Oh fiddle sticks

Modem died. Without computer for 4-5 days they say. By the way, my dear sweet neighbor is wearing her pjs for fifth day. I wasn't being mean. I'm very happy for her. Live and let live I say. If I get to library I will reply. Last week of school hooray!

What is a neighbor to do?

We've all had the experience. You see someone with a piece of food in their teeth, a boogie in their nose, a wild hair somewhere, toilet paper on the bottom of their shoe, or a man ( you might know)wearing his tee shirt inside out.

So what do you do if you see this sort of thing? I would want someone to tell me. But I don't always tell others, even people I know well. When I do mention it I try to be subtle. I've handed a coworker a tissue, told a woman she was trailing TP.

A teacher once told me that she was on the beach with her new husband when he drew close to her and tapped his lip. She leaned in to kiss him and he pulled back and tapped his lip again. She was nose to nose with him when he whispered, "mustache." HIS upper lip was clean shaven. They're still married.

My latest quandry is do I tell the lovely non-English speaking, overweight, grandmotherly neighbor that the new outift she has been parading around in for three evenings is not a matching shirt and capri set? She's wearing a pair of cotton summer pajamas. They are the prettiest print, little blue flowers on white background. She had guests over tonight and she showed off her garden, then strolled out front to show them her fruit bearing trees and the zucchini growing across the lawn. (Yes) I respect all boundaries and cultures, but do I dare say? She really loves her new lounging jammies.

 

Unusual sightings

We were driving on the interstate and saw a white car with the word POLICE emblazoned across the door, but no municipality. As we approached we read FBI POLICE  Department of Homeland Security. That was a first for us. I didn't know the FBI had their own police. I know they have agents. Is it just me? Did YOU know that?

Next, we saw a car with Illinois license plates. Instead of the state motto, the words read "REPOSSESSER." The young girl with bleach blonde hair was texting. Heading to her next repo?

Then, we went to Burger King and I asked for a senior soda (value menu price). A woman behind me tapped me and said, "How old do you have to be to get that discount? I'm 55 and at IHOP they automatically gave it to me. What an insult!"

I smiled and said, "I don't know how old you have to be. Just ask for the senior discount. They won't ask for your I.D. I'm 64, so I'm sure I qualify."

I thought she was going to have a Fred Sanford heart attack. She stumbled backwards, grabbed her chest, and said, "Sixty four? Wow you look good!" Normally I'd take that as a compliment, but I took her comment with a grain of salt.

The couple who came in with more tatoos and lip piercings than seemed possible asked for applications. The manager directed them to go on line at BKburger.com The girl asked,
"How do you spell that?"

Is there a full moon, or is it just ME?

The man's a trouble maker

Nothing like catching a nap on the couch. Nothing like feeling the pins and needles tingling sensation because my arm is crimped under my chin. I have a habit when I startle awake. I raise my hands to my face to examine them. I don't know why I do it, maybe to see if I'm still connected to them.

I roused from deep sleep, raised my hands to check them out. I couldn't believe my eyes! My right hand had doubled in size. I grabbed it with my left hand, but it had no feeling. Wow! Did that bring me to my senses.

That man of mine is a trouble maker. I WILL get even with him. I'm open to suggestions.

Writer submission opportunities...don't be chicken!

I am so blessed to have had one of my formerly published stories, Two Little Words With a Big Impact chosen for this anthology. Janet N. Miracle wrote the editors and told them how my story made a difference in her life.  Her story, Sticks and Stones, is published on page 29 prior to mine, which is on page 31. Please check out this Twentieth Anniversary Edition. It would make a great graduation gift, birthday present or Father's Day gift.

If you have not written a Chicken Soup for the Soul story, I'll tell you my secret to success. I write from my heart about an event in my life. I share the "aha" moment with others and without preaching, give the reader a take away message.

Don't feel neglected if you get rejected. I receive many rejections!

Jack Canfield and Mark Victor Hansen, co creators of Chicken Soup for the Soul anthologies were rejected 144 times before their first book was accepted. Look at how the series has grown. This is the 18th Chicken Soup anthology in which I am published. If I can do it, you can too.

 www.chickensoup.com Click on SUBMIT YOUR STORY and read the pull down menu to view the list of titles currently in development.

Here's a local link to check out, also. Prose and poetry contests are underway and close September 1st, so you have plenty of time to write and submit. http://www.springfieldwritersguild.org/

Never stop believing. If you believe in something, then you must let nothing stop you.
 

We can all use an assist

This baby bunny has been feasting on the neighbor's lettuce. I love sitting on the patio in the morning watching the antics of this little cutie. I'm afraid that one day it will have the same problem as Winnie the Pooh who ate all the honey and got too big to fit through a hole. 

 

 

 

The baby mockingbird followed its mama to our fence and then tumbled off and into the tomato garden which is fenced in with chicken wire. Its mother would call it, but try as it might, it couldn't figure out how to get out. So Bill had to assist, lift a corner of the fence so it could escape.

 

 

 

Whether you are a new writer or an experienced one, it is always nice to get a little assist.  Here is  a blog link that I hope you will enjoy. Erika has a free newsletter, so be sure to sign up for it.     www.erikadreifus.com/blogs/practicing-writing

Angel boy

Do you believe in providence? I do. I received a Facebook message a few minutes ago from a former student's mom that confirmed what we both know. At our lowest points, our deceased loved ones find ways to send us messages.

Stephen walked into my life and classroom more than twenty years ago, shorter than a yard stick, weighing no more than a sack of potatoes, with hair the color of a shiny penny and personality that outshone the overhead lights. He had a very serious congential heart defect. I remember when he turned four and was supposed to move on with his classmates to a three day, more intensive, preacademic program. I had to convince his mom that it was in her son's best interest to stay behind with children he could keep up with physically and academically. It took lots of persuasion.

He had several hospitalizations, and his little lips would turn blue from exhaustion from simply getting up and down and doing physical activity. I wanted him to be happy and have a positive experience in preschool, not struggle to keep up. His mom agreed.

I tutored Stephen in hospital when he would not cooperate with the special ed team. He and I learned from one another. I knew that mastering those basic skills wasn't as important as allowing him to master his destiny as best he could. He needed some control over his life. He would become so tired and weary of medical interventions, he'd shout at the nurses, "You're fired!"

I would walk in with school work and I could tell by his mood. Some days I'd say, "You don't want to do ABCs? Okay, what should we talk about?"

I could see the disbelief on his face. Wow! The teacher had no expectations and wasn't going to force him to learn? We talked about everything, but mostly the latest episode of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

I did a fund raiser for his family at Easter. My students did a bunny hop at school and we raised $1,000.00 for his family. I dressed in a bunny costume and parked in front of the hospital. I exited my car and realized I had left the envelope filled with cash on the front seat...and my keys in the ignition. I rushed into the hospital and begged a guard to come help me. I then grabbed my keys and the envelope and rode the elevator to Stephen's floor. I hopped into his room and he burst out laughing and squealed, "Ms. Linda!"

"How did you know it was me?"

"Your eyes!" He smiled.

I purchased a stuffed Ninja turtle, for the classroom. His favorite, Michaelangelo, waited for his return. That stuffed toy was bigger than the boy, but he dragged it everywhere.

When he had moved on to big school, Stepehen had surgery to replace his pulmonary artery (I think) but sadly his condition worsened over time. I kept in contact with his family and visited him in hospital years after he left me.

Stephen went to heaven eighteen years ago this month, at age 9.  I was on vacation and unable to attend his funeral. For years I would call his mom around the anniversary. The first time, I said, "I am sending you a hug through the phone, uuunnnnhhh."

She cried out, "That is just how Stephen would send me a hug across the room at the end when he was too weak to get up."

Today she received my Facebook message. She said she was clearing debris from his grave when her new phone pinged a message received from me: "Thinking of you and Stephen."

Ann said, "With only the slightest breeze in the air, the windmill I placed at his grave began to spin wildly."

You can think what you want, but Ann and I know than an angel boy flew by. For a brief moment of earth time we had that special connection.