for the child as an individual.

Children need to have structure in their environment and stability in their parent’s behavior towards them. And also, in the type of behavior parents expect in return from them.

Although a mother or father’s role as parents never ceases throughout their child’s life, it does change. Change can be difficult at times for both parents and child. But ultimately, it is absolutely a necessity for growth.

When anyone’s child is living on their own and completely independent of their parents, it may seem that the parent has become irrelevant. But still one finds that even the adult child will need approval, acceptance, and love. No matter how old the child is, including when they have children of their own.

So, in a real way, a parent’s job is never finished but is an ongoing process.

THE MIND IS A WONDERFUL THING

2 Replies

Goosebumps rise on my arms and legs as I stand at the kitchen sink washing the dishes. I look around quickly, feeling as if someone is watching me. I’m sure everyone has left for the day, but all the same, I walk through the dining room and into the living room, and yell up the steps,” Charles, is that you?”

No one answers.” Huh!” I must be getting paranoid in my old age.  I walk back into the kitchen. I pick up some more dirty glasses along the way. God, why can’t people pick up after themselves? How hard is it to bring the glass in and at least put it in the sink?

The dishwasher is on the fritz again. We can’t afford a new one.  Last week I was laid off from one of my part-time jobs. I put a new trash bag in the can and take the stinking, over-filled one out to the trash can in the backyard.

As I’m about to go back to the house, I have the same weird feeling of being watched. And sure enough, there’s a creepy-looking guy standing in the driveway of my neighbor’s house across the street. He’s staring at me. I look quickly away and walk back into the house. I’ve had a lot of problems with that neighbor in the past.  I tried my best to avoid any interaction with her or any of the freaks that lived on and off with her.

I lock the door behind me and put the chain across to be on the safe side. I wished those neighbors would all move away or disappear from the face of the earth and do the world a favor.

Over the past eight years, Meghan, the woman that owns the house, has sold drugs to minors and provided alcohol to middle school kids at her older son’s thirteenth birthday party. Gone through three messy divorces and a string of live-in boyfriends and had two children in addition to the two she already had.

None of which is any of my business, and I didn’t want to know about it, but I had heard all the fights, including knockdowns in their front yard, that always followed the public displays of affection. She allows her two younger children, less than three years old, to play in the street unsupervised.

Now, this new person, standing there, with his long stringy, black and gray hair, no shirt, and pants hanging so low, you could see everything, including his protruding stomach, and the crack of his ass.

When will it end?” I ask out loud to no one in particular. God, how I had come to hate that woman, I know it’s wrong, but she makes it so easy. I called the police on her one day when I saw her kick her young son on his butt as hard as she could with her booted foot. And he flew five feet, and landed face down in the graveled driveway, then she walked over and started pummeling him with her big meaty hands.

After the police left, she came out into the street and called me every filthy name she could think of, some that I had never heard before. Her language would make an Eagles Football team fan cringe.

I force myself to stop obsessing about her and her minions, by starting the wash and paying some of the bills, on my online bank account. As usual, there are more bills than bucks. I pay the ones that need to be paid first, and I’ll worry about the others later.

It’s time for me to get ready for my one remaining job, as a crossing guard at the elementary school, it doesn’t pay much, but on the other hand, it doesn’t have any benefits either. Who needs health insurance anyway?

I walk the six blocks to the school and wait for the kiddies to arrive. Luckily, I love kids and look forward to seeing their shining, happy faces every day. They all called me Wavy Woman because I have a habit of waving at everyone that passes, by foot or in a vehicle of any kind. It had started as a friendly gesture but has now become something of a compulsion, albeit a harmless one.

Sometimes people in the food store wave at me and said, “Hello, Wavy Woman, nice to see you.” As if that‘s my Christian name. Of course, I’ve found there are a lot of worse things for someone to call you.

I wait until twenty minutes after the last morning bell, and sure enough, here comes Joey, my notorious neighbor’s son, running up to the corner, “Hi, Joey, don’t you look nice today, have fun today in school, see you at three.”

He never speaks to me, just shyly smiles, and runs into the school, once again to be marked tardy. I will be back later. I decide to take a long way home and get some exercise in the fresh if somewhat frosty air.

When I return home, I‘m going to comb through the newspaper and the online job sites for another part-time job. Maybe try something more challenging. I don’t know, maybe being one of those women who replace greetings cards in food stores.

I simply refuse to work in fast food, not because they ruined the environment, by cutting down the rainforest so the cattle can graze there. But for a more selfish reason, I ‘m secretly addicted to French fries, and onion rings, and I’m trying not to become the fat lady in a carnival.

As I arrive at my driveway, I give a glance at my neighbors’ front yard. Thank god, he isn’t there, and then I see he’s sitting on their front step, smoking what I hoped is only a cigarette. I rush up to my back steps and almost step on what appears to be a dead mouse. Dear god, I think what’s next, a horse’s head over my bed?

I walk into the kitchen and grab a plastic bag, and put my hand inside and carefully pick up the mouse, which isn’t in complete rigor mortis. I pull the bag inside out and run to the trash can to throw it in. And run as quickly as possible back into the house, and double-lock the back door.

I throw myself into the task of finding another part-time job and keep my mind occupied for the next three hours. I apply for every part-time job, including a dog walker. Not my best decision. I have a total phobia of dogs of any size, including the type that can fit into teacups and never stop their incessant high-pitched barking.

I eat a quick lunch, answer a few e-mails, and delete all my spam, and empty the little computer trash can for good measure. I know this is done automatically periodically, but what can I say, I’m an organized person.

Before I know it, the timer on my cell phone beeps, signaling me that it’s time to cross the kiddies again. Being safe rather than sorry, I look out the backdoor before venturing outside, and it’s all clear, so I go my merry way.

When I get home, I decide to go through the front door,  to be safe. I walk into the kitchen and look into the freezer to find something I can cook for dinner. Not much. As I ‘m doing that, my cell phone begins ringing. I think it might be about one of the jobs I sent my resume. I pick it right up. It’s not about my resume.

” Hey, it’s me.”  It’s my best friend, Babes. God knows I love her to death. But it’s impossible to get a word in with her, and even more challenging to get off the phone. She’s going on and on about her husband’s habit of leaving a trail of dirty clothes from the front door to the bedroom. Which is annoying, but I’ve heard it a million times, so I start zoning out.

It’s just at that moment I hear a loud rapping at the door. I look through one of the windows at the top of a door, and I think god help me. It’s the pervert. He keeps banging, and banging, he can see me, so I have to answer the door.

“Babes, there’s a freak at the back door. If you hear me scream, please call 911 right away. Hold on while I answer the door.” 

I said all this while she was still talking a mile a minute. So I don’t know if she heard what I said or not.

I reluctantly answer the door, but only a crack, with the chain still attached. “Yes, can I help you? I’m busy. I’m on the phone conducting some business.”

He sticks his hand through the crack. I jump back as if bitten by a snake. He says slowly,” Here, this is yours. We got it by mistake.”

I take it into my hands and look down. It’s my electric bill. I look at him.  I say. ”Thank you.” And quietly pull the door closed.