One of the many interesting things about her is that well, she was alive before like, iPods, television, copy machines, ranch dressing, before burritos were popular with Americans, cell phones, email, dial phones, dial-up, Myspace, rolling luggage, Starbucks, any lighter other than Zippo brand, Tom Hanks, underground sprinklers, before women could wear pants and not get sent to a nunnery, pantyhose, Target, before Hummers were compensations for small genitalia and only used for military purposes, electric knives, couples on television slept in the same bed or couples of the same sex were allowed on television, Disneyland, Disneyworld, EuroDisney (are they STILL there?) and YOU. Basically, a lot of stuff. Which means she's seen some shit.
Being her daughter and someone who is around her a lot, I've noticed a certain quality which I find charming. In conversation, she tends to pop off with random odd stories within normal everyday chit chat say about what to have for lunch or songs on the radio. I don't know what triggers them but I always relish them when they appear. So I thought I would give you a taste of what I get to enjoy on an almost daily basis. Just don't ask if you can buy a sack of tomatoes. She'll never, never remember that conversation.
Mom, let's start off with a greeting to the readers.
Huzzah!
Ok. Thank you. So, you used to be a hippie. A real one. What do you think the kids today who think they are hippies should call themselves?
The wannabes? They wouldn't know a hippie if it blew smoke in their face. I'm the real deal. A hippie can never be again. The heart of a hippie is always "being." To imitate hippies is nonsense. Being a hippie is in your heart it's not in what you wear or what you look like, it's in your heart and in your spirit. It's also comfortable clothes that flow and airy sandals. A flower in your hair might help, too.
I remember when I was in high school you were arrested. Tell us about that because that helped form some of my ideals. In a good way.
(Laughter) Let's see, initially I was pulled over for a broken tail light. This is the beginning of a lot of people's sagas with the Law. It's the old "tail light" trick. After a discussion about the validity of my insurance and me, of course, wondering why, in fact, insurance, was needed for tail lights, the visibly peeved officer suggested I might be more serious or something like that about my plight. Later on, after my meeting with the judge in court, I was assigned community service to atone for my infraction against society. I, however, did not feel a tail light deemed it necessary that I clean chicken coops nor would stacking the wood of an old fart farmer help my insurance situation. I adamantly felt the need to protest the whole situation so I did not show up for the golf course raking. Thus, I was summoned to court again and told I would be a guest in the county gray bar hotel for five days to atone for my decision to protest the situation. But that's another show.
I have an Uncle Marshall who you are very close to in age and heart. As children you got up to quite the shenanigans. What was your favorite memory of mischief, if you can manage to pick one?
Taping my Mother's Bridge club! (This is a new one to me! See what I mean!) We had a primitive tape recorder that my brother Marshall horked from school so that we could record the gossip we were certain would come out from the ladies at the Bridge party which would be about three tables worth. Thus, allowing us to write a newspaper. We hid the tape recorder under one of the tables where we were certain to get some juicy bits. Then we hid around the corner in the kitchen, supposedly eating cookies and milk. As it turned out, our efforts were wasted. All we heard were rumblings of feminine voices with the horrendous sounds of the cards being shuffled. We couldn't believe our ears! (My Mom is making the sound effect right now. It's pretty horrendous)
When did you see your first burrito?
In Salt Lake City, Utah when I was 19. It was at Bill & Nada's Cafe. Don't ask me who they were but it was a good hang out spot. Since I hadn't anticipated the importance of the burrito, it didn't have a premiere or anything, I just thought it was something different to eat besides chiliburgers. Kind of like navajo tacos. I still don't know what the hell that is. I don't think the burritos were very authentic. Not at that place. They still had Elvis tunes on the flip juke boxes at the tables. They weren't served with salsa. Just Wolf brand chili.
What was the first thing you watched on television?
A Tums commercial. That was the day we got our television after spending three hours on the roof trying to put up the antenna. I'm surprised we got any television out in the middle of anywhere in an oil camp (Rangely, CO).
What did you think of pants when you got to wear them?
Oh I thought they were wonderful! They facilitated the end of the girdle and stockings. Yay! Woo-ha!
You were once kidnapped. Do tell!
Oh my God. My friend and co-worker, Deanne, decided to take a vacation from Utah to visit her parents in Los Angeles. Anticipation was high. We took Deanne's blue Corvair, therefore we set off across the Nevada desert toward California. Outside of St. George, Utah, the aforementioned Corvair overheated to the point of not moving forward anymore. Oh shit. Anticipation was low. Along came a large truck big enough to hold the Corvair driven by a tall blonde guy from St. George whom we assumed was a nice Mormon boy sworn to help gals in need lest he be thrown from the Temple by Joseph Smith in a flaming opiate hallucination. Wrong.
First, he "helped" us situate the Corvair on a low railroad overpass and pushed the car into the back of his truck and offered to carry us and his truck to Deanne's parents house, our destination by the ocean. Sidenote: He was going there because he had to pick up some bees from his grandfather to take back to St. George.
Three of us in the cab of his truck had a merry trip to L.A., even being let out for bathroom breaks and snacks. He was hatching his plot as we drove west. When we hit the city, we told him where we needed to go. He said, "I'm sorry, I'm not letting you out of the truck until you agree to come with me to (some) Club." He wouldn't stop. He wouldn't let us out. We threatened to throw ourselves into traffic on the freeway in L.A. Plus he had our car! We kept casting aspersions on his breath and whatever. He wasn't smart he just wouldn't stop. This is after three hours of driving in L.A. in seedy neighborhoods to boot. He wasn't mean, he just wouldn't stop. So finally we hatched a scheme to meet him at the seedy club later if he would give us our car and drop us in the parking lot and we would consume beers with him later *wink wink* and he thought we were reliable so he agreed...har har snort snort. So he agreed to put the car down in Ralph's Supermarket at a high point and gave us the address of the club. We assured him we would be there. We waved him off into the sunset, ran like hell to the nearest pay phone and called her parents to come pick us up. We never told them the true story.
How did it come to be that I was named Wendy and not Becky?
Because your Dad overruled me and I liked Wendy better. It fit you. It must have made sense. At the end of the day I thought it was a beautiful name.
You studied French for 6 years. Tell us how to curse in French.
Alons enfant du la parie le jour et arrive
Mom, I don't think my French speaking friends would appreciate you using the French National anthem as a cursing reference. But since I suspect you just may have not remembered any good curse words and happen to know you like marching bands and stirring music, I'll let it pass.
Since your attention is waning and you're getting your boring authors mixed up and acting drunk, we'll try to keep this short. Who do you think would have won in a fight against a kangaroo? Granddad or Grandberta?
Probably Grandberta. Both could have but I would say her first. I wonder if they really box? I'd really like to see that.
How long did it take for you to learn how to turn a computer on?
Well...after about fifteen minutes I asked my boss how. And I remember, now what's a C prompt probably forty times.
You've come a long way and seen technology pretty much be born. What's your favorite piece of technology?
I don't enjoy using it but my cell phone. It's wonderful not having to have an answering machine. I like the accesibility and it's one of the more understandable ones to me. I do like my computer though. The internet. The email. Being able to order books and Fiesta Ware. Except that Pet Groomer from television that put me in touch with thousands of people from India who tell me I've won prizes and make me pound the phone on the table.
Have you ever stolen anything? Don't lie. I know the truth.
Yes. But it wasn't in the spirit of stealing. I borrowed. After a drunken revelry at Wally's Restaurant (in our hometown) (my mom is not a thief, she happened to be married to a jerkoff who thought it was funny to do stupid shit on a regular basis. she has since divorced his ass and he is alone and will most likely die that way), walking out the backdoor to go home, my ex-husband spied a small bag of groceries sitting outside on the ground. He thought it would be funny to steal it and take it home. We opened it up and it was not even food we liked our would ever use. The contents were as follows:
*One loaf of Wonder Bread
*One small jar of Evil Sandwich Spread whose base is Miracle Whip and tired pickles
*One package bologna (generic)
*One box Mac n Cheese (generic)
To this day I rue the day I was a part of that act of theft. Mea Culpa.
I forgive you, Mom. I verbally beat you that night so you're good. One last question. How cool is it that my brother not only makes beautiful saddles and has done so for most of his life but now he also works at Costco and we have free memberships and can snack on the wonderland of samples until we puke? Basically, how proud are you of my brother?
Oh, where can I start? I love my kids so much! I remember he started with a leather project at 4-H and never stopped creating. I am so proud of his accomplishments. It IS wonderful that he works at Costco. He enjoys his job and his company. He enjoys his life in general, has many friends and a special lady.I love the person he has become. I'm proud of him. I agree! He's much improved since the days when he lassoed me and gave me the Butthook of the Year Award, which he claims not to remember fashioning out of a piece of wood shaped like a butt and putting a fishing hook, which all know he had on him, into the butt part and presenting to me by the stream where the beavers lived. I don't know why I remember the part about the beavers. He seemed to always be talking about them chewing on the wood. I think that's where he got the wood. He's pretty handy with a pocket knife, especially when not using it for evil. I love him! PS. One of his best projects ever, even better than his saddles was a leather Superman that I made him move around (fly) the wall when I was 2 years old! To this day, this is his masterpiece. Besides teaching me to walk. Good job, hoser, I'm a klutz!
Thank you for your cooperation, Mom. That applies to my entire life. I love you.
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