You stepped into my life. A bargain at $15. A happenstance at Ross Dress for Less. Serendipity. It was love at first sight. I grabbed you and took you home. Showed you off proudly and bragged all about you. You helped me stand tall and sassy. You brought color to my world. Kept the dirt and dust out as I kicked up my heels.
But you got worn out but not down. And I could not bear to discard you. You were still worthy of a place. So I propped you up, filled you up with dirt and succulents. New role for you. Still filled my life with color and conversation.
But alas, I thought you’d reached the end, you’d seen better days. I nearly kicked you to the curb in haste. But I rescued you before the trash man took you away.
I decided you needed a few more outings and showings—in my sketchbook. You still have a few more miles to go before you sleep.
Recently we went to my son Tyler’s house to watch his three children Presley 7, Charlotte 5, and Hudson 11 months. Piece of cake.
Presley and Charlotte are quite illustrious in many ways and with huge imaginations. Presley at this time is enthralled with “good guys and bad guys,” Hulk and GI JOE including Lego Mind Craft mania.
So of course the movie GI Joe was the hot topic since apparently they had just seen it.
“It was so cool, Grandma! Bamm, bamm,” and all the machine gun noises!!
Then suddenly he got a very small voice. “They say the “F” word in the movie, just one time tho.”
“Hmm,” I replied.
“But not for real. You couldn’t know it. They blanked it out. “ Apparently he saw the sanitized version somehow.
“That’s really a bad word, the “f” word,” he explained.
Charlotte chimed in: “It really is. My mom watches Gabby and she told us all about it. Her dad uses that word sometimes, so she knows.”
And then she says, ”The “s” word is really bad too.
“Oh, you mean “stupid”? I reply.
“Yes, and the “sh” word too.,” she said.
My husband and I stole sideways glances at each other and before we could change the subject, they added.
“It’s like the “d” and the “h” word. Even though they’re in the Bible we shouldn’t use those words. Even the “a” word. You need to say donkey.”
HMMM. We quickly moved on.
That reminded me of the movie “Good Fellas” it you bleeped out the “f” word it would be a silent movie. We counted hundreds of times it was used. Anyone could have written that screenplay.
It also reminded me of when my daughter was 10 or 12 and she cornered me in the kitchen one day. She innocently asked me if I would please not use any more bad words.
I looked up from the sink where I was and without skipping a beat said, “You mean shit, hell, damn?”
“Yes, Mom!!!!” AAAGH.
“Okay, I’ll be careful. Would you please help me with these dishes now? It’s one hellava mess here.”
She’s grown now and loves to tell that story. Thankfully she was not scarred. My own grandmother who was squeaky clean and as sweet as could be would tell me what a “little shit” my own mother was as a child. Even my father who was a Marine used colorful language and I wished at times he would not. He was never obscene. I survived to tell about it.
First of all, I am not and have never been a “potty mouth.” I reserve the use of the aforementioned words sparingly. Usually only to punctuate the distress of a situation or to make a point or in cases of fear or extreme frustration. So looking back maybe I did overuse those words a tad.
For the most part my language is family and kid friendly. I can count on less 2 hands how many times I used the real “f” word. Mostly under my breath and never in front of innocent ears.
I reserve it for those who are like minded. For example my friend Cindy. We have this on-going term of endearment for each other we use whenever we spot a male hunk jogging while on our weekly walk. We take one look at each other and simultaneously lean over and whisper “slut.”
High School memories
I grew up in Santa Ana. 1305 So Hesperian Street was my address. We moved there when I was four years old. It was just a few blocks from Mater Dei high school, where I graduated in 1967.
I grew up watching the jitterbug from my parents era and dancing the polka and waltz with my dad. I couldn’t get enough.
As an 8th grader the twist was one of the first new dance moves I learned. It was the craze and considered to be maybe too suggestive, like Elvis. The mashed potato and the swim and of course the Bristol stomp were the new ones as we welcomed the Beatles and British invasion.
We all loved the dance shows on TV. American Bandstand, Shebang and 9th Street West. Good ol’ Dick Clark and Casey Kasem. I never missed a dance in high school.
One of my friends managed somehow to get tickets to Shebang and 9th Street West dance shows in LA. I sill remember the dress I wore. It was bright yellow and black with polka dots and of course black patent leather shoes to match. Which I bought from my earnings as a clerk at a dress store. It was a taped show so we all got together to watch at a friend’s house. We were celebrities.
In the summer my friends and I would hop into my Dad’s parts car and head to Newport Beach just 30 minutes away. It was an oxidized blue 51 Plymouth Station with a 3 speed on the column. Did I mention I stripped the gears learning to drive it? My dad had to replace the trannie.
He was a mechanic and owned his own gas station (Phillips 66 and Flying A) and kept this car on the lot to pick up car parts. I wanted to paint it in the worst way, but he didn’t want his customers to think he would overcharge them with sprucing up the car. Oh well, I really didn’t care. We had a car to take to the beach and dances whenever we wanted.
Gas was 28 cents a gallon and my dad insisted on a full tank at all times. He didn’t want me to run out of gas. How would that look, since he owned a gas station? He also taught me to change a tire, just in case. I learned how to pop a clutch, which came in handy over the years.
So at least 2 times a week, on Tuesday and Saturdays for sure we would head to the beach. The original radio in the station wagon was shot, so my dad improvised and wired up a huge radio that sat on its side on the hump on the front floorboard.. We’d roll down all the windows and blare the radio from the hit stations KRLA, KHJ and some others and sing along. If we hit a bump the radio station would change. It was a great laugh.
We’d spend the day suntanning at 34th street in Newport where we would meet up with friends. We made sure to leave no later that 2:oo pm and drove straight to Disneyland, paid 75cents admission and left making sure we got our hands stamped for our return that evening.. You see after 3pm it went up to $1.50.
We went home to shower making sure not to wash off the stamp. We would get all dressed up in our long dresses. The popular style of the day. Most of us sewed and we made our own dresses. They didn’t have Target or bargain deals unless you went to KMART. So necessity made us inventors.
Every Tuesday and Saturday were dance nights at Disneyland and it was packed. We’d dance until the park closed pausing only briefly to use the money we saved on admission to buy an E ticket ride on the Matterhorn which was 50cents.
“Those were the days my friend, we’d thought they’d never end. We sing and dance forever and a day.”