This post was first published in May 2013. Enjoy!
Today’s post really is not about writing nor anything related to writing. It’s about….gas. Not for your car. Not the gas in neon signs. It’s about the other kind. The embarrassing kind that whistles and zips when you least expect. The kind that can stop a conversation or a charging bull moose. No one wants to acknowledge that ‘passage’ has occurred. Most people suddenly begin to ramble about ‘Great Aunt Sue and her begonias’ when the trumpet sounds, but there are times when being flatulent is a good thing. So the tale begins with….
I went for a bone density several weeks ago, and the tech was totally obnoxious.
She kept giving me info in minute detail about the procedure, her training, bone loss in older woman, why bone loss occurs, etc. It was overkill and not because I have a medical background. It was just too dang much. Plus she talked about the patient before me, sharing a few private details. HIPPA, baby. Not good.
I’m breaking my ‘I’m-not-a’gonna-post-anything-until-September’ pledge. I can’t help it. I was very sad when I heard of the death of Robin Williams. He is the reason I love rainbow suspenders. He made me laugh. He made me cry. At one point in time I even wanted to do stand-up comedy because of him.
In the early 80’s a friend of mine pulled me to a TV set to watch a guy do a comedy routine about sperm and a diaphragm. I practically busted a gut laughing. Yep, it was Robin Williams. He could take any subject/object and morph/whip it into a chuckle machine (just like his friend Jonathan Winters).
I have favorite movies…Popeye, Patch Adams, The Fisher King…Mrs. Doubtfire…The Big White…I could on and on.
But I really love this video by Bobby McFerrin with Mr. Williams in it. The song title is “Don’t worry. Be Happy”. Sometimes when a person is in the depths of despair and the blackness is eating away at the soul, it’s just not possible. So long, Mr. Comedy. Goodbye, Mork. Na-Nu Na-Nu!
I’m taking a leave while I work on projects….shall return September 1. I have selected some of my favorite posts to reblog which were my biggest chucklers. Enjoy again (or for the first time if you are a new subscriber). Scribbles! Helen
Once upon a time Cinder-hella decided to mop. She hated this task with all her heart, but it was a necessity due to:
- Grime build-up on the palace kitchen floor.
- Toddler drips and splats beneath the feeding throne.
- Approaching visitors from the North.
Reason #3 was foremost on Cinder-hella’s mind. It was Labor Day weekend in the Kingdom. Relatives would soon knock at the door. A fine feast of roast beast was planned. Of course, Cinder-hella waited until the last minute to mop because she hated it so.
She gathered the bucket. She heated the tap water which she laced with a fine-smelling lemon carcinogenic cleaning solution and bleach.
She stripped off all her clothing because she did not wish bleach to hurt her fine ballgown. She always mopped au naturale. No one was present in the house. No husband. No children. Cinder-hella was alone with a bucket and her mop. (Do not dwell upon her nakedness. That would be unseemly.)
Here is MOP.
Well, not the real mop.
Its brand will remain unsaid.
Just note that it was an old sponge mop, well-versed in evil.
It searched for an opportunity to belittle and harm Cinder-hella
much like the evil Step-sisters in the original story.
Cinder-hella swept the kitchen floor in preparation for the cleaning. She did not use an old-fashioned broom but a fine Swiffer given to her by her handsome prince. This brand is named because it is true and good… unlike MOP.
The princess decided that she would approach the task with a positive attitude. She ordered the Royal Pandora Musicians to play Christmas songs. Carols filled the air. She commenced the mopping with gusto and a smile.
She was amazed at how fast the work was going. MOP was cooperating. Hopefully, the floor would be dry before the relatives arrived.
Little did Cinder-hella know that MOP had heard the opines of Cinder-hella which were spoken to the Prince days before the Royal Mopping.
“Oh, handsome man, I beseech thee. Purchase for your royal dame a Swiffer Wet Jet. I will throw nasty MOP away and live the life of a true and gentle princess.”
MOP plotted and planned to exact revenge on the red-haired princess. At first MOP cleaned and shined the floor, but evil was lurking. MOP waited until just the right moment…and THEN ……
MOP snapped at its base, and Cinder-hella slipped and fell.
She lay on the wet floor, a puddle of naked flesh. Fear not! The fall was not hard only humbling. Cinder-hella was able to save herself from major hip or back injury by riccocheting off a wall.
MOP lay by her, sneering.
“Ha ha ha! You fell on your royal a##!”
“I hate you, MOP!” Cinder-hella yelled. She also spouted some very un-royal words which shall not be penned to page.
The doorbell rang.
Yes, it did.
Crawling on her hands and knees to the nearby dry floor, Cinder-hella hot-footed it to her royal sleeping chambers and donned her ballgown. She did have an ouch or two where the corset pinched, but otherwise she was in good spirits and free of broken bones.
The guests were warned to stay off the wet floor, and evil MOP was banished to the trash can.
So ends the tale of a princess and a mop.
The Moral of this story is:
To thine own mop be true or you shall be black and blue.
NOTE: The above tale is true. Cinder-hella does exist. I wear her glass slippers. This post is dedicated to a certain fellow writer whose children nicknamed me ‘Hella’.
Yep, I said ‘tremor’ instead of ‘shiver’. Today I had an adventure at the local health food store. I love going to that store. (Can you say organic ‘chocolate covered almonds’?) But the clientele can be a bit odd. I’m not picking on anyone. Heck, I’m odd. No discrimination intended. Here’s the deal:
I was perusing the B12 vitamins for my vegetarian daughter. (I’m a carnivore. She’s a vegetarian. Go figure. I probably traumatized her with a medium rare steak.) The area where I was reading labels was right by the cash register. A very nicely dressed woman of my age was placing cans and packages of flour onto the counter. Her conversation with the clerk was sprinkled with bits of this and that. And then she suddenly started talking about ‘sink holes’….in great detail…in her own view of what was causing these horrible house-eaters.
“Something is coming out of the sink holes. Something from deep below,” she said. She was very dramatic about this.
The clerk nodded and replied, “Maybe gas. Like a giant belch?”
“No,” the woman stated. “And it’s not because of fracking…I’m talking ‘things'”
I am not making fun of the woman. She is entitled to her views, but….
What the heck?
I began to think of the movie Tremors. I almost interrupted the conversation by adding my two cents that it had to be Graboids, but I didn’t. I stood there shaking. Images of Kevin Bacon whooping up on a giant nematode were racing through my thoughts. I couldn’t help it. Needless to say I had to exit the store fast before some of my favorite lines from Tremors escaped my lips.
Valentine McKee: Roger that Burt, and congratulations. Be advised, however, that there are two more, repeat, two more motherhumpers.
Valentine McKee: This valley is just one long smorgasbord.
Burt Gummer: Broke into the wrong goddamn rec room, didn’t ya you bastard!
I ran to my car and immediately called my oldest daughter who loves Tremors also. I do believe I became healthier from all the laughter.
(NOTE: I will be sporadically posting until mid-August…a bit here…a bit there…unless the Graboids get me. Then you won’t hear a thing from me. Scribbles.)
I had to reblog a reblog because this made me laugh so hard I nearly snorted coffee out of my nose. It’s a fitting start to a Monday. Excuse me….I need to dance some ‘mo to dis. (Go Wierd Al!)
Originally posted on The Red Pen of Doom:
Back in the day, Weird Al Yankovic was proudly, loudly weird. Today, he’s the master of parody videos, which keep getting better and better.
This one is a dream for writers and editors everywhere. He speaks the truth. Sing it, Al, and let the rumors that you’re retiring be false.
# # #
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View original 34 more words
Hair follicles have incredible power. Bad hair days exist. I’ve had many. Recently I took matters into my own hands….well…actually to a very nice stylist’s hands…and she cut my hair eye-hurting short. I love it. I have micro-bangs. I do not look like Mamie Eisenhower.
I’m more Peter Pan with a splash of fairy dust.
I know…why am I telling you about my hair? As my locks fell to the floor, I thought, “Hmmm….this is an object lesson.”
I am no longer chained to the hair dryer and the giant roller brush that raked across my forehead as I struggled to straighten my give’em-two-minutes-and-they-will-curl bangs. I will use only one hair product called Taffy. Naah…it’s not edible, but it ‘sticks’ my strands into position.
As I edit words, I’m ‘trimming the bangs’ on my book! It’s refreshing. Uplifting. A bit scary….like looking down and seeing a ton of hair on the floor by the stylist’s chair. Sometimes a good trim has to happen. I feel better after a hair trim. I feel great after re-wording a sentence. The feeling of ‘it just seemed so right” pours over the soul. Sigh. Friday scribbles to you! helen
Look who has been making an appearance in my life lately….Moe D’Vation. What a guy!
To those unfamiliar with Moe, he is my Italian word mafioso/muse who kicks my derriere when I get slack and sloppy in my work habits. Needless to say he gave me quite a caboose kicking a couple of weeks ago.
“Sister, what the heck have you been doing? Picking your nose instead of writing? You should know better than to pull a Danny Devito and throw mama from the train. Here read these books and show up at the laptop. Capesh?”
When Moe talks, Helen listens. I read the books…a lot of books…more than the Italian Stallion handed me. Here’s a recommendation from moi, the redhead: “Writing It Right! How Successful Children’s Authors Revise and Sell Their Stories” by Sandy Asher.
Writing It Right! is a great view of the writing process. The author presents examples of published works and contrasts them with the initial rough drafts and later edits. It’s amazing to see how the story seeds grow into lovely big trees. It gave me some ‘a-ha’ moments.
I don’t know…call me naive, but when I first started writing, I thought first drafts were the pinnacle. You know. The deed was done…no more drafting needed. How could perfection be improved? Yeah…right. Here’s the deed to the Brooklyn Bridge, redhead of limited understanding.
I’m a visual person. Seeing the rough drafts of others and their completed work gave me a great perspective. Nobody really buys the Brooklyn Bridge. No one has ever published a first draft. (Let me know if you know of an example).
BTW no one paid me to read this book. No one has paid me to do anything in a long time. Sigh. But that’s another struggling writer/unpublished story.
Check out Writing It Right! It’s an eye-opener, sugar. Scribbles!
(If you desire more Moe D’Vation, refer back to April 1. Moe was the main topic for a solid month. I really got sick of his ugly mug!)
Dear Dame Friday is here with her thistle dress and her lovely hair.
Friday is good. Friday is fun. If there were no Fridays, there would only be six days in a week, and the Beatles would have had to rename their song to ‘Seven Days a Week”. It wouldn’t have been the same.
TRY IT. SING THE LYRICS AND INSERT SEVEN. ARRGH. IT’S HORRIBLE.
THINK OF THE CONSEQUENCES.
THERE WOULD HAVE BEEN A MAJOR SHIFT IN THE ROCK AND ROLL WORLD, AND THE BEATLES MIGHT HAVE BEEN
Those are my Friday thoughts…filled with a bit a of silliness which is what we all need to end the week with…as the weekend rolls in at midnight. Scribbles!
Yep, old Tiw…Norse god…had a day of the week named after him.
He was the mythical god of single combat, victory, and heroic glory.
Tiw’s day…Tuesday….I believe it does take a lot of heroic glory to make it from Monday to Tuesday especially if one has started a new exercise program that is kicking their proverbial you-know-what.
I would be the ‘one’ in the paragraph above. First off, I love to kick it, but this winter I hibernated from exercising and continued to hibernate until..uh…late June? Sad but true. I refused to move. I had ‘exercise block’ which translated to not even walking around the block. And eating pie…and nachos…and anything else that has a high fat content and gives my brain a nice rush of sugar and yum. (Helen shakes her head and sighs.)
But I’ve been reading a book on brain resistance which applies to writing and any other habit–good or bad. Neuroplasticity is fascinating.
Neuroplasticity: The brain’s ability to reorganize itself by forming new neural connections throughout life. Neuroplasticity allows the neurons (nerve cells) in the brain to compensate for injury and disease and to adjust their activities in response to new situations or to changes in their environment. (definition from http://www.medterms.com/script/main/art.asp?articlekey=40362)
Habits are neural pathways…nice little paved roads. The more you practice a habit whether it be good or bad the thicker the pavement and the faster the travel.
Have a bad habit? Establish a new road of good thinking…a new habit…and soon you’ll be zooming along having broken the old habit’s hold because that’s what the brain does. It’s easy to think that you are forever doomed to travel down the same old roads, but it’s not true.
It’s all about replacing bad habits by adding new ones. My mama knew this to be true. She always said, “Get into the habit of….” I ignored her when I was sixteen, but she was really wise for a round short Irish woman with a volatile temper.
Here are some books on neuroplasticity (and general brain stuff) which are great reads:
Around the Writer’s Block: Using Brain Science to Solve Writer’s Resistance by Rosanne Bane
The Woman with a Worm in Her Head: And Other True Stories of Infectious Disease Paperback by Pamela Nagami
The Brain That Changes Itself: Stories of Personal Triumph from the Frontiers of Brain Science by Norman Doidge, M.D.
Brain Rules: 12 Principles for Surviving and Thriving at Work, Home, and School by John Medina
Mystically Wired: Exploring New Realms In Prayer by Ken Wilson (I haven’t read all of this yet….eager to though)
Have a brainy good day!
***After posting this, I wanted to add this disclaimer: “It ain’t easy, but it can be done. Practice makes permanent.” That’s what my old Tae Kwondo instructor would say when I had to learn a new form. Habits practiced become permanent.