Here's a photo of my mom in about 1953. I'm the toddler barely visible in the background, playing in front of our house in Milledgeville, PA. She always wore a dress with an apron back then, just like Beaver Cleaver's mom, whatever her name was.
Hold it. How silly of me. She was Mrs. Ward Cleaver, of course. That's what her name was. It would have been rude to call her by anything else back then. A married woman just gave up her own names, first and last, to become "Mrs. Bob Brown," or whatever her husband's name was.
Isn't it odd how what once felt so ordinary and normal to us can seem, in retrospect, so absurd and even stupid when viewed from the distance of several enlightening years?
I think my mom was fairly comfortable wearing a dress every day. Sometimes she wore "pedal pushers" if she was working outside, but usually a dress. Always, the red lipstick, too. She wouldn't be caught dead without her bright-red lipstick on, a life-long habit she clung to forever. Once, as she was coming to after surviving open-heart surgery at age 80, she opened her eyes, looked at me, and asked, "Where's my lipstick?" She was not joking, either. She was serious about her lipstick.
So there you go, it's Mother's Day, and I've mentioned my mom with fond memories. Now, since I am a mom, I think I should get to do and say whatever I want all day long! What would be your "heart's desire" if you could have absolutely anything you want?
If I could have a Magic Mother's Day Fairy wave a wand and grant me absolutely anything I wish, it would be ... (right after world peace and a cure for cancer, of course) ... I'd wish to have an endless, lifetime supply of PUPPIES!
I would just love to have puppies around me all the time. When one turned about six months old, then it would just be time to get another one! Puppies, puppies, puppies. I can almost smell puppy breath just thinking about it! Of course I'd get to keep them all. I read that Oprah has 14 dogs, so why can't I? (Don't answer that; the financial reality of this idea isn't being figured into it, that's why it's just a wish, get it?) I've given this some thought and I think I could get by on a minimum of two baby doggies per year; although three or four would be better. Only large breeds; I have to admit that little dogs are not my thing. I don't hate them (they're not cats, after all), but I just wouldn't want one unless it was the only dog I could have. Any dog's better than no dog at all. My vision of a perfect world of forever puppies and puppies forever (FPPF) is just a fantasy. I do think however, that I really would just absolutely love it if it could be real. So just in case my loyal readers, who probably desperately want to cheer me up since they are so burned out on reading my sad stuff, become overly supportive about my FPPF perfect-world concept they decide to take action, I'm ready.
If I get up one day next week and look out my front door to see that 29 puppies in crates have arrived in my driveway, I can handle that. I'd be a bit freaked out, but I could handle it. No problem, really. Kennel license from the county, minor detail. Puppy chow in bulk from the at the feed store, I can do that.
I have already forfeited the thought of ever having a decent lawn, clean floors, or enjoying extended periods of time, like an entire day, let's say, of total peace and quiet with no barking by anybody at anything, including the mailman.
I also have a high tolerance level for whining and chewing, and cleaning up inappropriate pooping and peeing bothers me not in the least. I could worm, give shots, wean, burp, rock, play with and hug puppies endlessly and expertly.
I am even used to sleeping in a room where the air is frequently fouled by dreaded dog farts. Big-dog, really bad, audible dog farts in triplicate, actually. Now that, my friends, is the true sign of a natural-born, dedicated and devoted dog lover. Well then, my little flock of faithful followers, that's about all I can think of to entertain myself and hopefully, you, with at this ridiculously late hour, so it's over and out from my outpost at 45 degrees North. Fret not about me, dear friends. All's quiet on the western front and my fairy may be on her way. Anything's possible.
