Category Archives: #Letters of the Alphabet/ABC

The Alphabet Series The Letter N

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Photo by Ichad Windhiagiri

The New Normal

Who knew this would be the new normal

Toes that no longer wiggle, giggle or dance, they sleep

Then suddenly cry, “Sudden leg syndrome is attacking my feet.”

Hands that can’t twist open a door

Or flip pages any more

Kitchen tops decorated with items I don’t want not forget

A part of my brain

Ridge in thought

Like stiff knees reluctant to bend

Grey cells will not receive or send

Exhausted and depleted

Comfort myself with food Mama cooked best

Meatloaf and mash-potatoes

Gives my cerebellum a rest

So, what if I forget to lock a door, a date, a score. . . and more

I’m old, invisible, and small

Don’t fret_____ explore!

Close your eyes, remember your youth and come with me

Imagine places we have never been before

                                                               . . .just saying

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J is for Junk Drawer

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Marshall says, “Every Man Needs a Junk Drawer.”

My husband, of 52 years, walked into the kitchen and asked, “Have you seen my what-ch-ma- thing?”

I knew exactly what he is talking about because he had on glasses and was holding a plastic tube of wood glue.

“You wanted the who-GA-ma-call-it put back together, and I need it.” He stammered and shook his head; his eyes focused on a ceiling corner in an attempt to retrieve the information.

I relished his sputtering, because earlier in the day our discussion about his health ended with him yelling, “You’re right, you’re always right, but you can’t make me do it.” And me leaving the room to avoid a fist fight.

He followed me with comments about who was right versus wrong, and smashed his toes, which hung over the front of his slippers, into the floor molding; and consequently hipped hopped about, flamingo style, scrunching his face like a shriveled prune and swearing, . . . shit. . . shit. . . shit.

I gave him no sympathy.

After rubbing his toes, he blurted out the real issue, “Why can’t we have a junk drawer?”

Yes, you heard right, we do not have a junk drawer. I am philosophically opposed to the concept and wonder why people accumulate items, they do not want and have no need for; useless items, that fill a complete kitchen drawer.

“We have managed for fifty two years with out a kitchen drawer bursting with rubbish. Why would you want one now!” I yelled back.

“Marshal says every man needs a junk drawer, all the guys have one, I’m the only one who doesn’t.”

“Marshal says? Okay,. . . You want a junk drawer, for things you have no use for but, want to keep just in case. I get it, and what would you put in this drawer?” I asked.

“My who-Ga-ma-call-it, golf balls and golf tees, I don’t know, STUFF!” He answered.

“Don’t you keep golf balls and tees in your golf bag? And the what-ch-ma-thing is in your tool box.”

“You’re right, you’re right, I hate it when you’re right!”

…just saying

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Wikipedia definition (A junk drawer or junkdrawer is a drawer used for storing small, miscellaneous, occasionally useful objects of little to no (or unclear) monetary value, and possibly significant sentimental value. Junk drawers are often located in residential kitchens, but they may exist anywhere with cabinetry or furniture used for storage, including home offices or workshops, and even commercial workplaces and businesses. The phrase “junk drawer” appears to be an Americanism dating to the early 1900s.)

      

The Alphabet Series H is for Hanky Panky

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The Alphabet Series

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New Thoughts on Words

H is for hanky panky, two words joined by alliteration, not meaning.

Tommy James and the Shondell’s song, “My baby does the hanky panky”, creates a picture of a couple making out in a 1966 Mustang convertible. There is a mischievous fooling around atmosphere and we know the girl is easy.

But what is hanky panky?

Webster’s (Standard Reference Works Publishing Co. 1956) definition; The meaningless professional talk of a juggler or magician, jugglery or legerdemain.

Sounds like politicians talking about the sequestration.

The term hanky panky is sighted in the first edition of Punch magazine Volume 1 September 1841.

In London, a con-man said to a judge in court; “Only a little hanky-panky, my lud. The people likes it; they loves to be cheated before their faces. One, two, three-presto-begone. I’ll show your ludship as pretty a trick of putting a piece of money in your eye and taking it from your elbow, as you ever beheld.”

A later reference is from George Bernhard Shaw’s Geneva, 1939:

She: No hanky panky. I am respectable; and I mean to keep respectable.

He: I pledge you my word that my intentions are completely honorable.

Hanky panky makes us think things are unethical, and referenced as Hocus Pocus or Hokey Pokey, grew in popularity when sexy and illicit acts were included.

It was playful and school children wiggled to the hokey pokey to practice eye hand coordination skills.

The closest we can get to that ridiculous fun for all is the Harlem Shake.

Google Hanky Panky and you will discover many companies sell lingerie and naughty items, but only one company makes the lace.

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Klauber Brothers is a sixth generation family business and creators of an exclusive Signature Lace for Hanky Panky, a leader in intimate apparel.

The Klauber family was lucky to escape the treacherous trickery that forced them to surrender their business and never considered they would be in the  hanky panky business. They fled Nazis Germany on the SS Manhattan. It was the last boat to America in 1939.

Their story and craftmanship adds sobering thoughts to hanky panky, but I still hear lyrics in my head and think about a randition of the Harlem Shake, me mouthing the words…My baby does the hanky panky. I saw her walkin’ on down the line You know I saw her for the very first time A pretty little girl standin’ all alone “Hey pretty baby, can I take you home?”

…just saying

                                                                                        

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Z is for Zigzaggery

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New Thoughts on Words

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Photography by Patrick Latter

 

Instead of writing about zucchini bread, I thought this up. It is zany….

Z is for Zigzaggery

Zig-zagging along through life

Swimming the course with zest and zeal

Then zap!

A  hand grenade is tossed in your lap

Swerve and sway, get out of the way

Make sharp turns and alterations

Zoom in the zone

Experience Zen . . . . aka; zero expectations

Duck and Dodge, or escape to other zip code destinations

Zigzaggery is not a trip to Zeeland, Zanzibar or a vacation

You are at a zoo, the zebra’s have lost their stripes and duck tape is the only salvation

Zigzaggery! 

Here on earth we call it life

. . . . just saying

l7c5645Patrick Latter’s picture, he used photography skill to create the zigzag picture at the top

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I is for Indignant Indigestion

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Aging & Attitude

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New Thoughts on Words

What do Sheryl Sandberg, Susan Patton and Yvonne Brill have in Common? Indignation, all three women have reason to be angry about accusations thrown their way.

Megan Daum’s thoughts under a headline, “Mrs. Degree? Maybe” highlights the controversy and raises the question again, husband or career? Daum writes for the Los Angeles Times.

Susan Patton got herself into trouble writing a letter to the Daily Princetonian suggesting female students check out the pool of eligible man on campus before graduation. Then attempting to clarify, shot herself in the foot, suggesting a professional life is not fulfilling.

Sheryl Sandberg, COO of Facebook and best-selling author, advises woman to “lean in”. Statistics confirm that women have a problem advancing and Sandberg outlines the criteria to fix it; sit at the table and keep your hand up, make partners real partners and don’t leave until you leave.

Yvonne Brill is deceased and cannot defend a preference to being called Mrs. and comments, “Good men are harder to find than a good job.” However many were offended by a New York Times obituary beginning with, “She made a mean beef stroganoff.”

A rocket scientist might consider that more of an accomplishment. The pertinent question, was she equally compensated with male counterparts?

These three women, unlike men, are being criticized in the media for their decisions regarding work, marriage and family.

Women are judged for their choices, and even Hilary Clinton was defined by her hair when Secretary of State, as will John Kerry.

Would we be having this discussion if Sandberg, Patton and Brill were male?

So what’s it all about Alfie?

The issue is a woman’s identity.

Women conflicted over life choices, feel guilty and a person’s identity cannot be founded on guilt.

If a man wishes to be a beer drinking- Belcher and farter, the world does not attempt to persuade him otherwise. If he wants to be president, that is fine too.

Some things are hard to swallow but we do and realize after, it was a mistake and indigestion is sure to follow.

Please pass me the pepto-bismol.

…just saying

G is for Gaudy

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Aging & Attitude

The Alphabet Series – New Thoughts on Words

Gaudy is a word I heard as a child. My mother used the adjective to describe styles not to her liking. Designs she considered garish, ornate, flashy, kitschy, tasteless, vulgar, and extravagant. Our neighbor’s orange velvet sectional is a good example. The French Provincial Couch covered in plastic stuck to the back of your thighs in the summer and cracked when you sat in the winter. The iridescent fluted fruit bowl filled with shiny fake red apples and ornate oranges that decorated their dining room table was in my mother’s words, “poor taste.”

She told me “Gaudy is derived from an eccentric architect, famous for constructing some God-awful cathedral in Spain.”

The true impact of the word is captured by a visual of the works of Antoni Gaudi, the architect. As an adult I was fortunate to visit Barcelona and view the site she talked about.

Gaudi, born in 1852, is famous for his elaborate ornate architectural style. The Sagrada Familia  has been under construction since 1882 and expected to be completed in 2024. That is a 142 year project funded by private donations.

My mother knew about Gaudi but learned her sense of style from her father, Achilles DeSalvo, Pop-Pop to me.

Called Charlie, and never trendy, faddish or snazzy, he knew how to dress.  His family owned a tailor shop in Manhattan called DeSalvo & DeSalvo.

I loved him dearly.

Summertime, Saturday morning, Pop-Pop would take the Long Island Railroad to the Westbury station. He arrived wearing a blue seersucker suit, straw hat and spectator shoes, an afternoon addition of the Herald Tribune under his arm.

He wore cuff-links and his nails were polished.

We waited with great expectation for him to remove his suit jacket, and get comfortable in a chair. Surrounded by his four grandchildren he would unwrap one Mounds Bar and divide each half,  in half  for us to share.

But the best was yet to come.

Concealed in a breast pocket was a cigar.  The  cigar ban was presented to one of us and worn as a ring, for the day or week…depending on how long we made it last.

We never moaned or complained. We stood with hope and felt his love.

My grandfather got me my first real job at the Plaza Hotel.

Occasionally he would say, “Meet me on the northwest corner of 55th street and Madison on Tuesday at noon, and we’ll go to lunch”.

I did.

There was nothing ornate, flashy, gaudy or extravagant about his love. It was genuine. His style memorable.

 ….just saying