Sometime during 2020, or maybe 2021, who knows…

I saw an ad for Chicken Arms the other day. Perhaps you’ve seen them. Little plastic doll arms you can put on live chickens for your personal amusement, e.g., when you’ve hit the bottom of the “100 Fun Things to Do in Quarantine” list. 

I wanted them, the chicken arms. I really did. I wanted nine pairs of little pink babydoll arms that I could surreptitiously attach to my grandkids’ chickens, presumably by sneaking over there in the middle of the night when everyone was asleep. I thought it might amuse the children to wake up in the morning, traipse out all unknowing to feed the chickens, only to find they’d sprouted human arms. That would be amusing, right? Or sadistic. I didn’t really think it through.

At any rate, there were snags, not the least being my aversion to touching any bird not cooked and immobile on a plate. And you can’t really buy “chicken arms” anyway; what you can get is a pair of plastic doll arms suitable for wiring up to your chicken of choice. Well, the impediments multiply, don’t they.

Apparently, raising chickens in the backyard has become extremely popular, especially as we enter our fifth month of home confinement (self-imposed or otherwise) as an out-of-nowhere, raging virus closes workplaces, schools, recreation areas and places of worship. 

Oh, we were a stoic bunch going in. We baked loaves of bread by the thousands, we sewed a million face masks, reread War and Peace and alphabetized the canned goods. STILL, the damned pandemic refused to go away. Now…chicken arms. “We are swamped with orders,” says Nancy Smith, owner of the Cackle Hatchery in Lebanon, Missouri. “We can’t answer all the calls, and we’re booked out weeks.” 

America the disaffected. People so dull and spiritless they think raising poultry behind the garage could be both fun and economical. Why not! 

Post-pandemic note: The kids subsequently helped their dad build a grand new chicken coop. There are now more chickens than ever. I occasionally get free eggs.

New Year’s Day. Ever a day synonymous with hope, a day packed with good intentions that maybe don’t have a prayer of surviving beyond January 31 but what the hell. I’m aware that the last time I posted anything here was in September of 2022, at which time I suggested that I might actually start writing again regularly. Or semi-regularly. Or at least more than once every 15 months. I should know better than to put such half-baked resolutions in writing, for I am well past the age when I can be making ridiculous predictions..

On the other hand… 2023 was such an unremittingly dreadful year that, by the time I contracted Covid in late December, which morphed into pneumonia, which kept me hospitalized until Christmas Day, and which has now manifested as Covid tongue – yes, Covid tongue, a very real, very despicable condition – I felt somewhat exonerated for failing to maintain this 13-year-old blog.  

But more to the point, I wanted to take this singular opportunity to write something that the grandkids could look back on in the years ahead as they attempt to puzzle out just why Grandma was so…shall we say eccentric? Yes, let’s say that. And with that in mind I decided to transcribe here some of the text messages I’ve sent them over the last three years – sent just randomly, that is, meaning whenever I got the urge to stir things up. They get so complacent, you know.

TEXTS TO MARIA, CHRISTIAN, GRACE, COSETTE AND BRET, BUT NOT TO LEE, WHO DOESN’T HAVE HIS OWN PHONE YET, NOT THAT HE HASN’T LOBBIED RELENTLESSLY

(4-9-21 – the first text) The United States is apparently facing a ketchup shortage. I’m sorry. 

(4-10-21) Headline today from Newser: “Restaurants Struggle to Keep Ketchup in Stock”

(4-26-21)  In today’s headlines: “Woman Survives Being Hit by Flying Turtle.” The woman was released after receiving multiple stitches when a turtle crashed through her windshield and hit her in the head. Her granddaughter, who was riding in the passenger seat, said, “I swear, my grandma is the most unlucky person in the world.”

(4-26-21)  Also in the news: Heinz says it has upped its production of ketchup by 25% to meet demand.

(6-19-21) Internet tip of the day: I saw this post that says if you are feeling fatigued you should wrap your feet in aluminum foil. So I just wanted to share that in case you are feeling fatigued today. Because I’m always here to help.

(8-30-21) I read an interesting article about Benjamin Franklin. He once wrote an essay on passing gas. He called it “Fart Proudly.” Perhaps you will find this helpful in your history classes. Who knows.

(12-15-21) A man in West Virginia who recently had a craving for sweets decided to open a box of Twinkies he’d had stored in the basement for eight years. The Twinkies looked okay to him and, thinking that Twinkies are basically immortal, he opened one and bit into it only to find that it had transmogrified into a gray fungus. Which made him throw up. So my tip for the day is: don’t be eating any 8-year-old food even if it looks okay. 

(1-31-22) I just read where a cow in Brazil escaped from a farm and then went down a waterslide. You don’t think of cows as being particularly adventurous, but apparently they like to have fun as much as anyone else.

(9-14-22) It seems the Detroit Tigers recently sold Ty Cobb’s dentures for $19,000. Cobb was a famous center fielder who played from 1907 to 1915. I don’t know why anyone would want my teeth after I’m gone, but maybe you guys could work on it and then you’d have some spending money.

(9-21-22) The National Toy Hall of Fame has given the Oldest Toy award to “the stick.” Imagine. Thousands of years ago kids were just happy to get a stick to play with. Not today, boy! Some people thought that the “ball of mud” should get the award instead of the stick, but the judges decided it would be hard to tell a toy ball of mud from all the other mud.

(10-17-22) Did you know that scientists are studying dinosaur vomit that’s 150 million years old to try to learn more about what they ate? They have nicknamed the vomit “Jurassic Barf.” Scientists like to have a good laugh once in a while. 

(12-6-22) Researchers have determined that octopuses, when irritated, throw things at each other. Mud and seashells and stuff. This is true. It has absolutely no impact on your young lives. I just like to mess with you. 

(12-19-22) Something for you to look forward to: “Barbie” the movie is coming out next July. I know you all will be anxious to see it since you’ve had so much fun with your mothers’ old dolls, like hanging Barbie over the stairway by her neck. 

(1-9-23) I saw this wilderness survival tip today and thought I would pass it along, just in case you’re having the kind of day you aren’t sure you can survive: “If a bear is chasing you, you don’t have to outrun the bear. You just have to outrun the person you’re with. Always bring a spare, slow-running relative for just such an occasion.” Just a friendly tip in case you’re ever out walking in the woods with your cousins.

(1-25-23) So this is kind of interesting: Someone in New Zealand has been leaving sausages in peoples’ mailboxes. Sometimes the sausage comes with bread. It’s been going on for a while and people are getting rather upset. “You never know when it will happen,” one victim said. “Nobody’s mailbox is safe!” 

(4-7-23) Something to think about with Easter two days away: I guess exploding Peeps in the microwave is a thing people like to do now. Before trying this at home, you might want to consider what the inside of the microwave would look like afterward and what that would mean for your relationship with your mother. I, personally, do not care for Peeps.

(4-24-23) Did you hear about the woman in Great Britain who made $130,000 last year by shooting flaming arrows with her feet while doing a handstand? It occurred to me that you guys could probably learn to shoot arrows with your feet (maybe not flaming arrows and maybe not standing on your hands, but hey) and then you could make some money for college or maybe just help out the family you’ve been sponging off of for years. 

(5-2-23) A man in Kentucky shot his roommate in the buttocks last week for eating the last Hot Pocket in the house. And you thought your siblings were hard to get along with.

(9-8-23) So a 3-legged bear broke into a home in Florida this week, opened the fridge and helped himself to three cans of beer. After seeing the break-in on the home’s security camera, the homeowner said she was concerned “because we know the bear really well.” I don’t know why, but to me the most interesting part of this story is that the bear had three legs.

(10-31-23) Halloween tip: you can wear your costume on a plane today but no mask (maybe a little face paint) and no more than 3 ounces of fake blood. Also, no fake weapons on board (you can check them with your luggage) and absolutely NO fake explosives. Also, I wouldn’t eat any candy corn, but that’s just me. 

(12-8-23) So Harvard University – very prestigious, very exclusive, perhaps the #1 school in the country – has added a new course to its curriculum, “Taylor Swift and Her World,” and over 300 students have already enrolled, because, I assume, America has completely gone off the Reality Trail, is wandering in the Dark Forest of Delusion, and unfortunately may never make it back to pre-Swiftian civilization. Not that I blame Taylor. I don’t. 

I think that’s enough. You get the drift. This is without a doubt completely meaningless drivel with no legitimate purpose beyond interrupting the very taxing days that today’s young people have to navigate. Well worth the effort.

It has been something like eight years since I posted anything new on this blog. During that time a few people have pointed out that it might be nice if I could rouse myself and have another go at it. Not a lot of people. Some. Not that I haven’t written anything in the last eight years. I have. I just couldn’t warm up to my own words, you know? For example:

August 15, 2016
Lately, I’ve started talking to myself in a new voice. I have no idea why this is happening now. In the past, I’ve only ever conversed with myself in my normal, Judy voice. Of course, all humans talk to themselves. At home, in the car – you can carry on a spirited debate almost anywhere. With yourself. So it doesn’t much bother me when I find myself talking out loud to no one in particular. What’s unsettling is this new, truly pathetic voice, sort of a cross between Olive Oyl and Peewee Herman.

Well. You can see where that was headed. Nowhere anyone not lobotomized would want to go.

Nevertheless, I’ve had an urge to write again recently, maybe put down some penetrating observations for the edification of future generations. We’ll see where it goes.

Meanwhile, you ask, what has happened to the grandkids, the inspiration for all that early scribbling. Much. Much has happened. In a heartbeat it seems I have been forced to reconstruct my philosophy of grandma-ness – not by choice, needless to say, but because of the stubborn refusal of children to stick in one place, take a break from endless unfolding, and just let people adjust, is that too much to ask? I can only hope they do something worth writing about.

This is us now. I think everyone looks pretty happy. Although I appear to be shriveling somewhat. And why is Cosette wearing only one shoe? Typical.

Wow. It sneaks up on you, doesn’t it? Not like Mother’s Day or Father’s Day – everyone has those holidays on the radar, even if it hits you that very day and you find yourself at the grocery store picking through what’s left of the greeting cards and potted azaleas.

In fact, Grandparents Day is always the first Sunday after Labor Day and has been since Congress passed the legislation in 1978! Who knew? I didn’t. Well, now I do. I saw it on Facebook this morning. And with this new awareness, I feel it is incumbent on me to say something profound, something moving, something eminently quotable. Here it is:

Dear Grandchildren:
We don’t know why we absolutely adore you, we just do. Truly, it is a mystery even to us.
Signed: Your Grandparents

You no doubt think I’m exaggerating. I am not. It is one of life’s imponderables, but for the vast majority of us, our grandkids are, simply put, perfect. Which doesn’t mean we don’t see their imperfections. We do. They just don’t matter. What’s more, we don’t feel the need to do anything about them, not the way we did with their imperfect and generally uncooperative parents.

No, dear grandchildren, improving you is not our job. I know it’s become a cliche, but we do in fact believe our only responsibilities are to admire and spoil you, to love you when you are hurt and tell you how wonderful you are ad nauseum.

Grandkids know this, of course, and are quick to take advantage of it. We don’t care. Which reminds me of this kid I saw on Humans of New York.com last March…

Which further reminds me of something my youngest grandchild, Lee, then age two, said after we’d finished talking on the phone.
“What did Grandma say?” his mother asked.
“Grandma said yes.”
So young and yet so wise.

I could say more, about how grandparents don’t care how long it takes you to put on your shoes or the fact that you are eating cupcakes for breakfast. We don’t have to be anywhere on time and we know you’ll get a healthy breakfast tomorrow. You have wise and loving parents whose job it is to make you do all the things you don’t want to do and take the grief for it. And we dearly love your parents. You, on the other hand, we simply adore.

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