January 23, 2012
Hello, and welcome back to the ongoing dramedy that are the lives of Ebb~n~Flo!
Our humor book will be submitted later this week to a new publisher, and we hope to work on one of our children’s books as well. We have several to choose from, and a couple of serious works that we can work on, too.
Still no word for Ebb’s hubby about his promotion but we’re trying to keep a positive attitude about him getting it. Our fingernails are down to the nubs, but that’s not a problem either! It makes it much easier to file our documents!
Now to shake things up a bit! Ebb and Flo have decided that in order to make our blogs a bit more interesting, and to let you see just how creative our muses let us go, we’re going to add a short story and a favorite saying to each blog each week – or at least, that’s our goal for now. We know how dead-serious these things can get and we want our readers and followers to come alive when they read our works! So, brace yourselves – here’s Ebb’s first contribution, with Flo’s following. Happy Reading!!!
Ebb’s story and sayings:
MULTI-TASKING CAN KILL YA
By Robyn Young-Stafford
There are two major points of wisdom I’ve learned when it comes to writing. One, write what you know. This has been a tremendous help to me since I have totally no idea what else I would ever choose to write about. (Insert graphic of the ‘duh’ face here.)
The other tidbit is to read. A lot! Reading helps inspire the creative psyche. It gets your mind rolling with one idea after another, especially if you’re reading something worthwhile. Hmmm, maybe even the opposite has merit as far as this is concerned, because you may have the tendency to want to make things right in the world, if you find yourself cruising over some disreputable book or article.
Every day I look around, eyes wide open, and I feel a story in everything I see. So, I write about what I know.
And I read. My shelves are overburdened with books, my Barnes and Noble card has a lifetime membership, (actually, I have to renew it every year, but it might as well have one) and the librarians in town are getting to know me very well. My sleeping habits leave much to be desired, because I stretch out my day as long as I can for the joy of the written word.
I’m doing what the ‘greats’ advise, but there is a third speck of advice I’d like to share with unsuspecting writers/readers. Here is how I came to the realization of this truth:
It’s a quiet Sunday evening. We’ve been to church, visited the elderly, called family, had our dinner, and played games with friends. Now, the kids are off to a youth gathering to feast on more spiritual delights and my husband is in the other room going over some last minute Scout Camp preparations with a buddy. I am sitting alone in my office, door closed, so I won’t interrupt them with their planning. I have a plate of sliced jalapeno cheese and wedges of apple next to me, as I sit back in my chair to read. What is my choice of intellectual stimulus while feasting on my evening snack? Dave Barry's Colonoscopy Journal!
First of all, the very title should be a clue to not read and eat at the same time, but do you think that even fazed me? Not, at all. I love reading Dave Barry, so I didn’t even give it a second thought.
The other thing I didn’t give much thought to was how unsafe it is to laugh and eat at the same time. Now, here is my life’s lesson: Never read Dave Barry while eating apples and cheese!
Undoubtedly, the laughter will come. When reading Dave Barry, it’s as natural as breathing. And if I were ever questioned as to whether or not I work out, I’d have to ask, “Does laughing to Dave Barry count?” I swear, he has such a way of toning the stomach muscles, everyone should read him often.
So I take a bite and read a line. The laughter begins, but it doesn’t stop with the next line, nor the third. And the more intently I try to contain my laughter, I am paying little attention to the fact that I am stuffing my face with bite after bite of my apples and cheese. The suspense of what the next line may hold keeps me on the edge of my chair, and I don’t even realize how full my mouth has become until I’m laughing so hard, I begin to choke!
Sucking down a chunk of apple hurts! You’d think the cheese would soften the space between fruit and tender flesh, but remember, I have Jalapeno cheese. It may diminish the scraping of the rough edges, but in between these components of human flesh and apple skin, there are little morsels of peppers caught right where it counts. Tears are streaming down my cheeks, and I can’t tell if it’s from the laughing, the choking, or the spicy peppers. I can’t stop! I keep reading - despite the watery eyes. I keep laughing. And I keep choking.
I figure I have a choice here: either I stay in my office, quietly choking to death, where no one would be the wiser, or I can go out and try to get some help from the guys.
I envision myself staggering out the office door toward the family room, where my husband sits with his buddy, my face red from lack of air, with shrieking, whistling noises coming from what little space there is left in my windpipe. I imagine my husband nonchalantly looking up, a token gesture just long enough for me to believe he noticed me, then returning to lock his gaze upon his computer screen. I can see his buddy begin to say, “Oh! Oh! I know that one!” as he sits there, assuming I’m playing charades while he watches me flailing as I slam my sternum into the edge of the dining room table, over and over, in an effort to dislodge my apple and cheese.
Fortunately, I don’t have to make such a scene because I’ve continued to read, through the tears and the choking, to the next paragraph. Something so hilarious hits me like that table edge, and rumblings somewhere within sends centrifugal force from deep in my belly, up through my chest cavity, and out my throat, dislodging the piece of apple and cheese.
Ah! I survived! I think to myself, as I wipe away the tears, and settle back into my chair to read the rest of the story. With a sigh, I reach for that final piece of cheese and apple from the plate and place it between my lips. Dave Barry is none the wiser, and I think by reading his column, I actually cleaned out my colon!
Robyn Young-Stafford sayings:
"The things that will destroy us are: politics without principle; pleasure without conscience; and wealth without work. -Gandhi
Flo’s story and sayings:
HALLELUJAH!
THERE ARE CROW’S FEET ON MY FACE!
By Linda Robertson
Now, you would think that a gray hair at age 29 would have thrown me for a loop.
It did!
I found it one morning before work, and as I yanked it out, I remembered all the women in my family, generation after generation, telling me that when you pull out one hair, two come back.
It was too late. I had jerked it with a mighty force equal to that of Hercules. I stood there, looking in the mirror, contemplating my actions, and asking the question every woman asks - when will those two come back to replace the one I pulled?
Every day for weeks, I checked the spot where the gray hair had been. I didn’t see one so I thought I was safe. Plus, in my teens, my mom’s friend told me that blondes didn’t have to worry about gray hair, because gray hair doesn’t show up on blondes.
Boy, was she wrong! After 29 came 30, and an abundance of gray hair that I couldn’t see in my bathroom mirror because the light wasn’t strong enough. On one occasion, at my aunt’s house, I saw them clearly in her well-lit bathroom mirror. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I had LOTS of gray hair. When did it come in? How did it get there? Would it ever leave? Will blonde dye cover it?
Don’t know. Don’t know. No. No.
Bad answers.
Twenty-nine was a bad year for me and now I had to deal with gray hair. When I turned 30, I realized that aging wasn’t far behind.
Life wasn’t fair. And I always thought it was. When I was a kid, I had some of the good stuff...Pixie Stix, Pepsi, stuffed animals, school pals. This was “fair” stuff. Life was supposed to give you this stuff because that was why you had this life.
Ohhh, they lied to me! All those adults and older friends that were in my life lied when they told me that life was good. Then I remembered my mom saying this when I was about 14: LIFE ISN’T FAIR!
When did it change?
I don’t know, but I got through it.
So, my life continued onward with raising kids, working hard, staying warm in winter and cool in summer, and eating well. And I continued aging.
In my 39th year, all hell broke loose. I felt brain-dead, and couldn’t stop dropping things, or running into walls. All the objects in my house rebelled against me, and began to have minds of their own. One day, my broom attacked me. Another day, I stuck my hand into a bowl filled with hot water because I forgot I had poured the spaghetti water through the strainer and into the bowl.
I made it through 40 and was glad 39 was gone forever.
Some days, my adult life went along quite easily, which was very confusing for me. Most of my adult life had been dealing with episodes like the spaghetti bowl. My kids were growing up before my eyes and I was aging right along with them, without too many new clues for my life.
Every morning in my warm comfortable shower, I washed my hair and my body, anticipating a wonderful day. One day, my son came into the kitchen complaining that the shower drain was plugged up. I went to the bathroom with him and pulled up the drain. It was FILLED with hair - some gray, some blonde, and some unrecognizable color. We unclogged the drain, and while my son took his shower, I examined the hairball, comparing it to my own hair. I hadn’t colored my hair in several months, so my natural color had about six different shades in it. All the hair in the clog seemed to have come out of my head.
I had “thinning hair” just like the commercials on TV told me.
My grandpa had “thinning hair,” not me! How could this happen! And what was I going to do?
I wasn’t crazy about my hair because it was too curly and frizzy, but with lots of conditioners, hair gels, curling irons, and brushing, it was usually presentable.
While aging, I experienced another “life isn’t fair” trauma. I lost friends who I thought would be with me forever. They didn’t die - they just moved away. Some left during my divorce, some left because they couldn’t deal with some of the problems I was going through, and others left for unknown reasons. But no matter why they left, it was still a loss. And I learned the hard way how to deal with it.
I made it from 40 to 50 without too many things going wrong - surprisingly. Four months after my 50th birthday, I was hit by a drunk driver, and lost the ability to walk or live by myself. My doctors, nurses, physical therapists, and family members spoke in whispered tones that they believed I would never walk again.
They must have forgotten my survival skills after all the pitfalls I had taken on in my adult life.
I never say never!!
The year I was 52, after two years in a wheelchair, I began walking again, with a walker, then advanced to a cane. At 54, I was walking on my own and had moved back to my own home, to hopefully live quietly and peacefully, and experience my new philosophy...Life Happens When You Don’t See It Coming.
One day, I was taking off my eye make-up, and I looked very closely at my face. I turned the light on and checked closely. There, in the corners of my somewhat pretty blue eyes, I saw crow's feet.
I began thinking of all the questions I needed to ask myself...When did they get here? What shall I do? How long have they been there and I didn’t see them?
Instead, I laughed. I touched the little grooves on my face, and laughed. Somewhere, in this life of mine, I learned that life rarely gets better unless you really work at it, and no matter what, it’s going to change. Here I stood, in front of the mirror that I have looked into for over 30 years, and I figured out the solution.
The crow's feet were there, and nothing short of plastic surgery would make them go away. . .and that’s only a temporary fix.
So what did I do when I discovered this new part of aging?
I rejoiced.
Despite all the endless snags that came my way, I had made it this far. In a life finally filled with joys and hopes, I could at last overlook the deluge of problems, fears, and tears.
And now I say “Hallelujah! There are crow’s feet on my face!”
Linda Robertson© Sayings:
(1) Now I remember why we’re friends. You always start the stampede.
(2) You know she’s an alien when she passes up a shoe sale!
(3) The fortune teller told me I’d had trouble for 60 years. I told her I was only 40. She said I had 20 lousy years in a past life, too!
Well, we’ve come to the end of our time together for today. Don’t you feel better now? We sure do! Ebb~n~Flo believe in ourselves, in our talents and creativities, and in our sisterhood. We work for our pleasure and we write in order to breathe. Yep, it’s THAT important!
If you’d like to leave us a message, please do. We welcome all comments, especially those that are constructive and lift us up!
Thanks for your ongoing support of the awesome team of Ebb~n~Flo!
