Going a Little HAIKU-KOO

By Kathy Tirrell

Dump out stuff in purse,

Fish through pockets, dig through trash.

Keys found in the fridge!

Traffic lights, stop signs,

Allergy eyes, big, bright zit.

RED things drive me nuts!

Son wails on guitar,

Husband brings iPad to bed.

Think I’ll sleep outdoors!

Kathy Tirrell sometimes goes a little cuckoo over things that happen in life, but tries to find the humor in it all.  You can check out some of her observations on “It Bloggles the Mind.”

An UnPETurbed Household

By Kathy Tirrell

You won’t find any pets in my house. (Unless you count the spiders that creep, crawl and drop down on us from time to time.)

But otherwise, no creatures dwell in my house. (Unless you count my husband when he’s paying the bills. Now that is a creature you DON’T want to cross paths with. Ever!)

So why no pets, you ask?  Well, to answer this question we shall have to travel back in time.

The place: Mom & Dad’s house

The time:  the late 60s

My parents reluctantly allowed us to have our first pet. He was a tiger cat we named Tycoon. (Coat like a tiger’s, tail like a raccoon’s) My mother didn’t like the idea of cat hair, fleas, and scratched furniture, so Tycoon was an outdoors cat for the most part.  Eventually Mom and Dad softened a bit and started allowing him inside.  All was well until that fateful day my mother caught him up on the kitchen table scarfing down her freshly baked salmon loaf.  You never saw a cat fly through the air so fast!  My mother chased him off with a broom (and some choice four-letter words) and that cat raced out the back door and was never seen again!

The place: Mom & Dad’s house

The time:  the early 70s

A neighbor came to our door bearing a basket of kittens. Oh so cute, who could resist? We picked a little gray one and named him Dusty. Or at least we thought it was a him.  Yup, right up until the time Dusty went missing.  Now where could he be?  Though he was an indoor cat, we couldn’t find him in any of his usual spots. Until one day when my dad was down in his workshop and heard some very faint meowing. Investigating further, he peered down into a deep box filled with blankets and discovered Dusty lying there with her new little kittens. When my sisters and I heard the news, we were delighted! My parents were not. So one day while we were all at school, they shipped Dusty and company off to the SPCA.  And that’s all I have to say about that.

The place: Mom & Dad’s house

The time:  the mid-70s

Next up was Carrots, the cat.  Orange in color, my mom thought the name very appropriate. This cat was allowed to run amok in our house.  He was a well-loved, healthy pet until that fateful day my dad accidentally backed his car out of the garage over Carrot’s tail.   The poor kitty had to be rushed to the animal hospital for surgery. My mother put the charges on her credit card since Carrots had neglected to buy health insurance.  The brave little guy survived the surgery but lived the rest of his life without a tail.  He looked a little odd, but he managed just fine.

Still, going through all this emotional turmoil taught me what a huge responsibility it is to be a pet owner. I don’t feel qualified for the job, but I applaud those who do it and do it well.

Now, excuse me, I’m hearing some high-pitched noises.  I think the bill-paying creature got out of his cage.

Kathy Tirrell shares more of her musings on It Bloggles theMind.

Seven Surefire Ways To Lose Weight In 2012

  by Kathy Tirrell     

        1. Go to the gym.

Now I know what you’re thinking.  Oh no, not a gym membership!  I’ll go once and never go back again.  How on earth is this method ever going to work?  Simple.  What you’re going to do is WALK to the gym!  That’s right.  Even if it’s 50 miles away. Walk all the way to the gym and once you get there, walk all the way home again. That should help shed some pounds.

2. Tape a photo of one of those perfect-bodied Victoria’s Secret models onto your refrigerator door.

Or multiple photos, if you want.  Yes, a refrigerator adorned with a montage of perfectly sculpted beach bodies might just be the ticket to total fitness in 2012.  Why? ‘Cause every time you’re tempted to open up the fridge and grab a handful of fried chicken, darn it all, one of those babes will look you in the eye, admonishing, “You’re eating again?  Piggy!” 

Of course, you’ll slink away in embarrassment.

3. Tape a naked photo of YOURSELF on the fridge.

No explanation needed.

4. Buy yourself a dog that runs really, really fast (such as a greyhound or a whippet) and take it for a nice walk at least 3 times a day.

Did you know the whippet is the fastest dog on earth? Take your whippet out onto the bike path and perhaps he’ll take YOU for a nice long walk (make that RUN).

5. Run for President of the United States.

Hey, it IS an election year, right? Might as well throw your hat into the ring and run as an Independent.  Some of the candidates ain’t looking all that great, anyways. Since it’s sure to be stressful and hectic out there on the campaign trail, with long days and nights, you probably won’t have time to eat anything.

6. Buy a whole bunch of bigger, baggier clothes.

What we’re going for here is the illusion of weight loss.  An acquaintance sees you at the grocery store in your oversized shirt and says, “Wow, that shirt is just hanging off you, girl! Have you lost weight?”

And finally, if all else fails there’s this one:

7. Have your lips surgically sewn together.

Nothing beats this one!  If the food can’t get into the mouth, the fat can’t get onto the hips.  Or anywhere else, for that matter.

Happy New Year!

The Vanishing

by Kathy Tirrell

Hi there. My name is Janet. I’ve always been a sensitive sort of girl. In fact, a psychic once said I have a light blue aura surrounding me. I did a little research and found out that means I am keenly sensitive, which just confirms what I already knew.
 
Anyway, about a year ago, I fell in love with this married guy at work named Johnny. We spent a lot of time together, working on projects, and there was plenty of flirting, but no actual affair. However innocent the whole thing may have been for him, it was dead serious to me. I found myself constantly thinking about him and fantasizing about his big strong arms wrapped around me at night.

I had a friend at work named Molly who was totally into candle magic, witchcraft, and all things paranormal. So one day over lunch I brought up something I’d been pondering.

“So listen,” I began. “If someone wanted to make a certain someone fall in love with her, how might she do that?”

Molly nearly choked on her sandwich.
 
“Are you serious?”

“I’m dead serious.”

“You want to try to make someone fall in love with you?”

“I didn’t say I was talking about me, but either way, can it be done?”

Molly dabbed her mouth with a napkin and contemplated the question. “There are all sorts of spells. I know a candle magic spell you could try, but I can’t guarantee it will work. And I should warn you, it’s probably not a good idea for you to even try it.”

“Why not?”

“Well, it has to do with the idea of messing with free will. What if the guy doesn’t want to fall in love with you? If you’re trying to put a spell on him, he might try to fight it. Or…I don’t know, it might have very negative consequences.”

“I want to do it. Please? Could you write down the steps for me?”

Molly heaved a heavy sigh and said, “Sure. I’ll write down what you have to do and give it to you today before we go home.”

That night I set up 7 red candles in a row on my bedroom bureau. Red was supposed to be the color for passion; I figured that was close enough to love. The idea was to start out with the lighted candles spaced a couple of inches apart, then each night I was supposed to move them closer and closer until at the end of the week they were all touching. I also made up a little chant to say while I lit the candles. It went like this: “Johnny and Janet are too far apart; let them grow closer and closer in heart.”

And I’d fall asleep each night dreaming of Johnny.

On the last night of that week around midnight, wanting to ensure Johnny would fall madly in love with me, I took out a photo of him I’d clipped from our newsletter at work. It was a small picture I could easily fit in the palm of my hand.

Clasping the photo tightly between my hands, I rubbed it in a circular motion while chanting my little love mantra. I did this for a couple of minutes, really concentrating on Johnny and then, all of a sudden, I’m not kidding, the photo…

Vanished! I swear to God, it vanished into thin air. I searched all around the room, everywhere I could possibly look, but that photo was gone.

When I finally mustered enough of my sanity back, I grabbed my cell phone and punched in Molly’s number.

“Hu--lllo,” came her half-asleep voice.

Talking really fast and probably sounding hysterical, I explained to her what had just happened.

“Holy crap!” Molly sounded wide awake now.

“Yeah, really! So how do you explain this? What does it mean?”

Molly exhaled into the phone.

“It means… somebody or some thing does NOT want you getting involved with this guy.”

Needless to say I quickly got over my fascination with Johnny. But that picture of him has never reappeared again.

Kathy Tirrell loves ghost stories and lots of other kinds of stories. She also likes to blog, so if you’d like to read some of her thoughts on what goes on in this crazy world, visit her at It Bloggles the Mind.

Image credit: blog.timesunion.com

Bathroom Secrets, Songs and Rituals

by Kathy Tirrell



After a brief delay, thanks to Hurricane Irene, my 20-year-old son has begun his senior year of college. He lives at home, along with his older sister and brother. Now, instead of sleeping half the day, at least 2 out of 3 will be waking up earlier each morning.

That means my household is back to“Flurry Mode”in the mornings.  Yes, it starts up again--everybody making a mad dash for the bathroom as soon as they arise. Thankfully we have two of them (bathrooms, that is), just about a necessity in a house filled with five grown-ups.

But even with two bathrooms, you'll still hear the occasional,“I NEED to get in there!”

Makes me think back to my youth, growing up in a house with six people (two parents and four children) and, God help them, only ONE bathroom!

My dad always got up first so he could get in there and shave and groom himself before heading off to work.  Let's face it, the poor guy pretty much had to be the first one up, sharing living quarters with five females. Five females!

We all know girls need to do a lot of primping in the bathroom. There are legs and armpits to shave, faces to scrub and moisturize, stray face hairs to pluck, pimples to conceal, and teeth to polish, not to mention shower rituals that include shampooing, rinsing, and conditioning. So sometimes we had to double up performing our beauty routines.

My sister Rose lathered up behind the shower curtain with me stationed at the sink shaving my armpits.  Why I even came up with a catchy little song to sing while doing so: “I've got those hairy underarm, hairy underarm blues, duh duh duh duh-- da.”

Trust me, it was catchy.  You'd have to hear the melody that went with it to truly appreciate it.

But beyond sharing space, Rose and I used to chitchat, spilling secrets while we groomed.  I probably learned a whole lot more about her personal life than I needed to know. She was the youngest in the family, yet somehow much more experienced than her older sister.

She was also quite blunt when it came to her opinions.  One time I recall criticizing some of her sexual antics, to which she replied,“Well, at least I have a boyfriend.”

Ouch! Way to stick it to your older sister.

Fast forward to 2011.  Some things are different and some remain the same.  My husband, the man of the house, gets up first to shower and shave, same as my dad did years ago.  My two sons struggle to pry the bathroom away from their “gotta primp” sister and mom.

But of course, unlike the old days, nobody's sharing any secrets with Mom.


Kathy Tirrell is a wife, mother, reporter and freelance writer, not necessarily in that order.  Visit her at It Bloggles the Mind, to read some of her other thoughts on what goes on in this crazy world.

It's My Job, Sink or Swim

by Kathy Tirrell

 
I live in the sink. My world is awash in dishes and bubbles swirling around my rubber-gloved hands. My objective: Scrub those pots and pans! Take a bite out of grime! Make those glasses shine!

Outside, the spirited cries from the neighborhood boys playing basketball interrupt my thoughts. I crane my neck so I can see them through the kitchen window having fun, as free as a bunch of birds. I envy their freedom. How I would love to trade places. Hey—any of you guys wanna wash some dishes?

My mind begins to wander. Suds. Soap. Soap operas. How come women on soap operas are never shown washing the dishes?  Do they OWN dishes? They seem to dine out for every meal. But soap characters usually have big bucks, so I guess they can afford to.

If I were a rich girl…The Fiddler on the Roof song floats through my mind. Wouldn't have to work hard. Maybe not, but I'd probably get bored. Take away all of the dishwashing, bed-making, floor washing, clothes washing, oven cleaning, vacuuming, and kid wrangling, and what have you got left? Lots of free time! But how to fill it?

Sure, for a while I'd love the freedom from the drudgery of lowly housework. The maid would do all of my chores while I played tennis, shopped, hobnobbed, and traveled the world. Yes, it would be great, but sooner or later, I know I'd be itching for a pan to scrub.

Maybe there's something about daily rituals that become ingrained in our personalities. Even though I hate housework, I'm used to it. My fingers need something to clean, something to iron, something to make right. And when I'm assembling a lunch for my 9-year-old son, I'm putting some of myself into it. Here's a sandwich I made for you. Here are some of your favorite cookies. I can just picture the happy look on his face as he's unwrapping these little tokens of love.

But I must admit I sometimes find myself wondering how one measures the significance and worthiness of a life spent folding t-shirts, scrubbing stains, mixing recipes and mending boo-boos. Is this the job I'm meant to do? And how good a job am I doing?

The answers come to me in subtle ways, if I'm paying attention.  Like the unexpected pennies and dimes I find in the pockets of my apron, there are little clues sprinkled throughout my days.

It's the stranger approaching me in a restaurant saying,“Your children are so well-behaved.”

It's the satisfied look on my oldest son's face as he's finishing up his second helping of lasagna.

It's the birthday card, written and designed with love by my daughter.

It's the sweet way my youngest son declares,“I'm lucky to be in this family.”

These are the clues, the answers to the mystery. I'm not rich in gold, but I'm rich in family. I've sacrificed an income and a career for my kids to be their first teacher, their nurse, their nurturer, their attentive and loving mom.

There will be a time down the road for other things. I can postpone my own dreams and aspirations for a while, but I can't freeze the fleeting milestones of these childhood days. Each moment in time is precious and will never be seen again.

So for now I'll wash these dishes and scrub these pans. And I'll smile, knowing it's the right thing to do.

After all, it is my job, sink or swim!




Note: This essay was previously published in Stories of Strength in 2005. And it was written back when I was a stay-at-home mom. Also, I have edited it a bit for this posting.

This Stage Is All Mine, Baby!

by Kathy Tirrell

I am a shower singer. I admit it. If there were a support group for this affliction, I'd step up to the podium and announce, "My name is Kathy and I'm a shower singer."

I know you're laughing right now. I can hear you. But this is a serious problem.

So what IS a shower singer?

Why, of course, it's a singer who is just too darn shy to sing in front of people, preferring the privacy and anonymity of a watery, steamy, tiled-in stage. After all, can't chance hitting a clinker during that big, fancy Broadway number. Oh no. Plus, the acoustics are so much better in the bathroom, don't you think? I guess it's the combination of hot running water, steam and a closed door. I don't know what it is exactly, but I sound great in the shower.

I've created a whole montage of material for my invisible audience, such as Joni Mitchell's Circle Game, Barbra Streisand's Evergreen and Marty, the Martian, Karen Carpenter's For All We Know, and if I'm in the right kind of mood and voice perhaps I'll even attempt a little snippet of Tina Turner's What's Love Got To Do With It. But mainly, Shower Time is my golden opportunity for my killer Cher imitation. Oh yes, Cher! I've been a huge fan of hers for many years. A key reason is she's one of the only singers I can truly imitate since she has such a very deep voice. Gotta love those altos!

Here's a little sampling of a song Cher used to sing during a weekly segment on The Sonny & Cher Comedy Hour. And of course, it happens to be one of my favorite shower songs:

"Saucy, sexy Sadie Thompson
drove the native boys insane,
She was the first missionary's downfall,
And brother could she make it rain!
When hurricane Sadie shook the bamboo huts
the preacher went bananas,
he went cocoanuts,
She was a scamp, a camp,
and a bit of a tramp,
She was a V--A--M--P, Vamp!"

I don't know why I like this little song so much, but most of it has stayed stuck in my brain cells for all of these years. (Okay, I did have to do some research to fill in some of the lyrics I couldn't quite recall.) After all, The Sonny & Cher Show ran from 1971 to 1974, and I was a high school student for most of that time. But I certainly do remember tuning in each week for the songs, the outfits, and the comedy skits. As a quiet, unpopular teenage girl, I wanted to BE Cher. I couldn't think of anything better. I will never forget when our senior class was preparing for the annual Senior Variety Show. There was a dark-haired girl named Patricia who most kids thought looked very much like Cher. And she did. So she and one of the boys decided their act for the variety show would be appearing on stage dressed as Sonny and Cher and lip-synching "I Got You Babe". And there I was (probably hiding in my locker) thinking: BUT WAIT A MINUTE! I don't look like Cher, but I can sing like Cher!  Isn't that more of a talent than simply looking like her?

I thought it was. But alas, I was a shrinking violet and didn't have the courage to audition for our variety show. No, a person needed to be popular and confident to get up on stage in front of all her peers and belt out a song.

Fast forward 30 years or more and I still don't have the guts to get up on stage and belt out a song. However, I do have a shower! Now I'm no longer holding back. This tiled-in stage is all mine, baby! When I slip under that nozzle and feel the warm spray hit my shoulders, that's my cue to start singing. It's fun, it's freeing, why, it's probably even therapeutic. Who needs a shrink when you can jump into a shower and sing your heart out?

Excuse me now. I feel a song coming on.


For other musings of mine, I hope you'll visit me on my blog.  It's It Bloggles The Mind

Married With Children

by Kathy Tirrell

Married with children and intimacy. Something seems wrong with that sentence. What could it be? Oh yeah, right. What intimacy?

As soon as Baby Bobby comes home from the hospital, it's a whole new ball game. (Okay, my son's name isn't Bobby, but you get the picture.) Now we have a husband and wife...and a baby. Two's company, three's a crowd. Somebody will get all of his needs met and somebody will not. Little Baby Bobby must get fed, diapered, rocked and burped. Daddy will have to do some waiting if he wants attention. So will Mommy for that matter. Or maybe not?

Sure there are ways to sneak in some lovemaking while Baby Bobby is sleeping. But sometimes an infant's sleep schedule just doesn't coincide with his parents'. Spontaneity pretty much goes out the window once you have a child. Sometimes, just as things are heating up, a piercing cry rings out, followed by urgent wailing, and thank you very much, there goes the mood. On the plus side, babies are an excellent method of birth control.

Even when kids are older, couple time is still a problem. Maybe even more so since you can no longer scoop Bobby or Susie up and stick them into their crib for a while. Oh no. Now they're mobile and move from room to room at their leisure, maybe even stopping at your bedroom door, perhaps pausing and listening in. Or just plain walking in. If you think you're safe because you happen to have a lock on that door, doesn't matter, they'll bang on it. "Mommy, I can't find my doll/truck/crayons/hat/favorite book." If it's late at night, "Mommy, I had a bad dream." Or worse: "Mommy, I just threw up all over my sheets." Oh, isn't that a nice prelude to lovemaking?

And you can't take a chance of coitus interruptus with teenagers around. Nope. Think they took off on a Saturday night to attend that rock concert? (Ah, a couple of hours of private time for Mom and Dad.) Think again. Just as you've thrown off your clothes and strewn them all over the house and have settled down naked on the living room carpet, one of them comes rushing back into the house ten minutes later blurting, "I forgot my cell phone!" (Okay, that has never actually happened to us, but it could.)

And if you think things will finally change once the kids are old enough to move out and the two of you are Empty Nesters, you might be in for a surprise. These days with young adults finding it tough to land a job and pay the rent in that cold, cruel world out there means a couple of things might happen. One, they'll never move out! Or two, they WILL move out for maybe a few months, then come running back when they can't make ends meet, lose a job, or realize just how easy they had it at home.

One thing is clear, couples with children of any age need to be patient, sneaky, adaptable and adoptive of a Minuteman mentality--be ready in a moment's notice--if they want to sustain a healthy sex life. It can be done!

For further musings on the crazy things that happen in life, visit Kathy at
 It Bloggles The Mind

You've Never Seen Barbies Quite Like This

by Kathy Tirrell

One hot summer night, my sisters and I were sitting around munching Doritos and M&M's when the subject of Barbie came up. As the mother of one daughter with a very extensive Barbie collection, I was naming off all the dolls I could remember. You know the typical ones: Ballerina Barbie, Malibu Barbie, Prom Queen Barbie, Princess Barbie, and all the other similar slim-figured girly ones. We all agreed we were sick and tired of her squeaky-clean image and decided it was time for a personality change.

So, with tongue firmly in cheek, I propose the following new line of Barbie dolls, certain to give little girls (and all of us) a whole new perspective.

Such as:

BARROOM BRAWLIN' BARBIE

Clad in leather jacket, tight blue jeans and white tee shirt. Tattoo on each arm. This Barbie doesn't take any crap from anybody! Accessories include pool cue, table and perhaps a few chains.

BEEN AROUND THE BLOCK BARBIE

(Sorry, Ken, there HAVE been others)

Clad in skimpy little skirt, halter top, fishnets, and high heels. Pull her string and she says things like, "Lookin' for a good time?"

Accessories not needed.

BILLY RAY BARBIE

Okay, you've seen him, are you ready for HER?

Clad in casual, cut-off sleeves top, white sneakers and tight blue jeans(mix 'n match with Brawlin' doll).

Comes with microphone, guitar, comb and mirror. Pull her string and she sings:

"Don't tell my Ken, I'm on the road again" (variation of Achy Breaky Heart song with additional lyrics by Willie Nelson.)

BOARDROOM BOSSIN' BARBIE

Clad in navy blue pinstriped suit, white dress shirt and tie.

Accessories include glasses, briefcase, and extra-strength Excedrin.

Barbie's in charge, watch out!

(Ken doll can be purchased separately as Barbie's secretary.)

And finally, all jokes aside, there's:

BE TRUE TO YOURSELF BARBIE

Wears whatever outfit YOU want her to wear.

Says what YOU program her to say.

Comes in all colors, all races, all shapes and sizes.

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