Jeneane Behme's Writings

OFT-TOLD TALES OF MY LIFE, HAIKU, SPOONERISMS, LIMERICKS & MORE! I am 60 years old and I’ve been writing little bits here and there for a couple of decades. My personal writing blog has poems, essays, short stories, long stories, spoonerisms, even haiku and limericks. I have a beautiful and smart daughter, Tara, and 3 wonderfully sweet young granddaughters, Ava, Evvie and Charlotte. Because of my heart attack in October of 2014, I began this blog to write down some of the oft-told tales of the humorous, and sometimes not so humorous, events that have happened to me throughout my life for my granddaughters. I live in beautiful Bay City, MI with my kitty-cat, Willow. I have 2 associate degrees with additional college credits and hopefully I will be able to complete my goal of obtaining my Bachelor’s Degree in Accounting. (Life keeps getting in the way). I enjoy literature, horse racing, baseball, NFL football, The Olympics, astronomy, history (particularly Irish), art, old movies, Downton Abbey, The Good Wife, Unit One, science, The Beatles, Frank Sinatra, U2, The Doors, oh and so much more! I have very eclectic and prolific interests. Please use the magnifying glass Search symbol at the top left of my blog to find specific Tags of my writings. I hope you enjoy reading what I’ve enjoyed writing! I also have a commonplace book blog at: http://jeneanescommonplacebook.tumblr.com A commonplace book is a personal collection of quotes, witticisms, poetry, etc. My collection is almost 50 years old and it contains many humorous, insightful, and wise things. I'm sure that you will find something you will like too!

[jeneanebehmeswritings-blog]

Voting in America’s 2016 Elections

If you haven’t already registered to vote, and are eligible to do so, please do so immediately because all of the elections this year, from the Presidential and Congressional elections to your local and state elections are extremely important.

I am a long-time firm believer that consistent voting, not just in Presidential elections, but in all national, state, and local issues, is not just something we should take for granted or rarely do, but that voting is each American citizen’s solemn duty and responsibility.

I am also a firm believer that voting intelligently, making researched, informed and educated decisions about who and what to vote for, is also each American’s duty and responsibility.

There is no excuse, NONE! for the kind of voter apathy that I have seen increase in my 42 years of voting record. Maybe politics bores you to tears, maybe the increase in the divisive and insult-driven campaigns angers you to not want to vote. But whatever anybody’s reasons are for not voting is never, ever good enough, in my humble opinion.

Men and women have fought for, and died for, in creating our great country and in securing the freedoms we enjoy. Voting is our responsibility in ensuring that those freedoms and rights continue and voting is only a tiny partial re-payment of what all of those courageous people have done for us.

I raised my daughter, Tara, to understand that she always has a duty and a responsibility to be a part of our great country by being a well-informed, educated and consistent voter, in every election at every level: local, state and national.

Tara grew up listening to many interesting political debates, she went with me when I campaigned for people, she helped me with a friend’s unsuccessful bid to become a Michigan state representative, and she grew up with a heightened sense of the history of our country, and of the many branches of our family’s long-time roles in the shaping of our country and what every American citizen needs to do to be a part of the continued success of our country.

And now that she has children of her own, she is also immersing them in the same way and even though there have been times we have not politically seen eye-to-eye on our views, I am always so very proud of Tara for taking her duties and responsibilities as a parent and as a citizen seriously.

I have said this so many times in my life and I will always say it to anybody who has dared to complain about anything that they believe is wrong with our country and then has admitted that no, they rarely vote, or never vote, that they have forfeited any right to any legitimate complaint they have by not being an active participant in our government.

We, the people, are the government and the government is we, the people. Our government is only as strong as our people remain involved. America can only remain strong, and free, if we do our duty and responsibility as citizens and VOTE!

Elections will be held on Tuesday, November 8, 2016. On November 9, I hope to hear from all of my American friends that yes, they did vote.

Make me proud of you!

[jeneanebehmeswritings-blog]

Sometimes All of Us Just Need Some Compassion

I played Trivia again this past Wednesday (by the way, my team won again for the 3rd week in a row – yay!) and afterwards my daughter, Tara, asked me if I wanted to go to a small tavern very near her place for a last call because one of our very favorite people, Emily, was bartending that night.

We arrived a few minutes after 1:30 a.m. and there were no more than 10 people there scattered around. Tara and I sat at the corner of the bar, chatting to Emily.

I do not know how we got onto this subject but I told Emily that somehow in the past year, I have been the recipient of un-asked for lap dances four times. By a straight guy, 2 straight gals, and even a gay guy once.

Emily asked in a surprised voice, “YOU were given lap dances? What were you doing, getting all wild and crazy, Mom?” (Apparently when you have a child, you lose all of your personal identity. Everybody has called me Mom since Tara was born 33 years ago, and I mean everybody.)

Tara was laughing as she told Emily, “No, I’ve been with her for all of those times and she wasn’t doing anything but sitting quietly, drinking her Coke, and yeah, we all know these people, and so do you, but they have at separate occasions just suddenly plunked themselves down on my mom’s lap and started grinding away. It was hilarious but very, very odd.”

And I nodded yes in emphatic agreement. I told Emily, “It’s like I have a hidden sign on my lap: Grind Away! And I never know what the hell am I supposed to do! What is the proper etiquette about getting a surprise, unexpected, and honestly, an unwelcome lap dance? Do I shove these people off and make them hit the floor? Where the hell do I put my hands? And am I supposed to reciprocate because, yeah, no, that ain’t gonna happen! So I just kind of grin and bear it with as much dignity as I can under the circumstances and hope like hell the song finishes real quick.” And Emily cracked up laughing.

She laughed even harder when Tara explained that I once got into the middle of a grind sandwich between two Ashleys while I was just trying to karaoke a song. Tara explained that I was standing up singing when the two Ashleys ran up, put me in the middle and started grinding away and that the look on my face was just so damned funny!

I told Emily, “You know me, hon. Do I encourage that kind of stuff? I don’t get it either but yeah I got a whole lot of butt crack peeks from one of those Ashleys and all I kept thinking is that I wish I had some Skittles candies so I could just drop them in there and maybe that would make them stop.”

And Emily started laughing so hard, she almost began to cry. And she laughed even harder when Tara and I told her exactly who these 4 people were and she said, “Oh my God! How I wish I could have seen even one of those bump and grinds done to you! And I never would have thought that any of those people would do that to you! That’s just too damned funny!”

I told Emily, “And I just don’t get it, but I sure do attract people who like to try and do weird things to me or say weird things to me.” And Tara whole-heartedly agreed, “Yes, my mom does, and I don’t get it either, but it sure is funny to see the looks on her face and how she tries so hard to maintain her dignity.”

Just then a young man walked in from the front door and sat on a bar stool just a few seats down from me past where the bar curved. And the atmosphere immediately changed…and not for the better.

Emily gave her head a tiny jerk at this young man and so Tara and I tried to subtly glance at him. He looked to be a few years younger than Tara, perhaps 24 or 25. He was behaving quite oddly. He was having a lot of problems sitting in his chair; he kept weaving around like he was about ready to pass out or something. But when he looked up and caught me looking at him, his eyes were very dilated and glassy. He was not drunk but he sure was high on something.

Tara and I looked away from him and we began chatting to Emily again who kept doing little glances at that young man and then back to us, trying to communicate that something was wrong.

The young man then got up again, still weaving and unsteady on his feet, and asked a guy who was playing pool near him if he could borrow a lighter.

He went outside to smoke and Emily said that he had come in about an hour before we had with a friend but the friend left him there about 15 minutes before we showed up. She said that he was talking very weird when he made a couple of attempts to chat other people up and they refused to carry on any kind of conversation with him because of the way he was acting.

Tara and I both told Emily that he definitely wasn’t drunk but he sure was high on something. Emily agreed with us and so we tried to figure out what he might have been high on. Tara said coke (cocaine) or maybe meth or heroin. We all agreed that maybe it was something like that.

Tara and I gave each other worried looks because you never can tell what someone who is high on something will do. Meth and heroin users do frequently try to rob businesses and people to pay for their addictions. And Emily was working by herself and would be by herself when she left for home.

Tara and I both told Emily that we would hang around while she closed up and then we would walk her out to her car, which was parked right next to mine, just to make sure that she could safely leave.

Emily, relieved, said thank you both so much, that our offer made her feel better about this situation. And that surprised me and Tara because Emily is a no-nonsense gal, she may be petite looking, but she never puts up with any kind of bullshit. So that gave me and Tara a clue that even Emily was very uneasy with this guy just hanging around.

This young man came back in and sat down again. He was fumbling with his wallet when he leaned over a little and said to me, “I’m going to do something that will make you mad at me.” And then he just sat there, expectantly smiling at me, and he didn’t say anything more.

Startled, I looked at him, looked at Tara and at Emily, and we all then took turns looking at him and at each other, waiting for him to explain what the hell was he talking about.

So after a few minutes of weird silence, I finally asked him, out of curiosity, “So what are you going to do that will make me mad at you?” And then Tara began elbowing me several times and I knew what she meant: Don’t encourage him, just ignore him, he’s strange!

He then asked me with a serious voice, “What are you drinking?” And I almost started giggling because I had a can of Coca-Cola sitting right in front of me, not a glass of Coke, a can of Coke and nothing else.

So I said, just as seriously in return, as I held up my can of Coke, “I’m drinking a Coca-Cola.” And this young man replied back, as he struggled to focus on the can of Coke, “You mean you want a drink with Coca-Cola? Like Coke and Jack?” (Jack Daniels whiskey.)

Tara was really bopping me hard now with her elbow and I whispered to her, “Point received, gotcha, but now I’m curious.” And she just shook her head in resigned defeat.

I said to him, “No, I’m having just a regular Coca-Cola. I don’t drink.” And then I waited with curiosity, just to see what he would now do or say because I still didn’t understand so far why he was going to do something that would make me mad.

He kind of slumped his shoulders down a bit and all he said was, “Oh. You don’t want me to buy you a drink?” I replied, “Well if you want to buy me a Coca-Cola, that would be okay and thank you, but no, I don’t want any alcoholic drink.” He brightened up a little and then he told me, “Wouldn’t it be neat if they still made Coca-Cola the way it used to be made?”

And I laughed because I knew exactly what he was talking about. Coca-Cola originally had cocaine in its formula, hence the Coca part of its name. It was sold as a medicinal product and it sure caught on quickly and became quite popular (gee, I wonder why!) until the United States government banned all products that contained cocaine in the 1920’s or around that time.

His smile got bigger because I had laughed and after I told him, “Yeah, I’ve often wondered what the original Coca-Cola must have tasted like and what did it do to you. Do you do cocaine too or have you ever wondered what the original Coca-Cola was like?” Sneaky, huh? I was trying to get him to tell us what the hell was he high on.

But then he just began to stare at his wallet again and he began to weave a little bit more as he just sat on his bar stool and didn’t say anything more for a few minutes. So I patiently waited and then I asked him, “So how were you going to make me mad?”

He didn’t respond for a minute or two but then he looked up from his wallet, looked me right in my eyes and said, with all seriousness, “Did you know I’m Satan?” And Tara almost did a spit take!

And I, just as seriously, kept looking right back into his eyes and I replied, in a dead calm voice, “Well, I out-rank you because I’m Lucifer.” And Tara almost choked on her beer again and she began to dig me in the side again with her sharp, pointy elbow.

I reached down and softly grabbed Tara’s elbow and she pulled it back, shook her head again, while she tried so hard not to start laughing because this guy drew back, and looked at me with open-mouthed astonishment while I continued to stare back as serious and solemnly as I can often do.

Tara knew that at that point that yes, a little devil had grabbed me, and perhaps it really was Lucifer, but she knew that I was now fucking with this kid’s head. I had been trying to be nice and polite to this guy, albeit he was acting and talking a tad strangely, but really? If he was going to say stuff like that to me, well, get ready, kid, because I will throw that ball right back to you, with more English on it, than you can probably handle.

He stared at me in open-mouthed disbelief and you could almost literally see him struggling with that thought process of what I had said to him.

Then he smiled a little smile, and he said, “Naw, you’re not really Lucifer. He’s a man.” But then I surprised him again when I, just as seriously as I had done before, looked him straight in the eyes and dead-pan replied, “Don’t YOU know that Lucifer can change shapes any time? Tonight I’m just an innocent-looking older woman enjoying a Coca-Cola. But I still out-rank you.”

And I calmly stared back at him as I took a sip of my Coke while Tara was trying so hard not to giggle. He visibly struggled with this new thought and he just sat there, occasionally glancing at me with a somewhat fearful look in his eyes.

Emily had come back to chat with us after she had served drinks to some customers at the other end of the counter. She kept giving all of us puzzled looks because she knew she had missed something good.

This guy then shook himself, straightened up on his bar stool, and he asked me, in a hopeful-sounding voice, “You’re not really Lucifer. Are you?” And I just smiled at him and I didn’t say a word. He then began to look through his wallet again but his hands were shaking now.

Emily was questioning us again with her eyes and her expression and Tara and I just shook our heads at her to indicate that we would tell her later. So she yelled out, “Last Call! Everybody drink up and go home!” And then she began to clean and straighten things up.

Meanwhile, it was an odd silence at our end of the bar counter. Tara and I looked at each other a few times and I gave her this shit-eating grin once because I had successfully messed this kid’s head up bad.

But then he leaned over to me and he said in the saddest, smallest voice I had ever heard, “People think I’m crazy and they don’t like me. Do you think I’m crazy?” And my heart melted.

This kid was truly fucked up and high on something bad, but underneath whatever the hell he was on, I sensed that he had just poured out his soul. I got the distinct impression that he was just a socially awkward kid, just trying to make connections with people but he really didn’t have a clue on how to do that and that there was real pain inside of him.

And now I felt so bad and so horrible for playing him like that, for twisting his poor fucked-up head around. That’s almost like kicking somebody when they are already on the ground, beaten and broken.

So I leaned over and said to him, “I don’t know you at all so I can’t tell you if you are crazy or not. But I do know this: we are all crazy in some way or another. None of us is really ‘normal’. And perhaps all of those other people who told you that you are crazy are really the crazy ones and so maybe it’s not you, it’s them.”

And he quietly and hopefully said, “Do you really think so?” And I replied back, with all of the honesty and sincerity I could put into my voice, “Yes, I really do believe that.” And he straightened up as he nodded his head, seemingly pleased at what I had said.

At this time, some of the other regulars had gathered around me and Tara and this kid to finish off their drinks before they headed for home. Emily was still putting empty beer bottles away and tallying up the credit card bills.

I then asked this kid, “Do you have somebody who can give you a ride home because you really shouldn’t be driving?” I felt Tara gaping at me and I turned and smiled at her to reassure her that I was not going to be the one to drive this kid home, oh hell no! And he replied, “No, I don’t drive. I walked here so I will just walk home.” But he seemed a bit depressed at the prospect.

I asked him, “Where do you live? Is it close by?” And he said, “No, I live in Munger and I walked from there.”  Now I am not that familiar with exactly where the littler towns are around Bay City but I was under the impression that Munger was probably about 15 miles away but it turned out that it was really only about 6 miles away.

I then told him, “You can’t walk that far and especially at this time of the night when all the cop cars are prowling around. You might even get hit by a drunk trying to walk home.”

And Danimal, one of the regulars, who is a big and burly guy, spoke up and said, “Hey, kid, I can drive you home because I know Munger pretty well. Or else you can take a taxi because you have plenty of money on you. Why don’t you do that?” This kid had been fumbling with his wallet and his money all night, and everybody had seen that he had at least $50 in his wallet. And all of the other regulars chimed in, agreeing with that suggestion of Danimal’s, then they were asking the kid where exactly does he live, how far away is it etc.

The kid sat there, weaving on his bar stool, trying to keep up with all of the questions and the suggestions now being thrown at him, and I think also surprised at all of the attention he was now receiving.

Emily, glad for the chance to get this weird guy out of her bar, grabbed the phone and told him, “I can call a taxi for you right now and it won’t cost much. Just give me your address.”

The kid said that he lives at such and such address but then he protested that he could walk home, it was okay, he walked here and it doesn’t bother him to walk because that is how he gets around every day. And we all protested that it was good to take a taxi home, that way we all knew he would get home okay.

Emily called a taxi company up, gave them the kid’s address, and when they confirmed that someone would be there within 10 minutes to get him, she told him what it would cost and asked him if it was okay if they did that.  He looked around at us in a dazed surprise, like he wasn’t used to being treated nice, and he agreed that he would take the taxi home while we all made nice, approving comments that we were glad that he was doing that so that he could get home safe and sound.

Tara and I then went out the back door to have a cigarette while we waited for Emily to finish her closing-up chores. She asked me, “What the hell was he whispering to you about? I couldn’t hear what he was saying. Why were you ignoring my elbow jabs, Mom? That kid could be dangerous, that kid was not acting right, you should not have been encouraging him to chat! I’m a bartender and I’ve seen all kinds of people and that kid is really weird, and weirder yet because of whatever he is high on!”

And after I explained about the other parts of the conversation, I told her, “Tara, all that kid wanted was some human interaction, that’s it. He wasn’t trying to hit on me, he wasn’t trying to do anything to me but just chat. Yes, I agree that he is weird, but aren’t we all? And I should not have fucked up his head with that Lucifer crap. That was mean of me to do. But, Tara, if you had only been able to hear the pain in his voice when he asked me if he really was crazy! Just imagine if many people were mean to you and told you all of the time that you are crazy! The only thing that kid wanted was a bit of compassion and I’m so glad that everyone else tried to help him to make sure he got home okay. Maybe it was just to get him out of there, but if me just chatting with him for a minute or two made him feel better, then what harm was there in that?”

She shook her head as she replied back, “Well, you might be a better person than I am, I don’t know. All I know is that I just didn’t want something bad to happen to you.” And I smiled at her as I told her, “Thank you, sweetie, for trying to look out for me.” And just then the taxi pulled up into the driveway.

Tara ran in to tell the kid that his ride was here and he said goodbye to everybody and followed Tara back outside.

After he had gone down the steps and passed me sitting on the bottom one, he turned around and told me and Tara, “Thank you for being so nice to me.” And we gave him good wishes and a good night as we watched him get in the taxi and drive away.

Tara and I walked back inside the bar to escort Emily out after she was done cleaning up. All of the other regulars had left out the front door at this point.

Emily was dying from curiosity so Tara and I filled her in on what she had missed. She shook her head at the whole weird evening and she nodded in agreement when Tara told her, “See? What were we telling you earlier? The weirdos are attracted to my Mom for some reason!”

I replied, “All that kid wanted was just to chat with somebody, that’s it! Did either of you ever get the sense that he was really dangerous, that he was trying to pick me up, that he was trying to do something bad to me?” And both Emily and Tara agreed that they had not sensed that but because he was high on something and acting strange, that’s the reason why I should not have responded back to his strange remarks.

And I replied, with a little bit of anger in my voice, “Yes, he was acting strange but is that any reason to turn our backs on him, to ignore him, or try to pretend he doesn’t exist? He’s a person, too; he has a heart and feelings too underneath all of his weirdness. And just like I told him, we are ALL crazy and weird in some way or another. He just wanted to chat with somebody but he just doesn’t know how, that’s all. And I felt bad because I had deliberately tried to mess his head up…and just because he was talking a bit strange. That was wrong and I shouldn’t have done it.”

Both Emily and Tara just shook their heads that they still believed I was wrong and Emily then said that she would be okay now that he was gone and that we didn’t have to wait for her. We protested that we still could but she insisted she would be fine so Tara and I both hugged her goodbye and we left.

I’ve been thinking about that strange incident ever since then. I chatted with my long-time good friend, Barb, today for her insights on it. She used to be a substance abuse counselor so she could give me a more professional take on it, and even better, her honest and personal opinion on it as my long-time friend.

Barb said that he might have been high on any kind of street drug but that he also could have been under the influence of a psychotropic drug prescribed for mental problems such as schizophrenia or bipolar problems. She said that if those are abused or are incorrectly taken, they could also have affected that kid too in the way he was acting.

She said she didn’t understand why Emily and Tara were so upset that I had just merely talked with him. She asked me if he had suggested we have sex, did he ask me for my number or where I lived, did he do any of those things? And I laughed and said no, he didn’t. That I still didn’t understand what he meant when he said he was going to do something that would make me mad, when apparently all he had in mind was just to buy me a drink, but he didn’t make any kind of out-of-line requests of me.

I also told her that him telling me that he was Satan was a bit out there but that I then had freaked him out a bit by insisting that I was Lucifer and that I outranked him and Barb laughed at that.

She said the same thing that I had tried so hard to explain to both Tara and Emily: that it seems like all he was trying to do was to initiate a conversation and that he seemed to be socially awkward, and maybe he was like that because he does have some emotional problems. She said she had seen many people like that: unable to chat like regular people and so awkward about how to initiate a conversation that they then make really off the wall comments.

Barb then laughed as she told me, “Maybe he thought you really were Lucifer and that he could then feel comfortable enough to confess to you that he was afraid he really was crazy and that you had the real power to tell him whether he was or not. But what you told him was the truth and that if he seemed comforted by what you said, then why were Emily and Tara so upset by just you chatting with him for a few moments? I think what you eventually did was good for him…and good for you too. You recognized his humanity and you gave him compassion when he so obviously needed it.”

I felt a lot better after talking it over with Barb and then after we hung up, I remembered something that had happened once to Tara and me.

About 10 years ago back in Genesee County before we had both moved up here to Bay City, there used to be a large Meijer’s department store near our home. There was a man who was so obviously mentally retarded who had a job bringing in all of the empty shopping carts from the parking lot.

This man always had a huge smile for everyone he saw and a hearty hello to all. I loved his infectious laughter and his always sweet personality so I quickly learned what his name was and I always stopped to chat with Mike for a few minutes whenever I saw him.

One time Tara was with me as we were about to go into the store to do a bit of quick shopping. Mike was out in the parking lot getting some carts and we happily greeted each other and he began to tell me about some of the things that had happened to him since the last time I had seen him.

We all walked in together with Mike eagerly chatting away to me. I gave him a hug goodbye and as Tara and I continued on into the store, I noticed she was strangely silent.

So I asked her, “What’s wrong?” And she said, “It’s embarrassing to be with you when you always chat with the weirdest people around! Didn’t you see people looking at you funny while that man was chatting you up?”

And I stopped dead in my tracks with my mouth open. I angrily told her, “Tara Noreen, what is the harm in talking to somebody just because they are a little bit different than you and I are? And when the hell did I ever give a shit what other people think? Mike is no different than our cousin, Larry, and would you like to see anybody ignore Larry or refuse to even say hello to him and chat with him for a few minutes just because Larry is also mentally retarded? Well, would you?”

And Tara hung her head and mumbled, “Well, no, but Larry is family, that’s different.” And I replied, “No it’s not different, because both Mike and Larry are human beings with feelings just like ours, with hearts just like ours, and I am ashamed of you for even thinking I should have just walked by and ignored Mike just because some people disapproved. Mike has always had a good word and a wonderful hello to everybody he sees and it breaks my heart to have seen many people just walk by him and ignore him like you wanted me to do. It hurts him and that is something we should never do to somebody: hurt them by ignoring them like that.”

Tara mumbled that she was sorry but I think that she still hasn’t learned a lesson, that I think that other people’s opinions are still more important than trying to do the right thing, no matter what other people may think. And if that is truly so, then it’s my fault for somehow not being able to teach her better.

All I know now is that I am very sorry that I did do something wrong, I never should have tried to bullshit that kid like that, when he was so obviously fucked up and because he was acting very weird, although at the time I did it, I thought it was a very funny thing to do. And maybe that is what too many people have done to him too many times.

It was a strange situation that ended up being a better one that I hope I helped in making it better for that kid. And I hope that whatever problems that kid has, whether it is a drug addiction, mental illnesses, or a combination of many things, I hope that he gets the help he does need. Because I don’t think he is a bad kid, or an evil, mean, manipulative kid; he’s just a messed up, struggling kid trying to make his way through this world, just like the rest of us.

[jeneanebehmeswritings-blog]

Lassifer: The Evil Collie From Hell

Last week I played in a Trivia Contest with 2 people I had never met before: Aaron and Molly. They were both such great people and so much fun to chat with.

One of the categories was “Adult Swim.” All of the five questions for that category were going to be about the different shows on that cable channel.

The last of those questions was “What is the title of the show that features a demonic border collie owned by the Goodman family?”

Aaron and Molly and I were absolutely clueless about that particular show’s name; none of us had ever heard of “Mr. Pickles” which was the answer to that question. So while we were waiting for the other Trivia teams to finish writing down their answers, Molly and I began to re-imagine another show that has featured a dog but with much different plot lines.

I said we should re-do the iconic Lassie T.V. show but have that collie be a Lucifer of a dog who does bad things to Timmy. Molly said, “We could call it Lassifer!” I cracked up laughing at her funny combination of Lassie and Lucifer.

Then Molly and I began riffing on different plots for our imagined Lassifer show. I told her that Timmy was always falling into a well on his family’s farm or getting lost and Lassie always had to save him and that got so boring.

So she said, “We should have Lassifer PUSH Timmy into the well!” While I was laughing I told her, “Oh, that’s a great idea! And then Lassifer could laugh at him and pee on Timmy and  then tell him, ‘You stupid kid! Why do you keep falling into the wells all of the damned time? I’m so sick and tired of hearing you yell, ‘Lassie! Oh, Lassie, come here, girl!’ We could have our Lassifer be a real bitch to Timmy because he’s such a clumsy oaf all of the time.”

Molly and Aaron and I were laughing so hard at our funny idea for a re-make of Lassie that the name “Lassifer” became the word of the night. Every time we couldn’t come up with an answer to one of the Trivia questions, we would yell out “Lassifer!” while we all laughed like hell. The other Trivia teams kept giving us weird looks which, of course, made us laugh even harder.

I don’t know how we did it but our team did manage to be a few points ahead of everybody else so we won last week’s Trivia Contest. So while we were divvying up the jackpot and we figured out that we each got $20, the three of us were joking around that we should take our winnings and make our “Lassifer” T.V. show idea a reality.

I was really hoping that Molly would be able to come to last night’s Trivia Contest like she said she was going to do, even though we already knew that Aaron couldn’t make it because he had to work. I had come up with a one more “Lassifer” storyline that I wanted to share with Molly but for whatever reason, she didn’t show up.

I was going to tell her that when Timmy gets lost in the woods, again, that Lassifer could go ahead and find him because Timmy was once again yelling his head off for her to rescue him.

But instead of leading Timmy back to his family’s farmhouse, Lassifer could tell him, “Okay, look Timmy. This constantly getting lost shit is getting really stupid and as boring as you always falling into the well. WHY do you keep doing these things? And WHY do you just automatically expect me to rescue your dumb ass?  And WHY is it that all I get for my time and trouble is that horrible and disgusting “Lassie” brand of dog food?”

“So here’s the deal, kid. You are just going to have to stay lost until you can figure out a way to go around your farm without falling into any wells or getting lost all of the time.

“You just sit there and stay lost, young man, and if you haven’t figured out yet how to get your sorry butt back to your farmhouse, I will come and get you, in, oh, let’s say 2 to 3 weeks, okay? There’s a real good-lookin’ boy collie at the next farm and I’m in heat and I need a vacation. So good luck, kid, and I will see you later. Oh, yeah, and be sure to tell your folks to get me better food too or else I’m not going to  bark my head off just to let them know that people have pulled into the driveway. I’ll just let robbers come in and steal them blind while I snooze on the porch.”

Oh, well, I guess our “Lassifer” television show idea will have to just remain a funny memory of a great time shared with Aaron and Molly.

[jeneanebehmeswritings-blog]

The Closing Ceremony of the 2016 Rio Olympics

To quote Charles Dickens from his book, Tale of Two Cities, it was the best of times and it was the worst of times. But for the most part the 2016 Olympics in Rio was the very best of times for athletes, visitors and viewers alike.

Even before these 2016 Games began, there were many who thought these Olympics would be a disaster for several reasons. There were questions as to whether or not some of the venues would be completed in time; questions about the health of the Olympians and the large numbers of visitors due to the Zika virus problems and the pollution problems in the waters and beaches of Rio; questions that the high crime rate in Rio de Janeiro would be an embarrassment to that great Brazilian city.

But Rio did it! The Olympics were an unqualified success! All of the venues were successfully completed and everybody, athletes and visitors alike, were very impressed with the fun-loving and kind Brazilian hosts and Rio citizens and also with the majestic beauty of the local landscapes and vistas.

Yes, there were a few minor glitches. Some of the aquatics pools’ water turned a weird color of green for a few days but the pools’ conditions were quickly returned to their beautiful shade of sparkling blue.

There were no reported incidents of problems with people becoming infected with the Zika virus, although any infections will probably not be detected for several months. But most of the NBC broadcasters noted that not once were they bitten by any mosquitoes so hopefully that was true for everyone else at all of the Rio Olympic venues.

And it was the United States, not Rio, who was greatly embarrassed by the juvenile and immature behavior by some members of its swimming teams who falsely claimed that they were robbed at a gas station.

Ryan Lochte, Jimmy Feigen, Gunnar Bentz and Jack Conger’s drunken antics, and their subsequently stupid attempts to cover their actions up, put an inexcusable black mark against the United States and their other innocent and well-behaved swimming team members. Those four were thankfully not representative of the spirit and good sportsmanship of the vast majority of the 2016 Olympians.

But other than those incidents, the 2016 Olympics have been seen around the entire globe as being very successful with many tales of wonderful athletic feats, determination and human compassion.

Who can forget the stirring sight of the two runners during the 5,000 meters race helping each other up after they collided? American runner Abbey D’Agostino and Nikki Hamblin of New Zealand tumbled down together and Abbey, instead of selfishly continuing on, reached down to help Nikki back up, urging her to finish the race. When Abbey later fell down due to her injuries from the collision, it was Nikki who helped her back up in return.

Neither runner had met before that 5,000 meter race but their mutual concern for each other has made them vow to keep in touch after the Olympics. Both Nikki and Abbey have been justifiably hailed as each having the right Olympic spirit.

I will admit I am biased because I was born in Flint, MI and spent over 20 years of my life living within its city limits, but I am so proud of history-making Claressa Shields, who was born, raised and trained in Flint. She is the first American boxer, male or female, who has won back-to-back Olympic gold medals. She won all 12 of her middle-weight fights in Rio, eventually winning her gold medal by defeating the Netherlands’ boxer, Nouchka Fontijn, on the last afternoon of the Olympics’ events. She had won her first Olympic Gold Medal at the 2012 London Games and she definitely exemplifies her nickname of T-Rex.

And how about the great American women’s gymnastics team, who called themselves “The Final Five” in honor of their retiring coach, Martha Karolyi? Simone Biles, Aly Raisman, Gabby Douglas, Laurie Hernandez and Madison Kocian won a gold medal for their team and then racked up many other individual event medals. With four gold medals and a bronze, Simone Biles proved that, even though she may be tiny, she is tough and she is a fantastic gymnast and may be one of the best yet.

How about Brazil’s first Olympic gold medal in soccer against Germany in a nail-biting overtime shoot-out match? To have won their first Olympic gold medal in soccer as hosts for the first time sent millions of Brazilians into frenzied joy and it was a joy to see their country’s collective happiness and a joy to cheer along with them.

Jamaica’s Usain Bolt, the fastest man on earth, did not disappoint his legions of fans world-wide with each race he ran and he ran for the gold every time, winning 3 gold medals in his 3 races. His trademark Bolt arrow stance after each race was cheered by everybody in the stadium and all across the globe.

Michael Phelps, Katie Ledecky, Lilly King, Nathan Adrian and all of the other members of the United States Olympic swimming team decimated their rivals by winning 33 medals. Phelps, who has won a lifetime grand total of an astonishing 28 Olympic medals, 23 of them gold, added to his collection with 5 gold medals and 1 silver at these 2016 Olympics.

The United States won an impressive total of 121 medals: 46 gold, 37 silver and 38 bronze. The swimming teams won 33 of those medals while the track teams won 32. I am proud of each and every American Olympic participant, except for the four that I mentioned earlier.

There were many disappointments when some athletes, for a variety of reasons, failed to medal as they had anticipated. In track, there were a couple of athletes who were automatically disqualified for jumping the starter gun and some were also disqualified for stepping out of the boundaries of the track, even if was for just the tiniest infraction. There were many tears when the realization hit them that they would have to wait another long, four years to try again to win a medal. Their agonies exemplified the worst of times.

But there were also 10 countries who finally won their first Olympic medals of any kind during the history of the modern Olympics. Fiji’s men’s rugby sevens team won a gold medal, and despite their participation in the Olympics since 1956, that was their first medal ever won. All of those first-time medal winners and their countries’ happiness and joy exemplified the best of times.

At the Closing Ceremony, Roberta Sa, a Brazilian samba singer dressed in a Carmen Miranda costume, sang as the flag bearers of all of the world’s participating countries came marching into the Maracana Stadium in Rio de Janeiro. Poor little Simone Biles, who carried the American Flag that was so much larger than her tiny self, was constantly mobbed by many athletes wanting to take pictures with her.

In what is always one of my favorite parts of the Closing Ceremony, the 11,000 athletes then came pouring all together into the stadium, ready to party but not quite ready yet to say goodbye.

They mingled together and danced together as one big group, happy and smiling, even though only 1,500 of them won medals, but still individually happy to have joined that exclusive club known as Olympic athletes. That Closing Ceremony tradition was begun in 1956 to symbolize that all of the athletes and their feats outweigh national associations because they are all now Olympians forever.

There were many beautiful parts to the Closing Ceremony. The Olympic Flame was moved back to the Maracana Stadium from its temporary spot in downtown Rio where it was taken after the Opening Ceremony. It once again presided over the last traditions of these Olympics with its glittering and swirling mirrored rays that formed its reflecting backdrop.

There were several dancing spectacles that further explained parts of Brazil’s history. There were people costumed as the colorful rain forest birds, the macaws, who danced into silhouettes of many of Rio’s iconic sites, including the enormous Christ the Redeemer statue and Sugarloaf Mountain, complete with a cable car ascending to its top.

But the most beautiful sequence was when many black women, descended from long-ago African captives, portrayed the lace-making traditions of those female slaves in Brazilian history. Many of those traditional lace patterns were in the lovely costumes worn by the dancers and different lace patterns were also shown on the big floor screen under their feet.

Next was the traditional part when the Rio 2016 Olympics are symbolically turned over to the upcoming Tokyo 2020 Olympics. Tokyo’s newly-elected first female governor, Yuriko Koike, accepted the Olympic flag after it was waved first by the mayor of Rio de Janeiro, Eduardo da Costa Paes, and then by the President of the I.O.C., Thomas Bach.

Then there were a series of videos and dance sequences that showcased Tokyo and introduced its 2020 Olympics logo, including a very humorous part where the Prime Minister of Japan, Shinzo Abe, was afraid he was going to be late for the Closing Ceremony in Rio. So he turned himself into Super Mario, jumped into a drain pipe in Tokyo, tunneled through the middle of the earth, and popped out of a similar drain pipe in the middle of the floor in the Maracana Stadium, complete with Super Mario Nintendo sound effects.

After the I.O.C. President, Thomas Bach, declared the Rio 2016 Olympics officially over then came the always saddest part for me: the ceasing of the Olympic Flame.

Rain had begun to fall inside the stadium shortly before all of the athletes entered the stadium and it continued for most of the Closing Ceremony until it stopped shortly before the Games were declared over.

But under the Olympic Flame blazing bright above her, a Brazilian singer stood underneath a man-made rain forest drenching downpour. And as she sang a plaintive song, the Olympic Flame was slowly doused until it finally went out. And I cried. The 2016 Olympics were now truly over and finished.

Thomas Bach said that there was much friendship, respect and harmony throughout all of these Rio Olympics: from the country of Brazil, from the citizens of Rio de Janeiro and amongst the 11,000 athletes who lived together for 17 glorious days in the Olympic Village.

The Olympic Torch may be out for now but that friendship, respect and harmony will live on and will burst into flame again in four more years.

And I look forward to thoroughly enjoying another wonderful 17 days of Olympics glory in Tokyo 2020.

[jeneanebehmeswritings-blog]

The 2016 Rio Olympics Sculptures

At the 2016 Rio Olympics a long standing tradition of giving small bouquets of flowers to the medal winners has been discontinued, and instead, the winners are given small 3-D sculptures of the official Rio Olympics logo.

The Rio Olympics officials decided that since the traditional bouquets of cut flowers soon die, they would give the medal winners something more lasting as a keepsake.  The sculptures also serve a practical function as being a holder for the Olympics medals. But this break with tradition has caused a bit of controversy on the internet.

Some people have called the sculptures tacky and shitty looking and that they look like they came from a McDonald’s Happy Meal box. Others think they look cool.

I think they look cool too and I think that the Rio Olympics officials who decided to forego with the soon-to-die bouquets of flowers made a great decision. I also like that the sculptures serve a practical function as well.

Most of the Olympian medal winners did immediately toss those bouquets of flowers away as soon as they left the awards ceremonies. If they were kept, like all cut flowers, they soon wilted and died and became shriveled stems of brown things that soon fell apart.

So why not give a keepsake to the Olympic medal winners that is more lasting, more practical and something uniquely Rio? Some traditions are okay to do away with and the bouquet of flowers was one of them. Plus I hope that this new tradition is maintained with all of the future Olympics.

Here’s a nice picture of the Rio Olympics sculptures so that you can decide for yourself. Is the sculpture cool or is it tacky? Should the bouquets of flowers tradition be kept or should this be a new trend for future Olympics?

[jeneanebehmeswritings-blog]

The 2016 Summer Olympics in Rio de Janeiro

I won’t be posting much while the Olympics are going on in Rio and I will have to take some time off after they are done to catch up on my sleep as well because I’m trying to watch as much as I can on TV as well as online. But my temporary sleep deprivation is always worth it every four years.

I love both the Summer and Winter Olympics and I always have since I was a wee one. I’m not ashamed to admit I cry during the Opening Ceremony and I cry even harder during the Closing Ceremony.

I cry at the beginning because of the national pride and the hopes on the face of each athlete as they walk into the stadium. They have all worked so, so very hard at trying to be the best in their sport that they can be, the very best of all of the world’s athletes, and they each want to win a medal, preferably gold.

Most won’t win, but they don’t know that at the Opening Ceremony and the whole stadium is full of their collective hopes and dreams. But for all of them, just to BE at the Olympics, is worth it even if they don’t earn a medal. It’s an exclusive club, to say that you were an Olympian athlete, and most of us can only enjoy that experience vicariously.

I love the big cheerleading events that the host country always puts on to explain their history, their feats and achievements throughout their country’s past and how they say, “Welcome World! Welcome Olympian Athletes!”

And I also love the varied and unique ways that the different host countries have come up with to light the Olympic Torch in its cauldron. I am always intrigued as to who will be chosen to do the final honors and why they were chosen. And every four years, throughout my lifetime, that is when the tears start falling more. It’s time! Let the Games begin!

I especially am so touched by the personal stories of most of the Olympians and how they have overcome so many personal and financial hardships just to be able to go to the Olympics and compete. Because that is what separates the best from the rest: that drive, that intense concentration to be perfect, the determination to prevail no matter what. All of the Olympian athletes try so hard to completely live up to the Olympic motto of “Faster, Higher, Stronger”.

I know a little bit about that drive and that concentration to win as an athlete. I was on my high school’s track team and I have participated in gymnastics, basketball, softball, racketball, bowling, marching band contests as a clarinetist and as part of a rifle drill squad during high school and for many years after. I am competitive, even though I was moderately skilled, and I have always loved sports, whether as a participant or a viewer.

So watching these superb Olympian athletes perform and compete at such high levels of competition, training and skills that I never could achieve, even when I was at my best, is something I have long loved and enjoyed. I cheer for them during their events, whoop it up for the winner and feel empathetic for the ones who just missed their dreams of an Olympic medal because I do understand a bit of their anguish.

The Closing Ceremony is always bittersweet for me, and probably is as well for everybody who is involved with each Olympics, from the athletes, their coaches, the referees, to the newscasters and to the people who just hand out towels or wipe off playing surfaces.

It’s bittersweet because all of the highs and the lows and the spine-tingling drama of each event are now over. The medals have been awarded and there are no more chances for the athletes to participate and possibly win in that particular Olympics; they will just have to wait and work hard another four years and we will also have to wait for them as well.

I start crying at the Closing Ceremony when the athletes pour into the Stadium and there are no more divisions according to countries; it’s now just one big goodbye party and one last hug between all of these athletes. National affiliations and medal counts don’t matter any more because they are all Olympians, they are all members of that exclusive club.

Seeing how all of these very competitive people from so many of the world’s countries, for the most part, peacefully get along at each Olympics is always so gratifying. If there are any disputes during any of the events, they are fairly judged and reviewed and each country abides by the final decisions.

I also always wonder why can’t the whole world be more like the Olympics? Yes, there were horrifying tragedies like the 1972 Summer Olympics in Munich when 11 Israeli Olympians were taken hostage and killed by the Palestinian terrorist group, Black September, and the Centennial Olympic Park bombings during the 1996 Olympics in Atlanta, Georgia but during the history of the modern Olympics, troubles like those have been thankfully rare.

I cry when the Olympic Flag is respectfully lowered and passed to the representatives of the next Olympics’ host city. I cry when the closing speeches are made and the Olympics are officially declared over. But I cry the hardest when the Olympic Flame has been doused because that is the visual finality to the wonderful preceding 17 days.

But the sweetest thought is that in four more years, I will get to vicariously experience all of these highs and lows again, hear the touching personal stories of some of the world’s athletes, and have again the thrill of watching all of these highly trained and motivated individuals compete to be the fastest, the highest and the strongest in the world.

Go Olympians!

[jeneanebehmeswritings-blog]

Thank You, Joseph Grummer!!

This has been a horrible month for my wallet. My internet bill went up $20 a month, despite pleading phone calls to Charter’s customer service (wow, is that phrase a joke with those people!) and to that department’s supervisors that were in vain.

Then somewhere shortly after the first of this month, I picked up a nail in one of my tires that went through the sidewall and that meant it could not be fixed. So Discount Tire graciously put my donut-spare tire on and soon that was also leaking air rapidly for some unknown reason.

So I’ve had to rely on my daughter, Tara, to take me grocery shopping and to my doctor’s appointments all this month. I had filled up my gas tank just prior to getting that nail in my tire so I’ve had to give extra gas money to Tara and that already paid for gas is just sitting in my car’s gas tank until I can get the tire fixed next week.

I have my doctors give me 90-day Rxs to cut down on my co-pays and of course, I had to get refills for almost all of them this month and so that was extra money out of my poor wallet as well.

And then somehow I grossly miscalculated the number of the cans of cat food that I buy all at once at the beginning of the month. I think what happened is that I usually buy the big box of Friskies Pate’ mixed seafood variety of cat food cans at Kroger and that box holds 33 cans, more than enough to get me through a whole month.

However, I had to go with Tara to Meijer’s grocery store where she usually shops and I just grabbed the biggest box of Friskies they had. I just assumed that it held the same 33 cans as the ones I get at Kroger. But as I belatedly recalled a few days ago, those boxes at Meijer’s only hold 25 cans instead of the normal 33. When I first bought those big boxes of canned cat food at Meijer’s, I did have to buy several single cans just to make it through the month. I had switched to buying canned cat food at Kroger’s many years ago because it was cheaper and it always got me through the month.

My cat, Willow, is worse than Morris the Cat in the finicky-eater department. Have you ever known a cat to turn down a delicious morsel of Kentrucky Fried Chicken? Have you ever known a cat to turn down a delectable bit from a juicy burger? Willow does…every time.

I have never fed my cats daily table scraps, never. I give them canned cat food and I buy them Chicken Soup For the Cat Lovers’ Soul dry cat food because it is great quality ingredients for a fraction of the cost of those more expensive dry cat foods.

I would love it if Willow would eat the canned cat food too from Chicken Soup, etc., because like their dry cat food, they contain top-quality ingredients. But for some reason she, as well as other my other cats from long ago, turn their noses and tails up at the taste, even when I mix it with other canned cat food.

On the rare times that I will try to give her a bite of whatever I’m having, Willow will not touch it. She’s only 3 years old and I have had her since she was 10 weeks old so it’s not like she developed many weird eating habits before I got her. But the first time I gave her a sliver of Kentucky Fried Chicken, with no skin, she sniffed at it and then scratched all around it like it was poop in her litter box! Every time since that I have tried to give her a tiny treat of “people” food, she does the same thing. Hmmm, maybe she’s trying to tell me something

But she is just as finicky when it comes to her canned cat food. She will only eat the pate’ kind, no bits, no slices, no shreds, nothing but the pate’ will do for her. And even then, if it is made with anything chicken, she refuses to touch it. She is primarily a seafood-loving kitty, although she will sometimes eat something with beef or turkey but she changes her mind on those on a weekly basis. So that really narrows down the variety that I try to give Willow and that is why it’s so important that I have enough of the kinds of canned cat food she will eat for the entire month.

So for the past several days, I have been scrounging around my purse, my couch and my nightstand to come up with enough change to buy cans of cat food at the nearby convenience store. I try to bother Tara and other people as little as possible and since I do have my Amigo scooter, I can boogie on down to that store without having to ask anybody to take the time and trouble to drive me to the bigger (and cheaper) stores that are further away from me.

Unfortunately, that nearby convenience store has a limited variety of canned cat food. They do carry Friskies, but they are all of the shredded, slices and tidbits kind, and mostly of the chicken and chicken-combo flavors.

By the way, I believe it is a fallacy that cats will eventually eat their food if they get hungry enough. All of my cats, past and present, have been either extraordinarily stubborn or that statement is pure myth and hokum. Willow, for example, will let that food sit there and sit there and sit there, no matter how many times I try to freshen it up stirring in water or gravy, nope, if it is not what she likes, she will not eat it.

And howl? Oh my god, Willow will screech, wail, yell, meow plaintively, run around like a demented idiot voicing protests at full volume all the way through my tiny apartment all day long if she does not have the food that she likes to eat.

So I have had to Amigo down to that store every day for the past 3 days with what spare change I have to try and buy her something, anything she likes to eat. Today, I put together a baggie full of pennies to take with me because that is the very last bit of money I have left. There was one last flavor I was going to try to buy for her to see if she likes it before I had to yell uncle myself and call Tara up to borrow either cans of cat food from her (she has three cats) or the money itself and then have her take me to one of those bigger and better-stocked stores.

It had been drizzling rain all day which made me grumpier that I had to go out because of my finicky cat and I was really hoping that that little store would be empty when I had to embarrass myself by plunking down that pre-counted bag of pennies on the counter.

When I got inside, there was a long line of customers waiting at the counter. I got the can of cat food, scooted my Amigo to the end of the line and then more people came inside the store, which puzzled me, because normally there isn’t that many people in that store at one time. But soon the reason why became clear.

Apparently the Powerball and the Mega Millions lottery jackpots were quite high and so that was why there were so many people there. I rarely buy lottery tickets, even the instant win scratch-off kind, so I never pay attention to what is going on with those jackpots.

There were now only 2 guys ahead of me in the line with 3 or 4 guys behind me. The guy at the counter bought a bunch of lottery tickets and then he turned around and stared at all of us waiting patiently behind him. He counted us all up and then he bought a Mega Millions $1 ticket for each of us behind him.

As he handed me mine with a smile and said, “Good luck on the drawing!” I started to cry. Here I was, bringing a bag of pennies to try and feed my poor cat, I’m all rain-drizzled and grumpy and this man had just made my day…heck, my week, no, my whole month!

I gave him a huge teary-wet hug and I asked him what his name was. He said, “Joseph Grummer” and after he spelled his last name, I was laughing through my tears as I told him, “Joseph Grummer, thank you so very, very much for making my crappy day so much better and if this ticket wins, I WILL look you up and split it with you!” He laughed and waved goodbye to us all as he left the store.

As the next man got lottery tickets as well, I sat in my Amigo, still crying, and laughing at myself for crying, just stunned that this man, who had no idea of how great that small gesture made me feel, that man had just turned my rainy day into a sunny one.

My ticket most likely will not win on Tuesday, and I don’t care if it does or not, because I’m going to keep it and put it with my Irish coin that another kind stranger had anonymously given to me when I was having a similar money-less day decades ago.

Now it was my turn to pay for my cat food at the counter. I tried to surreptitiously plunk down that bag of pennies as I whispered to the clerk that I had counted it twice and the correct amount was written on the bag and could she please take it, even though I knew what a pain in the ass I was for bringing in a bag of pennies? The owners and the clerks all know me at that store and this clerk whispered back to me, “It’s okay, sweetie, we all know you have had a very rough month.”

Then suddenly, an arm reached over from behind me and handed the clerk a five dollar bill. Bewildered, I whipped around in my scooter chair to watch this young man tell the clerk, “Here, pay for her can of cat food with this so that way you won’t have to deal with a bag of pennies.” And I started crying again!

I gave him a teary-wet hug as well while I told him, “Thank you, thank you, oh, thank you!” Then I made everybody laugh as I said, “There must be a conspiracy today to make me cry and get all red-eyed!” And I laughed along with them through my still-falling tears.

So thank you, Joseph Grummer, thank you! You started a chain-reaction of incredibly sweet, wonderful blessings that I received today when I needed them the most and I will pay it forward and pay it forward and pay it forward.

And Mr. Grummer, I WILL be looking you up if my ticket does win anything in next Tuesday’s Mega Millions lottery drawing!

[jeneanebehmeswritings-blog]

Donny Boy: My Ode to Donald Trump

Donny Boy (sung to the melody of “Danny Boy”)

Oh Donny Boy, the courts, the courts are calling,

from east to west and down the country side.

Your wallets gone and all your polls are dying.

Tis you, tis you must go and you must hide.

Your oft told lies have now come back to haunt you,

and your thin skin is showing more and more.

Building a wall won’t help you get elected,

unless you put it in front of your own mouth.

Oh Donny Boy, Putin and pals cannot help you,

not when it’s you that will sink you every time.

Those unpaid bills have hit with such a vengeance.

Tis you, tis you must pay that piper’s call.

Insulting others, you leave the door wide open

to be harshly treated the same by them in kind.

Crying foul makes all think you are childish.

November 8th will be here ‘fore you learn.

Oh Donny Boy, you’ve cheated many people,

with boastful claims of easy gained new wealth.

You took their money and now they all are mad at you.

Tis you, tis you that will be poorer yet.

We need a leader who won’t be such a whiner,

a bully who exaggerates with ease.

It won’t be you who’s going to be our President.

Please don’t scream when voting makes you fired.

Just don’t come back when Clinton’s in the White House

and when she’s winning her second time for sure.

Your dreams won’t be in sunshine but in shadows.

Oh Donny Boy, oh Donny boy, we hate you so!

[jeneanebehmeswritings-blog]

Melania Trump’s Republican Party Convention Speech

After Melania Trump gave her speech last night at the Republican Party Convention in support of her husband, Donald Trump, the Internet blew up with charges that she (and whoever “helped” her write her speech) plagiarized Michelle Obama’s 2008 Democratic Party Convention speech.

One of the best and funniest comment on this whole fiasco was posted on the CBS News’ web page by commentator, Strangeworld:

“There once was a girl named Melania,

Who got caught up in all the Trump-mania,

Her speech was a wrap,

Then it all went to crap,

When they found out she had kleptomania.”

To decide for yourself whether or not Melania Trump did or did not plagiarize from Michelle Obama, go to this link for more information about the vast similarity between the two speeches: http://www.usatoday.com/story/news/politics/onpolitics/2016/07/19/melania-trump-republican-convention-speech-plagiarism/87278088/

College professors across the United States, including some area professors that were interviewed on several local news shows, have said that Melania Trump’s speech was definitely a plagiarism. Several have also stated that if any of their students had turned in a paper with even a few less instances of plagiarism, they would have received an automatic Failing grade and a guaranteed trip to the college’s student advisors’ office.

My personal opinion is oh, hell yeah, several parts of Melania Trump’s speech were taken almost verbatim from Michelle Obama’s 2008 speech. And despite several Republicans’ claims that those parts were so generic and could have also been attributed to something that Sparkle, a My Little Pony, said (which, duh, isn’t that still plagiarism since a paid writer penned those words for Sparkle?), plagiarism is plagiarism is plagiarism.

But then, considering how many lies Donald Trump has told, the twisted facts, the gross exaggerations, the manipulations of rules and laws, the cheating of so many people that he has been involved in over 4,000 lawsuits over the past few decades, I think I would be surprised if anybody associated with Trump DIDN’T cheat!

I also think it’s sad that Melania Trump has now been personally embroiled in yet another Donald Trump controversy. I do not believe that she intentionally meant to plagiarize but whoever helped her surely did her no favors by so obviously using Michelle Obama’s speech just about word-for-word.

But I also believe that that attitude of winning at whatever-the-cost, the lying, cheating, bullshitting, exaggeration, manipulative behavior that Donald Trump has used since the 1970’s, permeates throughout anybody and any organization that is involved with Donald Trump. And that he actively encourages people to do all of those kinds of heinous actions, and will continue to do so if Americans are stupid enough to give that con-artist the keys to the White House in November.

[jeneanebehmeswritings-blog]

My P.O.W. Bracelet

When I was in high school in the early 1970’s, I purchased a P.O.W./M.I.A. bracelet (prisoner-of-war/missing-in-action) of an American serviceman in the Vietnam War.

The information on my bracelet was “Capt. David Dingee” and the date “6-27-72” which was the date he either was made a prisoner or became missing. I later found out a few months after I had purchased my bracelet that Captain Dingee was a P.O.W. and that date was the date he was captured. I was then given a blue sticky star to put on my bracelet as an indication that he was a P.O.W.

Ever since that long ago time,  I had occasionally wondered what had happened to Captain Dingee. Did he return to America? Did he die in prison in Vietnam? What had been his fate?

I still have Captain Dingee’s bracelet and earlier this week, I mentioned to my brother, Keith, (who is also an armed services veteran, having served in both the U.S. Army and the U.S. Navy) about those long-time questions. He suggested that I do some Internet research to see if I could find any information about Captain Dingee.

I had occasionally thought about doing that ever since my first computer many years ago but it was one of those questions I wasn’t too sure I wanted to discover the answer. I had always long hoped that Captain Dingee had somehow managed to come back home, alive, but I was always afraid to find out for sure, especially if that had not happened.

But tonight after thinking about Donald Trump’s many stupid statements, including his disparagement of P.O.W.s, I finally made up my mind to find out the truth about Captain David Dingee.

So I Googled his name and his rank and I was so relieved to find out that yes, he had been safely returned to America!

David Burgoyne Dingee was a Captain in the Air Force when he was shot down while flying his F-4 plane and was captured on June 27, 1972. Discovering that he had been in the Air Force made me glad because my oldest and dearest friend, Barb, was also an Air Force veteran as well.

Captain Dingee was on his 2nd tour in Vietnam and had already flown over 300 missions before he was shot down and captured. He spent ten months in a North Vietnamese prison camp and he was released from that camp on March 28, 1973.

He was happily reunited with his wife, Linda, and his three sons, Steven, Mark and Scott. He remained in the Air Force until his retirement in 1992 at the rank of Colonel. For his bravery, he was given a Silver Star and two Purple Hearts.

Prior to his commission as a 2nd Lieutenant in the Air Force in 1967, he had obtained a Bachelor’s Degree from the University of Arizona. After his retirement, he was a corporate pilot for NASA, Universal Studios and KB Home. He died February 18, 2012 at the age of 69 from complications from Multiple Myeloma. He and his wife had enjoyed 51 years of marriage.

I really wish I had now researched my P.O.W. bracelet at least before Colonel Dingee had passed away. I would have liked to have told him that I had kept his bracelet all of these years, hoping and hoping all this time that he had made it home, and so glad to find out that he had.

I don’t know if hearing any of that from a perfect stranger would have been a good thing or a bad thing for him because I know of too many Vietnam War veterans who would rather not be reminded of their time there. But I still wish I had made that effort just in case he would have liked to have heard from at least one person who had his bracelet and kept good thoughts and wishes for his fate for so long.

But all of his information will be put on a card and kept in a sealed bag with Colonel Dingee’s P.O.W. bracelet for my daughter and my granddaughters. Hopefully it will serve to remind them, as it does me, that serving our country is an honor.

Thank you, Colonel Dingee, for your service and your bravery. Rest In Peace.

Colonel David B. Dingee

[jeneanebehmeswritings-blog]

My Latest Klutzy Moment

A long time ago my daughter, Tara, told me, “Mom, I love you, but you could trip over a dust bunny!” And I laughed and laughed because that was such a great and funny line but then I had to agree with her because that is the truth, unfortunately. I am an infamous klutz and have been for the longest time.

When I was about six years old, my mother enrolled me in beginners tap dancing and ballet classes. Once I was at the end of the line of about ten other little girls and we were supposed to do a plie’. And I tried, I really tried hard to do it well,  but I lost my balance, leaned over hard onto the little girl next to me who then lost her balance and leaned over hard on the little girl next to her….and before I knew what had happened, the whole line of little girls, including me, went tumbling down like a line of dominoes. It was so humiliating! I got yelled at by our teacher, the other little girls glared at me, and I just wanted to go home and hide.

The tap dancing class was no better either. I still remember “step-ball-chain, step-ball-chain” and I could teach it to someone but I still cannot do it right myself. What finally convinced my mother that I would never be a ballerina or another Shirley Temple was my first recital for both of those classes. (My mother also took me to endless beauty parlors to make my baby-fine, straight as a ruler hair into a beautiful mass of ringlets like Shirley Temple’s, but instead those stinky, stinky perms turned my poor, fried hair into making me the very first little white girl who had an Afro…in 1964…and I have the school picture to prove it.)

Our ballet class did a dance called “Sleepy-Time Girl” and all of the mothers made their daughters little baby doll pajama sets, complete with a frilly, lacy bed-cap for the recital. I kept inching and inching over to the curtain off to the side because I was out of step, out of line, and I kept losing my balance and almost fell down a few times. It was sad.

The tap dancing number was something about cowgirls. My mom made me a skirt with fringe at the bottom and a vest with fringe and I had a cowboy hat and cowboy boots. She even prettily embroidered my name on my vest. I looked cute but I performed like a numb zombie. It was not pretty. That was the end of those classes for me!

I don’t know how and why I somehow manage to do the weirdest injuries to myself and sometimes I have had witnesses who still cannot figure out how in de hell I did what I did!

Well, there were no witnesses to my latest klutzy moment Friday, July 8, and I’m kind of glad about that because I am sure that that person would have been screaming bloody murder about all of the blood and I probably would have panicked myself because of their reaction to what I did to myself this time.

I was slicing up cucumbers to make a delicious dish out of them with a sweet and sour marinade of white vinegar, sugar, celery seed and a wee bit of salt. The cucumbers chill and marinate and the vinegar and the sugar pull out all of the yummy cucumber juices and the whole sauce then gets better and better after a few hours and into the next day.

When my mother had to be put into a nursing home for her heart problems and other health issues, I went through the cupboards of our kitchen in Flushing Township while I was packing up to move up to Bay City and I found a brand new mandoline that she had bought but never used. So I brought it up with me where it sat on the top shelf of a cupboard of stuff I rarely use.

I have a food processor that does everything great, including making slices of anything of different thicknesses but I thought, heck, I will get that mandoline down and try it out because I have seen other cooks and chefs use them all the time on the food shows I like to watch.

A mandoline is an adjustable slicer (and yes, there is also a musical instrument called a mandolin). Here is a picture of one but keep in mind that the one my mom bought did not have legs for better stability and it was made of thinner plastic. Those should have been clues right there that it was cheaply designed and cheaply made but like I said, I have never owned one or even seen one before except on TV.

Mine has a guard similar to this one and I assembled it correctly according to the instruction pamphlet because the blade looked very, very sharp and I wanted to make sure I had it put together just right.

Basically you attach the guard to whatever it is you want to slice up, in this case, my cucumbers which I had cut in half for better stability , and you rapidly move the guard holding the food up and down against that very sharp blade. The slices fall through underneath and I has very happy that I quickly whizzed through the first cucumber and the slices were perfectly round and evenly sliced the way I wanted them.

I did notice a bit of a problem trying to hold the mandoline up and perfectly steady with my left hand while I used the guard to slice up the cucumber halves with my right hand. It was a bit wobbly and that, again, should have been another clue that this thing was a piece of junk.

But I was so happy at how rapidly it had made the slices, and that washing the mandoline up after I was done would be so much easier than washing up all of the attachments and the blade and the work bowl to my food processor, so that I continued on with my second cucumber.

I was almost through with the second half of that cucumber when the mandoline wobbled and the guard slipped down but my right thumb did not stay with the guard and zip! I sliced a very deep gash into the cushiony pad on the inside of my thumb!

Blood gushed, and I mean gushed, everywhere while I stared in amazement at all of it and then the pain hit. Wow! I went through natural childbirth with Tara, no drugs, no epidural pain injections, nothing at all, but that paled in comparison to having my thumb deeply sliced by this cucumber guillotine!

I quickly grabbed my thumb with my left hand, and with blood dripping down my arm and all over the place, I ran into the bathroom to see if perhaps I could wrap a large bandage on it to make it stop bleeding.

I ran water over my thumb to see exactly how wide and how deep the cut was and I realized then that a mere bandage was just not going to work; I needed to go to the Emergency Room and get stitches. It was 6pm on a Friday evening and that was my only option at that point.

I took a comprehensive first-aid class, oh, about 25 years ago as a pre-requisite for the registered nursing degree I was then pursuing. and I knew that, first of all, I had to somehow control the bleeding and do it quickly.

I knew that a tourniquet would not work on a thumb and I was also pretty sure that trying to put one on my arm might not be the best thing to do. Meanwhile there is blood all over my bathroom sink, the floor, and somehow a bit on the walls, and I am trying not to panic but I was also trying to think my way into doing something good…and fast.

I grabbed a washcloth out of the bathtub and quickly wrapped it as tight as I could around my thumb and my hand, putting hard pressure on the cut with my left hand. Then I held my right hand up to allow gravity to help me as much as possible while I ran into my bedroom to grab my cell phone.

If I had called 911, yes, they would have quickly sent an ambulance to take me to the E.R. but how would I get home after my thumb was stitched up? Besides, I also didn’t want to get a bill for the health insurance co-pay, yikes! Besides, Tara lives only a mile away and she could get me to the E.R., which is only 2 miles away, probably much faster…if she were at home.

It turned out to be very difficult trying to call her with no hands available. I had to loosen my hold on my thumb while I used my left hand to push the buttons for her phone number and that dripped blood on my bed and on my phone and that also made trying to hold it and talk to her even more of a problem. I somehow managed to prop it up on my shoulder while it rang her number so that I could re-clamp my left hand tightly onto my right thumb and hand.

Tara was home but Justin had just left in their van to go grocery shopping. I squeaked out that I had badly sliced my right thumb and that I really needed for her to take me to the E.R. because I was bleeding all over the place and she said okay, just make your way down to the lobby of my apartment building and that she would call Justin and have him return with the van immediately.

I can’t walk that far and so I use my 3-wheeled Amigo scooter a lot and that has a handlebar and a toggle bar to make it go forward and in reverse. So I was trying to get it out of my closet, which normally isn’t a problem if I have both hands to work that toggle bar, but it was a lot harder to do with just one hand and I somehow managed to run over my right foot with the front Amigo wheel. That hurt a bit but my thumb hurt worse and it was still dripping blood down my held-up arm.

I finally got it out of the closet, got in the seat, and then there was the problem of trying to open up my apartment door, hold it open enough so that I could drive the scooter through and then close and lock my door behind me, all with one hand again.

So I once again had to release my hold on my thumb and free-up my left hand to maneuver the Amigo through the door opening while I held the door open wide enough with my right foot.

Once I got the door shut and locked, then I was able to somehow keep a death-grip on my now completely blood-soaked washcloth-covered thumb with most of my left hand while I used my last two fingers of my left hand to wiggle the toggle bar and drive down my scooter to the elevators.

I made it to the lobby, locked up my scooter to the handrail by the Community Room doors like I usually do and I sat in the central seating area where I could instantly see Tara drive up.

I hurried out to the van, got in, and then I had the problem of trying to fasten my seat belt without loosening my grip on my still-bleeding thumb. I was quickly getting the idea that having workable thumbs was a really good thing and Tara reached over to help me click my seat belt tight.

She dropped me off at the E.R. entrance so that I could get registered while she parked the van. The desk clerk looked up, saw the blood everywhere, and she quickly put in my birth date into the computer and printed out forms for me to sign.

While she was doing that, I looked around the waiting area and I was appalled to see that it was completely full, not an empty seat could be had, and I inwardly groaned. I was thinking that me and Tara were going to be here until midnight but apparently a lot of blood gets you faster service because while I hilariously attempted to write my signature on the forms with my left hand, the desk clerk had grabbed the triage nurse and he hustled me right through the entrance to the E.R.

Tara was then allowed to come in with me and she sat in a spare chair behind me and as the triage nurse unwrapped my blood-soaked washcloth, he asked me how did I slice up my thumb. And for some reason, I looked back at Tara and we both giggled because I had, once again, managed to do something else klutzy. She told the triage nurse that she has spent more time in the hospital with me than she has with all three of her kids combined and we all laughed because he saw himself on his computer screen all of the many, many visits to the E.R. I had made…and those were just the ones here in Bay City since I moved up here, sigh!

So I explained about the mandoline and what all I had done to try to stop the bleeding and he told me that I could not have done anything better than what I had already tried, short of putting in stitches in my thumb myself.

I then asked him if I was indeed going to get stitches and he said, Oh, yeah, most definitely, probably at least four, if not more, because that was how deep the gash was. He cleaned my thumb and my arm up and put several compression bandages on it and wrapped it up in gauze to try to stop the bleeding until the doctor could sew my thumb up.

I knew that Tara was worried about Justin and the girls being so hungry because Justin had been on his way to the grocery store so I told Tara to just go ahead and go home and that I would call her when I was all stitched up. I was thinking that all of the people out there in the waiting area would now be ahead of me but the triage nurse said that I would be all stitched up and ready to go home in less than an hour so Tara decided she may as well stay with me.

They put us back into one of the E.R. rooms and Tara had brought a book with her, with her great foresight and plenty of past experience accompanying me to the E.R. on other occasions. I sat in this weird chair that looked like a dentist’s examination chair and I began to fidget. I am not a patient patient.

So she began to read her book and I began to look through my purse for something, anything, to do and I got out my cell phone and was trying to play Tetris. I usually play that with my right hand but I was quickly reminded that that hurts so I had to put my phone on the table that was placed in front of that weird chair and I tried to play with my left hand. That became very frustrating and so I soon put my cell phone back into my purse and then I got the bright idea of asking Tara to take a picture of me with my huge thumb because her cell phone’s camera takes great pictures.

She laughed and said it would be her pleasure to have photographic evidence of my latest klutzy moment and we both laughed over how the picture came out. She went back to her chair and then a few minutes later, with an evil grin on her face, Tara asked me if I minded if she posted that on her Facebook page and I told her that I didn’t care. Just then the door opened and another nurse came in to look at my thumb.

I didn’t know that Tara had labeled that photo of me “Mom Being a Klutz Again” and I kept wondering why she would suddenly break into giggles that she kept trying to stifle while the nurse, and then soon after, the doctor worked on my thumb. Apparently many mutual friends and family members began sending her comments like, “What did your Mom do THIS TIME???” (told you I was an infamous klutz) and “Hey, she could easily hitchhike with that gigantic thumb of hers!”, etc, etc, etc. This is Tara’s photographic evidence of my big thumb up for my thumbs up klutziness, lol:

So after five stitches were put into my thumb and instructions were given on how to clean and change the dressings everyday and that I needed to have the stitches removed in 7-10 days, I was finally released. Then I immediately hurt my thumb again by automatically trying to open up Tara’s van door. Tara giggled again at me while I stood there calling myself a dumb-ass in between my own giggles. The doctor numbed it up just enough to put the stitches in but apparently not enough to prevent me from trying to still do more harm to my poor thumb!

When I got back up into my apartment, the first thing I did was to gather up every last piece of that damned mandoline and I gleefully chucked it into my wastebasket, gathered up the trash bag, and heaved it down the garbage chute!

Since then I have found out in oh so many painful ways that yes, thumbs are very important things to have, and that I have been put on an immediate crash-course of learning what not to do and what to do when your poor thumb is just trying to do its best to heal up.

I’ve had to learn different ways of doing so many commonplace, everyday activities, like opening up a can of cat food for my kitty, Willow. That is a lot harder than you can imagine if your dominant hand’s thumb is saying to you, in no uncertain painful reminders, “DON’T USE ME AGAIN!” I’ve had to learn to hold the can in the crook of my right arm and then use my left hand to pop up the can ring and slowly pull the lid off. I still haven’t figured out though how to prevent the cat food juices from spilling all over me in the process.

My diet has been frozen dinners or delivered sandwiches because I can’t prep anything and I’ve had to learn how to hold utensils in between the bottom of my thumb and my index finger. I tried using my left hand to feed myself but that was a stain-producing nightmare and my food became cold with my very slow progress.

What is kind of funny about this sudden greater reliance on my left hand is that I was a natural-born lefty who was painfully taught by my mother and my kindergarten teacher to use my right hand. My left hand was literally tied behind my back at times. My mother fervently believed that lefties are spawns of the devil and by God, I was going to become right-handed.

To this day I cannot use my left hand to feed myself or to write my name but the very first time I picked up a guitar, I played it left-handed until someone asked me why was I playing it the wrong way. Same thing when I first played billiards, I used my left hand. I still keep my purse on my right shoulder so that I can use my left hand to open doors, etc., and I always kept my school books in my right arm for the same reason. I also drive better one-handed with just my left hand; if I use both hands, it’s almost like they are fighting for dominance over the steering wheel.

And I am typing all of this up primarily with my left hand. So in some things, I am ambidextrous and in some ways, nope, strictly a lefty or strictly a righty. I got asked an interesting question tonight while I was doing my laundry (which later proved to be another challenge trying to hang up and fold my clothes one-handed but I digress.)

Another resident came in to do her laundry after I had just finished putting my clothes in one of the washing machines. She, of course, asked what did I do to my thumb and I explained my latest klutzy moment. She then said she wanted to ask me a question, and she apologized beforehand for asking a very personal question and I was then intrigued by what her question was going to be. She asked me how did I go to the bathroom if I’m right-handed?

And I laughed so hard as I told her, well, I tried using my left hand to hold the toilet paper and, um, use the paper, but that didn’t work out too well. I looked like a dog chasing its tail! So I dug out an almost brand new bag of disposable plastic gloves, put one of them on my right hand to keep my big thumb bandage as clean as possible, and then gripped the toilet paper between the bottom part of my thumb and my index paper and um, cleaned myself off thoroughly. And then I washed my left hand by still using the plastic glove and I stripped it off afterwards to throw it away and that way everything is nice and fresh and cleansed.

I am eagerly anticipating getting the stitches removed later this week and even though I know my poor slashed thumb will still be tender for quite awhile, it will be nice to have it back without these bulky bandages. I never knew I could miss a digit as much as I have been!

I apologize if this tale of my latest klutzy moment grossed you out or made you squeamish but I hope you found some of the same humor I’ve been trying to find since I sliced my thumb up. When you have been a klutz as long as I have been, you quickly learn that dignity is frequently over-rated and that me being able to see the humor in the so many idiotic ways I can mess myself up is perhaps a dubious grace, but somehow it is a grace nonetheless. Sometimes you have a choice between laughing or crying and I will always try to find a way to laugh about things. Besides, I hate it when my ears fill up with tears!

[jeneanebehmeswritings-blog]

Happy Birthday America!

We are so lucky living in Bay City, MI because we get to enjoy not just one night of fireworks celebrating America’s birthday, not two even, but three nights!

Bay City has been celebrating the three nights of fireworks, fun, and fabulous festivities for 54 years. (How’s that for alliteration!) But just like the weird way that Bay City celebrates St. Patrick’s Day – rarely right on March 17, the traditional holiday, but on the Sunday closest to that date – Bay City celebrates Independence Day on the Thursday, Friday and Saturday that is the closest to the traditional July 4th holiday. This year our 3-day celebration began on Thursday, June 30, 2016.

Since I moved a few years ago into my apartment on the 6th floor with a balcony that has a great view of all of the fireworks except for the ground displays, Tara and Justin have brought the girls over to watch them here.

But this year Tara told me about a great spot to view all of the fireworks that only the locals know about. Which is an important detail because Bay City gets close to 300,000 visitors over the entire three day fireworks festival, with over 100,000 visitors alone for the annual Saturday grand finale display. And considering that Bay City’s population is only around 30,000 residents, that’s a heckuva lot of extra people and cars and campers and even boats on the Saginaw river to get through and around.

There are celebrations in both of the large parks on either side of the Saginaw River: Veteran’s Park on the west side and Wenonah Park on the east. Both sides have concerts going on all three days and Vet’s Park is where the large carnival with booths and amusement rides are set up, as well as a classic car show.

But the annual fireworks displays are paid for primarily for the entrance fees to those parks and through the carnival and concession stands rentals etc. And those entrance fees, carnival rides, souvenirs, drinks and eats can get a bit exorbitant for just one day, let alone the three days total.

So most of the locals just come out to watch the fireworks if not for all three nights then at least for the longer and more spectacular last night’s grand finale. So having great viewing spots that only the locals know about is quite the find.

So on Thursday night Tara loaded up her van with me and her and the two youngest of my granddaughters, Evvie and Charlotte, along with two folding chairs, blankets and my “wheelie”, which is what I call my walker with wheels, parking brakes, a padded seat and a waterproof compartment under the seat. I can walk. but not that far, but Tara knew that she could push me on the paved paths around this local park until we found the best spot for viewing the fireworks.

Bay City always has just 10 minutes of fireworks and ground displays at the Thursday and Friday night events but they are always great shows to ooh and aah over. And this spot, which I don’t think I will divulge because we would like to keep it a secret, is just a hop, skip and a jump from both our apartments and so the fact that we didn’t have to drive that far was a bonus for that location.

When we got the folding chairs up and the blankets down, I looked around and I was amazed at what a great view of both of the parks and the river we had. I’ve lived up here for almost six years and Tara has lived up here for almost nine but neither of us had ever known about this spot in all of that time until Justin and Tara and the girls found it by accident a few months ago just by driving around.

Then when they had asked around about that spot, they were told, shhhhh! Yeah, the locals have used that spot for fireworks watching for decades but not to tell anyone about it. Let the tourists pay out through the nose for the park entrance fees, etc., but honestly, that spot was the sweetest!

We were able to park fairly close to where we wanted to sit and so I carried the 2 lawn chairs and the blankets on the top of my “wheelie” while Tara held Evvie and Charlotte’s hands. And than we tried to prepare 2 1/2 year old Charlotte for what was about to happen: that there would be big booms but there would also be lots and lots of pretty flowers and shooting stars of all sizes and colors high in the sky. This would be a lot more noisy than watching them from my balcony and we didn’t want her to get too scared.

Charlotte kept cracking us all up by constantly saying “goose poop, goose poop” over and over again because we had been cautioning the kids not to step in the fragrant piles of dung on the paved paths. And then the booms began as the first of the fireworks lit up the sky. Charlotte kept slapping her hands over her ears as she yelled, “Big booms, big booms, I don’t like them!” but as the pretty flowers and shooting stars shot up higher and higher into the night, she then started yelling, “I love it, I love it! Grandma Jeneane, do you love it too?” And I reassured her, with a big grin, that I loved them too.

When the last flower faded into sparklies that fell into the river and the last boom’s echo faded too, everybody, including Evvie and Charlotte, clapped and cheered enthusiastically. Then as we began gathering up our stuff to go home, Evvie and Charlotte both mourned that it was over with but then they became quite happy when Tara and I told them that most cities have just one night for fireworks, but in Bay City we were all lucky that we get to enjoy them for three nights and that we would be doing this again for the next night and the night after that.

On Friday night Justin, Tara’s boyfriend, was able to join us, along with Ava, my eldest granddaughter, but we left a little bit later than we had the previous night. We were still able to find a parking spot and a good viewing location but I told Tara and Justin that I had just read in the paper that Bay City was expecting over 100,000 people to jam into it for the big Saturday night grand finale and that if we were hoping to be able to view the large fireworks show then, even at this treasured secret spot, we would have to leave by at least 8 pm for the 10:12 pm beginning time.

The Friday night show had an exciting preamble before the fireworks began when one of the huge freighter ships that go up and down the Saginaw River decided to come in from Saginaw Bay through the four drawbridges that cross the western and eastern sides of the city. I see them go through the Liberty bridge from my apartment all of the time but I had never seen one of them so close up before and it was wonderful!

As usual during the three fireworks nights, there were many sailboats, pontoon boats, power boats, kayaks, etc., on the Saginaw River and it was funny to watch all of them scuttle like little bugs out of the way of that huge freighter ship. The girls waved and waved to all of the crew on the ship and they were so excited when the crew waved back to them.

Then just before the fireworks began, I opened up a special bag I had brought with me full of surprises for the girls. I had brought glow necklaces for each of them, as well as glow wands with American flags on their ends for them. They had been sadly watching other kids wear glow bracelets and glow necklaces that their parents had bought for them there while Tara, Justin and I exchanged twinkle-eyed looks because of the surprises I was keeping hidden in that bag under the seat of my “wheelie”.

They were so happy when I brought them out for them and they all helped me crack the necklaces and the wands to activate the glow-fluid and attach the plastic connectors and the flags. So when I explained to Charlotte that we were helping to celebrate America’s birthday and that the flag wands represented America, she then began to wave her wand around as she chanted, “Happy Burtday ‘Merica, Happy Burtday!”

Ava and Evvie were happy to see that they were the only kids with glow wands that had flags on them as the other kids looked as enviously at them as Ava and Evvie had been of their glow things just a few moments earlier.

Then the Friday night fireworks began and there were a few new ones: red spirals and happy faces (even though most of the faces were either upside down or sideways, which made us all laugh). The 10 minute show was just about to wind down when there was an extra-large boom from where the fireworks had been staged on the Vet’s Park side of the river and a large mushroom cloud fireball shot up into the air!

Justin, Tara and I all gaped at each other with our mouths open with surprise because we were pretty sure that that was not meant to happen, and if it had been planned, that had been a very weird way to end the show. But then a few more fireworks shot up as an anti-climatic finish and everybody waited, unsure if that had been the end or not. So after a few more minutes of waiting, a tentative applause began while the surprised murmurs of the crowds all around the river seemed much louder.

Everybody was discussing the weird fireball as kids, blankets and lawn chairs were packed up and the crowds moved back to all of the parked cars. We were all hoping that nobody had been hurt if that had been an accident, and if that had been planned, we also all hoped that that was never repeated again because it was just too strange and horrific looking.

Tara said she later heard on the Facebook grapevine that that fireball had been planned and perhaps it was because I never saw anything on the news or in the newspaper that an accident had occurred at the Friday night show. That was really bizarre!

For the Saturday night grand finale event, Tara and Justin agreed to come down a mile to pick me up and I had texted her earlier in the day that we really needed to be at the secret spot no later than 8pm, and preferably much earlier than that because of the large crowds expected all over. There would be no problem entertaining the kids during that lengthy wait because there was a really neat playground close by that the girls all love.

Well for various reasons they didn’t pick me up until after 8:30 pm and as we got closer and closer to that secret spot, we saw the parking lot and the entrance road jammed full of cars and campers and that the secret spot was completely filled with people, blankets, lawn chairs and kids.

In a vain hope that perhaps we could find an open handicapped parking spot because I had brought my hanging placard with me (and of course that would be also dependent upon unscrupulous people actually obeying those law and fine enforced spots by not parking there illegally), we drove through the area but nope, there wasn’t one open parking spot, even though there were several illegally parked cars in the handicapped spots.

So we drove around Bay City in indecision because I cannot walk that far, and even if Tara pushed me in my wheelie, the city sidewalks are so badly cracked, and in some places non-existent, it would have been a major pain to try and find any good place at this ever-increasing later and later time before the fireworks began that I could get to.

So we finally decided heck, may as well just go back to my apartment building and view the fireworks from my balcony. Tara finally agreed that that was the better decision that night because that way we wouldn’t have to fight and wade through traffic afterwards, both pedestrian and vehicular. And she laughed and laughed when I pointed out that at least we wouldn’t lose the kids in my wee apartment and we also had a nice and clean bathroom conveniently located just for our use alone!

So we ate leftover pizza and the girls had more fun playing chase with my kitty, Willow, than sitting down and watching the fireworks with us. I can never tell who has more fun: when the girls chase Willow or when she chases them in return but it is so cute to watch how sweet they all are with each other.

So Tara and Justin and I sat on my balcony telling stories and chatting in between oohing and aahing over a lot of new fireworks we had never seen before. There were much bigger and more multi-colored flowers, triangles and hearts inside of circles, more of the new spirals, and rightside-up happy faces and then the grand finale had a bunch of very brightly lit and colorful new fireworks set off all at once that made the most wonderful noises we had ever heard before! I had read in the paper that the grand finale would feature new fireworks imported from Spain that were going to be spectacular and boy, was it!

It is always so much fun to hear over 100,000+ people all over Bay City, clapping and cheering at once for many minutes because once again, the fireworks managed to be better than the year before. And then we watched as multitudes of private fireworks, all along the river on both sides were lit off, like always, and so we got another fireworks show that we have a great view of from my balcony.

But all good things must end and the girls were so disappointed that they had to go home and, just like all of the previous years, they were only slightly mollified when we told them that we would get to have another three nights of wonderful fireworks to see next year. A year away is like forever to a kid.

Happy Birthday America and may your traditional July 4th festivities be as much fun as what we all enjoyed this weekend!

Here are some photographs of this year’s Bay City fireworks, courtesy of the great photographers from the Bay City Times newspaper.

[jeneanebehmeswritings-blog]

Tara and Mom’s Not-So Excellent Adventure

Pardon the reference to the 1989 movie “Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure” but that movie title just seemed so hilariously appropriate for what happened to me and Tara Saturday night, May 21, 2016.

I had watched the Preakness horse race earlier that evening, disappointed that my horse, Nyquist, had only come in third place so I thought it would be good to just curl up in my bed for the rest of the night and finish re-reading one of my favorite books, “The Last Convertible.”

Around 11pm I got snacky so I went through my cupboards, refrigerator and freezer but Mother Hubbard’s cupboards were very bare. Sighing, I realized that I really had to get to a grocery store and stock up.

Then a bright idea lit up my head. Tara is a DJ/Karaoke hostess at a local bar on Saturday nights. Meijer’s grocery store is open 24/7 and it is only a couple of miles away from where Tara works so I could go out, karaoke a few songs, hang out with Tara for a few hours, then go to the store and load up on groceries. Sounded like a good plan to me!

My cat, Willow, was all stretched out asleep on my lap while I was reading and I carefully leaned over so I wouldn’t disturb her and grabbed my cell phone off my nightstand to send a text to Tara to see if she wouldn’t mind if I popped by for a few hours.

While I was waiting for her to text me back, with no warning at all, Willow suddenly urped up a warm, squishy hairball all over my book and on me. Yuck! She immediately jumped off my lap and ran away because she knows that when she has hairball problems, I will chase her around until I can catch her so I can swab on hairball eliminator gel on her front paws. She hates the taste of that stuff!

My top priority was to first clean off my book, of course, then clean myself up. I was in the process of chasing Willow when my cell phone rang with Tara’s return text telling me yes, come on up, she’d be glad to have me there!

So I sent her a text back that I would be there as soon as I finished cleaning myself up from Willow’s sudden urp and after I had chased her around to put that gel on her paws. I told Tara to give me 30 minutes.

So after freshening myself up, I drove to the Double J’s bar and I was surprised to discover it was dead in there; there were only 6 people celebrating somebody’s birthday.

On the rare occasions when it is that quiet, me and Tara get silly doing very strange karaoke songs. Several weeks ago when it was also dead, I did an old song from 1968 called “Fire” by the English psychedelic rock band, “The Crazy World of Arthur Brown.” Here’s a link to the song on YouTube so that you can see how demonically great this song is: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FaHEusBG20c

Now I look like a demure grandmotherly type and Double J’s is first and foremost a country-song lovin’ bar. I don’t do country songs, in fact there are very few country singers and songs that I like. I usually karaoke 1960’s and 1970’s stuff, nothing too bizarre but for some reason I had had that “Fire” song in my head all that day and I thought I could really pull it off.

And apparently I pulled it off a little too well! I really got into doing the witchy laughter and when I finished, there was dead silence and then some tentative applause. Helen, one of the regulars who sings just country songs, came up to me with a slightly frightened expression on her face, and said, “Um, that was, um, great. But that would be funny for you to do on Halloween!”

I started laughing when I realized what that must have looked like and sounded like. I look like a sweet grandmother and then I belted out, with gusto, this demonic song in a country bar!

Even Tara told me, with bemused laughter, that she had never heard of that song before but she was sure I had nailed it but, um, yeah, maybe I should not ever do that song again because I had scared the patrons. I giggled to myself.

A week later I visited her at another one of her karaoke hosting places when her boss, Randy Howell, was there. Randy has been a long-time DJ for an oldies radio station in Saginaw and since he is only a few years younger than me, we have great chats about all of the music from the 1960’s and 1970’s.

Tara told him how I had scared the patrons at Double J’s a week earlier by doing, and doing too well, the song, “Fire.” Randy dropped his mouth and he asked me in amazement, “You really did do “Fire?” Oh, you have to do it for me too!” Tara just shook her head and loaded the song up and I belted it out again for Randy.

He loved it, although the rest of the bar was looking at me strangely. Randy said that he had heard only one other person karaoke that song, probably because it was a one-hit wonder and there probably are not too many people who do remember it. But that person didn’t hold a candle to how well I had done it. And he especially loved my demonic, witchy laughter too.

So last Saturday night I kept teasing Tara to load up “Fire” for me and she laughingly said, “Hell, no! I can’t afford to have everybody leave at once!”

But Tara and I did do 2 songs together we had never done with each before. We did “For What It’s Worth” by the Buffalo Springfield and “San Francisco (Flowers in Your Hair)” by Scott McKenzie. Two great 1960’s songs about protests and the Summer of Love.

The rest of what little time was left until the bar closed up at 2 a.m. was spent by the 6 people celebrating somebody’s birthday who karaoked several country songs. Tara and I entertained ourselves by laughing over the series of texts sent to her by her boyfriend, Justin.

One of their cats had managed to get out a window and after wandering around on their roof, was finally coaxed back inside but then he went psycho and was attacking Justin and the other cats. Justin finally had to resort to putting Jasper in his carrier box until he calmed down and he kept likening the whole experience to him stalking this dangerous panther in the wild jungle and we were crying with laughter over his hilarious texts.

After the bar had closed and the celebrating patrons were themselves coaxed out the door, I waited until Tara had dismantled the equipment and put it up. Ashley, the bartender, paid Tara in cash and Tara shoved the money into her coat jacket pocket.

We went outside and Tara was explaining to me that she had been having some weird problems with the dashboard lights in her van. I watched as she started it up and yup, every indicator light came on but none of the dials like the R.P.M., engine temperature gauge, the gas gauge, etc. were working at all.

She said that the cable that contained many of the electrical wires   underneath the passenger side sliding door was frayed and maybe that was the problem. So she opened that door and tried to tuck that cable in better but the dashboard situation didn’t improve. I told her maybe it was a fuse, or fuses, but she said she would just drive straight home and have Justin take a look at it on Sunday.

So she took off ahead of me and I thought she had continued down Center Road towards her apartment when I turned off Center onto Pine Road to go to Meijer’s.

Just as I was about to pull into a handicapped parking spot, I saw out of the corner of my left eye someone frantically waving their arms at me. So I turned my car slowly towards that person who turned out to be Tara, in a panic!

She said she had discovered that her speedometer wasn’t working either after she had left before me and she was afraid that she might get pulled over for inadvertently speeding. The cops in Bay City are always out in full force when the bars close on Saturday nights and they will pull you over for the least little thing.

She asked me if I could drive ahead of her to her apartment and she would follow me in confidence that she wouldn’t be speeding. Then I could drive back to Meijer’s and do my grocery shopping.

So of course I agreed to do that and I’m just thankful that she doesn’t live too far from Meijer’s because it was close to 3 in the morning at this point. She gave me a big hug in appreciation and profusely thanked me for helping her out and then she climbed back into her van to follow me.

So I drove as carefully as possible down a road that changes names and speed limits frequently because that was the quickest way to get to her apartment. We arrived there without any problems and after she had parked their van, she gave me another big hug as she thanked me again and apologized for delaying my grocery shopping. I laughed and told her no problem, I was just glad I had been with her that night and was able to help her out.

So on my way back to Meijer’s, I stopped off at King’s Party Store to get two packs of cigarettes. As I was leaving the store my cell phone rang and it was Tara, in tears and hiccuping so bad I couldn’t understand her frantic words.

She finally managed to squeak out that she had lost her entire pay and she was pretty sure it had dropped out of her coat pocket when she had waved me down in the Meijer’s parking lot and could I please, pretty please drive there as fast as I could and try to find her money? They desperately needed it for their own groceries until Justin got his paycheck Thursday from Lowe’s where he works.

She was crying so hard as she kept saying she knows someone will have already grabbed her money even though there were rarely many people out shopping at that time of night. I told her oh my god, yes, I will do that and then I hung up and drove like mad back towards Meijer’s, with my heart pounding and speed limits be damned!

I careened through the parking lot towards where she had been parked, threw my car in park, jumped out of my car and peered all around. By bad or good luck, two of the tall parking lot lights were out right near where she had been parked and so it was difficult to see anything.

Then I began panicking also because I knew how badly they needed that money and I began to look all around to see if this was indeed where she had been parked and then I saw the money, all fanned out, on the pavement! In disbelief I picked it up and counted it and it was only $50. I thought I had heard Ashley count out $90 for Tara and so I frantically scoured the area looking for another two 20 dollar bills.

I was softly saying to myself as I looked, “Here 20, 20, come here! Hope they didn’t blow away! Here 20, 20!” There was a very slight breeze but I could not find any other money anywhere.

So I climbed back into my car and called Tara, “How much money did you have?” and she said, in between sniffles, “I had $50: two 20’s, a 5 dollar bill and 5 singles.” And I said, with great relief, “Oh thank goodness because that is exactly what I did find, but I thought you had $90 and so I looked all over the place for the remaining money!”

And as she began crying harder she said, “You mean you found it? All of it? It was still there? Oh my god, Mom, I love you, you saved my bacon twice tonight! I cannot believe it was still there!”

I leaned back in my car seat in relief and while I was trying to catch my own breath and slow my pounding heart down, I laughed as I told Tara, “I’m just as surprised as you were to find it right where you had climbed out of your van because there were many empty shopping carts all around and if one of the cart collectors had come out before I got back here, they would have definitely seen it and most likely would have pocketed it!” Then me and Tara both began crying and laughing harder together in relief that her money was safe and sound in my hand.

I also told her a weird thing that I had noticed as I was driving like mad through the Meijer’s parking lot was that there were a whole bunch of employees outside in little groups up against the building just chatting and/or smoking. And so we were also lucky that none of them had wandered through the parking lot and found her money before I had got there.

I told Tara that I could drive immediately back to give her the money but she laughingly told me, no, go ahead and get your grocery shopping done and just drop it off on your way back home, that she would still be up for awhile because her panic and adrenaline had to calm down before she could even try to go to sleep.

I laughingly told her okay but that it would be awhile because I also had to calm down my pounding heart and my own panic and adrenaline before I went into the store. So we sat there and chatted again about how lucky I had been able to lead her van home and then race back to find her money and we were finally able to get ourselves calmed down a bit.

We eventually hung up so I could start my shopping. I really hate shopping that late at night at Meijer’s because the stock people have carts of products all over the place while they re-stock the shelves and I then have to play dodge ’em down each aisle with one of the store’s Amigo scooters. But I found out that it was even worse to shop there at that time on a very early Sunday.

My list wasn’t too long but I patiently dodged around all of the stocking carts that were strewn down each aisle and on the ends of the aisles too. There were many of the things on my list that were on sale according to the tags on the shelves and I was happy to discover that because Mother Hubbard’s wallet was almost as bare as my cupboards.

Another thing I hate about shopping that late at Meijer’s is that you are forced to use the self-check-out lanes. It is really difficult to far lean over to push buttons, put in cards and other info, then bag everything up while sitting in an Amigo scooter.

At the register, I began to scan my items and I was dismayed to see that the sales prices on most of my groceries were not coming up on the computer screen. I had kept a running tally of the total costs in my head and I knew I had not screwed up that simple math that bad. So I stopped scanning and pushed the Help button to find out why I was being over-charged.

After a few minutes a male register clerk came up and asked me what was the problem. I explained that the computer was not charging me for the sales prices that were on the shelves for many of my items.

He grabbed the Meijer’s ad and was comparing what the computer screen was showing with what the sales prices should have been. Then he said, “Ah hah! Now I know what the problem is! The sales prices don’t officially begin until 6 a.m. Sunday and the computers won’t scan the correct prices until that time, even though the stockers were already changing the tags on the shelves.”

It was now 4 a.m. and I was not about to go home without groceries and I was not about to come back in two hours, especially after the crazy night I had already been through. So I asked him, “Well, what were we going to do? According to Michigan law, the prices on the shelves are the prices you are supposed to charge me!”

He said, “Hmmm, yes, you are right about the law but I don’t have the authority to change the prices in the computer, only my supervisor can do that.” So he got his store cell phone out and called his supervisor who couldn’t come at that time since he had driven down to Taco Bell for his lunch break.

The clerk explained that I had arrived right in the middle of everybody taking lunch breaks and so that was the explanation for the groups of employees lounging outside when I had arrived to find Tara’s money. And that in fact he would be taking his own lunch break in a few minutes as well.

So he asked me to go back through the store and write down the prices that were now on the shelves for everything in my Amigo scooter basket. Then when I came back up to the register to check out, there would be another register clerk on duty and he would explain the situation to her. He patted me on the shoulder and told me not to worry, that I would be able to check out with those sales prices.

I dubiously agreed to do that, and with huge sighs and yawns, I drove back through the store and dutifully wrote all of the prices down on my grocery list. I went back up to the self-check-out registers and immediately pushed the Help button before I tried to scan even one of my grocery items.

The clerk, this time a female, came over and smiled at me as she told me she was already aware of my situation and that their supervisor had given her the authority to change the computer so that I could check out with the sales prices even though it was not yet 6 a.m.

So she helped me scan everything correctly and she also helped me bag everything up. I gratefully thanked her for all of her help and for the help of that other register clerk and her supervisor because I was so tired and I just wanted to go home.

She laughed and said that this always happens at this time on early Sundays when their few customers come in are technically in between the prior week’s sales prices and the current week’s discounts. And that everyone in the store wants their customers to have a great experience shopping at Meijer’s so they do this even though the corporate office may frown on them manually changing the computer prices.

I explained that I rarely shop at this time of the night and I have never before shopped when the weekly ads change over but that I really did appreciate their help, especially after the weird night I had had.

So I loaded up my trunk with my groceries, and drove back to Tara’s apartment to give her back her money. She was waiting for me on her porch, chain-smoking, and she clutched her pay in tearful and grateful relief. We hugged and laughed and cried some more and then I drove home. I got my own Amigo scooter out and piled it up with all of my groceries. I was yawning so bad at this point, I could barely keep my eyes open.

But after I made it up to my apartment and put everything away, including my scooter, and sank down in exhaustion on my couch, I saw it was now going on 5 in the morning. I’m a night-owl but I’m not that bad of a night-owl!

But then I started laughing as I thought over that whole strange evening: from Willow’s urping on me, the fun time Tara and I had had karaoking together, to me having to lead her van home and then frantically driving like a crazed woman back to Meijer’s to successfully find Tara’s money, and then the sales prices fiasco when I was finally able to get my shopping done! What a wild and crazy night it had been!

So Tara and I did our own version of “Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure” and everything ended up okay as well! Thank goodness, whew!

[jeneanebehmeswritings-blog]

A Well-Lived Life – A 50 Word Story

I know a little bit about a lot of things. There are some things I know a lot about. And so, if I haven’t done it, I’ve seen it. If I haven’t seen it, I’ve heard about it. If I haven’t even heard about it, it ain’t been invented yet!

[jeneanebehmeswritings-blog]

Nyquist Wins the Kentucky Derby!!

I predicted April 30, 2016 in my post “More Six Word Stories”  that Nyquist would win the 1-1/4 mile Kentucky Derby and he did!!! He ran a beautiful swift race and I’m not ashamed to say that I was screaming and yelling and crying when Nyquist was the first under the wire.

It has been a long time since I have been so enthusiastic about a horse so early in the Triple Crown racing season but I have been keeping my eye out for this great horse since he won the Breeder’s Cup Juvenile Race in the fall of 2015 as a 2-year old colt. Nyquist came from eight horses back to win then and he did so with his ears all high and perky and ready to keep on running.

So I have been keeping track of him since then, hoping that what I saw was just not a lucky win for a nice looking colt and I was also hoping back in the fall of 2015 that he could continue to mature, gain experience, stay healthy and that he would be pointed towards being entered in the Kentucky Derby.

Plus the fact that he is named for Gustav Nyquist, a great hockey player for my Detroit Red Wings, also helped my appreciation for this horse as well.

Nyquist has never been defeated before his Run for the Roses today, having 7 wins out of 7 starts, and he has only become a better and better horse with each win.

I also like his laid-back personality and his ability to eagerly do whatever is asked of him on the track. I don’t like temperamental horses, especially the ones who froth at the mouth and act up before being loaded into the gates, because they waste so much precious energy that they will need during the race.

I like how Nyquist’s ears are carried up and perky before, and most importantly, after each of his races. To me that tells me that he is having a lot of fun and that he still has plenty of gas left in his tank. If he makes it to the grueling Belmont, the last race in the Triple Crown and the hardest to win at 1-1/2 miles, he will definitely need that extra heart and strength to win that race.

I’m really hoping that perhaps I will again get a chance to watch back-to-back Triple Crown winners since I saw Seattle Slew and Affirmed win in 1977 and 1978. Before last year’s Triple Crown Winner, the fantastic American Pharoah, it had been a long drought of almost winners of the coveted Triple Crown, 37 years since Affirmed.

I honestly had been long despairing that I would never see another Triple Crown winner in my lifetime, considering myself lucky that I got to see 3 in the 1970’s with the greatest horse, Secretariat, first winning the Triple Crown in 1973.

So how cool would it be to see another back-to-back Triple Crown winner again? I truly do believe that Nyquist can do it…but I’ve been bitterly disappointed before. It is no shame to win 1 or 2 of the 3 jewels in the Triple Crown, and the 37 years of trying by so many wonderful horses is a testament to how difficult it is to win the Triple Crown.

So thank you, Nyquist, for confirming my faith and belief in you that you could indeed win the Kentucky Derby and good luck in the 1-3/16 mile Preakness that will be held in 2 weeks at the Pimlico track in Baltimore.

Nyquist

[jeneanebehmeswritings-blog]

“It’s Not About the Money!” – A 50 Word Story

When someone uses money as bribes to family members to achieve desired behavior, then declares, “It’s not about the money!”, they are lying hypocrites because it really is all about the money. Using bribery money is contemptuous, manipulative and disrespectful and it will rarely earn for you the desired behavior.

[jeneanebehmeswritings-blog]

Confusing Achievement With Luck – A 50 Word Story

If you have forged a career from an education based on unexpected windfalls, that is luck, not achievement. Doing well in college is an achievement but always remember that without your own lucky breaks, you would not have had any achievements. Do not brag and look down on unlucky people.