Ain’t Facebook Grand?

It’s a double edged sword you soon find out, helping your granddaughter set up a Facebook page. We’ve both waited for this day and like all things having to do with technology, we aren’t quite sure why. We can’t know what the experience will bring, so I haven’t thought beyond seeing her cute little avatar right there on my page of friends. And there it is this morning. I check to see how her page is going.

In a few hours she has half as many “friends” as I’ve gathered in over a year. The following day that count surpasses me. So I make a comment to her and she answers me. “kk” What the H— oh, I mean heck does that mean? Conversations between her and friends are even more cryptic. So much for my solemn promise to her mother to be a watchdog. I don’t know what the * uh, heck they are saying. I have to confess here that I even looked up one word in Google dictionary. They had never heard of it either. And they are techies, so that made me feel as little less like a nodding lady in a rocking chair.

The other thing I didn’t foresee was my own words on my Facebook page. Suddenly I begin to go over in my mind what I might have uttered that I wouldn’t in my granddaughter’s presence. Do you know how long it takes to scroll back to older and older posts? At one point I said, “Wait a minute! You talk pretty much to your grands as you do anyone else.” In fact, some of my little stories and opinions in their presence have evoked a cringe factor from adults. Not “OMG Get her out of here before she sends them down the road to ruin” cringe, just a momentary catching of the breath. That will probably be the worst that will happen with my new “friends.” At least I hope so.

There is another thing on my side. With her friends count approaching Justin Bieber audience size, I really don’t think I’ll have to worry about her reading my posts. kk?

Advertisement

Read Full Post »

Honest Scrap – Trust Me

Amurin over at Stop & Wander tagged me with an Honest Scrap award. I am honored. Of course, maybe I fooled her. Maybe I am really a deranged young man living in a cabin in the north woods, accumulating fertilizer and poetry, and bumping into Bigfoot every once in a while. Ah well. Here goes.

When you get the Honest Scrap award for your honest crap, you are meant to grace your readers with 10 honest things about yourself, and then pass on the award to other blog friends who write honestly and truly about themselves and events in their life.

At this point the blank white screen is imprinting itself on my brain, but I’ll try.

1. In my family honesty was the Holy Grail. Lies were not permitted and the word “liar” hurled at anyone or even spoken quietly evoked a stern look or smack. There was nothing worse you could say of a person.
2. It is unbelievably freeing to no longer be a sex symbol.  Just a hint to the C.I.A.: In my invisible woman phase I could be unfailingly helpful to you. Just sayin.
3. I’m not a one-friend person, always ran in groups (not cliques, we weren’t that important) in school.
4. When a child, I hoarded all my nickels and pennies and counted them over and over, loving the sound of them flowing back and forth from one hand to the other. I still try to keep most in my hands.
5. In school avoided reading and science. As an adult read constantly and am fascinated by science. What happened to “as the twig is bent, so grows the tree?”
6. My grands are the most amazing four people on the planet, followed closely by their parents plus two, my daughter and her husband.
7. I can live without a lot of things, but not cats. (Well maybe this one blocking the computer screen.)
8. I love, love, love guns. So shoot me.
9. My motto is: Old is not a four-letter word. Senior is what I was in high school.
10. But I refuse to wear “granny panties.” If bikinis were good enough for my pregnant body, they are good enough now.

Now watch out! I’m getting ready to tag someone, and it’s: Corina @Wasted Days and Wasted Nights, C\hele, OmbudsBen, & anyone else who would like to join in.

Read Full Post »

VOTE

Read Full Post »

Biting Humor

A Central Florida day-care center is under investigation after a toddler bit a one-year old girl repeatedly. Wonder what fairytales they read those children at the Hansel & Gretel Preschool?

 I know.  Sick humor again.

Read Full Post »

Uphill Both Ways

The yellow school light was flashing, the crossing guard stood ready in her bright orange vest. School children made their way home. Since a pause in life is mandatory at such times, why not observe whatever catches your eye? On previous days I have counted blonde children (very few), chosen the cutest, wondered about the tiniest. Yesterday their methods of conveyance began to fascinate as they whizzed or walked by.

Children in Seminole County, Florida, must walk if they live two miles or fewer from school. Many do just that, but many others have found creative travel methods to save shoe leather and get to that after school snack more quickly. In one short block paraded:

• Bicycles
• Skateboards
• Trikkes
• Waves
• Heelys

You’ve run into Heelys before, (or they into you) probably at the grocery store. Heelys are ordinary looking athletic shoes with wheels that drop like landing gear. They are cool personified. I want a pair. Of course, bicycles are the old standby, but skateboards making a huge comeback. New versions like the wave, with only two caster-like wheels and a wasp like board, were new to me. The Trikke, a carving board is propelled as your body sways side to side. It looks like a scooter with a V facing forward. It certainly wins points for uniqueness and surely for working your obliques.

You who denigrate fitness of young people might try using any one of the above conveyances while balancing a bulging backpack just so. Their prowess was amazing to watch.

I don’t count the time waiting for kiddies to cross wasted at all. Grandmas need to know about these things. I’ve gotten as much mileage as I can out of Hannah Montana, online video games and Spiderman. Perhaps I’ll throw in a few comments about the wave next time I chat with the grands. That will be when my granddaughters come over and help me sign in with the Webkinz they gave me for my birthday. I understand I can go on a shopping spree for my little raccoon. It’s not enough to keep up with the latest news to sound erudite with your friends. We grandparents know there is a whole other world out there with its own vernacular and we’d best hit the books. Just don’t make me carry them in a backpack.

Read Full Post »

Belly Button Lint 3

I’ve seen a lot of football players take heart-stopping hits lately, the kind where they are running full speed right up until they hit a wall of muscle. It hurts to look at, but my question is this. When those guys get in their cars do they really need an airbag?

Have you noticed how many beauty products from soap to anti-aging cream have French sub-titles? Does this make them better somehow, especially since they are probably made in China?

Name a female cartoonist. Neither can I. Why is that? We’re funny, we can draw.

When a word your mind is searching for is dancing out there in some ethereal zone just above your brain, do you know how many syllables it has even thought you don’t know which letter it starts with? Or is it just me?

When I bought my sons Lego’s and Lincoln Logs thirty, forty years ago we got a big honking box with plastic pieces or wood logs, maybe a few suggestions. Today each box builds specific items or buildings. No coloring outside the line or producing your own unique creation. No, no that work is done for you. I just returned a whoopdedoo Erector set meant for my grandson. He’ll get a toy that helps him grow and expand his mind instead.

You know who I’m voting for? Who ever promises to be the President of the United States of AMERICA.

When you hear a politician say fences won’t keep people out of our country aren’t you just dying to ask them if they live in a gated community—or estate?

Read Full Post »

Mary Had a Little Jesus

“We’re going to see Mary Had a Little Lamb,” three-year old Hannah squealed again.

“No, Hannah,” I corrected her more times than I care to remember, “We’re going to see Mary and Baby Jesus.” Her look humored me. I reminded her of the manger scene at Ahmaw’s house and the first Christmas story. That look again. During the long wait in line Hannah let everyone know she was going to see Mary Had a Little Lamb.

“There are no lambs here, Hannah, just Mary and Baby Jesus.” My granddaughter was going to be very disappointed if she expected to see a lamb.

A Walk Through Bethlehem took my daughter-in-law, granddaughters and me through dusty paths, past markets manned by Biblical figures greeting “Shalom.”  The smell of oil from lanterns, frankincense and myrrh and and sounds of the market transported us to an ancient time and place. In the crisp night air it was easy to forget we were on church grounds. Along the way characters discussed the pilgrimage to register for the census upon edict of Emperor Augustus. Hannah quietly took it all in. Abruptly it seemed, we reached a stall with hay, three opulently dressed wise men, and Joseph, Mary and Baby Jesus. A cow lay on the ground with a jackass nearby with the feel of a real manger.

“Mary had a little lamb!” Hannah shouted. I shifted my gaze from the real live baby. There beside Mary, a little lamb bleated as Hannah’s patted its puffy wool.

I know when I am beaten.

Read Full Post »