All is Well in Wellsville, or, I Think I Found Stars Hollow

Can you hear it?
Wait for it.......Waaaaaaaait for it.......   YES!  There it is!  Can you hear Andy of Mayberry whistling the theme song?  And can you see Opie kicking up dust with his fishin pole over his shoulder?  And can you smell Aunt Bea's blueberry pie comin' right out of the oven?  And hear Barney Fife shooting himself in the foot?  Yes?  ME TOO!

Because I was there in person today:  Mayberry RFD.  I was coated in retro.  This morning Jaqueostinky's family and I headed off to Wellsville (real name) for a 'Founder's Day Parade" even though it is really Labor Day today. 

(ps.   There's loads of low quality pictures to come....I was so excited by what I saw that all I did was point and shoot.  Aesthetics be forgotten.....  Lighting be dar ned.....)

First, the po-lice started off the parade with a bang.  Please note Gracie and Sophie off to the left side, not so impressed with them,  holding their WalMart sacks waiting for the candy throwing to begin.  And That Girl in the pink and white striped shirt?  Lets be keeping it real and say that she was strictly a kid from 2010.  She kept gathering candy in her space and then would run over and steal what had been thrown to my two little angels.  I wanted to kick her real hard and that was not very Mayberry of me.

Next we see the satisfied face of an assertive child who problem solved by running up to the candy throwers and flashing her dimples.  How very Grandma Margaret of her.

Next we have a larger woman being pulled by a smaller pony.  I'm just sayin.  It might have been too hot for this.

Next we have a softball team and one girl dragged her barkalounger up on the truck.  I know there is a sign that advertises a raffle, but that thing looked like someone's dad had already put several miles on it during 7 or 8 consecutive March Madnesses.

Here we have the Wellness Community Band.  Most of it's Participants were over 65, not that there's anything wrong with that.  My biggest regret of the day was not snapping a pic of the 85 year old woman

 that was banging on the bass drum.....Don't you just kick yourself when you miss the golden moment? 

 ps.  There were alot of suspenders in the band.

Band Enrapture

Wellness's Oldest Sweethearts.  So MAD about the blur because they were the cutes.

The UNREAL homemade glazed donut that I bought from one of Jaqueo's scouts

The Preston Idaho High School Marching Band.  Remember?  It's Napolean Dynamite's alma matar

SO EXCITING!

Pedro is the student body president AND plays the trumpet 

Socially Concious Demolation Derby-ists

Socially Unconcious Home Care Givers who make their Patients ride in a parade

Members of the A.M.R.S.  (American Medieval Re-inactment Society).  A particularly poignant quote from their flyer:  "A Kingdom for a stage, Princes to act, and Monarchs to behold the swelling scene. . .

- Shakespeare, Henry V

If you join, there are CAMP OUTS!!!!

Please do not be offended by the next two pictures.  I just pointed and shooted like the camera said to do.

So now you've got yer wild ones, that at first glance have gotcha wondering:

"Are they or aren't they???"

.....And then you see the two blonde ones with red goo slathered on them and there's no more doubt. 

Just lots and lots of confusion and an urge to cover up your grandchildren's eyes.

For those of you who think my blogs are too long (you know who you are Glitch), you may find it rather noteworthy that I did not include pictures of Wellsville's Oldest Citizen which included a man in a straw hat, my grand kids bearing down on the candy throwers, the Queen of 1856 who really might have been THE queen they are talking about there, a ninn-compoop wearing a real bearskin and a real bearhead on his head, a float that celebrated the Golden Spike that had a woman who left her dentures at home, two tweens carrying a flag that announced the Excess Material Disposition Crew who were really just people who scooped up horse manure,  a cowgirl in sparklie tight pants, and a float carrying princesses that was covered with so many silk flowers that the first thing that popped into my head was "40% off coupon at Michaels."

So yeah....I edit.

If You're Not Family, You Probably Won't Be Interested in How Beautiful my Grandchildren Are, But if You ARE Family, then Buck Up & Act Interested

For a look at some BEEEEEEEEEEautiful Grandkids, click on this link:

LINK

and then leave me some unbelievable comments. Grandma Margaret, I Hope that you understand that you take the mouse arrow, position it over the word "link" that is just above, and then click. When you get to the page, then scroll down until you see some beautiful blondies in the orchard.

And then you will sigh and say: Mommacita, darn but you're blessed.

Birth of a Texan Sized Goal

Today I went to the park with my grandson Henry. He is 21 months old. We walked the two blocks to the park, and when he finally saw it he yelled park Park PARK and took off running. He climbed and slid and swung and hung and crawled through tunnels. When he had the playground equipment out of the way he hunkered down to the sand.

He squatted on his haunches, knees up like a grasshopper, and sifted his fingers through the sand until he found a Popsicle stick and a tiny rock. The Popsicle stick was old and nasty dirty, and looked like it had once been stuck forever in a grape Popsicle. The rock was small and gray, and had sharp edges. One hand grasped the stick, the other, the rock. And those two hands weren't letting go of them for anything.

I watched that kid sit down on the sand and examine his finds. He used them to poke and dig and write. Then he laid down on his back and compared them to the sky. Then he flipped to his stomach for more sand moving. Then his back. Then his stomach. Then sand was in his hair. Then his shirt. Then I realized it was down the back of his pants. Then the front. Then his shoes and socks were filling up because there was some foot shuffling going on. Nobody but me seemed to care about the disgusting stick, or the sharp rock, or the sand seeping into every crevice.

At that moment, I had to ask myself: Exactly what things in my world would I be perfectly willing to roll around in the sand for? There was no delay in my answer: Absolutely NOTHING. I never want sand down my pants again. Ever. Ever, Never, Ever. For any reason. And I have decided after today, that this is one of my goals.

But in case you are mistaken, let me be clear: I HEARTILY enjoy the fact that there are people in this world who can, without a blink, pick up a stick teaming with bacteria and not flinch. And not only do they not flinch but they obviously see some value going on there that others don't see. And I love that there are people who can without angst pick out one rock from a million rocks and dub it as THE ROCK worth keeping, and then, on top of that, these people continue to party on, even though sand is collecting in their underpants that just happen to be moist.

I envy something in that. I really really do.

PS. Just in case you're wondering. I draw the line at bandaids. Nobody played with, or licked any bandaids in the making of this blog. In fact bandaids were treated with disdain and people were made to feel shameful and embarrassed and guilty if bandaids were even longingly looked at. And if that stifled anybody's growth, creativity, or ability to learn in the future, then so be it. I'm absolutely secure with my position.

The St. Louis: Pics and Pans

I've been to St. Louis for a spell, and right before I left, I told a woman at church that I was spending a good deal of the summer in St. Louis with the Duber-ers. She did not miss a beat, and there wasn't a change of expression on her face (which could or could not have been due to botox...I am a professional speculator) as she retorted "You will hate it."

Geepers. Way to support. I tried to massage away the awkwardness with a smile and some self deprecating humor as I slunk off to be with the 3 year olds who are supportive of my life choices.

Now that my stay in the Lou is over, I've come up with this list of Pics and Pans. You know...a list like they have in some newspapers on Fridays in the editorial section, where the Pics would be something that the editors love, like say for instance, gun control after Columbine. A Pan would be something that they hated, like, George Bush throwing up on the leader of the Japanese nation. Comprend?

BTW, I loved my experience there....both the positives and the negatives, the pics and the pans. So lady at church, guess what? I didn't hate it at all. Take that. And here, take my list of Pics and Pans put it in your oversized handbag.

PIC #1

There's this Pizza Restaurant there called PI. Not only is the name clever, the food was so good we went back twice and dreamed about it in between. The deep dish pi was made with a cornmeal crust and the toppings were done in opposite order: cheese on the bottom, then toppings, and this chunky tomatoey deliciousness on top. The crust around the edge, you know, the part you usually leave on your plate and toss??....the best part. Delish.

Like to hear about the Milkshake bar at PI? You would? The S'mores Milkshake came with the following pretties on top: a chocolate disc with the pi symbol on it, a bucket of whipped cream, chocolate bits, a couple of homemade graham crackers, a skinny skinny wood skewer with a freshly toasted homemade marshmallow on the end, and two paper straws with green and white stripes around them. I apologize for causing you to froth.

PAN #1

Everywhere in St. Louis, and I mean everywhere (CHURCH, (and I put church in capital letters because it was particularly heinous to me because, hello, you're trapped there for 3 hours) the grocery store, the mall, Nordstroms, any restaurant, the beauty salon where you have to drop a payload to get your hair done,) absolutely everywhere you go, the drinking fountains provide water that IS NOT CHILLED. And like a sucker I fell for it every time.

PIC #2

Everything is free, and everything is grand. Zoo? free. Art Museum? Free. Thomas the Train Exhibit and Playland? Free. Natural History Museum? Free. Shakespeare in the Park? Free. La Dee Freakin' Free!!!! I Love.

PIC #3

Everything is Family Friendly. The People are Family Friendly. The activities are Family Friendly. The people you meet and greet are family friendly. The Owner of PI danced with Sawyer in the aisle of the Restaurant because that's just what you do when a darling baby is groovin to your music. And then he gave him a free 'gooey butter cookie' fresh from the oven and he gave us one too. I'm telling ya. Family AND Friendly.

PAN #2

Can't they do something about that humidity thing?

PIC#4

Everything you want is within a stone's throw. Temple? 10 minutes. Pretty great Mall? 10 minutes. Other even better Mall? 10 minutes the other way. Church? 10 minutes. Trader Joes? 5 minutes. Viewing the sun glinting off the ARCH at sunset? OK. 15 minutes. Maybe 20 tops. It was quite breathtaking I might add. The material the arch is made of is silvery and clean and shining. I was surprised that I liked it as much as I did because I'm not much of a touristy gal. Plus I was eating Peanut Butter M&Ms at the time which may or may not have added to the experience.

PAN#3

I mentioned the humidity, right? It deserves an honorable mention.

PIC#5

Lightening. AND Lightening Bugs. Both SO fun, right?

PIC#6

Warm puddles of water. When you're walking along and the rain is pouring down on you (what I really meant to say was dumping down on you) and you are trying to get from Fedex to your car and you accidentally step in a puddle in your new sandals and the water is bathtub warm, well, I've just got to say it was a lot better than it being cold.

PAN#4

It rains a lot for the summer and while you'd think I'd be used to a fair amount of rain, I found that I DO expect the sun to be out in the summer.

Let's review. I like convenience, stuff for free, a good family friendly atmosphere, delicious beautiful food, and I hate anything that makes me uncomfortable.

Any questions?

Class Dismissed.

For the Other Grandma

Announcing:

(with everything underlined because I have no idea why and I'm ready to say bad words which is something I don't do)

Tanzen Margaret

and her blonde blonde hair

She wakes!!

She delights with her delicate delicateness!!

Her brother has turned to the ways of the rock music

Not really, he's been really sweet

As is this little piece of pie.

And let's not forget, MY sweet baby. As long as I'm living my baby you'll be.

You know you are SO wiping away a few tears right now.

They've Multiplied, They've Replenished

First, I have no pictures to share and I am sorry. I left my camera battery at Dubers'.

But I DO have a news flash: Sneebers and Matt have added a pink little bundle to their family, born on August 3rd** at around 11:30 am., 7 lbs, 11 oz, 21 inches long.

She has all her fingers and toes and they are LONG, plumbing is working, eyes are light, hair is blonde for now, skin is flawless.

Name: Tanzen Margaret Williams.

Social Security Number: 529-yum-yum

**Grandma Margaret celebrated her 87th birthday on this very day. Her response to having a great grandchild born on her birthday and semi named after her? I'll give you two to choose from...they both were uttered:

"Mommacita, when are you coming home? I need a pedicure."

"Margarets are jewels"

They are Margaret, indeed, they are.

The Best Little Non Graduation Ever, or Bitter Much?

My Mother-in-law dug out her guilt stick and has beaten me senseless with it every chance she gets because I have not posted since the Olympic season. What is there to blog about when Bob Costas is not a fixture in your life? Like, I mean, C'mons

Hey. Have you ever noticed that BLOG and BRAG are spelled almost the same?

Cue:

"Pomp and Circumstance." Played by the high school band. With the brass section a little off key. And it's pouring down rain because it always pours down rain for graduation.

Enter:

One of your Children. In a graduation robe. With a DOCTOR hood on it. It's one of your children, filing into an auditorium, that is stuffy and hot, but you don't care because your son is wearing a graduation robe with one of those DOCTOR thingies on it that only people who study really really hard and become DOCTORS get to wear.

Feel:

The magic. Because you birthed that DOCTOR who is filing in down there, you birthed that DOCTOR waiting to get his diploma. You birthed him, and raised him, and made him stop sassing you, and you feel the wonder of it all. How could this be, you ask honestly? He finally made something of himself if it was the last thing he did.

Magicmagicmagic you keep hearing someone whisper in your ear....

Hear:

The sound of the record needle screech (for those you that can remember the sound of a record needle screech.)

For those who were born after 1982, a record needle screeching symbolizes my little graduation scenario careening off the road, down the cliff, rolling head over tail, bouncing off rocks and splatting upside down in the deepest part of the ocean. With no survivors. You have just heard the sound of no survivors.

Enter:

Reality. There is no graduation ceremony. There is no music. There is no robe. There is no robe with a fancy smancy hood on it. There is no magic. There is no waving wildly from the stuffy bleacher hoping people will click their tongues and say wow, did she really raise that smart DOCTOR type because he looks like he might have been a sassy pants in his day? Wowzers She's AMAZING!!

OK. OK. In all reality there IS a diploma. And there IS a DOCTOR. But because of some dumb opportunity in some dumb other state, and because they had to be there by June 21st, someone robbed their mommacita of the glory that is only derived in a stuffy bleacher. So instead I bring to you, (my mother-in-law, my only reader left):


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The Final Teeth Cleaning:

(please, out of respect, hum the Pomp song)

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First, instead of a cap and gown and hoodie, we have scrubs that have been washed 1000s of times filing down the aisle, bearing a smile and searching the crowd for the woman who made it all possible by letting him cement 2 gold crowns in her mouth.

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Next we have the putting on of the ceramonial final-teeth-cleaning rubber gloves. Almost as good as a Dr. Hood but only if this is all you get.

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Next, we have a close up, of the million dollar specs that won't likely be needed in the world of Orthodontia. Sassy Pants Payback.

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Seriously

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What mommacita would be worth her salt if she hadn't taken a picture of herself, in her son's dental chair, with his hands in HER mouth? Can you believe how on point I am? If the people in the bleachers only knew about me. And my nostrils.

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My feet in my own sassy son's dental chair. Gloria, you might not be able to tell, but my shoes are purple patent leather.

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Final proceedure in dental school: all done. ALL DONE ALLDONEALLDONEALLDONE.

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The graduate next to us was jealous that Dubers has such a wonderful mother.

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Last paper work of dental school.

You'd think you'd get a ceremony when that happens.

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My Chair Hair, and My Finger. Which by the way has nothing to do with the accomplishments of the graduate.

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I found this on the counter in Duber's new kitchen. It is mail, received in his new state. You might have noticed the DOCTOR by his name. It's real baby, it's real

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(You might also have noticed that this is a bill. Cue: self righteous little harumph)

Text Messages to My Kids that Quite Frankly Crank

Hidee Ho there kids! Tis the Season! I can't just sit here and watch the Olympics without thinking about my swimming ex boyfriend who took that Olympic oath about not doping. A sorrow that has not healed, even if Subway thinks that we've forgotten.

I'm cuddled up on the leather couch with my hand crocheted afghan and Mitch's mono-infected pillow that is filled with those little pellet thingies so you can punch it or swing it about during speed skating. Since I lack anyone to high five when the moment calls for the high five, I've been texting the kids like crazy. Since I have to pay 5 cents for every text, I thought this might be cheaper:

Olympic text #1

Dear Everybody,
You know those white cushioney maybe made out of leather or possibly pleather couches that the freestyle skiers sit on after they compete? Well I think they are heated. And they look really comfortable. So yeah, I think I'd be liking one of those for Christmas for my bedroom. Just in case you were wondering what I might have on my wish list.

Much Love,
Your Adoring and Deserving Mommacita Who Happens to be a Widow


Olympic text #2

Dear Pregnant One,
I think it would be more than OK if you wanted to possibly use Apollo as a middle name. It would work for a boy for sure, and a girl if you added 'ette' (as in Danette) or you could just tack an 'a' on the end (as in Roberta, so it would end up Apolloa) or 'anne' (as in Larryann). Your dad always liked boy names for girls.

Be Sure And Keep Down Those Vitamins,
Mommacitanne


Olympic Text #3

Dear Glitch (my favorite fashionistas),
Did you happen to catch Tom Brokaw's outfit on the night of the opening ceremony? Did you wonder if he forgot his sports jacket so he borrowed that gold thing from some BOTS (bum off the street)? Did you wonder why he paired it with that blue shirt with the white collar and cuffs? Could you just hear Tim saying "What man wears a shirt with white collars and cuffs?" Yeah, me too.

And Did you think that Tom picked out his tie in the dark because it was navy and red or maybe some other color I can't remember now because I've tried to purge it from my memory? Were you afraid that once you let your hair go gray that you would most assuredly loose your ability to coordinate your outfits, even the ones that are really really important because you are going to be seen by the world in them? Yes?

Me Too. We're twinners!

H&M-ly yours,
Mommacita

Olympic Text #4

Dear Jen,
Do you miss that Mo-Tabbie song from 2002 that swelled and peaked and made you just feel like you were king of the world? I know I do. Do you think you'd have time to learn it on the piano for my next visit?

No Pressure I'm Just Your,
Mommacitainlaw

Olympic Text #5

Dear Everyone,
Two things. First of all, I'm quite taken with freestyle skiing. Second, the guys who announce it? Have you listened to those guys? No? Well I did, and I'm passing on my newly adopted freestyle-skiing-cool-announcer-guy vocabulary to YOU! Work these gems into to your conversations at work, school or play and people will immediately want to be your best-ie. Here you go:

Blister, Cranking, Open Throttle, Bottom out, Boomerang, Dawg, Tight, Big, Minor, Huge, Roll by the tail, Buck, Ding, Off the top, Smokin' (not to be confused with smoking which is not at all as cool), Qualies, In the Zone, Outacontrol, Go large, Flow off the top, Clutch, D-S-Q'ed, Uncorked, Throw down, and my personal favorite: Put the hammer down.

All my uncorked Love,
Mommacitadawg

Olympic Text #6

Dear Jaqueo,
Since you are in the athletic world professionally now, could you please answer me this? What product is Shawn White using on his hair? I dig those Farrah curls that were not there at the last Olympics. Question: Can athletes get that stuff for free and still compete? Just wanted to know if I should take up snowboarding, because if there's anything that I consider synonymous with great hair, it's snowboarding. USA! USA! USA!

Inquiring minds, and all that,
Will-do-anything-for-freebies-Mommacita


Olympic Text #7

Dear Dubers,
So the US athletes seem to all have really really white teeth. Can you hook me up at the dental school? That would be huge. Don't forget to use that cool freestyle vernacular in everyday life. When you're root canaling the guys with the pony tails, they will Roll by the tail fo sho.

Your best patient,
Mommacitasmiles

Just a Regular Text #8

Dear Blogspot.com,
What is the dealio? I have not been able to download any pictures to go with this post. All I get is words. Don't you know that when you make fun of someone's outfit you HAVE to have a visual to make it major? Don't you realize that my text about Shawn White would have been smokin off the top with pictures? Now it is just ding. Blogspot, you are D-S-Q'ed in my book. It's time to throw the hammer down and blister your way out of this mess. Next time, I expect you to qualie.

No love here,
NotyourMommacita


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