Author: Judy

Pages from Grandma’s Diaries: Christian, part 1

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This is one of my favorite pictures of my grandson Christian, now six. Looking for trouble and loving it. We sort of knew what to expect when he was still a baby. Before he could walk he was tearing around in his walker, flailing the stick from his sister’s Easy Bake Oven. The kid always liked sticks. You had to move fast.

When he was one and walking, but you still couldn’t understand what he was saying, he’d get mad and let loose a torrent of abuse – gibberish really, but you knew by the tone and the finger-pointing it wasn’t good. His mother was left to say things like, “Don’t you take that tone with me, young man!” Which was complete nonsense, of course, but must have given her the illusion of control.

When he was two, he broke my nose. My fault actually. I was pushing him in their backyard swing when his little sister Grace came toddling by. It looked like the swing was going to clobber her, so I bent over to grab it and, momentum being what it is, Christian’s head met my nose. Crushed it. Lots of little bone pieces in there. When I looked up, the two of them were staring at me, innocent and clueless, as is the nature of grandchildren. I figure I saved Grace’s life, and she’ll give me some money one day.

When Christian was old enough for preschool, his mother signed him right up, hoping he would learn to get along with other little boys like him. There were no other little boys like him. And he didn’t like any of them. After yet another bad report, she said despairingly, “My God! My son is the bully!”

He got over it though. He has friends now and everything. In fact, I worry that he may be a little too sensitive and someone will hurt his feelings. You can’t win at this grandparent thing.

Westminster: Rigged?

~ Judy ~ 3 Comments
GINA & ROCKY, SUMMER 1980. HE LOOKED BETTER WHEN YOU HELD HIM.

Did you watch the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show on TV last week? I’m not really into pet competitions, but for some reason, every February when the Westminster dogs come sniffing around, I get hooked. Usually I can venture a guess on which dogs at the New York show are frontrunners to win. This year, not even close. That’s because this year’s winner, a Scottish deerhound named GCH Foxcliffe Hickory Wind, has to be one of the ugliest dogs ever evolved in nature.

I’m sure “Hickory” is a very nice dog – and I am a huge dog-lover – but I know from ugly dogs, and this is one. That’s because I myself have owned an ugly dog. Our first dog, Rocky, was ugly when we got him as a puppy – short black fur going in all directions, long spindly legs without much hair – but we thought he’d grow out of it. He didn’t grow, period. He stayed a sweet, small, ugly dog. I know he was ugly because when I took him to the vet, the vet suggested entering him in the Ugliest Dog Contest. Cruel really.

Anyway, Hickory reminds me a little of a larger Rocky. See?

No offense to Hickory, but there were a lot of cute dogs at that show, and in my opinion, the best dog in the U.S. (which is what you supposedly are if you win Best in Show at Westminster) should at least be cute.

The dog we had after Rocky, an apricot poodle named Gigi, was cute. Neurotic. Paranoid-schizophrenic. But cute. I’ll tell you about her sometime.

ROCKY, ca. 1981, BY JILL WRIGHT. ALL MY CHILDREN WERE ARTISTIC.

Pages from Grandma’s Diaries: Maria, part 2

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Sept. 8, 2006
Maria started first grade on Tuesday. It was her first time riding the school bus, which should have been largely uneventful, except that she fell asleep on the way home, and instead of being the first one off the bus she was the last one off. By the time she got there, her mother was barely coherent and her two aunts (the first-day welcoming committee) were ready to call the chief of police. You might think this would be a little traumatic for a 6-year-old, but apparently it wasn’t. She said she had a great day.

Dec. 13, 2006
Hoping to find someone with an extra Baby Alive they’d like to sell. The sad scenario:
• I did not buy Baby Alive at Target when I had a chance, even though I helped another grandma find one on the shelves.
• My 6-year-old granddaughter expects Santa to deliver a pooping doll.
• Target and everyone else is OUT of Baby Alive, although it is available on e-bay for roughly the cost of a new sofa.

[Epilogue: Yes, I bought one on e-bay. Of course I did.]

Jan. 28, 2009
Had Maria over to spend the night last week, and she wrote a story about me. I especially liked the title (“A Woman and Her City”) and the ending (“She loves us anyway.”)

May 15, 2009
I was talking to Maria on Mother’s Day (on Mother’s Day, mind you) and she was telling me about the plans for her 9th birthday, which is two months away, but why wait? She said she is having two parties: a Friends party at the beach, which I am not allowed to attend, and a Family party, which will be held at my house. Excuse me?

“Are you saying I’m an embarrassment to you?” I asked her. She said yes, I was. Well, I can understand that. I tease her a lot, which amuses her when it’s just us but could be tiresome when your friends are around. (“That’s my Grandma. She tells lame jokes.”)

So I asked, “How about if I don’t talk? Can I come to the Friends party if I don’t talk?” She said I’m an embarrassment even when I don’t talk. “Okay,” I said. “Maybe I won’t get you a birthday present this year then.” Right. She would not deign to respond to such a ridiculous threat.

This reminds me of the elderly gentleman who, when asked how winning the lottery had changed his life, said, “Well, the grandkids come around a lot more now.” I’ll bet.

[Epilogue: When the Friends party rolled around, Maria expected me to be there. “Oh, Grandma,” she said, “I was only kidding.”]

Jan. 28, 2011
Went to see Tangled with Maria last weekend. I used a couple of free movie tickets I got for doing a rip-roaring, outstanding job on something at work, I forget what. Then I spent $10 on one small popcorn and one small Sprite. That is correct – ONE popcorn, ONE pop, TEN bucks. Lord help me if I’m starting to sound old, but $10, for cripes sake.

Anyway, we liked Tangled a lot. I asked Maria what her favorite part was, and she said the part where Rapunzel hit the hero over the head with the frying pan. Repeatedly. She’s growing up.

Pages from Grandma’s Diaries: Maria, part 1

~ Judy ~ 4 Comments

This is my very first grandchild, Maria. Isn’t she beautiful? She’s ten now. Everything I needed to know about being a grandma, I pretty much learned from her. Not in any big “Aha!” moment, but in a lot of little moments until, finally, she owned me.

When she was about two, Maria and her mother came over one day unannounced. I was kneeling on the floor in my room going through some clothes, when I heard her little feet on the stairs. She ran in and hugged me hard around the neck. “Grandma,” she said, “Grandma.” As if I’d just pulled her back from the abyss.

And that is how they tighten the rope around your heart.

Another time, when she was still too little to know better, she introduced me to a woman who happened to be washing her hands in the same public restroom. “This is my grandma,” she told the woman, as if it was something the general public needed to know.

And that is how they pull on the rope and rip out your heart and lock it away in a box somewhere.

Then sometimes (when it was still just the two of us – no Christian, Grace, Cosette or Baby Bret) out of the blue she would say, “You’re my grandma,” and I had to reply, “I am your grandma.”

And that is how they take the box with your heart in it and drop it in the bottom of the Forever Ocean, never to be seen again.

Phone-It-In Confession

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SISTER BERNICE WOULD NOT APPROVE.

I imagine by now you’ve heard about the new $1.99 “Confession” iPhone app Catholics can get to keep track of their sins. I’m kind of Catholic; i.e., I’ve had plenty of first-hand experience with the confessional, although not for a long time because frankly I haven’t had any sins for a while.

I’d like to have some sins, but occasions of sin just never seem to present themselves anymore. Unless you count bad thoughts, but personally I never bought into that particular no-win-ology. Or unless neglecting things is a sin. I guess that would be the sin of sloth, but I wouldn’t need an app to keep count. I’d just tell the priest I’ve been sloth-afflicted every day for most of my adult life. Of course, then he might not give me absolution, because the whole point of the Sacrament of Penance is promising to go forth and sin no more, and any priest worth his collar would be suspicious of someone who’s been committing the same sin every day for years.

So you see, there’s really no reason for me to go to Confession and I certainly don’t need an app.

Anyway, Bishop Rhodes of the Catholic Diocese of Fort Wayne, Indiana, has given the Confession app his blessing, which must make it the first mobile app officially sanctioned by the Church ever. I hear it’s been selling well, too, which makes me wonder what kind of person needs a special tool to keep a handle on these things.

Is there a killer out there thinking, “Let’s see, did I kill just the one person last month?” Thieves don’t go to confession (they might have to give something back). People who covet their neighbor’s wife seldom think it’s wrong (unless you’re Jimmy Carter). And if you committed adultery more than a dozen times last year, you might as well throw yourself on the mercy of the College of Cardinals right now.

But I don’t care. If you think the Confession app will help you be a better person, $1.99 is a small price to pay. As for me, if I ever get the chance to commit a sin worth confessing, I’m not likely to forget it.

Ode to Ursa

~ Judy ~ 1 Comment
CONSERVING ENERGY FOR THE NEXT BURST OF AFFECTION

Despite her name, Ursa is not a bear but the pet of my youngest daughter, Gina, and her family. She was adopted from one of those animal rescue places and the name came with her. Gina and Bret were going to change it, Ursa being an illogical name for a dog, but in the end they just left it alone. Why confuse the poor animal anymore than she already was by suddenly calling her a name she’d never heard in her life.

Ursa joined the family shortly after Gina and Bret were married. She got lots of love and attention, put on some weight, and probably thought she’d been dropped into the bosom of Abraham. Then they had Cosette.

Cosette LOVES Ursa. She has from the get-go. By the time she could crawl, she was putting her little fingers in the dog’s ears and eyes and lifting up her lips to examine her teeth. When she was learning to walk, Ursa would stand patiently as the baby pulled herself up using handfuls of dog hair, and didn’t move until Cosette sat down again.

By 18 months, Cosette wanted very badly to feed Ursa, which she was not allowed to do. She would attempt to divert parental attention by giving the dog a few thumps with one hand (“pat, pat”) while sneaking her food with the other. Ursa, also keeping an eye on the folks, would close her mouth and turn her face to the wall. “Look,” she seemed to say. “I’m not eating it. I’m not!” One weekend I went over to babysit, and how was I supposed to know there was a ban on feeding the dog? When I got out the Chex mix and Cosette wanted to give Ursa some, it was okay with me, although the child did seem to get a little hysterical with happiness. I realized later, of course, that I’d failed yet again as a disciplinarian. Luckily, this is okay with me.

Cosette likes to organize things, which usually means me and the dog. When she was two, she would line us up (herself in front, then me, then Ursa) and off we’d go (“Walk, Gramma!”) from the living room to the kitchen to the dining room to the hall and back to the living room, round and round, stopping only when Ursa broke ranks and Cosette had to marshal her back into formation. Then it was circle, circle, walk, walk, until the dog, recognizing the utter futility of the thing, sat down and refused to budge. After that it was just Cosette and me, circling and walking, until I was able to distract her with animal crackers.

Cosette flops down on top of Ursa when she’s sleeping, chases her from room to room and issues commands which are largely ignored. The dog is a saint. Her only defense is crawling behind the dining room chairs where it’s harder for Cosette to reach her.

MORE DOGS PUTTING UP WITH CRAP

Now along comes Baby Bret. He seems less enthralled with Ursa than Cosette was at six months. He doesn’t laugh when the dog licks his face; he just scrunches up his nose. However, I imagine it’s only a matter of time before he’s tormenting her in the name of love.

Good luck, Ursa. We “intelligent” beings salute you.

Dating and Other Self-Destructive Acts

~ Judy ~ 2 Comments
PREPPING FOR THAT IMPORTANT FIRST DATE

So I kind of went on a date last weekend. Well, not really a date, more of a Hi, Stranger kind of thing, but given the time elapsed since my last Hi, Stranger thing, I thought it qualified as a date.

It all started when I came home one Saturday afternoon and found Daughter #1 on my computer checking her online dating service. One thing led to another and pretty soon she was signing me up to receive messages from complete strangers too. Now I’m hanging out in the online world, waiting to get proposals of all kinds, indecent or otherwise, although nothing indecent has been proposed, maybe because men my age have learned a thing or two about women my age. Or maybe they just aren’t in a hurry anymore.

And here’s what you’ll find if you search your average online dating site for men of a certain age living in Minnesota: a lot of pictures of guys holding fish. Big fish. Now, far be it from me to suggest that this might be a metaphor for something else, but what’s the deal? Do they think women find men with large tackle particularly attractive? Are they proving they can put food on the table? The only thing it makes me think is, boy, I’m glad I didn’t have to clean that big stinky fish.

Another thing you find is pictures of men with their machines – cars, motorcycles, boats (plenty of boaters in these parts). Sometimes the men aren’t even in the photo – it’s just a picture of a car, motorcycle or boat all by itself. I went so far as to add a clarification to my profile: “I am not a boater. If you’re looking for someone to be that special ‘first mate,’ best look elsewhere.”

So anyway, I had this Hi, Stranger experience last weekend, which was not unpleasant, but the most interesting part of the whole thing was the feedback from Daughters #1, #2 and #3, who apparently are under the impression that they have the right (nay, the obligation) to weigh in on something this rare and this enormous. I didn’t mind the phone calls clamoring for details, but I did get a little miffed by comments like, “Good for YOU, Mom!” Like I might just be the most pitiful excuse for a date in the seven-county metro area. Which I am not. I am a darn fun date. I can hold up my end of a conversation, you better believe it.

Anyway, Daughter #1 tells me this is how things work nowadays. So, okay, I can hang out with the online daters for a while. Winters around here are almost endless.

Garage Sale Redux

~ Judy ~ 1 Comment

It’s Sunday morning and outside my window the snow is softly falling. It makes me sick. I don’t care how soft it is, when it hits the freeway it’s a big sloppy nightmare. Damn snow.

August 18, 2009 – Garage Sale Results
How to lose five pounds in 30 days: 1) set a date (roughly one month away) for a garage sale, 2) tell the family, 3) start digging, hauling, cleaning, sorting and pricing.

I’m not saying it wasn’t worth it; I’m just saying I’ll never do it again. We made a grand total of $827.95, which means we moved a lot of merchandise, given that the highest priced item sold for $28. The aftermath: ten large garbage bags and one box of donations; seven large bags of true garbage; half a garage of leftovers that Gina is moving to her house for a follow-up sale on Labor Day weekend. (They live in Roseville. She thinks they’ll get all those State Fair patrons going back and forth to the Park & Ride.) I have agreed to assist, since I could stand to lose a couple more pounds.

What DIDN’T sell:
prom dresses (not one)
1980s posters, including four M. Jackson (not one)
1950s-era McCalls magazines (not one)
shoe charms
Mac software (including “Quicken 96” and “Mavis Beacon Teaches Typing”)
wall map of Jamaica
inflatable palm tree
four room humidifiers
five Christmas wreaths
Christmas nutcracker (motion and music!)
Christmas nutcracker (just stands there)
Christmas nutcracker ornament
elf, frog and polar bear slippers
little liquor barrel that hangs on a St. Bernard’s collar
McDonald’s visor, apron and badge
12″ plastic rabbit (amazingly lifelike!)
hair extensions
bowling shoes
two adult cow costumes
one Elvis costume

What DID:
LPs, 45s, movies, CDs
books
stuffed animals
chain saw
animal-shaped lawn sprinklers
Santa Claus rug
Salad Spinner
perpetual calendar
sweater stone
cowboy hat cleaner (and hat)
13-pc. child’s bed with no hardware or instructions
fluffy sheep hot water bottle holder
a lot of other stuff someone actually thought they needed

September 9, 2009 – Follow-up Garage Sale at Gina & Bret’s
We had a second and last garage sale last weekend at Gina’s house, where we managed to unload the polar bear slippers and the liquor barrel for a St. Bernard but not a single prom dress. People just don’t dress up anymore.

While we were outside minding business, Maria kept one-year-old Cosette occupied in the house for a while watching a “Veggie Tales” movie. It seemed like a good idea at the time but failed to take into account that, at nine, Maria still gets some odd notions. When I went in to check on them, she had a toothbrush with toothpaste on it and was trying to get Ursa to sit still and open up. The dog, having more sense than a nine-year-old girl, was having none of it. I don’t know if it was Gina’s toothbrush or Bret’s, but I’m pretty sure there’d be a big holy to-do if either one of them thought it was being used on the dog. So we put the toothbrush back in the bathroom and swore each other to secrecy.

Everybody doesn’t need to know everything, you know.

Igloo Building 101: Don’t forget to sign up

~ Judy ~ 1 Comment

Snowed here yesterday. Snowed here today. It’s supposed to snow here tomorrow. I heard on last night’s news that 47 of the 48 contiguous states have snow on the ground, the one exception being Florida. I don’t know what it means. I just throw it out there.

The Garage Sale, Summer of 2009:

July 29
The garage sale is my life now. My house is torn up from top to bottom. And here’s an interesting phenomenon: I’ve found there are some essentially worthless items that I just can’t part with – an old ankh and crystal necklace, a tin box with a picture of a woman in a convertible on it, a red and black feather boa – things I have no use for that nevertheless appeal to me. It isn’t a comforting thought.

More garage sale treasures found:
13-pc. unassembled child’s bed with no hardware or instructions
Christmas nutcracker (motion and music!)
Christmas nutcracker (just stands there)
Christmas nutcracker ornament
Mood ring

August 5
Behind the Christmas boxes and some old bolts of fabric, I found a bunch of posters from the eighties – Michael Jackson, Madonna, Cyndi Lauper, Jon Bon Jovi, Rob Lowe, The Eurythmics.

I thought we might get something for the four Michael Jackson posters, seeing as he died in scandalous circumstances just last month. Interestingly, more than one daughter claims these were hers. (Gina says her kissprints are all over them, which I guess means they could be tested for DNA.) I’m waiting for someone to mention that I’m the one who saved them from destruction and stored them all these years, but so far no one has.

And still more treasures:
fluffy sheep hot water bottle holder
elf, frog and polar bear slippers
little liquor barrel that attaches to the collar of a St. Bernard

You can’t make this stuff up.

August 7
A good share of my potential garage sale profits have gone out the door with the kids, including but not limited to: four ladderback chairs, four Windsor chairs, a girl’s bedroom set, a turntable and old albums, a 75-year-old dollhouse and an 18-pc. set of Armetale plates. On the other hand, I still have all those prom dresses and animal slippers.

By now you’re probably asking, doesn’t that woman throw anything away? I resent that, even as I ask myself the same thing.

Still more treasures for the sale:
McDonald’s visor, apron and badge
30-40 stuffed animals
Prince album autographed to “Denise,” who no one has any recollection of knowing

August 11
The sale is this Friday and Saturday. The garage is overflowing, nothing is set up, the house is a wreck, my back aches, and I have boo-boos on two fingers. On the other hand, I think I dropped three or four pounds, so there’s that.

Made up some signs advertising the Not Dead Estate Sale. Given the heat, my guess is the big seller will be bottled water.

Still more treasures uncovered:
12″ plastic rabbit (amazingly lifelike!)
hair extensions
bowling shoes
perpetual calendar
two adult cow costumes

Coming up: Garage Sale Results!

January ad nauseum

~ Judy ~ Leave a comment
READY FOR SOME WINTER FUN

Why, yes, it is snowing again. I’m ignoring it.

July 24, 2009 – The Garage Sale, Part 2

The garage sale progresses as well as you’d expect, only worse. The mountain in the garage is rapidly encroaching on my parking space and the kids keep dropping things off. I can’t open the car door all the way and have to step on bed rails to get out.

Gina, hubby and toddler spent last weekend at my house so she could sort through her stuff. She didn’t finish, and if she finds one more thing she wants to take home with her, divorce is imminent.

Jill brought several things over to sell but never looked at her pile of belongings in the basement.

Jessica found a number of household items her paternal grandmother gave her, but we can’t put them on the garage sale in case they turn out to be valuable.

Also, I’m getting some pushback on selling the formals. One daughter might want to dress up as a lounge singer for Halloween. Another thinks she may again fit into that dress she wore to the 1993 Homecoming Dance (once the baby weight is gone).

More garage sale treasures found:
sweater stone
inflatable palm tree
cowboy hat cleaner
5 Christmas wreaths

Meanwhile, I have several closets and drawers to go through. I overdid it last weekend – now I have a sore back and two tennis elbows, and I figure the chiropractor’s bill will probably eat up any garage sale profits.

Coming up: The Garage Sale, parts 3 to 6