Terrorist Fairy Garden

           Well, there’s nothing like an innocent fairy garden to get you on a Watch List.  That, and auto-correct.  Here’s what happened:

          A friend of mine bought a new house up in the mountains (we live near the base of the Sierra Nevadas).  It’s on a slope, and she wants to build a town for the fairies on her property. She knew I have one wrapping around a tree in my backyard:

                                                               

 

          So she asked me for ideas.  And the first one I thought of, was to terrace it so you can have level places for the homes, and cute retaining walls made of tiny stones. 

          But when you leave a message, autocorrect immediately changes “terraced fairy garden” into “terrorist fairy garden.” And now, instead of picturing happy, winged fairies you imagine machine-gun-toting fairies and miniature tanks.

          Of course I blame the terrorists. If they hadn’t appeared on the scene, autocorrect would have left the fairy village terraced, safe, and lovely. My cell phone never would have thought I was saying “terrorist” because it wouldn’t have existed. And the world would be a better place.

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Suspended in Disbelief

           Sunday at church, St. Bob—who sits on the stand up front, as one of the leaders—darted right down to me after the service.

          “Come with me,” he said. And he seemed serious.

          He led me to the tiny Family History room.  The sister missionaries wanted to put their bicycles in there, but he held them off. “Just five minutes,” he said, and closed the door.

          What surprise could he possibly be hiding?

          He began taking off his suit coat.

          “What on earth are you doing?” I gasped. Surely he didn’t think this was an appropriate place—”

          “My suspenders have come off in the back,” he said. “I need you to put them on again for me.”

          Oh, good heavens!

          “My pants nearly fell down,” he whispered.

          I remembered our eldest son as a child, once saying, “It’s okay if your pants fall down. You can always pull them back up.”  But I decided this wasn’t what Bob needed to hear just now.

          He’d begun wearing suspenders about a year ago when he discovered how much more comfy it was than a belt. I happily snapped them onto his pants in the back and he slipped back into his suit coat.

          We opened the door so the missionary girls could stow their bikes there, and saw their wide eyes. Now I’m REALLY glad I didn’t laugh out loud when I learned about Bob’s suspender emergency.

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What a Voice!

           I recently got together with some long-time girlfriends. 

         One morning I was doing breakfast dishes, looked out the window, and saw a man walking through my friend’s back yard.

          My girlfriend had said she had a worker who’d be there, but what surprised me was that he was singing as he went along. Not just singing, but singing incredibly well!

          His beautiful voice came softly, yet beautifully through the windows, and I smiled. Not only did he have a gorgeous voice, but he was perfectly on key.

          This is how life is, I thought to myself. You can be a truly inspired singer, yet never become a star, but a worker in someone’s back yard. Still, you can sing with joy, share your talent, and bless the world.

          And then I saw it. On my friend’s windowsill was a home receiver for music, with a picture of Dean Martin on the screen. Everybody Loves Somebody, it said, the very song I was listening to.

          It had been turned down just low enough that it sounded as if you were hearing it through the windows. And, of course, exactly on key. I told my friend and she can’t wait to share this news with her workman!

          So, I’m just saying, this one example of my assuming the best about someone should at least cancel one of the times I’ve assumed the worst. Right? Darn right. And that’s how you get a few points in Heaven, my friends.

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Cone for a Day

           There used to be a popular game show called “Queen for a Day,” where women could win cool prizes for the best sob story, and wear a crown for that day.

          But now St. Bob has a new idea: Cone for a Day. Yes, he wants me to wear a cone like you see dogs wearing.   

          They're actually called Elizabethan collars, so now you've learned a new thing.  But here's why St. Bob wants me to wear one: First of all, I keep losing a contact lens. If I had a cone on, they would fall into an easily-viewed area. Bob manages to help me find them, but I can understand his wanting to make this easier.                                                                              

        Second, it would protect me from socking myself in the face when I’m putting on a compression sleeve and it snaps away from me.

          Third, I would never again spill on my clothes, because the clever cone would catch drips of what is usually ice cream. 

Although I cannot imagine wearing one of these into a restaurant. But I'm not saying it’s a bad idea…

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Advice Worth Every Penny

           Our daughter, Nicole, just got her Master’s degree in Clinical Therapy. This is perfect for her, as she is a terrific listener and very insightful.

          Even as a young child, she would try to analyze me. I’d be telling her something and she would lead me along and say, “Because…?” She was always an old soul, more the grownup. Meanwhile, I was the little kid at heart, drawing faces on my fingers and then putting on a puppet show.

          I’m sure her clients are thrilled with her techniques and advice. But I cannot imagine listening to troubled people all day, without interrupting and telling them how to solve it.

          If someone comes to me with a problem, I jump in and say, “Grab a pen. Here are 10 things to try.” Why wallow, right? I’m told this is a male characteristic, to want to solve a problem without first venting about it. But I like creative ideas, so I’m already bubbling over with them. And I also like saving time.

          I can actually picture myself opening a booth like Lucy did, in the Peanuts comic strip.  Except mine would say, “Five minutes max” on the sign.

          If someone brings me a concern and I give them advice, I expect them to at least try what I’ve suggested. If they return a couple of weeks later and they still want to whine, I mean, share their troubles, I’ve learned what attorneys say, “Asked and answered.”

         And, of course, I think I have brilliant solutions. The problem is that people like me, with grown kids, want to jump in and give advice. BUT… word on the street is that you should wait for these kids to ask before you tell them how to live.  And… as many a parent has discovered, they don’t ask for your opinion anymore.

          So here I sit, overflowing with fabulous advice, able to share it in the blink of an eye, but everyone seems to be rolling along independently. Maybe I should charge by the hour.

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Hissy Fit

           St. Bob is throwing what, in his home state of Louisiana, they would call a “hissy fit.”  And what has upset him, you ask?

          The ending of a K-Drama we just watched. This is the second time we’ve been robbed of the wedding scene. Episode after episode brought the couple together, we waited FOREVER for them to declare their love, and FOREVER again for them to kiss, and now, just when you’re sure they’ll marry, they don’t.  Oh, they’re still in love.  Just no wedding yet. The End.

          Thanks to my friend, Nanette, who has watched just about every K- Drama that exists, I got hooked on these wonderful, funny, clean, well-written dramas with sub-titles. St. Bob did as well. And in case you have been living under a rock and don’t know about these, they are shows produced in South Korea, hence the K.

          K-Dramas are having a moment. Entire college dorms have K-Drama night, when all the students watch, glued to the suspenseful story. Around the world, people are starting with “Crash Landing on You,” and getting hooked. In that one, the couple became a couple in real life, which only heightens the romance.

          But in any movie, you have certain expectations. You want the villain to suffer consequences, you want the hero to prevail. And you want to see the culminating wedding scene if it’s a romance. Even if you’re an action movie guy who thinks he’s James Bond and has Mission Impossible for his ring tone.

          So, next time we watch a K-Drama, St. Bob is going to forward to the end to see if there’s a wedding. And if not, on to the next one.

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Twist and Shout

          I used to be pretty good at tongue twisters. Like so many other talents that pay exactly zero, I was blessed with the ability to say them without getting all twisted up.

          Until now. Enter the Godzilla of Tongue Twisters. It looks simple, but it trips me up: “Irish Wrist Watches.”  Try to say it once without pausing or smooshing it all together.

          And immediately I thought of our son who not only works in the world of luxury watches, but is an expert on the dawn of time.  I mean the literal dawn of time-keeping. He knows every method of time-keeping mankind has ever invented. 

           He works for Panerai Watches, an Italian brand with a store on Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills. These watches are worn by celebrities, stored in safes by wealthy collectors, and cost as much as some homes. This one can sell for $500,000.00:

He knows all about the big brands: Patek Philippe, Audemars Piguiet, A. Lange & Sohne, and Vacheron Constantin.  (You talk about tongue twisters). 

          So I asked him if he was aware of any Irish watch brands. Sure enough, there’s one called McGonigle:

          I asked my son if he could say Irish wrist watches. He could. Did it with no problem. (sigh).

Be sure to visit my Youtube Mom channel, where in NO TIME, you can find hundreds of great life hacks.