Sunday, July 28, 2013

Is That You, Uncle Ted?


When I was a young girl,  my father took me and my sister swimming several times each year.  We did not have a lot of  money so he tried to keep us entertained with wallet-friendly activities. One afternoon Dad took us to visit with a relative who had a cabin by the river.  Granny, my maternal grandmother, and my great uncle accompanied us on this outing.  I noticed that Uncle Ted laughed a lot and slurred his words and he smelled a little bit like pickles, but since neither my grandmother nor my dad were concerned, I set my sights on getting to the river so I could swim.

My sister and I held adult hands as we made our way down the steep embankment.  Uncle Ted refused help and said he would catch up with us.  My dad and Granny were whispering about something and I could tell Dad was not happy.....but there was swimming to be had!  Granny had each of us by the hand and we were about 6 steps from the dock when we heard a man yelling.  We turned around just in time to see Uncle Ted rolling down the cliff and face-planting into the river.  Dad rivaled Superman as he ran into the water to help Uncle Ted, but in Dad's heroic efforts he failed to notice that when he fished Uncle Ted out of the river, that he lifted him up by the legs.... thus leaving the drowning victim's head still underwater.  A quick flip and Dad safely pulled Uncle Ted to the dock so they could see if he was okay.

As you can imagine this was a little bit traumatic for small children to witness.  My sister and I were shaken up so my grandmother consoled us and told us that he was alright and we should not let this ruin our day.  I was not so sure about Ted's well-being so I kept nagging at Granny and telling her that I thought he was really hurt.  As I paddled around the dock to get a better look at Uncle Ted, I got a visual confirmation of Uncle Ted's "injury".

Uncle Ted was sitting on the edge of the dock with his feet dangling in the water.   Apparently when he took his drunken log roll into the river, his boy parts escaped  and were now poking out of his bathing suit trunks for all to see.  I pointed and told Granny "I TOLD YOU HE WAS HURT!  LOOK!". 

I took this picture and for some reason I immediately remembered Uncle Ted's injury....  RIP Uncle Ted, RIP.

Seven Degrees to Stephen Foster

1. You wake to a rainy, thunderstorm kinda day. You wonder if they issue rain-checks at The Stephen Foster Story.

2. You ask your spouse if he knows how to get to Bardstown and when he answers "yes"  and asks why you need to know, this is the exchange:
 Me (doing my best Tombstone impersonation): Stephen Foster Story. Old Dog Tray. You know, Old... Dog... Tray! Camptown Races. You know, Stephen Fucking Foster!
Hubby: Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck I thought it was in Danville!

 3. You drive to Bardstown to meet your sister and her husband for The Stephen Foster Story. You see black clouds and encounter rain en route. You have a bad feeling about this evening.

 4. You get a phone call when you arrive at Bardstown. Your sister, correction, your majorly pissed off sister informs you that the tickets she ordered yesterday were not in fact the tickets that she ordered. Instead of 4 tickets to see The Stephen Foster Story, we have 4 tickets for Shrek. You and Hubby yell into the bluetooth "Stephen Fucking Foster!"

 5. You meet your sister at the ticket office and get your answer to the rain-check question. So upon the news that we were not seeing the play that night Hubby and I shook our heads and said "Stephen Fucking Foster".

 6. Just so the night was not a total bust we decide to walk around and see My Old Kentucky Home and its surrounding grounds. About 5 minutes into your turn about the grounds, your husband steps into a mole hole, twists his ankle to the point it makes a very loud popping noise, and the group walk ends abruptly.

 7. As my sister and I were speedwalking back to the cars she said "You know if that idiot on the phone had sold me the RIGHT tickets, none of this would have happened." We look each other in the eyes and say "Stephen Fucking Foster."

Monday, July 22, 2013

Quote of the Day

A rainy Monday is the perfect day for a massage.....not that there is ever a bad day for a massage. ~Kimberly Price Blackwell

Friday, July 12, 2013

Heard This Week on the Massage Table

A long-time client has been generous enough to let me try out new music during some of her massage sessions.  During her previous session Yo Yo Ma got a bit carried away and I had to change music mid-way through her massage.  So last week I put on a very soothing cd before she arrived.  My client had been on the massage table for about 20 minutes when she said "I like this woo woo music much better."


Client:  Do you golf?
Me:  Me?  I don't think I would have the patience for golf.
Client:  The reason I asked is that the best golfer I ever knew had really strong hands. 
Me:  So I guess you are saying that I have strong hands and that I would be a golf natural?
Client:  Yes!


Client:  When I saw you the first time I told everyone that you were a miracle worker!  I felt great!  Then my doctor sent me to physical therapy and that SOB hurt me.  I told my doctor I was sticking with you.


Client Text Message:  I'm beyond ready for this massage today. LOL


Client Text Message:  Hey, Any chance you have something this afternoon?
Me:  Sadly I am stuck chauffeuring my sick hubby to and from dr visits.
Client:  I will check back when I know my schedule.  Good luck with rest of your day. :D
Me:  I bet you just chuckled out loud when you typed that.   haha
Client:  Not out loud!