SOCIAL SECURITY PRINCESS

In a few weeks, I will be celebrating (crying and shaking under the blankets) another birthday.

Actually, not just another birthday, but THE BIRTHDAY. You know the one -- the one where you can actually start collecting Social Security Checks.

Which I will be.

Which will be the most regular and dependable paycheck I have ever received.

In honor of this huge, life-changing event, I have designed a tee-shirt for myself. And then I thought, hey wait!, some of my other friends might want the same shirt. So, here it is......if you want one, help yourself and place an order. I set the  commission very low to try to make the shirt (and mug and bag) more affordable.

Happy aging!!!   
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Social Security PRINCESS Shirt by carolinalinda
Browse more Social T-Shirts

A Commercial Break

If you're still reading my blog, you like my writing.

Or you like me.

Or maybe a combination of both.

Or you're really, really, really bored.

Anyway, it doesn't matter. Since 2008, this blog has been a free read for anyone who wants to laugh or have their imagination tickled. And it will continue that way -- a free read. BUT, and there's always a BUT in every crowd, isn't there?, in the words of my mom, "It's time to pay the piper." 

So here's the deal, if you like my writing, buy my book. I've got hundreds of copies of SEEING RED just waiting to be signed and sent out. Click on the link to the right (the one that says "click here for a signed copy") and you can buy SEEING RED from me, signed to you.

If you don't want paper, then click on the link for Amazon or BN and download a digital copy of SEEING RED for your computer, Kindle, or Nook.

Just, do me a favor, and help support a writer. This writer. If you've been reading this blog, this is the next natural step. Read my romance comedy.

And, if for some reason, you don't want any romance in your life, then buy A PIECE OF CAKE, my collection of humor essays.

And if you already own my books and are still reading my blog, how about you share this post on your FB page and tell your friends to read me?

Come on, you know you want to.

Clink on a link.

Buy a book from a writer.

Help support the arts -- and me!

Meanwhile, here's the first chapter of SEEING RED for you to read .........

“THE DAY THE EARTH STOOD STILL”

Twenty minutes into all movies, the first plot twist occurs. I’ve known this since fourth grade when my parents, both renowned film critics pointed it out to me. Since then, I have spent the first 20 minutes of every movie hanging onto my seat, anticipating that twist, which makes it all the more ironic that when the first plot twist occurred in my own life, I didn’t even recognize it for what it was.

What I did recognize (and forever paused in my mind’s eye) was the exact moment when the world shifted and the moon quaked and the stars realigned themselves and the seas danced and all the animals smiled and I saw things differently. More precisely, I saw HIM differently. It was a magical moment and whenever I look back, the sweet sounds of violins, worthy of an award-winning John Williams composition, accompany the memory.

Red. His name was Red Winkler, but for the past five years, I never thought of the name “Red” without the tagline “Janee’s Dad”. Janee was Sophie’s best friend and sleepover buddy; Sophie is the co-star of my life, getting top billing. Janee and Sophie had been friends since First Grade, so, of course, I bumped into Red/Janee’s dad every time I dropped off Sophie at a birthday party, and I saw Red/Janee’s dad when he brought Janee over to spend the night, and I saw Red/Janee’s dad when he and his wife took all the kids to the zoo, and I saw Red/Janee’s dad on his front porch that day he told me that his wife of fourteen years had left and he and Janee were really sad these days, and I saw Red/Janee’s dad more and more as Janee clung to her friendship with Sophie.      

And then one day, my vision changed. Or Red/Janee’s dad changed. I can still see the scene……

Red/Janee’s dad brought Janee over for a summer afternoon play date. The girls immediately ran squealing into Sophie’s room to change into their princess gowns. Red/Janee’s dad sat down on the couch across from me and asked, “Bailey, where do you buy those little white socks for Sophie?”

“I get them at Target. Sophie outgrows them so fast that there’s no reason to buy expensive socks at this point”, I answered, shifting in my chair.

Red/Janee’s dad didn’t respond. I waited for a minute, or two, and then glanced over at him, and I saw Red/Janee’s dad looking at my crotch.

OHMIGOD, I thought, Red/Janee’s dad is looking at my crotch – he’s staring at my crotch!

 Is it the shorts I’m wearing? Are they too tight? Do I have a Camel Toe? Is it the way I’m sitting? Does he think I’m trying to flash him?

Should I move my hand down there to distract him?

And what is that look on his face? Is it lust?

OHMIGOD, Red is looking at my crotch with lust.

He’s a man. This MAN is looking at my crotch!

Beyond the shock, how did I feel about that?

A little titillated.

More than a little titillated.

And I kind of liked it.

Well, okay, I liked it a lot.

And that was when I forgot I was married.

 c2012 Linda S Amstutz

FINAL THOUGHTS 2011

As far as I can tell, there are two types of people in the world: Those who look back at the year and cry and Those who look back and cannot keep a straight face. 


I recently (and recently means every year for the past 40 years) asked my friends to look back at their soon-to-be-ended year and evaluate it.  


Like they do on television between Christmas and New Years Eve.  


On every darn channel.


Every darn night. 


And I noticed that all of my friends' reviews, both written and oral, both shared publicly and whispered privately, fall into those two categories - the criers and the laughers.


It's not that some have had a rougher year than others. Every single one of us has had our share of physical pain, emotional separation, unfulfilled dreams, disappointments, heartache and acid reflux. No one is exempt. 


But every single one of us also had early spring daffodils and the rustle of falling leaves, an occasional sweet dream, or two, and a friend who makes them laugh and access to books that take them away to better places and free music to lift their souls and the smell of chocolate and sometimes the kiss of a late-afternoon breeze on our cheeks that reminds us of what it feels like to be loved. 


I could say, "Poor. Lonely. Me. My son grew up and doesn't need me anymore. He hardly ever calls and now he's off to Europe and I don't even know what city he is going to or what day he will return."


Or, instead, I could say, "After all these years, my son is finally really growing up and being independent and I rejoice in his adulthood and I wish him many adventures and a lifetime of fun." And then I could give myself a pat on the back for doing such a good job raising him that he could have a life of his own, on his own two tattooed feet.


I could say, "My grandkids don't live in the same town as me and I don't get to celebrate holidays with them hardly ever and I really wish I could have a standing Friday night Grandparent Date Night with them, but I can't, so I will just sit here."


Or instead, I could say, "I have the funniest grandchildren in the world.  Two of the girls just hate the color pink and that really tickles me.  And my grandson has this way of laying his head on my shoulder while he hugs me and every time he does that, I am so filled with love that it hurts and I count every lucky star in the sky to have healthy grandkids, dirty diapers and all."   


I could say, "I spent the year recovering from knee surgeries and blistered fingers now I am in the midst of gum surgeries. I'd rather spend the money for a new, less saggy neck, but noooo, I have to have expensive surgery inside my mouth instead and no one will ever see the results or admire my healthy gums."


Or, I could say, "Hurray! I didn't have to cook or clean last year because of my fingers and knees and this year, I probably won't even have to chew my own food. And I am so lucky to have something wrong with me that can be FIXED!!! And, OMFG, I will be knee-deep in nitrous this year!!!"


So, take a minute, look back, and try to find some moments in your last year that made you smile. Look deep inside your pain and sadness and you just might find something happy hiding there, 'cause don't you know ...... Every burden carries with it something silly. 


Look for the silly. 


Find it and hold it close.


c2012 Linda S Amstutz  

Santa Baby

Dear Santa --

I'm sorry that I haven't written to you in years. It's not that I stopped believing in you, no sir, it's just that you are so busy with all those kids and parades and television specials that I didn't want to bother you with my little list of things I wish for. And to be truthful, the other men in my life have generously gifted me with everything I ever wanted ...... although no one slides down a chimney better than you!

It's funny, Santa. When I was a little girl, you were the older gentleman in my life. I'd stand in line to sit on your lap and look into your twinkly eyes. You were so much older then, and I was so much younger. Now I look into the mirror and see myself as almost your age and while I've grown older, dear Santa, I think you've grown younger.

And more handsome.

I think it's your hair that gets to me the most. Not grey. Not even salt and pepper. Just white. Brilliant white like the first snowfall. When I look at your hair, I remember how gently and quietly that first snow falls in the winter. I could fall - just like that -- for you. All you have to do is ring that bell, dear Santa, and I could be yours.

When I look at your long white beard, dear Santa, I think of cotton candy and I remember how it tickles when it crosses my lips and the way it melts in my mouth. I tell you this because I know you can keep a secret better than most, but when I look at your beard, it takes all my willpower to restrain myself from holding it and rubbing it across my lips. Mmmm. Cotton Candy........

When I look at your belly, dear Santa, I have to laugh. It seemed so big to me when mine was flat and tight, but now our bellies look about the same -- although I must confess, I would never accentuate mine with that big, black, shiny belt. And when we laugh, we both have bellies that jiggle like a bowlful of Jello. I love Jello.

Do you?

And the color red .... I love the color red, and aren't you all wrapped up in red, dear Santa? Red clothes, red cheeks, red nose. Oh, Santa! I love the color red. It makes me think of hot fires and red hot cinnamon kisses and you.

I love the twinkle in your eyes, dear Santa. It's like you know some delicious secret and it tickles you to death. It seems you can hardly keep from laughing. Funny, that's how I feel when I see you .... I can hardly keep from laughing with delight. I love a man with a hearty laugh.

I wish we had more time together. I wish you'd be here for me in the spring. Or in the summer, I'd love to walk with you on the beach. But you're not. You're only here with me for a short while once a year. Maybe that's what makes our relationship work. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder and you're absent ten months out of the year. But when you're here, with your Ho-Ho-Ho, and your list of Naughty and Nice, you melt my heart.

This Christmas, dear Santa, I will leave a big plate of cookies on the dining room table for you.

 

I'll also leave a glass of milk, and in case you want it, a shot of Peppermint Schnapps.

 

If you'd like a little something extra, dear Santa, look for me in the bedroom.

 

I'll be the one wearing the red bow.......................... and a big smile.

 

Merry Christmas to all!

c2009 Linda S Amstutz

BUSY SIGNALS

The greatest thing about Texting, everyone says, is the speed. You type a message to someone, hit Send, and within seconds, your message appears on their phone. And then, usually within a couple of minutes, you receive a response.

Unless, of course, you are a parent of a grown child.

Then the response doesn't come so quickly.

Sometimes, I could lick a stamp, drop a letter in the mailbox, and it would be delivered across country faster than I receive a Text reply.

Why?

'Cause they're busy.

How busy?

"I get hundreds of texts a day," one of my kids said.

"But don't you see my name as the sender?" I ask, foolishly assuming I would get higher priority on the Must Read List.

"Yes, but I have more important texts to answer."

More important than me?

(Insert a big, ugly, wrinkled frowny face here)

Ironically, I always prided myself on being the kind of mom who dropped everything for my kids. Housework, canasta games, phone calls, career opportunities, whatever. If any of my kids needed me, I dropped everything (excluding chocolate, of course) and made myself available.

I always kind of thought we had an unspoken, reciprocal agreement.

We come first with each other.

Until they found romance ..... Or a good job ...... And a life of their own.

Now, I'm on the waiting list.

They're too busy to take my calls/answer my texts during work hours 'cause they are working.

They're too busy to take my calls/answer my texts during the evenings 'cause they are spending time with their families.

They're too busy to take my calls/answer my texts on the weekends 'cause  they're just too busy.

I have one son who has time to speak with me on his commute home from work, as long as we are done chatting by the time he pulls into his driveway. "I'm pulling in the driveway right now, I'll call you back tomorrow."

Texting him is out of the question. Who wants a Texting & Driving Son?

I have one son who has time to speak with me on Sunday afternoons when his wife is otherwise occupied. Just lately, he has acquired the time to sometimes respond to a Text. I'm not sure if this is a trap, or not.

I have one son who has time to answer my texts, but usually only after a 2-3 day delay. About 50% of the time, he returns my phone calls, although he never listens to any Voice Mails I leave. If I send him a humorous Text, he might have time to shoot an LOL my way.

"How would I reach you, if I had an emergency?" I recently asked him.

"Keep calling me. If I see a bunch of Missed Calls from you, I'll know you are having an emergency and I'll call you back."

I still don't know if he was joking or not.

I have a daughter who has time to answer my texts usually within 24 hours with a 2-6 hour delay, unless we are both watching SURVIVOR, then she has time to respond immediately. She also, responds quicker to a humorous text message.

I'm thinking of hiring a humor writer to correspond with my kids.

Or a clown to get their attention.

Or finding some new kids, ones who don't have a life.

Or getting a life of my own.

c2011 Linda S Amstutz