THE PTA AND THE INCREDIBLE HULK

When my children were in elementary school they attended school in Port St. Joe, a small village along the Redneck Riviera.  I have mixed feelings about my years there largely due to the way in which a single mother was too often viewed and treated.  If I hadn't been a strong woman I believe on many occasions I would have either been destroyed or defined by a particular event, yet I somehow always let those times strengthen me and broaden my horizons.  My children seemed to follow suit and learned at a young age how to use their heads.  I have to admit they always seemed to amaze me every step of the way and never disappointed me in how they always managed to shine even when shining wasn't what they should have done.

My youngest child, Matthew was a quite precocious.  He was always up for a good challenge so when he announced to me one day that he wanted to be in a PTA sponsored talent contest, it didn't surprise me.  My only question was what he was going to do for talent.  You see, although I have always thought my children were the brightest amongst all the stars, the Jackson 5 they were not.  Matthew simply told me he was going to be a comedian and that was the last I heard about it for several weeks.

Then one day Christina, his only sister and the oldest of my three children came rushing into the house as soon as she got off the school bus.  There in the doorway she stopped with her hands firmly planted on her hips.  She looked at me and said, "You aren't going to believe what your son did today!"  Uh oh!  There wasn't any "my brother" or "Matthew" about it...at that moment he was my son and only my son so I knew he had done something pretty outstanding and probably something memorable.  She started telling me about the semi-finals for the talent contest that had been held earlier that afternoon in the school auditorium.  A panel of four teachers were appointed to select the best of the best who would compete in front of the families later that night.  All the fifth graders thought it was great because they were excused from class so they could watch the selection process.

When it came Matthew's turn, he sheepishly meandered up on stage.  Christina's friends all pointed out, "Hey, there's your little brother!"  Matthew took center stage and began his stand up comedy routine with the following joke:  What has a hundred teeth and guards the incredible hulk?  His punch line was "my zipper".  Immediately, the auditorium filled with laughter!  Now, it wasn't that he had told an inappropriate joke that embarrassed his sister.  It was the fact that all four of the teachers laughed at his joke.  With her hands still firmly planted on her hips she said with utter disgust, "And they laughed!"  Needless to say Matthew was not selected to perform in front of the families although I have to admit the night would have been more memorable if he had performed.

About that time Matthew came in the house.  Please tell me how does a mother explain to a 5 year old white version of Eddie Murphy what's appropriate and what's inappropriate?  How does one rip away the joy he must have felt from accomplishing what all comedians live to do?  After all he had accomplished his goal.  He got the audience to laugh!  All I asked him as he came in the house was if he had anything he wanted to tell me.  He stopped momentarily and thought for a second before getting a quizzical look on his face and simply told me,"No."  I left it at that and figured I'd address his choice and source of jokes another time. 

WHEN SOMETHING BAD HAPPENS

This photo was taken in Jackman, Maine during the summer of 2007.  I spent two years in the early 1970's in a drug rehab located in Jackman that was more like a concentration camp at times than it was like a drug rehab. This quote describes exactly how I feel about that whole experience.  Just for the record, my choice was to let it strengthen me.

THOROUGHLY MODERN MILDRED

This week's Words For Wednesday are: calamitous, fraction, spanx, glittering, ambitious, indispensable or 'a glitch in time saved mine'.

I usually write a poem using the words from Words For Wednesday, but this week I decided to write a short story using them instead.  When I saw that one of the words was "Spanx," it immediately brought an incident to mind that happened about six years ago.

My daughter and I used an upcoming wedding as an excuse to go on a mini shopping spree. I decided to let vanity guide me all the way on our rather ambitious endeavor. Usually shopping holds no appeal for me, but on this occasion I unleashed all my almost nonexistent girly-girl tendencies. After trying on many dresses, I selected the hot pink pleated one. I liked the way it looked on me because it disguised all the usual flaws that happen as a woman gets older, but accented all my remaining physical virtues. Plus I was up for exploring new territory. Short and sassy was the way to go for this old bird, but something was missing! Oprah always claimed that each woman’s wardrobe needed one indispensable item. She emphatically stated, “ALL women need Spanx!” Who was I to dispute Oprah’s claim? So I decided to give Spanx a whirl.

Trying on Spanx was funniest thing I had experienced in ages. I tugged and pulled and finally after much laughter and a few bad words I had it on. Wow! As promised it flattened what needed to be flattened, smoothed everything else out and had the extra bonus of pushing up my breasts and making them look young and vivacious. I was amused at how easily it came off after the difficulty I had putting it on. I felt like a banana as I literally peeled the Spanx off. Next up on the list of things to do was to purchase shoes and accessories. I normally don’t wear heels because I’m tall, but I decided to go all the way this time and forego flats by purchasing the pair of glittering silver heels that made my legs look so good that even a super model would envy them. Yes, I broke the bank, but I was ready to dazzle all my old friends and shake my tail feathers on the dance floor.

After the ceremony, most everyone took a short walk to where the reception was held. Only a small fraction of the guests drove their cars two blocks to Seville Square. Upon arriving at the reception, I slipped my shoes off and opted to commit a usual Karen cardinal sin by going barefoot. I did, however, put my shoes back on when a group of us visited the restroom a little while later. I thought, “Here we go again” as I struggled with unhooking the hooks of the Spanx so the lady in pink could go tinkle. I carefully rehooked the hooks and sashayed my way back into the reception. By that time, toasts were being made so a lot of standing up and sitting back down was going on. About the third time I had to stand and raise my glass, I felt a tap on my shoulder. A young man leaned in close to me and quickly whispered, “Ma’am, you need to fix the back of your dress.”

As I nonchalantly ran my hand down the back of my dress trying to find what the young gentleman was talking about, I discovered that my Spanx had gotten caught on the back of my dress causing the whole right side of my derriere to be exposed. OMG! Thank goodness my backside remained covered by my Spanx, but I could only imagine how many pictures of me standing there clueless had been taken and posted to Facebook for all to see. Kodak moments like that don’t happen often. I chuckled and acknowledged to myself that this was just another in many uniquely “Mildred” moments. I know I had the look of a defeated beauty queen as my calamitous fashion faux pas was revealed and finally resolved. Once again I pulled and tugged at those damn Spanx and finally without too much damage, my dress came loose. And as my friends and family all chimed in and reveled in utter joy, each one thanked me for making the occasion a truly unforgettable one. Yes, Mildred may clean up well, but somehow the true Mildred always comes out no matter how hard I try to stifle her.

EVERYTHING YOU WANTED TO KNOW ABOUT HERMITS BUT NEVER ASKED

As defined in the dictionary, a hermit is a person who has withdrawn from society and lives a solitary existence often times for religious reasons (Mildredism).  The primary residence of a hermit is called a 'hermitage'.  I lovingly call my hermitage "the cave".  Several 'hermitages' in close proximity make up what I call a 'hermitdome' which most people might consider to be an enigma or a paradox since hermits like solitude above all else. Urban and suburban hermits may live in solitude together, but the rare rural hermit is revered by all hermits for he/she lives in true solitude! Regardless of where a hermit dwells, clustering too closely together is clearly avoided...or at least hermits claim they don't cluster unless it's mating season.  Then you need to batten down your hatches and put up the NO VACANCY sign. Trust me, there's nothing more menacing than a hungry hoard of horny hermits (now that's a tongue twister in more ways than one.) Say it 5 times quickly without smiling and you get a prize! 

A collection of 'hermitdomes' comprise the 'hermitsphere' or better described as the solitary cosmic universe in which a hermit spiritually resides.  The atmosphere inside an individual 'hermitage' is called the 'hermitude'.  A 'hermitude' is a true depiction of who the hermit is and reflects the hermit's general attitude...and altitude at all times.  It can be dark, and dank inside and or it can be sunny and inviting or it can fluctuate between the two depending upon the ever-changing mood of the hermit. A 'hermitage' can be as simple or complex as a hermit wants it to be.  Usually it's structured to fit the specific needs of the hermit that dwells inside so that outside contact can be kept as minimal as possible...except during mating season and then anything goes!  

Does anyone care to interpret the dream I had last night? I spent last night dreaming about a rather large crack I have in my hermitage that was letting the sunshine inside.  What a revolting development that was! I sat in my cave pondering the best way to repair the crack and then I noticed it!  A huge FOR SALE sign was hanging by my front door.  I sprung to my feet and quickly started trying to remove the sign, but the harder I pulled the more securely it stayed hung.  I looked around and thought, "These deep red bedroom walls have to go!  It's time for a change!"  Yes, indeed it's time for a change!  Any suggestions?  Maybe purple instead? Perhaps I should wait for mating season and get a big, burly hermit to fix my crack. Oh no!  I didn't just write that.  What's wrong with me? Could it be that I'm one of those hungry, horny hermits, too?  Okay folks, it's time to batten down your hatches and stay away from Mildred until she stops drooling.  I'll wave a white flag when it's safe to come out of hiding...

To all my fellow hermits and kindred spirits alike, in the words of Robert Frost:

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep...

PET PEEVES #3 - NO SOLICITORS

I not only support, but I also respect a person's right to worship in any manner that best suits that person. This also includes a person's right to exclude themselves from religious worship altogether and perhaps walk a road a little less travelled by claiming they don't believe in God at all.  The older I get the more I realize many people don't have the capacity to live and let live. They seem to want or need everyone to be the same cookie cutter image of themselves.  Any variant is feared, hated, ridiculed, judged and then condemned.  Where religion is concerned I see less tolerance in differences than in any other aspect of life....even politics.  

So many people try to ram their religious beliefs down other people's throats and act as if they have a direct pipeline to God.  How they interpret His Word is 100% correct and only like-minded people know the way to live righteously and will receive true salvation or so they think.  I may be wrong...I've been that way a time or two in my life, but  somehow I see a direct correlation between those people who cry loudest about being be Christians and those who judge other people the loudest and most adamantly.  I may not be up on many Bible verses, but correct me if I'm wrong, isn't judgment saved only for God Himself?  With that being said, my pet peeve isn't about what these religious lunatics believe, but about how they act because of their beliefs.  When I hang a sign on my front door saying NO SOLICITORS  that includes selling religion door to door.  I'm sorry, but I hung that sign for a reason so when you knock on my door anyway does that mean you don't have a true grasp of the English language?  Should a I hang a dictionary next to the sign? Or are you just that arrogant as to think you know what I want more than I do? 

COMMUNICATION BREAKDOWN

Communication breakdown, it's always the same
Havin' a nervous breakdown, drive me insane...

Hey wait!  That's the lyrics of a Led Zeppelin song and not what I intended to write here.  Oops! I'm sorry for clearly leading you down a road paved with good intentions and although I'd like to say it won't happen again, we all know Mildred does get side-tracked from time to time.  What I really had on my mind is discussing a communication faux pas we all are guilty of committing.   I know you're all thinking, "What about PET PEEVES #3? Does Mildred only have 2 pet peeves?"  The answer to that is...stayed tuned for the next PET PEEVES installment coming real soon!

It's a well known fact that men are from Mars and women are from Venus, but in today's world the communication breakdown goes much deeper than just between the sexes.  It's virtually everywhere! Most people are frequently caught up in the intention vs. consequences battle of the wits and are clueless when it comes to how to approach the recipient of their failed good intentions.  In an article written by Peter Bregman from Harvard Business Review he claims that intention vs. consequences is the root cause of so much interpersonal discord and I have to agree with him. 

Mr. Bregman states that "it's not the thought that counts or even the action that counts.  That's because the other person doesn't experience your thought or your action.  He or she experiences the consequences of your action."

Mr. Bregman goes on to explain that when you've done something that upsets someone-no matter who's right-always start the conversation by acknowledging how your actions affected the other person. Save the discussion about intentions for later.  Much later.  Maybe never.  Because in the end your intentions don't matter much.  He also points out that it doesn't matter if you feel the other person is justified in feeling the way he or she does. What a person should be striving for is understanding and not agreement.  Once understanding of the consequences is expressed, the need to justify intentions dissipates. 

What comes to mind after I read the article is something a sagely person told me many times in my misspent youth.  Each time I got defensive and tried to adamantly justify my (good) intentions, he would tell me "the road to Hell is paved with good intentions."  It took me many years to realize truer words were never spoken.  What I know now is paving any road with good intentions is never worth the effort.  What matters most isn't what you intended because let's face it life has a sneaky way of screwing up even the best laid plans.  In the long run what matters most is your ability to accept responsibility for your actions.  In doing that it somehow helps history from continually repeating itself.