Ruthi Postow Birch's Blog, page 3

LIFE AFTER RETIREMENT — BRING YOUR SENSE OF HUMOR

There is life after retirement! But bring your sense of humor because there will be bumps in the road. For one thing, no matter how you feel about it, you’re getting older. You can’t stop it. Not with wishes on birthday candles, Botox, or jazzy sports cars (both of which I say go for if they make you happy). And getting old can be fun if you do it right.

RETIREMENT — THE MORNING AFTER 

The first day of retirement feels kind of like a Monday holiday — you have the day off. Hooray! You stretch and lay back on your pillows luxuriating in freedom. You can spend the day doing anything you want. Maybe have a picnic, go to a movie, or take the dog on a long walk by the river.

But this is not a Monday holiday — it’s for keeps. And sooner or later an excess of freedom isn’t so much fun. You start asking yourself, what am I going to do all day? Starting to feel old? Then, you’d better grab your sense of humor and get creative.

HOW OLD WERE YOU WHEN OLD GOT SCARY?

How old were you when you first thought [i.e. worried] about getting old? I was eight.

Eight, and I already knew old was bad — you couldn’t play or have fun anymore. I knew because my sister was old — she was twenty-eight. She didn’t even know what fun was anymore. She told me the best thing about being twenty-eight was the cost of car insurance went down. I loved my sister. I felt awful for her. And I never wanted to be like her — and I never wanted car insurance.

RETIREMENT — DOES OLD START NOW?

Whether we retire at sixty or eighty, there is some little part of us that flashes a signal — Old Starts Now. We push it down. But it sneaks back because of impressions we got when we were kids.

A lot of retired people lived on Petain Street — and they were all very old. The retired women didn’t seem to do anything but sit on front porches all day every day. The men retired to rake leaves. When that was done, they took to their armchairs and TV. All Grandma did, when she wasn’t on the front porch, was cook cornbread and read the Bible. [Now that I think about Grandma, she also spent time with me — singing songs and playing games. Maybe that was her passion and what made her life fun. https://lifefunscripted.com/singing-old-folksongs-with-grandma-childhood-memories/ ]

This was the picture I carried with me all the way to retirement. But I was wrong! Retired doesn’t mean rocking chairs on front porches. It means fun because we’re freed from a lot of silly baggage.

LIFE AFTER RETIREMENT — HANG UP YOUR HANGUPS

              Throw away the rulebook. The only rule you need is the one we learned in preschool: Keep your hands to yourself and have a good time.

#1 HOW WILL IT LOOK?

How will it look? What will people think? Ha, ha! We don’t care. And that’s the most exhilarating feeling. For one reason, we’ve learned by now that the other people probably aren’t thinking about us at all. And if they are, how sad for them because we’re going dancing.

Remember the time when you wanted to do something different — something silly or outrageous? Now you can. So do something on a whim. Buy that sports car. Or put on a bikini and head for the beach.

#2 ARE YOU CHICKEN?

No. Not anymore. I don’t know exactly when we cross the line, but suddenly we’re brave. We’re doing things we would have been way too scared to do when we were younger. I met a woman who said she had always been afraid to try out for the church choir even though she loved to sing. She wouldn’t even sing out loud in church for fear the people around her would hear. Now she’s not only in the choir, she’s singing solos.

Hey! Those things that looked fun and exciting really are — mountain climbing, jet skiing, drag racing — I have drag racing on my list. What did you secretly want to try but didn’t because you were afraid?

#3 WILL THEY LAUGH AT ME?

I hope so because I’m not this funny by accident. So laugh — because I’m a cartoonist. I draw whimsical art — cartoons and funny animals. I used to be afraid they weren’t good enough to submit to contests. Now I’m taking them to art shows and I’m drawing them on greeting cards and selling them on Instagram.

Why should we be afraid of failing? We’ve already done it enough times to know failure isn’t fatal — unless you’re skydiving.

#4 YOU COULDN’T HAVE GOTTEN AWAY WITH THIS AT FORTY —

At a certain age, you earned to right to speak up — like at the dinner party that goes on and on. It’s well past dessert — yet the guests linger. Been there? You’re tired but it’s your house and you can’t say anything — when you’re forty. Grandpa Sam wasn’t forty. He went upstairs. A few minutes later, he appeared at the top of the stairs in his bathrobe and said, “It’s late. The guests are tired now and need to go home.”

Be cantankerous and adorable — Faye was ninety when she took a class at a community college. They were holding auditions for a play. It was a musical and Faye couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. But she went to the audition.

When the director told her she didn’t get a part, she was outraged. “It’s because I’m old. Admit it. You don’t want old people in your show…” and on and on until he said he’d find a part for her. He told her to come to rehearsal Tuesday night at eight.

“You expect me to come out at eight o’clock at night?! Are you crazy? I’m old! I can’t come out at night.”

#5 YOU CAN’T DO THAT.  Like %^#! I can’t!

People — mainly your kids — will tell you things you shouldn’t do. Worse, they’ll tell you what you can’t do. Do them anyway (as long as you know you’re able). It’s funny how impressive you are to people who don’t think you can do anything.

“Mom, what did you think you were doing? You can’t be getting up on a ladder or painting the fence. Now you’re getting down and repointing the bricks on the patio?”

              Yes. And I dress myself and make my own bed, too.           

LIFE AFTER RETIREMENT

Yep. There is life after retirement! Bring your sense of humor and you can smooth out those silly bumps in the road. You’re gonna get older but you can make it fun. Take those birthday candle wishes and make them true.

Sing out loud. Paint a picture. Audition for a play. Get Botox if it makes you feel good. Buy that jazzy sports car. And laugh.

Life is fun if you do it right.

 

The post LIFE AFTER RETIREMENT — BRING YOUR SENSE OF HUMOR appeared first on Life(F)unscripted.

LIVING WITH ADHD — MARCHING TO A DIFFERENT DRUMMER

Let’s talk about the upsides of living with ADHD — wait — hold that thought — I saw the cutest dog ever yesterday. I have to show you this picture.

Okay, we were talking about the upsides of living with ADHD (or ADD). Excitement, energy, creativity, and a 360° view of the world are a few. Your attention jumps from sight to sight at lightning speed. And that’s a great benefit. You march to a different drummer and you see things other people miss. Sure, your route isn’t a straight line — but you get there — and with a big bag full of impressions, images, information, and ideas.

YOUR SUPERPOWER

Some people call it a disability* and tell you to take a pill for it. But they don’t get it — living with ADHD  is your superpower. Your mind can leap tall buildings in a single bound. You move fast, think fast, and have rapid-flow ideas. All that, plus you’re able to flip a switch, go to hyper-focus, and do amazing things.

You can’t find the scissors — again? You don’t remember what day it is? So, what?

YOUR DIFFERENT DRUMMER

You have to get used to having superpowers — and how to people react to them. When I was a kid in school, the teachers didn’t appreciate my powers. I could tell. The teacher who told my mother I marched to a different drummer didn’t mean it as a compliment. But it was. And there is something she didn’t know. It’s even better than just having different drummers — I march in different parades — a lot of them — and all at once. Every day is Marda Gras.

PAY ATTENTION!

“Pay attention and you may learn something!” Did you hear that from teachers when you were in school? I did — even when I was paying attention. I was paying attention to the teacher and to a funny orange bird with a black head outside on the windowsill. I’d heard all about how George Washington never cut down a cherry tree and I saw the weird bird prancing on the window ledge with a worm in his beak. I didn’t miss either thing — until the teacher yelled at me.

The funny orange bird caught my attention in an ADHD moment

If getting our attention is a teacher’s goal, they fall short of it when they embarrass us. For the rest of that class, all I was focused on was whether my face was red and if the other kids were laughing at me. I’d wanted to ask the teacher what kind of bird it was, but I didn’t.

I GOT IT THE FIRST TIME YOU SAID IT

You can take in and assimilate information quickly. That’s a great superpower — until you learn that people like to repeat themselves — and your power annoys them. I learned that in the first grade. We were lined up on the playground where the teacher was explaining the fire drill rules again. I got it — you line up, you march out, you don’t talk, you stand by the big tree until the bell rings, and you march back in.

But a praying mantis had landed on a nearby bush — and way too close. I had to watch it because I knew about praying mantises. If it spit in my eye, I’d go blind. My friend Sally told me, and she knew. She was a second grader. Suddenly, the teacher loomed over me. “Ruthi, you are not a good listener!” Yes, I was. But I didn’t say it.

Another kid was braver. They were repeating a basic and boring lesson. When the child picked up a book, the teacher snapped, “If you’d pay attention, you might learn something.”

“What?” said the girl, “Like the letter R?” She was my hero.

THE UPSIDE OF LIVING WITH ADHD – YOU CAN FLY

You can fly! Hyper-focus is your sky — a place of clarity. Distractions are cancelled out. You are clear on the goal and the steps to get there. Exhilarated, you get things done fast.

But people want you to slow down. When you can fly, slowing down is not fun. Waiting for other people to catch up is boring. Boredom is painful. So you have to find ways alleviate the boredom. But that’s not always possible because other people may not know you need to keep flying.

The tricky thing about ADHD is finding the right career. Read the funny side of taking the wrong job here https://lifefunscripted.com/my-first-day-at-my-first-job-failure-isnt-fatal/

BOREDOM IS THE ENEMY WHEN YOU LIVE WITH ADHD

Have you ever been stuck in a situation where you couldn’t move on till other people caught up? When I was in the third grade, we had weekly arithmetic tests. If we finished our work early, we had to stay in our seats and wait until the last kid was done.

The first week, I finished early. And I sat there — for a minute. Then I started drawing on my test paper — a vine with flowers filled the right border. The next week, finished and bored again, I drew flowers and added rain drops falling through them. The next week I added more flowers, not just on the border but scattered through the problems. Then, I got really creative — I added clouds at the top and raindrops falling on the flowers and a little girl holding an umbrella.

My teacher, Mrs. Williams, was nice and patient. She didn’t say anything about my artwork until half of my answers were lost in a pond filled with goldfish.

INSTRUCTIONS? DETAILS! 

We have so many things to see and learn, dreams to dream, and inventions to imagine. The world is an exciting place — too exciting to slow down long enough to read the instructions. Details get missed. Things get lost. That doesn’t bother us so much — but other people….

“Where are the scissors? You just had them!” I don’t know — they’re just gone.

When I was a kid, my daddy got fed up with having to replace things. He preached a principle — a place for everything and everything in its place. I must have heard him say it a thousand times because it stuck. I have to admit it’s better than buying a new pair of scissors every time you need to cut something.

IF YOU CAN’T SEE IT, IT DOESN’T EXIST

If being organized is good, is being super-organized better? Maybe not. I bought a beautiful baker’s cabinet in an antique store. It has twenty small drawers, and I could see right away it was perfect for organizing things. I worked all day, making a place for everything — receipts, notecards, pens, paints, and scissors.

I beamed whenever I walked past the cabinet, but I didn’t open it. It felt scary. I couldn’t remember what things were in which drawer. I went back to stuffing receipts in a shoebox. And I bought new scissors. (Recently I emptied all the drawers. I like the cabinet so much more this way.)

IT’S NOT MULTI-TASKING — IT’S THE UPSIDE OF ADHD

You have to have a sense of humor if you’re a multitasking superhero. Have you ever had a friend laugh at the way you do things? It’s going to happen — somebody is going to watch you doing some normal thing and laugh.

My friend was sitting on a kitchen stool talking to me while I cooked dinner. She stopped talking and was staring at me with an amazed expression. “What is it?” I asked.

She laughed. “Do you know what you just did? You were dicing onions, but stopped mid-onion, opened a bottle of wine, then put plates on the table — but not all of the plates. You stopped halfway through and went back to dicing the onion. Do you ever finish one thing before you start another?”

I thought about it. “No. Probably not,” I said. “I suppose you don’t ever stop in the middle of brushing your teeth to comb your hair.”

She doesn’t. Too bad for her. My way is so much more exciting.

THE UPSIDES OF LIVING WITH ADHD

These are just some of the upsides of ADHD (and ADD) — wait — I just remembered. I saw this beautiful cat. Look at this picture! Is he gorgeous?   

Enjoy the upsides of ADHD — your energy, creativity, excitement, and 360° view of the world. Have fun marching to your different drummer, jumping from sight to sight at lightning speed and seeing things other people miss. You don’t need your route to be a straight line. You’ll get there — and with a big bag full of impressions, images, information, and ideas.

*There are people who need and are helped by ADHD medication. Unfortunately, it is often pushed on those who do not need or want it.

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DOG THERAPY — HOW A DOG CAN HEAL YOUR ACHES AND PAINS

It’s true — dog therapy can heal your aches and pains and a multitude of other ailments too — apathy, aimlessness, fatigue, grumpiness, cabin fever, and sadness. A dog can even perk up a dried-up sense of humor. I know because I had dog therapy with a soft-coated Wheaten terrier. His name is Doctor Mr. Magoo and I’m his rescue human.[image error]

The Dog Approach to Therapy

Are you committed? What’s your motivation? How do you feel today? These are questions your dog will never ask. He doesn’t care. He has a program worked out and he has a timeline. It starts now — whether you’re motivated or not. So, just get up and go!

From the beginning, Mr. Magoo let me know he was not a do-it-when-you-get-around-to-it kind of guy.

“I am going to keep jumping up and down, barking, and bumping you till you get up and play with me. So, put on your shoes, get my leash, and open the door. We’re walking. After that, we’re playing. Then I will chew on something and take a nap.”

Do You Have Aches and Pains?  Get Dog Therapy!

Aches and pains? Get a dog. Of course, you can try going to doctors first if you like. That’s what I did. They gave me tests. According to the tests, I was fine.

To convince me I didn’t hurt, the doctor went through the list of all the things not wrong with me.

The problem is a lot of our aches and pains confound tests. This frustrates doctors because they like pains with names that show up on charts.

I argued that there must be something wrong because my pain was real. He said I might try a specialist, sounding like it wouldn’t matter. I could tell he was getting bored with me.

The Difference Between a Dog Therapist and a Doctor

Your dog will never get bored with you. Another big difference between a dog therapist and a doctor is specialization. Doctors specialize. Dog therapists are holistic.

I went to an orthopedist. I told him about the pain in my legs. “What part of your leg?” he asked. I told him it started at my shin and went down my foot to my toes. “I can’t help you. I’m a knee specialist.”

Really? I couldn’t go to just one doctor for my whole leg? No. There are separate ologists for every part. And when you’ve used them up, you can go to a psychiatrist — that’s the doctor who will try to get the pain out of your head where the ologists think it is.

Dog Therapists are the General Practitioners of the Heeling World

Dog therapists know all that’s important to know to heal your aches and pains. If you ask a doctor a question that’s outside of his specialty, he’ll likely scratch his head and look dumbfounded. Dogs won’t do that — actually they will scratch a lot but it’s not the same.

The good news is your dog can treat every symptom you can throw at him — if you’re in pain, tired, sad, hurt, unmotivated, depressed, or feeling old. And he won’t suggest your problems are all in your mind. He doesn’t care about that either.

A Physical Therapy Failure

[If you’re never down or unmotivated, if your back never aches, your weight never fluctuates more than three pounds, and you exercise, walk, or run for the joy of it, you’re in the wrong blog.]

I went to physical therapy. I washed out. (I know I’m not the only one!) The thing about physical therapy is you have to do it — and not just for the two hours a week that you’re in the clinic.

I went to my first session all motivated. I worked at mastering the tricky exercises with funny names like cat-camel, downward dog, building bridges, and flasher (not as fun as it sounds).

After the session, I went home with a sheet of instructions and excellent intentions. For the next week, I followed the sheet almost to the letter. Except of course the two days it was raining — you can’t walk if it’s raining. You can get sick. Everybody knows that — except your dog.  I’m too tired to exercise today or my back hurts. That’s ok. I can make it up.

Physical Therapy May Work for Other People

I did PT for a few weeks before I realized PT doesn’t work. Maybe it works for other people, but my issues are different. I was despondent, knowing that pain would be my future.

Mr. Magoo wasn’t having that. He knows how a dog can heal you. His exercise sheet said I had to walk, play, and love every single day. And he made it his job to see to it that I did. We walked every day, rain or shine, and some days two or three times. Then we played and tumbled and loved each other.

Dog Therapy Worked a Miracle!

One day I realized nothing hurt — no burning legs, no aching back. I had energy. I was happy. I get up in the morning, impatient for Mr. Magoo to take me on my walk. It was a miracle — or at least a mystery. But healing is no mystery for a dog. He knows the prescription. He is the prescription and he’s right there beside you to make it work.

Dog therapy is how your dog can heal your aches and pain — and a multitude of other ills too. Whatever your problem — pain, boredom, apathy, aimlessness, fatigue, sadness, or a dried-up sense of humor — there is a dog out there ready and willing to make you better — a dog to fit every need. You can be your dog’s rescue human.

About that dried-up sense of humor, a dog is guaranteed to heal it. Go here to read about the hilarious experiences you can have raising a puppy. https://lifefunscripted.com/raising-a-puppy-in-a-world-full-of-delicious-dangers/  

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WHAT’S BLOCKING YOUR FENG SHUI?

What’s blocking your feng shui? What’s keeping your qi from flowing and making you happier and more positive? Change, clutter, and disruption keep your energy from flowing — and they are built into our modern world.

Throw out your old one because here’s a new one — and it’s improved!

If there is an operating manual for modern civilization, I’m sure there’s a whole chapter titled New and Improved. No matter how good a device or product is, it can always be better. That’s why any day now they’re gonna replace a gadget you like with one that’s new and improved. You just got used to the old one when poof! It’s gone. That means change, so there goes the positive energy that should be flowing around you and supporting your qi. Your feng shui is blocked again.

You complain I don’t want the new one. I like the old one. It’s comfortable. Besides, I bought it, so it belongs to me. I can keep it if I want. No. You have to throw it out because here’s a new one — and it’s improved. Besides, you won’t be able to use your old one for long because we’re not going to support it or make parts for it anymore.

Improved — more complicated, more commands, more to learn, more to remember!

I didn’t grow up with technology, but I’ve adapted. Years ago, who’d have thought I’d be writing on a laptop computer? But here I am and I’m proud as punch.

It took hours of frustrating work to master even the most basic tasks — like saving documents. I lost a few chapters before I learned. Unhappy trial and error taught me other lessons — like what the insert key does. I hit it by mistake once when I was inserting new text. I deleted half a page before I caught it.

Now I’ve got it. I can even program commands to make writing faster for me. It’s great — until they force an upgrade. With modern technology you don’t have to go out and buy the new and improved version. The computer does it for you — with upgrades. A signal, mystically sent to your computer, tells it to change everything you’re used to — and delete all the programming you worked so hard to do. The next day, nothing looks the same. You have to start learning and adapting all over again.

My feng shui has a migraine and I can’t open the child-proof package.

Updates to technology aren’t the only feng-shui-blocking improvements. Have you had to tangle with improved tamper-proof packaging? Did you come through uninjured?

I have migraines. There’s a new medication that is no less than miraculous. When I feel a headache coming on, I don’t panic. I reach for my pills. But now they’ve improved the packaging. They’ve encased my pills in bubbles made of industrial-strength plastic — as inaccessible as though they didn’t exist. The instructions said to bend the plastic and scratch up a corner to peel back the panel. It didn’t work and I broke a nail. Of course, I couldn’t find scissors. I tried opening it with my teeth, then with my car key. No luck. I took a knife to it and managed to get out a pill. Luckily, I had Band-Aids.

They improved medicine bottles too — child-proof caps. I don’t have children. I told my druggist. She doesn’t believe me, so she keeps safeguarding my prescriptions in child-proof bottles — actually with my arthritis, a child would be more likely to get the bottle open.

Is revolutionary new clutter blocking your feng shui?  

What’s cluttering your kitchen? Every week there seems to be another new gadget on the market. It’s revolutionary, they tell us. Just think! This machine will take all the work out of boiling eggs. You never need to buy yogurt again when you own this super yogurt maker. And you will make the kids in your family smile with this snow-cone machine.

I bought the snow-cone machine and they did love it — once. Now it sits on the counter, unused and in the way. I don’t have anywhere to store it because the pantry is full of Tupperware bowls (sans lids), Chinese soup takeout containers, and a shoebox full of chargers and cords that don’t fit the newest and most improved devices — but maybe they’ll fit something someday.

What did you buy that’s blocking the feng shui in your kitchen? A pineapple-shaped ceramic jar holding a dozen wooden spoons? Or a metal basket with an attached banana tree for fruit you keep forgetting to buy?

Why do we keep junk that’s in our way and blocking our feng shui?

Why is it so hard for us to throw stuff away?

Maybe it’s the hope that they say springs eternal. Could be fear that we will need it as soon as it’s gone. Or we think it was too expensive to just throw away. So, we dedicate a drawer to stuff we don’t use. The iPod, Fitbit, DVDs, and remotes from long-gone TVs share space with jar lids, rubber bands, old grocery coupons, and a fork that got mashed in the garbage disposal.

The bent fork is another problem. Feng shui doesn’t like broken things hanging around. But I know that fork can be fixed. And they want me to get rid of my red vintage sugar bowl? I don’t think so. It’s Spode! When I fix the chip and glue the handle back on it will be good as new. And I’ll get around to it. When? Sometime.

Speaking of storing stuff —

Those revolutionary appliances — more complicated, more parts, and more to store. If you look way in the back corner of your basement, what ground-breaking invention will you find?

Mine is a vacuum cleaner. It was new. It was improved. It had five settings just for floor type! And a tool to clean everything from ceiling to doorknobs. They didn’t say you might have to take out a loan to get it. But never mind. It was an investment. I bought it.

I was like a kid with a new toy.

When I opened the box I was like a kid with a new toy — so many shiny new attachments. There was even a special tool for cleaning tiny crevices. I tried them all — cleaned my floors, walls, chairs, and my tiny crevices. Then, I cleared a place in the downstairs closet where I arranged the machine and its parts. With my home spanking clean and the equipment neatly organized, my energy flowed.

What I hate about cleaning is that it’s not permanent. You clean the house top to bottom. Then the next week you have to do it all over again. So, the next week I brought up the machine and cleaned again — but not the crevices. How often do you really have to clean crevices? And I only used one of the five settings for floor type because I only have one kind of floor.

After lugging the vacuum around a few times, it wasn’t so much fun. I bought a simpler, less revolutionary machine. The amazing cleaner went to the basement with the other gadgets I don’t use — the electric can opener, microwave egg cooker, deluxe foot spa, automatic wine bottle opener, four umbrellas, and a box of boxes. Today, the snow-cone machine is joining them.

What’s blocking your feng shui?

What’s blocking your feng shui? What’s keeping your qi from flowing and making you happier and more positive? We can get that good energy flowing again. We start by getting rid of the clutter and managing the changes that are under our control. As for the disruptions and changes that are built into our modern world, we just have to take deep breaths and let the frustration go. (I have to stop writing now because my Xfinity is buffering and my laptop is threatening to update so it can delete all of my programming — but I’m taking a deep breath.)

2/2023

 

 

 

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DO I REALLY LOOK THIS OLD?

Have you ever looked in a mirror and asked, “Do I really look this old?” Or this ugly? Or this fat? Or anything else that doesn’t spell beautiful in your dictionary. I have.

If you’re like me, you grew up believing being young and beautiful was all-important. And what beauty meant was — and still is for a lot of us — narrowly defined. So, the mirror has the power to exhilarate us or crush us, steal our confidence, and ruin our day.

Mirror, mirror, tell me I don’t look this old.

It’s not fair! So you do things to make the mirror change its mind. You change your hair, try new makeup, get Botox, buy new shoes (not really, but I like to buy shoes), or crash diet. And you avoid selfies altogether because there’s nothing as depressing as a selfie. Or you can try another mirror because each mirror tells a different story.

Have you ever noticed that you look a thousand times better in one mirror than another? Then, for goodness’ sake, trust that one. You get to decide which mirror to trust. I trust the cloudy, antique mirror in my downstairs powder room. And I spend more time than necessary in that tiny space, just being adorable.

The Beloved Mirror

For years, I had the finest mirror of all. a mirror I loved.  My husband, Ron was my mirror. And I was young. And I was gorgeous. “How old do I look?” I’d ask. And with his answer, I’d get younger every time.

Every morning after I dressed and fixed my hair and makeup, I’d come downstairs and swirl into the room like Loretta Young (Remember her? Then you’re old). And I always knew Ron’s eyes were going to light up and reflect just what a vision I was.

Even when I galumphed down the stairs with a cold, shiny clown nose, red watery eyes, and several extra pounds stuffed into a stained bathrobe I was gorgeous.

But Ron died a few months ago and left me with only unromantic, mean-spirited mirrors that tell me I’m old.

Do I really look this old? Yes! 

We all have days when we look in the mirror and hear a resounding YES when we ask, “Do I really look this old?” Then our energy goes into trying to change that yes. But we can stop. We can do something different — something drastic. We can decide all the things we grew up believing were lies. It’s okay to be older. It’s okay that our photos don’t look the way they used to — or the way we thought we looked before we consulted the mirror. We can stand up and say, “I am more than the wrinkles on my face.” (Really? Maybe. Okay, we’re works in progress.)

How do we break the mirror’s hold?

We get to make choices because we’re grownups. We can write our own definitions of beauty and value. And we can stop fighting to please the mirror. Then we will have all that leftover time, energy, and emotion that we can commit to finding new interests and taking on new challenges. There are important jobs that need doing.

In my case there’s, there’s a blog that needs to be written. And there’s a dog that needs to be walked. Maybe you have one too — maybe you should get one. He will keep you young. And reflected in his eyes, you’ll see, you’re gorgeous.

Allergic to dogs? Okay. There’s a committee that needs to be joined, a garden that needs tending, an old cemetery that needs weeding. And you’re the one who can do it.

Or just go for a walk and say good morning to every person you pass — especially the ones who try to avoid eye contact. Enjoy connecting with the people who smile back at you — and I take a perverse pleasure in making the others uncomfortable.

Start now. Get up, dress, fix your hair and makeup (and maybe buy new shoes). Smile at your reflection because you are beautiful (except in selfies). Then get on with it.

Back to the question you asked the mirror, “Do I really look this old?” Or this ugly? Or this fat? Or anything else that doesn’t spell beautiful in your dictionary. Shatter that mirror. Accept that all those things you grew up believing are wrong. Your judge, that old mirror, has no more power than to tell you if your lipstick is crooked.

Isn’t it fun that we get to choose what to believe and where we put our energy? Young is a way of thinking about life. And what I think right now is that I’ll sit in the garden and have a glass of wine.

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Pop Beads & Tie Tacks – End Christmas Shopping Anxiety

Do you ever have Christmas shopping anxiety — fretting and stressing over each gift you buy? Will they like it? Will it fit? Does it cost as much as what they will give me? Maybe you even return gifts you’ve bought because you think they’re not quite good enough. But you finally settle on the right gifts everyone — you hope. And they’re wrapped, tied with bright bows, and under the tree.

It’s done. You can relax — except you don’t. Every time you walk by the tree you rethink one or two gifts — I hope the dress isn’t too big for Lily. Will Macy think the sweater is too babyish for a teenager? Does she even wear cardigans? Did I get a better gift for Olivia than for Ben? Will his feelings be hurt?

End Christmas shopping anxiety — shop like a little kid

Sometimes we worry all the fun out of giving. But we can fix that. All we have to do is go back and shop like we did when we were little kids. Kids don’t have Christmas shopping anxiety. They just have fun. They don’t question: Will they like it? Of course! They’ll love it. It’s amazing.

Do you remember the first time you got to go Christmas shopping all by yourself? You set off almost giddy with freedom. You’d saved up an enormous amount of money — seven dollars and thirty-five cents (or seventy-three dollars depending on when you were a kid).

You went through the store, picking up one item after another until you found it. You held it and pictured the face of your family member when the paper was torn off and the prize revealed. And you didn’t doubt yourself for a minute. Mama would clap her hands and laugh.

Daddy would say it’s just what I need. And Grandma would ooh and ahh.

 

The first time I went shopping on my own

The first time I went shopping all by myself, I was nine. It’s funny how clearly I remember every part of that day. Mama let me take the three-mile bus ride downtown by myself.

Prichard, Alabama had a one-street downtown. Kind of like the movie Pleasantville, when you got to the end of Mainstreet, you made the U-turn and went back. But that one street was packed with marvels from the manger scene by the library fountain to the reindeer pulling a sleigh with Santa Claus waving from the top of the Western Auto building.

The bus stopped in front of Kress’s Five and Ten and I jumped off. I was met by the aroma coming from the bakery where ten-inch-tall gingerbread men with raisin eyes and mouths were baking.

Rows and Rows of Treasures to Choose From

Kress’s was the best store in Prichard for buying presents – even better than the stores in Mobile. It had rows and rows of counters, racks, and shelves, all piled high with everything anybody could want, from ashtrays to wigs. I marched right past the candy counter and the soda fountain. But I did stop for a few minutes to check out the toys in Toyland.

Then, I headed to the jewelry counter. It overflowed with beads, earrings, pins, and watches. I loved the necklace of big sparkly red rhinestones. It was gorgeous. But it cost nearly four dollars and I wouldn’t have enough left for the other presents. And Mama didn’t like real sparkly necklaces anyway.

POP BEADS

Then I saw a big display of beads. They were pretty, especially the blue ones. Mama would love them. I picked them up and they broke! I was trying not to cry when the saleslady laughed. She took the beads and snapped them back together. “They’re pop beads — new so your mama can change them to fit what she’s wearing or even make a necklace and bracelet to match.”

Pop beads! The pink ones would go with Mama’s Sunday dress. She was going to love them. Right next to the pop beads was the perfect thing for Grandma — a pin. It was a tiny red crystal rose on a shiny green stem. And I got a box of her favorite Lilac Talcum Powder too. Mama and Grandma were going to be so happy! I was on to the men’s counters.

& TIE-TACKS & BROKEN HOBOS

The men’s counter had watches, fountain pens, and fancy pipes. But I was drawn to the revolving display of tie-tacks. They came in all kinds of funny shapes. I had almost decided on a tie tack shaped like a little boat when I saw it — the best gift ever

It was a funny little statue of a hobo. He had a red nose, pink cheeks, a bowed mouth, a cigar, and a black top hat. Uh-oh! He was a little bit broken. He had a hole in his stomach. I figured that was why he only cost a dime.

I asked the saleslady if she had one that wasn’t broken. She laughed and said he wasn’t broken. He was an ashtray and the hole was on purpose. It’s where Daddy would put the lit cigarette went. Then smoke would come out of his mouth. That’s it! I pictured Daddy. He will laugh and he’ll show it off to Uncle Stanley.

My shopping was done. I had bought fantastic treasures and I still had enough money for a coke-float and bus fare home. Shopping — the most fun ever!

But that was then and this is now

But that was then. Did we forget how we did it? Without doubting and rethinking, Christmas shopping was so much fun. But we’re here, fretting over each purchase. And still today there are little kids in stores shopping with glee. And they are finding the most amazing things — a yodeling pickle, a cat-face pillow, an oven mitt shaped like a fish, claw, or a puppy paw. For Dad, there’s an ashtray shaped like a foot with red toenails (he doesn’t smoke, but he’ll love it). And Mom’s getting a pin that’s a cat holding a rhinestone bowling ball. Or maybe the bowl that’s shaped like a pig and says, “Praise the Lard.” Will they like it? Who doesn’t love the gifts kids pick out?

Christmas shopping anxiety is exhausting! So let’s remember and do it as we did when we were kids. Stop fretting and stressing and returning gifts before we give them. Shop like we did when shopping was fun. Then we can be excited to think of how happy everybody will be when they open the wonderful gifts that we wrapped, tied with bright bows, and placed under the tree.

Merry Christmas! And merry Christmas shopping!

Ruthi

 

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FUNNY THANKSGIVING MEMORIES

Every year when families get together sooner or later the conversation always comes around to funny Thanksgiving memories. You’re sitting around the table, stuffed to the gills, and somebody starts, “Remember the time….” Pretty soon you’re laughing out loud and jumping all over each other, telling your favorite stories — stories that may not have been funny when they were happening but are hysterical in the retelling.

Remember the time…?

What are your favorite funny Thanksgiving memories? Was it the year cousin Jack decided to deep fry the turkey? The cooker turned over, and the oil caught fire and burned a path that almost reached the porch. “Yep. That’s the last time we had Thanksgiving dinner at Jack’s house. He burned up the bird and we had take-out fried chicken for dinner.”

“I was there. It’s lucky he didn’t burn down the house. That patch of grass never did grow back.”

The time you heard the last you ever expected to hear?

“Well, Eula finally shot Bert,” said Aunt Bett in the middle of dinner. And eating came to a stop. Forks hung midway between plates and mouths. “Well, you all know how she’s put up with his meanness all these years. But she caught him carrying on with that waitress it was too much. She shot him. He needed shootin’.”

“Where is she now?”

“She’s home. The police knew he needed shootin’. Everybody knew it. Anyway, Eula didn’t set out to kill him — just to wing him to get his attention. It straightened him right out.”

The uncle who had a way of saying things that made them funny?

Daddy jumped in. “I have to tell you what Harley’s done now. He caught some skunks and he’s decided to keep them as pets — built cages for them right outside the kitchen window. I suppose the smell won’t bother them. Harley’s just nasty. Just think of those poor little skunks.

“If Berthel ever wants to kill him, all she’ll have to do is wash him. Dirt, sweat, and tobacco spit are all that’s holding the man together. Wash him and he’d go right down the drain – dirt, grease, spit, and all!

The feisty and outspoken aunt you loved to egg on?

Did you have an aunt who was feisty and outspoken and you loved to push the buttons that would get her going on a rant? We had Aunt Gloria and her sister-in-law was the button. You’d only have to say something like, “By the way, I was in New York and saw Rita. She said you should call her.”

“Rita! Why should she call me? I never liked her. She was sour. I was popular. I had boyfriends. I went out. She couldn’t get a date. She couldn’t even get a date for her prom. Her brother had to pay my brother to take her. Everett wouldn’t do it unless he got a new suit. And there’s always something wrong with her. To hear her tell it she’s been at death’s door for the past fifty years…. And, honestly, I never liked her. She never smiled. That’s why she couldn’t get a date. Don’t give her my phone number. Tell her I’m dead.”

Ninety-something and still a pistol?

Aunt Gloria didn’t stop wearing her six-inch heels until she was ninety-something. And she wasn’t happy about it even then. That Thanksgiving her daughter was the target. “Linda thinks I’m old. She made me give away my high heels.”

She held her hands to bring attention to her dress. “Linda picked out this dress. She thinks I’m old. I don’t like it. It’s drab. I don’t know why she picks out dull colors for me. I like bright colors. She buys dull colors — like she’s getting ready to bury me. I put a scarf with it so people don’t think I’m dead and bury me.”

And still dancing…

The last time we had Thanksgiving at Aunt Gloria’s house. Somebody brought her a Frank Sinatra record. “I have that one already,” was the first thing she said. “But it’s okay. Mine is scratched. Come in here. I’ll play it. She put it on the record player, cranked up the volume as high as it would go, and said, ‘Well, come on! Get up and dance with me.’ I did. She led. When it was over, I said, ‘Aunt Gloria, you’ve still got it!’

She winked. “You bet I do!”

What are your favorite funny Thanksgiving memories?

I hope my stories remind you of stories your family tells when you’re sitting around the table, stuffed to the gills. What are your stories that start with, “Remember the time….”? and end up with everybody laughing out loud?

I wish you a happy and peaceful day, more funny Thanksgiving memories,  and lots of laughing. 

Ruthi

The post FUNNY THANKSGIVING MEMORIES appeared first on Life(F)unscripted.

A BLIND DATE IN A BAD RESTAURANT — MODERN AIR TRAVEL

Have you ever been seated next to strangers on a plane and felt like you were on a blind date in a bad restaurant? There you are — wedged into a skintight seat and intimately close to a stranger. And you’re stuck. When you’re forty thousand feet in the air, you can’t call an Uber and go home.

You could get lucky. Your blind date could be interesting. Maybe somebody famous — a movie star or a celebrity dog trainer. I’m not that lucky. I’m happy if the person doesn’t snore, smell, or hog the armrest. But even those simple wishes haven’t always been granted.

THE WORST TABLE IN A BAD RESTAURANT

I had to make a sudden trip to New York City.  My assistant made my flight arrangements. My assistant hates me. She booked me in the middle seat on the very last row — smelling distance from the bathroom — the worst table in any restaurant. And this was a really, really bad restaurant.

It was my own fault. I didn’t check the seat until I was on the plane. Maybe I could move. No luck. The plane was full. I sighed, buckled up, and opened my iPad. The doors were about to close and no one had taken the seats around me yet. Maybe I’d at least have the row to myself.

A ROWDY BLIND DATE WITH LOUD VOICES

There was a commotion at the front of the plane — jostling, loud voices, and a loud cackling laugh. A family, overloaded with sacks, packs, and baggage was jostling down the aisle. The rowdy strangers were headed straight for me.

The next thing I knew a whopping, gum-popping teenage girl was looming over me. “That’s my seat,” she said indicating the window seat.

I started to stand but she was already coming over. I said, “I can just move over. I don’t mind.”

“Nah. I like the window and I don’t wanna be squashed.”

An equally whopping boy grabbed her arm. “Hey! That’s my seat.”

“I was here first,” she crowed and jerked it away. She lifted her roller bag over and dropped to the floor. It landed on my foot.

The boy glared at her. “You’re such a brat.”

“I can move over so you can sit by your sister,” I said hopefully.

“No way. I’m not getting squashed,” said the boy. “Anyway, why would I want to sit by that selfish brat?”

I didn’t have an answer. He plopped his dirty backpack on the floor. It landed on my other foot. And he plummeted into the seat.

STRANGERS ON A PLANE PLAYING WHACK-A-MOLE

Mom buckled the toddler into her seat and sat down. Dad was still up. He shoved bags and sacks atop other passengers’ belongings in the overhead bin.

The flight attendant gave me a sympathetic look and a palms-up, the international signal for, “You’re stuck.” She asked them to sit and buckle up for takeoff.

Dad sat. The toddler broke free of the seatbelt and popped up laughing. Dad pulled her down. Then Mom popped up.

STRANGERS ON A PLANE — EATING MEATBALLS

Mom got on her knees and leaned over the seat. “Who’s hungry?” she shrilled.

I wondered, w as she asking the whole plane? 

“Me,” said the boy.  The girl wailed, “I’m starving to death.”

Have people actually starved on a two-hour flight?

Mom sat down and said, “Daddy, let’s pass out lunch before we take off.”

She calls her husband Daddy?

Dad jumped up. “Uh-oh. I put it in the bin.” He knocked the headphones off the man in front of him as he hauled down two large fast-food bags from where they had probably been sitting on some man’s suitcoat.

Dad sat down. Mom was up. She opened the bag and released the smell of garlic, onions, and deli meat. She held up a foot-long sandwich. “Who gets the meatball sub?”

Really? Who eats meatballs on an airplane?

“It’s mine!” bellowed the boy as though someone would snatch it away.

Mom held up another tube. “That’s my cheesesteak,” said the girl. She opened it, then slammed it on the tray. “Wait! You forgot the mustard?” she whined. “I told you I wanted mustard.”

Who puts mustard on Philly cheesesteaks?

“I have it,” said Mom, tossing her the little yellow packet. The girl tore it open with such fervor that it squirted mustard on my jacket.

All this and we haven’t taken off yet.

At last, the seatbelt sign came on. They all sat.

THE BLIND DATE GOES ON — AND ON

The seatbelt signs were turned off all too soon. Mom got up to go to the toilet. When she came back, Dad got up and riffled through the overhead bin.

Dad brought out a book and sat down. The toddler popped up. She leaned over the seat waving chocolate-smeared hands too near my face. “I have candy.”

Dad said, “Sit down.”

“I not sit.” But the child went down. And Mom popped up.

I WISHED FOR TURBULENCE, JUST A LITTLE BUMP TO WHACK ALL THE MOLES BACK INTO THEIR SEATS

Mom dangled a ketchup and oil-soaked container over the seat — and my lap. “Who wants fries?” The boy grabbed the container. And Mom sat.

Up jumped the girl and reached over me to grab at the container. “Give ‘em here. They’re not all for you, Stupid.”

“You’re stupid!”

Mom got up. “Kids, don’t fight.”

Too late. The girl had already jerked the container and shot out two slimy limp fries that landed on my lap. I half expected one of the teens to grab them.

Mom seemed to notice me for the first time. “Kids!” she said and let out a loud cackle. “You know how they are. You just have to laugh.”

No – I didn’t know. I never wanted to know. And I didn’t think I had to laugh. At least not then — maybe later.

The plane finally landed. These odd strangers on a plane departed as loud as they’d boarded. My blind date in a bad restaurant was over. Of course, a real blind date wouldn’t have lasted two hours. I’d have been out of there before you could say meatball sub. To paraphrase Forest Grump, strangers on a plane are like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’ll get till it’s too late. You’re stuck with the raspberry nougat that tastes like soap — or you have mustard on your jacket and grease stains on your lap.

Ruthi Birch

November 2022

 

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CONFESSION: I WAS AN ART SCHOOL DROPOUT

I was an art school dropout. That’s why I didn’t become a great artist. That’s what I’d wanted to be from the time I got my first box of crayons. But I never reached my goal. Why? Because I didn’t like living in a garret — where it seems all struggling artists have to live. Actually, I didn’t like anything about the struggling part.

MY FIRST ART LESSONS – LEARN TO DRAW

In school, my favorite subject was art — especially when the teacher hung my pictures on the blackboard.

I was nine when I first got my first art lessons. For my birthday, Mama gave me a Jon Gnagy Learn to Draw set. It held pencils and charcoal like real artists used — and a book that showed how to draw everything. I drew the ball and the cylinder over and over till they were shaded just right. Then, the tree. I got pretty good at drawing the covered bridge — at least part of the bridge.

I tried to draw the great Dane. But every time it came out looking more like a sad horse.

“DRAW ME” & WIN A SCHOLARSHIP TO ART SCHOOL

When I was eleven I saw my chance to go to a real art school — on scholarship! All I had to do was win the Draw-Me Contest I found in the back of a magazine. I tore out the page and practiced copying the girl until it was almost perfect. 

I knew my drawing had to win. It didn’t. But the people from the school said they would take me anyway if Daddy would pay the tuition. He wouldn’t. It seemed my career as an artist wasn’t to be.

Life went on. I graduated from college. I got a job. But I wasn’t fulfilled. I continued to draw and paint but that wasn’t being a real artist.

 

A REAL ART SCHOOL

I made a decision. I was going to be an artist. I quit my full-time job and enrolled in art school — and not the school from any draw-me ads. I registered as a student in a university art department.

Next, I had to find a different apartment — one that I could afford. I knew it would have to be small. I pictured a tiny but sun-lit apartment in the trendy, artsy part of town with its cute shops and coffee houses. I looked but found I couldn’t even afford the coffee.

ART SCHOOL MEANT SACRIFICES

I drew my circle wider, and wider still. Finally, one Sunday I found a place where rent and budget met. It wasn’t near the university. It was an hour away from anything cute. And it wasn’t pretty or sunny. It was green. The refrigerator, the shag carpet, and even the bathroom wallpaper, tub, and sink were green — and not a nice green.

The neighborhood wasn’t artsy or trendy. It was industrial with a manufacturing plant just across the road. And right next door there was a redneck bar.

So, green, drab, and industrial was the only place I could afford? Yes. But was I a quitter? Would I be an art school dropout before I even started? No! I decided I could live with a little ugly for the sake of my art.

Then I moved in. The place was worse than green and ugly. It was suffocating — really. Every day but Sunday heavy machinery and trucks went in and out stirring up choking dust. And it was loud — nails-on-blackboard loud with alarms, whistles, the screech of metal grinding on metal, and industrial clank, clank, clanking all day.

Night rang with noise from the bar — drunken hoots, ah-has, and occasional brawls. But worst were the bass guitar’s vibrations thump, thump, thumping through the walls and into my brain.

SUFFERING FOR MY ART

But I wasn’t giving up. After all, didn’t all artists suffer? And I loved being an art student. Loved wearing jeans and tie-dyed tees. And I loved my classes — history of art, introduction to drawing, and introduction to sculpture.

I was learning — though some of what I was learning didn’t encourage me. Only one in ten of the students would become artists at all. Few if any of them would become famous, would be a Picasso. And if they did it would take them years to get there.

I wondered, if I was the one out of ten, and if I was destined to become a famous artist, did that mean more years of living in a green, dusty, loud garret? I buried the thought and kept going. I lived for the rare small signs of promise from my professors. I was elated when I got a nod rather than a mocking comment from my drawing teacher, a master of disdain, when he viewed my drawing of a gas mask. That was enough to keep me going for another week.

THE BEGINNING OF THE END OF MY ART SCHOOLING

Then something happened, something so awful, so terrifying that it led to me dropping out of art school never to be a great artist. It was a home invasion.

It was not an invasion of ski-masked killers, but roaches — at first just one or two. I complained to the owner. She told me she would spray. Her spraying didn’t discourage them. Whole families moved in. And they procreated. Roaches have millions of babies. They were everywhere. I kept forks, spoons, plates — everything I might touch in the refrigerator — including my toothbrush.

I complained. I cried. I yelled. Finally, the owners called in an exterminator. The roaches were gone. But no sooner had I put my toothbrush back in the bathroom than they were back. I found out my landlords were hoarders, and their hoards were roach breeding grounds

GOODBYE, ART SCHOOL

I could close my eyes to ugly green shag rugs. I could stuff cotton in my ears against the noise. I could do my breathing at school where the air wasn’t thick with dust. But I couldn’t do all that plus support whole families, no, clans of roaches. Within a week I’d dropped out of school, packed, and moved out of that apartment. I was off to find my future success and fulfillment in the nice clean offices of Ruthi Postow Staffing.

There you have my story. I was an art school dropout. I didn’t I become a great artist. But I did learn important lessons about myself. I learned I wasn’t Picasso — or Sharon K either — she once got a nod and a smile from the drawing teacher. I learned I didn’t like living in a garret as struggling artists must. And I learned I didn’t like anything about the struggling part.

Ruthi Birch

October 2022

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LOOKING AT OLD PHOTOS & REMEMBERING STORIES FROM MY CHILDHOOD

A rainy day is perfect for sitting on the front porch, looking at old photos & remembering stories from my childhood. I grew up in a family chock full of crazy characters — like Aunt Minkie, for instance — actually my great, great Aunt Minkie. She was in her nineties and feisty as all get out. Mule-headed, ornery, and cantankerous were some of the words Daddy called her. She is a leading character in many of the stories from my childhood.

OLD PHOTOS & MEMORIES

I picked up a creased picture of Aunt Minkie standing beside her old Hupmobile. Most Aunt Minkie stories happened when she was tearing up the roads in that old car — she was still driving because nobody was brave enough to tell her she was too old. In the following picture, she is standing in front of her farmhouse and holding a hoe. I laughed because it brought to mind one of the funniest stories from my childhood.

AUNT MINKIE AND THE BIBLE SALESMAN

It happened on a sunny September afternoon. Aunt Minkie was out raking leaves. She stopped when she heard a car coming up the road. She leaned on her rake and lifted her glasses to get a good look. Not many vehicles passed her way — the part of Florida wasn’t on any tourist map. There was nothing in all of Greensboro to interest strangers — nothing to see except farmhouses, tobacco barns, shacks, and the all-in-one store, Fletchers. It sold gas, groceries, appliances, hardware, animal feed, clothes, and shoes.

She squinted to see through the dust stirred up by the car. No, it wasn’t a neighbor or the mailman — probably some fellow who took a wrong turn at the fork, she thought and went back to her raking. The car stopped just past her house and backed up. A man opened his door, flashed a big smile, and waved.

“Wherever you’re headed, you’re on the wrong road.”

Yep. He’s lost all right, she thought and called out, “Wherever you’re headed, you’re on the wrong road. Turn around. You have to go back and take the other fork.”

But he wasn’t turning around. He was getting out, still grinning.

She thought he hadn’t heard her, so she cupped her hands to her mouth and yelled, “Turn around. You want the other road.”

He didn’t get back in the car. Was he deaf?

Then he opened the trunk, hauled out a big black case, and headed up the steep bluff to Aunt Minkie’s yard.

“I’ve already got two of whatever you’re selling.”

“Oh, fiddle! A drummer,” she muttered under her breath. She called, “Get on back in your car. I’ve already got two of whatever you’re selling.”

But he kept coming — and smiling.

“Mister, I told you I’m not buying. Save yourself a climb up the bluff. I don’t have time to jaw with you. I’ve got honest work to do.”

Doing the steep climb, his face turned red, but the smile stayed as big as daylight. That grin was starting to rankle Minkie.

She muttered, “Here you come grinning like you’re kinfolks come to call, and I don’t know you from Adam’s housecat.”

When he reached the top, he wiped his face with a handkerchief and crooned, “Good afternoon, Ma’am. Isn’t it good to be alive on such a glorious day? Let me introduce myself. I’m Jackson Lee Holman. May I ask your name?”

“No.”

She turned her back and swatted at leaves, sending a cloud of dust his way.

“He wiped his face again. “Ma’am, I understand. You don’t know me, but….”

“And I don’t need to know you. I know enough, folks.”

“If you will, just let me show you…”

“Don’t need to see it. Whatever you’re selling, if I needed it, I’d already have it. If I don’t already have it, I don’t want it. So, I’d thank you for getting back in your car and driving on.”

“Mister, I’m over ninety years old, and that’s about as close to God as you’ll find.”

“Ma’am, I can’t leave without sharing with you this great blessing I brought. He walked toward the porch. “If you don’t mind, I’ll set my case here.”

“No! You keep hold of your case. I don’t need any pamphlets or samples, and I’m too busy to hear about what you’re peddling.”

“No, Ma’am. I don’t have pamphlets.” He sat the case on her porch and opened it. “I don’t come as a salesman but as a servant of the Lord. Ma’am, I’m here to bring you closer to God.”

“Mister, I’m over ninety years old, and that’s about as close to God as you’ll find.”

“One Bible is plenty, and it’s all I can read at a time.”

He held up a big Bible, big enough for a pulpit. It had a fancy gold cover with a picture of Jesus in the center. “Here, Ma’am. God’s word.”

“I have a Bible. One’s plenty, and it’s all I can read at a time.”

He laughed. “You’re sure, right? But this is more than a Bible, and it’s a ….”

“I don’t need more than a Bible. Go on now. You’re done. Get off my property.”

She gave him a look as hard and cold as steel.

“Ma’am, look here.” He thrust the open Bible at her. “Scholars from all over the world studied the scrolls and found errors in our old Bible. Just look at Luke 2. It….”

“I know what it says in Luke.”

“But you’re wrong,” he said, his smile flashing brighter. “What it says is….”

She gave him a look as hard and cold as steel, and her knuckles were white where she gripped the rake. That look had made some of the most brutal men in Gadsden County back off.

He tried to stifle a shudder and tried a different line. “What’s wrong with me today? I haven’t even shown you what I guarantee your old Bible doesn’t have — the pictures. This Bible includes forty of the greatest Christian paintings in the world to inspire you and stir your spirit.

“My spirit is stirred by the Bible I’ve got.” She shook her rake. “Git on out of here.”

The rake missed his leg with her next swing at the leaves. He jumped back and closed his coat around the Bible.

“I have a mission to bring you a message. Won’t you listen?”

“No! Now git!”

You wouldn’t have thought a little old lady could move so fast.

Aunt Minkie came toward him holding her rake like a club. The man grabbed his case, jumped away, and headed for the bluff. The sticky molasses smile was finally gone.

“I can see you’re no Christian,” he yelled.

That did it! Aunt Minkie took off after him. You wouldn’t have thought a little old lady could move so fast.

He made it to his car seconds ahead of her — so close he felt the breeze as her rake whooshed by.

Even the police didn’t want to tangle with Aunt Minkie.

Once out of her reach, he opened the window, stuck his head out, and yelled, “I’m calling the police on you.” 

That was a laugh. Anybody could have told him even the police didn’t want to tangle with Aunt Minkie. They all remembered the story about what happened the last time a patrolman tangled with her. He tried to give her a ticket for running the stop sign by Fletcher’s store.

Minkie shook her finger at him and said, “You can just put up your pencil. I’m not taking your ticket. You should be ashamed! The county put that sign there as a way to take folks’ money. We never needed it, and I saw both ways clear as day, and nothing was coming.” Then she took off and ran over his foot!

Old Photos

Caught up in the stories from my childhood, I lost track of time. The rain had stopped, the sun was shining, and I was still sitting on the porch. Neighbors started to come out of their houses. I got some curious looks as I said some of Aunt Minkie’s lines and laughed out loud. It’s okay. I love rainy days — perfect for sitting on the porch, looking at old photos & remembering stories from my childhood.

 

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