The Sting

waspsI know what you are thinking – a sting is a secret operation of some sort. Nope! This sting was the real McCoy, the kind that comes with an insect on the other end.

It was innocent, really. I simply wanted to hose off the patio with the garden hose, get rid of the dead leaves and stray crabapples that had fallen from the tree and were rolling around looking messy. How was I to know that a nest of wasps had turned my patio light into their own personal condominium?

Summer time, how I love it! Why is it that this seems to be my year for outdoor catastrophe? Maybe I need to check the almanac. Maybe I should just stay indoors for the rest of the season.

“Live and let live,” I always say. I saw them there looking menacing, but I meant them no harm. They didn’t seem angry and I held no animosity toward them.

Well, okay, I did make a mental note to come back later with the aerosol bug spray, but I controlled my evil fantasy and stayed with the task at hand, gently removing the hose from its parking place on the fence. The sun shone, the flowers bloomed, the birds chirped, the wasps buzzed – all seemed right with the world.

Then it happened – the STING! One crazed wasp decided I was the enemy and declared war. YOUCH! This was a “king-size” wasp packing a powerful wallop.

I made a gallant effort to be brave, but I was viciously wounded. And to add insult to injury, this venomous villain attacked and ambushed me from behind. Yes, right on my back side, like a mad Nurse Ratched with a shot of penicillin. It stung my bottom right through clothing and all. I’ve never been so humiliated by a bug in my life!

As long as one is not allergic to stings, there is not a great deal to be done. I didn’t stop breathing, so I presume I’m one of the lucky people who are not allergic to stings. But, the pain – WOW, did it ever smart! Thereafter, the ice pack and a bottle of extra strength Tylenol became my sole source of solitude for a several days.

In recovery, I read up on wasps and found that wasps don’t even give up their lives to sting. With bees, the venom bag is ripped from the abdomen when it stings, causing the insect’s own death. A wasp, on the other hand, assaults, stings, and then goes on its merry way, back to making paper, spreading pollen, or whatever unfathomable reason wasps may have for existing in the world.

And so, I’m suffering along, wearing my red itchy badge of courage in a most embarrassing place.

However, I did get my sinister revenge when eventually I foamed the nest from ten feet away with one of those special insecticide sprays purchased just for this particular pleasure.

Wicked, I know, but one can only be kind to predators for so long. And, in this case, there was not even a remote possibility that I’d turn the other cheek.

Copyright 2001 Sheila Moss
Posted in Creatures, Humor, Plants/Gardening | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 7 Comments

Junk Mail Junk

emailI was sitting at my computer the other day minding my own business and surfing the net. In retrospect, I think maybe I had just read one too many junk emails that day, but the first thing you know I found my eyelids feeling a bit heavy.

I slowly drifted away and next thing I was aware of was being in cyberspace and somehow getting entangled in the email filter on my computer, along with a month’s supply of SPAM that had never been emptied.

I tried to maintain a sense of dignity, which was hard to do sitting in a mail bucket.

Now for those of you who might be so unenlightened you’ve never heard of SPAM, let me give you a quick definition. We are not talking about the unidentified mystery meat that comes in a can and goes by the same name. We are talking about unwanted email that comes from unknown sources.

In the snail mail world, they call it “junk mail.” In the cyber world, we call it “SPAM.” I don’t know why. It just is.

At first I was a bit apprehensive, but after looking around I realized it might not be such a bad place. After all, where else can I get a prestigious university degree of my choice, just from my life experience, without course work, or tests? In the world of SPAM, I can be a lawyer, a teacher, or a rocket scientist just by calling their toll free number today.

The SPAM messages were all very concerned about me and my interests, especially when it came to financial matters. They assured me that I could consolidate my debts and apply for a loan in spite of a bad credit history.

I could also apply for a guaranteed credit card at the bank of their choice with low, low interest for the first three days. I could open an online banking account, with a balance of $20 already in it, just for filling out the application.

In the SPAM world I was encouraged to start an e-business and make money on the net working from home. I could be paid for my great ideas. I could market my products and advertise for free with thousands of email addresses guaranteed to be valid and bring results, reaching others just the way they reached me.

While waiting for my low interest loan to go through, I can watch a free movie or visit a casino and become a high roller, all without ever leaving the comfort of my own mailbox. I could also dream about my free trip to an NFL All-Star Game, complete with airfare and hotel accommodations.

Life is good inside a SPAM filter.

Everything in the SPAM world is free, or at least half price. I could get home, auto, health or life insurance at 75% off, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. I could lose 10 pounds in a weeks with an e-diet. I could look great, remove fat, increase my income, reduce my debts and sign on the line for a home equity loan.

Why is it that when something seems to be too good to be true, it probably is? We don’t need a Bachelor, Masters, or Ph.D. in the field of our choice or any other to know when email is bunk.

And so with great reluctance I untangled myself from the promises, pressed the delete key and emptied the SPAM filter.

My new net buddies were sent back into cyberspace where they came from, but not for long, I’m afraid. They will merely mutate, change their subject line, and email address, and reappear in my mailbox again one by one. They don’t give up easily.

Meantime, I’ve got to quit spending so much time at the computer before my head hits the keyboard again. Maybe I need a cup of coffee.

Is that my email notification signal blinking?

Copyright 2002 Sheila Moss
Posted in Humor, Technology | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

To Mom

momThis Sunday is the day which has been set aside to honor mom, Mother’s Day. Now in reality we should be honoring mom every day, but most of us choose to let them honor us instead, and most moms continue to honor us long after the time when we should be taking care of things ourselves.

When I was growing up, my mother did everything. I never knew how to cook, clean house, or do laundry until after I was married. Boy, was that a shock! You mean all this stuff has not been doing itself for all these years?

When we mature and separate from our family of birth, we tend to find fault and be critical. Mom either does too much and smothers us or not enough and we feel neglected. Mom can’t win.

It’s been said that the older we become, the wiser our parents seem to get. That’s especially true when a baby comes along and we don’t have the first idea about what to do for colic, diarrhea, or a fever. And so we call good old mom, now the source of wisdom and experience.

Of course, nobody ever appreciates us as much as our mothers in spite of our shortcomings. Ever hear the mother of a convicted murderer say on TV what a good boy her son was before he became a murderer?

We try to do the impossible and say thanks for a lifetime of sacrifice with a card, a gift, or a bunch of flowers. So inadequate for what mothers do for their kids. We try to say thank you in one day for voluntary losses so great and so numerous that no gift could ever be thanks enough.

Some believe that we pay back our mother by sacrificing for our own children. But, what about people that don’t have children? They get a free ride? While there may some repayment with a short period of roll reversal as parents grow old, for most of life mom will be the caregiver and we will be the care receiver.

Mom doesn’t want more gadgets to dust, more nightgowns to put in the dresser drawer, or flowers to aggravate her allergies. If only it could be that simple. What a mother wants is for her children to do something to show that she has succeeded in her most important role in life, being a mother.

All mothers have an invisible bag inside where they save up the memories that their children have created. Sometimes they share them with friends who are also mothers, but mostly they simply save these things to ponder and think about in moments of lesser achievement.

Mother cures our ills with chicken soup while telling us that we should have listened to her and taken an umbrella, whether it was raining or not. Mothers always know. We do not understand this phenomena, but they seem to have a sixth sense when it comes to their children. Whatever happens, mother knew that it would happen one of these days. Thank God it wasn’t worse!

What’s the use? We keep saying thanks for things we can’t possible thank mother for. So, how can we really repay mom? Simple. Grow up to be a somewhat worthwhile person and as an added bonus do something to make her proud. That’s really all a mother wants anyhow – except, perhaps, a nap.

Copyright 2003 Sheila Moss
Posted in Family, Holidays, Humor | Tagged , , , , , | 7 Comments

Wee Geek

computersMy grandson discovered the computer when he was 3 years old. Life was never the same at my house. He received a preschool computer game as a gift, and we finally got around to opening it. It was from one of those themed sets that also have a series of cartoon videos, all with same topic — dinosaurs. These were not fierce, scary dinosaurs, but cute, friendly ones that talked about love and basic values.

I put the disk in my CD ROM and held him on my lap, figuring he would play with it for a few minutes and then go back to his blocks, toy cars, and battery operated musical toys. I showed him the computer mouse and how to left-click the mouse button. Picking right up on the idea, he was soon pointing and clicking like a pro. He quickly learned to select the different games and how to click to open them. It was somewhat frustrating as he kept playing the one he liked best instead of my favorite — but I tried not to argue about it.

As it turned out, I was the one that soon became tired. I slipped him off of my numb legs, letting him work on his own while I just supervised. He didn’t need much assistance. He looked so small sitting there in that big chair gazing into the computer screen with his little feet dangling. I had created a 3-year-old nerd. All he wanted to do was play with the computer. What could compete with that?

He would drag virtual puzzle pieces and drop them in the right places. He would catch falling leaves with the cursor and match them to the right shape. He would sort bright colored animals into categories: flying, swimming, insects, and four-legged animals, while being reinforced with music and exciting sound effects. All of the time he was playing, he was also learning colors, letters, shapes, logic and thinking skills. But doesn’t it seem as if a kid should be potty trained before learning to use a computer?

My computer mouse grew warm and sticky from his hot little hand and my monitor screen was soon covered with fingerprints as he pointed to particular accomplishments, or tried to assist the cursor arrow with a grubby finger.

“Can grandma use the computer for a while?” I begged.

“But I have to do MY work!” he explained.

So it was a competition to see who got to use the computer and whether I could check my email before the dinosaurs took over.

We tried to limit his computer time and allow for active play. Kids need to run, ride wheeled vehicles, and bounce balls. I thought maybe he would tire of the computer after a while, but there was always the next level, the next challenge, the next game. With computers, there was always more to learn. I had a wee geek in training pants.

It’s a new world now, a different world than the one I grew up in. When a three-year-old kid was learning computer skills already, what would he be doing at eight – or eighteen? Why was this so shocking to me? Kids master the use of language between the ages of two and three, a very complex skill. They are capable of learning even at a very young age and much of a child’s learning takes place prior to ever starting school.

I wanted him to grow up informed and able to meet the challenges of a technological society. But it seems as if it was only last week when he was a mere baby. With each click of the mouse, we both became a bit older and a bit wiser.

Copyright 2002 Sheila Moss
Updated

My grandson turned 18 on his last birthday. He uses a computer at home that he built himself. He will graduate high school soon and was accepted at the University of Southern California, a school that accepts only a small percentage of the applicants. He plans to study computer engineering. He says, “What did you expect, grandma? I’ve been using computers since I was in diapers.” And he has.

Posted in Family, Humor, Technology | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Confession of a Couch Potato

couchI’m a couch potato. Probably you always thought that men where the only ones who deserved this description. I’m here to say that women are almost as lazy as men at times, and we deserve equal opportunity to claim the starchy vegged-out distinction. I’m not just an ordinary couch potato, but an expert at fine couch potato technique. Only one thing is really necessary for being a couch potato, and that, of course, is a couch. There are, however, other things that give couch potato status greater comfort.

Any good couch potato, male or female, will tell you that their most non-productive minutes are spent in front of a television set. While not absolutely essential, it does help to have the television playing so that the couch spud at least appears to be doing something.

Sports are favorite views for spuds as we can let the game drone on and on while we snooze away the hours in non-productive loafing. Programs to avoid are crime and police dramas that have car chase scenes. These are most annoying and the racket of sirens can wake up even the most dedicated snoozer.

Other accessories are also helpful in attaining the ultimate in couch potato comfort. Pillows for the neck are helpful. Naturally you do not want to use a bed pillow as that would betray your intention. Cute little sofa pillows work well and appear to be decorative accessories when not being used for their actual purpose.

A blanket to ward of chills while in an inclined position is also convenient. Again, we do not wish to use actual bed accessories, which betray intent. Small coverlets or the afghan granny knitted are perfect for this. They can be casually thrown across the arm of your couch as a decorator accent and quickly grabbed to double as cover when the urge to nap hits and we do not want to spoil the mood.

Couches come in assorted sizes and types. The best couch potato couches are long enough to accommodate the entire body while in a horizontal position. They should be soft and wide enough that you do not feel as if you may fall off. I have spent many lazy hours catching Z’s on my den couch, a perfect accommodation for a couch potato.

Unfortunately, my den is presently occupied otherwise and I must revert to an office loveseat for my fix. While soft, it is far too short. One must be a dedicated and determined couch potato to twist the body into a pretzel shape that will be accommodated by this sort of couch.

Creative technique, however, allows the wide arms to be used as headrest and footrest. Not complete comfort, by any means, but complete determination. One must be also willing to tolerate a minor neck ache when waking up from this position.

Why bother with all this, you say? If you’re sleepy or THAT lazy, go to bed! Obviously you do not understand the point. Years of practice are needed to perfect a couch potato technique. The point is NOT to go to bed but to catch forty winks elsewhere.

Some might consider snacks or drinks essential for perfect potatoing; however, I consider that as a pre-potato festivity. The true couch potato will be found in an inclined position, hogging the entire sofa, and pretending to be wide awake, even while snoring.

Too much time on my hands? Not at all! The best hours are those stolen when I should absolutely be doing other activities. Actually, I feel a bit drowsy right now. I think I’ll finish this column later. Would you pass me that afghan?

Copyright 2002 Sheila Moss
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Achy, Breaky

backpainRemember Billy Ray Cyrus and his “Achy, Breaky, Heart?” Well, I don’t have an achy, breaky, heart, but I do have an achy, breaky back. I can laugh about it now, but I sure wasn’t laughing when it first happened.

I thought someone had stabbed me, but there was no blood. The pain was excruciating.  I kept thinking of all the things I needed to be doing, — like making dinner for the folks I’d invited to my home before I knew I was going to be cripple and lame.

I don’t even know what happened to my back. It could have been the box of books I lifted at work, or the table I took upstairs to make more room, or just stress. It could have been a lot of things.

I went to the Urgent Care Clinic. “Do you have any other back problems?” The doctor quizzed.

“Well, yes, I do, but it is hurting on the wrong side and hurts far worse than usual.”

“Does the pain go down your legs?”

“Well, as a matter of fact, it does”

“Any numbness or tingling?”

“How did you know?”

“We can do an X-ray.”

I certainly was not going to get any surgery done at the neighborhood convenience clinic. “I don’t think I want x-rays,” I stuttered.

“Okay, I’ll give you some pain medicine and muscle relaxants and you can follow-up with your own physician.”

That sounded good! DRUGS, at this point I needed some. At the pharmacy I asked the druggist if it would be okay to take the muscle relaxants and the pain medicine together.

“Well, it’s probably not a good idea,” he said. “You might end up falling on the dinner table and becoming the entertainment!” I was afraid of that.

Everyone seems to have an opinion about what to do for back problems. Four of five people have back pain at some time in life; therefore, everyone is an expert.

The surgery believers say, “Go a surgeon — get it fixed, and get it over with.” I’ll admit there are situations where the pain is so intense or the injury so serious that I think it must be surgically addressed. But what if I go through all the pain and trouble of surgery, and it still hurts?

“Get an epidural injection. My husband had one and it helped him!”

“Don’t have surgery for a slipped disc, only if it’s ruptured!”

“Get a massage, use a heating pad, use cold packs, take ibuprofen, get a waterbed, use a hot tub, try lineament.”

Now I’ve had back problems before, and I figured that if I could tolerate the pain for a while, it might go away. I also knew that people who have surgery do not always become pain free. In fact, most of the ones I know continue to have back problems after surgery.

My world revolved around crutches and pain pills. I later found that I should have been on bed rest in the early acute stage — not that I was able to go out dancing anyhow.

I decided to take my chances. After a week or two, I began to feel better. I gave up my crutches and got a cane. Canes are great! I highly recommend them. People open doors and are kind to you when you have a cane. I never knew if I reminded them of their grandmother, or if they were just being cautious about irritating someone with a potential weapon in their hand.

I’m pretty much okay now –- not jogging — but not in pain.

Please don’t tell me that pain is not an appropriate topic for a humor column. You wouldn’t want to cross me. I still have my cane, and I know how to use it.

Copyright 2002 Sheila Moss
Edited
Posted in Health, Humor | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

Are You a GROUCH?

Oscar-The-GrouchHave you noticed how people who are grouchy never seem to know it? Is someone you know a grouch? Could it be that YOU are a grouch and unaware of it? Here’s a little quiz to help you decide:

  • Do you go to bed hoping that you will wake up in a bad mood?

  • Do you ever pretend to be sleeping to keep from having to talk to anyone?

  • Do you often speak in short grunts instead of using words?

  • Do your teeth ever feel sore from grinding them together?

  • Do you wake up in the mornings with a bad breath and an attitude to match?

  • Have you ever screamed at the alarm clock?

  • Do you avoid taking pictures because you really don’t want to remember?

  • Do you often complain that a restaurant is no good, or could have been better?

  • Do you frequently use the phrase: “Get Over It”?

  • Have you ever volunteered to be the designated wet blanket at a party?

  • Do you like it when people avoid you because you’d rather not be bothered anyhow?

  • Is a major source of your nutrition black coffee and aspirin?

  • Have you never had a GOOD hair day?

  • Do you call vacations a reason for slackers to avoid working?

  • Did the local undertaker advise you to cheer up?

  • Do you love a traffic jam as it gives you a reason to rant?

  • Do think taxes are too high, politicians are crooks, and there’s no point in voting because it doesn’t do any good?

  • Is your best moment when you say to someone, “I told you so!” ?

  • Are you are always in a hurry to get there late?

  • Do you ever argue with the newscaster, the sports announcer, or MTV?

  • When someone says, “How are you?” do you tell them the truth?

  • Is the some of the best advice you give when you tell people where to go?

  • Do you avoid celebrating birthdays because smoke from candles aggravates your allergies?

  • Are you afraid to smile as it might break something?

  • Does your dog only like you when its time for his food?

  • Do people walk around you on tiptoes?

  • Do you avoid television because there’s nothing worth watching?

  • Can you spit nails faster than a nail gun?

  • When you walk into a room does the temperature fall?

  • Have you ever been accused of snarling?

  • Have you been offered a transfer to the Complaint Department at your company?

  • Are you unable to remember why you are mad?

  • Do you use your spouse or co-workers as a sounding board or a dart board?

  • Would you have to improve your disposition to be a called pessimist?

  • Could your attitude benefit from CPR?

If you answered yes to most of the above, you are probably perfectly normal. If you denied them all, you are undoubtedly a grouch and need a major attitude adjustment.

If you think this should be passed along to some other grouches in your life, feel free to do so. The management is not responsible for accidents.

Copyright 2002 Sheila Moss
http://humorcolumnistblog.com
Posted in Humor | 5 Comments

Wedding Belles

bouquet

When my son was married for the second time, wife-to-be, bless her heart, wanted to have something “different.” After looking around, she decided on an old southern antebellum mansion. Actually, I’ve been to other weddings in other southern mansions, believe it or not. You have to be from the South, I suppose, to understand this particular tradition.

This particular mansion was a landmark, anciently old and resplendent in age. I suppose they rent it out due to the costs of keeping up old mansions these days.
I feel a little sick when I think about how much money it costs to rent a mansion, but we are creating a day to remember forever here.

My son does not like to argue and wanted wife-to-be to have the wedding she wanted. Besides, everyone knows the wedding day is for the bride and the groom is only there as a necessary extra.

Everything was coordinated, from the invitations, to the napkins. I was asked months ahead of time for the color of my dress in order to coordinate it with my flowers. Good grief, I hadn’t even thought about getting a dress, much less the color it would be. I asked for white flowers, figuring that would cover all my bases.

A mansion does create a nice setting for pictures I must admit. The dust and old age doesn’t show in the photos. The photographer was working overtime posing the bride and bridesmaids on the stairs and among the antique furnishings.

After that, she wanted to go outside for pictures in front of the mansion. Since it was a typical hot summer day in the South with temperature in the 90’s and humidity to match, I was rather worried that the bride would be overcome by heat before the wedding began. She wilted a bit, but survived to smile about it.

The bride came down the long stairway with her fluffy wedding gown billowing around her while the appropriate wedding march was played on the piano. I held my breath the whole time afraid she would fall down the stairs, but she didn’t share my apprehensions. Weddings always make me cry. As I looked around, however, I saw that her mother was smiling. Wait a minute, I thought, why am I crying if her mother isn’t?

They were married by candlelight while the guests sipped punch served from a silver punch bowl. A summer storm had blown up outside, so vows were taken over the low rumble of thunder. My son looked elegant in his rented tux with a long jacket, in case anyone cares, and he only messed up on his vows once. I tried to mind my own business as I didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot as a mother-in-law.

Afterwards the caterers, who were friends of the bride, served horsdovers while the musicians played jazz. The bride and groom cut the wedding cake, which my son told me he had bartered for by doing work for the baker. Just keep that to yourself, though.

While looking for the ladies room, I noted that the gift shop was open and wondered if they really thought anyone wanted to shop. Perhaps they figured that it would be a convenient time to pick up a last minute wedding gift. I noticed that mansion staff members were posted at strategic positions throughout the house, like museum guards watching the treasures.

I was thankful when I could go home and get out of that hot, scratchy dress that was squeezing me to death. None of the pictures we took with our fancy digital camera came out, which I’m sure, will make the professional photographer happy.

“The bigger the wedding, the shorter the marriage,” experts say. Sure enough, the marriage didn’t last very long. If he ever marries again, I hope he will elope. I don’t want to have to go through all that again.

Copyright 2002 Sheila Moss
Updated
Posted in Holidays, Humor, Southern Humor | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

The Mother-In-Law Dress

weddingdress


“I need a mother-in-law dress,” I informed the saleslady at the fancy bridal salon.

“You mean a mother-of-the groom dress?” she frowned.

“Whatever”.

She quickly and deftly passed me off to a younger colleague while smiling over my shoulder at a new bride that had just entered the store. Obviously, commissions were better on bridal gowns than on mother-in-law dresses. Oh well, it didn’t really matter. I didn’t want to be there any more than she wanted to waste her valuable time on a low commission sale.

Guiding me to the racks of dresses, the sweet young salesperson asked what color I liked.

“Well, it can’t be blue because the mother-of-the bride picked that; it can’t be off-white because the grandmother selected that. And it can’t be cranberry, because the wedding party will be wearing cranberry. What’s left?”

As you can probably tell, I was not terribly enthusiastic. It’s the second time around for my son, so I’ve been through this ordeal once for him already. It sometimes seems like the bigger the wedding, the faster the divorce. But, I’m trying to be optimistic today. Wife number two has not been married before and she wants a wedding. I need to quit acting like a mother-in-law and try to share the joy of the happy occasion.

“I don’t want sequins either,” I said. Guess I’m old-fashioned but all that glittery stuff looks tacky to me.”

Sweet Young Salesperson selected a light green dress and a peachy pink frock with a lacy top and we were off to the dressing room. It looked more like a dance studio or a health club with it’s mirrored walls.  Young brides flushed with excitement were trying on fluffy wedding gowns while sales people hovered around cooing. I didn’t realize that marriage was such big business.

I slipped into the lacy peach number and held my breath. Nope, no use, it won’t zip.

“Oh, that looks great on you,” exclaimed Sweet Young Salesperson and her cooing flock of colleagues.

“I can’t breath.” I gasped as I grabbed dizzily for the wall. “Get me out of this thing!”

I really liked the green one. Very sophisticated. Good color for me. Unfortunately, it fit me like an Army tent.

“That is fabulous!” squealed Sweet Young Salesperson.

She has got to be kidding! The entire wedding party could fit into this, all at the same time. We could add a tent pole and hold the wedding reception underneath this dress. No amount of alteration could ever make it fit. Naturally, it was not available in a pup tent size.

“I think I’d better keep looking,” I said, edging my way toward the door.

“Wait, try this!” exclaimed Sweet Young Salesperson, chasing after me waving a dark green bridesmaid dress. Good grief! Do these people never give up?

I managed to escape unharmed and locked the car door. I would check out the discount bridal warehouse that I had seen advertised in the Yellow Pages. It was on the other side of town.

How was I to know they would be working on the Interstate and I would be stuck in construction traffic for an hour trying to get there? Maybe I should have tried the bridesmaid dress on after all.

I don’t know the north side of the city very well, but using a map, I finally found the place. The prices were too high. Apparently the word “discount” was just a come-on. It didn’t look much like a warehouse either, just a regular store. The sales people hung around in back by the cash register, talking to each other and ignoring the customers. You know the sort of place.

I selected a couple of dresses in my size, hauled them back to the dressing room and tried them on all by myself. I finally interrupted the chat session going on at the cash register and purchased a dark purplish gown that doesn’t make me look too awfully fat, I hope.

Okay, I’ve got my mother-in-law dress. Now if I can just get rid of my mother-in-law attitude, I’ll be ready for the wedding.

Copyright 2002 Sheila Moss
Posted in Fashion, Humor, Shopping | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

New Beginnings

blossomsAnother winter has ended and another spring has come.  Along with the robins come the dandelions. The daffodils are blooming, and the early blossoms of the pear tree are in such a hurry to bloom that they risk disaster and are sometimes killed by winter’s last fling.

This year is the same as every spring before, and every spring to come.

We greet spring with happiness as it renews our heart. We are tired of the winter, the heavy clothing, and the confinement of being forced by the cold to stay indoors.  Spring releases us and brings gladness to the soul and lightness to our steps.

When spring approaches, I remember other springs and other times so long ago that they seem like other lifetimes now. In youth spring meant the end of a season of work and study. School would soon be out, books would be laid aside, and the long, lazy days of summer lay ahead.

In the spring of adult life, love bloomed with the flowers. Spring brides were as plentiful as the white blossoms of the pear trees.  Children played and celebrated the coming of a new season. Little league baseball and trips to the park were the meaning of spring.

So many springs have come and gone. How can it be that I can scarcely remember them, especially the spring so many years ago when love was lost?  The blossoms in their exuberant joy continued to bloom and seemed not to even notice that they were watered with my tears.

And now spring is here again.  I pulled dandelions from the garden today. As the flowers bloom the memories bloom too, both the sweet and the bitter sweet.  Nature continues to renew itself and life goes on. The yellow daffodils bloom. A new love has come into my life.

I went for a walk to enjoy the warmth of the bright spring sun. I saw children practicing for the beginning of the little league baseball season. A robin searched for food in my back yard.

Like the seasons, life goes on. Our joys, our tears, our lives are really only a small matter. We are merely observers of nature who live here for a few brief seasons.

Spring goes on forever.

©1999 Sheila Moss
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