Category Archives: Piece of the Past

Surely they remember my sense of humor …

I sent this card to two people this week.

I haven’t heard back from either.

Perhaps a follow-up card is needed? {This one I wrote myself.}

I think the hors d’oeuvres tray makes it all better.

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And somewhere a cat wails.

I saw this the other day.

licenseplate

A middle-aged woman parked and got out. She was tanned. She was bleached. She was blown-out. She was plucked. She was blingity-bling-blinged. I couldn’t figure this one out.

I needed my BFF Chile. Back in my City Days, we’d spend countless hours in bars, swigging Bud Light from bottles and making up stories about strangers. The only rule was, you couldn’t choose your own stranger.

For her, I’d choose rockabilly hipsters, argumentative couples, and women sitting alone. Her stories pretty much always involved a cruise of some sort. And bongo drums.

For me, she’d choose sad old men, big boobed bimbos, and buttoned-up business men. My stories pretty much always involved a stripper pole. And dirty mattresses. Apartments filled with cats. Run of the mill stuff.

If Chile were here, she say the Call Me Lady was an aggressive Mary Kay Consultant, trying to earn enough points to win a pink Caddy. And take her husband on a cruise to Mexico. Where, after three days of mind-numbing shuffleboard tournaments, she’d get drunk on pina coladas and have illicit sex with a smelly bongo player.

I’d disagree. Clearly the Call Me Lady is an escort. My first inclination would be to say this was the madam, but I’m pretty sure the madam would have INCLUDED HER PHONE NUMBER SOMEWHERE.

Or maybe she’s just really good at suggestive sign language. All I know is somehow there’s got to be a stripper pole.

And cats.

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Next Tuesday, it’s a date.

Wanna go to Prom with me?

MommyTime is hosting a little shindig at her place next Tuesday, June 3 — a little prom retrospective, if you will — and I told her I’d help spread the word. ‘Cause I think it’s totally brill. I LOVE looking at old photos, don’t you?

All you have to do is post about YOUR prom experience, head on over to Mommy’s Martini, link to your post and grab yourself a cool badge.

Bring it on Doogs — the good, the bad, and the just damn ugly. Break those stories and accompanying photos outta the vault. We know you got ‘em. Go ahead and purge.

In the meantime, I’ll be doing some digging of my own — WHERE my pics are is anyone’s guess. I haven’t seen them in years.

MommyTime, I’mma scared.

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The Consequence of Memory

You never know what moment in time is going to stay with someone. What instant will forever be emblazoned in their psyche as a permanent memory. What seemingly insignificant gesture or comment turns out to carry weight you could never foresee.

I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately, and wondering what memories will survive with MP long after I’m gone. I’m guessing it’s not so much the big things as the little that have staying power. Maybe she’ll remember a comment I made about a drawing, and how I loved her use of color. Or the time we ran around like lunatics with Pull-ups on our heads.

Or will it be that the bad memories surface more quickly than the good?

When I was 13 or 14, and my mother was moving out, her antique halltree was temporarily moved out of place, standing at the base of the stairs in the entryway. Being all legs and feet, I tripped over my size 9s, fell into the halltree, which in turn fell against the stair railing, breaking several 150 year old spindles.

I’ll never forget the way she screamed at me. And wouldn’t speak to me for a long time afterward. And how terribly hurt I felt. I remember it as though it were yesterday.

Why do I remember this before I remember all the times she didn’t scream? She was a good mom, after all.

I don’t want MP’s most buoyant memories to be of me losing my temper. Because I’m human, and of course it’s happened.

I need to remind myself that even the little things have consequences.

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Feels Just Like Yesterday

How fast it all goes.

Happy 40th to me …

 Mommypie circa 1988

 

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Pimp Mommy Earns a Buck

This past weekend was one for the books — MP earned her very first dollar.

The temperature reached the mid-60s Saturday before plummeting again Monday night, ushering in yet another round of snow Tuesday morning. Knowing all too well the weather’s fickle nature ’round these parts, we took full advantage of Saturday’s beautifully sunny day by washing the car. It was sorely needed.

Working in concert, Grammy manned the hose, I vacuumed the floorboards, and MP dusted, polished and buffed the interior.

I think she had ulterior motives for picking that job.

Now you see her.

Now you don’t.

Hear that noise? That’s the suckage that is my camera.

Anyhoo, she did such a great job, Grammy rewarded her with her very first dollar. If you can’t tell from the smugness, she thought it was pretty cool.

So last night, after picking her up from preschool, she got to spend her dollar. After a little comparison shopping, she settled on a fruit roll-up and a sucker. I DID have a few photos to document the event. I would show them to you, however, that would mean the memory card was actually IN the camera when I took the photos. It was not. Alas.

At any rate, I think we’re on the way toward instilling a good work ethic. And I already see hints of an entrepreneur in the making.

Like Daughter, Like Mother (er, kinda)
In addition to scouring between the sofa cushions and raiding the dryer for loose change, I too began earning money from a very early age. Around first grade, kids would actually pay me to draw customized cartoons of whatever their little hearts desired. Fools. The cartoons were really bad, and more often than not depicted a teacher saying something stupid. Belly laughs, I know.

And then later, somewhere in between the pet sitting and the lemonade stands, my puny second grade brain came up with a slightly seedy money-making scheme.

Back in the ’70s, my mom read Cosmopolitan magazine. Back in the ’70s, Cosmo was even … uh … bolder? … than it is now. Cosmo models were frequently topless, and occasionally fully nekid. This meant nothing to me, but apparently, somehow I knew it there was a buck to be earned. Naturally, I did what any budding entrepreneur would do.

I cut out the photos and sold them to the boys for a dollar each.

The details of exactly how I concocted the whole racket are fuzzy at best. Suffice it to say, after a good run, I was busted in the boy’s bathroom making a deal. Oh, the humiliation. My mother was notified that I brought obscene photos to school. I was grounded. And Cosmo was never seen in the house again. I have no idea what my poor mother thought was going on, but I’m pretty sure no one realized it was just business.

It could’ve been worse. I could’ve cut up National Geographic. Now THAT’s graphic.

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Bee Girl

I love this photo of MP (circa summer ’06). Anne Nahm’s post today about the Blind Melon “Bee Girl” (circa ’92) totally made me think of this.

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