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…”

****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 6

The Parents’  first attempt at ‘parenting’ was to volunteer at my 7th grade “Welcome Back” school dance which incidentally was my first foray into “socializing” on a grander scale than play dates with neighborhood kids.   Some memories are best not shared.

Two weeks before the dance, The Parents descended unannounced upon a clueless Principal Nelson (such a nice, normal man).

He had previously been informed when Karlie began 7th grade that the parents of Karlie and Tobey Carlson had been tragically killed on their third attempt to climb Mt. Everest.

The Parents had bravely tried to rescue their loyal Sherpa who had fallen into a deep crevasse.  All three bodies were never recovered…so Karlie and younger sister Tobey were now being lovingly raised by a grandma named Sylvia…so you just call her if anything comes up.

This compellingly sad tale had been created by our highly imaginative grandma after a couple of glasses of Cabernet Sauvignon.  Both Karlie and I thought it was a sound plan and we all agreed that there was no reason whatsoever to mention this to The Parents…ever.

But now…The Parents told the puzzled Mr. Nelson, that “Yes!  Of course we’re Tobey’s  parents!  Who else would we be?”

And they added for good measure, “We’re Karlie’s parents too!”  They figured this  further claim would seal the deal.

A hesitant and slightly confused Principal Nelson said he “would see if they would be needed.”

It should have ended there but The Parents were now on a mission and made sure of being ‘needed’ by donating $100,000 to renovating the teachers’ lounge.  They were more than ‘needed’…they were revered.

Imagine riding a roller coaster with no safety bar to hold you in place…that was my life for the next 6 years…

 

 

Chapter 7

Those six years were almost epic and I say ‘almost’ since no deaths or serious injuries could be directly connected to any participation by The Parents in any planned school activities.

It was, of course, no surprise that all of Karlie and my friends loved Iris and Rain.

Many evenings there were classmates eating pizza at our huge kitchen table that neither Karlie nor I knew…but they somehow knew our parents and had been invited over for “Pizza Night”.

We didn’t actually have a “Pizza Night”.

Shall I mention that in eighth grade Iris volunteered to be a confirmation teacher at our very progressive Lutheran church?  Sure, why not.

After the second week, kids who didn’t even go to our church wanted to join her class…and I’m talking kids from all religions.

God had never been so much fun.

 

 

Chapter 8

No easy way to say this…you know they die.

Three days after I graduated from high school, The Parents crashed their brand-new, chili pepper red Porsche into a large oak tree on Blake Road…four short blocks from home…

They had been at the club and perhaps celebrating or maybe even lamenting the end of this parenting phase of their life.  It was said  to have been “a spectacular crash”…the Porsche going well over 100 mph.

Karlie and I were completely broken-hearted.  Losing grandma Sylvia had been devastating but she had been ‘older’.  The Parents were both only 50.

They had left strict instructions regarding any ‘death celebrations’…no funeral, no memorial service…nothing.  Karlie and I picked up a large urn from Woodrow Funeral Home with both of their ashes inside.  They wanted to be cremated together.  Of course.

And then we all went home.

In less than two days, The Parents were back home, perched on the mantle over the fireplace in the living room.  Together…forever.

Karlie and I spent over two weeks in that room, mostly crying but laughing sometimes too.  We ate there and we slept there and we watched every single home movie The Parents had ever taken…over and over and over again.

We had only had them as ‘real parents’ for six short years…we were not quite ready to let them go…just yet.