I’ve got a long way to go

March 9, 2024March 10, 2024JT Twissel 24 Comments

I’ve been getting prepaid cremation offers since I was in my early forties. At that time I had no extra money sitting around with which to secure the “peace of mind” of knowing that my “remains would not be a burden” to my loved ones. However, had I been truly budget conscious I would have skimped and saved and grabbed up one of those suckers. Cremation costs have quadrupled since the 1990s. I could have locked in a $700 no frills trip to the crematorium!

But, is it really a good idea to prepay for cremation services decades before the main event? Sure, someone will save a bundle but it won’t be you! Besides, who’s to say there won’t be a newer more efficient method of body vaporization by the time you kick the buckle?

Imagine this scenario:

May 5, 2030

Funeral Director to the daughter of the deceased: Sorry for your loss, Bridey

Bridey: Well, she was one hundred and thirty years old. Thank goodness she prepaid for her cremation. Otherwise I don’t know how we’d —“

Funeral Director: Thank you for bringing in the original receipt. Heavens! It’s been decades since we dealt in paper.

Bridey: Mother never did trust the “internets” as she called them.

FD: I’m sure you realize that bio-disposal technology has greatly evolved since the 1990s. A process that used to take several hours, and meant you had to wait at least day for the processed remains of your loved one, now takes mere seconds! That means you could walk out of here with your mother’s ashes in less than an hour! Of course —

Bridey: You want more money.

FD: Nitey Time Mortuaries will stand by our original commitment but we phased out our old equipment years ago and so, if you choose not to upgrade, we will have to transport your mother’s remains to Reno Auto Wrecking for processing.

Bridey: Reno Auto Wrecking?

FD: Yes, they bought the old machines for parts but I believe they still have one intact crematorium which they use for … well you probably don’t want to know. Didn’t your mother once worked there?

Bridey: Yes she was their bookkeeper but —

FD: I’m sure they’d treat her remains with dignity and respect. However, we are prepared to give you a huge discount on our newer services because she was one of our legacy customers….”

Bridey: Yeah, I bet you are.

Despite my snark, the few times I’ve dealt with funeral directors they’ve been wonderful. But knowing my kids, they’ll have my remains composted into a cubic foot of nutrient rich soil for a quick and dirty green burial. It’s fine with me I just don’t wanna to know the process! I’m sure it involves all sorts of creepy crawlies. I mean, it must, right? If I understand the composting process, my body will basically become a cubic foot of worm poop. Well, who knows? I may have started out that way.

Now onto those daily offers to learn the “humorous, inspiring and practical” side of downsizing for my ultimate transition to the Life Plan Community of HumanGood. I can’t imagine anything humorous about throwing out grandma’s treasures. Obviously I’ve got a long way to go.

Company picnics and other torture

March 19, 2023JT Twissel 23 Comments

I love dreams about company picnics and reunions (not) – they’re almost as bizarre as the events themselves. It’s been many years since I worked a nine-to-five job in a downtown office high rise but I still have nightmares about the experience. Company picnics and holiday parties were expected to improve morale but that rarely happened.

However, I still feel sorry for the organizers of the last company picnic I attended. Times were tough and so they had to find a relatively inexpensive site which is not an easy task in the SF Bay Area, Finally they found a campground no one had heard of on the eastern slopes of Mount Diablo. Even for people who knew that area well, it was a bitch to find. Thus employees arriving from far away with carloads full of antsy children were beyond dismayed to learn that, on a scorching hot day, the campground’s two “olympic size pools with diving boards and slides” were closed. The reason, the ongoing drought had forced rattlesnakes and other critters down from the mountain in search of any source of water… even the chlorinated variety. The swimming pools were full of snake, mice, gophers … you name it. Some dead, some alive.

The organizers tried to make up for this unfortunate event by setting up a dunking tank and convincing the company’s most loathed director to be the “dunkee.” Lines of disgruntled employees lined up to dunk the man who made their working lives a torture only to find out he was having the time of his life. After each dunking he arose from the water, fist pumping the air. “I was in the Massod. Bring on your flimsy attempts to torture me! ” Eventually it wasn’t fun to watch the most despised man in the company enjoying the only container of water not filled with rattlesnakes.

We’d had to forego the traditional barbecuing of hot dogs and hamburgers because of the high fire risk and so, for lunch we had our choice of boxed lunches, each containing a sandwich, chips and a cookie. The organizers hoped to make up for the rather bland lunch with a piñata contest. Only the piñatas they’d bought and filled with candy had been manufactured to withstand a nuclear blast. After blindly whacking the darn things and getting not one treat, the little children soon gave up and moved on to the petting zoo. Some of the older kids gave it a try but most were insulted by even being asked to participate and moved onto their established bitching grounds. The menfolk, having been fortified by their allotted ration of beer, then stepped up to bat. They were determined to whack the shit out of the cute little donkeys and zebras, probably because the dunking tank had provided no satisfaction. After the slaughter was complete, the children were invited back to pick through the debris for whatever candy they could find. Needless to say, they looked a bit bewildered. This is fun mommy?

Last night I dreamt that I took the children of a serial killer to my company picnic. The serial killer was the daughter of someone (who will remain nameless) that I once worked with. The picnic was to be held at lake but it turned out to be a large puddle by a railroad track. The serial killer’s children turned on me and then luckily I woke up.

I wonder if my dreams would be much more pleasant if I hadn’t worked so many years in corporate America. What do you think??

* Images are all from Bing Images

There’s no phone in the basement and other babysitting woes

June 25, 2021July 20, 2021JT Twissel 25 Comments

The other day an aunt of mine posted a meme on Facebook that read:

You’re sixteen and it’s a Friday night.

What does it mean to you?

Her answer was: “Date Night!”

Apparently I was an ultra nerdy teenager because my immediate response was: “Babysitting.”

Not counting the many times I watched (for free) my ungrateful and obstinate siblings, I became a “professional” when I was just eleven years old. My first gig was for an older couple across the street who had a baby girl. I never knew if she was a late in life baby or a grandchild whose parents, for whatever reason, couldn’t raise her. I wasn’t permitted to ask about such things. Anyway, both of the parents worked at the casinos – one worked nights and the other days, meaning they didn’t need a babysitter most of the time. However sometimes they would both need to work a swing shift – generally during the busy hours of 8 PM to 1 AM, I would arrive after the baby had been put to sleep. All I needed to do was to be there. If the baby woke up and actually needed attention, I phoned my folks … HELP! If they weren’t home, I knew all the neighbors. Still … eleven years old!!! I can’t imagine anyone leaving an infant in the hands of an eleven year old these days. In fact, it’s illegal in most states.

What happens when you hire an older woman to be your babysitter!

Most of my jobs came from my mother. She had no problem pimping me out to anyone desperate for a cheap sitter. Today there are babysitting agencies. Before you hire a babysitter, you can check out her resume, her profile and even read her reviews. Back then it was Mrs. Brown asking Mrs. White for the number of a “girl.” Then Mr. Brown would be send to retrieve the girl while Mrs. Brown prepared the list of do’s and don’ts (no candy before bed, no television until homework’s complete, etc.) most of which would be ignored. After the children were in bed, the “girl” would get on the phone with her friends and eat every potato chip in the house. Woe to the Mrs. Browns of the world who failed to stock up on junk food before a sitter’s visit. Word spread quickly of no snack houses! As did word of lousy tippers, smelly houses or creepy husbands.

Besides babies waking up and needing real care, I only had a few frightening things happen while sitting. Once a hollow-faced man appeared in the window next to the front door. I screamed and he ran away. When I called the parents, they told me it was just Jim, the neighborhood crazy guy, and he was harmless. And then they laughed. Apparently they thought terrorized fourteen year old babysitters were a real riot!

Another time the telephone rang and I answered thinking it might be the parents. A male voice said “I’m in your basement and I’m going to come up and kill you!” I was about to run out of the house with the kids when the ten-year-old said. “There’s no phone in the basement.” Then he laughed and told me what a “stupidhead” I was.

However, for the most part it was boring and so I’ve never understood why so many movies have been made about babysitters. Take Adventures in Babysitting (1987), the sitter and her charges are chased up the side of a high-rise in Chicago by mafia thugs, save a runaway teen from a rat-infested bus terminal, and crash a fraternity party … to name just a few of their adventures. Then they had to race back to the suburbs before the parents arrived home. Of course, the parents were clueless and didn’t suspect a thing.

I imagine if I was a teenage babysitter today my review would read: Panics easily, eats you out of house and home, and bores the children to death.

Stay Home #ThursdayDoors

March 12, 2020March 12, 2020JT Twissel 45 Comments

Following the advice of WHO and in solidarity with the lovely people of Italy, I am in self-quarantine until, of course, we run out of gin. So today, I’m inviting you to my house ….

Come a little closer; I won’t bite …

This solid wood door was originally a dull shade of beige but then I discovered Beet Bonanza Delight. The Jade plant to the side has endured all sorts of torture, including lack of sun but is still holding on. Amazing. The figure greeting you at the door with the ears and the antlers is a reindeer, of course, left over from a Christmas long ago. He actually provides a good place to hang wet garden gloves, tools and umbrellas.

Swinging from the lamp is Guard Toad First Class, Edmond Von Petty. He has ESP.

If he senses that you have a black heart or want money, his chimes begin to quiver in warning to Greta Gecko who wishes to keep her rank a mystery.

Since you all have golden hearts and want no money from me (I hope), you may press Greta’s button without fear of being zapped.

Have you brought your card? Well, there’s always room on the fridge.

Door to my fridge.

Yes, I’m one of those crazy people who tacks everything on her frig.

I also planted an Australian fern right next to the front door because I love ferns.

Unfortunately these ferns can reach 16 feet high and wide. He’s also very affectionate and so watch out as you leave!

Sorry you have to go so soon but I know you have other doors to check out over at Norm’s Place. Come again.

Snippet: Return to Echoing Waters

March 31, 2016December 12, 2022JT Twissel 25 Comments

The stuff of my life had been dumped without any thought into cardboard boxes stacked to the ceiling in one of those rent-by-the-month storage facilities on the south side of Vegas. If I hadn’t come back from the dead who knows what would have happened to it. Sold probably. The proceeds given to the state.

I turned to the manager and asked, “Are you sure all that crap is mine?”

“Your name is Dr. Fiona Butters, right? And you lived at 3814 Juniper Drive?” he read from the rental agreement. Poor sod was sweating profusely in the hot September sun. His polyester SafeStorage shirt was a size too small, a couple of strategic buttons were missing but at least his fly was up.

Above is a 150 word snippet from Flipka 2, Return to Echoing Waters. I’m posting it as part of a Sasha Black/Hugh Roberts #writespiration event. The challenge is to post a 150 word snippet from your WIP along with the working title. Generally I don’t participate in writing challenges (too lazy) but sadly I had no door for Norm Frampton’s #ThursdayDoors and no ideas jelling for a blog post so I decided to play along!

Return to Echoing Waters is a sequel to Flipka, which you can read about here, if you like.

Feel free to play along! Either in the comments here or on Sasha or Hugh’s blogs.

Maybe it’s a Drunken Kangaroo

May 9, 2015May 10, 2015JT Twissel 25 Comments

From Bing Images

My husband just told me we have a “large” animal living in the cellar beneath our house.

Me: “How large?”

Him: “Well, it wasn’t afraid of me. It just kind of waddled away swishing its fluffy tail in my direction.”

Yikes!

“Do you think it was a raccoon?” I ask hopefully.

The only other animal small enough to get into the cellar is, yes, you’ve guessed it – a SKUNK. Double, triple yikes. (Faithful readers will remember the unrelenting Skunk Siege of December 2014.)

He seems to read my mind: “Maybe that’s why our house smelt so bad for so long – a skunk confronted our raccoon.”

Now it’s our raccoon. I must nip this idea in the bud, immediately. Hubby has already adopted several squirrels and chickadees. “It’s not our raccoon!”

He has another idea. A few weeks back he left the door to the cellar ajar and of course Pretty Kitty with his little furry paws managed to pry it open and romp around in the dark, dank and dirt of the storage area. Of course we didn’t realize it until three in the morning when we heard a piteous yowl and practically fell out of bed. “What the hell was that?” We both asked in unison. The resulting search of the house failed to locate Kitty and, after coming to the conclusion that he was hiding in some deep crevice and would come out when he was ready, back to bed we stumbled to try to get some rest. In the morning Kitty still could not be found, until around noon when I looked out the back door and there he was.

Playing peek-a-boo

Snubbing his nose at us as if to say, “Aren’t I a clever cat”?

Hubby’s new idea is that the cat ran into the raccoon. “Maybe that’s how he got outside.”

“Wait a minute. If it’s been under the house for so long then what’s it been living off?”

“Hum. I haven’t caught any rats in a while.”

Great! Apparently while I sleep there’s a party going on beneath me. Cats, rats, raccoons and skunks. Did I mention that we keep our wine in the cellar?