Mr. Pam Needs a Grocery Gift Certificate

Do you remember Pat on Saturday Night Live? Is it a man or a woman? Does he/she have a life?

In my childhood neighborhood, we had this girl who was that androgynous type. Maybe asexual is a better word. We knew she was female because her name was Pam. She lived with her parents through childhood and adulthood. At some point, my father started referring to her as "Mr. Pam" and unfortunately it caught on.

Once again, I am trying to watch Jeopardy and there is an interruption. My father is speaking to the dogs as if I were not in the room:

"Mr. Pam is eating again -- Stay out of her way."

"Married -- Divorced; Married -- Divorced -- Mr. Pam can't make up her mind."

"No Christmas presents for the doggies -- Mr. Pam is eating us out of house and home."

As if I needed another nickname, I have now become the neighborhood's new Mr. Pam. We have laughed ourselves stupid over it.

Farm Girl

"Early to bed and early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise." Benjamin Franklin

My normal body clock awakens me between 4:00 AM and 5:00 AM. I force myself to stay in bed until 5:00. I used to envy people who could sleep late but I've learned to appreciate this quirk. In many ways, it is my favorite part of the day. I relax with coffee and the newspaper. I watch the local news. I relax and plan my day before the hyperactivity kicks in.

I like to go to bed early. My oldies tease me about a curfew and we laugh about how ridiculous this is since I usually go to bed around 9:00 PM. Don't be jealous of my exciting habits!

My sleep cycle is a lot like farmers. I might have made a good farm girl except for that pesky part about working the farm.

Can You Bench Press Your Car?

The only reality show I watch is "Dancing with the Stars." My parents tried to get me to watch "Survivor" the other night but I pulled myself up to my full height of 5',3 1/2" and said, "I don't want to and you can't make me." (This spine of steel crap only goes so far when they're bailing you out but they let it slide.)

I got to watch the semi-finals and the grand finale of "Dancing with the Stars" with my father. Here are a few areas where the generation gap comes into play:

He thinks Samantha Harris (the co-host) has arms that are too muscular. He makes running comments about not wanting to face her in a fight or how she must go out every morning and bench press her car. I think her arms are amazing. She has muscle definition and no underarm flapping. I know you're not supposed to covet things but secretly I covet her arms.

He thinks her voice is too deep and sounds like a man. He does a mean impression of her which sends me into a fit of giggles. I think her voice is sultry in a Lauren Bacall kind of way.

Too bad the show is over for now. My dad and I will have to find someone else to critique and/or admire.

She Went That Way!

Once again, life has come full circle. I am living with my parents in the neighborhood I grew up in. It is a temporary arrangement so I'm soaking up every second of it. Many of my childhood neighbors still live here. Most of the children that I ran around with still come over to visit their parents so I get to see them too.

I've always had good neighbors and the house I shared with the husband was no exception. It was just a different kind of neighborly. In that house, I could walk on the patio and no one could see me. Here, I am regularly greeted by one of the next-door neighbors across the fence.

The other day I forgot to put Gabby's invisible fence collar on her and I also left the gate open. As she darted, the friend across the street opened her front door and yelled, "She went that way!"

Someone backed out of her driveway and hit a neighbor's car parked on the street. How do I know this? I saw neighbors gathering out front so I grabbed my glass of wine and ventured over to find out what was going on. That's how we do it here.

The lady across the street has watched me grow up and I have been attending the same church with her for many years. She has noticed my car so the other day during the meet and greet portion of the service, she gave me a hug and said, "Welcome back neighbor."

I'm comforted here. Not just by the obvious love and support from my oldies but from neighbors and friends who look out for each other and have been doing it for decades.

It's Mandatory

Like all of you, I've lost loved ones to accidents, disease, and plain ol' old age. It shocks and rocks you. It is the cycle of life but it never gets easier.

Here's what I've learned. The words, "I love you" are always welcome. I rarely end a conversation or an email to a friend without them. I say them to my parents, the daughter and the baby, and my friends every day, in every conversation. It's a genuine feeling and no matter what is going on, I want you to know that you take up a space in my heart.

It's a Sheri Rule. It's mandatory for me.

There are k'jillions of children who have never heard this phrase.

A Trained Killer

Until the Belle died, I lived with three military people. The military regimen is about as foreign to me as getting a tattoo or jumping out of an airplane.

Military stories make me weepy. I can hardly watch or read them.

My cousin, John, was in town a few years ago. The husband, the parents and I all went out to dinner. (This was before we had possession of the oldies.)

During our conversation, the husband talked about his military experience and his training as an Army Ranger. (It's like the equivalent of a Navy Seal.) John is a keen communicator so he kept the questions and stories flowing. Later, my parents commented that they knew about his military history but had not heard the embellishments of his Ranger days.

So I asked Big Daddy, "Why didn't you tell my parents about being a Ranger?"
He said, "I wasn't sure how to word it. I'm a trained killer and I plan to marry your daughter."

For the record, he never killed anyone. Even though he could snap me like a twig, I think he's occasionally afraid of me. The mind can be mightier than brawn. And my mind is twisted like a twig.