Dancing Faces
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Posted:Jun 23, 2005 6:11 pm
Last Updated:Jun 2, 2023 3:02 pm
19628 Views
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Dancing faces. Y'all have seen them. Everyone has them. Out on the dance floor is where you'll find them. Head tilted slightly. Eyes closed. Lips pursed, even puckered sometimes. Like they are in total rapture. All the while boogieing to the beat.
I hate dance floors with mirrors. When I catch myself with my dancing face on it makes me wanna puke sometimes.
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Prom
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Posted:Jun 22, 2005 5:25 am
Last Updated:Feb 13, 2017 7:58 pm
19544 Views
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Prom time. Anxiety time. Who to pick for a date? Should it be one sister or the other? It was going to be one of them, of that I had little doubt. I was fairly certain that either one of them would agree to go with me. At least that was what both my heart and my head were telling me.
The older sister was in my junior class, the younger a sophomore. The older was a bit more to my liking, she was my friend. I knew her, she knew me. The younger was more of a mystery, she was wilder, she was fun. They both came from a large family, seven siblings in all, or was it nine? It is difficult to keep up with large catholic families sometimes.
The school we attended together was small and we all were familiar with each other. From the sophomores to the seniors. Everybody knew that I would ask one of the sisters, but which one? It was getting to the point where I had to decide, prom was only a month away, and my wishy washy self was still trying to choose. I only slowly became aware that they were both wondering which one it would be too. I was too focused on my own little adolescent problems.
The week before I popped the question was filled with contact with both sisters. One I would see in class, the other I would see between classes. The older sister maintained a certain dignity. She remained my friend and counsellor and we chatted and laughed as always. The younger sister got bold and flirtatious with me. She was after it. She must have felt she needed an edge. Each sister was beautiful on the outside, and sincere and kind on the inside. I began to wonder if I should just bring both of 'em along.
Yes! That was it! Of course! I would bring them both and dance the night away. They didn't call me "crazy keith" for no reason in those days. I picked out two different corsages to match the dresses they chose. My blue eyes sparkled when their dad opened the door and invited me inside. Their blue eyes gleamed when they saw me in my crushed velvet, double breasted maroon tux, complete with cumberbund, bow tie, and shiny black patent leather shoes. We took pictures of me with the older sister first, then with the younger, and finally with all three of us together.
I took them both to dinner in my moms car. The older sister sat next to me on the way to the resaurant. After dinner they switched places and the younger snuggled up next to me as I drove to the dance. With a girl on each arm I entered the hotel ballroom reserved for the prom. We were fashionalbly late and most of the promineers were already dancing to the disco tunes that were so popular in those days.
When we walked in it was like a thunderclap had struck the place. People stopped dancing and stared at us. Even the band missed their notes and the music faded discordantly as each insrument clumsily came to a stop.
Then I woke up. Damn! Silly man...you were dreaming. I got out of bed and prepared for school. Today was the day to choose. After a dream like that I had to do something. During the midmorning activity break I approached the sister of choice and asked her to go to the junior/senior prom with me. She threw her arms around me which I took as a yes. Word spread quickly and the razzing that I had been subjected to by my friends finally stopped.
Prom night went pretty much like my dream. Even down to the tux. Except I was only with one sister rather than both (sort of), and the music kept playing when we arrived. In fact, it was quite normal and similar to other school dances I had attended except everyone was dressed up a bit more snappy than was usual.
I have not thought of that night in decades and would not have thought of it today if it weren't for one night recently when I drank too many beers and agreed to tell this story in a devils bargain made with mi_mwpm. Grrr, I will be more cautious next time mi!
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Epilogue to keithcancook Nearly Meets His Maker
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Posted:Jun 20, 2005 1:03 pm
Last Updated:Jun 6, 2023 5:53 pm
18705 Views
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My friends, the response to my story has been great. Thanks to all who read it and a special thanx to those of you who read it again after I reposted it. I recieved an email asking how I spent that night before climbing the building and was asked how Mr. Reynolds could put out in a strange country. Here follows the epilogue...
Well, we sat in that cemetary for a while before I formulated my plan. And before we got there and after we left the nightclub, we went to a park nearby because the benches were a place to sit down at least. It must have been 4 am or so when we were at the park. I did say we were at that club for hours. There was a British bartender there who sort of took us under his wing. We laughed and danced all night. Heck, we were young, away from our parents (many for the first time) in a new and exciting atmosphere and we had girls with us! But through it all my mind was always worried about the fact that we were supposed to be in bed in the hostel and we were going to be in serious trouble when this night was over.
And we were in trouble too. First they threatened to send us home on the next plane. Then they settled on grounding us. We were put on a 4 day "suspension". That meant that we could not leave the hostels unless we were with the whole group on a tour. Otherwise we had to kick our heels at the hostel. Some of those tours seemed sort of uninteresting (although I regret I missed a few of them now), and we hung out and played cards a bit together. Also, I was somewhat of a rebel in those days so I snuck away a few times when we were in Bonn, Germany. Mark and I went down and walked along the Rhine one night against the rules. While there we heard a squeal then a splash. We ran over to investigate and these 3 German girls were trying to pull a 4th one out of the river which she had fallen into. They spoke pretty good English and we hung out with them for longer than I had planned. So we ended up getting caught again by the priests when we got back. I was a very good boy for the next two days in Germany. They were so frustrated with me that they made a deal that I would be off probation if I didn't cause another ruckus for at least two days. Lol. Adults are idiots. By the time we got to Copenhagen I was running wild again.
As for how could he put me out the door in a strange country...well, by then it was nearly dawn. Close to 6 am I suppose. The hostel was about to open again. That is probably how I got caught. The dude was already awake. Still, now that I am an adult and look back I agree with you and that it was not too bright. He should have pulled all of us inside to keep tabs on us. I would not have put out if I was in his place.
We stayed near that church mostly since we could see the door to the hostel from there. You have to remember that we were strangers in a strange land and that door was our only connection to home.
Another note that may be of interest is the part of the story where I was remembering my thoughts as I clung to the window. That is absolutely how it happened and was not "poetic license". I have heard that in moments like that a person achieves some kind of clarity. The life that passes before your eyes in an instant, a supreme peace, or perhaps even extreme terror.
In my case, it was feeling that breeze and knowing that in a few moments it might be the last breeze I felt. As I thought this I thought of those that would be left behind and that is when I got that mental image of the newspaper headline. I could literally see it in my mind. A heartbeat later I took a deep breath and launched myself into glory.
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keithcancook Nearly Meets His Maker (reprise)
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Posted:Jun 15, 2005 2:07 pm
Last Updated:Jun 5, 2023 5:21 pm
20244 Views
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Hello, my friends! Here is a TRUE story from my youth.
In the summer of my seventeenth year I traveled Northern Europe for a month with a Catholic youth group. One of our first stops was Brussels, Belgium where we stayed in a youth hostel. This hostel was shaped sort of like a "C" or bracket "[ ". In the middle courtyard it was open aired and grassy, to the back there was a low stone wall topped by an iron fence. Beyond the fence was a 60 foot drop to the alley below. We sat out there, my friends and I, looking down into the alley watching playing soccer on the cobbled street.
Later, while exploring the city I saw a billboard promoting the rock band Uriah Heep and their concert that was scheduled for that very night! Now in those days I really liked that band and the thought of seeing them in Europe was just way too cool to pass up. So I convinced my friend and 2 other girls we met as part of our tour group to go to this concert. I will skip over the part of trying to find this place in a strange city and me with only a minimum of French fluency...that was an adventure in itself...
Anyways, we found the place, enjoyed the show, had a blast and then tried to navigate home later that night. There another adventure in bus changes and wrong stops continued...
When we finally found the dang hostel where we were staying it was well past midnight. Now in those days the hostels closed at certain times and if you weren't inside then you were on your own until morning. We were in big trouble because the priests were going to be really pissed off that they had lost 4 teenagers on the second day of the trip! I am sure that there was quite a bit of consternation when we missed the head count that night.
I was in a quandary as to what to do. I didn't know my way around, there weren't any other places to stay, the females were bitching...it was a bummer let me tell you.
There was still activity on the streets and folks were passing by. I tried to converse with some of them in my fractured French but was not getting anywhere. So we just started walking and not too far down the street we came to a nightclub that was going full bore with rock music and drinking. We were way for America but in Brussels we were served all the alcohol we wanted. We partied for three more hours until we were too tired to go on. We stumbled back to the front of the hostel and it's heavy arched wooden door. Across the street was a small church that must have been 400 years old, with a tiny cemetery attached. We went there and sat down amongst the crosses and stones to rest.
I was thinking, "This is not good. There must be a way to get in." That is when it hit me. The Courtyard of the Hostel! Of course! I remembered that the building next to that alley where the were playing soccer had these windows with bars on them. If someone was careful, he could climb from window to window up to the level of the courtyard and then swing over and grab the iron railing that guarded the back of the courtyard. Once there all he had to do was walk across the courtyard to the front door, open it and let the others in.
As I explained this cockamamie plan to my little group the women were all for it. (sure, let him risk his young ass so daddy's little princess won't get in trouble). Mark wasn't so certain though. He thought that the windows were too far apart. But I was tall, much taller than the others. I felt that it could be done. In fact I insisted on it. So we all walked the long twisting route down to the back of the hostel. We were down in the alley looking up at the railing of the hostel courtyard and I measured the possibilities from this new perspective. It appeared that Mark may have been right. The distance looked possible but very dangerous.
Stupid and undeterred, I announced that I was going up. I was going over, and I was going in. They were to just watch.
The windows were difficult to manage. They were shaped like arches - rounded at the top. The bars that guarded them were shaped to fit. I could just pull myself up far enough to reach the next level and I began to climb. After I cleared two stories I paused and rested, clinging tightly to the bars and hoping that they were all well anchored. It hadn't occurred to me that they may pull out of the dang building from my weight.
I looked up. Only one more level to go. I pulled myself up and was level with the courtyard. Almost. Not quite level actually, now that I was up there and could see better. The final move to be made...the one that would put me on the railing of the courtyard...was too far!!! I was long and tall but it just was a bit too far to swing from the window of my building to the hostel next door.
I looked down. There were my three friends below me watching. I decided that I couldn't make the maneuver and would have to retrace my steps. That is when I discovered that down was not an option either. At least down by climbing. Down by falling was much more likely. The windows were recessed, and the bars were fitted inside. It was like a smooth wall below me with no footholds.
I can still remember vividly the thoughts that raced through my dazed brain as I clung to that window and felt the wind blowing on my face that summer of 1973. Even as I sit here now almost 32 long years later. It was a picture of the local paper with a bold headline Youth Dies In Fall Abroad! Oh! How my heart was beating! Let me tell y'all I was feeling pretty scared all of a sudden. The alcohol was wearing off quickly with the adrenaline rush of my life being at stake, and I was thinking since I cant go down, I will have to make the attempt to swing over the long distance to my left that would put me safely home.
There was only going to be one attempt. I knew this. I was going to have to hang on the window bar with my right hand, swing my whole body over and reach out with my left hand to the next building. I could not do this without letting go of the window bar at the apex of my swing maneuver. It was right out of Arnold Schwarzenegger or The Matrix or something like that.
If I missed the railing I would continue falling to the cobbled street below.
Of course I made it. Obviously, since I lived to tell the tale. My hand found the bottom of that railing and I clung to it for dear life. I quickly brought my right hand over and now I was almost done. I had two hands firmly clutching the the iron railing, (Hell, pressing grooves in them I was hanging on so tight). My feet were dangling and my fans were cheering below. I pulled myself up and over. I was in!
I looked down at my friends. Down in the alley where the play. Triumphantly I raised my arms ala Rocky and jumped up and down. Seriously, somebody should have been playing that music from Rocky it was such a magnificent moment for me. I called down to them and told them to start walking back and be very quiet when they tapped on the door. I lay on my back in the courtyard grass and looked up at the stars of Belgium and waited. It was going to take them at least 20 minutes to walk all the way back around to the front door of the hostel.
When I felt that they should almost be there I carefully tiptoed over to the main door. All was quiet and all were asleep. Or so I thought. Just as I heard a soft tapping at the door and was about to open it, a firm hand suddenly grasped my shoulder. Surprised, I turned around and found myself staring into the not too pleased face of Mr. Reynolds, one of the adult volunteers for our tour. He told me "This hostel does not open until 7am. You may enter it then". He then opened the door and put me out with my disheveled friends. The door closed and the lock was set again. And there I stood. Right where I was so many hours before.
I learned many lessons that night and not least among them was a lesson in irony.
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Words to Live By
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Posted:Jun 13, 2005 5:54 pm
Last Updated:Mar 5, 2006 9:27 pm
16970 Views
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I'm not sure if these words are appropriate to this forum but I am posting them anyway.....
People are often unreasonable, illogical and self-centered;
Forgive them anyway.
If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives;
Be kind anyway.
If you are successful, you will win some false friends and some true enemies;
Succeed anyway.
If you are honest and frank, people may cheat you;
Be honest and frank anyway.
What you spend years building, someone could destroy overnight;
Build anyway.
If you find serenity and happiness, they may be jealous;
Be happy anyway.
The good you do today, people will often forget tomorrow;
Do good anyway.
Give the world the best you have, and it may never be enough;
Give the world the best you've got anyway.
You see, in the final analysis...It is between you and God.
It was never between you and them anyway.
Mother Theresa
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Alone With A Dead Man
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Posted:Jun 11, 2005 2:05 pm
Last Updated:Jun 2, 2023 3:04 pm
17244 Views
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When I was 19 I stayed in the mountains for a summer term at college. I got a job as an orderly at a small hospital working 3rd shift part time. It was an eye opening experience for me as I was exposed to various forms of human suffering and also the means to lessen that suffering.
The first week I was there, I was told to go to a floor that I had not been to yet. The guy who was training me took me to a room and there on the bed lay a dead man. He was lying on his back with his mouth wide open, sightless eyes staring at the ceiling. I asked what had happened to him and was told that he was an alchoholic who had succumbed to schirrosis of the liver. He had expired only minutes before.
Just then my trainer was paged and he told me to wait for him until he returned, then we would "fix" him. He left, and I was in the room alone with the dead man. I did not even know his name. I was not comfortable with this at all, but not wanting to make an issue of it I sat down near the bed and waited.
In the silence of that room I sat there and pondered the end of life, and I vowed to myself that I would try not to drink so much as I had been in recent months so I would not end up like the man lying before me.
Suddenly, along with my thoughts, the silence was broken. The dead man began making noises. My eyes got big and round and my heart started racing as it seemed to me that the man was gasping! Warily I got up and approached the bed. He did not appear to be breathing, but he sure was making all manner of croaks and popping sounds.
To say I was freaking out would be an understatement. I'm thinking that this guy wasn't all the way dead, maybe he was almost dead but something was still alive inside. I thought I should run for a nurse or a doctor or something. Or maybe just run out the front door and not look back.
At this juncture the orderly who was training me returned. Excitedly I told him what I had seen, that this guy wasn't dead, and I asked if I should call the nurse. Much to my chagrin the trainer guy just burst out laughing. When he calmed down enough (it sure seemed disrespectful to me to laugh like that over the newly dead), he told me that the sounds I was hearing were the gasses escaping from the body through the mouth and nose.
Then, under his guidance, we "fixed" him. We pulled the sheet off of his body and standing on either side of the bed I assisted him in straightening out his limbs and we crossed his arms on top of his chest. I will never forget lifting that limp dead arm, without resistance, yet with a weight that seemed heavier than it ought to. We gathered the dead man's personal items together and left the room at last. His next journey was in the care of the funeral home who were sending a hearse to carry away the body.
In all the intervening years I have never seen another dead human being. I must be leading a lucky, but sheltered life. I had just missed being drafted to Vietnam, and am now too old for other wars where death is so common that the sight of it does not even generate emotion. Or so I have been told by my veteren friends who did go to war and saw death on a wide scale.
The inescapable fact of life is that it does end. One day perhaps someone will "fix" me and maybe even laugh over my lifeless body. It matters little, as death is the great equalizer no matter our station when once we walked upon the earth.
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Grandma and the Snake
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Posted:Jun 6, 2005 10:21 am
Last Updated:Dec 17, 2006 5:04 am
17731 Views
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When I was 16, I got a snake for a pet. I bought it with my own money and although my parents weren't too keen on the idea, they indulged me. It was a 3 foot boa constrictor, and I thought it was pretty cool. My grandmother however did not like snakes. In fact, she felt that they were representations of evil.
Before she came for her next visit, my parents told me that I had to get rid of the snake while she was here. One of my friends agreed to take the snake for a few weeks so I sent all the stuff over there.
However, he did not clear this with his parents as I had thought. After my grandmother arrived he brought me the snake. He said he could not keep it. He did not bring me the aquarium, as it was too big to carry and he did not have use of a car that night. Another of my friends was due back from a beach vacation the next day, and I planned to take the snake to him.
Now the question was what should I do with a snake without a cage for one night? Being a quick thinker but apparantly not a very deep one, I came up with a plan. My grandmother had done all the laundry that day. My hamper was clear. I pulled a clean t-shirt out of my drawer and put it at the bottom of the hamper along with the snake. Grandmother would not be disturbing laundry baskets at least until the next day, so I felt that I could get the dang snake in and out of my house and no one would be the wiser.
A few hours later all the family were gathered in the den and we were watching a movie together, even grandma. At some point she got up and started piddling around but I took little notice, my attention mostly focused upon the television.
Suddenly a blood curdling scream came from the area of my bedroom. Before anyone could react my grandmother came running into the den. She went to the middle of the room and then went down to the floor. It was the most dramatic scene I had ever witnessed. My mom and dad rushed to her aid. I saw that she was ok (mostly, as I couldn't understand the Italian she was babbling), and being the only one there who had a pretty good idea of what this was all about, I slipped out of there and went to my bedroom. There on the floor was the t-shirt. On the other side of the room was the snake. The poor woman had the dang snake right in her hand! I guess she couldn't abide the fact that there was an unwashed t-shirt and just had to do something about it.
I grabbed the snake and bolted for the door. I didn't know where I was going, I just got the hell out of there. I was in big trouble and I didn't want to face it just then. I started down the street with no destination in mind. Soon the futility of my "escape" became clear, and I turned and headed back home where my stern faced parents awaited me. I got in a lot of trouble for that incident, and as usual, my grandmother interceded for me to lessen the blow.
Over the years, that story has become a family classic.
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Grandma And The Angels
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Posted:Jun 3, 2005 9:42 pm
Last Updated:Dec 15, 2006 12:15 pm
17617 Views
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My grandmother was a very spiritual woman. For her, the forces of good and evil in the world were animate and could interact with mortals here on earth. She was visited by both the angels of heaven as well as those from the nether regions .
These visions both disturbed and fascinated me. The fascination lay in the way she seemed to have concrete answers to mysteries that priests wouldn't touch. What disturbed me was that I found I doubted her.
She put much faith in dream reading, and she interpreted her dreams as premonitions of things to come. Significant events such as deaths, accidents, births and the like often came to her in dreams and she was able to provide many examples of these dream events becoming actual events.
She was actually visited by an angel, and she told me about it. This angel appeared to her in a public restaurant. Prior to my grandfathers death by accident, my grandmother was seated at a booth eating alone. She was looking down reading the menu and when she looked up there was a beautiful man seated across from her. That was how she described him - beautiful. He was dressed in a fine suit and she said that his eyes were clear . The clearest, most beautiful eyes she had ever beheld. His skin was very pale, without blemish.
The angel told her that a very bad time was coming, and that she would lose that which she loved. He told her to prepare for a time of great trial and peril. She begged the angel to not allow these things to come to pass, but the angel softly yet firmly told her that they were to be. She said she looked away and when she looked back he had vanished. Shortly therafter her husband met his fate.
The trials predicted by the angel came to pass as well. She found she felt doubt concerning God, and her faith was shaken. She was tempted to leave the path of her faith and for a time she felt that God had abandoned her. She told me she found resolve and battled the bad thoughts and in the end wrapped herself within her faith. It was at this point that she was visited by Satan.
She said she went down into her basement and while she was down there she realized she was not alone. She said the Dark Angel was there. She felt his presence and there he was. He was sort of wrapped in shadow but she could see him.
At this point I pricked up my ears because at last I was going to hear something concrete about this Satan character that the priests had filled my head with. I was frightened by the idea of "satan" and it was with both dread and unbridled curiosity that I leaned forward in rapt attention.
I was waiting to have the horns, hooves, and tail confirmed, but no. This angel too, was beautiful. The eyes, the skin, all of it was like the other angel. But this angel had a presence that chilled to the bone. I suppose it was like an aura or something.
Oddly, I cannot remember the words she used, but I will never forget the gist of what happened. Apparantly this dark angel sensed that her formerly unwavering faith was filled with doubt. She had almost pulled herself away from her faith when she rediscovered her resolve, and embraced once again her faith in God. Satan did not want to lose my grandmother now that he was so close.
I remember all the hairs on my body tingling as my grandmother related this to me. I can almost again feel the dread I felt that moment, even as I write about it now. I leaned in even closer almost trembling, as I waited to hear the tale of the battle between Satan and my Grandmother.
But no. There was no battle. These words I do remember, nor shall I ever forget them. She looked at the Dark Angel and she said, "Get thee behind me satan, in the name of thy Lord Jesus." With that he was gone.
Funny, but I was rather disappointed. It seemed incredibly easy to defeat the demon. At the same time it was comforting to know that I need not fear satan again since now I knew the magic words that would make him disappear.
Interestingly, my fear of going down into basements can be traced back to that day.
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Grandma and the Fleas
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Posted:May 31, 2005 3:11 pm
Last Updated:Dec 14, 2006 7:41 am
18370 Views
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We had a when I was a . That lived to a very old age. His last year was miserable and no matter what we did we could not get the fleas to stay off of him. Well he died, and this event occurred during one of grandmas visits.
The first few days were hell in that house. Without a to hop on those fleas began hopping on us. I would walk thru the house in shorts sans shoes and they would jump up on me. I tried to kill 'em in the bathroom. I flicked 'em off my leg into the toilet and flushed 'em.
I decided that was no fun. Besides, the little buggers would hop on out and only half of 'em were getting flushed. So I filled the sink with some water. I decided it ws easier to get 'em in there. But they wouldn't drown. They would float around until they got to the side and then they would spring out.
Irritated, I came up with a new plan. I put a slick on the surface of the water by using some liquid soap from the kitchen. Now when I put 'em in there they stayed there. And died there.
Satisfied with this method of pest control, I made forays through the house and gathered up dozens of 'em. Soon the sink was a major flea graveyard. Being a I tired of this excersize after awhile and went off in search of other pursuits.
Later that evening we were all seated at the table for the evening meal. I almost choked on my food when my grandmother excitedly told my mother that she had found a solution to the flea problem that had been plaguing us. "It's incredibly simple, all you have to do is put some soapy water out and they will jump right in."
I didn't say a word as my grandmother described her theory. Before I went to bed, little dishes of soapy water were carefully laid out in strategic areas to entrap the fleas. Being a conscientious young lad, I gathered up some fleas and put 'em in the little dishes. I didn't want to trick her. I just wanted her theory to work for her.
I put fleas in her dishes over the next several days until she left to visit elsewhere. Now that I am older, I wish I had told grandma about the fleas. I wonder if she embarassed herself out there laying soapy flea traps in peoples homes when she was visiting. Knowing my grandma, I am sure that she ascribed it to the southern climate or southern fleas when it didn't work. For her, the flea/lemmings were a reality.
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Grandmother's In The Attic
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Posted:May 31, 2005 8:57 am
Last Updated:Dec 14, 2006 7:38 am
17859 Views
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My grandmother was noteworthy for many things. One of them involved cleaning. She didn't just tidy things up, she deconstructed a room and put it back together again. When she decided to clean the garage (which she did every trip to our house) all that was in the garage was carried out. Then came the hose. She'd flush that garage out with water and then sweep all the water out. I still remember her barefooted, with that hose in her hands. I can picture it like I am standing there.
Occasionally she would attempt to clean the attic. One day when I got home from school I walked into the den and stopped cold. There was a pile of deconstructed ceiling on the floor in the middle of the room. Above was a rather large hole and I could see straight up to the rafters.
Wide eyed, I ran to the back of the house where my mother and grandmother were. LOL. Apparantly while cleaning the attic she put her foot on the sheetrock and plunged through. She didn't fall all the way down. She caught herself and was hanging there with legs dangling. No one was home at the time. My mother was next door having tea and gossiping with the neighbor.
My little sister was the first to find her hanging there. Now my sister was a bit goofy as a youngster. (she is my most valued confidante today, but as a term of endearment my grandmother called her "Dumbdora" on occasion). So my sister walks in and sees grandma hanging.
"Linda! Linda! Go next door and get your mother!" my Grandmother cried. Linda calmly walked across the street to my mother. "Mom, grandma wants you" she said. My mother, in the midst of her beloved cup of tea and deeply involved with the latest neighborhood gossip, barely looked up and said "Ok, I will be home in a minute."
Linda went back home and found grandma still hanging from the ceiling in the middle of the room. "Linda! Did you tell your mother to hurry? Go back and bring her here NOW!"
"Okay grandma" Linda says. So she runs over to the neighbors house and yanks on my moms skirt..."mom, grandma needs you and she says to hurry, she is hanging from the roof!"
Well my mom, the neighbor and Linda all come running over to our house. When they got there my grandmother had managed to pull herself up and make it safely back to earth. Just after that I arrived at the scene.
I sure do miss my grandmother, she didn't just tell stories. She was the stuff of stories.
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keithcancook's grandmother
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Posted:May 30, 2005 8:20 am
Last Updated:Dec 19, 2006 11:18 pm
18117 Views
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My maternal grandmother was a very interesting woman. She was a full blooded Sicilian and she was one of nine . Her husband ran the local tavern in Hermanie, Pa. and he was one of the most popular men in that little town. He died rather young in an unfortunate accident, and in the following years my grandmother moved around quite often.
She would stay with various family members for a month or three and became a professional baby sitter. She would care for the of her many when they would leave town for vacations and other sundry reasons. Over the course of this she developed quite a style. To entertain the she told them stories. She made them up in her head and over time these stories and their characters developed continuity and carried a rich background. As , these stories mesmerized my cousins and sisters and myself. Television was in its infancy and was something we were beginning to love, but when grandma began her storytelling we all gathered around and listened eagerly.
One of her creations was ladybird. Ladybird brought candy and left it on the windowsill for "good" . I loved ladybird. I would constanly be asking grandma if she knew when ladybird might be visiting us soon, and where she might be at this moment. Grandma would tell me that ladybird was visiting these here and those there and that she would never forget to check in on little keith and his sisters. I believe that ladybird was the inspiration for my first hobby as a young boy....bird watching and building and painting bird models that my mother would buy for me.
My own got visits from ladybird as I continued this storyline even though grandma was not with us anymore. Also, my were told stories in the "grandma tradition" when I put them to bed each night. Occasionally I would read to them, but they were more eager for "daddys stories" which I made up (usually as I was telling them); creating my own roster of original characters (they really loved my "mad john" stories). Storytelling as a form of entertainment for seems to be waning in these modern times. Now parents prefer to let television, movies and other forms of media entertain their rather than spending the time to do it themselves. Such a pity...
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Conversations From BlogLand High
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Posted:May 25, 2005 4:04 pm
Last Updated:Aug 19, 2015 1:04 pm
75272 Views
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Author's note:
This morality play was inspired by the Great BlogLand Elections of 2005, when BlogLand was young. In those days the popular list folks decided to hold an election for mayor of BlogLand and various other offices.
Believing it to be somewhat centered on those popular list folks to the exclusion of lesser known bloggers, I published this satire to poke some fun at them (and me).
blog on!
edited by keithcancook, March, 2008
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ONE FALL MORNING IN THE QUAD BEFORE CLASS...
Gawd, don't ya just hate starting out the school year facing another Student Council Election? It's like a glaring reminder than I have no clique to belong to. I so hate my life.
Yeah, I know what you mean. Unless you're a cheerleader or a jock it's a waste of time to even try to run for those offices. Then if ya do, it just points out to everybody just how unpopular you really are around here. How embarrassing...
BLONDENEEDSSEX Fer sure, like it is soooo stupid. Gag me with a spoon...
Barbiebunny69Oh, I think the captain of the SWIM TEAM is Dreamy! I'd vote for him, but he doesn't even know I EXIST!
BLONDENEEDSSEXLike, Oh my God! He is so bitchin. Totally.
IN ANOTHER CORNER OF THE QUAD.....
CONTINUED INSIDE
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The Wizard of Blogz
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Posted:May 23, 2005 4:56 pm
Last Updated:Jun 3, 2023 3:19 pm
93413 Views
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. . . . . . . . . . . . . AFriendFinder TATTLER
BlogLanders! HEAR ME! It has come to my attention that there are some who wish to elect that lonely and unlucky at love blogger, keithcancook , and bestow upon him the office of mayor. It appears that I may have some use for that fool yet. er, I mean with him your fears will soon be laid to rest.He is the perfect tool to employ in my bid for power. Um, I mean to say that under his rule all BlogLand will flower.
Along with my staff here at the AFriendFinder TATTLER we have decided to endorse this candidate in his run for office and have put the full power and weight of this publication behind him. We are pleased to announce that our campaign has begun with the theme The Wizard of Blogs. We have a speech by the candidate and also some campaign songs that can be sung to familiar melodies.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The PUBLISHER
As mayor of the Blogkin City, In the County of the Land of Blog, I welcome y'all most regally.
To verify me legally, to see
To see?
If me
Is morally, ethic'lly
Spiritually, physically
Undeniably and reliably NUTZ!
As ANALYST I must insist that he's not only merely NUTZ, he's really most sincerely NUTZ.
Then this is a day of Independence For all the Blog-kins and their descendants!
Yes, let the joyous news be spread, the Wicked old BUG at last is dead!
I represent the Gullible League, the Gullible League, The Gullible League.
And in the name of the Gullible League,
I wish to welcome you to Blog-kin Land.
I also represent Publishers Guild, the Publishers Guild, the Publishers Guild.
And in the name of the Publishers Guild, I wish to RULE you all in Blog-kinland.
I will RULE you all in Blog-kin Land,
Tra la la la la la la
From now on I'll be history. I'll be his, I'll be his, I'll be history.
(And they will glorify my name)
I'll be a bust, be a bust, be a bust.
I will be a bust
In the HALL of FAME!
LoyaltyandHonorCome out, come out, wherever you are and meet the lampooner, who fell from a car. He fell from a car, he fell very hard and CHARLOTTE, he says, is the home of the car.
Charlotte, he says, is the home of the car.
LoyaltyandHonorHe brings you good news. Or haven't you heard? When he fell out of Charlotte A MIRACLE occurred.
It really was no miracle. What happened was just this.
My blog began to switch - my brain to pitch, and suddenly the hinges started to unhitch.
Just then the GLITCH - to satisfy an itch went flying through my servers line, thumbing for a hitch.
And oh, what happened then was rich.
My 'puter went to pitch. The hard drive took a slitch. It landed on the Wicked Glitch in the middle of a ditch, Which was not a healthy situation for the Wicked Glitch.
... Who began to twitch and was reduced to just a stitch of what was once the Wicked Glitch.
We thank you very sweetly, for doing it so neatly.
You've killed it so completely, that we thank you very sweetly.
Ding Dong! The Glitch is dead. Which old Glitch? The Wicked Glitch! Ding Dong! The Wicked Glitch is dead.
Wake up - sleepy head, rub your eyes, get out of bed. Wake up, the Wicked Glitch is dead.
She's gone where the goblins go, Below - below - below. Yo-ho, let's open up and sing and ring the bells out.
Ding Dong' the merry-oh, sing it high, sing it low.Let them know The Wicked Glitch is dead!
SUDDENLY...POOF a comment has vanished!
Hey Glinda, I thought you said this BUG was DEAD?
LoyaltyandHonorNo, that was its sister. The Wicked Glitch of the East. This is the Wicked Glitch of the West, and it's worse than the other one.
WHO KILLED MY SISTER? WHO KILLED THE WICKED GLITCH OF THE EAST? WAS IT YOU?
Well, not really. It was an accident I think.
WELL MY LITTLE BLOGGER, I CAN CAUSE ACCIDENTS TOO!
LoyaltyandHonorOh, rubbish! You have no power here. Be gone before somebody drops a FIX on you, too!
VERY WELL, I'LL BIDE MY TIME - BUT JUST TRY TO STAY OUT OF MY WAY - JUST TRY! I'LL GET YOU, MY LAMPOONER, and your little BLOG, too!
POOF!
LoyaltyandHonorPooh - what a smell of sulphur! I'm afraid you've made rather a bad enemy of the Wicked Glitch of the West. The sooner you get out of BLOGZ altogether, the safer you'll sleep, my friend.
Oh, I'd give anything to get out of BLOGZ altogether, I am so addicted, but - which is the way back to Charlotte? I can't go the way I came.
LoyaltyandHonorNo, that's true. The only person who might know would be the great and wonderful Wizard of BLOGZ himself.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Tala4u2
The Wizard of BLOGZ? Is he good or is he wicked?
LoyaltyandHonorOh, very good, but very mysterious. He lives in the PENGUIN CITY and that's a long journey from here. Did you bring your lubes and plugs and LITTLE BLACK BOOK with you?
No, I'm afraid I didn't.
[photo LoyaltyandHonor]Well then, you'll have to row. The Blog-kins will see you safely to the border of Blog-kin Land.
SONGS FROM THE LAND OF BLOGZ
IF I ONLY WAS INSANE
I could type away the hours, my words both sweet and sour
Writing through the pain.
And my dick I’d be scratchin’ while my plots are busy hatchin’
If I only was insane.
I’d publish a news paper, but I am such a faker
And a faker I remain.
So the news is somewhat stinkin’ and I don’t mind y’all thinkin’
That he surely is insane.
Oh, I , could tell you why the whores won’t let me score.
I could think of things I never thunk before.
Like how? To get in her back door.
And it wouldn’t be for nothing, as Tala fucks the stuffing
Outa some girl with no name.
I would dance and be merry, life would be a dingleberry
If I only was insane.
KING OF THE WHORES
If I were King of the Whores, not queen, not duke, not prince.
The regal robes of the Whores, would be fishnet, not cotton, not chintz.
I’d command each one, from 90 pounds to a ton,
With a humph and a pumpf and a royal UMPH! (oink)
When I click my heel all the Whores will kneel
The MISTRESSES bow and the NYMPHOS kowtow.
And all the FEMALES will sing of my ding-a-ling, if I - if I - if I were KING!
All women will respect me, even gutter-sluts genuflect to me.
Though my tail would lash, I would show compash
For every underling!If I - If I - were King!
Just King!
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