THE CRANKY DAY

                                              THE CRANKY DAY

                                              “something in the air”

I call it The Cranky Day because everywhere I went all day everyone seemed cranky.

I first noticed it early in the morning; my neighbor, for the only time in the 10 years

that I've lived here, sat on his front porch and just stared into space. No "Good Morning"

with a wave as he usually did. I wondered what was the matter and hoped he was okay.

We were all going to Debbie for her summer barbeque. I was taking a fresh fruit salad

of watermelon and strawberries and I thought it would be nice to sprinkle shredded

coconut on the top. But before my stop at the supermarket I’d go for a haircut. I threw on  

pants and a tee shirt and ran out  (I’d get dressed later in my nicer outfit… ( a little nicer).

Joe, the receptionist, at the beauty parlor wasn’t his usual warm and friendly self. I

wondered why but didn’t feel that I should question him.

Diane, my hairdresser also seemed very tense. “Have a nice day,” she said,as I was

leaving. At least that’s what I thought she said, her words were listless and mumbled,

and I was hard of hearing.

When I called Debbie to see if she needed any last minute things, she, not the most

patient of people, sounded even less so today.

“Is something wrong?” I asked. “How are the children?”

“They’re FINE!” she answered in a belligerent tone. “Why do you ask?!”

“Uh, no reason…” I’ll see you all later.”

I wondered if it were ‘her time of the month' which would explain her curt tone.

When I did ask her once, she was ‘highly insulted’ by my question, interpreting it to

mean that if I thought that her emotions were‘hormonal’ that I wasn’t respecting her

true feelings. I actually considered the idea of somehow sneaking a look at her calendar

 to see what days were‘circled’ on it, and then if I could, try to keep my distance at that time.

At Stop And Shop I bought what I needed and got on a line. A customer

three places ahead of me at the register was very agitated and having words

with the cashier.

I turned to the woman behind me, she had an open, friendly face.

“Everyone is cranky today,” I said, “ do you notice?”

She nodded, “Oh yes. Mercury is in retrograde…”

“What is in what?! I asked.

“Merc- ur- y"” she repeated slowly and loudly, “is in ret- ro- grade.”

“What in the world does that mean?” I asked.

“It’s not in our world ” she said,” with a tone of disgust.

Because she was a total stranger I had no way of knowing if is she was

always so grouchy or was she today because of me or, well… Mercury?!!

A man on the line behind her joined in, “You’re wrong. Mercury in

retrograde affects machines, cars, appliances etc. Not people’s moods.” His

disgust with her was even stronger than hers was with me.

“ No, you’re wrong” she said, and with a huff she turned her cart around and

moved to another line.

At home I made the fruit salad, dressed quickly and left. At Debbie’s house I

went straight to the back patio, she was setting the table and my son-in-law

Paul was at the barbeque pit getting it ready.

“Oh, Ma, that looks good” she said, taking my fruit bowl. Then with a

double take at me, she said; “Why is your face green?”

“My face is green?” I said.

“Your eye shadow, it’s smeared all over…”

“Oh.” Maybe because I was rushing out, didn’t want to be late. Once, ten

years ago I was a little late to your house and I’m still hearing about it!
 
I could have said it, but I didn’t
.
As her delicious burgers were sizzling away on the grill, they all began to

come in. Neil, 17, didn’t want my hug, although he was usually okay with it.

“What’s going on with him?” I asked Debbie.

She shrugged, “They’re all kind of grumpy today.”

“Why, do you think?”

“It’s the heat!” exclaimed my granddaughter, Bonnie.

We were having a heat wave here in the northeast, today was one of those

hot, muggy, icky August days…and for Bonnie in her late months of

pregnancy, it had to be even more uncomfortable.

I greeted the other children,“ So are you all getting ready for the new

term?” Emily was entering high school and Haley was in her last year there.

Their unenthusiastic reaction gave me the idea that with summer almost

over maybe it wasn’t the best subject to bring up.

“And Haley is PMS ing,” Debbie, whispered to me.

I laughed inside, ‘That’s what I wondered about you’ I thought.

“That could be it!” said Bonnie, “why everyone is cranky…PMS.”

“But that doesn‘t explain the guys,” I said, “my neighbor, Joe at the beauty

parlor, the man at Stop and Shop, what’s their excuse?”

“Ha! Imagine… if they could have the babies!” said Bonnie.

“ No more population growth!” laughed Neil and Lenny.

My granddaughter Natalie who had just came into the house joined the

conversation at the table which was still focused on the subject at hand:

Why was everybody so cranky today? She was excited, “I think it’s

something in the water.”

“Why do you think that?” we all asked.

“Because everyone is carrying a bottle of water!”

I had noticed it too, definitely not a part of our pop culture when I was young.

“OR containers of coffee!” said Haley. So was caffeine the culprit? She was one

who saw everything through the lens of nutrition.

“And they’re all talking on their cells phones,” pointed out Charles.

“AHA! Cell phones! That’s it!“ I said, “All those microwaves, I never

trusted it.”

“Ma, you’re suspicious of all the new technology“ said Debbie, “or as you

call them, ‘the new machines’. Should we go back to smoke signals?”

“Oh no, I love it, especially e mailing. FYI! LOL! OMG! I use them a

lot… but can you show me how to get that ‘smiley face’?”

We talked more over the delicious barbeque, salads and dessert but the

question of the day was left unresolved… there were many clues, but no

SINGLE CLUE. Maybe it’s just something in the air we concluded.

On my way home as I passed by our town lake I stopped on a whim.

I felt in need of the calmness of the idyllic scene, swans gracefully

floating atop the blue water …graceful and serene.

Why aren’t we as serene as they are ? I asked myself.

They’re only birds, what do they have to worry about? I answered myself.

The other benches were filled with people, seemingly as entranced with the

scene as I was. My eyes were drawn to a young woman seated a few yards away.

I couldn’t help but stare at her. She felt my stare, stood up and walked over to me.

I smiled; “Hi”.

There was no smile or “Hi” in return. “ What is your address” she asked.

“My address? Why?” Did she want to invite me somewhere?

She flipped her head, “ So I can send you your eyeballs back!” she snapped,

and stomped away.

I froze, didn’t know whether to laugh or to .. …what? Breath in…breath

out…breath in. Of all the crankiness, grouchiness and grumpiness from

early that morning and all day, this one won the prize! (the booby prize?)

Was she carrying a container of coffee, a bottle of water, or a cell phone.?

I couldn’t see, she had walked away. Or  was it just something in the air?

“Have a nice day,” I called out.

Years ago John Denver sang, ‘Some Days are Diamonds, Some Days are

Stones…’ For some unknown reason today was a ‘day of stones’ for so

many. But it was almost over. We’ll all go to sleep and wake tomorrow to a

fresh start, a new day and hopefully a happier one.

                                                              THE END

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　







　

　

　

Call Me When You Get There

                        CALL ME WHEN YOU GET THERE

　

On my way home from seeing my mother in Brooklyn, I stopped by

Debbie’s house with the extra satchel that they needed for their weekend

trip. They were taking Lenny to look at colleges in Boston… about a four

hour drive. After a few minutes I hugged them all goodbye, “Call me when

you get there" I told Debbie, fully expecting her reaction.

She protested, “Ma, I don’t know what time we’ll get there. Could be much

later than we think…y’know, weekend traffic,” she began, “and the weather,

they’re predicting rain, could be flooding on the road…skidding…cars will

stall…poor visibility causes accidents … lots of problems…”

I couldn’t stop her, she went on and on listing every possible  disaster 

that might delay them.

“… sometimes when the brakes get wet” she continued, “they won’t work.”

“ I know , I know” I said, edging to the door. “Call me anyway, even if it’s

late.” I didn’t wait for her reply, I was going to have the last word!

A few minutes later at home, I checked my e mails. There were 4 of them

from Staples and Home Depot, which I deleted, and 2 unknown, which I

sent to my junk mail. Then I looked at my phone messages; there were three
from the same number, my mother’s. What was the matter? She was fine

when I left her only an hour or so ago. Worriedly I called her back, “What’s

wrong, what happened?!”

“Nothing happened. Why didn’t you call me when you got home?”
 
“Mom! I’m just here on L.I., you’re in Brooklyn, less than an hour

away …( if I’m lucky, I said to myself, very, very lucky,… that Belt

 

Parkway…!)“And I stopped off at Debbie’s just before they…….” I caught

 

myself, did my mother really need to know that Debbie and the family were

 

starting off on a long drive? Did it make sense that she as well as myself

 

would not be able to sleep until we heard from them? Kindness was my

 

motive… wasn’t it??

 

This is a custom in our family as well as in many others. I remember years

 

ago when we arrived at our destination we’d make the long distance call

 

‘person to person’ because you didn’t have to pay for it unless that person

 

got on the line. So you gave the ‘operator’ a fake name and the family

 

member at home understood; the message was,“We’re here, everything's fine."

 

For that matter, how far back does it go,... centuries...with smoke signals?

 

I had at least 4 hours before Debbie, Paul and Lenny would be in Boston, so

 

between checking in on the weather channels to track the coming storm and

 

the traffic report for any accidents reported along their route, I had plenty

 

of time to mull over our “call me when you get there” thing. I was annoyed

 

with my mother (her 98 years of age notwithstanding), Debbie was annoyed

 

with me, her son will be annoyed with her when he starts to drive.

 

What is this all about?

 

Some people have doctors or lawyers in their family… or plumbers, (they’re

 

the luckiest.) We don’t. But we do have a Social Psychologist, writers,

 

journalists and college students who are majoring in Anthropology,

 

Philosophy or Psychology.

 

And one grandson who is a world traveler, Charles. I could start with him.

 

Over the years he has lived in Japan, Brazil, Iceland; and is in Sweden at

 

the moment. I’ll ask him, “Do the Swedes also have the ‘Call me when you

 

get there’ family tradition?”

 

And to my psychologist grandson; Question: Why was Debbie always so

 

irritated with me when I asked her to ‘call me’? Is it so hard to make a

 

simple phone call? What does she really object to?

 

OR I could ask my other grandson, a college freshman, studying

 

Anthropology. What about  the aboriginal tribes and their smoke signals? What

 

were they saying to each other, ‘We just arrived, we‘re OK, don’t worry.”??

 

OR to my grandson Neil, college Philosophy student; “ Is a lie of

 

omission the same as an outright lie; for example, my not telling my 

 

mother that Debbie’s family were going on a long trip out of town?

 

OR my granddaughter who is a Psychology major? When my mother finds

 

out about Debbie’s drive to Boston will she ever trust me again? And as a

 

result will her phone calls to me increase. She did call me 3 times and I was

 

only an hour away.

 

AND what was the real reason I didn’t tell her? Was it because I was being

 

considerate or were my true motives selfish ones.? So I would not be

 

bothered with her phone calls to me?

 

I had a good five hours of thinking and not to be overly dramatic I was ‘in

 

the throes of a dilemma’ or ‘on the horns of a dilemma“? I’ll ask Natalie my

 

journalist grand-daughter which one is more appropriate.

 

Debbie and her family had left Long island at 7 -7:30PM. Allowing for

 

weekend traffic and weather I estimated that they should arrive in Boston

 

by midnight. Of course I couldn’t sleep until I got her call. Watching TV is

 

the way to do that but what to watch... no scary, horror or hospital stories, no

 

hurt children, lost dogs, uh uh!  What about that channel that tells about

 

Americans that are looking for rental apartments in Paris? Could be fun and 

stress free to watch, but after a few hours of it ( I'm Type A) I couldn't
 
wait! On a whim, I called Debbie’s cell phone…and she answered!

“Ma … oh…yeah, we’re here at the hotel, everything is fine.”

I did not ask her when they’d gotten there. I did not ask her why she didn’t

call me.Or " Did you forget?!" Uh, uh. 

But at that moment it struck me, the answer to my dilemma, and almost

everyone else’s dilemma;

The phrase “CALL ME WHEN YOU GET THERE” is OUTDATED!

 I will never have to utter those words  again!

Why do I have to wait for her to call me? I'll call her.
 
If she hasn't arrived at her destination I'll call her again, once, twice,or more

times if necessary until I reach her.

So a tradition of hundreds, maybe thousands of years is being overturned

with the new technology.

Cell phones, I love you.

　

                                                         THE END

Grist For The Mill

                                              GRIST FOR THE MILL


      We had just finished dinner and were starting in on dessert and I knew that with

      the many sugary things on the table I was risking my daughter's disapproval.

      "Ok " I announced, "let's go around the room and each one of you will tell us

      what's going on in your lives." This always proved interesting because my

      grandchildren ranged in age from thirteen to thirty, from Middle School

      to graduate school and out.

      "You  start" I said to Haley, only because she was seated at the corner of the

      table! I knew better than to do anything that might be construed as favoritism.

      " So you went to visit some colleges?"

      "Yes, we went to Philadelphia, I liked the University there, Mom and Dad liked it

      too so I'm applying to it .But I have to send them an essay"she added with a sigh.

      "What about?' I asked.

      She shrugged, " Anything I want.. I don't know what to write about!"

      Her cousin, ..., already in college, nodded, "That was a problem".

      "Wait a minute," I said, "you can write about anything at all? How can that be

      a 'problem'? There are so many ideas out there...so much 'grist for the mill'. "

      "You always say that Grandma," said 13 year old Emily, "what does it mean?"

      "'Grist For The Mill'? In other words, ideas in their raw form, like wheat in a

      field before it is harvested is the 'grist'. It is then ground in the mill into flour, that's

      the  'plot' for the story...which is then used to bake..." I started to point to the

      chocolate cookies, cought a glimpse of my daughter Debbie, and picked up a

      granola bar instead..."these". In fact, there is a Grist Mill Museum right here

      in town...let's all go tour it!" My enthusiasm was clearly not contagious but was

      met with blank stares and excuses." It'll be fun. An adventure" I added. That

      made it worse.

      Debbie laughed, "Ma, a museum is not an adventure. White water rafting is an

      adventure. Zip Lining is an adventure."

      I didn't appreciate her sarcasm,and what was she talking about anyway...I learned

      how to add a  lining with a zipper into a jacket in my sewing class.

      Emily didn't like her mother's tone either. She moved closer to me.

     "It's OK Grandma, I'll go with you to the Museum."

      Ah, I thought, How sweet she is and even sweeter to know that there is justice

      in the universe; that my daughter's will have to deal with that 'mother/daughter'

      thing as I...as we all did. It could go on for months... years.

      They told me what 'zip-lining' was...so, didn't Tarzan do that a hundred years

      ago? I thought it but didn't say it.

      "Back to my point" I said, "ideas for an essay or a story are everywhere. You all

      know that I belong to a writer's group...I have a million ideas for articles or

      stories." As soon as those words were out of my mouth I was sorry.

      "Read us one," said Lenny. A chorus of agreement went up.

      "Well, uh...I uh..."

      Debbie stared at me, "Yes Ma, how come you never read us anything you write?"

      It wasn't just that Debbie was suspicious by nature, it was that she knew me so

      well, knew that I loved to share with all of them what I thought was interesting.

       Her eyes narrowed, "How come?"

       I racked my brain, "Uh, well, they still need editing...rewriting..."

       "That's alright Grandma" said Natalie, "We don't care if it's not edited yet."

       "Well, some other time." I said brightly," Now let's make our sundaes, the ice

      cream is melting." That did it for now, I thought, but I knew it would come up again.

      While they were busy with dessert I went into the living room and from the top of the

       bookshelf  I took my yellow pad and on the page under the heading;"Story Ideas" I

       quickly scribbled the words ;"Family wants to hear my writings...what should I do.?"

       Debbie came into the room, " Come on in Ma, the teapot is whistling".

       She startled me, I dropped the pad.

       She stared at it, "What are you doing?" she asked.

       "Nothing...just making out my grocery list. My voice sounded weak.

       "Your grocery list! Now?" She bent down, picked up the pad and read aloud "'Story

        Ideas. Family wants to hear my writings. What should I do?' Ma!"

       Bonnie came in, "What's going on?" She looked at the pad her mother was

        holding, " ' Story Ideas' "she read aloud, "Family wants to hear my writings.' "

        She clapped her hands, "Hey Guys !Come on in" she called.  "Grandma is

        writing about US!"

        They all came running in, laughing, "Grandma, you're writing about us!?"

        "Don't call me Bon Bon, Grandma, I hate that name!" It stuck when her 2 year old

        brother used it.

       "Did you write about my Graduation ?' asked Emily, just out of Middle School.

      "And mine?" asked Charles, a recent college graduate.

       And how  I pitched our winning game?' yelled out Neil.

       "Come, we'll all talk inside, "I said, leading them back into the dining room.

       Debbie walked beside me, "I'm not comfortable about this Ma" she whispered

       through gritted teeth," using my children..."

       "They're not all yours, only three are yours!" I whispered back. Even as we

       spoke I was mentally recording what she was saying for future dialogue.

       "OK, everyone " I began, "Yes, I do write about you...and a lot of other things.

       For instance, have any of you noticed that when you buy something the "Have a

       nice day" is now "Have a great day"? And that most banks now have a bowl of

       lollypops for us... and by the way Capital One has the root beer flavored ones but

       run out of them first..."

       "Ma!" She knew I was stalling.

       " And, yes, I do get ideas from my family. I looked at each one," because you

       my dears are my inspiration." I hadn't wanted them to know, thought it would

      inhibit them just as though there was a camera rolling in the room.."But" I added,
 
      with a nod to Debbie, " I never use your real names."

      "Call me Selena!" cried Haley.

      They all burst out laughing; "She was Justin Beiber's girlfriend." explained

      Natalie, and he wrote a song about her."

      "Many songs are written about loved ones" I said," remember "Coal Miner's

       Daughter?" They didn't.

       "Bruce Springsteen wrote about his father" said Bonnie. "Taylor Swift wrote about

        her boyfriend; ' Dear John'."

        " I read that he was very angry at her for that!" said Debbie. " Some people don't

        like to be written about!"
    
        "Poems also" I said. "Elizabeth Barrett  Browning, 'How Do I Love

        Thee ' " I recited.

        " Let me count the ways..." continued Bonnie and Natalie in a chorus.          

        I promised them that I would read them one of my stories the next time we

        were together.

       The following day I received this e mail,' Grandma, I decided that my

       college essay will be; 'My Grandmother, A Million

   Ideas from Grist to Grain to Granola '. Love you! Haley

      
                                                      THE END