What She Said . . . . What I Heard

This is a creative non-fiction which means I’ve exaggerated a little.

Thanks, Dampemic. You’ve made communication more difficult as if it wasn’t already hard enough. Masks protect us but they muffle our speech, so many times the message you hear isn’t the same that was spoken. Here’s an example of a conversation my wife, Mimi, and I had while grocery shopping. Mind you I’m pushing the cart behind her while she searches the shelves. She talks to me as she’s walking, but not facing me so the sound travels away from me. It’s a science thing. Also, she speaks softly, some Seinfeld fans would describe her as a low talker, but I think soft talker is a more pleasant description.

     Mimi said, “There’s no seeded bread.”

     “Huh, sorry I can’t hear you.”

     She repeats, “There’s no seeded bread.”

     I hear, “There’s no pita bread.” Then I responded, “Oh! Do we need pita bread?”

     Mimi turns toward me. “ No seeded bread.”

     I hear. “No kneaded bread.” I scratch my head. “I’m not positive, but I think all bread is kneaded.”

     Showing her frustration she says, “No, doofus, SEEDED bread.”

    “Oh! You mean Italian bread with seeds. You could’ve just said Italian bread.”

     Shaking her head. “You probably would have heard Stallion bread.”

     “I’ve never heard of Stallion bread. Is that something new?”

     That’s when she pulled her mask down and stuck her tongue out at me.

     Laughing, I said, “Well, that’s not very adult.”

   

It’s just Butter

This being Friday during Lent we decided to have grilled cheese for lunch. Since we had recently been to the grocery store we had Italian bread, cheese and a new tub of butter. We love grilled cheese, it’s comforting. So easy peasy one might say. Well, yes normally that would be the case. 

     It’s never been a challenge to open a tub of butter. It usually has a tab on the side that you pull on and the strip of plastic comes off. Viola’ the butter is open. I did exactly that, but a the small tab broke off. No biggie, I’ll just get a pair of pliers and yank the sucker off, but no joy. It held on like a child holds on to a hand full of your hair.

     Thank the lord I have tools, so I grabbed those I thought would do the trick. A screwdriver, tin snips, and razor blade knife. With the pliers I had successfully ripped off a dozen chunks of plastic that were now strewn over the counter and floor, but unsuccessful at achieving my goal of removing the lid.

     The screwdriver was useless and the tin snips just created more tin bits of plastic to clean up. For the love of God it only butter. Both my wife an I had epic failures in our attempt to open this butter container. To make it worse we were laughing so hard our stomachs hurt. Now we needed the big guns, so I went for the razor blade knife and delicately sliced around the rim of the container while Mimi searched the Internet for a solution. My effort yielded more chunks of plastic to add to the pile. 

     The Internet search was more successful. Apparently the tab is supposed to break off then the top can easily be removed. In my defense there is no visible line that’s easy to see. Since there is a YouTube about opening this butter it tells you we’re not the only ones that have had this problem.

Stay tuned, tomorrow we’re going to open a new jar of jelly.

In the Mind of a Child

I often wonder what's going on in my grandaughter's mind. Many of us probably have had that same thought. What are the grandkids thinking about, especially the little ones? What's important to them? They express emotions like joy, sadness, fear, surprise and anger, but what about other types of feelings. When does a little person show pride?

     Well, I’ve noticed recently when my granddaughter, Stella is at our house she always says to any other visitors we may have. “Do you want to see my b-e-d or Do want to see my r-o-o-m?” She always places the emphasis on the last word. My wife and I find that funny, but I guess all grandparents may have similar stories.

     She seems proud to have a bed and room in our house. It makes me feel good that she thinks of our house as partly hers. Stella has a safe, comfortable home whenever she visits. She is free to roam any room in the house but she seems to favor the snack pantry.

     Tell me something special about your grandchild. I hope you listen closely to what they say because sometimes they can be insightful.

     Wouldn’t it be great if all children had a safe and comfortable place wherever they go? “Just Saying...”

We want your opinion

Every time I purchase something online I receive an email asking me to rate the service, etc. I understand that in order to provide a good product and service a company needs feedback. It becomes annoying because what they want is to receive top marks for everything. If you give them a negative mark, they ask you to write down the problem. This all sounds good on the surface, but it can be time consuming for the customer.

     They use this information to promote their website by validating the customers satisfaction. I don’t know about everyone but I can tell you it’s a lot less stressful to check all the boxes as excellent, because no explanation is needed. That being the case I wonder how accurate those statistics are. The approach I now take is not to answer any request for feedback on a product I purchased, except when the service or product is substandard. On occasion if the vendor goes above and beyond the norm, I will give them positive feedback.

     My expectations are that the product I buy will be delivered on time and a quality to match the price. That’s their job. Why do I have to compliment them for doing what I paid them to do? Does your boss come around everyday and compliment you for every little task you do? I think not. Trust me, if somethings gone haywire with my purchase I will let you know, so if you don’t hear from me just assume you did a good job. “Just Saying . . .?”

Road Trip Disaster

Saturday we decided to take a road trip to Carlyle Lake. No reason other than to get out of the house. We’ve done this before during the virus shutdown. We drove to Augusta a few weeks ago. It's a good way to clear your mind.
    I said to Mimi, “Lets take a road trip today.”
    “Okay, where do you want to go?”
    “I don’t care, just pick somewhere.”
    We ended up choosing Carlyle Lake. We took our newest car a 2019 Kia Niro. It gets great gas mileage and it’s a comfortable ride. The ride was smooth until we blew a tire on Illinois 64 East.. At first it sounded like those warning strips, the washboard style but double the noise. I looked out the window and saw that I wasn’t driving on them. That’s when we realized we had a flat, well really a blowout.
    Most new cars don’t come with a spare tire. They have all the bells and whistles, but no spare and no place to store one. They have that goop that you squirt in the tire but it’s messy and it’s unlikely to work on a blowout.
    I pulled over to the side of the road and rolled down to park under the viaduct then called Kia 24 hour Emergency Road service. We were blindly following the GPS and didn’t know the exact highway we were on, so Mimi walked down to the sign. That’s when we knew it was Illinois 64 East, but the lady on the phone couldn’t find it. She kept asking if this was near Chicago. We told her no, we were only 15 minutes from St. Louis. I then walked down to the nearest exit, so now I knew exit 12 was the Belleville/Collinsville route 159. This helped and the lady and she was then able to contact a towing company.
    The towing guy called and told us it would be about 20 minutes, then ask us if we had a ride. I said no, but we could get one if we needed to. The tow truck driver said he wasn’t allowed to take any riders because of Covid 19. Really, so standing on a heavily traveled highway is safer than riding in a truck due to the risk of Coranavirus?
    I called the Kia dealer and found out the service department was closed on weekends, so we would have to wait until Monday to get the car.
    We called our son, Pat and told him our predicament, he or Jen would come by and pick us up. Great news. We sat for awhile waiting for the tow truck as cars flew by at 90 miles an hour.
    I said, “Hey, at least we’re not bored.”
    Mimi looked over, “Really, why am I sweating?”
    “So much fun, right?
    “Stop talking now.”
    The truck showed up and loaded up the car. The driver asked us if we had someone coming to pick us up. I told him yes, she was on the way. He the drove off to drop our car at the Kia dealer in O’Fallon Illinois. We stood under the viaduct then started to walk to the exit when Jen showed up and ended our crazy road trip. Do you have a spare tire? “Just Asking...?”

Last Minute Christmas

   Celebrating Christmas this year would be paying tribute to a tradition, nothing more. The pandemic, or as I like to say, the damnpemic, has made life unbearable for many.  I had no reason to celebrate this tragic year. I would prefer it fade or disappear without any recognition that it even existed.

     Visiting my few friends was not something I’d done for months. My one hold-out routine was weekly grocery shopping, and even that wasn’t necessary since they could be delivered to my door. My stubbornness wouldn’t relinquish all of my freedoms. So, I chose to pick out fruits, vegetables, and assorted meats as my remaining rebellious act to thumb my nose at the virus.

     Every year a gang of kids would play ball in the empty lot next to my house. I would often sit on my porch grilling hot dogs, which I shared with them as I watched until darkness sent them home. The gang called me Mister B. The B stands for baseball. I gave them all the bats and balls I stored in the garage for my grandkids. They hadn’t been used in years since my son and his family moved away. This year in 2020 there was no baseball next door, thanks to the damnpemic. I missed watching the games and the antics of the young boys and girls. It reminded me of my younger days.

     December 23rd, and there was no Christmas tree at my house. No holiday decorations of any kind. I guess I should change my name to Scrooge. The neighbor's decorated houses, like this was their last chance for celebration. I knew most of them, but we didn’t socialize even in good times. I turned in early as always. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, but there would be no celebration for me. 

     I woke early on the 24^th and stepped out the front door the get the newspaper. I was old school, no Internet news for me. What I found was a fully decorated Christmas tree with baseball card ornaments. The cards were not of professional players but the neighborhood kids, each with a handwritten Christmas message. On the porch next to the tree, I found a wrapped present from the kids. A package of hot dogs, buns, and cracker jacks with a note. “Merry Christmas, Mister B”

     I laughed out loud, “Time to fire up the grill.”

The Man in Red

Somewhere at a university in France, there’s a picture of me posted on a wall. I was sought after and eventually found. I didn’t resist.

* * * 

     Let me start at the beginning. We had just arrived in Boudreaux and decided to walk around the city ending up in a plaza. It was Friday, and people filled the streets enjoying the pleasant weather and fun activities.

     There were four of us from the States, anxious to experience the French heritage and world-renown French wines. It was easy to be mesmerized by the atmosphere as we wandered through the square. I walked ahead of our group taking in the sights. My wife, her sister, and my cousin stood back observing the activities.

     As I stood watching a parade, a pretty young college girl came over to me, tapped me on the shoulder, and spoke to me in French. It’s truly is a romantic language. It could be one of the only languages where they are telling you to buzz off and you would just smile and say, Merci.

     Why would this beautiful young girl want to speak to me? I’m in my mid-sixties and she looked to be twenty-ish. I had no answer but I couldn’t keep from smiling. 

     I turned toward her expecting to say, “Parlez vous Anglais?” I had practiced the phrase in case I came across a situation like this. I wanted to be a courteous and respectful tourist, but instead, I said, “Do you speak English?” What a disappointment. Three little French words and I blew it. 

     Without any hesitation, the young girl switched from French to English faster than I could say, “Wow.”

     The young French beauty said. “We’re on a scavenger hunt and need a picture of a man wearing a red shirt. “Can you help us?”  The shirt I wore that day was Ferrari Red and it even had a racing stripe. “Well, certainly,” I responded. Why wouldn’t I want my picture taken with a French supermodel?

     She immediately walked over to her college friends and brought back a tall young man to stand next to me as she took a photo of us. Not quite what I expected but still a memorable experience. It was a good plan to send the stunning young girl to ask a favor from a stranger.

     Standing a fair distance behind me was my wife, cousin and his wife puzzled, but not surprised, that I had stumbled into an interesting scenario. Why? Well, because I always do, I don’t know why it’s just the way it is.

     After the co-ed took the picture she thanked me, kissed me on the cheek, and hugged me. No! That’s only in my mind. In reality, Miss Universe simply said, “Thank you.”

     The goddess and her young troupe of college students moved on to find the next item on the list for the scavenger hunt. I stood, satisfied that this was another unexpected experience. 

     My cousin Tom walked up and said, “Do you still have your wallet?”