MYRNA’S BIG SUMMER ADVENTURE
Hello one and all, it’s Myrna Lovejoy, back again with her ‘tidbits’ of what’s going on in and about our little Hamlet. And to say, my oh my, what going’s on there have been!!
I’m sure all of you turned out in your best Patriotic outfit of “Red, White and Blue” to help celebrate our Nation’s birthday this Fourth of July! It was truly a sight to behold. The streets queued up with a dazzling flurry of American Flags (that were made IN the U.S.A. by the way…I looked).
Hermione and I decided to make a splash and help celebrate the Fourth in style by joining the throng of thousands at the beautiful new water park!! What a splash it was, too! How marvelous is this wonderful symbol of what is great about our little megalopolis and this fantastic facility! Good job I say, Huzzah!
Hermione and I knew that one day, our hours and hours of dedicated practice on the Brown University synchronized swim ballet team, would pay off! Those countless times when our girlfriends would be off to some fabulous soireé ,with the boys from the Greek house, we would find ourselves breast-stroking our way in the pool. We always however thought it curious, that Dean Mary A. Dyke, would always want and stay to watch us! Hmm? Anyway, there we were in our brand new, shocking Lime green Lycra, one piece official Esther Williams swimsuit, with matching Lime green flowered swim cap, swimming away! I must admit that Hermione and I took to the water like a couple of mermaid sirens! Our upside, down, pirouettes were simply a sight to behold!! Turn, kick, kick, kick, turn! Flawlessly, we would shoot through water!
When I told Gunther that Hermione and I were working up our old routine for the Fourth extravaganza, he was very surprised! He mumbled something about oxygen and paramedics being on hand, but I ignored him. Up to the attic I went in search of my old friend, my Lime green, one piece Lycra, official Esther Williams swimsuit and matching cap. There it was, just I had retired it those many eons ago, just waiting for me to return. Funny, I didn’t remember it being that tiny? Oh well, that’s the marvelous thing about Lycra it will stretch and stretch and stretch.
After weeks and weeks and weeks of practice, in Hermione’s pool, the old “team” was back! Glorious it was! The best part however, was, our ritual of daily Margaritas as a cool down. It’s amazing how smoothly three pitchers of Margarita’s go down, after a strenuous work out! We were ready! We anxiously awaited the day of the water park opening. My only regret was that my mother, you remember her, Bunny DeForde, wouldn’t be there to see us. No, she isn’t dead, she was off to Cabo until October with her Latino “counselor”; Jorge. My therapist says this has always been and will continue to be a constant in my life, and I need to learn to let go.
The day arrived! Gunther dutifully agreed to chauffeur us. We dutifully packed the Edsel station wagon with all the provisions for not only our Grand Performance, but also a deliciously sumptuous “tailgate” buffet that we would indulge in, following our swim! My, what a buzz there was about town, big name entertainment, food, beverage, fireworks! And of course, there Hermione and I were decked out in our matching Esther Williams Lycra swimming regalia with matching caps! We looked stunning! Imagine our surprise however, when we made our way to the pool and discovered that it was a bunch of water slides. Huge waterslides! Small waterslides! Would that dissuade us? No! Hermione and I were determined. We had worked too hard and looked much too fabulous to let this minor set back prevent us from enjoying ourselves. All I remember as we climbed to the top of the ladder is the whiny wailing of the kid behind us, when Hermione and I took his water-tube from him, and like school girls run amok; splashed our way down the exhilarating slide! Green Lycra never looked so good! Esther Williams, eat your heart out!
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Myrna's Musings
Myrna and The Funeral
Hello dear readers, it is with a teary eye and heavy heart that Myrna sits down at her faithful Olivetti to write this tome. Gunther and I have just returned from St. Olaf, MINN. after having attended the funeral of my dear Aunt Rose Adele Havidschidt. Just so that you’d know; St. Olaf was the patron saint of Norway. During his lifetime, Olaf Haraldsson was the King of Norway. He helped rid his country of invading throngs of Swedes and Danes. Deposed by a group of rebellious nobles, Olaf was exiled to Russia but returned to Norway only to be slain in battle at Stiklestad, Norway, on July 29, 1031. But I assure you St. Olaf is a lot calmer these days.
What a dear, dear lady she was. So unlike her sister (my mother….Bunny DeFord). In fact it was hard to believe they both came from the same womb. I remember as a little girl I’d often ask Grandmother why mother and Rose were so very, very different from each other. She never really answered but would just walk away from me mumbling something about long St. Olaf winters, Stravanski Vodka and the ‘Farshenflooken’ lumberjacks.
I had forgotten how simple things were in St. Olaf. The week of Aunt Rose’s service was Pretzel Week. How fun it was to watch all the monks from the monastery compete in the Annual St. Olaf Pretzel Marathon. It wasn’t that the race that was particularly interesting, it was the fact the Friars had to stop and eat Pretzels, drink two beers and dance the polka at each household that dangled Red underwear from the spinneret on their rooftops. Needless to say very few monks finished the race.
Mother finally arrived and joined Gunther and myself at the airport in St. Gustav. She had just flown in from Mexico City. Of course she wasn’t alone. She brought a handsome Latino named Santiago with her. I asked her why he had come, and Bunny said she needed him to comfort her in her time of despair. I told her that’s what family was for, but she said Santiago could make better Martini’s than me and besides there were other things. I didn’t ask.
The day of Aunt Rose’s service couldn’t have been more delightful. Here it was August 23rd, the air was a crisp -12 degrees. The family gathered at St. Olaf’s Lutherterian Baptispalian Charismatic Church. I was so pleased and surprised that the edifice was overflowing with those who had come to remember Aunt Rose. As I gazed across the congregants I knew that this magnificent lady must have touched some of their lives (and appendages.) You see, Aunt Rose assisted Dr. Tinskfa with yearly physicals of the football team. The mighty pipe organ began playing as the family was ushered in and seated at the front of the splendid little church. It was a truly wonderful service that was heralding the essence of Aunt Rose and her life. Bunny was clinging to Santiago appearing to all in the congregation she was indeed grief stricken, when I knew in actuality she had already kicked back two Cosmo’s and six Apple-tini’s and couldn’t wait to get her hands on the Communion wine!
Father Quagmire rose to speak as he approached the pulpit. Carefully arranging his vestments he began the Obituary. “Rose Adele Havidschidt, was born on October 13, 1929. An adored sister and beloved _ _ _ _”; I think there must have been a typo on his notes, because I know the next word ended with *UNT and was supposed to have been “AUNT”, but I know what the Father said; and I know what my ears heard; and believe me, it wasn’t-- "Aunt” Dear Rose would have laughed. After all …..with a last name like Havidschidt
Hello dear readers, it is with a teary eye and heavy heart that Myrna sits down at her faithful Olivetti to write this tome. Gunther and I have just returned from St. Olaf, MINN. after having attended the funeral of my dear Aunt Rose Adele Havidschidt. Just so that you’d know; St. Olaf was the patron saint of Norway. During his lifetime, Olaf Haraldsson was the King of Norway. He helped rid his country of invading throngs of Swedes and Danes. Deposed by a group of rebellious nobles, Olaf was exiled to Russia but returned to Norway only to be slain in battle at Stiklestad, Norway, on July 29, 1031. But I assure you St. Olaf is a lot calmer these days.
What a dear, dear lady she was. So unlike her sister (my mother….Bunny DeFord). In fact it was hard to believe they both came from the same womb. I remember as a little girl I’d often ask Grandmother why mother and Rose were so very, very different from each other. She never really answered but would just walk away from me mumbling something about long St. Olaf winters, Stravanski Vodka and the ‘Farshenflooken’ lumberjacks.
I had forgotten how simple things were in St. Olaf. The week of Aunt Rose’s service was Pretzel Week. How fun it was to watch all the monks from the monastery compete in the Annual St. Olaf Pretzel Marathon. It wasn’t that the race that was particularly interesting, it was the fact the Friars had to stop and eat Pretzels, drink two beers and dance the polka at each household that dangled Red underwear from the spinneret on their rooftops. Needless to say very few monks finished the race.
Mother finally arrived and joined Gunther and myself at the airport in St. Gustav. She had just flown in from Mexico City. Of course she wasn’t alone. She brought a handsome Latino named Santiago with her. I asked her why he had come, and Bunny said she needed him to comfort her in her time of despair. I told her that’s what family was for, but she said Santiago could make better Martini’s than me and besides there were other things. I didn’t ask.
The day of Aunt Rose’s service couldn’t have been more delightful. Here it was August 23rd, the air was a crisp -12 degrees. The family gathered at St. Olaf’s Lutherterian Baptispalian Charismatic Church. I was so pleased and surprised that the edifice was overflowing with those who had come to remember Aunt Rose. As I gazed across the congregants I knew that this magnificent lady must have touched some of their lives (and appendages.) You see, Aunt Rose assisted Dr. Tinskfa with yearly physicals of the football team. The mighty pipe organ began playing as the family was ushered in and seated at the front of the splendid little church. It was a truly wonderful service that was heralding the essence of Aunt Rose and her life. Bunny was clinging to Santiago appearing to all in the congregation she was indeed grief stricken, when I knew in actuality she had already kicked back two Cosmo’s and six Apple-tini’s and couldn’t wait to get her hands on the Communion wine!
Father Quagmire rose to speak as he approached the pulpit. Carefully arranging his vestments he began the Obituary. “Rose Adele Havidschidt, was born on October 13, 1929. An adored sister and beloved _ _ _ _”; I think there must have been a typo on his notes, because I know the next word ended with *UNT and was supposed to have been “AUNT”, but I know what the Father said; and I know what my ears heard; and believe me, it wasn’t-- "Aunt” Dear Rose would have laughed. After all …..with a last name like Havidschidt
Epicurian Musings With Myrna
Hello dear readers, it’s Myrna, back again to share some of her pontifical wisdom with each and all!
As I sat down to write this timely tome, I felt it my duty to share some of the insights that had come my way since last we chatted! And to let you know that one can digest fifteen bottles of Pepto-Bismol if need be!! My husband Gunther was such a darling throughout the entire episode! Not once did he complain about the noises (that was very reminiscent of Linda Blair in the “Exorcist”), that emitted from the depths of my bowels during one particularly startling episode! Such a dear, dear man! Never let it be said that Myrna is one to hold back!! Speaking of which, how did such a thing occur, you ask? Well, my darlings, read on!
As you know, Myrna is never one to avoid danger. So, I set out to experience some of the epicurean delights that await each and every one of you, should you so choose to indulge, here in our little hamlet. As I was motoring about our city the other day, during the luncheon rush hour, my best friend Hermione, with whom I’ve come to experience so many diversities, convinced me we should stop in at a local “steakhouse”. Oh, you know the one. Sounds like they were going to name it something else, but didn’t have enough space on the marquee to put the entire name, so they just put random letters together and called it a name. Anyway, against my innermost better judgment I let Hermione convince me that it would be such an “adventure” to see exactly just what was the allure to the establishment. After all the entire parking lot was filled with cars (actually, mostly white pick-up trucks). So, in we went. I should have listened to the advice that my mother, Bunny DeForde, gave me years ago, when she said; “Never believe what they tell you about stopping where truck drivers eat. It can only lead to years of therapy and marriages gone sour”, but I digress.
Once inside, it took my eyes a moment to adjust. Oh, no dear ones, it wasn’t from the fact that we had just entered from an intensely lighted noontide to enter what seemed to be a darkened grotto, but by the “interesting” décor that greeted us. I especially liked the “backlit” sign that said we could “seat ourselves.” How gracious I thought. And so we proceeded. It was then I noticed what must have been the central adornment of “worship” in the eatery. There, moving about in a zombie like procession, as if transfixed in a hypnotic trance, were the “worshipers” of this idol. A mammoth monolith, that occupied the center of the restaurant like a Bhudda. The SALAD BAR! With their platters raised high, each of the crowd moved about the offerings, with eyes blazing. Hermione and I quickly found an empty table and started to sit down. It was then the adventure really got interesting. Let Myrna, state right here and now, that she is a firm believer that there is never, never any reason to think less of a person because they are in the service industry. That being said, our “waitperson” was soon with us.
It was soon apparent that our “waitperson” neither wanted to be with us, or with anyone else in the establishment, for that matter. Dour hardly seems sufficient. Quinine would have been sweeter! I don’t know, but I think there is something inherently wrong with you being asked what you would like to drink before you’ve had a chance to seat one’s self and perchance glance at a menu. “A white wine”, I heard myself say. I presume that was not the correct response because, as I was soon to learn, they “ain’t got no wines”, only sodas, teas, and water. Hermione smiled weakly. We ordered water. “With lemon,” I heard Hermione say faintly as our “waitperson” disappeared into the vastness of humanity.
We then started to peruse our menus. If it’s one thing Myrna enjoys, it is the “fun” names eateries give to their dishes. I was especially intrigued by the one called “The BIG One”, but I thought better of it. In what was a matter of moments, well actually twenty of them, our “waitperson” arrived back at our table , water in tow. And by “in tow” I mean, if she had put more of her body parts into our glasses, it would have been considered a Baptism! I graciously let Hermione order first. Once again, I must have transgressed, because I asked our “waitperson”, just what they would recommend. Obviously NOT the right question I soon learned, as the tapping of the pencil on the order pad grew intently louder. “Bring me what your favorite thing is to eat.” I said. “Sure, honey.” The acerbic, bleached blonde smirked, as she turned on her heels and sauntered away.
Hemione and I took note of the other patrons. No wonder our state is known for its heart attack quotient. An endless supply of cholesterol couldn’t have entered the bodies of the fellow diners any faster had they been hooked to an IV drip! I did wonder how much “ketchup” and “gravy” the human body could consume before it eventually took on the form of a living French fry.
After three refills of water, (when did Ice become such a big deal?) our “food” finally arrived. An alien concoction of various ingredients that looked as if it were the last meal to come off the assembly line, just before the cook decided to kill himself. “I wonder if we should say grace?” I asked. “Myrna I didn’t know you were that religious?”,Hermione asked. ”I’m not. It’s just that this might be the last time we see each other alive.”, I replied. Hermione laughed nervously. It was then the assault on my palate began. Gentle readers, believe me when I tell you that what took place over the next thirty minutes shouldn’t happen to the prisoners at Guantanemo.
It was then our “waitperson” appeared with our “guest check”. One shouldn’t have to pay for such as this, I thought to myself. And to add insult to injury there were no prices on the paper.
“Oh, dear .... you’ve seemed to have left off the prices.”
“They’ll put ‘em on at the register. Have a nice day!!” But before she had a chance to disappear I had one final question. “Exactly what was this, this, maligned portion I had today?” “Just what you ordered.” she said, sneering at me.” “Really? And just what would that be?” I asked sincerely. “It’s ‘The BIG One’” she laughed as she turned away, cackling!
I should have known!
As I sat down to write this timely tome, I felt it my duty to share some of the insights that had come my way since last we chatted! And to let you know that one can digest fifteen bottles of Pepto-Bismol if need be!! My husband Gunther was such a darling throughout the entire episode! Not once did he complain about the noises (that was very reminiscent of Linda Blair in the “Exorcist”), that emitted from the depths of my bowels during one particularly startling episode! Such a dear, dear man! Never let it be said that Myrna is one to hold back!! Speaking of which, how did such a thing occur, you ask? Well, my darlings, read on!
As you know, Myrna is never one to avoid danger. So, I set out to experience some of the epicurean delights that await each and every one of you, should you so choose to indulge, here in our little hamlet. As I was motoring about our city the other day, during the luncheon rush hour, my best friend Hermione, with whom I’ve come to experience so many diversities, convinced me we should stop in at a local “steakhouse”. Oh, you know the one. Sounds like they were going to name it something else, but didn’t have enough space on the marquee to put the entire name, so they just put random letters together and called it a name. Anyway, against my innermost better judgment I let Hermione convince me that it would be such an “adventure” to see exactly just what was the allure to the establishment. After all the entire parking lot was filled with cars (actually, mostly white pick-up trucks). So, in we went. I should have listened to the advice that my mother, Bunny DeForde, gave me years ago, when she said; “Never believe what they tell you about stopping where truck drivers eat. It can only lead to years of therapy and marriages gone sour”, but I digress.
Once inside, it took my eyes a moment to adjust. Oh, no dear ones, it wasn’t from the fact that we had just entered from an intensely lighted noontide to enter what seemed to be a darkened grotto, but by the “interesting” décor that greeted us. I especially liked the “backlit” sign that said we could “seat ourselves.” How gracious I thought. And so we proceeded. It was then I noticed what must have been the central adornment of “worship” in the eatery. There, moving about in a zombie like procession, as if transfixed in a hypnotic trance, were the “worshipers” of this idol. A mammoth monolith, that occupied the center of the restaurant like a Bhudda. The SALAD BAR! With their platters raised high, each of the crowd moved about the offerings, with eyes blazing. Hermione and I quickly found an empty table and started to sit down. It was then the adventure really got interesting. Let Myrna, state right here and now, that she is a firm believer that there is never, never any reason to think less of a person because they are in the service industry. That being said, our “waitperson” was soon with us.
It was soon apparent that our “waitperson” neither wanted to be with us, or with anyone else in the establishment, for that matter. Dour hardly seems sufficient. Quinine would have been sweeter! I don’t know, but I think there is something inherently wrong with you being asked what you would like to drink before you’ve had a chance to seat one’s self and perchance glance at a menu. “A white wine”, I heard myself say. I presume that was not the correct response because, as I was soon to learn, they “ain’t got no wines”, only sodas, teas, and water. Hermione smiled weakly. We ordered water. “With lemon,” I heard Hermione say faintly as our “waitperson” disappeared into the vastness of humanity.
We then started to peruse our menus. If it’s one thing Myrna enjoys, it is the “fun” names eateries give to their dishes. I was especially intrigued by the one called “The BIG One”, but I thought better of it. In what was a matter of moments, well actually twenty of them, our “waitperson” arrived back at our table , water in tow. And by “in tow” I mean, if she had put more of her body parts into our glasses, it would have been considered a Baptism! I graciously let Hermione order first. Once again, I must have transgressed, because I asked our “waitperson”, just what they would recommend. Obviously NOT the right question I soon learned, as the tapping of the pencil on the order pad grew intently louder. “Bring me what your favorite thing is to eat.” I said. “Sure, honey.” The acerbic, bleached blonde smirked, as she turned on her heels and sauntered away.
Hemione and I took note of the other patrons. No wonder our state is known for its heart attack quotient. An endless supply of cholesterol couldn’t have entered the bodies of the fellow diners any faster had they been hooked to an IV drip! I did wonder how much “ketchup” and “gravy” the human body could consume before it eventually took on the form of a living French fry.
After three refills of water, (when did Ice become such a big deal?) our “food” finally arrived. An alien concoction of various ingredients that looked as if it were the last meal to come off the assembly line, just before the cook decided to kill himself. “I wonder if we should say grace?” I asked. “Myrna I didn’t know you were that religious?”,Hermione asked. ”I’m not. It’s just that this might be the last time we see each other alive.”, I replied. Hermione laughed nervously. It was then the assault on my palate began. Gentle readers, believe me when I tell you that what took place over the next thirty minutes shouldn’t happen to the prisoners at Guantanemo.
It was then our “waitperson” appeared with our “guest check”. One shouldn’t have to pay for such as this, I thought to myself. And to add insult to injury there were no prices on the paper.
“Oh, dear .... you’ve seemed to have left off the prices.”
“They’ll put ‘em on at the register. Have a nice day!!” But before she had a chance to disappear I had one final question. “Exactly what was this, this, maligned portion I had today?” “Just what you ordered.” she said, sneering at me.” “Really? And just what would that be?” I asked sincerely. “It’s ‘The BIG One’” she laughed as she turned away, cackling!
I should have known!
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