She Said To No One In Particular Archives - Page 11 of 17

June 11, 2014

Armed and Extremely Klutzy

So, I says, I says, “Mugsy! They’ll never catch me now!

Mugsy, “Whatdayoumean, boss?”

So I says, “Listen Mugsy! I’ll tell you why they’ll never catch me. I got a system.”

“A system, Boss?”

“Yeah, I got a system. See, first I grabbed that potato and I whacked him good!”

“Yeah, boss? Whadyado then?”

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“Well, he slipped away but I whacked him anyway. Only I whacked my tumb instead.”

“What happened, Boss?”

“I gotta get my daughter, you know, that curly-headed one, to take me to get stitches. It

sure was no picnic.”

“Sorry, Boss.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to let a potato get the best a me, so I grabbed a jicama.”

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“A jicama? What’s a jicama, Boss?”

“Nobody knows, Mugsy, Nobody knows. Is it a

potato that tastes like an apple, or an apple that

tastes like a potato? It’s anyone’s guess.”

“So whadyoudo, Boss?”

“I figure, this jicama is gonna be a lot harder than that potato, so I says to myself that I

better use a carrot peeler.”

“How’d that go, Boss?”

“Not so good, Mugsy. Not so good. I hacked at that jicama real good, ya know, like I

always do, but that guy kept trying to get away.”

“What happened, Boss?“

“Mugsy, if you’d shut your fat trap I’d be telling you instead of answering all your

stupid questions.”

“Oh, ok, Boss.”

“So, like I was sayin’, I tried to grab that apple-potato thing, but he twisted and turned

just as I went at him with the peeler, and I peeled my fingertip instead.”

“No offense, Boss, but you’re kind of a klutz.”

“I knows, Mugsy. I knows. But, that’s not the whole story. I went for the foil. I wanted to

rip him to shreds, ya know, so’s I can wrap up all those vegetables, neat and nice, like. So,

I pick up the foil and rip it off real good.”

“Really, Boss?’

“No. Not really. I mean I did rip the foil, but not good.”

“Boss, I don’t understand.”

“Mugsy, you don’t understand nothin’.”

“Isn’t that why you hired me, Boss? To make you look good, cause I gotta tell you, with

the way this story is goin’, you ain’t comin’ out like a champ.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know, Mugsy. And you’re right, that’s why I hired you. I gotta have

someone dumber than me to take the heat offa me, ya know?”

“I know, Boss. I don’t care.”

“You know, Mugsy? It was harder to find someone dumber than me.”

“I knows, Boss.”

“So, anyways, that foil stabbed me in the back.”

“Really, Boss?”

“Well, not exactly in the back, Mugsy, but it got me good right in the pinky finger.Well, it

musta got that pinky real good ‘cause it started bleedin’ all over the place. I mean it was

like a faucet.”

“Boss! The kinder!”

“Right, right, Mugsy. So, the curly-headed girl, ya know, she just had a operation, so she

could do nothin’ to help. So she calls the other curly-headed kid, ya know, the one

with the beard? And he comes in to help. He tells me, ‘Hold that pinky over your head in

this paper towel, just like this. I’m gonna take a shower. When I get back, if this here

bleedin’ don’t stop, I’m takin’ you to the hospital.”

“Good, kid.”

“I knows it.”

“So?”

“So, meanwhile, that curly-headed girl, she calls my friend Rosie to come over to da

house to be her babysitter, on account a she had dat operation and all. She don’t want to

be alone if the other kid gotta take me to the hospital.”

“So, Boss, did the bleedin’ stop?”

“Yeah, Mugsy it did. Rosie gives me a wet paper towel instead of a dry one. Sees, you

gotta use a wet one ‘cause the dry ones stick to the blood and as soon as you take it off,

you’re spoutin’ like Old Faithful again.”

“Wow, boss, that Rosie is smart.”

“Yeah, she’s a doll. Anyways, it worked. The bleedin’ stopped by the time the curly-

headed one with the beard got outta da shower, bada bing, bada boom, I don’t need to go

to no hospital for a little pinky situation. And dat’s my system.”

“I still don’t get it, Boss.”

“Ya see, Mugsy, they can’t catch me no more ‘cause my system is I only got two

fingerprints left on that hand.”

‘Good plan, Boss. Maybe you should rough up the other hand, too.”

“Mugsy, dat is a brilliant idea. I don’t even have to try ’cause you know it’ll happen

sooner or later, no madder what.”

“Dis is true, Boss.”

“But, ya know what, Mugsy? Just to be on da safe side, I’m gonna give up trying to beat all

them vegetables into a pulp.”

“Really, Boss?”

“Yeah, Mugsy, they tougher than me, so I came up with a new idea.”

“What’s the new idea, Boss?”

“I’m gonna eat meat.”

Epilogue:

“And dats how I became a born-again carnivore. The good doc says my levels of irony had dropped so low I lost my hair, and kept dozing off at my computer durin’ the day while I was wrtin’. So, I start takin’ these pills full a irony, and vitamin C. Plus the good doc tells me I gotta eat red eat meat, which I do not like. So I tries eatin’ it after something like 20 years of not eatin’ it, and you know what? It’s delicious. I’m eatin’ cows and lambs, and licking my fingers after licking those chops. And that doc, he know what he’s talkin’ about ’cause I gotta say, I don’t plant my face in my computer as much anymore, and my hair is growin’ back like weeds. Tanks for listenin’. You’s good people.”

Very Sincerely, truly, yours,

Da Boss

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Then yous gotta go check your e mail because like magic, I tell you, you’ll get an e mail from me. Alls you have to do is open da e mail and whack, I mean click, the word confirm. Bada bing, bada boom, you’ll get new blog posts, and anything else I gots to tell yous guys.

June 6, 2014

FRO-BACK FRIDAY: My Husband, the Camper

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Yesterday my husband, Richard, neatly folded his clothes and then packed them in his duffle in accordance with the color wheel from left to right. I’m sure his whites were packed in their own Ziploc. He left for Minocqua, Wisconsin for the weekend to celebrate the 100th anniversary of Camp Kawaga for Boys with Braves of the Kawaga Nation of all ages.

Years ago he’d board a bus for the eight-hour drive, but he’s had a driver’s license for 37 years, so I let him take a car.

Some people, especially people from camp, don’t know his name is Richard because they’ve only known him by his nickname, “Murray.” So, to avoid confusion, I’ll just refer to him as Murray from this point on.

Leslie and Murray c. 1975, just before Murray left for camp that summer

I’ve been Mrs. Murray for nearly 28 years but have known him since we were 14 years old. Throughout high school we dated during the school year, and then he’d leave for camp. Our relationship was on the same schedule as my parents’ plumber: It would heat up in the fall when he came to check the boiler, and cool off in the summer when he’d check the air conditioning.

It took years for me to understand his love of camp because my camp experiences resembled a stay at Alcatraz.

Alcatraz_Island_photo_D_Ramey_Logan — “The Rock”

Murray was a camper, then a CIT (counselor in training), who eventually became a counselor. I, too, was once a camper, then a CWST (camper-with-strep-throat) who, after spending two summers at two different camps, eventually convinced her parents that she was not a happy camper.

Murray enjoyed learning new skills such as archery, riflery, canoeing, and waterskiing. I enjoyed writing home to Mom and Dad, begging them to take me home.

Murray learned to become a real man at camp, earning and receiving a sacred Indian name. I learned what it was like to have breasts at an early age when no one else had them.

Murray swam the bay. I broke out into hives from the lake water.

Murray credits his camp experiences with helping him become the honest, self-assured, organized person he is today. I credit camp with giving me my first panic attack.

Murray lives by the principles he learned at camp. Camp instilled in him good values, a keen sense of fairness, and unrivaled sliver-removal techniques. I guess there were a few things camp taught me, as well, such as always have money in your canteen account for candy bars, jumping on the trampoline is fun, and going home was the best day of my life.

While most of the Kawaga Braves will spend this weekend in cabins on the campgrounds,

kdveqpyhvabi3cz1c5ra_400x400 — Kids having fun outside their rustic cabins

Murray, and a few other campers-of-a-certain-age will be in a cabin at The Beacons Lakefront Resort and Suites. They will be roughing it though, when they walk into and out of camp each day.

Beacons room_n — Inside view of a cabin at The Beacons

beacons pool_n — The indoor pool at The Beacons

Murray used to love roughing it. Now he prefers roughage. His brother tries to get him to go on a camping trip with their cousins every year, going as far as finding a campground with a port-a-potty. He told his brother, “I don’t care if there’s a port-a-Hilton. I’m not going.”

My, how things have changed. But some haven’t. Murray still gets a thrill when doing cabin inspections. He carries a clipboard and wears a whistle around his neck every Saturday morning at 0800, but the kids and I will have none of it. We don’t care if we earn an ice cream cone for having the cleanest room; we can go get our own.

He found a letter that had been sent to his parents, written by his counselor, that said, “While not a gifted athlete, he tries hard and is rewarded for his efforts. He is brilliant at organizing and running a cabin.” He was 11. Since I don’t have the letter in front of me, I’m hoping he’ll comment with the exact wording because it’s priceless, and so true.

I hope the Kawaga Braves are having a great time together, celebrating this truly unique, and amazing milestone in history. I also hope Murray brought what his mother refers to as “his $5,000 Kawaga jacket” because it can get cold at night in the Northwoods of Wisconsin.

But I don’t know why I’d give his gear a second thought; after all, he’s the one who makes packing lists for our family when we go out of town. And, rumor has it, he made the packing list for his fellow Braves for this weekend.

Happy anniversary, Kawaga! Men, have fun this weekend, but remember how old you are, and be careful during your activities. I can’t help it! I’m a Jewish mother. And, Murray, the kids and I will do our best to make sure you come home to a cabin inspection worthy of an ice cream cone.

For the history of Camp Kawaga, please click this link: http://kawaga.com/about/history-of-kawaga/

June 1, 2014

I was a Wannabe Teenage Valley Girl

I loved when we got to visit my grandmother in Palm Springs. She lived in the same apartment complex as her brother, Uncle Lou, and his wife, Frieda.

Grandma also had a best friend named Frieda, so, on occasion, we weren’t sure which Frieda she was cursing when she’d say, “That Frieda! She should only croak!”

Seeing Grandma was great, but, for me, the best part about going to Palm Springs was knowing we’d be spending lots of time with our friends from Encino.

They’d drive a couple of hours to be with us every time we were there, and stay in the condo next door. They referred to us as their friends from the East. Growing up 30 miles north of Chicago I always thought east meant New York, unless you were driving between Chicago and southern Wisconsin, in which case east meant Lake Michigan.

I was usually the only Chase kid available to travel with my parents because my much older brother was in college and then law school, and my much, much older sister was in grad school, or working. Maybe one or the other was able to join us from time to time, but most of the time it was just me, which was like, totally, Oh my God, far out fun!

Sharon is one year older than I. She and her parents came as a package deal of tennis, swimming, eating, and fun with her sister Michelle, and brothers Marc, and Gregg. When they’d come into town, we all had such a blast it was as if the condos became an all-inclusive resort.

Scan 5 — Sharon and my Mom at the pool in Palm Springs

Sharon and I spent the entire time together because we were so close in age, and because we actually liked each other. You know how you go on vacations sometimes with people who have kids you have to be with but don’t like? That’s a drag and a half.

When Sharon turned 16 she drove separately from her parents to Palm Springs in her new Camero (I know!) The sun began to set behind the mountains at around 4:00, so Sharon and I would hop in the Camero (I know!) and cruise down Palm Canyon Drive being our fabulous selves.

One evening one of us (and I really don’t remember which one) thought it would be fun to see what would happen if we put Mr. Bubble in the Jacuzzi, so we stopped at a Long’s Drug store and picked up a bottle.

When we got back to the condos we changed into our bathing suits and went out to the pool area, which was right outside our sliding back doors. We didn’t go in the Jacuzzi because we wanted to witness what we imagined would be a totally far out experience, Man. And, no, I have no idea where our parents were.

No one was at the pool at the time, and the sun had completely set, so it was easy for us to perform our experiment. We began by putting in a capful or two of Mr. Bubble and then turning on the jets. We achieved slight bubbleage, but not as much as we’d hoped. We had to adjust our calibrations precisely so we’d know the perfect quantity ratio to add in the future. We carefully and exactly measured out three or five capfuls. Better bubbleage, but not great.

We knew what we had to do to fulfill our mission, so we dumped the rest of the bottle into the Jacuzzi and waited patiently. After exactly, approximately three minutes, the bubbles got serious.

We watched and giggled as our concoction morphed into what looked like a solid, compact column of bubbles.

We burst out laughing when the column of bubbles became what could only be described as “The Leaning Tower of Bubbles.”

We became a tad concerned when the tower of bubbles split into tendrils, resembling a beast with many heads, one of which was slithering toward the pool.

When the Multi-headed Blob of Bubbles began to multiply and approach the back doors of all the other condos, we concluded that our experiment had most likely not been a good idea and ran inside, just ahead of a threatening swath of bubbles nipping at our feet.

In case you’ve ever wondered what would happen if you put Mr. Bubble in a Jacuzzi, our official answer is, “it’s not a great idea.”

Sharon and I spent the rest of that trip inside one or the other of the condos, where we were told to remain until the condo association was satisfied with the cleaning of the pool, Jacuzzi, and deck, financed by our parents. Upon our return home to our respective states, we each received fines and punishments.

But it was worth it.

025-PLCopy-(15) — Sharon and I, in matching Mr. Bubble t-shirt and tiaras, pretending to re-enact the crime in L.A. at her Mom’s house the day after her daughter’s Bat mitzvah.

P. S. Yes, male friends of ours, and you know who you are, this is THE Sharon you met at our wedding in 1986. I remember that you wanted to take her out after the wedding for a night in Chicago she’d never forget. I believe one of you, who shall remain nameless, uttered this famous quote to her father, “Don’t worry, Sir. We’ll have her home in the morning.” If I remember correctly, that didn’t exactly work out in your favor.

June 1, 2014

“FRO-BACK FRIDAY!” Frizz Happens

These photos of my mom and me were taken c. 1970’s & 1980’s in Palm Springs, California, and Miami, Florida. They prove whether you’re in the hot, dry desert or the heat and humidity near the ocean,

Scan 2 — Mom at the pool in Palm Springs

FRIZZ HAPPENS!

Scan — Richard, Mom, and me after playing tennis in Palm Springs.

mom and me 1

: Mom and me on the beach

Thanks for taking all the pictures, Dad!

We want to see your fros! Please e mail jpeg photo attachments to lesliejochase@gmail.com. Add a little information about where and when the photos were taken, what your favorite song was at the time, ya know, stuff like that, and you and your hair could be featured in an upcoming “Fro-Back Friday” blog post.

(Yes, I know it’s Sunday, but it feels like a Friday to me.)