True Story…really…

Had to tell someone…

My 78 year old husband and I live in a good sized apartment…open living room, dining room and kitchen concept.

I had been putting away groceries and he was watching TV (duh).

But then I walked into my bedroom to do…whatever…not important… and I hear his voice calling, “Tina?”

I walked out into the living room and said, “Did you want something?”

He said:

“Oh.  I knew you were putting away groceries but then it got real quiet.”

Me:  “So…”

Him:  “I wanted to know if you were dead…so I wouldn’t trip over you.”

God’s truth.

 

THE KIDNAPPING OF WESLEY

“Did I just say “kidnapping?”

By

Tina Nelson

When you are hopelessly in love, you will do anything.

You have no control.

You are ruled by your ever demanding heart.

You ignore the rights and listen to the wrongs.

You BEG your friends at recess to help you.

Did I just say “recess”?

You show off your most attractive physical feature (in my case…my legs) by not wearing corduroy pants under your pink dress when it is terribly cold outside even though your mother told you that you’d better wear them…or else.

Did I just say “corduroy”?

You brag about a lifestyle that doesn’t exist…except for the “pancakes” part.

“Did I just say “pancakes”?

And when all that fails…you lie.

“So, Jimmy…and you too, Wesley…my mother has said I can bring two friends home for lunch today and I have picked you guys because I know you are the best of friends…and I want to be your best friend too!”

Seeing the doubt in their eyes, you recklessly continue…

“My mother makes the best pancakes in the world!!”

And so on that Spring day in 1950 at noon, me, Jimmy (dearest love of my life) and his best friend, Wesley walked, ran and skipped the seven blocks from Cherryhill Elementary School…where we were all first graders…to my house where my mother was waiting for me to come home for lunch.

She had a tuna fish sandwich with soft Wonder white bread (it was 1950, after all) an apple cut in slices and a glass of whole milk (to build strong bones) waiting for me…just like she did every day since that was my very favorite.

There was no pancake batter sitting on the counter waiting to be added to a sizzling, hot skillet.

There was only one plate on the table…not three.

Suddenly, Jimmy stopped skipping and burst out, “I can’t go to your house!  If I don’t come home for lunch, my ma will kill me!!!!!!”

And then, Jimmy, the love of  my life, turned and ran like the wind down the street towards his house.

“I’m still coming!” said Wesley to me.  “I love pancakes!”

So Wesley and I slowly trudged the one more block to my house.  Okay.  Okay.  Only I trudged.

We dragged ourselves up the back stairs of the duplex where I lived.  Okay.  Okay.  Only I dragged.”

“MOM!!!” I shouted as I banged open the back-screen door.

“I brought my friend Wesley home for lunch…can we have pancakes?  I sort of promised.”

Did I just say “sort of”?

I walked further into the kitchen and sat down at my place at the table.

Wesley stood shyly by the door…not knowing where he should sit…a scared smile starting to appear on his little black face.

“Did I just say “black”?

My mother came out from the living room where she had been “hoovering” while she waited for me to come home for lunch.

Did I just say “hoovering”?

“Oh, hi mom.  This is Wesley.  I invited him and Jimmy Preston (the love of my life, although I didn’t say that, then) home for lunch.”

“I told them we could have your fantastic pancakes.  Jimmy changed his mind and went home.  But Wesley didn’t.”

“Hello…um…Judy’s mom.”  Said Wesley who didn’t know my last name or unfortunately…as it turned out later…his own phone number.

“Hello, Wesley! said my mother, giving Wesley one of her big, friendly smiles.  My mom was always happy and friendly.  Everyone loved my mom…and her pancakes.

She walked over to the kitchen table and pulled out a chair for Wesley.

“You can sit here, dear.” she said.  And as Wesley walked over to sit in the chair, she moved over to the kitchen counter, reached up to take down her big “pancake” bowl, grabbed it and then paused…as she looked at the two of us sitting at the kitchen table.

“Your mother knows you’re here, doesn’t she, Wesley?” asked my mother.

“No, ma’am” said Wesley politely.  Then he slowly tilted his head to the side…perhaps wondering for the first time if his choice to have pancakes this day was not a good one.

Here is the part where my mother swears a lot, drops the pancake bowl and somehow keeps smiling…

Here is also the part where Wesley’s unknown phone number complicates things…

“I think there is an eight and a six…” offered Wesley hopefully.

And further… no one at Cherryhill is available to answer the frantic calls made by my mother…since they were very busy looking for the missing Wesley.

Soon there were a lot of policemen and police cars…but no sirens.

“Did I just say policemen”?

I saw Wesley’s mother.  She looked like she had been crying but my mom was hugging her so I guess everything was all right.  No one was hugging Wesley or me.

The front-page headline of the paper the next day said:

“6-Year-Old Boy Kidnapped By Best Friend.”

The smaller headline had a quote from Wesley.

“I just wanted some pancakes!”

Jimmy Preston (the love of my life) moved at the end of first grade and I never saw him again.

P.S.  We never got any pancakes.

The End

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I just ate less…”

“Hey!  Let’s hear it for ‘Bloodletting’!!!”

Here’s the deal…yesterday I had to go to the lab for…you know…lab work…which involved removing some blood from my precious body.

I DO NOT LIKE THIS ONE BIT…but you ‘gotta do what you gotta do’…so I went…head down…feet dragging…just like any respectable 3-year-old would do.

Then I did a couple of errands and decided to treat myself to 2 White Castle hamburgers…known to aficionados as ‘sliders’…and a small REGULAR coke.

I did a few more errands and was still feeling the need to treat myself…so I went to Dairy Queen and had a small chocolate sundae.  Oh…so good!!!

I was really tired after all those errands…so when I got home I took a nap and then when I got up I did not feel like cooking so I had Domino’s famous pan pizza delivered…yummy!

Two popsicles for dessert…a few crackers at bedtime and I was done eating for the day…all the while completely understanding that perhaps there would be a slight rise…an ounce or two…in my morning weight….right?  Right.

NOT SO…my friend!!!  It was still 130.4!!!  ikr.

I wonder if those 14th century doctors and their “bloodletting” techniques as a cure for…anything & everything…were on to something…HAH!… just kidding…and apparently you can’t…on your own…order up miscellaneous blood draws…who knew?

Okay.  Okay…really just kidding on that.

Have a nice day…

“I just ate less…”

No Change…

One would think…that after a week of liquid falling from my eyes and a diminished  desire to eat…there would be some weight loss.

But…I guess sorrow hangs heavy…

Have a nice safe day…

“I just ate less…”

****129.8**** !!!!!!!!!!!!!!

IKR…..!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So…here’s the deal.  I cut my hair.

I figured “how hard could it be?”

I figured “just a little snip here…and…there…”

It’s the only explanation I can offer…since yesterday I took a hour and a half nap, did not walk because the dew point was…like 150…and I had an extra half popsicle because it was Monday.

Truth in Telling:  My avatar is slightly exaggerated…

Have a nice day…

 

 

 

Chapter 12

I slowly drew my hand away from the head of my ‘apparently not dead’ cat.

“So,” I whimpered, “It’s just me.  I’m dead alone.”  My eyes started to burn.

But then, out of the corner of my now watery eye,  I noticed the black…whatever…starting to sway a little and change its shape.

It looked like it was extending a hand out to me.

“OH NO!!  OMG!!  IT’S THE HAND OF DEATH.” I shrieked.

As the hand moved closer, I shrank back against my pillow.  I felt like I should do something…like run…to avoid this death thing.  Could I…?

But I was not going to be that dumb girl in the stupid horror movie who runs down the basement to hide…and subsequently becomes many pieces.  Does this building even have a basement?

“Noooo,” I whined loudly as the hand moved even closer.

And then Emma stood up and turned toward me and walked up my legs.

She put her two front paws on my shoulders.  We were eyeball to eyeball.

“Relax, Tobey.  It’s not death.  It’s one of your guardian angels.  Your main one, actually.”

“By the way, the correct phrase is ‘the hand of God’ not ‘the hand of death.’

Said Jennifer Lawrence…since that is exactly who my cat Emma sounded like…with a heavy Southern accent.

She then licked my nose, dropped her paws, walked down my legs and curled up at the foot of my bed…in ‘her’ Drake tee-shirt.

“Not dead then…?” I asked in a squeaky voice.

“No.”

I exhaled loudly.  “Okay good.  Really good and great.”

“His name is Fred.  Like in Rogers.”

“Oh, Jesus.” I mumbled under my breath.

“No…Fred.”

 

 

 

Chapter 13

Fred?  What kind of weird angel name is that, I was wondering to myself when suddenly ‘Fred’ spoke.

“I know right?  I would have preferred Sebastian…but I’m not in charge.”

Fred’s voice was thin, high and reedy…kind of like Truman Capote just before he died.

“And may I just point out, right from the get go, that… it is not my fault that you saw me tonight,” he said.

“I have been watching over you ever since you were born…for every one of your 24 years, day and night, night and day, through thick and thin, through wind and rain and sleet and snow…through sickness and other people’s deaths…even that date with Carl…what a dumbbell…what were you thinking there?…” continued Fred in a prickly, slightly complaining voice.

He paused as if to take a breath but no…of course…that could not be…and then he went on…

“And you have NEVER EVER rolled back on your right side after you have rolled over to your left side…NEVER.”  His voice was becoming  a little edgy now.

Fred seemed really anxious and upset.  I was feeling kind of bad for old Freddy.

I, on the other hand, was becoming more and more relaxed.  Realizing you are not dead after thinking you ARE dead can be extremely soothing.

Hmmmm…I wonder if it’s too late to order pizza?