Category Archives: Crazy is as Crazie Does

Butter Gall

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Butter Gall

I like to try new things and this week was no exception.

Okay, I really don’t like to try new things and this week was no exception.

My grandson and daughter-in-law invited my husband and I to go bowling.  Now, I’m no slouch at this game.  In fact, I recently beat my brother, Mike.  Did you get that, Mike?  I beat my older brother MIKE (that’s his name) at bowling.

We get our shoes and hurry to the lane.  My 9-year-old grandson is excited to get started and he throws his ball down the alley.

I’m up next.  I pause and align my feet with the appropriate arrows.  I move my ball into the optimal position and step forward.  Here’s where I tried something new.  Instead of just throwing the ball down the lane, I decide to try bowling my entire body.  I release the ball just one second late which causes me to step over the foul line where I instantly become Wile E. Coyote peddling my feet on the highly-buffed hardwood as if I’d just run off the edge of a cliff.

Observers tell me they thought for one moment I was going to save myself, but that was not the case.  SPLAT–I crash down on my tailbone and then fall back, hitting my head on the polished hardwood.  As I slowly glide, spreadeagled down the lane toward the pins, I think I hear my father’s loving voice from my childhood.  “Oh…honey…you know you’re not coordinated enough to play a sport.”

I make it to my hands and knees and crawl back to my seat.  I shake my head in attempt to bring the scoreboard into focus.  I think I see a 1 next to my name so, trying to pull some dignity out of the situation, I say, “Well, at least I didn’t throw a butter gall.”  I look around at the six people staring back at me, blink my eyes until they return to the original three people and say “Ha, ha.  Butter Gall?  I meant to say Butter Gall.  Wait, that’s not right.”  I struggle to figure out what order the letters should go in.

Just as my daughter-in-law suggests an emergency room visit I come up with the right words.  “Gutter Ball!” I shout.  “At least I didn’t throw a gutter ball!”

Unfortunately, I can’t say that for much of rest of the game, ending with a pitiful score somewhere under 50.

The good news is – there’s nothing funnier to a nine-year-old boy than watching an adult slip and fall.  Right now, my grandson thinks I’m hilarious.

Dirt Therapy

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I got a call this morning that really made me mad.  Nope.  It made me furious!  I stomped around the house mumbling expletives and yelling at the other person as if they were in the room with me.

My husband and my dog snuck outside to hide and that’s when I decided I need some Dirty Therapy.  I grabbed a spade, my garden gloves and the packets of seeds I’d ordered last winter.  Heading outside I tore into the old vegetable beds, shoveling compost and turning the soil.

I continued to curse as I knelt on the ground — well, my idea of cursing which went something like this:  “Wrasser, frasser, stupid woman.”

Throwing my garden gloves to the side I dug my hands into the dirt, pausing occasionally to shake my fist in the air and shout at Stupid Woman.  The neighbor’s dogs came to the fence to stare at the crazy human rolling in the mud.  I accepted them as my audience and began anew.  “I mean, really?  How dare she?” I asked.  They agreed Stupid Woman was totally out of line.

A few hours later, as I worked the soil, loosening the clumps, letting the fine soil run through my fingers, my temper  and my conversation cooled.  I looked up at my doggy spectators and ruminated, “Perhaps, and I  mean – just perhaps.”  Here I stuck a dirty forefinger in the air for emphasis.  “I’ve done one…”  the dalmatian cocked his head to the side.  “Okay, maybe two things in my life that might possibly have irritated another person.”

Disgusted with my lack of insight, they wandered off and I concentrated on placing the tiny seeds in the furrows.

Yes, my hands are dirty and sweaty and my hair is sticking out in Crazie style, but I feel a hundred times better than I did this morning.  I’m even working on thanking Stupid Woman – because without her I’d probably never gotten my garden planted.

 

P.S. – If any of you called me this morning, of course YOU are not the stupid woman I’m talking about.