Not the Sharpest Knife in the Drawer

When I used to work at the restaurant, all those many moons ago, a wise man told me that I wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer.  Or his other favorite, “not the sharpest tool in the shed.”  And it’s true.  I can write thirty page research papers, but never remember where I put my keys.  I have memorized all of the Latin names for every bone in the body, but I could never understand how the jumper cables hook to a car battery.  I need written instructions on how to start a lawn mower.  I have a scientific brain, not a technical one. 

Today, after the latest snow fall, I decided that I needed to clear the driveway.  Last night I wrote down specific instructions from my husband (who is in Oklahoma) on how exactly to start and operate the snowblower.  I bundled myself up, and headed out into the winter mess.  The snow was quite fluffy, making the job of shoveling the walkway easy.  I proceeded to uncover the snow-blower and survey the several buttons, dials and knobs on the operator panel.  I pulled out my instructions, and followed each step diligently.  Then came the pulling of the cord to start the engine.  Horrible flashbacks of trying to start the weed-whacker ripped through my mind.  After the third pull, the engine did roar to life.  I turned down the choke (per my instructions) and off I went. 

The first lesson I learned, quite quickly I might add, was that you should always check to see which way the blower part is facing.  All you need is one mouthful of snow to realize that you need to point the blower away from you.  Then comes the lesson of which way you need to blow the snow, so that your previous work doesn’t get covered up.  This was a little harder for me to get a grasp of, and it took a little trial and error to get it right.  (Remember, not the sharpest tool in the shed.)

After figuring out a couple of these nuances, I began to clear away the four inches of snow that covered our driveway, feeling quite accomplished.  I thought to myself, this isn’t that hard, why did I worry about doing this?  I continued to clear the main driveway, and feeling sure of my technique, decided to do the turn-around also.  As soon as I made the first cut, the engine started to sputter and cough.  I thought that maybe it was out of gas, so I turned it off and got the gas container. 

After learning the engine was hot, (you can suffer a guess on how I found that out), I began to carefully pour gas from a very heavy gas container, into a very small hole on the top of the housing.  Of course, the gas went pretty much everywhere except for that little hole.  After perfecting my pouring method, I replaced the gas cap, pulled the choke out, pumped the primer bulb and pulled the cord.  Nothing.  I tried again and again, but to no avail.  The engine would not start.  I looked at my instructions, looked at the operator panel, and everything was pointing to where it should be.  Confused and a little embarrassed, I decided I probably damaged the snow-blower beyond repair, and started thinking of stories I could tell my husband of why the brand new snow-blower didn’t work anymore. 

So, with most of the driveway cleared, I went back inside, still trying to figure out what I did to this piece of equipment.  Well, to make a long story short, it appears that when an engine is hot, you do not have to prime it, nor do you have to pull the choke all the way out in order to start it.  Apparently when you do this, you flood the engine with too much gas, preventing it from starting.  I’ll add that to my list of newly learned items.  Maybe it’s just easier to pay someone twenty bucks to come and plow.  I’ll keep that in mind next time I decide to mess with heavy machinery.

"What Are You, A F*cking World Travela?

In my blog, “Postal Employee Newman”, I relayed the horrors of the post office and the ridiculousness of the passport application process to you.  And so you ask, “Did you get your passport?”  You ask and so you shall receive your answer.

About three weeks after I submitted the application, I received a form in the mail accompanied by a letter from the State Department, claiming that I needed to prove that I had changed my name when I was sixteen.  After recalling the process in my mother’s and my memories, I went to the town clerk of Marlborough and explained my case.  Since I had lived in Marlborough at the time of the name change, I assumed that they would have the original form and paperwork.  The clerk was able to find the application and the probate court order, made me the necessary copies and stamped the copies with the seal.  I put them directly into an envelope and mailed them out to the State Department without delay.

Two weeks after, I received a call from the Passport Agency in Norwalk, Connecticut.  As soon as I looked at the caller ID, my stomach sank.  I answered and the guy proceeded to tell me that the paperwork I sent in had been altered.  I was silent for a few seconds, trying to understand what he meant.  He said that the document had been written in either light pen or pencil, and then written over with heavier ink, making it an altered document.  He needed to have the original, or a letter from the judge of probate saying that the document was indeed the original.  I sat there, dumbfounded, because I knew that the judge that signed the original document died some years ago, and that the original clerk was no longer clerk, and hadn’t been for probably a decade.  After I hung up, I just sat there, confused and angry, and pretty much concluding that I was screwed.

I began my quest in getting verification for the original document.  I tried calling the District Probate Court, only to be either told no one was there to answer my question, or that I could leave a message.  I left numerous messages, and no one called me back.  I tried going to the actual office, during their published business hours, only to find that no one was there, and the office was locked up tight. 

During all of this bullsh*t, and the growing feeling that I may never be able to obtain my passport, I realized that if I had five thousand dollars in cash, I could get my passport with little to no effort through illegal channels.  This is how most terrorists obtain them, so why can’t I?  Well, since I don’t have the necessary capital to do this, I was unceremoniously thwarted in my illegal dealings, and realized that I would have to get the damn thing through legal means.

Two days before Christmas, after calling the office again only to find out that they took an extended holiday, a package arrived in the mail.  I opened it, and much to my wondering eyes should appear, was a small blue passport, complete with my photo and pertinent vital information.  They also had the kindness of sending me back my birth certificate and the copies of the name change application.  There was no letter accompanying the passport, so I had no idea what changed their minds about accepting the application the way it was.  Someone took pity on me, and realizing that I wasn’t a terrorist and that I was actually born in this country and have lived here all of my life, decided to do a good deed.  Or, the guy who had originally taken my case went on vacation and someone else processed my application.  In any event, I am now the proud owner of a United States Passport.  What a long, strange trip it’s been.  From the post office to the town hall to the probate court, from sea to shining frigging sea…

Tasks for the New Year

Finally, the end of 2010.  What a year...what a crappy year.  Hopefully, 2011 will make its mark as a good year.  I have made some goals for the new year.  Of course, I would like to lose weight, but I'm putting that one on the back burner for now.  I've got some other fish to fry first.  Maybe I can just change my eating habits and exercise a little more, rather than try to go on a full-blown diet.  Everytime I try, I know I'm going to fail before I even have a chance to begin. 

My major goal for this year is to first potty train Michael.  I began this process just after Christmas, with some successes.  We've had some accidents and some on-purposes, but on the whole, its coming along.  Maybe with all of the trips up and down the stairs to clean the potty, I will start to lose some of the weight. 

Once the potty training is well underway, I will be registering my son for preschool.  He needs socialization and Mommy needs to get out of the house.  I think I need the socialization more than he does.  I'm not so sure that I can play well with others, its been a long time.

In the midst of this, I also have a baby shower that I am planning for a certain preggo (you know who you are!).  This is going well so far, but is on hold right now until we know whether this new bundle is a boy or a girl.  We've got the location, the menu, and I've picked out the invitations, we'll just have to wait to know if those are pink or blue. 

In there also I have to do the taxes, and this year I may actually try to file electronically.  That is my goal, tax-wise...to make the leap into the 21st century and file my returns electronically.  We'll see how that process goes.  In any case, I'll probably get ideas for more blogs.

Also this year, I plan to hopefully make my first out of country travel plans.  I finally did receive my passport, with much tribulation (but that's a story for another blog).  It will be a short trip, because I don't think I can leave my kids for more than three or four days tops.  Even though most days I feel like a nutjob, I still miss them when they are not around me.  But its England or bust!

Okay, so that takes care of the goals for January, February, March and April.  I don't think I have anything planned for May yet, but its still early.  Maybe a nice girl's day with my mother and my sister?? HINT, HINT!  Maybe something in the shade of dinner and Crate and Barrel?  Or perhaps a trip to Yankee Candle? 

June is already a nightmare and its still six months away.  Out of all the months in the year, this one holds the most birthdays, anniversaries, and parties.  We have, I think, five birthdays in June, with another one still to be determined.  We have three anniversaries.  I don't think anyone is graduating this year, and we have Father's Day. 

July and August hold some weddings and our ninth wedding anniversary.  Nine years...feels like thirty!  Just joking, dear.  Then we'll be getting ready for the start of another school year, when not one, but two children get to ride the big yellow bus to school!  By this time, hopefully, I will have found a job, because I cannot wait to go back to work.  I have been looking forward to it for a long time.  I just hope there are jobs available when I am finally able to start looking.  A few more months to go!

Crap, there goes September, bringing us to the start of the holiday season.  October, November, and December, the nightmare months.  And then the end of the year.  Wow, that was fast.  Time flies when you're having...fun? 

A Wish on a Neon Star

In its heyday, Mickey’s on 3^rd and East 21^st was a happening place.  Both young and old would stop in for a drink; maybe have some conversation about politics or the war.  But as the streets outside the old bar got rougher, the crowd of customers disappeared.  Now, the bar was a hideout for the local boys.  Boys who were toughened by the years, by the war, or by heartache soothed with whiskey.

                The owner and bartender was Mickey’s nephew, Joe, who took over the place shortly after Mickey passed away.  Mickey was an Irish tough guy with a heart to match, but everyone respected him.  He lived long enough to see his boy come home from Hanoi, and then the cancer got the better of him.  Mickey was only in the grave about a month when his soldier boy joined him; he couldn’t handle what he had done, the lives he took.  Everyone told him that was his job, as a soldier, but the guilt ate at him like an ulcer.  He hung himself in his hospital room, leaving a simple note that said, “I’m sorry.”

                Now, Joe stood behind the pitted and stained counter, wiping glasses and thinking about things.  Tonight was Christmas Eve.  There were no decorations in the bar, no Christmas tree, or fake snowflakes.  The only thing that suggested a holiday was an old neon star in the bar window.  Someone had put it up there a few years back, and Joe never got around to taking it down. But that was it, just the star and the haze from the cigarettes being smoked by the patrons.  Patrons, Joe thought to himself.  He gazed around the room, looking at each lonely face, etched with guilt, pain, and regret.  Sitting at the bar was old Ronnie, who had been a hard worker all of his life.  He loved his wife, gave her anything she could ever ask for, treated her like gold.  But then one night, he came home from work and found her and one of his coworkers together.  At that point, his heart seemed to shatter and freeze at the same time.  For the last fifteen years, Ronnie has been alone, never being able to forget nor forgive. 

                The two boys in the corner booth, Fred and Gary, came out of Sing Sing on the same day, after serving a dime apiece for larceny.  They’ve been straight ever since coming out five years ago, but the times being what they are, they may be seeing the inside of a cell once again.  Some boys never learn.

                Tony G. sat at a table by himself, nursing his fourth double bourbon, dealing himself a solitaire hand.  None of the regulars know what the “G” stands for, but that’s how they always address him.  Tony G. is somewhat of a mystery to the locals.  Some say he was a soldier for the Gambino family, others say that he escaped from prison out west, somewhere in California.  Most likely, he is just another lonely soul, looking for a place to hide.  And tonight, that place seems to be at the bottom of the bourbon bottle.

                Joe, himself, was one of these lonely souls.  He had been married, all those years ago.  He had been hurt also, like Ronnie.  Except instead of cheating on him, his wife, his beautiful Alice, had the nerve to die giving birth to their son.  The boy only lived three hours longer than his mother, and then joined her, leaving him alone and broken.   His heart was truly broken, for after his tragedy, he seemed incapable to love or show sympathy towards others.  He held onto his pain and wallowed in the agony for the last twenty two years. 

                After finishing his assessment of the room, Joe finished wiping the glasses, and refilled Ronnie’s beer.  He picked up Ronnie’s crumpled ten dollar bill, and stashed it in the ancient register with the bum drawer.  He had to hit the bottom corner of the drawer just right for it to open.  I should really invest in a new register, he thought to himself. 

                The old Budweiser neon clock on the wall above the bar read ten o’clock, and a couple of more stragglers came in and sat down.  Seeing more of the local boys, Joe poured the drinks without taking the order.  Can’t teach an old dog new tricks.  These guys were creatures of habit, same drink, same time.  Joe looked down at the newspaper, and heard the door open again.  Expecting to see another regular, he was shocked to see that the visitor was actually a small boy, no more than ten or eleven.  Joe thought, what the hell are you doing here, kid?  This isn’t exactly the safest place at night.  The boy looked around the bar; everyone was silent, just staring at him.  No one had seen him before, and he wasn’t one of the local kids from the neighborhood.  The boy walked towards the counter where Joe was standing. 

                “Did you know that someone is outside in the snow, all alone?  She’s lost, and she doesn’t know how to get home,” the kid said, in a confident voice.  “She’s scared and sad, and she’s starting to freeze.”

                Joe looked out of the grimy window without moving out from behind the bar.  Across the street, through the falling snow flakes, he could see the silhouette of a young girl, standing under one of the street lights.  The payphone that she was standing next to hadn’t worked in two years.  Joe, looked down at the boy and said, “That’s not my problem, kid.  How would you know that anyway?  Are you two working some sort of scam?”

                The boy looked into Joe’s eyes, almost searching for something.  He stared at him for a moment, and then said, “If she could get home, on this night of all nights, she would already be there.” 

                At that moment, Joe felt as if something had unfrozen inside his chest.  He looked at the boy, and then looked at the girl across the street.  She was sitting on a low step, with her head in her hands.  Quietly, Joe came out from behind the bar.  The guys stared silently at him, and they watched him open the cash register drawer.  He took what was in the till, about three hundred bucks, folded the bills in half, and walked over to the door.  Joe opened the door and stepped out into the cold night air, followed by the boy.  He walked across the street and stood next to the girl, who was crying silently into her threadbare coat.  Shakily, Joe put out his hand and touched the girl’s shoulder.  She looked up at him with tear-stained cheeks, unable to say anything. 

                The boys watched from inside the bar, they saw Joe talking to the girl, and the boy was standing a few feet behind them.  The snow had let up a little, so they could see them pretty clearly.  They saw Joe put out his hand, and saw the girl lay her small hand in Joe’s rough, calloused one. 

                Even though it was late, and the traffic had slowed on 21^st, Joe whistled for a cab.  The cab pulled up along the curb.  Joe put the girl in the cab and told the driver, “JFK.”  He handed the girl the wad of money that he had gotten from the cash register, looked into her confused face, and said, “Go home.”  The girl looked down at the money, and glanced back at Joe, who smiled at her and patted her hand.  She whispered a thank you, and the cab pulled away from the curb.  He watched the cab turn onto 3^rd, and disappear down the street. 

                He stood there for a moment or two, unknowing that the boys in the bar watched him in awe.  They knew him, they knew his pain, and they knew what a tough bastard he was.  No one noticed, however, that the young boy had disappeared.

                Joe came to his senses, and looked down to where the boy had been standing, but he wasn’t there.  He turned, looking behind him, but there was no trace, not even footprints in the snow.  Befuddled by what had just happened, Joe slowly made his way back inside the bar.  The boys watched him return to his usual position behind the counter, but he seemed different.  Inside himself, Joe felt a lightness that he hadn’t felt in some time.  Whatever had a hold on his heart had released its grip, and he felt warm.  Warm.  He hadn’t felt warmth since the last time he held Alice in his arms. 

                The rest of the night, in the smoky haziness of the bar, the loneliness that infected so many of the boys seemed to relax its hold on them.  They talked to each other, and some even laughed.  Joe sat and drank with Ronnie, played cards with Tony G., and laughed at Fred and Gary’s jokes.  No one paid for their drinks, and Joe kept their glasses full.  None of them went home that night.  They sat there into the morning hours.  They were already at home.

(This story is an adaptation of the song “Old City Bar”, written by Paul O’Neill.)

               

               

My Twelve Days of Christmas

Okay.  We all know the song.  But who really knows what it means?  Yeah, the tradition says that it symbolizes beliefs in Christianity.  For example, “ten lords a leaping” symbolizes the Ten Commandments.  I, however, believe that this song was written most likely by someone who might have had too much rum in their eggnog.  Let‘s work backwards from the end of the song.

Twelve Drummers Drumming:  The drummers represent overexcited children on Christmas morning waking their parents up at four o’clock in the morning by pouncing on their beds, and maybe inadvertently kneeing their father in the crotch in all the exhilaration.

Eleven Pipers Piping:  Pipers?  Is there anyone that actually plays the pipe anymore?  I would like this to represent the eleven piping hot cinnamon rolls I would like to eat on Christmas morning.  Thankfully I’m usually too busy and only have time for a cold muffin.

Ten Lords a Leaping:  The leaping of children on Christmas morning into the piles of presents left by a certain someone…Or the leaping of Mommy’s wallet as it hiccups and spews pages of gift receipts. 

Nine Ladies Dancing:  This represents the hundreds of CEOs dancing in the streets as they get fatter on Christmas dollars.  Capitalism at its best.

Eight Maids a Milking:  Why is it always the maids that are milking?  Why can’t some of those lords stop dancing and help out a little with the chores? 

Seven Swans a Swimming:  I want to see these swans that can swim in ice.  There is ice on the lakes and ponds here, so I’m not sure where they are going to be swimming.  Don’t swans migrate during the winter?  May have to Google that one, just to see…

Six Geese a Laying:  The geese turn into beached whales, laying on the living room floor after the festivities and the feasting.  There is so much food that everyone overeats, then falls asleep…maybe it’s the tryptophan in the turkey, or the rum in the eggnog.  Or maybe it’s the toxic mushrooms that somehow found their way into the stuffing.

Five Golden Rings:  I want to meet this husband who is buying not one, but five gold rings for his wife.  And why does one woman need five rings?  Does she really need one for each finger?  This is extremely overindulgent and I think that husband is either trying to buy off his wife for his yearly indiscretions, or is just trying to shut her up after a year of nagging.

Four Calling Birds:  What the hell is a calling bird? 

Three French Hens:  I’ve heard them are good eatin’.  Just don’t shoot ‘em with buck shot, or you may lose a couple of teeth during dinner.

Two Turtle Doves:  All I can think of when I picture a turtle dove is a koopa troopa from Super Mario Brothers.  Those damn flying turtles always get me when I’m right at the end of a world.

A Partridge in a Pear Tree:  Are there partridges where there are pear trees?  And can a big, fat partridge actually sit in a pear tree without damaging it?  That poor pear tree, the branches are screaming…don’t you hear the agony? 

Put on Your Listening Ears

Dear son and daughter,

Your lives would be so much simpler if you would just listen to your mother from time to time.  When Mommy tells you that you can’t have a cookie until you eat two more bites of dinner…just eat the two bites.  Seriously, you’ve eaten twenty bites of the same dinner for the last hour, what is two more bites? 

When Mom tells you that it is cold outside, and that you should really wear a hat and gloves, take that as an order, not a recommendation.   And if you so choose to ignore sound advice from your mother, please do not whine when your hands get cold.  These ears have had filters installed, I no longer hear whining, no matter what the volume or pitch is.

When Mom tells you to clean up your room and put things away in the proper places, please heed this advice.  If you clean up your room by shoving things into niches and corners, throwing things in the closet or under the bed, certain items may go missing.  If you prefer this way of cleaning over the way your mother asked you to, then don’t ask me where your paint chips are, or where your Borders gift card is.  If you put it in the proper place, you wouldn’t have to ask me.

When Mommy tells you not to stand up in your high chair, I tell you this not to take the fun out of your day, but to safeguard you against head injury.  So if you refuse to listen to the countless “sit down’s” and “you are going to fall’s”, then please don’t cry when you do fall.  I may have no sympathy for you, since with my infinite wisdom, I saw the event take place in my mind before it actually happened.

When Mommy tells you to only use the foot switch once to turn on the Christmas lights, please subscribe to this warning.   If I have to do those lights again because you blew all of the fuses by turning them on and off (Mommy, look at the blinking lights…they’re pretty!), I will make life around this house extremely miserable.  For when Mommy is miserable, the entire house will suffer. 

Just remember, the both of you, that I love you to the extreme, but that you are driving your mother to the brink of insanity.  So unless you want to see me in a jacket with buckles in a padded room only on Sundays, I suggest you start LISTENING.  God gave you two ears and only one mouth for a reason. 

Incompetent to Stand Trial

I am beginning to think that I am the insane one and everyone else is normal.  There can’t be this many lunatics in the world, so I must be seeing it in reverse.  “Huh?” you say, but if you ever visit New York City during the holiday season, then you will understand what I’m talking about.

My sister, my daughter and I journeyed to the Big Apple yesterday to take in some sights, see some stores and have a nice dinner.  First I would like to point out that Connecticut does not put much stock into their rail system, and seems pretty much to have washed its hands of the whole situation.  I’m not sure where all of the casino money and tax dollars go, but they are certainly not funding the railways here.  After a jolting, loud, overheated two hour ride, we arrived at Grand Central.  From there we visited the Museum of Natural History, and ventured to Columbus Circle to walk down Central Park South to Fifth Avenue.  Asides from the pushing, shoving and almost getting run down by a couple of cabs, we found FAO Schwartz.  We proceeded to stand in a line that was an entire block long in order to just step foot in the store.  Once inside, it seemed most people were in some type of feeding frenzy, and my sister was actually physically moved aside by an old woman.  After having heart palpitations at some of the overinflated, ridiculous prices, we moved out of the warm store and into the forty mile-an-hour winds of the city.  We made our way down Fifth and visited Saint Patrick’s Cathedral, and headed towards Rockefeller Center.  A suggestion?  Look at the tree and the skaters in the comfort of your own home on your TV.  It is totally not worth the anguish.  First of all, I thought that the tree was decorated…all it had on it was lights.  Totally not impressive.  There were so many people in Rockefeller Center that you couldn’t even see the skaters.  We moved onto Times Square, which was also so packed that it was shoulder to shoulder on the sidewalks.  Again, we waited in an exceptionally long line to enter the M&M’s store. 

We had an excellent dinner at Vice Versa on West 51^st (pumpkin ravioli…yum!) and headed back into the mayhem of Times Square.  Thankfully there were no lines to get into the Disney Store and Toys R Us.  We walked back downtown to the Empire State Building, went up to the observatory, viewed the city lights from the 86^th floor in sixty mile-an-hour winds, and made our way back to Grand Central Station.  By this time, the three of us are utterly exhausted and freezing; we make a quick pit stop and board the crowded train home.  This is where the real fun began.  We had the absolute sheer luck of sitting with a rather large extended family that took up most of the car.  There was about ten kids and what looked to be four adults, or should I say three adults and one really big child.  The really big child, approximately forty two years old, proceeded to throw M&M’s around the car, hitting his brother in the head, as well as some other unrelated passengers.  In addition, he had a really large and obnoxious mouth, and I know I heard the “F” word said several times in front of his eight-year-old children.  After he tired of throwing candy, he began to roughhouse with his son, who kept jostling into the passengers (unrelated) in the seat across the aisle.  I sat in utter shock, appalled at the behavior of this grown man, on a public train, no less.   

We returned to Union Station in New Haven after two grueling hours of pandemonium, and made our way home.  What a day, what a day.  Overall I think we had a good time, but I don’t think that I would ever venture out to the City during the holidays again.  We were too worried about losing each other in the crowd and getting lost to really take in all of the offerings of the city…the architecture, the cultures, the decorations.  We may do a couple of things differently next time, such as investing in either noise cancelling headphones or large doses of horse tranquilizer for the train ride.  Or maybe large amounts of cash for bail, since I may be charged with manslaughter.  I will just tell the judge that I plead not guilty for reason of mental defect…the defect being I decided to visit the city during Christmas.  You can come see me at Bellevue.