Was My Face Red

This time of year, I often think back to the days when I bundled up my children in their warm winters coats to head to the mall to see Santa.

Back then, I thought I would remember every conversation they had with the old man in red but all I can recall is the sight of their hair standing on end from the static of their puffy hoods.

Except, that's not true.

I remember one.

That year, I knew exactly what my two-and-half year old son would request from Santa.

To him, as long as a toy talked, walked or did something mechanical, he wanted it.

Most all of the toys he already had either talked, walked or did something mechanical.

Except, they didn't.

They all required batteries and I never had them.

He would come to me time and time again holding up a toy hoping I could make it work and I'd repeatedly say, "Oh, it needs batteries."

As he sat on Santa's lap this memorable year, he asked for a bird (his word for the red, talking parrot he ran to see every time we passed KB Toys at the mall).

He marveled at the "bird" who repeated everything he said as it frantically flapped its wings up and down.

And, as I predicted, he asked for a Mister Bucket.

Whenever the commercial came on, he delighted in the children running and laughing as they desperately tried to toss balls into the whirling bucket.

But, what he asked for next I didn't see coming.

At first, I didn't understand.

Neither did Santa.

"Ba-rees," he said.

Santa looked to me for help.

My son repeated much like the talking bird, "Ba-rees.  Ba-rees."

Was my face red when I finally got it and had to explain to Santa...

Batteries.

The year Santa got off easy.

Respect the title

I've had enough.

Every time I turn on the television, someone new is imitating him.

The impressions make him look like an idiot.

So far, I've seen actors, comedians and even a country music singer take a crack at him.

You know who I mean.

Colonel Sanders.

Just when I thought I had seen it all, the daytime soap opera, General Hospital, proved me wrong.

Let me explain.

I don't actually watch General Hospital.  I simply use it to take a little cat nap in the afternoon.

Here's my method.

Since I've always wondered what the English language sounds like to non-English speakers, I turn the TV volume down real low and focus on the sounds, not the words.

Before I know it, my unique technique puts me right to sleep.

But not on this day.

As I was ready to close my eyes, I saw the over-tanned, "extra crispy," actor George Hamilton posing as Colonel Sanders in some ridiculous story line.

My afternoon respite was ruined.

Don't get me wrong.

I had a crush on the handsome, tan, "Ryder Smith," I mean George Hamilton, when I was a kid and saw him in the teen movie, "Where the Boys Are."

(Obviously he started working on his tan back on the beach in Fort Lauderdale that faithful spring break.)

Back the late 60s, around the same time I was dreaming that Ryder Smith was my boyfriend, I imagined the Colonel was my grandfather.

(My television relationships ran deep.)

In his thick southern accent, Grandpa Sanders, I mean the Colonel, told me how he cooked his famous chicken, in commercials of course.

He felt like family with his kind, gentle demeanor.

He even wore glasses like my dad's.

I craved his finger lickin' chicken cooked with eleven secret herbs and spices.

And on a lucky day, after some serious begging, I'd ride along with my mother to our local KFC and bring home the red and white striped bucket of chicken and hunt for the legs.

Unlike Ryder, however, Colonel Sanders was a real man.

Ok, not a real Colonel.

He was given the honorary title by the Governor of Kentucky for his service to the community, state and nation!

For this, the man deserves respect.

Colonel Sanders had a hard life filled with failures.

"One has to remember that every failure can be a stepping stone to something better," the Colonel once said.

Interestingly, he didn't succeed in business until well into his sixties proving that hard work and perseverance pays off.

And once he made his fortune, he gave it away.

"There's no reason to be the richest man in the cemetery.  You can't do any business from there," he said.

Take that Ryder Smith.

I mean George Hamilton.

Oh yea, and Reba McIntyre.

Leave my grandpa alone!  I mean the Colonel!

Happy National Etch A Sketch Day!

When I saw the book, A Separate Peace, on one of the front tables at Barnes and Nobles today, my heart sank.

I remember the misery of being a not-so-good student and trying to write a book report on it in middle school.

Snapping a quick picture of the cover, I sent it to my sister with the comment, "Oh dear."

Thank goodness she helped me put my thoughts into words for that assignment. It's a shared memory that we can laugh at now.

Sorta.

Writing was never my strong suit.

I still don't consider myself a writer.

But give me the floor and I'll tell you a story.

A dear friend texted me today to say, "Happy National Etch A Sketch Day!"

Hearing about this special day, I felt compelled to write to thank you all, my friends and family, who support me as I tell my stories through, "Musings, Morals & Bees."

Your comments have made me feel like a writer and a professional Etch A Sketcher.

But mostly, I've felt the love from friends old and new and near and far.

It's an incredible feeling.

I feel a bit like George Bailey in, "It's a Wonderful Life," really.

I'm the richest gal in town!

Happy National Etch A Sketch Day!

Treasures can be found in unlikely places

Years ago, I saw a sign that read, "One man's trash is another man's treasure."

That saying doesn't apply to me.

I have my own saying.

"My trash is my treasure."

As I cleaned out the bathroom closet today, I found a tupperware container filled with the most random items.

A charger for something that is most likely obsolete, the toy paint brush from my son's Little Tikes workshop that has a rough handle tip from where our beloved old dog chewed it, a scoop of pretend chocolate ice cream with a cherry on top that came with my daughter's play food collection, a big dice or a die if you're stickler for grammar, a hair clip and some dental floss.

Oh yea, and a piece of velcro. Both sides.

Honestly, I have no idea how these things landed in a bowl in my bathroom closet or how long they've been there.

Most people would have chunked the entire bowl into the trash clearing up valuable real estate on the closet shelf.

Not me.  I felt each item needed close attention.

Since I had cleverly labeled a section of the closet, "dental," I added the floss to the collection of floss boxes, extra tooth brushes and toothpaste.

The hair clip joined all of my other hair clips that I don't actually wear in one of my drawers.

But, as for the other items, I simply left them in the tupperware.

Maybe later I will take the paint brush and put it with the workshop that still sits in my basement.

My son loved his workshop.  And the evidence that our little dog chewed the handle makes the paint brush even more special.

And I will happily put the little scoop of ice cream in the big tupperware of play food I keep as well.

Not so sure about the die.

The fact is, these little items remind me of my children.

For some people, these random toys would be trash.

To me, they are treasured memories of a time gone by.

As for the charger, I suppose I can toss it into the trash but that will take some doing.

But I'm definitely keeping the velcro.

I might need it.

Treasures behind the closet door. 

What's behind yours?