Tag Archives: boomer blog

I Beaned Him!

Standard

Here’s my story:

Gather round and hear my tale,      smileyEmbarsassed
My secret past, I must unveil,
The day I faced my deepest fear,
And beaned a groper in the ear.

Now please don’t judge my actions then,
I’ve never done that deed again,
But I can really be a witch,
When I’m provoked to be a bitch!

Looking back: I consider myself a peaceful woman who abhors violence or physical aggression of any sort. In my growing up years circa 1950, our household was always that of a quiet loving family. And other than whacking my older brother across the back with a broom when I was 8 years old, and knocking the wind out of him – violence was never part of my life.

Fast forward: Now let’s move ahead to a summer day, circa 1990 at the St. Lawrence Market in Toronto on a Saturday afternoon. The place is quiet, as most downtown market shoppers are early morning people. I have my 15 year-old niece with me. Hubsey is upstairs on a bench holding all the bags filled with cheeses, fresh fruit and fish, chowing down on a market-famous bacon-on-a-bun.

What a deal! Downstairs I find an end-of-day sale on fresh garden vegetables. My niece stands off to the side while I stuff a large plastic grocery bag full of green beans, for the price of $2. I’m delighted with my purchase and reach over the counter to hand my money to the vendor.

Horrors! Just then, I’m jarred, as two hands come from behind and grab both my breasts. I see the filthy fingernails and realize it’s not Hubsey in a moment of unbridled passion. I whip around and look straight into the face of the filthiest looking derelict; his leering grin 2 inches from my face; his rotten teeth the colour of a dirty urinal; his breath like a distillery sewer.

Besmirched: I stand there in shock. He removes his hands from my body and with a disgusting grin on his face, he simply walks away. His clothes hang like rags, and his hair is matted and covers half his face. I glance at my niece a few feet away; her hands are clamped over her mouth; her eyes the size of dinner plates.

No escape! I watch as this disgusting piece of filth approaches the doors to leave the market and I am suddenly enveloped in a sea of black rage – and I snap! th

Kapow! I take off after him, swinging my bag o’ beans in wide circles like a Spanish bola, gaining momentum as I run. His back is to me so he doesn’t see me coming. He’s about to push the doors open to leave, when I make contact with his head. I bean him smack on his right ear and he howls like a banshee.

Big trouble: He whips around and screams in my face, “Hey! What the hell did you do that for!” (Is he kidding me?) It was then I notice he has a buddy with him. I back up as the two of them clench their fists and start walking toward me, their eyes locked on mine.

Solo act: Now don’t forget, Hubsey is upstairs enjoying his bacon-on-a-bun, oblivious to the rumble in the jungle downstairs, so he’s no help. My niece is still in teenage shock with her feet super-glued to the floor. Thankfully she’s turned to stone and stays put! It’s late afternoon in the market with not many people around. Truthfully, it all happened so fast, I can’t remember to this day if there was anyone who witnessed the assault, except my niece and me. But I digress.

Oh no! As the two thugs get closer, I can’t drop my beans and run, leaving my petrified niece there, so I have to think fast. All I know, is that I’m on my own to defend myself. I’m a small woman with no real physical strength or black belt credentials, so all I can hope for is insanity.

Release the hounds! So I stand my ground and face them dead on, legs apartth  in an aggressive stance while I scream obscenities and wave my fists in the air. (Like the way you do to make yourself bigger to scare away wild animals in the woods.) I go totally berserk and don’t budge an inch from my spot. My face is red-hot and I’m spitting saliva as I spew forth my venom, calling them all the vile words I can muster.

Eureka! Well, I’m happy to say it worked and the two thugsters look at each other, turn on their heels and leave the building…muttering something about a crazy bitch.

My violent past: I am not a violent person and I have never in my life hit another human being…other than my brother-of-the-broom incident of course…and oh yes, the time I punched my boss in the stomach. But that’s a story for another day.

A black place: The experience at the market rattled me for weeks. It wasn’t just the physical assault on me that kept me awake nights, although that was bad enough. It was my blind-rage reaction that scared the green beans out of me; a sheer black rage that brought forth that scary witch who came screaming out of my body to seek vengeance for what he had done to me. No woman should ever tolerate sexual assault in any form. And more women should bring forth their inner scary witch, or their own personal bag o’ beans weapon when it happens.

Buried deep: I don’t know from whither she came and thankfully, I’ve had no need of her services since then. Something tells me she would resurface if my daughter or granddaughter were in jeopardy. But she’s one scary broad and it’s no wonder that those two losers thought better of taking her on. Although in retrospect, I think they were supremely hung over and just wanted the screaming to stop and the drinking to begin.

Pressure cookers: I guess we all have a bit of that black rage simmering quietly below the surface. Some control it better than others. Some don’t control it all. And some get sick from holding it all in, in an effort to keep the lid from slipping off. There’s a fine line here as individual as each one of us.

Final word: My green bean story has gone viral in my family over the years and as I recently started writing my memoirs, it was time to write it down. We all have pieces of ourselves we will never get to know. Sometimes, those pieces are better left alone. As for me, I was frightened by my aggressive actions, but sometimes it takes a bag o’ beans in the ear to show them you mean business.

So that’s my tale, it’s sad but true,
He groped my boobs, what could I do?
I whacked that deadbeat in the head!
He should have grabbed my beans instead.

See you between the lines and on Twitter @PatSkene

Please Follow or sign up for new posts.

 

 

 

Why?

Standard

question-mark-face1Ordinarily, I am quite content to seek out the solitude of my own company. But recently, I’ve had a bit too much quality time with myself…and frankly, I found that I am quite lacking in the answers to many of life’s complex questions.

They say when you’re drowning, your life flashes before your eyes. Well, I’m happy to report this did not happen to me. But in my extended state of reflection and solitude, many burning questions flashed relentlessly before said eyes, and I was reminded of how little I knew about the many ordinaries of life.

My Top 20 Burning Questions:

1. Why do grandchildren and grandparents pass each other in opposite vertical directions so quickly?

2. Why does life bitch-slap you awake, just when you doze off snuggled in the comforts of old age?

3. Why is it always the patient’s fault when doctors make a mistake?

4. Why are all nurses not angels of mercy? Have mercy!

5. Why do men put fruit and veggies encased in sweaty plastic bags, directly  into the refrigerator?

6. Why do men put beer or yogurt encased in cardboard boxes, directly into the refrigerator?

7. Why, when I’m not well, do I look out the window and think everyone has a life but me?

8. Why are big honking boobs supposed to be so spectacular?

9. Why does my oldest besty Marjorie never email me from BC?

10. Why do socks in my sandals feel so flippin’ good and look so freakin’ bad?

11. Why does time go like stink when I’m well, then hang around like a bad smell when I’m sick?

12. Why do I insist that my toilet paper roll be placed in the “over” position and not the “under” position?

13. Why, if some words in the English language are considered bad, did we invent them in the first place?

14. Why are simple blue jeans not allowed in some places, but bad-ass-red or trailer-trash-white jeans are?

15. Why can geese poop their brains out in the park and we can’t kick their feathered arses outta there?

16. Why can’t parents get it right by being grandparents first?

17. Why can’t I find out how much wood a woodchuck would chuck, if a woodchuck really could chuck wood?

18. Why did I get cancer?

19. Why do I float effortlessly in the pool, but my daughter and granddaughter sink to the bottom like mafia snitches?

20. Why do so many people hate nature’s beautiful dandelions?

Help!! Does anyone out there know WHY?     

See you between the lines

Pat Skene

 

At Christmas…

Standard

Well folks, it’s been quite a year of world disasters, the usual corruption in politics and enough nasty Rob Ford antics to make my ears bleed. Seriously!

So as we turn our thoughts to gentler things at this time of year, I struggle to put all this behind me and think kinder thoughts of my fellow man. And in so doing, I am reminded of this beloved Christmas poem by Edgar Albert Guest.

You will have to forgive me because I posted the same poem last year, and the year before. But  it’s very simply the perfect Christmas reading. Everyone should have this one bred in the bone.

And at the bottom of this post, you will find a quirky little toast for your Christmas dinner, sure to cause a few giggles around the turkey.

                             At Christmas

                        (Edgar Albert Guest, 1881-1959)

A man is at his finest towards the finish of the year;
He is almost what he should be when the Christmas season’s here;
Then he’s thinking more of others than he thought the months before,
And the laughter of his children is a joy worth toiling for.
He is less a selfish creature than at any other time;
When the Christmas spirit rules him he comes close to the sublime.

When it’s Christmas man is bigger and is better in his part;
He is keener for the service that is prompted by his heart.
All the petty thoughts and narrow seem to vanish for awhile
And the true reward he’s seeking is the glory of a smile.
Then for others he is toiling and somehow it seems to me
That at Christmas he is almost what God wanted him to be.

If I had to paint a picture of a man I think I’d wait
Till he’d fought his selfish battles and had put aside his hate.
I’d not catch him at his labours when his thoughts are all of pelf,
On the long days and the dreary when he’s striving for himself.
I’d not take him when he’s sneering, when he’s scornful or depressed,
But I’d look for him at Christmas when he’s shining at his best.

Man is ever in a struggle and he’s oft misunderstood;
There are days the worst that’s in him is the master of the good,
But at Christmas kindness rules him and he puts himself aside
And his petty hates are vanquished and his heart is open wide.
Oh, I don’t know how to say it, but somehow it seems to me
That at Christmas man is almost what God sent him here to be.

                                       =====

Now I’ll leave you something else I’ve borrowed – this time from Victoria Farm, which airs on the BBC.  Cheers!

Old Victorian Toast

Here’s a toast to them as we love,
And a toast to them as loves us.
And here’s to them, who loves them,
Who loves those, who loves those,
Who loves them, that loves us.

Only the sober can say it and only the drunk can understand it.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to one and all!

See you between the lines.

Pat Skene

i – Lied

Standard

I’ve come to terms with my last post,
These i-things have me all engrossed,
My nomophobia is real,
So listen up ’cause here’s the deal…

When I said I was i-Crazy, I was telling the truth. When I said I would try to change, I lied.

What’s up? I’m not sure what I was trying to prove with my last post. It was my birthday, so maybe I wanted to turn back the clock and make my world go back to the way it was…before i-things were around. Heck, I grew up with no electricity or telephone until I was six years old. Life has changed just a tad since then. Now after a bout of reflective noodle-flushing, I’m here to tell you i-lied. I’m i-crazy and proud of it, so get over it.

Why lie? Well I didn’t know I was lying when I said I was going to wean myself off the i-stuff in my life. After I wrote my i-Crazy post and went through the aforementioned noodle-flush, I realized that this new age is my life; this life filled with techno-conveniences and instant communication options. So instead of a 12 step program for drying out – here are my reasons for staying the course and enjoying my addiction. 

Top 10 Reasons I’m i-Crazy

1. Living with lupus has its challenges. On my bad days, staying in touch with family and friends with one of my i-things from the comfort of a stack of pillows is priceless. There’s something weird and wonderful about emailing and blogging  from my bed. No Skyping: make-up and hair brushes not required. Bathing optional.

2. Swimming with my waterproof i-Pod  helps me stay in shape. Yes it’s a special waterproof model! As a new condo dweller, I enjoy the pool so much more when I put in my ear buds and listen to music while I swim. Bonus: you don’t have to waste valuable exercise time nattering with other cotton-heads in the pool.

3. Playing online scrabble on my tablet and smartphone helps to keep my brain from getting too spongy. Plus I get to play and stay connected with friends and family members who live miles away. Warning: highly addictive. Big-point-words provoke dopamine-induced euphoria.

4. Text messaging is the ultimate in new age convenience. I love instant conversations translated into short-form babble-garb. Side effects: the need to hear actual human voices may be drastically reduced over time.

5. Honorable mention for my e-Reader, which lets me purchase and load a new book in minutes without getting off my derriere. Caution: may cause involuntary spreading of the posterior region. When this occurs, discontinue use and jog to the bookstore.   

6. My granddaughter thinks I’m super cool, because I have all these new gadgets and gizmos.  Grandparent advantage: i-things are an excellent resource for helping to make you the alpha grand and beating out the in-law competition.  

7. The i-Phone alarm feature helps with my fading short-term memory. Note: dependency will develop due to a growing need to hear the “Marimba” signal before snapping into action. 

8. My i-Phone camera captures those spontaneous moments, which would be otherwise lost. Downside: all my pictures are floating around somewhere in cyberspace instead of  in photo albums.

9. The Contact List in my phone  is with me all the time. With so many telephone numbers having strange area codes these days, I can’t even remember my daughter’s home number. Blast from the past: things have changed since my first job as a Bell Telephone Operator in the 60’s. Seems like just one ringy-dingy ago…  

 10. I can slouch on the couch and read my i-Pad. Checking the news, weather, sports and the myriad of fabulous blogs out there is a sinful pleasure I enjoy for hours on end. Danger: couch cushions may become dangerous to the elderly, as sinkholes are developed from overuse. 

Final word: There are many “smartphone-tablet-ereader” crazed people  like me out  there. Even we more seasoned citizens love conveniences. We love instant communication and quite simply, we love learning how to use this exciting technology to stay current. Embracing the new while appreciating the old is where I’m at these days. So I guess you can teach a crusty old blogger new tricks after all!           

And in the end, as I suspected,
It’s a wonderful life, when you’re connected,
‘Cause every time an i-thing dings,
A cyber-angel gets his/her wings.

Pat Skene