Tag Archives: Family

Hurts So Good

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I’ve had my head bent over my computer for…well, for way too long now, trying to get to the end of my novel.  YIPEE! – –  I got to the end.  CRAP! – – now I’m back at the beginning.

All WTF Critique group members agree – the story doesn’t open in the right place.  I’m starting to think this writer’s gig is not all it’s cracked up to be.

Because I’ve barely left my computer lately, I haven’t been out in the world enough to add a new Crazie Town event so I’m doing the next best thing…posting an excerpt from my book – Also named Crazie Town.  Just in case you’re getting confused, my blog is true, my book is not — mostly not — okay, it mostly is.

Here’s a true event that I included in the book.  My dad (Max Grosskopf in this story) slipped and fell at his farm.  I (Genny in this story) managed to push, pull and prod his large body into my car and drive him to the emergency room.

A woman in a white lab coat walked into the room carrying Max’s X-ray.  She slid it into the slot on the light box and flipped the switch.

“It looks like a broken ankle to me,” she said.

“Really?  Are you sure?” Max asked.  “Maybe we should wait to hear what the doctor says.”

“Mr. Grosskopf, I am your doctor.  I’m Dr. Morris.”

Max sat back in the wheelchair and stuck his hands out in front of him. “Whoa. Whoa. Whoa.  No one ever asked me if I wanted a girl doctor.”

“What?”

“I’m just saying, they should have you fill out a form or something saying you agree to be treated by a girl doctor.”

Genny thumped her head with her palm.

Dr. Morris frowned and through clenched teeth said “I’m the only doctor available right now, Mr. Grosskopf, and even though I’m only a girl, I’m sure I can manage to put a cast on your little broken ankle.”

“Is this going to hurt?” Max asked.

“Certainly more than it needs to,” Dr. Morris said and walked out of the room.

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.