SERENDIPITY

The 25th Annual National Association Of Letter Carriers Stamp Out Hunger Food Drive will be conducted Saturday May 13, 2017.  One can leave a bag of groceries by one's mailbox or take to the Post Office.

I was leaving the grocery where I'd picked up a bag of canned goods to donate.  A woman was loading her car from two shopping carts.  I commented, "Wow, you have a truckload!"  She sighed and said, "My son lost his job and I'm trying to help him."  I made a few suggestions of resources for him to be able to get help.

She said that he'd been trying to put in applications numerous places.  I suggested that he might try my husband's firm.  She asked the location and other pertinent information and said she would tell him to put in an application.

I said, "I just happen to have an extra application in my car;  let me get it for you."   Naturally, she was surprised about my having applications.  She said, "Bless you, honey."

I explained that a friend's son wants a summer job and I told my friend I would be glad to get an application for him.  When I got the application, the guard said, "You should take two in case they make a mistake."

I believe in serendipity.

.

   

NATIONAL TWILIGHT ZONE DAY

NATIONAL TWILIGHT ZONE DAY is celebrated May 11.

"You are about to enter another dimension, a dimension not only of sight and sound, but of mind.  A journey into a wondrous land of imagination;  next stop the Twilight Zone."  

Rod Serling created, wrote, and narrated the groundbreaking television series The Twilight Zone which aired from 1959 to 1964.

Gerald, Les, and I have watched The Twilight Zone marathons numerous times and joyfully recite dialogue.  

Seeing opening scenes, one of us will ask, "Oh, remember Robert Redford with Gladys Cooper?"  "Oh, and Burgess Meredith and William Shatner?"

Surveys of Twilight Zone fanatics usually choose To Serve Man as the all-time favorite episode, but my favorite is The Eye Of The Beholder, which can be watched below:

THE TWINS

Happy 39th birthday anniversary today to my husband's grand-nieces Aron and Angie.  Similar in look, they were referred to as "The Twins" all their lives, but they were certainly not "identical", and have grown to be two distinctly different people.  Until they were adults, my husband could not tell them apart.  Below is an article from 2010:

                  SLUMBER PARTY

When my husband's twin grandnieces were ready to turn 13, they were visiting at our home and they said that they wanted to have a slumber party to celebrate their birthday.  I said that I had always wanted to have a slumber party when I was a girl, but I had never been able to do those kinds of things.  Angie excitedly said, "We could have a slumber party HERE!"

The next day their mother Robin called and asked, "Aunt Sue, were you serious about the Twins having a slumber party at your house?"  Of course I had NOT been serious about it, but I didn't miss a beat and answered, "I'd love to have the slumber party at my house!" and afterwards, I was so glad I did it.

I sent out invitations which read,  "Aron and Angie Henry and little Suzy Shirkey-Raypole request your presence at their combined slumber party!"  I sent the invitations to my friends and told them that they had to wear nightgowns and fuzzy slippers.  The twins invited many of their friends.

On the evening of the party, five of my friends came.  My friend Bobbi was the most original as she drove to my house, already dressed in her nightgown, wearing fuzzy slippers and curlers in her hair. Another friend asked her, "Are you crazy?" but changed into a nightgown at my house  A third friend fell asleep at 9:00 p.m. and the other two crashed before midnight.  They demanded the beds and the girls were on couches and in sleeping bags.  Gerald and my mother retreated to the safety and quiet of the upstairs bedrooms.

The party lasted all night long and there were prizes for all the events.  We had contests and prizes for singing, dancing, makeup, hairdos, cooking, screaming, and a scavenger hunt and the GRAND PRIZE was to be awarded to the one who stayed awake the longest which meant that I had to stay up ALL night to know which one was awake the longest.   We watched movies, made popcorn balls, Rice Krispie treats, brownies, and ordered pizza.

The next morning, my husband, while looking around at all of the debris, asked, "NOW, will you learn to quit whining about all those things you didn't get to do when you were a kid?"  Throughout the years, Aron and Angie and I would fondly recall "our" slumber party.

At least fifteen years after the slumber party, a young woman came up to me in Kroger and asked, "Mrs. Raypole, do you remember me?  I was at The Twins' Birthday Party at your house!" As we reminisced, she said, "I won the makeup contest at the party!"   I responded, "And I won the screaming contest!"

NATIONAL TEACHERS DAY

Today is National Teachers Day.  In my life I was very fortunate to have some good teachers, some bad ones, and two great ones.  Below is an article from 2011 in Sue's News which I wrote about two teachers, one bad and one great.

                          SEMINAL INFLUENCES

Just recently, at a dinner party, as we were reminiscing, a school classmate was shocked when I said that a certain teacher we had had was an "ignorant, vindictive bitch".

All my life I had heard what a great teacher "Mrs. DOG" was. [I called her that behind her back: DOG stood for "delusions of grandeur"] She had been my mother's teacher and all 5 of my older brothers also had her as a teacher.  Her great distinction was that she'd been given the honor of creating a mathematics test for the "Ohio Every Pupil Test" because my older brother and others had consistently scored high on the state mathematics tests from the little rural Bloomingburg School.

I was actually looking forward to having her as a teacher and I think that all of us had been programmed to be in awe of her because she had taught so long and was renowned to be a "great" teacher.  The older boys affectionately called her "Ma" behind her back.

By the time I had her, in Ohio History, she probably should have been retired. She was mean, petty, vindictive, and showed great favoritism toward her "pets" (all of whom were from well-to-do families), but the worst thing was that she did not know her subject.  She was primarily a math teacher but I guess a history teacher was needed that year and I suppose she and the hierarchy thought she could teach "anything".  I never had her for any math, Algebra, Geometry, or Trigonometry, so I will not comment about her ability as a math teacher.

From the beginning, when I merely questioned her about a statement she had made which I knew was an error, she haughtily responded, in front of the entire class, "Just because you're a Shirkey doesn't mean you know everything!" I was summarily ordered to Mr. Biddle's office, as she left the class and accompanied me, where they called my mother at home. "Mrs. DOG" imperiously told Mr. Biddle that she had also had had my mother as a student and that SHE would talk to my mother.   Even then, as a child, I knew that her high-handed treatment of the Principal was WRONG.  On the telephone, my mother took my side, but when I got home, she said that I needed to show respect and I countered with, "Even IF she's wrong?" Mother said that I should because she was old enough to be my grandmother.

One day, in Ohio History, in 1956, we were going to have a mock-election between Eisenhower and Stevenson. "Mrs. DOG" made the statement that "All Negroes should always vote for Republicans because Lincoln freed the slaves." I was shocked and knew that I SHOULD speak up but I was also cowed by my having been upbraided previously. [I have lived with the shame the rest of my life that I did not correct her since I was a Stevenson supporter;  yes, even then and I learned that she was a "big-wig" in the local Republican party] There were 5 Negroes (the politically correct term at the time) in the class and I surreptitiously stole looks at them to see their reactions.

She was also one of my teachers of English, and thank goodness for "multiple-guess" tests because she couldn't give me bad grades on those although she did attack my book reports. I recall that I asked to report on Cry, The Beloved Country (for "extra credit", which she always encouraged and being a little brown-noser, I always did). I wanted to report on the book because my brother Bode had the book, and I wanted to be considered "grown-up", but "Mrs. DOG"  vetoed that saying that she would choose what books we could use and that we weren't going to have any of that "Communist stuff" in her school (yes, she said "her school").   I innocently asked her if she had read it.  She said she didn't need to read it because she'd "heard enough" about it.  Of course, Alan Paton was a Christian and the book and ideas have nothing to do with Communism--just more evidence of her ignorance--and intolerance. I kept telling my family that "she had it in for me", but my brothers and mother still defended HER.  I told my brother I would prove it to him.  I submitted a book report which my brother had written two years previously and she had given him an "A";  I re-wrote it in my handwriting and she gave me a "B";   I gave my own actual report to someone else to use and he was given an "A".   I knew the "B" grade was just her vindictiveness toward me because she COULD do it and get away with it and I had no recourse.  When I told my mother about what I had done she told me that I was wrong in doing that.

Fortunately, after that year, I never had her as a teacher again.

Three years later, my favorite teacher, Miss Digman, came to teach in Ohio because West Virginia had a mandatory retirement age of 70.  Because she "roomed" at my friend's grandmother's house, I had almost daily contact with her outside the classroom and not only was she a brilliant teacher, but also had an acerbic, scathing wit and didn't suffer fools gladly. When I told Miss Digman how "awful" that "Mrs. DOG" was, both my friend and her grandmother literally GASPED and immediately began praising "Mrs. DOG".  I began to relate evidence demonstrating her meanness and ignorance.  I shall NEVER forget Miss Digman's response, "This is like a scene from The Manchurian Candidate"--whenever her name is mentioned--all these brainwashed people immediately begin singing her praises." I had not heard of, nor read The Manchurian Candidate" at that time, but it immediately went to the top of my "to-read" list.  Miss Digman laughed and said that I was the FIRST and ONLY person in Bloomingburg to tell the truth.  When Miss Digman used the term "delusions of grandeur" to describe "Mrs. DOG", it was the first time in my life I'd heard the phrase used, and it was then that I adopted it as an acronym for "Mrs. DOG", which Miss Digman found amusing but my friend and grandmother and my family found disrespectful.  I never had the courage to use the term elsewhere.

Years later, watching the movie of The Manchurian Candidate" I vividly recalled Miss Digman's comparison to "Mrs. DOG".

Miss Digman told me that "Mrs. DOG" was very upset because Miss Digman had asked all of her fellow teachers about their academic credentials. Miss Digman told me that "Mrs. DOG" was upset because she had to admit that she did not didn't have a college degree and I was shocked to learn that and I asked how she could be allowed to teach. Miss Digman, who held a Master's Degree, sniffed in a condescending way when she told me that "Mrs. DOG" had graduated from a "normal school".  I asked what that was. She answered, snootily, "They went to school back then until they could get a husband and they let them teach school." Miss Digman was unafraid to tell the truth.

The year I was ready to graduate, Mrs. DOG announced her retirement.   I took the three book reports--my brother's original with the "A", my copy of his with a "B", and my actual report submitted by someone else with an "A" and showed them to "Mrs. DOG"-- and told her how she had discriminated against me.  She said that I should be "whipped" (WHIPPED?--I had never had so much as a spanking my entire life) and she immediately reported it to Mr. Biddle and said that I shouldn't be allowed to graduate.  Of course nothing came of it.

I had never heard anyone outside my family use the word "bitch", but when I told Miss Digman about what "Mrs. Dog" had done, she used that word to describe "Mrs. DOG".

I have lived my life emulating Miss Digman and doing everything I could NOT to be like "Mrs. DOG"!

"DA BOMB"

Yesterday a woman of my generation said, "That's da bomb!" and as if that weren't bad enough, she actually repeated the same phrase later.   Yeah, how one knows that teenage slang is officially passe is when an old person co-opts it!  

Later, in relating the incident to my brother, he quipped, "At least she didn't say AWESOME!" I used the word "neologism" and he said, "Tell me, is neologism also a neologism?" (Neologism:  a newly coined word or expression)

I wondered if the woman thought that saying "da bomb" made her seem young, hip, or cool.  Oh, I know I'm guilty of some slangy usage such as "cool" and "hip",  but those are MY generation!  

Listen to The Who sing My Generation:

I wondered when/where "da bomb" originated because I had not heard any young people of my acquaintance using the term recently.

From Rice University Neologisms Database:

A way to refer to any person, event, or thing which a person finds very cool or enjoyable.  The phrase "the (or da) bomb" became popular in the 1990s. The addition of "dot com" refers to the ending of many websites URL ".com".  The phrase can also be continued by adding "slash awesome" or "slash (enter any other word)", containing the usage of URL reference.

From the Latin "bombus", meaning explosion.  ".Com" is an abbreviation for "commercial" used in some websites' URL.  

From another source:

"An African-American slang phrase that became popular in the 1990s.  "Da" is an informal way to say "the" and "bomb" refers to something very powerful and explosive.  A synonym is "Phat".

MAY 7, 1979

Reprinted from Sue's News from 2012:

              JUSTICE-- FAYETTE COUNTY STYLE

MAY 7, 1979--the day a sixteen-year-old boy was murdered in the local Kroger parking lot. His infraction--according to the murderer--was because he and his friend used dirty language.  12 fine Fayette County people--a jury of his peers--found the murderer not guilty by reason of insanity.

The following day, the murderer strutted the streets of Washington Court House with a gun strapped on his hip.

That was  justice--Fayette County style.

Recently, the mother of that sixteen-year-old died;  she had worked with me in the 1970s and we were as close as a management/employee relationship would allow.   I often wondered how she was able to cope with the circus which surrounded her after the murder of her son.  I wanted to protect her from the ignorance of the so-called "good intentions" of people. I detested the "professional mourners" who crowded in to witness her devastating grief. At the funeral, I stayed busy keeping the S.O.B.s at a distance. I felt, "How dare they come to bother her in her grief?" I thought, "The rats come out of the woodwork to view her sorrow." Those people have a sick fascination, but cloak it with their spurious platitudes about "paying their respects" and "making an appearance" or a whole litany of other cliches. I believe they derive perverse pleasure is in witnessing the anguish of others, and they always dutifully report "how well" the aggrieved are "holding up"; or judging "how bad they're taking it".  Perhaps they do not realize what they consider "kind words" are oftentimes wounding rather than comforting.

I'll never forget her telling me, "I want to die, but I have to stay alive because I have other children." In the intervening years, when I would see her, I would mention her son because she'd told me that she liked to talk about him to some people, but not to others. I told her I knew exactly how she felt because, when my brother died, I couldn't stand for some people to even say his name--but with my family and friends-- I wanted to talk about him. When people would mention the circumstances--which they invariably do--it is like a fresh knife in the heart. My brother died in 1964 and someone recently asked, casually, "Oh, yeah, didn't that happen out on.....?" I stopped the person before they could mention the where, what, when, and how, or any other clinical details of his death. It still hurts. How can people be so obtuse? Why would any right-thinking person want to mention, ever so casually, the circumstance of a loved one's death? I have concluded that they are either stupid or perverse, or perhaps both.

The last time I saw the boy's mother, we were exchanging the usual hugs and pleasantries and I was looking at her Grandma's Brag Book with the pictures of the grandchildren and for a moment, she looked wistful, but it wasn't the time nor the place, there in Dollar General, to discuss what might have been, or so I thought.  Now I am bereft because I didn't say anything to her that day.

She was a good mother, wife, grandmother, friend, and a good worker. I cannot think of higher praise.