~
I used to love those "soup" books with all their warm fuzzy stories, but after a while they got a little mundane. Besides, life isn't really like that for me. My life is not warm or fuzzy most of the time. Most of the time really weird things happen to me. There are no books for stories that would be a part of my life. My life is just too dysfunctional.
So one day, when a man was on the hood of my car while I was on a busy boulevard and I had 911 on my cell phone trying to get someone to come and take him off, I came up with the idea of "The Black Hole of Luck Memoirs." (The term Black Hole of Luck had actually been given to me by my brother-in-law years earlier in Vegas - but that's a whole other story.) These are stories of weirdness that happens in my life. I hope you enjoy them.
If any of you have a "Black Hole of Luck" tale, feel free to post it here. I'm thinking about creating a book of these stories one day, so if you'd like for your story to be considered, put your email address in the post. I moderate my posts, so I'll make sure to record your email address and name, but I'll take it out before I post it to the blog to protect your privacy.
What constitutes a "Black Hole of Luck" tale? Something that happened to you or someone you know that is so darn weird or unlucky that it is funny. No one can get killed in your story or permanently maimed. Read some of my tales, and I think you'll get the idea.
You'll recognize the Black Hole of Luck tales on this blog because their titles start with Black Hole of Luck Memoirs. I'll be adding more as I get a chance, so keep checking back.
Thanks for reading!
Pam D.
~
Saturday, March 27, 2010
BLACK HOLE OF LUCK MEMOIR - The Man on My Hood
~
The Man on My Hood
I was driving home one day after work. I stopped at a red light between a local college and a high school. I was about 5 cars back in my 2 month old red SUV. I noticed a very old Asian man on the sidewalk wringing his hands in a state of obvious agitation. I looked over at him, he made eye contact, and I looked back forward waiting for the light to change. My car shook and I realized in horror that the little old man was trying to open my car door (thankfully locked – the Black Hole of Luck is very paranoid). After failing to open the door, he climbed onto the hood of my car. He was yelling something in his native dialect. I am horribly mono-lingual, so not only did I not know what he was saying I had no idea what language he even was speaking. It just kind of sounded like, “Aye Aye Aye!!!”
Being the ex-Girl Scout that I am, my first reaction was to ask the man very loudly if he needed help, should I call 911, was he in pain? He stopped for a second, looked at me like I had lost my mind and then proceeded to bang on my windshield and continue to yell (still not in English – that would have been too easy).
The light was green now, for all the good it did me. I did not want to move the car for fear of throwing the frail looking old man into traffic which was now flowing past me – well except for the drivers in the cars stuck behind me who where honking at me and flipping me off. People were driving past me yelling obscenities.
I yelled at one guy, “What the heck am I supposed to do? I have Mr. Fricking Miyagi on my hood!”
I called 911. When the operator answered I had to shout over the old man’s voice. Boy that old guy had some pipes!
“911, what is your emergency?”
“An old Asian man has crawled onto the hood of my car. I can’t get him off.”
“Yes ma’am. Where are you?”
I told her the intersection.
“Are you in the parking structure?”
“No, I’m sitting on the Lemon Avenue.” (Later the irony of the street name would sink in.)
“Your car is in traffic?”
“Yep.”
“And the man is on your hood?”
“Yep. Can you please have someone come take him off? Wait, hold on a sec…”
Mr. Miyagi (okay sorry that’s who I thought of when I saw him and the name just stuck in my head) had started pulling on my side mirror. The fear of killing him in traffic was becoming slightly overshadowed by the love of my new SUV.
“No, No,” I shouted through the glass, “No touchy mirror! No touchy mirror!”
Back to the 911 operator now, “Okay, I’m back. Sorry, he was yanking on my side mirror.”
“Did he stop when you told him no touchy mirror?”
“Yes.”
The operator giggled.
“Can you please send someone to take him off my car?”
“Yes ma’am, a car is on the way. Stay with me and answer a few more questions for the officer. Do you know this man?”
“No.”
“Do you know why this man might be on your hood?”
“Because I’m a FREAK MAGNET and things like this happen to me. Can you PLEASE have the officer hurry up? --- Hey, I said NO TOUCHY MIRROR!”
Giggle – “Did he stop again?”
Sigh “Yes.”
She was now giggling harder, and I heard her tell someone, “She says she’s a freak magnet and things like this just happen to her. She shouts with an Asian accent at the man and tells him no touchy mirror and he stops.”
Had I been speaking with an Asian accent? How embarrassing, I guess I had. Sigh...
On the phone there is now giggling in the background.
Double sigh. “Is the police car close? HEY, drive around! CAN YOU NOT SEE I HAVE AN OLD MAN ON MY HOOD? YEAH? WELL RIGHT BACK AT YOU BUDDY!”
She’s laughing on the phone now. Who knew 911 operators had such a well honed sense of humor?
The police car finally comes around the corner. The policewoman has to go down the street a ways and flip a U-ey to get back to me. Just then a nurse in the standard white nursey uniform comes running down the street. She gets to my car and peels the old man off my hood and waves and me and says thank you.
Thank you? What the heck? I roll down my window about 2 inches. I keep my hand on the button in case Miyagi gets loose.
“Oh no no no,” I say shaking my head, “You don’t go anywhere until you talk to the police.” I did not just sit in traffic getting cussed at so she could smile and wave at me like she knew me.
A red SUV much like mine parks across the street and a youngish thin beautiful Asian woman with black hair cut in a bob which look a lot like my dark brown hair also cut in a bob jumps out and starts talking whatever-dialect-that-was to the old man. He instantly stops struggling and looks to me in bewilderment. The policewoman gets there, asks me if I’m okay, tells me to stay put, then goes to talk to the three people on the sidewalk.
When she finishes with them she comes to tell me that the man had escaped from an Alzheimer’s facility right up the street when his daughter (the woman in the red SUV) had come to pick him up and had left him outside the front door of the facility to go bring her car around. The man wandered down the street and thought big white me was his daughter. I guess he’s almost blind too.
Like I said Freak Magnet a.k.a. Black Hole of Luck. Yep that’s me.
~
The Man on My Hood
I was driving home one day after work. I stopped at a red light between a local college and a high school. I was about 5 cars back in my 2 month old red SUV. I noticed a very old Asian man on the sidewalk wringing his hands in a state of obvious agitation. I looked over at him, he made eye contact, and I looked back forward waiting for the light to change. My car shook and I realized in horror that the little old man was trying to open my car door (thankfully locked – the Black Hole of Luck is very paranoid). After failing to open the door, he climbed onto the hood of my car. He was yelling something in his native dialect. I am horribly mono-lingual, so not only did I not know what he was saying I had no idea what language he even was speaking. It just kind of sounded like, “Aye Aye Aye!!!”
Being the ex-Girl Scout that I am, my first reaction was to ask the man very loudly if he needed help, should I call 911, was he in pain? He stopped for a second, looked at me like I had lost my mind and then proceeded to bang on my windshield and continue to yell (still not in English – that would have been too easy).
The light was green now, for all the good it did me. I did not want to move the car for fear of throwing the frail looking old man into traffic which was now flowing past me – well except for the drivers in the cars stuck behind me who where honking at me and flipping me off. People were driving past me yelling obscenities.
I yelled at one guy, “What the heck am I supposed to do? I have Mr. Fricking Miyagi on my hood!”
I called 911. When the operator answered I had to shout over the old man’s voice. Boy that old guy had some pipes!
“911, what is your emergency?”
“An old Asian man has crawled onto the hood of my car. I can’t get him off.”
“Yes ma’am. Where are you?”
I told her the intersection.
“Are you in the parking structure?”
“No, I’m sitting on the Lemon Avenue.” (Later the irony of the street name would sink in.)
“Your car is in traffic?”
“Yep.”
“And the man is on your hood?”
“Yep. Can you please have someone come take him off? Wait, hold on a sec…”
Mr. Miyagi (okay sorry that’s who I thought of when I saw him and the name just stuck in my head) had started pulling on my side mirror. The fear of killing him in traffic was becoming slightly overshadowed by the love of my new SUV.
“No, No,” I shouted through the glass, “No touchy mirror! No touchy mirror!”
Back to the 911 operator now, “Okay, I’m back. Sorry, he was yanking on my side mirror.”
“Did he stop when you told him no touchy mirror?”
“Yes.”
The operator giggled.
“Can you please send someone to take him off my car?”
“Yes ma’am, a car is on the way. Stay with me and answer a few more questions for the officer. Do you know this man?”
“No.”
“Do you know why this man might be on your hood?”
“Because I’m a FREAK MAGNET and things like this happen to me. Can you PLEASE have the officer hurry up? --- Hey, I said NO TOUCHY MIRROR!”
Giggle – “Did he stop again?”
Sigh “Yes.”
She was now giggling harder, and I heard her tell someone, “She says she’s a freak magnet and things like this just happen to her. She shouts with an Asian accent at the man and tells him no touchy mirror and he stops.”
Had I been speaking with an Asian accent? How embarrassing, I guess I had. Sigh...
On the phone there is now giggling in the background.
Double sigh. “Is the police car close? HEY, drive around! CAN YOU NOT SEE I HAVE AN OLD MAN ON MY HOOD? YEAH? WELL RIGHT BACK AT YOU BUDDY!”
She’s laughing on the phone now. Who knew 911 operators had such a well honed sense of humor?
The police car finally comes around the corner. The policewoman has to go down the street a ways and flip a U-ey to get back to me. Just then a nurse in the standard white nursey uniform comes running down the street. She gets to my car and peels the old man off my hood and waves and me and says thank you.
Thank you? What the heck? I roll down my window about 2 inches. I keep my hand on the button in case Miyagi gets loose.
“Oh no no no,” I say shaking my head, “You don’t go anywhere until you talk to the police.” I did not just sit in traffic getting cussed at so she could smile and wave at me like she knew me.
A red SUV much like mine parks across the street and a youngish thin beautiful Asian woman with black hair cut in a bob which look a lot like my dark brown hair also cut in a bob jumps out and starts talking whatever-dialect-that-was to the old man. He instantly stops struggling and looks to me in bewilderment. The policewoman gets there, asks me if I’m okay, tells me to stay put, then goes to talk to the three people on the sidewalk.
When she finishes with them she comes to tell me that the man had escaped from an Alzheimer’s facility right up the street when his daughter (the woman in the red SUV) had come to pick him up and had left him outside the front door of the facility to go bring her car around. The man wandered down the street and thought big white me was his daughter. I guess he’s almost blind too.
Like I said Freak Magnet a.k.a. Black Hole of Luck. Yep that’s me.
~
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Black Hole of Luck Memoir - The Very Bad Day
~
Have you ever had a day go drastically wrong -- so wrong that it was amusing (day’s later)?
Here is a series of emails that I sent to my supervisor, Irma, and my coworker, Joyce, on just such a bad day in 2005 . . .
First email after I called and said I wouldn’t be in that morning because my home’s plumbing was backed up:
********** FIRST EMAIL **********
Hi there Irma & Joyce:
Well, the plumber hasn't called yet.
I checked with two of my neighbors and they aren't having any problems with their plumbing (of course they haven't spent a couple thousand dollars replacing their old lines like we have). I took the cap off the new outside cleanout between the house and the street, and air and sewage shot out for about 5 minutes - but hey, the water in the tubs and sinks went down!
I ran the garden hose down the cleanout and it hit something about 10 feet out (the line measures about 25 feet from the house to the sidewalk). I turned on the hose and water and sewage ran out of the cleanout, but the clog didn't clear.
So, well, the plumber hasn't called yet.
I never thought I'd say this, but I'd rather be at work doing reconciliations.
I'll keep you posted.
I love my job, I love my plumbing, I love my job, I love my plumbing . . .
(When I’m having a bad day at work, I chant, “I love my job. I love my job.” It makes everyone laugh and their laughter cheers me up.)
Oh, and did I tell you about all the ants that are invading my house because the ground is flooded from all this torrential rain????? At least the ant spray smell is covering up the sewage smell!
I love my job, I love my plumbing, I love my job, I love my plumbing . . .
********** SECOND EMAIL **********
Right about now, I'm thinking my horoscope for today is full of #&$*(%
Libra
(Sept. 23-Oct. 22)
Taking the analytical approach just won't work. You'd rather be part of what's happening instead of being removed from it by definitions and categories. You'll always look back on these few days as a fun time.
While I was waiting for the plumber to call, I smelled something that was a little stronger than the sewer smell. I traced it to the craft room and realized the automatic-scooping cat litter box had jammed. I cleaned it out and got it running again, and I decided to vacuum the little rug I have it on. The vacuum (that I just bought in October) started smoking. The belt broke and jammed up inside the stupid thing. I got it apart and yanked the belt out. The up side: the room now smells like burnt rubber instead of cat poopy.
Just then the plumber called. He'll be out "sometime today, hopefully this morning." Okay, that's better than nothing. He said, "Hey didn't we just put all new lines in your house?" I said yes through gritted teeth. When I hung up the phone, I noticed that the digital screen on the phone is broken.
My husband called (still no display on the stupid phone even though I plugged it into the reprogram port of the "mother ship" phone base that runs all the phones in the house) and he said he'd take me out to dinner at the Outback tonight. I said, "Hmmmm, they have alcohol. Okay, I'll go."
Can I please come to work and do reconciliations now?
No, no, I must stay and wait for the plumber. Good thing for him there aren't any weapons in the house . . .
********** THIRD EMAIL **********
I hate plumbers. They're like little dictators with wrenches. He still hasn't shown up. Supposedly, I'm next on the list. Yeah, right. They're on my list too.
The pool guy came by and he actually had good news. We are the only house they are working on right now that isn't knee deep in mud. Our yard is mostly sandy soil, so even now when you walk on it you just get wet sand on your shoes and not mud. He's going to send a crew out tomorrow to put up our block wall and start grading - whaa hooo! He told me that the gunite shell that we have right now doesn't hold water. The reason the pool is half filled with water is because our water table is that high in the ground right now! It's level with the street outside. It won't get any higher because we're 3 feet above grade. So basically all the houses in our city are sitting on a great big dirt water bed right now. Nice!
After the pool guy left, I thought my day was finally turning around, then my neighbor, MaryBeth, called and said her dad was in intensive care. He fell and hit his head and he's in a coma with blood on his brain. She called to tell me that she's leaving for the hospital but she's leaving her bedroom sliding glass door open so I can still use her bathroom. I hope I didn't pass the bad mojo whammy off on her when I was over there.
Oh well, at this rate, I'm not sure if I'm going to make it in. At this rate, I'm not sure I want to risk driving. No telling if my car's engine or transmission could handle it!
I'll keep you posted. Heck, what else can I do? I can't leave. I can't vacuum. I can't take a shower. I can't do dishes. I can't go to the bathroom (at least without crossing the street). That cat box is looking pretty handy right now. Good thing I fixed it.
********** FOURTH EMAIL **********
After the last email, I realized I had a very bad stomach ache (because I didn't want to go #2 at the neighbor's house). So I put on my big ugly sweatpants to relieve the pressure. It was THEN that the plumber showed up and they sent the CUTE guy. Here I am in my black sweatpants with 4 pounds of cat hair on them. So he cleared the clog in about 15 minutes and charged me $150.
It’s after 2pm, so I’m just not going to come in today.
********** FIFTH EMAIL **********
Hi - Update --
I went to the place where I've bought all my vacuum cleaner parts for the last 18 years and it's been sold to a guy who doesn’t know anything about vacuums and didn't have my vacuum cleaner belt. He’s turning the janitorial supply into a janitorial supply AND printing business. I left in disgust and went to get my shoulder xray I need for my appointment with the orthopaedic surgeon tomorrow. I made it through that okay except for the fact that the 90 year old guy that sat next to me (there were no other seats and about a 1/2 hour wait) threw up in a trash can the whole time (when he wasn't hocking things into tissue).
On the way home (I figured I should go home and hide), my windshield had spots on it from the tree I had parked under, so I pushed the button for the squirter. It sprayed for about two seconds then the squirter nozzle flew over my car and the rest of the windshield fluid splatted onto my windshield. This is the car that I just bought new last year.
My husband and I went to the Outback last night we stopped by Sears (where I bought the cursed vacuum cleaner) but they don't have the belt either. It's a special order and could take a few weeks.
What the heck was I thinking? Of course, it couldn't be simple. Not with the way the rest of the day went.
Pam
********** EPILOGUE **********
I went to lunch with Linda, my friend who happens to be a psychiatrist. I told her about my day (see drama above). She said she’d love to do my astrological chart because I have “amazing shit clusters” in my life. I asked her what that was and she said that my life goes along very happy and wonderful for a long time then all of a sudden a cluster of bad shit happens at once. Like my karma saves it all up and unloads it at once. I asked her if “shit cluster” was a real-life psychiatric term, and she said, “It is now. I just made it up.”
“Shit Cluster” is an amazing phrase! It’s so appropriate for me.
~
Have you ever had a day go drastically wrong -- so wrong that it was amusing (day’s later)?
Here is a series of emails that I sent to my supervisor, Irma, and my coworker, Joyce, on just such a bad day in 2005 . . .
First email after I called and said I wouldn’t be in that morning because my home’s plumbing was backed up:
********** FIRST EMAIL **********
Hi there Irma & Joyce:
Well, the plumber hasn't called yet.
I checked with two of my neighbors and they aren't having any problems with their plumbing (of course they haven't spent a couple thousand dollars replacing their old lines like we have). I took the cap off the new outside cleanout between the house and the street, and air and sewage shot out for about 5 minutes - but hey, the water in the tubs and sinks went down!
I ran the garden hose down the cleanout and it hit something about 10 feet out (the line measures about 25 feet from the house to the sidewalk). I turned on the hose and water and sewage ran out of the cleanout, but the clog didn't clear.
So, well, the plumber hasn't called yet.
I never thought I'd say this, but I'd rather be at work doing reconciliations.
I'll keep you posted.
I love my job, I love my plumbing, I love my job, I love my plumbing . . .
(When I’m having a bad day at work, I chant, “I love my job. I love my job.” It makes everyone laugh and their laughter cheers me up.)
Oh, and did I tell you about all the ants that are invading my house because the ground is flooded from all this torrential rain????? At least the ant spray smell is covering up the sewage smell!
I love my job, I love my plumbing, I love my job, I love my plumbing . . .
********** SECOND EMAIL **********
Right about now, I'm thinking my horoscope for today is full of #&$*(%
Libra
(Sept. 23-Oct. 22)
Taking the analytical approach just won't work. You'd rather be part of what's happening instead of being removed from it by definitions and categories. You'll always look back on these few days as a fun time.
While I was waiting for the plumber to call, I smelled something that was a little stronger than the sewer smell. I traced it to the craft room and realized the automatic-scooping cat litter box had jammed. I cleaned it out and got it running again, and I decided to vacuum the little rug I have it on. The vacuum (that I just bought in October) started smoking. The belt broke and jammed up inside the stupid thing. I got it apart and yanked the belt out. The up side: the room now smells like burnt rubber instead of cat poopy.
Just then the plumber called. He'll be out "sometime today, hopefully this morning." Okay, that's better than nothing. He said, "Hey didn't we just put all new lines in your house?" I said yes through gritted teeth. When I hung up the phone, I noticed that the digital screen on the phone is broken.
My husband called (still no display on the stupid phone even though I plugged it into the reprogram port of the "mother ship" phone base that runs all the phones in the house) and he said he'd take me out to dinner at the Outback tonight. I said, "Hmmmm, they have alcohol. Okay, I'll go."
Can I please come to work and do reconciliations now?
No, no, I must stay and wait for the plumber. Good thing for him there aren't any weapons in the house . . .
********** THIRD EMAIL **********
I hate plumbers. They're like little dictators with wrenches. He still hasn't shown up. Supposedly, I'm next on the list. Yeah, right. They're on my list too.
The pool guy came by and he actually had good news. We are the only house they are working on right now that isn't knee deep in mud. Our yard is mostly sandy soil, so even now when you walk on it you just get wet sand on your shoes and not mud. He's going to send a crew out tomorrow to put up our block wall and start grading - whaa hooo! He told me that the gunite shell that we have right now doesn't hold water. The reason the pool is half filled with water is because our water table is that high in the ground right now! It's level with the street outside. It won't get any higher because we're 3 feet above grade. So basically all the houses in our city are sitting on a great big dirt water bed right now. Nice!
After the pool guy left, I thought my day was finally turning around, then my neighbor, MaryBeth, called and said her dad was in intensive care. He fell and hit his head and he's in a coma with blood on his brain. She called to tell me that she's leaving for the hospital but she's leaving her bedroom sliding glass door open so I can still use her bathroom. I hope I didn't pass the bad mojo whammy off on her when I was over there.
Oh well, at this rate, I'm not sure if I'm going to make it in. At this rate, I'm not sure I want to risk driving. No telling if my car's engine or transmission could handle it!
I'll keep you posted. Heck, what else can I do? I can't leave. I can't vacuum. I can't take a shower. I can't do dishes. I can't go to the bathroom (at least without crossing the street). That cat box is looking pretty handy right now. Good thing I fixed it.
********** FOURTH EMAIL **********
After the last email, I realized I had a very bad stomach ache (because I didn't want to go #2 at the neighbor's house). So I put on my big ugly sweatpants to relieve the pressure. It was THEN that the plumber showed up and they sent the CUTE guy. Here I am in my black sweatpants with 4 pounds of cat hair on them. So he cleared the clog in about 15 minutes and charged me $150.
It’s after 2pm, so I’m just not going to come in today.
********** FIFTH EMAIL **********
Hi - Update --
I went to the place where I've bought all my vacuum cleaner parts for the last 18 years and it's been sold to a guy who doesn’t know anything about vacuums and didn't have my vacuum cleaner belt. He’s turning the janitorial supply into a janitorial supply AND printing business. I left in disgust and went to get my shoulder xray I need for my appointment with the orthopaedic surgeon tomorrow. I made it through that okay except for the fact that the 90 year old guy that sat next to me (there were no other seats and about a 1/2 hour wait) threw up in a trash can the whole time (when he wasn't hocking things into tissue).
On the way home (I figured I should go home and hide), my windshield had spots on it from the tree I had parked under, so I pushed the button for the squirter. It sprayed for about two seconds then the squirter nozzle flew over my car and the rest of the windshield fluid splatted onto my windshield. This is the car that I just bought new last year.
My husband and I went to the Outback last night we stopped by Sears (where I bought the cursed vacuum cleaner) but they don't have the belt either. It's a special order and could take a few weeks.
What the heck was I thinking? Of course, it couldn't be simple. Not with the way the rest of the day went.
Pam
********** EPILOGUE **********
I went to lunch with Linda, my friend who happens to be a psychiatrist. I told her about my day (see drama above). She said she’d love to do my astrological chart because I have “amazing shit clusters” in my life. I asked her what that was and she said that my life goes along very happy and wonderful for a long time then all of a sudden a cluster of bad shit happens at once. Like my karma saves it all up and unloads it at once. I asked her if “shit cluster” was a real-life psychiatric term, and she said, “It is now. I just made it up.”
“Shit Cluster” is an amazing phrase! It’s so appropriate for me.
~
Planter Peanuts
.
This piece came to me when I was watering my planters on my side yard patio today. I thought it, but didn't have confidence that it would make sense to anyone but me. I didn't have the confidence that it was good enough to see the light of day on paper. I don't write flowery enough. I write too flowery. This is too mushy. This is too trite. This has no meaning. Sophmoric. Embarassing. Not worthy.
Then a blue jay landed a few feet from me. He was completely unafraid of the watering wand I held or the cat lounging on the nearby patio chair. The jay perched for a long time on the edge of one of my planters and just looked at me, his head turning quizzically from side to side. I've found a lot of unshelled peanuts in that planter. I immediately went in and wrote the piece down.
Planter Peanuts
I find fully shelled peanuts in the planters of my garden,
Spilling out with the soil when I replant,
Floating over rims when I overwater pots daydreaming,
Pushing into view aided by ambitious sprouts reaching toward nourishing sunlight.
Hidden gifts left to me by clever but forgetful blue jays and crows,
Precious cargo prized from generous neighborhood bird lovers,
Spirited away and stashed in hidey holes for leaner times,
Times when sustenance is not plentiful.
I find fully shelled peanuts in my life,
Gifts left to me by caring friends, teachers, coworkers, strangers,
Precious cargo of unearned smiles, offhanded remarks, and kind gestures,
Spirited away and stashed in hidey holes for leaner times,
Times when sustenance is not plentiful.
These gifts materialize when called but are sometimes unbidden,
Spilling forth when I replant my intentions and resolve,
Floating to consciousness when I daydream,
Pushing into view when ideas or revelations spring into thought.
I find fully shelled peanuts in my garden,
Sometimes it is just before the dawn,
And they seem to push the darkness away,
Popping into the growing light when I least expect it,
My wish is that you find fully shelled peanuts, too.
~
This piece came to me when I was watering my planters on my side yard patio today. I thought it, but didn't have confidence that it would make sense to anyone but me. I didn't have the confidence that it was good enough to see the light of day on paper. I don't write flowery enough. I write too flowery. This is too mushy. This is too trite. This has no meaning. Sophmoric. Embarassing. Not worthy.
Then a blue jay landed a few feet from me. He was completely unafraid of the watering wand I held or the cat lounging on the nearby patio chair. The jay perched for a long time on the edge of one of my planters and just looked at me, his head turning quizzically from side to side. I've found a lot of unshelled peanuts in that planter. I immediately went in and wrote the piece down.
Planter Peanuts
I find fully shelled peanuts in the planters of my garden,
Spilling out with the soil when I replant,
Floating over rims when I overwater pots daydreaming,
Pushing into view aided by ambitious sprouts reaching toward nourishing sunlight.
Hidden gifts left to me by clever but forgetful blue jays and crows,
Precious cargo prized from generous neighborhood bird lovers,
Spirited away and stashed in hidey holes for leaner times,
Times when sustenance is not plentiful.
I find fully shelled peanuts in my life,
Gifts left to me by caring friends, teachers, coworkers, strangers,
Precious cargo of unearned smiles, offhanded remarks, and kind gestures,
Spirited away and stashed in hidey holes for leaner times,
Times when sustenance is not plentiful.
These gifts materialize when called but are sometimes unbidden,
Spilling forth when I replant my intentions and resolve,
Floating to consciousness when I daydream,
Pushing into view when ideas or revelations spring into thought.
I find fully shelled peanuts in my garden,
Sometimes it is just before the dawn,
And they seem to push the darkness away,
Popping into the growing light when I least expect it,
My wish is that you find fully shelled peanuts, too.
~
Black Hole of Luck Memoir - Fishing with a Rifle
.
Fishing with a .22
When I was a young girl, I lived in Oklahoma on a large farm with my parents. We had several ponds on the farm which were favorite fishing spots for my mother and I. Almost every day during summer vacation, we would pack up our fishing gear and our .22 rifles and head out. The fishing gear was for the catfish: the rifles were for the water moccasins. If you’ve never seen a water moccasin up close, consider yourself lucky. They are a particularly mean and deadly variety of snake that are native to the mid-west. Unlike most snakes which won’t strike unless frightened or provoked, the water moccasin will bite you just because you’re there.
My mother and I would cast our lines into the pond and often a water moccasin would pop its head up next to the line bobber and start swimming toward shore. If we didn’t shoot them, they would slither up on land and try to bite us. I don’t believe in the senseless killing of animals, but besides self-defense, decreasing the water moccasin population also helped our livestock and dogs which used the ponds for drinking and bathing. Mom and I never caught very many fish, but we shot quite a few snakes.
When I turned 17, I joined the Air Force. Boot camp was a real challenge. After completing my first round of M-16 rifle qualifying, I was the only one in my flight of 60 women required to redo the shooting drill. Nervously, I shot my 100 rounds at the target using six different body positions: squatting, prone, standing, etc. After the drill instructor pulled in my target and counted the hits, he walked up to me and barked, “That’s twice you hit 99 out of 100. Where did a runt like you learn to shoot like that?”
Standing stiffly at attention and scared out of my wits, I answered, “Fishing, sir!”
I received a puzzled look and a marksmanship ribbon for my reply.
~
Fishing with a .22
When I was a young girl, I lived in Oklahoma on a large farm with my parents. We had several ponds on the farm which were favorite fishing spots for my mother and I. Almost every day during summer vacation, we would pack up our fishing gear and our .22 rifles and head out. The fishing gear was for the catfish: the rifles were for the water moccasins. If you’ve never seen a water moccasin up close, consider yourself lucky. They are a particularly mean and deadly variety of snake that are native to the mid-west. Unlike most snakes which won’t strike unless frightened or provoked, the water moccasin will bite you just because you’re there.
My mother and I would cast our lines into the pond and often a water moccasin would pop its head up next to the line bobber and start swimming toward shore. If we didn’t shoot them, they would slither up on land and try to bite us. I don’t believe in the senseless killing of animals, but besides self-defense, decreasing the water moccasin population also helped our livestock and dogs which used the ponds for drinking and bathing. Mom and I never caught very many fish, but we shot quite a few snakes.
When I turned 17, I joined the Air Force. Boot camp was a real challenge. After completing my first round of M-16 rifle qualifying, I was the only one in my flight of 60 women required to redo the shooting drill. Nervously, I shot my 100 rounds at the target using six different body positions: squatting, prone, standing, etc. After the drill instructor pulled in my target and counted the hits, he walked up to me and barked, “That’s twice you hit 99 out of 100. Where did a runt like you learn to shoot like that?”
Standing stiffly at attention and scared out of my wits, I answered, “Fishing, sir!”
I received a puzzled look and a marksmanship ribbon for my reply.
~
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Black Hole of Luck Memoir - The Bike Ride
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A few years ago, I lost 70 pounds by dieting and exercise (don't worry about getting jealous, I've gained it all back by now). My main exercise was bicycling. I would take off early on Saturday and Sunday mornings on a riverbed trail in Orange County, California, and ride to the beach and back, 24 miles round trip! I wore sweat pants and a sweatshirt over a bikini top and bike shorts. As the morning warmed up, I would take off the sweats and clip them to my clip rack behind my seat. The weight loss had gone to my head a little, and I enjoyed taking off the sweats and showing off my new thin body.
Well, you know what they say about pride.
There I was riding along the trail. Several people did a double take to watch me ride past on my bike. I thought smugly, “Hey, I’m looking good! I am so hot!” Once a man shouted out, “Excuse me!” I ignored him. I’m married, I thought, I can’t respond to your flirtatious advances. I knew I must have looked hot, because more and more people were turning to look at me. Some were even pointing. Life was good. I looked great.
Suddenly, a man riding the opposite direction than me on the trail, skidded to a stop and turning his bike around started to chase me on the trail shouting, “Hey, lady! Hey, lady! Stop!” I ignored him also, hoping that he would leave me alone and wasn’t some sort of stalker.
I peddled faster to get away. He peddled faster too and called out to me a few more times. "Hey, Lady!" I wondered what kind of sick freak would call someone lady while stalking them. I was convinced he was a sick puppy.
I peddled faster. He did too. Now I was getting worried. Should I scream? Should I skid to a halt, hop off my bike and try to run? Oh my gosh, I didn't think of driving men crazy when I lost all this weight! I'm going to die from beeing TOO hot! I peddled faster sure I was about to die.
His voice rang out again ---
“Lady, really, stop! Your bike’s on fire!”
I looked back behind my seat and sure enough, my bike was on fire. My sweat pants had slipped through the clip rack , and the friction of rubbing against the back tire had started them smoldering. Black smoke billowed from the fabric.
To make matters worse, when I stopped the pants burst into actual flames. The kind gentleman (who was panting like crazy because he'd been chasing me for about a half mile) helped me pull the clothes from the clip and stomped out the flames. It was then that I realized people had not been looking at me, but my smoking behind. I was hot all right, just not in the way I’d imagined!
~
A few years ago, I lost 70 pounds by dieting and exercise (don't worry about getting jealous, I've gained it all back by now). My main exercise was bicycling. I would take off early on Saturday and Sunday mornings on a riverbed trail in Orange County, California, and ride to the beach and back, 24 miles round trip! I wore sweat pants and a sweatshirt over a bikini top and bike shorts. As the morning warmed up, I would take off the sweats and clip them to my clip rack behind my seat. The weight loss had gone to my head a little, and I enjoyed taking off the sweats and showing off my new thin body.
Well, you know what they say about pride.
There I was riding along the trail. Several people did a double take to watch me ride past on my bike. I thought smugly, “Hey, I’m looking good! I am so hot!” Once a man shouted out, “Excuse me!” I ignored him. I’m married, I thought, I can’t respond to your flirtatious advances. I knew I must have looked hot, because more and more people were turning to look at me. Some were even pointing. Life was good. I looked great.
Suddenly, a man riding the opposite direction than me on the trail, skidded to a stop and turning his bike around started to chase me on the trail shouting, “Hey, lady! Hey, lady! Stop!” I ignored him also, hoping that he would leave me alone and wasn’t some sort of stalker.
I peddled faster to get away. He peddled faster too and called out to me a few more times. "Hey, Lady!" I wondered what kind of sick freak would call someone lady while stalking them. I was convinced he was a sick puppy.
I peddled faster. He did too. Now I was getting worried. Should I scream? Should I skid to a halt, hop off my bike and try to run? Oh my gosh, I didn't think of driving men crazy when I lost all this weight! I'm going to die from beeing TOO hot! I peddled faster sure I was about to die.
His voice rang out again ---
“Lady, really, stop! Your bike’s on fire!”
I looked back behind my seat and sure enough, my bike was on fire. My sweat pants had slipped through the clip rack , and the friction of rubbing against the back tire had started them smoldering. Black smoke billowed from the fabric.
To make matters worse, when I stopped the pants burst into actual flames. The kind gentleman (who was panting like crazy because he'd been chasing me for about a half mile) helped me pull the clothes from the clip and stomped out the flames. It was then that I realized people had not been looking at me, but my smoking behind. I was hot all right, just not in the way I’d imagined!
~
ABOUT_Black Hole of Luck Memoirs
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I used to love those "soup" books with all their warm fuzzy stories, but after a while they got a little mundane. Besides, life isn't really like that for me. My life is not warm or fuzzy most of the time. Most of the time really weird things happen to me. There are no books for stories that would be a part of my life. My life is just too disfunctional.
So one day, when a man was on the hood of my car while I was on a busy boulevard and I had 911 on my cell phone trying to get someone to come and take him off, I came up with the idea of "The Black Hole of Luck Memoirs." These are stories of weirdness that happens in my life. I hope you enjoy them.
If any of you have a "Black Hole of Luck" tale, feel free to post it here. I'm thinking about creating a book of these stories one day, so if you'd like for your story to be considered, put your email address in the post. I moderate my posts, so I'll make sure to record your email address and name, but I'll take it out before I post it to the blog to protect your privacy.
What constitutes a "Black Hole of Luck" tale? Something that happened to you or someone you know that is so darn weird or unlucky that it is funny. No one can get killed in your story or permanently maimed. Read some of my tales, and I think you'll get the idea.
You'll recognize the Black Hole of Luck tales because their titles start with Black Hole of Luck Memoirs. Thanks for reading!
~
I used to love those "soup" books with all their warm fuzzy stories, but after a while they got a little mundane. Besides, life isn't really like that for me. My life is not warm or fuzzy most of the time. Most of the time really weird things happen to me. There are no books for stories that would be a part of my life. My life is just too disfunctional.
So one day, when a man was on the hood of my car while I was on a busy boulevard and I had 911 on my cell phone trying to get someone to come and take him off, I came up with the idea of "The Black Hole of Luck Memoirs." These are stories of weirdness that happens in my life. I hope you enjoy them.
If any of you have a "Black Hole of Luck" tale, feel free to post it here. I'm thinking about creating a book of these stories one day, so if you'd like for your story to be considered, put your email address in the post. I moderate my posts, so I'll make sure to record your email address and name, but I'll take it out before I post it to the blog to protect your privacy.
What constitutes a "Black Hole of Luck" tale? Something that happened to you or someone you know that is so darn weird or unlucky that it is funny. No one can get killed in your story or permanently maimed. Read some of my tales, and I think you'll get the idea.
You'll recognize the Black Hole of Luck tales because their titles start with Black Hole of Luck Memoirs. Thanks for reading!
~
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Launch Post for Pam Drums Blog
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Well this is the start of it -- altough I'm not quite sure what "it" will be. I'll keep it fluid to leave my options open.
About me:
I'm currently in an MFA in Creative Writing program. So a lot of what I think about is writing and trying to keep up with my school work.
I currently work as a finance director for a large state run university. So some of what I think about is related to that.
I am a mom of 3 and a grandma of 3. So the rest of my brain capacity goes there.
So I'm about at 110% of processing capacity. This will be an outlet for that pesky 10% that needs to go somewhere!
Pam Drum
Well this is the start of it -- altough I'm not quite sure what "it" will be. I'll keep it fluid to leave my options open.
About me:
I'm currently in an MFA in Creative Writing program. So a lot of what I think about is writing and trying to keep up with my school work.
I currently work as a finance director for a large state run university. So some of what I think about is related to that.
I am a mom of 3 and a grandma of 3. So the rest of my brain capacity goes there.
So I'm about at 110% of processing capacity. This will be an outlet for that pesky 10% that needs to go somewhere!
Pam Drum
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