Cat Crate

The dumbest thing I did on Saturday: I took our two sibling cats to the vet. I wasn’t using my Cat Mind and decided I could put both in the same crate. Nope. The entire trip there was spitting, screaming and fur flying. I stuck my finger in the grate to try and calm one of them down and almost lost a digit. You may be able to fit a Cat In A Hat but never two cats in a crate.


I was thinking I could earn some retirement money busking. “Busking” is singing and playing your instrument on the sidewalk with your guitar case open hoping for tips. Sone of you call it begging. I would do it differently. I would come up with the most obnoxious and unlikely busking tunes and then follow people until they tipped me to go away. I mean really, how long could you stand it if someone was following you singing….

“……I don’t think that I can take it/Cause it took too long to make it/ and I’ll never have that recipe AGAIN!/OH NOOOO!!!!!”

I’ve already got a good start:

Kumbaya           Axel Rose version
No Milk Today      Herman’s Hermits
Brand New Rollerskate        Melanie
Ringo           Lorne Green
Candy man          Sammy Davis Jr.
Puppy love         Donny Osmand
Muskrat Love         Captain and Tenille
Loving You           Minnie Ripperton
Seasons in the Sun        Terry Somebody
Puppy Love         Donny Osmond
Feelings              Morris Albert
Wonderful Christmas Time              Paul McCartney
100 Bottles of Beer on the Wall                Mormon Tabernacle Choir version (for long chases).

Anybody have more “I’ll-poke-my-eye-out-if-I-hear-that-again” songs?

Freudian Slip B

We were fortunate to find a sitter for Sara just four houses down. Sharon had cute pet names for some of the kids like Meemer, Pooter and Keekee. I thought that was cool. So when Sara was young I started calling her Sweetness or Sweet Pea. Whenever I had the chance I would call her Sweetness or Sweet Pea because it was so cool. One week we were using our back up sitter for Sara. We were going out of town for the weekend so Karen and I both went to pick her up on this Friday night. Once inside it was noisy mayhem with all the parents and kids milling around trying to get ready to leave. I saw Sara across the room and for some completely mindless reason, I chose to combine both of her cool pet names and called out to her “Hey Sweet Pea-ness!!”
It was as though everything was frozen in time. Each parent was staring at me in utter disbelief. I saw Karens face turn so red I thought she would bleed out of every pore. What made it worse was when they saw Sara bound across the room smiling and jump into my arms. Like I call her that all the time. We silently got Sara ready and left in record time. Walking out Karen said “What the hell is the matter with you??” I said “Just keep walking. Don’t look back”.



She had been frugal her whole life, but it was the one extravagance she would allow herself. She had long ago cast off that repressive religious tapestry of her youth, to forsake adornment in favor of simplicity. Although she could never be considered “flashy” it was no longer a pivot point in her life. Although she had kept the frugal part. After 20 years on a fixed retirement income, she knew there was merit to being frugal. But at this point she didn’t care. She was going to continue to buy the Japanese Cherry Blossom Hand Soap at the Walmart Store even if it was more expensive than the Walmart brand. There were many hand soaps but this one excited her more than any hand soap ever should. It was a pleasant pink shade in an attractive rectangular bottle that tapered at the top.

She first bought it on a whim and when she smelled it, she was lost in a fantasy of sailing on cherry blossom winds, under pastelic hues of the sky, with a horizon that seemingly resting on a bed of gold from a stingy sun, reluctant to give up the day. Full moons and starry nights, royalty, riches and romance. Her tiny feet in sandals with wood blocks on the bottom, shuffling short steps. Her white silk kimono, smooth and sensuous on her skin, with the protective high collar that contrasted with barely concealed curves.

She kept the Japanese Cherry Blossom Hand Soap in the bathroom as though it was a secret, and found herself walking out of the way to wash her hands, often sniffing her cupped hands during the day. It made the Women’s Auxiliary Guild meetings more tolerable when she would rub her nose or cheek to sneak a smell. And again she was transported into a forbidden fantasy. Her audible gasp once elicited questioning glances. She smiled.

She had never traveled but did go to Duluth once, for cousin Millie’s wedding to the preacher Carlton Stone. She thought it must be like San Francisco with it’s hilly rolling streets near the shore. There was a restaurant called Grandmothers and behind was a circus tent where she heard Dr. Hitt and his Big Band play old swing tunes. She danced with her cousins and they drank too much. The next day Millie married Carl. He didn’t have a nose as much as a beak. She grinned as she thought that he could spear a bug in the corner if he wanted. He also had large ears unevenly perched on either side of his thinning hair. Still, Millie had found someone to love and someone who loved her back. But not her.

As a teenager her family had stayed at her Aunt and Uncle’s house during a revival weekend. Lying in bed upstairs next to Millie who was already asleep. In the old house the heating ducts were just holes in the floor with screen covers that amplified the voices of the adults. She knew she shouldn’t listen but she couldn’t stop herself. The mumbles of her Dad and Uncle in the other room, and her Mom and Aunt gossiping, talking house and Bible verses and their worries. That’s when she discovered her mother worried about her. That she had diminished prospects because she was plain and unremarkable. She had suspected in her heart that it was true, but until then it had been an amorphous feeling. But her mothers words were a fixative to hard set a form. At one time a lover, husband and children were everything. But that time had passed.

What if she went to the Walmart Store and the Japanese Cherry Blossom was gone? A twinge of anxiety. Maybe she should buy a case of it just to be safe? Maybe two? She smiled at a thought; when she had literally sailed into the horizon, someone, she couldn’t imagine who, would find stacked cases of Japanese Cherry Blossom Hand Soap and think she was eccentric. What would she care?

Gazing at her hands she was pleased the migrating rich cherry color of her knuckles tapered into her porcelain skin. She rose from her chair to wash her hands. She had the cleanest hands in town and maybe the dirtiest mind. No one would ever know. Because she was plain and unremarkable.