Nobody's Perfect

While checking on posts of some of my Facebook friends a little while ago, I ran across an amusing one and felt like sharing it.

Bobby, a lifelong friend of my son’s, posted a picture. Seems he got all the way to work one day before he looked down and saw this:

 

His explanation: his dog, Betty, an adorable little black pug, had distracted him. We’ll buy that, Bobby.  It could happen to any of us. 

I think we’ve all done something similar.

Many years ago, at Christmastime, my daughter, Tish, and I, in a festive mood and feeling kind of silly, went with Mr. H. to pick up an item at the grocery store. We didn’t intend to get out of the car, just went along for the ride and to enjoy the Christmas lights. Just before we left, I grabbed a red velvet bow, not

exactly like, but similar to this one: clipped it to my hair, right in front and said, “Let’s go.” My daughter giggled and we got in the car. But alas, you never know what will happen on any given jaunt and we had an unexpected mishap! A lady barreled out of a side street and hit our car in the side! No one was hurt and the damage was minimal. Nevertheless, it was frightening for a few seconds and even more upsetting because our car was new!

 

So outta the car I bounced and, while Mr. H. took care of all the boring stuff like

exchanging insurance companies, addresses and phone numbers, I walked around and around surveying the damage to our new car. Tish stayed in the car. At one point, I looked through the window at her and she was laughing so hard and pointing to her head. It took a few seconds for my brain to process her message, but it finally hit me! I had been parading around out there for ten minutes – with that big hideous red bow perched on my head! I immediately dashed for the car, my face as red as the bow, but I don’t know why I bothered. All the spectators had already witnessed my stupid look! I pulled the bow out of my hair and we laughed until tears ran down our faces. 

I just committed my latest blunder in May when I was rushing to get Mr. H. to the hospital for surgery at 5 a.m. I won’t bore you with the details. Let’s just say that, after being at the hospital for a couple of hours, I discovered that I had put my shirt on over my pajama top. I somehow managed to wriggle out of it inconspicuously, and stash it in my purse. Felt a lot better after that. It was awfully bulky!

Feel better now, Bobby?
 

www.amazon.com/author/peggytoneyhorton  

It's What I Do

Someone recently asked me, “Why do you write?”

I thought about it for a while but couldn’t come up with anything specific.

I never needed a reason before. Writing has been a part of me for as long as I can remember. I once got into trouble when I was in the second grade for writing a poem instead of doing what the teacher had assigned. My punishment: finish the poem and read it to the class. It went like this:

  “I woke up this morning and felt something

   in the air. I couldn’t name it, but it was there.

   I ran to my window and looked around

   There it was! Snow on the ground!”

My classmates cheered. The teacher smirked and said, “Please take your seat, Peggy. Now class, open your Health books to page....”

I stay up most nights until four or five a.m. writing. I write wherever I am – in a car, on a bus, on a plane, in a restaurant – if not literally, then in my mind.

It’s what I do.

It’s my life.

www.amazon.com/author/peggytoneyhorton
 

Quote~

It's What I Do

Someone recently asked me, “Why do you write?”

I thought about it for a while but couldn’t come up with anything specific.

I never needed a reason before. Writing has been a part of me for as long as I can remember. I once got into trouble when I was in the second grade for writing a poem instead of doing what the teacher had assigned. My punishment: finish the poem and read it to the class. It went like this:

  “I woke up this morning and felt something

   in the air. I couldn’t name it, but it was there.

   I ran to my window and looked around

   There it was! Snow on the ground!”

My classmates cheered. The teacher smirked and said, “Please take your seat, Peggy. Now class, open your Health books to page....”

I stay up most nights until four or five a.m. writing. I write wherever I am – in a car, on a bus, on a plane, in a restaurant – if not literally, then in my mind.

It’s what I do.

It’s my life.

www.amazon.com/author/peggytoneyhorton

It's the Little Things

July 1^st 

Just think – only six short months from today, we’ll be celebrating New Year’s Day!

Half a year gone already.

When I mentioned this to my sixteen year old granddaughter, she looked at me – pierced eyebrows raised in bafflement – and said, “That can’t be. Summer hasn’t even started yet.”

“Ah, I know, darlin’,” I said, “but it doesn’t matter. Just hide and watch. After the fourth of July celebrations are over, back to school clothes will magically appear on the shelves in stores and don’t be surprised if pumpkins start to show up, too. Why, one TV station is even going to show some Christmas movies in a week or so."

She walked away shaking her head in disbelief.

I sat there chuckling and thinking about all my summer-lovin’ friends and family - and how they taunt me for months about their beach vacations and pool parties, knowing how much I hate hot weather.

Payback is not that far away!  

www.amazon.com/author/peggytoneyhorton
 

The Winds of Time

Life gets a little complicated sometimes. Seems to be more so for me these days than ever before.

Like the storm we had yesterday: It was rather isolated and many of our friends and relatives escaped it, but it got us – with a vengeance!

I felt so helpless watching a fierce wind rip out a large section of our six-foot privacy fence as if it were a twig! When these things happen, we quickly learn a new respect for terrifying weather conditions and a new appreciation for something we normally take for granted like electricity. We learn the hard way, but by Jove, we learn!

The power went off at 5:15 p.m. and Mr. H. and I sat in candlelight twiddling our thumbs for the next seven hours and twenty minutes. Liza Jane, our cat, rather enjoyed the flickering of the candlelight and the light from the flashlight I carried from room to room.

Even after the power came back on, at 12:40 a.m., Suddenlink didn’t. So we still had no TV, telephone or computer. But never let it be said that I can’t find something to do at any given time. Between 1:30 and 2:00 a.m., I cooked the meat that I was preparing to cook when the power went off at 5:15. I was fixing Mr. H’s favorite dish, pepper steak. After the meat was thawed, I had no choice but to cook it. But needless to say, he’d had cheese sandwiches for dinner instead, but the pepper steak was just as wonderful today!

My grandmother used to say, “There’s a good reason for everything that happens if you just look for it.” I used to think that was just wishful thinking, but, as I get older, I know what she meant. It doesn’t exactly reach out and touch you, you have to look for it.

The good that came out of our seven and a half hour hiatus was that Mr. H. and I actually had a conversation! Something we rarely do.

Mr. H. is a man of few words and about the only time I get to have a real conversation with him is when I’ve got him held hostage in the car on a trip or when the power goes off.

We talked about many things, but what I enjoyed most was comparing our present situation to how it must have been for our ancestors getting up at the crack of dawn and going to bed at dark. They worked hard all day in daylight and were tired enough to go to sleep as soon as the sun went down. There was nothing else to do anyway with no TV or computers. However, they did have large families in those days – and that’s all I have to say about that!

Yes, these unexpected events teach us to be flexible if nothing else. No point in whining over something you can’t control. Just go with the flow, eat cold sandwiches instead of your favorite dinner, enjoy the beauty of flickering candlelight and by all means, have a conversation!

You just might enjoy it.

 

A Matter of Respect



Dyslexia?

If my mother had it, it was never diagnosed by a doctor. Yet, she did seem to have a slight problem with some of the English language.

My mother was not stupid! She was educated, well-read and well-spoken except for a few words that, for some reason, gave her trouble.

The first time she told me she'd made 116 moffets, I thought perhaps she’d made some little cakes similar to petit fours. Then she showed me the afghan she’d been crocheting. I crocheted, too, but had never made any moffets that I knew of; perhaps it was something I needed to learn.

But after a bit of pondering, it occurred to me that “me dear old Mum” was making motifs, not moffets.

Since I was taught from a very young age that I should never correct her, I didn’t, even though I was grown at the time.

“Even when I’m wrong, I’m right!” she once told me emphatically.

“I’m your mother and you will not correct me! It’s a matter of respect. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mother,” I said, knowing nothing else would work.

As I grew up, her botching of the language became a source of fun for me and the rest of the family. Secretly, we used her words in jest and everyone enjoyed making a little good humored fun of her. Her grandchildren adored her, but couldn’t resist joining in the fun occasionally.

We had one of our best laughs when she once took off her coat and hat and placed them on my bed. Later, when it was time to go home, we discovered that my Yorkie had chosen to take a nap on them. She picked up her hat, shook it around a bit and said mournfully, “Oh, no! Now it’s all mis-happen!” Of course, the word is misshapen, meaning distorted, warped, or deformed.

Ever since this incident, things have been “mis-happen” in our family.

My mother was a sweetheart in so many ways; we loved her dearly. Little did she know that her peculiar words were a source of laughter over the years and we wouldn’t have hurt her feelings for anything by telling her.

But these things have a way of coming back to bite you. I felt a little nip yesterday when I was telling my daughter how much I love listening to the Ponderosa music channel. When she laughed, I had no idea why for a few seconds – then it hit me. It’s Pandora! 

And to make matters worse, I’ve been calling it that for a week or more to Mr. H., who hasn’t said a word. Why hasn’t he set me straight? Who knows? He probably thinks it’s good for a lot more laughs if he leaves it alone.

Oh, my! I am becoming my mother!
 

www.amazon.com/author/peggytoneyhorton