Welcome to my humor blog where I offer my take on: Life - that crazy stuff that happens on the way to your dreams *** Liberty - to Snippet on any subject that pops into my brain *** and the Pursuit of Happiness - both yours and mine.

If your funny bone's been tickled, why not share with a friend? It might be just what they need to brighten their day.

Thursday, May 23, 2013

To Memoir or Not to Memoir

On the eve of a new year and the birth of my fifth granddaughter, I decided that instead of writing resolutions (which I never keep anyway) I would write my memoir. I saw this commercial on TV of an old guy writing his, and it sounded like a good idea. Like TV gramps, I could leave a legacy to my little ones of their “Mimi” too. Notice I do not refer to myself as Grandma. That brings up images of a gray haired lady lathering on pounds of liver spot fading cream. And even though I have stock in Clairol and hide the cream in my bottom drawer, I’m moving forward with courage.

 Yes, I think it takes a lot of courage to put pen to paper and write a personal history.  After all, one has to own up to the fact that they have actually accumulated enough years to even consider this bold step. But that admission pales in comparison to the history I can share with future generations.

For example, what child wouldn’t want to know they are descendants of Bohemian ancestry? For those of you not in the loop, I am not intimating that I was born in a hippie commune, but rather of relatives originating from Czechoslovakia, fondly referred to as “Bohemians” in the day. I’m sure my grandkiddies will delight in my early childhood stories of growing up with the offspring of gangsters and spending my elementary school years sitting at a desk in the cloakroom. Notation: for those of you who don’t know what a cloakroom is either, it’s kind of a closet in the back of our classroom, where we used to hang our snowsuits and wet golashes. 

The kiddies will have to fast forward a bit to get to the exciting stuff, however. Like my European vacation when I was 21. Hmmm, on second thought, maybe I ought to leave that experience out. Anyway, for better or worse, I can’t think of a finer gift to give my girls. I hope they will gain some insight into the days before computers, ipods and scary Barbie animated DVDs; when typewriters and stereos and Shirley Temple movies were all the rage.

So let’s see, how shall I begin? “It was a dark and stormy night” …maybe not. It’s been done. Okay, I’ll begin at the beginning, the way it really was. It was the hottest day of the year, and there was no air conditioning in the hospital…

Wednesday, May 15, 2013

Which One is Mimi?

I’m pretty hot for someone nipping at the heels of Medicare. Well, about as hot as one can get without Botox and Liposuction.  People I haven’t seen in ages always tell me, “You haven’t changed a bit,” and I always reply, “Neither have you,” and we both know we’re lying through the teeth we still have left.  Yet, like DeCaprio on the iceberg as he watches the Titanic sinking, we cling to the hope that there’s a hint of truth in there somewhere, and we actually do look as good as we did way back when.  And so, as I watch my youthful glow settle into the sunset, I vow to hold onto it tightly and preserve what remnants I still possess.
In order to maintain my girlish figure, for instance, this year I’ve been sweating my way through senior aerobics and jazzercise classes. The delightful result is that the muffin-top protruding over my hip-hugger jeans has diminished enough that I only feel moderately guilty snacking on the miniature candy bars I have stashed in the back of my pantry.
 And I’ve been faithfully drowning my face in moisturizer since I was in my twenties, so the wrinkles are not too visible – unless I forget to put on my make-up. All things considered, I still say that I look pretty good for my age. Apparently, my granddaughter doesn’t think so.

Wednesday, May 8, 2013

Diary of a Wimpy Camper

 I made a deal with my husband Garth when we were first married. He wouldn’t ask me to go camping and I wouldn’t ask him to go shopping. This seemed like a fair trade-off, since he could enjoy his favorite pastime with his buddies and I could do the same with mine.  He kept up his end of the deal for a long time - until the call of the wild got the best of him. That's when he began to extoll the pleasures of the great outdoors, begged me to join him hiking and fishing at one of his favorite spots in the California Sierra’s. I struggled to hold on to our original deal, because the closest I had ever come to roughing it was a motel with an outdoor pool. But, in a weak moment, I agreed.
I didn’t really mind hiking. It was one of the few outdoor activities I enjoyed – unless the hike took place in woods that teemed with wildlife whose bite required emergency evacuation.
But I wasn’t too keen on fishing. My only recollection of that activity was when I threw a ping-pong ball in a bowl and won a goldfish at a carnival. I also worried about sleeping arrangements.  I’d already paid for my chiropractor’s new car, so huddled in a bag on the ground would just give me another big pain in my back - and wallet. The more I thought about it, the less attractive the camping excursion became.
            Determined to discourage Garth from pressing the issue, I created a fool proof prerequisite list and presented it to him.