Monday, July 16, 2007

Dancing in the dark

I spend a lot of time walking around after the lights are out, and my vision is getting progressively worse. The thing is, I have been practicing to be blind, and it is completely no picnic at all. Sometimes I try to be graceful and wave my arms in a fashion I believe to be smooth and delicate, and at other times I bump into corners and bruise, or worse, miss the last step and almost fall.

I was in the market yet again and there was the bag boy, about 6.6 and with heavy white cataracts covering both eyes. He was trying his best, flailing his arms over the conveyor belt while bent at the waist, a position that I imagine could not be comfortable at all.

Worst of all, the checker was not helping. Were it me, I might shout out the items as I rang them up so that he would know what to flail for: giant paper towels, soda bottles, meat. AAugh! imaging suddenly packing cereal, cookies, spaghetti, and then wet, coldish meat!

The other thing was that the checker packed one bag but failed to remark about its presence to the bagger and so it was that I had to circumvent his flying arms to retrieve my remaining bag. The good part was that I only purchased 5 items.

I do not begrudge getting a blind man a job. I just wish they had found something easier for him. Perhaps gathering carts.

Monday, April 09, 2007

Tying one on

Yesterday I got a free bowtie. I had to get a shirt and tie for a waitressing job, and went to a tuxedo store.

There were no suitable shirts to fit me.
Being both short and buxom made both boys' and mens' shirts awkward and puffy in all the wrong places.

I turned my attention instead to the ties. There were hundreds of different ties on shelves in peach peck baskets. The salesman wanted me to buy a tie with round edges on the bows; it was gray satin and I did not like it one bit. I chose a sort of double butterfly made of velvet thinking that it might make me adorable in a way that would make me a lot of of money.

The salesman did not like the tie I picked. "That one is really shot", he kept saying, "The snap is right out of that one". The salesman's tie was striped.

I persisted in my desire for the snapless tie.
"Just put it in your purse and walk out of here" he told me, "anyone so insistent on having THAT tie should have it for free.

Friday, April 06, 2007

Seeds of Change

I got an envelope in the mail. It was addressed in block letters which looked to be male, possibly that of my college boyfriend, but that was a stretch.

There was no return address, the postmark was from Philadelphia.

The back on the envelope read: Happy Spring.

Inside the envelope I found a package of Shirley (mom's name) Poppies, named "Falling in Love".

The envelope and seed packet appeared to have gotten at least half wet, been crumpled, and dried that way.

I know who sent them.

I thought these things:

3.under the top?
4.overkill with the falling in love stuff?
5. Oh, for crying out loud!
6. Too little too late?
7. speechless, don't know what to say or think.
8.NOW you're trying to be nice?
9. I wonder how they will grow?

No number 10. What were you expecting?

It turns out I got a call from my sister saying "Didn't you get anything in the mail?" No, I don't think so, I told her. I did get some seeds though. "Wow, you did not know my hand writing? "(she mostly e-mails, and no, I don't) " Well, Shirley, that did not tip you off?" No, I said, they said Falling in Love, and that threw me off.
My sister did the slow burn .
I guess it was just wishful thinking.

Thursday, April 05, 2007

Common Cold Blues

About one o'clock in the afternoon Norris decides to quit malingering and try to make herself useful around the house while waiting for her soup to melt.

Unlike other people, she usually made food from scratch and was comforted by the fact that no mother's presence was required to produce some chicken soup; a sure fire remedy for everything. Her soup had come from the freezer and was still in a solid state now in a pot on the stove.

Norris was no giant, and so it was that staggering around the kitchen in hangover mode that she noticed that the grime atop her small apartment sized refrigerator had reached crisis status. She'd been getting by the last few weeks with hapazard swipes at the accumulating crud, but feeling ill generated an urge to clean house.

I hate being sick in a dirty house, she often reminded herself. If it was not one malady, it was another, and in fact, Norris spent most of her time being nauseous, dizzy or both for reasons she could only guess at, and that numerous doctors had deemed to be non existant, though being frail or a hypochondriac in final analysis amount to the same thing.

Standing on the kitchen stool, Norris discovers that window cleaner and a paper towel are not going to do the job. Why did I have to start this? She wonders about this urge to clean while scrubbing vigorously with ammonia and squinching her face in another direction to avoid the fumes. Finally, she manages to clean the few items that sat on top of the fridge top to her satisfaction; (I'm really getting things done now!)as well as the refrigerator itself.

Moving on to another part of the kitchen, she broke the top of her sugar jar while trying to dislodge a knife jammed in the silverware drainer. It really was a tiny kitchen. She assembled all of the pieces of lid and considered throwing the whole thing out. Then she thought about what it would cost to replace which led to some cogitation about people who keep broken crockery and people who do not keep broken lids but keep things which are obviously missing lids, and so never use the items. It was a gift she had actually liked, which was a rare instance indeed, and that made the whole thing worse.

Weary, she dished out her soup and sat to relax and contemplate the situation further. All this comes of carelessness she thinks, and 2 lousy drinks. Why are there carrot skins in this soup? This doesn't happen at Campbell's. The whole episode truly irritated her.

Norris resolves not to be quite so handy all the time.

Monday, April 02, 2007


I was in the Salvation army and found a semi attractive dress. When I put it on, I noticed a slight tightness under the arms but it seemed to fit perfectly. I opened the curtain of the dressing room to ask the gaggle of women waiting to try things on what they thought of it.

"Too young?, too frumpy?" I asked.

Oh noooo, it's great, they all agreed.

I pulled the curtain shut and heard: "It looks like it was made for her." and further, " The best part is that it does not look like it's even from here!"

Thus were born the Salvation Army Fashionistas.The reason it fit me was because someone had shortened the straps at the shoulder, shortening the torso, and making it suitable only for someone like myself who is torso-deficient. Thus the under-arm chafing. Now if I can fix that......