Grand Theft Auto? Bonnie? Say It Ain't So!

If you know my sister Sandy, you already know that she is the Queen of Doing Right, right? OK, that's what I thought until this past Saturday, when I learned that she almost went up the river (or is is "down the river").

Here's "her" version of the story. After a long day of shopping and acquiring, Bonnie and Renata were desparate to find a nail shop that did eyelashes. This was to be the LAST STOP before they went home. The trunk is full, the back seat is full and they, too are full. The only problem is that their regular nail shop was full of clients so they decided to stop at one of the other 500 shops that lay between them and the house. After stopping at 9 or so shops, they were both fed up, but decided to try "just one more". Many of the shops didn't do eyelashes or were also swamped, so when they found one, they were thrilled.

The nail tech started on Renata first so Bonnie decided to go out to the car. She took the keys and stepped right outside the door and "click click" went the remote. She did the logical thing and got into the grey Camry and closed the door.

She's tired, but immediately noticed that the entire back seat is clear. Her first thought was - I swear she said this - wonder when Renata had time to clear the back seat. Keep in mind that she had been with Renata like a siamese twin for 7 days! Then she looked at the console and noticed that NONE of the crap that Renata usually stored there - was there. It was absolutely clear. At this point, she looks over at the car next to her, which is ALSO a grey Camry. Only then did she realize that she was in the WRONG CAR!

In a bonafide baby panic, she slides out of the car and casually steps back onto the sidewalk and into the shop. I'm not sure what kind of nail service the owner of that car was having performed, but clearly, it involved having her eyes covered and/or poked out. She also must have been very naive, because I have a habit of checking out my car when I can see it from a shop/store. When I see someone ELSE sitting in MY car, I tend to go about checking that crap out, you know?

Anyway, when the swat squad didn't tackle Bonnie upon re-entering the shop, she then proceeded to go BACK out again and try to enter the right car. (In some circles, this is called returning to the scene of the crime.) Anyway, she got whatever the heck she wanted out of the car and went back inside (again).

Now, ya'll know the REAL DEAL, Bonnie has a little teeny weeny bit of thug in her. Nice on the outside -- potential grand theft auto person on the inside.

Moral of this story -- when you are in a shop, periodically check your car out to see if Bonnie (or anyone else) is in it.

Moral #2 -- If you are looking for a better car...I'm just sayin'

One Boob or Two?

Some of you may have heard this story before, but I got tickled about it today and had to share.

Maya was in the backseat of my car and asked me (what I perceived to be) a provocative question. She asked me what a boob was.

Here I was thinking -- Where (and why) is she hearing this stuff? Who is talking about boobs to her and why are they doing that? Why won't they stop? When I find said person, should I hurt them? A myriad of questions ran through my mine and I decided to take the high road. Time for a lesson in anatomy.

I explained how "boob" was a word that people used to describe breasts. I expanded on that to say that it was not a nice word and that she needed to be sure and use the "right" word and that I didn't think that nice girls used that word. On and on I went, extolling the virtues of using the right words and avoiding the wrong words.

I finally took a breath and Maya said "Hey Gigi, why would the girl on TV call her brother a boob?" That's when I realized that I should have asked for more information. It would have saved the "boob" talk for later.

I learned my lesson though. When Maya asked me today if I thought it would be ok if Chance (Jamylle's live dog) and her life size (stuffed) dog could "mate", I almost slammed into a tree and then I reminded myself to ask a (calm) follow up question. I said "what do you mean by mate?" She giggled and said, "You know, Gigi, mate means to be girlfriend and boyfriend and go on dates." Before I turned blue from holding my breath, I exhaled and said "Sure, baby, maybe they can mate."

Whew!

Hey Garlin'

Mama always KNEW when we needed her. There were times when I was sick or just plain sad and Mama would call and ask how I was doing and before the end of our conversation, I just felt better. Maybe not great, but certainly better. Somehow, she just KNEW.

So, when she died, there was a gaping hole. So much so, that in the days after her death, I didn't want to be alone, I didn't want to think too hard about who and how to fill that hole. So, I found myself "needing" company. Me and Renata, Me and Maya, Me and Alex, but rarely just me. I didn't want to be alone.

This was one of those "me and Renata" trips. We were in the car, and Maya happened to be in the back seat. Renata and I were having one of those conversations that don't require thinking -- we were just talking to fill the empty space. When, out of the blue, Maya said "Hey Garlin".

Cue slo mo. Renata and I looked at each other to confirm that we had both heard what we heard. We looked to confirm that it wasn't a bad dream, that we hadn't just misunderstood what 4 year old Maya had just said.

Let me explain. When any of us called Mama on the phone, her usual response was "Hey Darlin". She said it so sweetly that it disarmed you. Even if you called to fuss a little bit, that "hey darlin" just moved you to a whole 'nother place. Mama's "hey darlin" was the sweetest sound that I imagined. It was so sweet that when I couldn't hear it from her, I imagined her whispering it in my ear. So, it was with total shock and surprise, that Renata and I both realized that Maya, in her baby-speak, had just voiced Mama's very personal greeting.

Back to the car incident. We didn't say anything for a while, we just looked at each other and then looked away. I'm not sure which one of us finally got the nerve to risk sounding crazy by saying "Did you hear that? Did she say that?" At that momemt with no prompting, she said it again.

Hey Garlin'

We didn't tell anyone because we didn't need to tell anyone. That message was just for us, because we needed to hear it. For the next few days, intermittenly, like windshield wipers on the slowest speed, Maya would say "Hey Garlin". Having moved from shock to acceptance, we simply smiled, then as quickly as she started saying "Hey Garlin", she simply stopped.

We asked her, even begged her to repeat the greeting. We'd say, "Say it, Maya, say Hey Darlin", then we resorted to "Hey Garlin" and she'd give us that blank look that every baby gives when they just don't get it. No more "Hey Garlin"s came forth, but that's when we realized that we didn't really need them anymore.

Just like Mama. She gave us what we needed when we needed it most. In death, just like in life, Mama knew when we needed her and she was there for us. Then she was gone.

Goodnight, Garlin'

The "N" word - revisited with kiddies - read and learn

Here I am in my regular position as chauffeur to the kids, really, they are really more like young ladies. Any-who, I'm up in front driving the little Miss Daisies. In this adventure, it's Maya and Ciara.

Always ready to tune in to the back seat drama, I almost lost it when Maya says, "Gigi, a boy at my school said the "n" word." Poor little Ciara chimed in with "What's that?" Maya, ever the smart mouth (being older and all, at 8 as opposed to Ciara's 6) responded with "Nothing you need to know."

Ciara was NOT about to be outdone. She said "I know what it is"

Maya replied "Whatever you do, don't say it, but you can spell it."

Time out -- I KNOW that I should have stopped them, but I was curious, that they were even HAVING this conversation at ages 6 and 8. You may think that YOU would have stopped them, but you wouldn't have - trust me. Back to the story.

Ciara clears her throat and starts to spell.

"N" she said loudly and I started to interject something about inappropriateness, then I heard the next letter.

"U", "T', "H", "E","A", "D".
Yeah, she had spelled NUTHEAD.

NOW was the time for that the speech about inappropriateness. We talked about name calling and how we shouldn't do that at any time to anyone. I think that Maya really knew the whole truth, but she also knew that we needed to let the story end....right....there.

Out of the mouth of babes...

Don't Pit On Yo Mama

Remember those family functions that lasted all day and included so many people that in some way or another were related to you, but you didn't know even one third of them? These events mostly occurred around holidays (or funerals), but there was always lots of food and lots of family.

It was at one of these shin-digs (I'm finding myself using these old lady words recently) that I found myself. I was holding my then six month old baby girl. Oh, I was so proud of Marixa and I was taking every precaution to be sure that she was well taken care of. I had AT LEAST 6 cute outfits in her diaper bag and I may have even squeezed in a few diapers (LOL). I had pacifiers, burp cloths, etc. etc. You name it - I had it in that diaper bag.

Anyway, one of Maya's very, very distant cousins was talking to her as I had her perched on my shoulder. At 6 months, MAYA was slobbering all over the place, but when it's YOUR baby, that's cute slob, so I had placed a cute little "burp cloth" on my shoulder to catch most of it.

What I didn't count on was her 4 year old little cousin's abrupt reaction to Maya's slobbering. When I knew anything, she hollered out "DON'T PIT ON YO MAMA" and promptly slapped my 6 month old baby! It wasn't a hard slap, but a slap none the less. (Cue slo mo) I was in shock, wondering how bad it would be for me to slap this 4 year old. As I sat there looking at this future prison warden, I realized that she was trying to do her best to help me out, but dang, it was still my 6 month old baby.

I decided to NOT slap this little girl, but I gave her a serious case of the stank eye. Word to the wise, keep your babies up high. Let them admire them from afar.

Fast forward, I really do think that the 4 year old in question, is currently working in the prison system. That chick had started her training 25 years ago. If she continued her "training" (as I think she might have), she is probably slapping those criminals straight into next week!

Cheerleader Legs - Pass 'Em On!

When Maya and Joy are in the back seat of the car, there is no lack of conversation. Although I often have the radio on in front, I always have one ear trained to the rear seat conversing. I can never predict what the topic will be. As an example, last week brought conversations about the National Anthem with talk of some changes (Oh, say can you pee? That cracked them up).

At one point, I heard Maya say "Yeah, I have cheerleader legs. Got 'em from my mom. She was a cheerleader." I just couldn't resist adding something here (mainly cause you just don't many opportunities to add this), so I said "Hey, Gigi was a cheerleader too!". Maya didn't skip a beat when she added "OK, if you were a cheerleader, you can pass on the cheerleader legs too." I thought, hey, no problem, so I agreed. There was a moment of silence.

Then Maya said "OK, I'm ready"

"For what?" I asked.

"For you to pass the cheerleader legs" she said simply.

"I don't know how" (this was the truth)

"Just say it"

"Say what?"

"Pass it"

OK, I thought, if it's that simple, I'll bite, so I said "Pass it"

Another moment of silence as if the transfer needed a minute to soak in.

Then, perfectly satisfied that she had been imbued with the cheerleader leg gene, Maya smiled, turned to Joy and said, "When I grow up, I'll pass these cheerleader legs on to you."

I Knew I Could Rock - Now I Know I Can Roll

I love to party! I love adventure! I love trying new things! But, I almost lost my mind this past week when I tried to take one 90 year old (Daddy) and two 8 year olds (Maya and Joy) to lunch at Piccadilly and then to the movies to see Shrek. Trust me, one of those "events" would have been sufficient to meet the crazy quota for one day, but noooooo, I had to shoot for the moon.

Piccadilly is one of Dad's fave spots. He ALWAYS get the same thing - 18 fried shrimp, carrot souffle (shhh, don't tell his nurse!), whole kernel corn (you can tell her about that), cornbread and tea. They are so familiar with us at Piccadilly that I shout out when I'm entering "Please drop me 18 fried shrimp!" Yeah, I say "drop" - but hey, that's what they say. The important thing is that they "drop" it and it's ready by the time and I scoot up and get the veggies ordered. Got that routine down pat, but the girls threw a monkey wrench in it. First, I had to almost FIGHT them to get them past the salads, jellos and desserts, then, there was the long, drawn out decision before they chose the things they always eat at home. Good news is that we finally got the food, got seated and finished up.

Think we are headed to the movies? Not quite. We have to make a stop at WalGreen's to get "movie candy". I wasn't prepared to take out a second mortgage to be able to make a purchase at the movie concession stand, so off we go to WalGreen's. Oh, they were mesmerized by the variety and I was thrilled with the price! We made our choices - SnoCaps for Maya, Swedish Fish for Joy, Lorna Doone crackers and cashews for dad. Don't worry, I had also previously frozen 3 small bottles of water and had those stashed in my purse! NOW, we are ready for the movies!

OK, we go through the adventure of finding a parking spot (at Phipps Plaza!) only to find that the 3-D version of Shrek is almost 45 minutes away! Off we go to Chick-Fil-A for ice cream (shhh, don't tell Dad's nurse). By the time, we get this purchased and consumed (choosing a table took 15 minutes of debate), we were finally ready for the movie. $39 dollars later, we were in the movies and I was passing out all the contraband (candy and water) from my purse. Only then did I realize that I didn't have anything for myself!

Off I go to the snack bar and $12.25 later, I was in possession of a large popcorn and a large fruit punch. I go back, sit in my seat and start to watch the movie. I was so ticked at having spent $12 on popcorn that I took the bag from WalGreen and emptied the large bag of popcorn into it and headed back to the snack bar to get my "free" refill. What I didn't count on was (1) the darkness of the theater and (2) dad's feet being stuck out in the aisle. As I attempted to step over where his feet SHOULD have been, I came down on where they ACTUALLY were. I didn't want to step on Daddy's feet, so I went into a forward roll. I SWEAR! I rolled onto my back -- (cue slow-motion), and as I was rolling, all I was thinking was (1) don't let all this crap come out of my purse and (2) where is my empty popcorn bag.

Good News! I stuck the dismount and landed on my bottom (the cushiest part!). More good news - my purse was still filled with crap and my empty popcorn bag was in my hand. I proceeded to the snack bar and thrust my empty bag toward the snack bar attendant. She looked at me strangely, but she obediently re-filled my bar and I proudly went back to my seat with my "free" refill. I didn't realize til I returned to my seat that I had worn my 3D glasses at the snack bar (hence the strange look).

The lesson is that I ALWAYS knew I could rock but I now know that (when I need to), I can also roll!

I Wouldn't Want To Disappoint My Mother

When we made the exchange in the parking lot of the Center for Puppetry Arts (CfPA), there were very few instructions. However, one of the most emphasized points required a demo. Faith actually opened Joy's bag, pulled out a stocking cap and said, "Whatever you do, you MUST have her sleep in this stocking cap". That may sound a little intense for hair care instructions, but you have to understand that we are talking about FRESH braids! Faith had painstakingly braided Joy's hair in a circular pattern with little purple beads. So, under threat of death (or so it seemed), I promised (I think there was some kind of oath) that I would do my duty and insist that she sleep in the stocking cap.

This exchange was followed by viewing of Paul Bunyan's Tall Tale Adventures at the CfPA, the on-site museum, lunch at the Varsity, a visit with Daddy, grocery store, then home. Side note: I tried to impress upon Maya the need to preface any of her "stories" with "this is a tall tale". She tends to make up some long drawn out stories that get you all hyped up, then she laughs and says "just kidding". So, you know me, Ms Learning Opportunity, I tried to explain that a tall tale is an untruth, but you usually tell people UP FRONT. That worked for about 10 minutes, then we were back with the J/K at the end of her "stories." Can't blame a Gigi for trying, right? Anyway, I digress from the original (not tall) tale.

That night, we (Joy, Maya and me) were all as tired as little babies that had been played with all day long, but I ran some bath water for them, let them play for 10 minutes, got them to brush their teeth and they each picked out a book to take to bed. I had it laid out on the bed (the stocking cap), but Joy didn't see it. She says, with dramatic urgency, as is her style, "GIGI, LET'S NOT FORGET MY HAIR THING. I WOULDN'T WANT TO DISAPPOINT MY MOTHER!" Everything stopped for a minute, as I imagined how wonderful life would be if we could surgically implant this statement into the head of every child in every land. What if they were getting ready to do something and that statement "I wouldn't want to disappoint my mother" would pop up (cartoon balloon style) above their head. I think that that would give them time to imagine their mother's face and quite possibly change some behaviors.

But, for that moment, when Joy spoke those magical and beautiful words, I stopped, walked over, kissed her forehead and put that stocking cap on her head, because I realized that I didn't want to disappoint her mother either.

Bodily Functions That End Meetings and Discussions

Free at last, free at last, Thank God Almighty, I'm free at last! This is what I say each time I think about my retirement status. "Free?" you ask? "From what?" you ask? Well, there are so many things that I HAD to do while working that I no longer have to do. One of the things that I no longer have to do is keep a fresh stash of excuses. Don't get all high falootin' on me. You KNOW good and well that you saved up some excuses to use for those special times that you were late/absent/asleep/whatever and you just KNEW that you better have what the boss would refer to as a "good reason" for the above.

Well, face it. Death is a good excuse (not yours, but some distant relative), but you can only use this so many times. Plus, with death, you can't make the dead person too close to you (cause you'd have to be sad all that day), nor too distant (cause you wouldn't need the "time off" for the funeral/wake/whatever). So, you really had to save up the "death card" for when you were really in a jam.

So, I was always open and alert for EFFECTIVE excuses people gave to excuse themselves. For discussion sake, I will only present two for your reading pleasure. Oh yeah, the names are withheld to protect the guilty, also in case they are still using said excuses.

The first excuse was presented during a HUGE conference. We had brought in people from all over the country to attend this function. We had spent gobs of money on lunches, brunches and munchies. We had secured speakers and killed many, many trees to present the requisite number of handouts that would assure that these folks had been to a GOOD conference. After all this expense, there was NO "good reason" to be late for any of these sessions. When this stylishly dressed woman walked in late for a session, I was thinking, ohhhhh, she's gonna get it. The boss was giving her the stank-eye, waiting to hear her excuse, when she loudly proclaimed that she had just experienced "EXPLOSIVE DIARHEA!" Yeah, I know. I, too was speechless. Not only did she stride right to her seat, there was no further discussion of any type and it was never spoken of again. I gave her cool points for (1) being stylishly dressed and (2) adding the adjective "explosive". That was the discussion closer.

The second excuse was on a much smaller scale, but just as effective. Stuck like Chuck in a one-on-one meeting that droned on and on with unecessary detail and repetition, this person told me that they didn't know how to end the meeting, yet keep their job. Mother Nature came to the rescue with a build up of flatulance (gas). My friend told me that they didn't know what to do to hold it back. They tried squirming, clenching and holding their breath. At a certain point, my friend came to the conclusion that Mother Nature had provided this weapon for a reason. My friend was grateful that this was the silent, but deadly version and they knew they had hit pay dirt (if you will) when the person doing all the talking suddenly stopped, widened their eyes and gave this stunned expression. Within 2 minutes, the meeting came to an abrupt end. Like the previous example, this was never spoken of again.

In conclusion -- USE your bodily functions if you need to end meetings or discussions. Just make sure that I'm not around when you do it. Thanking you (profusely) in advance. If you need to use either of the above excuses, You're Welcome!

Got Gran-Maw?

If you've had more than one conversation with me, you've heard about Maya, my seven year old (soon to be eight!) grand daughter. Like every other grandmother-to-be, I was totally in love with Maya the very instant that I saw her! However, I was NOT (and am NOT) in love with the handle of "Granny!" I was so very afraid that Maya would call me Granny, that I announced that I would certainly NOT be called granny under any circumstances. Every time I thought about it, I pictured the little grey-haired matriarch of the Beverly Hillbillies fame. I even imagined my face over Granny's as Jed took her away from the mountains. I just couldn't bear it.

That's when I became Gigi! Unlike the moniker "Granny", this one, Gigi, sounded jazzy and snazzy, in other words, it sounded like me! When Maya came home from the hospital, I spent hours and hours just a few inches from her pretty little baby face, saying "I'm your Gigi." I just felt that repeating it many times a day to her would assure that I would not become stuck with Granny or possibly something worse.

For the first few years, it was pure bliss. Maya was totally down with me being not just Gigi, but HER Gigi. I was loving it, she was loving it and all was right with the world!

Then, one fateful day, after school, Maya climbed into her mom's car and was in a very sad mood. When asked what was wrong, Maya announced that everyone in her class had a grandmother and some even had two and she was sad because she didn't have any at all! Boy oh boy, was she happy when Marixa told her that I was her grand-maw. Yep, that's how Marixa decided to tell her, that I was her grand-maw. To Maya's delight, she immediately insisted on calling me on the phone and when I answered, she said "Guess what, Gigi, YOU'RE my Grand-maw!" You can imagine that I was not nearly as excited as she was.

From that point on, really, for about 6 months, Maya took any opportunity to loudly announce, "That's my grand-maw!" She was beaming so proudly when she said it, that I was sometimes able to mask my grimace. Over time, I got used to it, but I still didn't like it.

One of my better days came, when, satisfied that everyone on this planet had been notified that I was her grand-maw, Maya slowly went back to me being "her Gigi." What a freakin' relief! I'm still trying to scrub that Granny in the rocking chair out of my head, but life is good, cause I'm Maya's Gigi, plain and simple!

Don't Ask, Don't Tell (About the Hat)

Seriously, Daddy must have between 50 - 60 baseball caps. I hasten to add that he has never played baseball, doesn't follow any teams of any type and hates to be outside for too long. Why so many???? The hats are all about fashion! Uh huh, I said Fashion! My daddy is 90 years old, but he has always been a fashionista (of the dude variety)! As long as I can recall, Daddy has liked to dress up (mostly on Sunday), but he would take such time and effort to decide just which tie went best with which shirt and suit and then the right shoes had to be added. Then, the hat, the hat, the hat was the crowning glory of his emsemble. In those days, it was the felt men's "Sunday" hat or in summer, the killer straw hat.

Now that he's in a nursing home (please don't call it that when you meet him. He calls it the hospital, the school or home), we shifted to baseball caps to keep the fashionista thing going. I can't tell you how many days that I have pressed the "emergency button" beside his bed to have a nurse come running. The "emergency" was that his cap didn't match his outfit! Yes, they were ticked, but also yes, they learned to avoid those "emergency calls" by properly matching his caps to his outfits. Renata takes so much effort to put together his Southpole jeans with the perfect shirt and puts each emsemble on a separate hanger with a tag marking the proper day of the week. I have sorted the caps (by color!) on the top two shelves in his closet, so all they have to do is look up and get one that matches. It's no wonder that Dad is the BMONHC (Big Man On Nursing Home Campus)! He is totally and completely sharp every single day and all residents and most families know him.

On one of those days that I had to take dad to the doctor, I had allowed my normal two hours before the appointment window to be sure that I didn't have to rush him (he hates that!). On the way into the appointment, Daddy got lots of hellos, nods and compliments on this outfit, but one lady stopped, took time and bent down to talk to him. She was directing her conversation directly to dad and he was loving it! All of a sudden, I heard her ask him, WHICH WAR DID YOU FIGHT IN? (Yes, it was this loud. People assume that the wheelchair affected his hearing). Imagine me, raising one finger as if I was about to say "aha". I did this to interject that he has never served in the military and that the cap simply happened to be just the right shade of blue. We never paid any attention to the fact that it had the emblem of the Marine Corps! Just as I opened my mouth to say these things, I heard daddy say "I can't always remember which war". At that point, I closed my mouth, because the lady started to gush and tell daddy that it was ok, that it really didn't matter, that she just wanted to thank him for his service. I lowered my hand and waited til it was over and pushed on to Dad's appointment. We still haven't taken that cap out of rotation (it's still the right shade of blue).

But, I have started to realize that the approving nods are sometimes about the emsemble and sometimes about the hat. I've taken the position of Don't Ask, Don't Tell when it comes to the hat!

The Year That God Tried to Buy Me A Large Pizza With Everything

You know me, but you may not know that I'm the 6th of 7th children. Coming from such a large family, I knew that my parents couldn't afford to send me to college. However, with the help of a very kind teacher and the grace of God, I was awarded a four year scholarship to Agnes Scott College, a four year liberal arts women's college in Decatur, Georgia.



With a full ride, I thought I had it made! So in the fall of 1973, off I went to Decatur, armed with a newly purchased trunk from K-Mart, my hard sided hot pink (I was just beginning my fashionista phase) Samsonite suitcase and the bible that my mom insisted that I take with me and place on the nightstand near my bed.



After I got settled in, one reality hit me pretty quickly. A full scholarship cover room and board, but it did NOT cover a midnight pizza run. Week after week, I watched the girls on the floor in my dorm order pizza whenever they got good and ready. They always seemed to have a large pizza with everything. I didn't have any money, so I made it through the nights and weekends with what seemed like hundreds of packages of ramen noodles and can after miserable can of vienna sausages and what had to be THOUSANDS of sleeves of (premium!) saltine crackers.



I would talk to my mom often and week after week, she'd ask "Michelle, are you reading your bible" and week after week, I'd lie and say "Yes, mama.". The fact was that the bible was in the very same place that she'd left it - on the night stand beside my bed. You see, my sould wasn't hungry, but my stomach was, so I settled for noodles, sausages and saltines.



Sure, I was invited to share a slice of pizza with the girls who lived on my floor, but I was never able to take the leftovers back to my room or certainly not take the last slice. After all, I had not paid one dime.



The end of the school year came and I went to pack my bible to move to another dorm. As I picked up the bible, time stood still as a precious $20 bill floated in what seemed like slow motion from the bible to the floor. My mom had put it there and I only then realized that all year long, God had been trying to buy me a large pizza with everything.



Now, I read my bible with much more regularity and the funny thing is that I've found something much more satisfying, even better than a large pizza with everything.

GA-RAH-JAY Sales Girlz - Adventures with my Korean Dry Cleaning Lady

Today's story is a two-fer. It explains the origin of my screen name (MyChineseNameIsStephanie) and it tells you about my garage sale adventure with my Korean dry cleaning lady.

First, the name. After we moved to this area, I quickly became a regular at the dry cleaners on Atlanta Road, near the house. It was so good that they would have my clothes hanging on the rack and ready for me by the time I got out of the car. I couldn't blame them for not being able to properly pronounce "Stickney", so I got used to being greeted with "Hey, Stephaneeee" (it was always drawn out at the end). I figured, what's the harm? Who would ever know?

From time to time, I would see my dry cleaning lady at various garage sales. We would speak, bow and move on. Then, she started to question me when I brought in various items to be dry cleaned. "Ga-rah-jay sale?" she would ask. "No" I would answer. I thought that she was asking me if I had purchased said item at a garage sale.

The day came when she asked me about a tablecloth I brought in. "Ga-rah-jay sale?" she asked. "Yes!" I answered. She immediately left the counter, got her purse and went and got into the passenger seat of my car. More than a little stunned, her husband came and finished my ticket. I proceeded to get into the car and she was grinning wildly as she said "Ga-rah-jay sale!" Only then did I realize that she was planning to go WITH me to the "Ga-rah-jay sales" that day!

What a couple we made! Me - black lady in a cute jog set and matching cap (you know it!) and this little Korean lady from the dry cleaners. Truth be told, I didn't even know her name! But, it's true what they say - garage sales are the universal language (OK, they don't say it, but they should). We spent about 2 hours, going from sale to sale. She would show me some things, say a few words (which I didn't understand) and then either buy or not buy and we'd move on to the next one. I dropped her off back at the cleaners and helped her unload her garage sale booty into the cleaners.

After a while, I stopped going to that dry cleaners so I didn't see the Korean dry cleaning lady for a while. But, last Saturday, I was at a garage sale and I heard this high pitched voice saying "Stephaneeeee" and I immediately knew who it was! We hugged and exchanged words that neither of us understood and I THINK that she introduced me to the lady she was with. As she "introduced" us, she said the lady's name, then she turned to me and said "Stephaneee, right?" and I said "Right!"

Take away? If someone says "garage sale" with a question mark at the end, the answer is NO in any language.

She KNOWS, Gigi, She KNOWS!

Me and Willie Nelson have something in common. We're always singing "On the road, again." Once again, I found myself in the car with Maya, either picking her up and taking her back to Athens.

Bored with the iPod and apparently finished with the picnic basket of snacks that I had packed for her, she started a conversation. "Gigi (that's me - will tell you the story of the name on another post), there's a girl in my class that looks just like a puppy dog." Ever vigilant for Learning Lessons opportunity, I launched into my best speech about how nice it is to be nice and how we should not talk about how people look and how we REALLY shouldn't tell them, even if they do look like a puppy dog." I was hoping and praying that I was having this conversation in time -- before she informed her little classmate of her likeness to a "puppy dog."

Maya wanted patiently -- ok, not so patiently, she was doing the "ooh, ooh, ooh" Vennie Barbarino thing - raising her hand (to indicate she wanted to add something). When I finally stopped talking, Maya said, "She KNOWS, Gigi, she KNOWS! She's got a mirror at her home."

I REALLY had to use the backseat buffer to avoid laughing and get my best parenthood face on to respond. When I finally swallowed all the giggles, I said "It's still not nice to tell her."

I could only wish for two things (1) that I wasn't too late for the "don't tell her" advice and (2) that Maya would change schools before I saw the girl with the basset hound face.

Jesus, How You Gonna Keep Your Gown Down?

Highway 316 between Atlanta and Athens doesn't offer the most scenic landscape, but it offers opportunity for conversation. When I'm picking Maya (my granddaughter) up for a visit with her Gigi (this name is a whole 'nother story), we often get into deep and sometimes comical conversations.

You know that the whole "put the kid in the back seat" thing has NEVER been about safety, right? It was pushed on us so that we, as parents and grandparents, can safely laugh at what the kids are saying in the backseat without getting busted for not taking them "seriously." OK, now that that is clear, on with the story.

On one of these long rides, Maya asked me if I was pretty sure that Jesus could do anything. I put my index finger in the air, cocked my head to the side and said, "Aha, a teaching moment presents itself!" Alright, that didn't happen, but I did decide to expound on the goodness of God and His might and power. I urged her to pray for whatever she wanted and God would hear her prayer. Maya listened with interest (I could tell she was interested cause she wasn't eating anything from her snack bag as I spoke). When I finished, she said, "Well, Gigi, I'm going to ask Jesus to teach me to do a hand stand."

What I said was "That's a great idea, because He REALLY can do anything, you know!"

What I thought was "How you gonna keep your gown down, Jesus?" I couldn't help but picture a teen-age version of Jesus showing Maya how to do a handstand! I KNOW that He can do it (keep the gown down), but I'm just noisy and want to know how that will work.

Take away? Keep your kid in the backseat because you will get a ticket if you don't. Just know that the REAL reason is to allow you to get your parenthood face back before you look in mirror and respond.

Other take away? He REALLY can do anything, you know! Including helping with handstands.

Just Answer The Question You Were Asked

Who needs a stinkin' gym when you have to walk up and down the halls of the nursing home 100 times per visit? Not only is there exercise involved, but there is often an adventure aspect also.

As I walked down the hall at the nursing home recently, I was stopped by Ms. Lois. She was doing her usual thing (walking up and down the hall). But this time, she asked me a question. She wanted to know if I knew the way to Cinncinati.

I thought for a minute and debated on whether to tell her that she couldn't even get out of the front door, much less get to Cinncinati. But, the greater debater was the "me" who said "Just answer the question".

So I responded by telling her that Cinncinati was north of here (or there if you will) and that she could start out by going down the hall and taking a right. I also added that the next person after she turned right could give her further direction.

She grinned and started on her way. Don't judge! For a minute, she was on her way somewhere instead of being stuck in the day room of a nursing home facility. For a minute, she was doing something on her own. For a minute, she was being treated like a real person.

Take away? Next time someone asks you a question, don't overthink it, just answer the question that you are asked.

Word to the wise? If you see an old lady on a walker, do not tell her my name. She may be looking for me!

But, I'm Not WEARING A Hat!

Think you have a bad driver's license picture? Well, I KNOW that I have one. I look like I'm completely bald and from an African country and wearing tribal garb. I thought it was the worst one until I saw my sister's DLP (driver's license picture).

My sister decided that she would have her hair done on the very day that she was going to get her license renewed. Sounds like a good idea, but apparently, her hairdresser was out to get her. My sister ended up with a "box cut". If you remember Kid n Play, she looked the one who had the hair shaped like a trapezoid. She's a woman of her word, so she continued to follow her "to do" list and moved forward with the plan to renew her license. After waiting in line, she finally stepped up to the front and lined up her shoes on the strip of yellow tape on the floor.

When she looked up, the person taking the picture said "Ma'am, you are going to have to remove the hat" and (you guessed it), she said, "But, I'm not WEARING a hat!" The worst part is that she had already paid for a 10 year renewal.

Take away lessons? Don't dress in tribal garb or get your hair done if it will be captured on film.

God, forgive me, for I have slathered...

I was in one of the most boring bible study classes that I have ever attended. OK, to be honest, I was quite tired, but decided to go to class anyway. Although it was Bible Study, I still wanted to look good, so I had changed purses on the way to one which matched my outfit (which was quite cute AND bible study appropriate).

I very shortly realized that I was getting really sleepy and would be unable to remain upright and the search began. What search? The search in my purse for anything to keep me awake. I was picky at first -- seeking a nice Altoid or a fresh piece of gum. My standards sank quickly and I was soon willing to accept an unwrapped candy with tissue stuff on it. My heart dropped when I remembered that my "real purse" resting in the trunk of my car was filled with candy, gum, trail mix and all manner of things to chew, lick and suck.

Then, I saw it! A small sample size of lotion. It was all I had so I had to McGuyver it. I took the lotion out and squeezed some in my hand. I started out lotioning up my hands, but ended up applying lotion up to my armpits. I couldn't help myself, so I prayed, Forgive me, Lord for slathering lotion in a bible study class. The good news is I felt better, more awake and thought I could make it, so I placed my purse back on the floor. Within 4 minutes (I'm pretty sure it was 4 minutes, not 5, cause I was counting each of those minutes), I had to retrieve my purse from the floor and yes, re-slather.

I'm sure that I looked like I was about to do surgery and was using lotion instead of hand soap, but for whatever reason, the lady next to me leaned over and whispered "What kind of lotion is that?" I'm not sure what she was thinking. Maybe she was wondering what kind of lotion needed to be re-applied in 4 minutes. I don't know, but I told her the brand and decided that I needed to excuse myself.

All I can say is Forgive me Lord, for I have slathered...I'm sure I get some credit for trying to stay for a little while, right?

Excuse Me Sir, you are wearing my dad's pj bottoms

My dad's life in the nursing home requires me to have several skills, among them is PD (Pajama Detective). Although we personal do all of my dad's laundry, many pieces find their way into the black hole that is the route between his room and the on site laundry facility. I used to cry, beg and plead with the keepers of the laundry when a piece or two went missing. However, that required me to carry around the orphan pieces. iPhone to the rescue! I began to take pictures of the orphans and show them to the various nurses and CNAs.

As I headed out after a visit with my dad today, I saw Mr. Fred (another resident) wearing a nice sweater and my dad's pajama bottoms. Mr. Fred is a man of very few words (two), so I decided to address this with a higher power (a nurse). She assured me that the company had likely made more than "one pair" of these pajamas. The lightbulb went on and I whipped out my iphone which had a picture of the pajamas top, which was resting comfortably at my home.

Convincing Mr. Fred was a matter they didn't want to deal with, but after weighing the issue of dealing with me, they decided to confront Mr. Fred. After several grunts and more than a few "noooo"s, the CNA emerged from the room with the pajama bottoms. I was happy when she offered to put them in a plastic bag.

I thanked her, tipped my hat and walked off into the sunset. OK, that last part was embellished. I just left the facility, proudly holding the dirty pajama bottoms. I think I won.