People are stressing about their hair during the Covid-19 pandemic. It needs cutting, or dyeing or shaving or something. I’m no stranger to hair wars. I’m an impulsive, risk taking person who’s had a mullet, braids with feathers and bells, lank ponytails, asymmetrical cuts, partial shaves and lots of different colors. Below are some of
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Help! Help! A Murder of Crows!
My friend Lucy had an unfortunate run in with a batch of crows. They don’t call a flock of crows a “murder” for nothing. Here’s proof. As she squealed into her parking space at work one morning, Lucy hit and killed a crow scavenging through fast food wrappers. Suddenly, a hundred angry crows surrounded her
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Coworkers: cats are lousy ones
I’ve been talking to my cats Zim and Jack several times a day. I consider them my coworkers since I’m home more what with Covid-19 social distancing and moving my coaching and Sister Circles on-line. Zim and Jack are crappy coworkers. I’d be calling HR about their harassment but I am HR. They demand food
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Question: what did she mean by saying “that explains a lot about you?”
My Mom was delightfully, wickedly, intelligent but born in the wrong era for the outspoken woman she was. She loved us, but children and family really weren’t her thing. You had to believe she meant well when she said some of the things she did. That wasn’t easy sometimes. Check this out. I was born
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Fire Escape Voyeurs
After a great breakfast at the Uptown Café, Ken and I headed to the car and as we buckled up, we noticed a couple arguing on the outside stairway of the apartment building in front of us. The woman was clearly angry and the guy kept backing up floor by floor as she moved toward
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Sweating With the Kitties
We have 2 cats: Zim and Jack Pumpkinhead. Sadly, some of our family developed cat allergies so the kitties got demoted to permanent outside status. Jack doesn’t mind being outside because he’s a former stray who has never been inside although he knows that inside is where the cat food lives. Zim is unhappy about
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Superwoman has a cold
Many years ago I had an-eat–your-soul job. You know the kind: you should take some days off but they sigh and frown on it even though you just worked 20 hours overtime and slept under your desk a couple of nights when it wasn’t worth driving home. I was conscientious, a loyal, valuable and hardworking
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Thanksgiving chaos ala Mackey
My Mother didn’t want to cook a traditional Thanksgiving dinner. She was more interested in sitting in her favorite chair, reading the convoluted history of the English monarchy while drinking a beer and eating popcorn. Actually, this sounds great to me so I totally get her attitude. I regret to say that we were argumentative
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Look Out: I Am the Alpha Chicken
Here’s another post about a Thanksgiving Day disaster at my Dad’s family farm. I have mixed childhood memories about that farm. And check out the other T-day post called Stinky Dog Thanksgiving. In fact, check out all the other posts you might have missed, I dare you! I grew up in suburbia. My mother loved
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Stinky Dog Thanksgiving
Thanksgiving for us meant a trip to the family farm in Kentucky where Dad’s aunts lived. One year Dad decided to go hunting while we visited and packed his guns and his hunting dog Chad for the trip. Bright and early on T-day we headed out to the Farm. Dad and my brother returned around
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Conflict with the librarian!
I got scolded by the return book librarian. Oh the shame! Ok, my book was 2 days late but a scolding? I wasn’t allowed to renew the book even though there weren’t any holds on it. Reminds me of Mrs. Schumaker from grade school. Mrs. S in nasal voice: “You break the rules my dear,
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Happy Birthday From Under The Bed
Our family had a bizarre birthday celebration. The day of your birthday would dawn with both excitement and dread. There you were innocently eating your breakfast Wheaties laughing at Charlie Brown and Snoopy when the entire family descended on you. “Grab the legs!” someone shouted as you kicked viciously upsetting the cereal bowl. “I’ve got
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