(Reworked from an October, 2012 post.)
Yesterday I resolved to do absolutely nothing. I’m not through yet.
Someone I dearly love, who shall remain nameless (not my daughter), sometimes has trouble with multisyllabic words. When she told me she had to get her “mammyogram” I had a mental image of an Aunt Jemima-type lady, bandanna & all, slapping her boob on the machine & saying, “Y’all go ‘head & take yo’ picture, honey.” (I’m sorry if I appear racist—believe me, I’m not—but I couldn’t get this image out of my head. Please forgive me, President Lincoln.)
Wouldn’t it be nice if we could dream in chapters? Then, if we were awakened in the middle of a good dream, we could just program it in & continue enjoying it the next night. If the dream wasn’t so good—we could just delete it & open a new “book”!!
Our children joined us, along with our Best Man & Maid of Honor, for brunch at the Four Seasons to celebrate our 57th anniversary. I love that place!! I raised my glass & said, “I would like you to join me in a toast to my wonderful husband, but I guess we’ll have to toast Bud, instead!” I guess our marriage is going to last, but I have to admit my husband shook me up several years ago. The kids were small & had gone to bed. Bud was working on something in his home office & I was watching a special on TV about divorce & how so many women found it difficult to cope afterwards. I went into his office & said, “We’re never going to get a divorce, are we?” He immediately answered, “NO!!” I asked him how he could answer so quickly. He showed me our financial statement (which is what he had been working on) & said, “Because I can’t live on half of this!” For years, on the rare occasions when things would get uncomfortable between us after that, I would remind him of his comment. One day I did just that & he whipped out a new financial statement & proclaimed, “Be careful--I can live on half of this!!”
Some of you may have been wondering how I became a fishducky. If you don’t care, go ahead & skip this paragraph.
The truth is, I’m a product of a mixed
marriage. My father was a fish & my mom was a ducky. The
real story goes back again to when our kids were very young. (I have
done some interesting things since then, like taking a zero gravity flight, but
that has nothing to do with this story.) Picture family dinners
where the mommies have to wait to take the kids home because the daddies aren’t
through with their pinochle game. The kids are getting
cranky. One of the mommies (me) draws pictures to amuse
them. One of the kids asks her if she can draw a particular animal—I
forget which one. She tells them no, but she can draw a ducky. She
does--& her “logo” is born!! Since that time, her house has
become full of duck crap art, such as statuettes, paintings,
etc. When she got a computer & needed an email address she asked
for DUCKY. It was already taken. She didn’t want to be
DUCKY 947 or even DUCKY 2. Her name was Fran. Her last name sounded like fish & she
liked duckies so one of her kids suggested FISHDUCKY. She liked
Speaking of names, when my first grandchild was born one of my sons
thought I should be called “OLD GRANNY FRANNY”.
I thought not. I am just "Grandma".
Let’s not forget Grandpa.
This picture of him is hanging in our kitchen:
Shortly after we bought our beach condo, I was in the kitchen. I opened one cupboard & closed it. I opened another & closed it. And another. And another. My husband asked what I was looking for. I asked him (in all seriousness), “Where do we keep the pots & pans?” Women seem to find this funny. Men, not so much!! I figured he was planning to retire—I just beat him to it!!
You think I have a weird writing style?
According to this test, I'm another Ernest Hemingway!!
* Or I may just give it (my brain) away: