Facebook Syndrome

Facebook is the most visited site on the internet. Over 2.80 billion people are regular users and half of them visit every day to post, network, socialize, or play games. Have you become addicted to Facebook? Can you really stop using Facebook any time you want or have you traded social networking for social dysfunction?


Are You Addicted?

If Facebook is the homepage on your computer, you might be addicted to Facebook.
If you know the difference between your news feed and your page feed, you might be addicted to Facebook.
If you think social networking is a good way to make friends, you might be addicted to Facebook.
If you frequently check your smart phone for Facebook updates, you might be addicted.
If you think 5000 friends are not enough, you might be addicted to Facebook.
If you play Farm Heroes, Candy Crush, or Criminal Case, you might be addicted to Facebook.
If you “like” your own posts, you might be addicted to Facebook.
If you have an app that posts your blog to Facebook, you might be addicted.
If you know the difference between a News Feed and a Page Feed, you might be addicted.
If you feel hurt when your friends don’t tag you in photos, you might be addicted to Facebook.
If you read every one of the email notifications from Facebook, you might be addicted.
If anyone has unfriended you for excessive posting, you might be addicted to Facebook.
If you have invited friends you don’t know, you might be addicted to Facebook.
If you think Facebook friends are actually real friends, you might be addicted.
If you have ever said, “Not right now, I’m on Facebook, you might be addicted.
If you think about Facebook even when you are not logged in, you might be addicted.
If you send birthday wishes to all your Facebook friends, you might be addicted.
If you spend more than one hour a day on Facebook, you might be addicted.
If you try to find old classmates from high school on Facebook, you might be addicted.
If you use Facebook to invite people to your social events, you might be addicted.
If you are frequently late because you are on Facebook, you might be addicted.
If you take pictures of your food and post it on Facebook, you might be addicted.
If you update your status more than several times a day, you might be addicted to Facebook.
If you understand what all of this stuff is, you might be addicted to Facebook.

If only a few of these are true, you are probably okay and don’t have to worry. On the other hand, if you are like the rest of us, better get on the wagon to recovery.


Twelve Steps of Facebook Anonymous

1. We admitted we were powerless over Facebook – that our friend list had become unmanageable.
2. Came to believe that giving up social networking could restore us to sanity.
3. Made a decision to turn our News Feed over to the posts of others.
4. Made a searching and fearless inventory of our Facebook posts and comments.
5. Admitted to God, ourselves, and in a Facebook post the exact extent of our addiction.
6. Were entirely ready to have all our passwords deleted.
7. Humbly removed all our photos.
8. Made a list of all the friends we don’t know personally and became willing to unfriend them.
9. Unfriended people wherever possible, except when to do so would embarrass them or others.
10. Continued to take inventory of our posts and if we were posting too frequently, promptly admit it.
11. Sought through personal contact to improve our face-to-face relationships with real people, asking only for the willpower to avoid checking in on Facebook.
12. Having had an awakening as the result of these steps, you tried to carry this message to other Facebook addicts… and immediately decided the best way to do this was by posting about your recovery on Facebook.


SERENITY PRAYER FOR FACEBOOK USERS

Lord, help me to post about the things that matter, to comment on the opinions I cannot change, and the wisdom to know what to “like.”


Copyright 2011 Sheila Moss
http://www.humorcolumnist.com

Posted in Entertainment, Humor, Technology | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Out, Please!




Don’t you love elevators? I thought so. Nearly everyone seems to have some apprehension, but we use them anyway, mostly out of necessity. Have you noticed the obnoxious people you see in elevators? Obnoxious people never know they are obnoxious.

First, there is the impatient person who jumps on the elevator in front of you, even though you have been patiently waiting for 10 minutes. Do they think they will get to their floor quicker by pushing on first?
 
There are the button pushers who continue to push the button over and over when waiting as if that will make the elevator come faster. Sometimes they push both the up and down button. Maybe they think all the elevators are all going only one-way?
 
People who get off at lower floors always are in the back of the elevator and everyone has to move to let them off. Conversely, people who are not getting off until the top floor always stand immediately in front of the door so they are in the way of anyone trying to get off. It’s funny how this works.
 
Some people like to drive and stand as close as possible to the buttons so it is difficult for other people to push the buttons. Sometimes they ask, “What floor?” so they can push the button for you. Other times they just like being in the driver’s seat, not the actual driving.
 
Some elevators are incredibly slow. You may have cobwebs falling off of you before this elevator for turtles finally arrives. The elevator in my parking garage is in this category. Other elevators are so fast that you have to run or the door will slam in your face. I’ve nearly lost my nose several times when visiting the local hospital.
 
Some people are polite and will hold the elevator if it arrives and you are almost there. Other people jump on and get in the corner so they can pretend they didn’t see you coming. Sometimes a person tries to be polite, but hits the “close door” button instead of the “open door.”
 
Elevator people with big behinds crowd into your space or bump you with backpacks. Even worse are the people with wet umbrellas that drip into your shoes, clothes saturated with toxic tobacco odor, or people who cough and sneeze.
 
Some people are so social they cannot shut up long enough to ride an elevator. These are the people that hold the door open and finish a conversation with someone in the lobby. If both are getting on, they continue the conversation with each other as if everyone is interested.
 
Other social butterflies use cell phones on the elevator. They get on while talking, or answer the phone if it rings. There are also the text senders and the internet browsers who can’t resist the opportunity to show off their new iPhone.
 
If you have to ride to a top floor, it is a sure thing that everyone else is going to a floor below you. Some elevators in high-rise buildings go to only the higher floors while other elevators are designated for the lower floors. This is supposed to get the upper floor people up faster. It only works when you get on the right elevator, of course.
 
Many elevators are not reliable. You can stand and wait an eternity before you figure out it isn’t coming. However, that is better than getting on, having the door close and the elevator not move. And, we have all heard of elevators that get stuck, God forbid, between floors.
 
Older hotels may have elevators that skip the number 13. I guess they don’t realize that ghosts know the 14th floor is really the 13tth and will haunt it instead. Buildings may also add unconnected wings and you can end up on the right floor but can’t get to where you are going.

Anyhow, I’ve reached my floor and have nothing more to say except “Out, please.”


Copyright 2011 Sheila Moss
Photo by Fred Kleber on Unsplash
 

 

Posted in Humor, Work Humor | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 11 Comments

The Anniversary Quilt



About twenty-five years ago, my parents celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary. Mother wanted to have a party and invite all her friends. When mom and dad married, they eloped and were married at a courthouse in South Carolina. Maybe she thought having a reception to celebrate 50 years of marriage would make up for the wedding she never had.

It was a grand anniversary party, held at a restaurant with food, decorations and music. My sister spent hours blowing up helium balloons and tying them with long streaming ribbons. Everyone came: all their friends, neighbors, and people that mom and dad knew after 50 years together. My nephews are musicians and they provided live musical entertainment. Everyone agreed; it was a marvelous occasion.

Mom and dad didn’t really want gifts at their party, they said. After all, what do you need after 50 years of marriage? But people brought gifts anyhow. When I first found out about the anniversary party, I knew what I wanted to give them, a double wedding-ring quilt. A double wedding-ring quilt was perfect for the occasion.

I also had another reason for the quilt. My great grandmother had made a double wedding-ring pattern quilt for my mother years ago. Mother loved that quilt and used it on the bed for years and years until there was nothing left of it but tatters. According to my mother, my great-grandma said the quilt was so difficult to make that she would never give away, except to my mother, who was her favorite grandchild.

My grandmother made quilts too. I remember the quilting frame in her house with a half done quilt she was working on. She even let me help a time or two. Probably she had to take out my stitching later, but she allowed me to think I was quilting. Her quilts were mostly the nine-square pattern, however, more utilitarian for everyday use.

In the olden days, quilts were made entirely by hand. Women displayed their creativity and sewing skills with the quilts they made. Some were so intricate that they are now considered works of art and are in museums. There are numerous patterns for quilts, both traditional and modern. The traditional wedding-ring pattern has overlapping circles or rings of pieced fabric, usually on a white background.

There is no way I could ever make a quilt, even a simple one, but there is a quilt shop in the mountains of East Tennessee that sells quilts made by hand by crafters that carry on the traditions of olden times. Out of the hundreds of quilts, I searched until I found the perfect quilt with circles of gold and shades of brown, the double wedding-ring pattern.

It seems that quilts often have stories, probably because the finest quilts are handmade and sometimes passed from generation to generation. Quilts are now made by machine and look as good, or better, than the old fashioned ones, but they are not the same as the hand crafted quilt.

Years passed by after the anniversary. Mother and daddy grew old and went to a nursing home. Their possessions had to be removed so the house could be sold. Among their things was the quilt — still like new. I remember seeing it a time or two folded on the foot of the bed, but apparently it had been put away and saved. Mother had a tendency to save things that were too nice or too pretty to use.

I have the quilt at home on my bed now. I am not going to save it; I am going to use it. It reminds me of my parents and of all the years they have been together. They celebrated another anniversary this year in the nursing home, still together in sickness and in health, after 75 years of marriage.

Copyright 2011 Sheila Moss

Posted in Family, Holidays, Humor | Tagged , , , , , , | 7 Comments

Working in the Doldrums

“Gasp! There is no air in this office! Why is it so hot? I’m about to smother. I don’t know why it is, but the air just doesn’t circulate around here.” Actually, it wasn’t so much the heat as it was that there was no air worth breathing.

“I think I’m in a ‘dead zone’.” Large office buildings seem inexplicably difficult to evenly cool and heat. Other places in the building have air flowing freely. You can feel the difference when you go to different parts of the building where gentle breezes drift through your hair.

But, at my desk — nothing.

Not that I wanted my papers blowing away in a hurricane, but I really needed enough fresh air to stay awake without drinking a gallon of coffee per day.

It did no good to call maintenance. I had been through that before. “Air, you want air? I’ll give you air!” Then it is below zero for a week or two while I shaked, shuddered and sneezed until I finally had to call them to come turn it off.

There was something strange about that part of the building anyhow. As soon as you came around the corner, you could feel the difference. The air felt heavy, unmoving, stifling, like it was dead. Dead air? Maybe we should have hung a shroud, and declared it a no man’s land.

It was something about the way the air circulateed through the ventilation system, I believe. We were in the doldrums of the building. Everything cames together in our little corner of the world. Like the southern hemisphere meeting the northern hemisphere, the currents slammed into each other and stopped in their tracks.

We were the Bermuda triangle of office buildings. Somehow the engineers just didn’t figure things out exactly right. We had the same vents and thermostats as every one else, but were still cursed with stagnant, unmoving air. We were sort of the ancient mariners of the office world, so to speak, air currents all around us, but not a breath to breathe.

Speaking of triangles, I’ve heard that inside the tombs of Ancient Egypt, the air is so stale and devoid of oxygen that you cannot light a match. It will go out. Some people think it is the curse of the Ancient Pharaohs. Others think it is simply the complex pattern of tunnels that prevent air from flowing normally.

We had a pretty complex maze of office cubicles too, and some pretty tall cubical walls that don’t help much with air circulation. It was not the curse of anything ancient; however, it was the curse of modern office ergonomics and egos that equated taller office walls with higher status.

I finally brought a fan from home and put it at the point where the horse latitudes began, creating my own mini-trade winds. It worked pretty well pulling in fresh air from the parts of the building that were not cursed and blowing it straight into the dead zone.

If you hear of a mysterious, unexplained disappearance, you will know what happened. The wind patterns in the office shifted for some unexplained reason and a funnel cloud formed and carried me away.

Actually, that might not be such a bad thing. As long as they had computers in Oz, I could finally get some work done without smothering.

Copyright 2011 Sheila Moss

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Trivia and Taxes

Photo by Brett Jordan on Unsplash

Sometimes I feel as if I’m always about two paces behind the rest of the world and trying to keep up. I just don’t seem to be able to get everything done. I hate people who are always late, always making excuses — and now I’m becoming one of them.

I put off things that I don’t want to do, like pay my income taxes, for instance. That’s something that you can’t put off too long unless you want to end up in big trouble. But I can put it off for a little while — so I do.

I already have the tax form filled out, and that’s the hard part. Well, actually, the hard part is getting all the receipts and information together. I put that off too, but I finally got my act together about mid March.

So, my taxes were filed electronically. All I have to do is write out a check. Why do I keep waiting until the last minute? It is going to cost the same amount regardless.

And I need to make hotel reservations for a vacation. It’s a phone call, that’s all. The plane tickets are reserved, but for some strange reason I keep putting off the call to the hotel. I’ll do it tomorrow when I have more time.

But I never have more time.

I’m putting off doctor appointments until my prescriptions run out and I either have to make an appointment or do without medicine. And the dentist? Forget it! I post-phoned my appointment and changed it to a later date when have more time.

“Just do it and get it over with,” says my honey. Yes, I know, but there’s always tomorrow. Why be in a hurry? And because I’m not in a hurry, it never gets done.

Finally, last night, things caved in on me.

I called the hotel and the rooms were all booked. They squeezed me in. I have to get organized as my life has gone askew. It is the small things, the easy things, but when the list gets long enough, it becomes a big thing, like carrying around a backpack of bricks.

I finally buckled and tried to do everything in one evening.

I thought I was finished, until today when I started to remember the things that I forgot to do — like send the lawn guy a check for mowing the yard. I really meant to do that too. When my grass is six inches high, I’ll be asking, Did I remember to pay him?

My life is consumed by trivia, details, small stuff. It’s the minor things in life that rule. Small things should only take a minute or two, but when all the minutes are end to end, they reach into eternity.

I have no time. I have no life. It is consumed with trivial pursuit, unimportant stuff, minor details that become major because they don’t get done.

Maybe I’ll turn over a new leaf. Maybe I’ll start doing things as they come up instead of letting them go until they can go on no longer.

Who am I kidding? I’m thinking of ways to avoid doing what I don’t want to do right now. I need to go to the post office, but it looks as if it may rain. I can get stamps tomorrow.

It’s easier to make excuses than to make a “to do” list. Somehow it makes me feel important to believe that I don’t have time.

I just hope the IRS will understand.

Copyright 2009 Sheila Moss
Posted in Finance, Humor | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

OED says OMG, FYI, LOL is OK


If you know what the title of this article means, you are probably now in the majority of English language users. Yes, these abbreviations, formerly the property of young people sending text messages, are now considered actual words.

“Who says,” you say? Oxford English Dictionary, or OED, as they define themselves in their own dictionary.

OED is considered by most experts to be the word on words, or final authority on what is considered authentic usage. The English language is constantly changing, and the OED updates four times a year to stay up with the latest trends.

So, while you are busy telling kids to straighten up, quit being too lazy to spell out words, get rid of the chewing gum, and pull up their pants, the dictionary is telling them what an old fuddy-duddy you are and that common electronic abbreviations are perfectly OK for everyday use.

A word is considered a word when it comes into common usage and most people know what it means. Words no longer come into use from teachers or wordsmiths who generally respect formal language and grammar usage. Words now sneak into the vocabulary online through the back door of the internet in apps (applications) such as Twitter, where the number of characters used in a message is limited and you can say more by saying less.

Text messages on smart phones simply take too long if you use enough time to type out an entire word say many users, and so words are abbreviated in a clever way that makes sense to the sender and receiver, even if it does not make sense to anyone else. Some of the abbreviations make more sense than others, and before you know it, everyone is jumping on the abbreviation bandwagon. Part of the attraction of using the abbreviations is being in the know and on the cutting edge of a new trend.

I must admit that I’ve been guilty of using all of these abbreviations in informal writing, and even a few others that I can’t mention here because the dictionary doesn’t approve of them, at least not yet. However, now that certain text message abbreviations have been officially anointed and blessed by the dictionary writers, we can probably expect to see them popping up in all sorts of places: newspapers, magazines, articles and books as well as on our cell phones.

If you are behind the times, you can only blame yourself. While you were busy worrying about minor details, such as whether Google is a noun or a verb, the language kept right on going down the information highway as fast as the internet could carry it. BTW (by the way), Google is both a proper noun and a verb these days. Pretty soon it will probably be an adjective or an expletive.

I kind of suspected things were going south when the smiley came into common usage as a noun by using symbols that represent a smiling face. Now “heart” has gone in the same direction. We used to love finding a new way to express ourselves. Now we ❤ New York, not to mention 🙂 when we think something is funny. Words, it seems, just won’t behave themselves.

We tweet on Twitter, but tweets are tweets, not twits, which are still very foolish people. Of course, that could all change the next time the OED is updated. Maybe FYI, OMG, and LOL are not so bad after all.

There is one realy good thing about the ever-changing world of the dictionary, IMHO. That is that words can also fall into disfavor and be removed when they are no longer commonly used.

Some days I feeleth so old, if thou knowest what I mean.

Copyright 2011 Sheila Moss

Posted in Education, Humor | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Juggling Cars


I don’t know how I get myself in such a ridiculous situations, but I guess you could say I have a knack for it. What started out as a normal day, if there is such a thing in my life, turned out to be a nightmare. I was stranded at the office with no way to get home.

Morris and I usually carpool to work. He does the driving and I pay the parking. It all works out. But on this day Mo had to leave early for a doctor appointment. No big deal, I would just drive my own car.

However, my son had a problem. He had to take his truck downtown to get it worked on and needed a ride home. The truck had trouble starting, and as we all know, a vehicle that won’t start is no good to anyone.

Still not a problem, I could ride in with Mo and leave my car at home. My daughter could follow my son to the car dealership in my car and give him a ride back home. Then my son could pick me up after work, and I could drop him off at the dealership.

It was complicated, but it seemed workable.

About thirty minutes before the end of the day, I called home. So far the plan had gone smoothly, but the truck was not ready yet. What to do now? Daughter could drop son off and pick me up, but what if the truck had to stay until tomorrow?

She could pick me up and he could stay at home. But if the truck was finished, she would have to make two trips downtown in afternoon rush hour traffic.

By now I was getting lost in the variables. The clock was ticking, and I was at the office with no way to get home. This was not working out.

I had an idea. I’ll could call Mo at the doctor’s office and he could come get me. I called and called until he finally answered. Yes, he would come get me, but he had to go to the gas station first.

So, I waited. Fortunately, the office building stayed open late and I did not have to wait outside on the sidewalk.

The phone rang. Morris was calling to tell me he is here? Wrong! He was calling to tell me that he ran out of gas. The man has never run out of gas before in his entire life. But today, when I am stranded at the office, he was out of gas on the way to the gas station.

AAA would take forever, so my son would use my car to take him some gas and then Mo would come after me. He might be a little late … a little… he said.

Nothing is as much fun as sitting around the office after you have worked all day and are ready to go home.

Meanwhile, the car dealership called my son. The truck was ready, but my daughter couldn’t take my son to pick it up as he has the car. The two men decided that Mo would take my son to the dealership and then he would pick me up.

The phone rang again. It was Morris.

What? I have to wait until my son is done fooling with picking up his truck before he picks me up? “Since you are coming downtown, why don’t you just come get me?” We dropped my son off at the truck dealership and made it home in spite of rush hour traffic.

Somehow my daughter managed to avoid the entire mess. I think I met myself on the Interstate either coming or going, but I’m not sure if that was me or not. I might still be at the office.

Copyright 2011 Sheila Moss

Posted in Automotive, Humor, Travel | Tagged , , , , , | 4 Comments

The Sandwich

How complicated can a sandwich be? The act of buying a sandwich has become so difficult that it almost isn’t worth the trouble.
 
The other day I decided to have sandwiches instead of supper. It would only take a few minutes to make a sandwich and I wouldn’t have to cook. Honey had a better idea.
 
“I’m going to the grocery store. Want me to pick up something?” asked Honey.
 
“They have a deli there, don’t they? I’d like a ham and cheese sub.”
 
We have two delis across the street in a mini mall. Usually we go to one of them if we want a sub. But, since he is going to the grocery store anyhow, we might as well get something from there.
 
There is a standing joke at my house that any time Honey goes to the store by himself, he has to call home about something. Either he can’t find it, doesn’t know what to buy, or can’t read my writing on the list – always something.
 
I should have known he couldn’t buy a sandwich on his own. Sure enough, the phone rang. “I don’t know what to tell her about your sandwich.”
 
The man has an IQ of 150. He graduated from a major university. He is a computer security analyst.
 
How complicated can a sandwich be?
 
“Can you tell her what you want?” he asked. Soon I was talking to the sandwich lady on his cell phone.
 
“Ham and cheese.”
 
“What kind of ham, brand name or ours? What kind of cheese?”
 
I didn’t care what kind of ham, but I picked one. American cheese was fine, yellow, not white. Other than color, what’s the difference? I could only imagine how many varities of cheese there must be. I didn’t want to get sucked into discussing them.
 
“What kind of bread? White, wheat, multi-grain, honey wheat, yadda, yadda, yadda.” I forgot. They have a bakery.
 
“Wheat.” Bread is bread. Who cares what kind of bread?
 
“Half or whole sandwich?” Argh! I don’t know. How large is half a sandwich?
 
“Lettuce, tomatoes, onions, peppers, banana peppers, the entire produce department?” The questions are becoming complicated.

“Just lettuce and onion.”
 
“No pickles?” I’m certain from the tone of her voice that no one had ever turned down pickles before.
 
God help me. It’s only a sandwich, a sandwich, people.
 
“What kind of condiments?” she inquired.
 
I can’t stand it!
 
Before she went into her recorded message about 25 flavors of mustard, I interrupted. “Mustard, brown mustard if you have it.” Of course, they did. It’s a grocery store. They have everything.
 
“Salt and pepper? Vinegar and oil, oregano?”
 
“Okay.”
 
I thought she would ask what color of paper I wanted it wrapped in, but she didn’t. At least one thing is standard there.
 
Honey could guess about my preferences and come reasonably close to something eatable. I’m not really that particular and he knows, more or less, what I like. And if he messes up, I can fix it at home.
 
Apparently, sandwich making has become an art form. Books have probably been written. There are probably sandwich chefs, conassures, recipe books, cooking schools on how to prepare a sandwich correctly, and television shows to pick the best sandwich maker with a world-class sandwich chef to curse the students who do not know one slice of bread from another.
 
The humble sandwich has gone uptown on us. I didn’t know buying a sandwich would be a culinary experience.
 
In all the confusion, I forgot to ask her to toast it, so I had to eat a cold sandwich with too much black pepper on it. I didn’t even want pepper. I just didn’t want to turn her down again after rejecting the pickles.
 
I never imagined how complicated a sandwich can be.

Copyright 2011 Sheila Moss
 

 

Posted in Food, Humor | Tagged , , , , , , , | 8 Comments

Mama and the Thunderstorms

A line of servere weather is moving through the mid-south and it has stormed all night and all day. Any time we have thunder storms, it reminds me of my mother and her fear of storms.

We had an unusual number of storms when I was a child. I don’t know if there were actually more storms then, or if the storms were such memorable events that they were vividly impressed in my memory. I suspect the latter.

Mama was afraid of thunderstorms. While a normal amount of apprehension during severe weather is understandable, mama was afraid beyond anything close to reasonable.

Thunderstorms usually happened in the late afternoon, after the heat of the day had built up. When the rain was coming and the sky became dark, we were called inside to wait until the storm had passed. All the appliances had to be unplugged so the lightning would not run in on them. Everything was unplugged except the refrigerator, which was only unplugged if the storm was a really bad one.

We could not touch anything metal like a pair of scissors during a storm because metal conducted electricity. We could not, of course, take a bath or touch a water faucet because plumbing pipes conducted electricity. We could not talk on the phone, watch TV, or play the record player. I can’t remember if we were allowed to go to the bathroom, but I doubt it.

We could not play with the cat, because cats draw electricity. Mama had pretty rigid ideas about storms and didn’t worry about the difference between lightning and static electricity.

Sometimes mama would take us to a neighbor’s house when a storm was coming. I don’t know why the neighbor’s house was any safer than ours. Maybe there was safety in numbers, or maybe it was because the neighbor didn’t panic at every crash of thunder and the socializing helped take mama’s mind off the storm.

When we were at home during a storm, mama would pull the shades so she couldn’t see the lightning. I don’t think window shades provided much protection, especially since they could not keep out the thunder.  Mother would not cook or do any work until the storm was over. The kitchen was full of dangerous things, like appliances, plumbing, and metal.

Storms that came at night were especially frightening. First of all, you couldn’t see them coming and didn’t know it was storming until the thunder, or mama, woke you up. The lightning was even brighter at night. Mama made everyone get up and put clothes on or at least put on a bathrobe. I think the idea was that if the house was struck by lightning, we could run outside without the neighbors seeing us in pajamas.  

If it was an especially bad storm, the electricity might go out for a while. I don’t know why we didn’t just stay in bed and sleep instead of sitting up by candlelight.

One time the lightning did actually strike a transformer on the pole at the corner. Fortunately, the power surge only blew out the fuses instead of the refrigerator. This proved mama’s theory, however, that we were all going to be electrocuted by a storm one day.

One friend of mama was even more frightened of storms than she was and would sometimes come to stay with us if a storm came up. I don’t know why she came to mama for comfort. Maybe she just felt better knowing someone else was afraid. She would cry and cover her head with a pillow, saying that feathers repelled electricity. After my mother found out about feathers, she sometimes covered her head too.

I guess the feathers worked as mama was never electrocuted. The house was never struck by lightning and neither was the cat. I don’t know if the milk spoiled while the refrigerator was unplugged.  

As for me, I probably would not have grown up at all if it hadn’t been for mama looking out for me and keeping me out of harm’s way. At least, that is what mama would say.

Copyright 2011 Sheila Moss

Posted in Humor, Weather | Tagged , , , , , , , | 9 Comments