There Was A Twist

My mother in law asked me a question once……..an hour before opening night of a big musical I was in………………….”How do you do it?  How do you get up there and sing and dance while everyone is staring at you?”

“Well…………….I’m not myself.” I answered.

I think she understood my answer.

An actress is doing her best to be another person.  Sometimes the easiest portrayal to pull off is the character that is NOTHING like the actress.

I learned this at a very early age.

My mother put me into dance lessons when I was very little.  I was round and chubby with red cheeks and a winning smile.  But, I had no aptitude for learning dance sequences.

Ma started me so early ………………I still didn’t know my left from my right.

Ma did this so I wouldn’t be shy.

She didn’t want me to be paralyzed by shyness like she had been as a child.  I had two brothers before me.  I was the only girl…………..I guess Ma didn’t know that daughters aren’t born sharing every trait that their mothers possess.

I was a quiet little girl.  I got bounced around by two brothers.  I had an attentive father and a loving mother.  My being quiet had absolutely nothing to do with shyness…………..I was born knowing my worth.

I was quiet because I was paying attention.

The first time I was read a bed time story?  I lie in bed knowing I could have come up with a better ending than that.

I was born loving words.  The sounds they made.  The feelings they possess.  How words changed with the inflection of the speaker.  I wasn’t even in school yet when I knew what my lifelong fascination was going to be.

I was quiet because I was paying attention.  Soaking it all in.  Playing with phrases of words in my head.  Making up paragraphs.  Switching those paragraphs around.  Telling myself stories.  Knowing when I had come up with the perfect ending.

My mother just saw a shy little girl.

The dance lessons didn’t go all that well.  I could tap to “Give Me A Little Kiss” if I was in the group.  If asked to do the routine at home………………well, I just couldn’t.  I could not for the life of me remember which step came after which step when I was alone.

My brothers made fun of this.  They had a good laugh.  They told my parents I was wasting their money because I retained nothing week to week.

My father frowned at them and my mother told them to take out the trash.

I was in second grade.  The school sent home an announcement.  There was to be a talent show at the grammar school.

My mother was more than a little shocked when I signed up for the talent show.

She whispered “Oh………….dear………………God!” when I told her.

“What are you going to do for your talent?” Ma prompted me.  “You’re pretty good with a hula hoop.  You could sing ‘Tammy’s In Love’………………perhaps you could recite a little poem.”

“Nope!  I’m going to be Chubby Checker!” I replied.

“Oh………………..dear……………..God!” my mother repeated.

“This is going to be a fiasco!” stated my brother that was going to be forced to be in the grammar school audience.

“I just need my leotard and my tights to be clean.  I can use my tap shoes with the ribbons even though I’m not going to tap.  I suppose you don’t want to buy me Jazz Shoes for one show?” I wondered.

“Oh……………….dear………………….God!” my mother whispered yet again as she squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head.  She tried to wake herself up from this nightmare but she wasn’t asleep.

What was I up to?

I was trying to wake up my mother in a different way.  I was going to show her that I wasn’t shy.  I wasn’t about to be signed up for any other classes because she was trying to bring me ‘out of my shell’.

I was willing to win a talent show so she would leave me the heck alone.

So, I became Chubby Checker.

This little pale girl from Connecticut had studied him quite often on shows like American Bandstand.  My impression was pretty spot on.

The day of the talent show arrived.  The front row of the audience was made up of bored mothers knitting away at little sweaters.  They nodded to friends a few chairs away without messing up their counting.

I was next to last.  I straightened my little leotard.  I pulled up my tights so that the crotch was where it was designed to be.  I tested out my tap shoes on the wooden floor of  stage right.

Tap shoes are slippery.  I didn’t want to kill myself.

I went up to the Daddy volunteer that was in charge of the record player.

I whispered to him.

“I want it loud!  I want the music to knock them out of their chairs!”  I instructed.

He patted me on the head and laughed.

“You got it, cutie!  Knock em dead!” he said with no confidence that I actually would.

“Go!” I told him.

He went.

I wasn’t going to be the kid that stood on the stage awkwardly waiting two minutes for someone to finally put the right record on the player.

COME ON BABY AND DO THE TWIST

COME ON BABY AND DO THE TWIST

TAKE ME BY MY LITTLE HAND AND GO LIKE THIS……………

I hit that stage in all my pudgy glory.  My dimples had dimples.  Even my elbows had dimples.  Every mother out there wanted to take a bite out of me.  I shimmied to the left and I shimmied to the right.  I shook my shoulders and twisted down.  I went so low I slapped the floor.

Then I took it down the stairs into the audience.

I got all those mothers to put down their knitting and twist with me.

They sang along with me……………….they all knew the words.

The record stopped just as I had the whole audience on their feet.

I shouted “One More Time!” to the Daddy on the record player.

And, we did it all again.

I won the contest.  My prize was a coupon for four free ice cream cones at our local hot spot; Shady Glen.

I walked home with my mother and my brother.

My brother wasn’t all that surprised.  He had seen my Chubby Checker impression in the basement when he was trying to shoot pool.

But, my mother?

She was mystified.

“What the hell just happened?” she wanted to know.  “You’re so shy!  How did you do it?  How did you get up there and sing and dance while everyone was staring at you?”

“Well, I’m not myself.  I was Chubby Checker.  It’s just a different way to tell a story.” I answered.

“You’re going to be an actress?” she asked the clouds in a mystified way.

“Maybe……..but, I don’t want any more dance lessons.  Singing lessons would be great.  But, what I really want is a typewriter.” I answered.

“Oh……………dear……………….God!” was what I expected for an answer.

Instead, Ma said “I can make that happen!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Up On The Rooftop

I have favorite Christmas carols.  The mature me would choose ‘Mary Did You Know’ or perhaps ‘O Come All Ye Faithful’ if sung in Latin.

But, at the top of my list is Up On The Housetop!  Except, when I sang this song as a child…..the words were Up On The Rooftop.

Up on the house top reindeers pause
Out jumps good old Santa Claus
Down through the chimney with lots of toys
All for the little ones, Christmas joys

Ho ho ho, oh, who wouldn’t go?
Ho ho ho, who wouldn’t go?
Up on the housetop
Click click click
Down through the chimney with good St. Nick

Oh, there is a reason for my choice.

Grammar school was winding up.  The terror of Junior High School wasn’t all that far away.  Christmas was coming and something horrible happened to me.

I developed my first crush…..on an actual boy in my class.

I walked home for lunch every day.  He walked ahead of me.  While I went straight past the stop sign and the crossing guard…..my crush took a left.

One day I decided to follow him to see where he lived.  It’s nice to know where your crush lives……so that every time you pass by that house….you can have a little thrill…..and a little sigh.

Well, that didn’t go well.

My teacher that year was a bit of a drill sergeant.  She had short cropped hair.  She wore high heeled shoes that never seemed to bother her feet.  She never lost her eye glasses.  She blew a whistle and held a stop watch in her hand.  She turned every lesson into a timed game.

Some kids excelled at this.

Her methods turned me into a trembling mess.

This story really isn’t about her…….and fifty years later I won’t give her another minute of my time.  But let’s just say that her methods caught the attention of students…..parents…..the school nurse….and the principal.  Other teachers shook their heads and narrowed their eyes when she walked us down the hallway in too straight a line.

The day I followed my crush home………….never saying a word to him……I thought I was 007 super spy………..he complained to our teacher.  He was her favorite because he was so smart….and she took action.

At the end of gym class our teacher gathered us all up in the corner.  She was about to hand us off to the music teacher at the other end of the gym.

My teacher decided to embarrass me to death.

Teacher had me come and stand next to her at the gym door.  She put her hand on my shoulder as she told the whole class that I was now following boys home from school.  Oh, she went on and on in vivid detail about what I thought to achieve by doing something so atrocious.

My face burned.  My stomach felt queasy.  Even at that age………I recognized a very sick adult………one that would take such joy in embarrassing a child.

My crush witnessed this…….while I wished to float away and stop breathing all together…..he was trying to disappear into the floor.  He was as utterly destroyed by this public outing as I was.

Our music teacher had witnessed this whole show from the other end of the gym.  She didn’t wait for our teacher to walk us down to her piano and set of risers like she usually did.

She came to get us.

Miss White; the music teacher stared into the other teacher’s face.

I didn’t understand it at the time…..but, I do remember what Miss White said.

“If I have anything to say about it…..they will yank your teaching certificate by June.” she said to my witch of a teacher.  “You!  Are unfit!”

“Come along, my little angels!  We have to prepare for Christmas!  The angels in heaven can’t hold a candle to you in the singing department!  Onto the risers!  Take your places.  Let us raise the roof with the glory of your voices!” our music teacher said as she walked us to the risers.

I stood by her side at the piano.  My face was still red.  My stomach still felt funny.

“Yes, Miss Anderson.  What can I do for you? Miss White asked.

“I don’t feel so good.  I think I need to go to the girl’s room or the nurse’s office.  I’m not sure which.  I am so embarrassed I think I am going to die right this very minute.” I whispered into her ear.

“No one dies of embarrassment.” the music teacher let me know.  “We learn from it.  We become stronger because of it.  And, you’re old enough to know that not every adult deserves your respect.”

“Now, you get up on those risers and you do what you do best.  You lift your voice up.  You take joy in it.  Because………….no lie……only once every five years or so…….do I come across a voice like yours.  You never stop singing!  Someday?  People are going to pay to hear you sing!  You breathe deep.  And, make your diction count…….and, you make it nice and loud.” she directed me.

Miss White sat at the piano as I took my place on the risers.

“Quiet, students!” she said.  “I’m going to play the intro to your song twice.  Use this time to quiet your minds.  Use it to breathe!  Use the extra time to feel Christmas in your souls!”

I know now……she was giving me time to gather myself.

“And, now!” my music teacher nodded her head at me.

I started my solo.

I lifted my voice up.  I took joy in it.  I breathed deep.  I made my diction count.  I made it nice and loud.

Certain teachers earn respect with their expertise………but, most especially……..with their kindness.

They will never be forgotten.

Up on the house top reindeers pause
Out jumps good old Santa Claus
Down through the chimney with lots of toys
All for the little ones, Christmas joys

Ho ho ho, oh, who wouldn’t go?
Ho ho ho, who wouldn’t go?
Up on the housetop
Click click click
Down through the chimney with good St. Nick

 

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Window Blessings

When you haven’t left the house in over five weeks……………well, there is not much to write about.

That’s not gonna stop me!

I’m not a whiny kind of person.  Whining never got me anywhere …………except sent to my room…………when I was a kid.  As a mother……..my kids were told “The more you whine the less you get.”when we were in the vicinity of a department store toy section.

I’d like to think I was born “the glass is half full” type of gal.  But, I think I have to give a lot of credit to my parents.

Mom:  Suck it up!  Life isn’t fair!  Blow your nose and go wash your face!  Your dramatics have no affect on me.  Wah!  Wah!  Wah!  Oh, give me a hug and snap out of it. Give me another hug.

Daddy:  Boy, sounds like you had a rough day.  There’s nothing you can change about that.  Except, your attitude, Little Girl.  It’s all about attitude.  And, tomorrow is another day.  Don’t you give up.  You try again.

So, what do you do?  When you wake up and can’t remember what day it is?  When all you wanted to do was go for a walk……………but, it’s hailing outside?

You wait for the sun to come out again.

Spend time at your windows.  Count your blessings as you count squirrels running up and down the trees.

Notice the red headed wood pecker do his work.  He’s over a foot long and he’s industrious.  He is glorious to look at.

Throw some stale bread out into the yard.

And, wait for it.

A great big groundhog……………here he comes out of the woods.  My husband tells me the animal is a vegetarian…………….only eats green things.

Then I spent ten minutes watching the groundhog………..sitting up straight…………..eating a hunk of bread like a deli sandwich.

Oh, then there is the cardinal.

My mother taught me to think of cardinals as a sign from the other side.  A visiting loved one.

A sign of hope.

My son has called me into his dining room office three times this week.

“Mom!  Your bird is here!” he calls to me.

A big fat baseball of a red cardinal sits in the bush outside of our window.  It doesn’t stare at the yard.  It stares right into the room.  Our moving around doesn’t make it flit off.  It stays and stares for a good five minutes or more.

It seems to be saying “Wah!  Wah!  Wah!  Oh, give me a hug and snap out of it. Give me another hug. Boy, sounds like you had a rough day.  There’s nothing you can change about that.  Except, your attitude, Little Girl.  It’s all about attitude.  And, tomorrow is another day.”

Don’t you give up.

You try again.

 

 

 

Moderator Pet Peeves

Moderators on large Facebook pages put in lots of time.  It’s an unpaid volunteer job. They keep the tone of the page.  They deal with all types of people.  It is usually a pleasure to do so.

I moderate a large Christmas page.  The first season was like surviving a fire storm.  Members wanted things their own way.  The admin and moderators cemented the rules and held firm.  Three seasons later……………..everyone gets along pretty nicely.

You won’t believe it…………..and, I may be giving away a big secret…………..but, moderators read almost each and every comment on every single post…………to keep the peace.

We don’t miss much.

Every moderator has their own pet peeves.

I’ll let you in on another secret……………..I’m about to tell you my pet peeves.  I’m doing this with a little tongue in cheek…………..I’m in good humor today………….but, I kind of really, really mean it.

Xmas versus Christmas.  I no longer have time for this debate.  It’s been done to death.  A member using the abbreviation of Christmas gets accused of being Satan, a devil worshiper………..of trying to take Christ out of Christmas.

Hogwash!

I no longer put up with this stuff………………..I use my button and I make people go away over stuff like this.

Want to guess which phrase makes me groan out loud?  I’ll give you three guesses.

Yes! You got it right!

“Jesus is the Reason For The Season!”

Really?  I didn’t know that!  Thanks so much for letting me know.

Did you think of that all by yourself?  Please, understand.  There is nothing wrong with the phrase……….but, when you see it over and over and over again it gets a little tiring.

Now, my biggest pet peeve even surprises myself.  But, I’ve been at this for a while and well………….things that happen over and over again tend to get on your nerves.

Generalizations and comparisons.

Take a look at the picture at the top of this blog.  I chose it for a reason.

A comment of generalization: “All women were so classy back then.”

That comment is fine by me.

A comment of generalization and comparison:  “All women were so classy back then.  All women walk around looking like slobs nowadays.”

Generalization:  “Things were so much easier in the good old days.”

That’s fine!

Generalization and Comparison: “Things were so much easier in the good old days.  This whole wide world has gone to hell.  I wish I could go back.”

This kind of stuff in the comment section makes me blow my cheeks out and let off steam. If I’m in a certain mood……………….those comments just go poof!  Disappear.

So, I’ll make a deal with the members of the Christmas group.

You can look at the picture attached to this story.  You can say that you think the ladies of the good old days dressed in a classy manner.  You can even say what makes me crazy………………you can say “Boy!  Women dressed great back in the day!  Now, all women walk around dressed like slobs!”

I will only let that last comment stay on the page……………..if you accompany it with a selfie………….with a time stamp………………and, I expect you to wearing a pretty snazzy outfit including a string of pearls.  Oh, hell, I want you to dust off your tiara for this particular photograph.

But, I’m thinking I’m just going to take down that comment denigrating all women of today.

Because, I think it’s a pretty good guess…….. that the person that commented is probably wearing ten year old sweat pants and a twenty year old faded Mickey Mouse tee shirt while sitting at the computer.

Just like the rest of us!