Category Archives: Humor

The Real Kind of BFF

This is the first in a series of birthday memories honoring the people who have made every year’s struggles easier and all the goodness more joyful!

In second grade my mom organized the very first of the only two organized birthday parties of my life
The second grade event was the typical affair with cake and ice cream; no one served meals back then
I had to bribe my friend Susan to come by promising to tell her where to sit to get the plate with the secret mark on it
There was a tour of the bakery facility for her Brownie troop the same day as my birthday party
The girl whose father owned the bakery promised she would get the most donuts, and Susan loved donuts
There is no recollection of the gifts I received or whether we played the clothespin game, but we probably did
I remember tiny red headed Maureen O’Connor crying because no one was paying attention to her
She sat in our front entryway threatening to go home, and soon I was pouting in a corner
My mom, who doesn’t like prima-donna behavior, even from a birthday girl, told me to behave and be a good hostess
Maureen won the “Guess How Many Jelly Beans in the Jar” game with my mom, oddly, very close at her side
My best friend Nancy, who also knew about me giving away the secret plate game to Susan, was sure it was a set up
When they call me this year, almost 40 years later, like they do every year on my birthday, I will see if they remember
Nancy still likes candy in big jars all over her kitchen, and Susan still loves donuts…their laughter…still the best gift!

Don’t Fence Me In

Don’t Fence Me In was a song we sang in Mrs. Nye’s music class in our Roman Catholic grade school
It was kind of an old fashioned song for seventh graders to be singing
I thought at the time
Maybe she felt fenced in with all the nuns and priests and the small paycheck
Teaching music to ungrateful school children who really wanted to sing
from Fleetwood Mac’s Rumors album
I liked that teacher though, as I liked most of the teachers from what is now called my middle school years
They were young and, I can now assume, probably desperate for their first teaching job,
They had bills to pay and families to support, and there we were,
our know-it-all smartass selves
Giving them a hard time and doing stupid things like putting Alka Seltzer in our mouths at recess
Our mouths foaming while we felt funny which gave us the mistaken belief we were brave
Having a group of seventh and eighth graders sing hokey songs they’d never forget,
that was brave
I find myself singing that song to myself sometimes, and it makes me happy, just like I’m some old cowboy on the open range
Maybe that music teacher knew that when we grew up, there was a strong chance we’d feel fenced in too

You say you’re not Shakespeare?

Rosy is red
Shiny is blue
Sweet is my love
When looking at you

Using the rhyme
Everyone knows
Mix it match it
Your love it will show

Try it tonight
Love’s all you need
You I so cherish
So common indeed

But ears to heart
Hear your sweet song
Like X’s and O’s
She’ll sing right along

Gift in a verse
Easy as this
Take my advice
It surely won’t miss

Waiting in Line

Have you ever been waiting in line behind a guy
You think has a toupee on his head?
And while waiting for a really long time in that line
That doesn’t seem to be moving forward,
You wonder what he looked like with his real hair
It must have been darker, the shade that
Still lingers above his ears, not having abandoned him

Would you start to imagine him adjusting it carefully
Thinking it made him look younger, better
Than if he was partially bald, or shaved it off completely?
Does he take it off, setting it on his nightstand
Or keep it on in case his wife comes to bed feeling amorous?
Does he fret over every windy weather report
Knowing he will have to hold onto it like others do a hat?

It keeps my mind busy, this staring at his artificial hair
And I find myself as you probably would too
Feeling compassion for this total stranger and his whys
That compelled him to cover up what changed
Sometimes so much more than simple recessive genetics
Leading all of us to fix what shouldn’t need to be
It is then, I slowly reach up and touch it lightly with love

Who Did That?

There is the hope for closeness
When they are adults and I am gone
Not standing by, suggesting or
Forcing it by demanding truces
Calling for ceasefires continually
The many verbal assaults that
Still sometimes end in giddy
Laughter over one or the other
Expelling a gaseous exchange
With the universe merrily shocking
Each others olfactory sensibility
And always the question of
Who did that? All three know
Without anyone admitting it
I smile knowing it is in these
Silly boy exchanges that their
Love is in the craziest of details