It's Friday Night & You Want Advice? (on poop)

Dear Miss Flonotes,
Every morning there's a big pile of dog poop in the center of my front yard.  Every morning, I hand shovel the poop into the storm drain. What should I do? 
Crotchety Old Guy 

Dear Crotchety Old Guy, 
It's difficult to comment on your technique without watching you through my front window, and I'm not getting up that early. Remember, bend your knees to avoid back strain. 
Warmest Regards, Miss Flonotes. 

 Tune in next week for another installment of It's Friday Night & You Want Advice?

Great Expectations

Did you really expect another blog today? Scroll through yesterday's accidental early releases:  Coffee Talk (meant for today/Wednesday) and Get On The Bus (meant for tomorrow/Thursday). At the bottom of yesterday's blog, you'll find what's meant to be there: Dorothy Was A Strong One.

Coffee Talk

By the time Birdie and I stumbled on the Kansas University on-campus Milton's Coffee, I was desperate for ordinary, plain-brewed iced tea. That wasn't available. So I settled for a canned Coca-Cola, along with an extra cup of ice so Birdie and I could split. 
"Are you a KU student?" I asked the cashier.
"No," he said.
"I'm a student," said the older guy behind the counter. "Are you looking at KU?"
"Yes," I said, "But I'm not sure enough money will come through as we are out of state."
"Move to Kansas," he advised Birdie. "Work awhile. Then KU will give you plenty of money."
"I graduated in May," said the cashier. "I got a lot of scholarship help."
"How'd you get your scholarship?" I asked.
"I'm in-state and had good grades," he said, then added, "I majored in English. A lot of my friends aren't as lucky. They majored in other stuff, graduated owing a lot of money and work for corporations. They aren't happy and they make a lot less money than I do."
"So what do you think about while you make coffee all day?" I asked.
He paused, then smiled and said, "Mostly, I think about coffee."
I forgot to tip him. I don't know if he noticed. There's a lot of wisdom at Milton's Coffee: If you want to go to school, find a way to do it even if it takes longer. Consider in-state, even if you need to earn the privilege. And, if you love your major and avoid debt-overload, you can brew a perfect cup of coffee.

Get On The Bus

Riding buses is an emerging hobby of mine. Earlier this year, I rode a chartered bus to Jeff City in support of Planned Parenthood. Then, I rode Greyhound to Cleveland, TN, to visit Mom. On the first, I traveled with strangers united in a cause. On the second, I traveled alone surrounded by kind and decent seasoned with slightly crazy. On Saturday, Oct. 22, there's a bus trip I covet. The St. Louis Independent Booksellers Alliance is hosting "Get On The Bus," a tour of four local bookshops--Sue's News, The Book House, Rebounds and Rose's Bookhouse--with lunch at La Hacienda included. The round-trip ride, which starts at the Galleria, is a $35 bargain. I could hop in my car, drive alone to visit book shops and run through the Taco Bell drive-thru (as I only eat alone in the car). But, I would miss walking the "red-carpet" these four shops will roll out for die-hard book fans. I'd also miss connecting with a busload of booklovers ready to trade tips on books worth reading. My earlier, spontaneous bus journeys were somewhat equivalent to jumping off a cliff into unknown waters, only a lot safer. And on both adventures, I stepped out of  my comfort zone. As for the "Get On The Bus" bookstore tour, that's a no-brainer in terms of company and fun. But sadly, I won't be on the bus. I'm working that day. At Rebounds. So I'm counting on others to hop on the bus and come visit. I'm saving a special story for my red-carpet visitors...it's one about dogs, the canine kind.  For more information about "Get On The Bus," visit http://www.stlindiebook.com/  Or call Rebounds, 314/469-5400. Maybe, I will give you a hint about my story.

Dorothy Was A Strong One

Dorothy was made of stronger stuff than I am. It has been a week since Birdie and I returned from visiting the University of Kansas in Lawrence. Only now, have I regained enough strength to write. One of the most well-kept secrets in Kansas is that Dorothy didn't leave Oz to get back to normal...she left to return to crazy. The first thing to know about KU is that it is made up of hills, and all of them go up. Also, there's not a cozy morning breakfast spot within spitting distance of campus--not that Birdie and I could find. We ended up two miles away at McDonalds, grateful for melted cinnamon stuff, gulped down 10 minutes before our on-campus appointment. There, we learned, that if you visit campus the day after Seniors' Visit Day, it is you and three other visitors. Not a bad thing. In a move that wouldn't look like crazy on an ordinary day, KU has a bus devoted entirely to visitors. It's full-size and most of the time, we were the only ones on it. My guess: Keeping the visiting riff-raff separate from the students protects the KU secret chant. Birdie and I never figured out what "Rock Chalk" means, although students wore it on their chests, fannies and legs. (To clarify--on their clothing.) The KU crowd is especially proud of its throwing arms.  A student, the bus driver and a faculty member all spontaneously shared that the campus pond, newly restored, at one time held numerous football goal posts, a Vespa motorscooter and several desks. That desks held the same level of prestige as goal posts either means KU students study, or that they don't. KU is a campus that aims to please. The five-story music/fine arts building has ground-level entrances on four floors, facilitating escape from jilted lovers and those to whom money is owed. The library building was contructed for sturdy, heavy books that didn't happen. The weight of books required by KU professors wasn't enough to settle the floors evenly. There's enough slant that with a little physics driven momentum, students may be able to roll themselves right out the front door after studying/napping in the back stacks. And, lest I forget, KU has Chik-Fil-A on campus. Enough said. We loved our quirky visit. And the two guys who run the campus coffee shop gave us some of our best college advice ever. That I'll share tomorrow. Right now, I have a blue plaid dress to stitch. Birdie remains undecided. But I want to be ready should she decide to stuff Tequila in a basket and clicks her heels three times.

Also Overheard At The Mall

"...that was before my father left us..."

Heard At The Mall

"I can't wait until I'm rich and old."

"Old?"

"Well, you know, like 20."

Birthday Princess

Have A Happy Day!!!

Daisy is coming home for the weekend!!! Birdie is turning from minor to major!!! I painted Tequila's toenails bright red!!! It finally rained!!! No more watering the dead grass!!! I cleaned the bathrooms!!! Make that just one bathroom!!! I closed the door on the others and posted 'sorry for the inconvenience, this stall closed' signs on the other two!!! Not that they're stalls!!! My book boss sent me an irritating email!!! I sent an irritating email back to her!!!  She is not really irritating...it's just the stacks of John Grisham and Nora Roberts duplicate novels with nowhere to shelve are irritating!!! So is Sarah Palin!!! Ann Coulter is the devil!!! What if I go to hell!!! Will Ann Coulter be there!!! Will stacks of crappy books be there!!! Not that John Grisham is crappy!!! Nora Roberts is crappy!!! But I don't think she'll be in hell!!! Just her books!!! Have a happy day!!!

Fish Circles

If ever there's a reason to pray fervently that reincarnation is fanciful thought, it is the fish I saw at Wal-Mart. This one, a tri-colored goldfish, cartwheeled in water in a plastic bag topped with a tightly twisted rubber band held by a young girl. The fish swished back and forth in vertical and horizontal circles. The child, squished into a lavendar leotard, pronounced in one, quick run-together sentence, "I'm four and I'm here with my cousin and my uncle and this is my fish and I'm taking him home with me and my mom doesn't know about it and I haven't named him yet cause I can't decide and do you like him?" She stopped moving the bag. The fish bounced off the side, mouthed silent fish gulps, then it was back to circles. The circles weren't wild ones, but the two-inch fish probably disagreed.  So did the uncle. He unpropped his large, sweatsuit clad frame from the customer service counter, swiveled around and told the little one to hold the fish still. Then he went back to what he was doing, which turned out to be getting a price correction on three cardboard boxes of videos. As the clerk adjusted the price on about 100 movies, the uncle apologized to Big Guy and I for making us wait and explained that he sells videos on the internet. That got my attention. I never thought about where those videos come from or who it is that sells them. Then my attention swung back to the fish, once again spinning. As I watched, the plastic bag slipped from the little girl's fingers and hit the floor. It didn't break. Call it good luck, bad luck or what goes around, comes around.

Book Bits

Books Currently On My Nightstand:
Getting To Happy by Terry McMillan & One Day by David Nicholls

Favorite Book As A Child:
My Box and String by Betty Woods

Top Five Authors:
Charlaine Harris, Terri McMillan, Nelson DeMille, Maya Angelou & E.B. White

The Book I Was Supposed To Read For Class, But Never Did:
Le Petit Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

Book I Most Often Recommend:
Bird by Bird by Anne LaMott

Book Bought For The Title (and my review):
The Worst Thing I've Done by Ursula Hegi  (only a so-so read)

Book That Changed My Life:
Down Came The Rain by Brooke Shields

Favorite Line From A Book: 
"I knew there was going to be trouble when Joyce came home with four packages of juicy jumbo hotdogs..."  from What Looks Like Crazy On An Ordinary Day by Pearl Cleage (you
can read the remainder of this 78-word sentence at the start of Chapter 24.)

Tattoo and Pierce

Birdie has wanted a tattoo since she was first strong enough to pry the cap off a Sharpie marker. Soon, she will be old enough to get one that is as large and vividly colorful as her heart desires. My hope is that the tattoo will be petite and modestly colored. I'll settle for anything that looks like it couldn't be done in prison and was etched with a clean needle. And Birdie, the young adult, will do whatever she wants. If I don't think about it too hard, I'm fine with the tattoo. It's the eventual nostril-piercing I worry most about, as I'm partly to blame. I should never have allowed Daisy and Birdie in the same room at the same time. They were in the kitchen, and in a fit of misjudgment, I said, "Oh my God, you have the same nose!" (Yes, it was an odd moment to call upon God.) Their heads snapped toward each other and they looked relieved. Apparently, they liked what they saw. A few days later, Daisy and Birdie were once again in the kitchen, this time I wasn't there, but Daisy's friends were. By the end of the evening, Daisy had her right nostril pierced. As did a Daisy friend. I don't know how long Daisy teetered on the brink of "Should I do it?" But Daisy likes to teeter, and I'm certain Birdie helped push her over the edge. As Daisy discovered, in a loud sort of way, I don't like the Daisy nose pierced. But now that I've calmed down, I admit, it is kind of cute. For Birdie, I suspect, the Daisy nostril is one trial run complete with the real nose to follow.

Caught!

When Death Touched

More than most, I think, I woke up on Tuesday, Sept. 11, 2001, believing it would be an ordinary day. After my Monday, Tuesday had to be dull. Here's my story: Sunday night, I was asleep--dead asleep. Just moments before midnight, Big Guy burst open the bedroom door. "Call 911. Al had a heart attack," he said. Before I could pull myself awake, Big Guy left. I slipped on my flip-flops, and in my nightgown, fled across the street to Al's house. As his wife watched, I dialed 911. Big Guy pounded on Al's chest, vainly willing his worn out heart to restart. A firetruck and an ambulance arrived. Al was dead. He'd probably been dead from the moment the heart attack happened. I called the neighbors' parish priest. Then Big Guy and I sat with the newly made widow at the kitchen table. We waited: For the priest to arrive; for the body to be cared for; for the fire truck to leave. The kitchen clock ticked past 1 a.m. And somewhere in that time of waiting, two barefoot, p.j. clad, rumple-haired souls wandered through the silent chaos of a crisis stilled. Birdie and Daisy woke up, found their parents gone, saw the ambulance outside, then wandered hand-in-hand across the street. Big Guy and I explained that Mr. Al died. I led them home and tucked them into bed. Today, death touched them, I thought. Just one day later, the Twin Towers fell, the Pentagon cracked open and a Pennsylvania field morphed into a crater. And death, this time as an abstract, touched my children again.

It's What's For Breakfast

http://www.castanet.net/news/Offbeat/62971/Donut-seeds

Missing From Oahu

I didn't see what I most wanted when Big Guy, Daisy, Birdie and I traveled to Oahu. I saw a lot of great stuff--the incredible blue ocean; the rugged, razor-sharp pali; lush tropical vegetation; surfers (mostly confused Asian ones); mongeese and strange birds. But gone was my childhood playground. Infused in how I viewed all the tourist stuff were my 40-plus-year-old memories of living in Hawaii and playing with my best friend Florida Sunshine. I moved to the Fort Shafter army base as an eight-year-old, and within a day, met Florida Sunshine. I don't remember if we instantly liked each other, as military brats have to determine who is and isn't ok to hang with, but soon we were inseparable. We spent our free time swimming, baking sugar cookies, exploring the backyard mountain and playing with her sister's Barbie dolls. But my favorite memory, and the one I hoped to share with Birdie and Daisy, was of the jungle gym. At the Fort Shafter of long ago, privates lucky enough to not be shipped to Viet Nam spent long hours painting the playground's jungle gym. They would finish. Then Florida Sunshine and I would peel off the newly dried silver paint with our fingernails, competing to remove the longest continuous strip possible. On my return trip to Fort Shafter, I wanted to discover that the playground survived. But the area where Florida Sunshine and I lived and played has been torn up and replanted with a more modern Army community. The new playground, while functional, isn't peel-able. The new Army brats aren't inadvertently consuming specks of paint as they play. And now I'm thinking, it may have been lead paint that we peeled as the Army intended for its work to last. Florida Sunshine and I intended otherwise.