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Because I said so, that’s why.
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Although my opening line probably resonates with a lot of people, my mother never said that.
To be honest I can’t remember anything she said from my childhood that annoyed me… but in later years, whenever I forgot something I wanted to tell her? She would say, “It must not have been very important.”
To which I always wanted to reply, “Oh yes, now I remember. Your house is on fire .”
How about you…
What did your mother say that drove you nuts?
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It’s only a minute out of your busy day…
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That’s easy.
If I die tomorrow? I don’t want a big funeral, a church service or family and friends crying over my passing.
Scatter my ashes someplace I loved, raise a glass and say, “She made me laugh.”
There isn’t nearly enough of that these days.
How about you?
What should we say after you’re gone….
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It’s Friday.
I think you have to.
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I excel at very few things in life, so when it comes to games.. I stack the deck.
I like to play what I win.
And there are three games at which I am virtually unbeatable.
1.
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Scrabble.
We have one these fancy spinning boards in the man cave/Barn Mahal and on rainy days I love nothing more than mixing a drink and beating the pants off my spouse.
2.
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Trivial Pursuit.
I am a font of useless knowledge and have loved this game since its inception way back in the dark ages of 1981. My husband has yet to beat me (at the original or any of the additional card sets) which makes me love it even more.
3.
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Gin Rummy.
Seven cards, down and dirty. None of that ten card easy matching shite. My mother was a shark and taught me how to play with no mercy when I was a child. My husband, who loves to play Cribbage and Pinochle… quakes when I break out a deck.
How about you?
What’s your go to rainy day game…
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The first thing that you see is what you’re having for dinner.
Go!
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I’m having cookies.
Which isn’t a bad idea really.
😉
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Just in case you’re bored and have nothing better to do.
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We have a closet next to our hutch.
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And like the junk drawer in our kitchen, it’s my guilty secret. When I don’t know what to do something, or other proper storage areas are full?
I cram it in the closet of shame.
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There are tools and Tupperware.
Batteries and basting sauce.
Flashlights and flour.
Mayonnaise and markers.
A crockpot and crazy glue.
There’s no rhyme or reason…wood stain is next to beef broth and egg noodles rest on a tube of epoxy.
Once a year I organize and rearrange, but it doesn’t last long. Chaos wins every time.
And if the shelves are nuts, the tiny floor isn’t much better.
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It’s crammed with 50 lb bags of bird seed, fox food, deer grain and now duck pellets. Which, by the way… the ducks don’t like and won’t eat.
My name is River, and this is my closet of shame.
How about you?
What brings shame to your household….
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Because it might make you smile.
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I’ll start…
Grab your hat pussycat.
Wish me luck Momma Chuck.
Hit the ground basset hound.
Take the bus rhinoceros.
Bake a cake rattlesnake.
😊
Now you…
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It’s as easy as answering a question.
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Thinking about my answer to this question, I realize I’ve lead a charmed life.
My childhood was innocent and idyllic with two loving and supportive parents.
My adolescence was a little wild, but I always knew right from wrong and when too much was too much.
My married life started at age 20 and continues 40 years later, well loved and well cared for.
I have never been to war, been assaulted or been in a bad car accident. I have never had serious physical health issues and my mental state is stable. (Though some might disagree)
Mortal danger?
The closest I can come is being stuck in river mud up to my chest when I was 10 years old. I crossed what I thought was a dry creek bed when my mother wasn’t looking and got seriously stuck. Every time I tried to move I sunk further down and my mother… ever useless in a crisis… just screamed hysterically from the bank. Thankfully some local college guys came to my rescue with picnic blankets tied together like rope. I remember being freaked out, not to mention filthy… but mortal danger might be stretching it.
Of course my husband drives like a raped ape and some say I take my life in my hands every time I get in his car… so there is that.
How about you?
How close have you come to mortal danger.
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Because everyone loves a game.
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I have two early memories and I’m not sure which one came first or how old I was.
1. Wearing a Halloween costume that I loved. It was a frog, a one piece green jumpsuit thing with froggie feet that I apparently saw no reason to take off. My memory is hiding from my mother under a table thwarting her attempt to make me change.
🐸
2. Nap time at some kind of nursery/play school. Everyone had to bring a blanket or quilt or something to sleep on and my mother being my mother bought me a fabulously soft and thick mini rug shaped like Humpty Dumpty. It was the envy of all the other kids and some of the bratty little bastards tried to steal it. I cried, the brats had to sit in the corner and the teacher made my mother switch it for something more mundane.
🥚
Now you.
What’s your earliest memory?
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Because it’s fun, that’s why.
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I’d be happier with changing one hundred things instead of just one at this point in my life.
Chubby thighs. Menopausal belly. Eyes that need reading glasses. A blown knee. They all drive me crazy, but if I only get to pick one…
I want my young feet back. Not these 60 year old hooves that ache with literally every step due to bunion damage. Finding comfortable shoes is a complete horror show if I don’t want to your wear grandmas orthotics… which I don’t. I may be 60, but I’m a rather young 60 and still care about style. Even if it’s only sneakers and boots.
I long for the feet of my 20’s, 30’s and 40’s when I could wear whatever I wanted.. pain free. Things started going south in my 50’s, but now that I’ve turned 60 I look down at my crooked toes and cringe.
Feet.
I want young feet.
How about you?
What body part do you want to change.
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You’re here.
It’s required.
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We used to have a big, beautiful, fat and fluffy white cat.
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He was a long haired Japanese bob tail Manx that I let the neighborhood children name when we lived in North Carolina.
They were sweet kids, if not terribly original… hence the name Mr. White.
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Mr, White made the move back to Maine with us and lived a very long (24 years!) and happy life. He’s buried under a tree on our property and thanks to my mother…who loved to brush him and keep his coat silky smooth… parts of him are still with us.
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Yes, I know it’s bizarre… but the coffee table drawer in our living room that holds Lord Dudley Mountcatten’s leash and toys also contains balls of Mr White’s fur rolled into balls by my mother.
It was a running joke that he shed so much fur she could make a pillow with it one day. Or a blanket. Or a hat.
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Clearly she was on to something.
I know I should toss those old fur balls. It’s not like I’m going to knit cat hair socks or a scarf, but for some reason I just can’t bring myself to do it. Weird as it is, they make me smile.
How about you…
What weird thing can’t you bring yourself to throw out?
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River's world..... 