Husband on a Stick

 "Husband on a Stick" - Thursday Thinking Out Loud, by L. Zern

My husband and I are of a certain age—not as old as some might assume and not as young as to be so foolish as to think that guzzling gallons of sugar water will make us immortal.

You know! A certain age.

We are of a certain age that is looking death square in the eyes while at the same time enjoying the consequences of forty years of faithful choices.

You know! We had four children when it wasn’t hip or cool and those children have now given us seventeen (almost) grand-children. We’ll take it. Our nest is empty most of the time except for Wednesdays, Fridays, and Sundays.

Actually, they come and go on Sundays. Enough said.

We are of a certain age that is contemplating the inevitable next step in this journey we call . . . life and living.

You know! A certain age.

Because of being a certain age, our conversations have shifted from “What’s for dinner?” to “If you go loopy first, and I don’t go loopy, I’m still coming to the old folks home with you. Deal?”

Or this recent conversation . . .

Settling in for another night together after forty-six (almost) nights together, I said, “Scratch my back!”

Husband scratches my back: think two bears getting ready to hibernate.

Suddenly, I realized one possible future. “Geez, when you’re not around anymore. Who is going to scratch my back?”

Husband, silent for a long drowsy moment, finally suggested, “You could always get one of those dried out alligator feet on a stick.”

“What are you saying? I could replace one whole husband with a single alligator foot on a stick?”

“Yep,” he yawned. “You know one of those back scratcher things.”

“I’m not sure how to take that.”

“Be practical,” husband added. “In fact, Conner (our grandson who works at a local Florida animal attraction) can probably get you an alligator foot on a stick for cheap since he works at that alligator place.”

Later, when I related the sad tale of our growing age related concerns, my son-in-law offered an additional bit of advice. “Shoot, Conner could probable get you one of those alligator feet on a stick for free, but it might only have two toes left.”

And this is how we’re planning to enjoy our sunset years, come what may and loving it.

Linda (Old Momma Bear) Zern

Words to Click By

 MONDAY TO GO:  "Words to Click By" L. Zern

I am a fan of YouTube. I love being able to search the world wide web for as many sources about how to milk a goat as is possible to be searched. 

You want to know how to milk a goat? Fear not. Someone is milking a goat on YouTube in Minnesota or Mikasoukee or Mudville or . . . 

Well, you get it.

The problem with YouTube? So many voices desperate for attention leads to the use of shameless hyperbolic words and phrases to lure the wary YouTuber. These are words and phrases that catch your eye, tweak your curiosity, and titillate you with their titillating tittles.

For example:

UNSPEAKABLE goat milking techniques

BOMB SHELL goats and the people who milk them

The DARKEST SECRETS of goat milkers

DIABOLICAL devil goats

The FILTHY SECRETS of making goat cheese

How do you not click on those chunky headlines? 

As a person who is constantly (perhaps an overstatement but maybe not) accused of being hyperbolic and drama prone, I can appreciate headlines like these: unspeakable, bomb shell, darkest secrets, diabolical, and anything filthy.

But be warned. You will be disappointed. The headlines rarely, if ever, match the report.

 But they sure do spice things up, and isn’t that fun? 

Since I’m accused of being a drama prone, volatile, over the top flair monger, I’ve decided to live my life in big words and bigger headlines.

For example:

UNSPEAKABLE things found under my teenage son’s mattress

BOMBSHELL report. Mom burned dinner again.

The DARKEST SECRETS of a grandmother of sixteen

DIABOLICAL kids and the brain-worms they infect us with

The FILTHY SECRETS of the family bathroom

Don’t pretend you don’t want to know what I found under that mattress? That’s a double negative, so you do want to know. Ha! Gotcha!

But you’ll have to excuse me now; I just stumbled on a YouTube title that reads SADISTIC FATHER INFILTRATES DORMS AND FORMS CULT OF COLLEGE KIDS. 

I’ve got to watch that one.

Linda (Drama Drone) Zern

How to Review Your Life

In my college writing classes, we had to critique each other’s work. We got the assignment, wrote the essay or short story or first chapter of blazing erotica.  In a world of non-judgment, tolerance, and anything goes, passing judgment could be a wee bit taxing.

So we had rules. 

They were as follows: We made enough copies of our essay, short story, or first chapter of blazing erotica to pass to each member of the class. We handed out the copies. Each person in the class took the essay, short story, or first chapter of blazing erotica home to review. 

We were then instructed to find three good things about the piece and then with delicate finesse and vibrating sensitivity we were allowed to list three ways the essay, short story, or first chapter of blazing erotica could/would/should be improved. 

Because to improve a writer must be able to identify where a piece of writing works and where it does not work.

So, back in class, sitting around a big round table, we were then allowed to share our observations. The author was not allowed to speak or retort. I like to call this method the Round Table Review.

Sounds straight forward doesn’t it?

Yeah . . . whatever.

I recall one such Round Table Review that I had to do that went something like this:  Things I liked  1) Strong title, 2) Excellent use of the word the, and 3) I like that you double spaced everything.

Things to be improved 1) A story about flappers should not be set in the 1995, 2) The dog’s dialog sounds stilted, and 3) Bestiality is spelled wrong.

I struggled for an entire Saturday to come up with three positive things to say about the above mentioned story. The irony? The writer did not show up for class—again, ever.

I will admit that I do like the Round Table Review method for other aspects of life, however.

In life’s endless struggles and events it can be very helpful to return and report if only for your own edification. Three things that worked. Three things that could stand to be improved. It’s that or be prepared to plaster smiles on your face, nod in the affirmative robotically, and clap like a three-year-old endlessly for the duration of this thing called life, especially in the non-judgement age of tolerance. Some examples of the Round Table Review for life: 

Things that worked:  1) Super cute balloon arch 2) Good pinata 3) Excellent bounce house.

Things that need work: 1) Keep the dessert skewers away from the kids around the balloon arch 2) Less blindfolding of children with pinata bats 3) Locate the bounce house that blew away and landed in the next county.

Things that worked: 1) Voted early 2) Displayed the I voted early sticker 3) Cute red/white/blue outfit worn for early voting.

Things that need work: 1) Never tell anyone that you voted or for whom 2) Make sure not to wash the I voted early sticker on your cute red/white/blue outfit 3) Find an underground movement to join.

Things that worked: 1) Sacrificed life for children 2) Ensured children’s health, wealth, and safety 3) Helped them on their way.  

Things that need work: 1)  Join the underground movement.

Being truthful about things that need work isn’t yucky. It’s necessary. Or the writing never improves, the mistakes are never fixed, and the best never becomes the standard. 

I believe there are three phases to becoming an author: 1) If anyone reads this essay, short story, or blazing piece erotica I’ll die 2) Okay, you can read it, but don’t tell me what you think or I’ll die and 3) I’ll give you a thousand dollars to read this, lest I die.

Grownups welcome constructive criticism.

Linda (Oh, Grow Up) Zern