A story, in multiple parts, in which this is the first part. The story gets better as it goes along. I promise. Stick with it.



Once in a while, you are the keeper of a story so good that each time you tell it, your audience, fighting back tears of laughter, begs you to write it down.  This, my friend, is not that story.  But it is a long story.  And because of that, lately, when I tell it, I find that at about the midpoint of the story, I get tired of telling it and I start glossing over details, which makes it a less good story.  So, I am writing it down, folks.

This story starts with our heroine attempting to better herself by registering for a week long silent meditation retreat.  This is a good thing.  The retreat is close to home, but is run by people out of town.  It is run by people out of the country, actually.  It’s run by Canadians.

Now, I am ashamed to admit this, but it seems that I have a bias- a stereotype, when it comes to those folks north of the border.  Guilty of generalization, I know, but my impression of Canadians is that they are, well, nice.  Nice, friendly, helpful, all healthy with their free healthcare- this is my impression of Canadians.  So, I was ill-prepared for my interaction with the particular Canadian who handled my registration.  


The website, it seems, botched my registration, or at least it seemed to have registered me for a different retreat than I wanted, with different dates, a retreat-that-didn’t-exist.  This was troublesome because this retreat-that-didn’t-exist cost me over $300.  And the solution proposed to me by the woman in charge of registration, who couldn’t find a record of my registration, was to re-register.  I was not eager to do this because my credit card had already been charged for the retreat-that-didn’t-exist.  What I wanted, and this didn’t seem unreasonable to me, but you be the judge, was for the charge for the retreat-that-didn’t-exist to be taken off my credit card so that I could re-register for a retreat that did, in fact, exist.  

In my mind, this was simple, but I couldn’t seem to get the registration woman to understand what I was talking about.  Finally, after weeks went by with no action or understanding, I decided to just ask for my money back and forget the whole thing, thank you very much.  As soon as I sent the e-mail saying that I was no longer interested in the retreat, I received a flurry of e-mails and phone calls.  The message was loud and clear.  It was a misunderstanding!  We want you to come to our retreat!  We are Canadians!  We are nice!

I signed up.


(End part one.  Yes, I know that this first part was kind of disappointing.  It is to be continued.  Stick with it.  Part two is here.)





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Love Notes





Dear Sondra,

If you were a porch light, I would be the moth who is drawn to you.

Fondly,

Howard

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Dear Howard,


If I were a sentence, you would be my exclamation point.


Sincerely,


Sondra Stinglash


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Dear Sondra,


If you were the weather report, you would be unseasonably warm. 


Fondly,


Howard

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Dear Howard,

If you were a writing implement, you would be a fine fountain pen from which polished words flow effortlessly.  Also, you would not leak.

Sincerely,

Sondra Stinglash

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Dear Sondra,

If you were a PC, I would be your Norton Utilities.

Fondly,

Howard

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Dear Howard,

If you were a bowl of jelly beans, you would be all the flavors, even the spicy ones.

Sincerely,

Sondra Stinglash

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Dear  Sondra,

If you were a school board budget, you would be increased funding for music and art.

Fondly,

Howard

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Dear Howard,

If you were a four hour stretch of time, you would be a relaxed summer afternoon spent by the seashore, wearing beachcombers and hunting for shells. 

Sincerely,

Sondra Stinglash

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Dear Sondra,

If you were a shoe, I would be the laces, hugging you tightly.

Fondly,

Howard


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Dear Howard,

If you were a pair of shoelaces, I would be the little plastic ends that encircle you, helping you glide through life's many eyelets.

Sincerely,

Sondra Stinglash

------------

Dear Sondra,

If you were the little plastic ends encircling my laces, I would be the scotch tape that holds you together when you fray.

Fondly,

Howard


-----------






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Wherein Sondra Stinglash Makes a Comeback and Explains Her Brush With Clown's Disease





Callithump?  Is that you?  It's me, Sondra!  It's been over a year!  What have you been up to?  It is so good to see you!  You look great! 

I am so sorry that I haven't kept in touch but I have just been so busy.  You know how life gets.  Busy, busy, busy...what with my new production, The George Foreman Grill: The Musical, finally taking shape and my new chia pet, I totally let Callithump get away from me.

What do you mean you don't know who I am?  I am Sondra Stinglash.  The Sondra Stinglash.  I live with my son, Eckhardt and a palpation slave who lives in our guest room.  I can't believe you don't remember me.  Remember my inner editor, Edna?  Does that ring a bell?  Edna and I gave birth to this here blog.  People used to spit coffee onto their computer screens because of me.  Those were great days.

But what happened was, just over a year ago, I got  a near terminal case of Clown's Disease* and decided that I was going to dedicate my writing skills to serious pieces that would help people live better lives, blah, blah, blah...

But I have missed you, Callithump.  It's great to be back.



*Clown's Disease is a syndrome that affects comedians and humorists who grow weary of being laughed at and react by turning to serious pursuits, such as writing novels and publishing blogs dedicated to extolling the benefits of bodywork and living a balanced life.  The first official case of Clown's Disease was documented by Dr. Ivanov Rakhmelevich in the year 1912.  His patient, Fyodor Prokopovic, a tiny clown with the Dimitrovgrad circus, was known for his popular and somewhat disturbing act that consisted of his swallowing an elaborate number of toy cars, one after another, and then spitting them out, a feat that would a elicit cries of, "I can't believe how many cars fit into that tiny clown!"  Later, when Prokopovic's protege, Stevan Vlelekovich, gained instant popularity by reversing the idea and piled a ridiculous number of clowns into one tiny car,  Prokopovic became despondent.  Having been laughed at his entire career and then being outshone by his 19 year old protege, immediately following the now famous clown car act, Prokopovic developed an acute case of Clown's Disease.  Within hours he exhibited the now classic symptoms:  a decrease in shoe size, obsessive mustache stroking while repeating, "No one takes me seriously,"  and becoming an tax accountant.  Dr. Rakmelevich spent countless hours with his patient, squirting him in the face with lapel flowers and having him open cans of nuts that sprang forth springy snakes.  But to no avail.  Prokopovic would only respond to Rakmelevich's treatments by informing him that he could write off the props he was using and then asking to see his receipts. 







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Sondra Stinglash's Guide to Kindergarteners






















Fact #1- Kindergarteners are very curious about people:

Kindergartener- "Who your husband is?"

Ms Stinglash- "Pardon me? I didn't quite understand the question. Can you ask me again?"

Kindergartener- "Who your husband is?"

Ms. Stinglash- "Who is my husband?"

Kindergartener (smiling)- "Yes"

Ms. Stinglash- "I don't have a husband."

Kindergartener (frowning)- "Why not?"

Ms. Stinglash- "Well..."

Kindergartener- "You are still a kid?"

Ms. Stinglash- "Yes. I am still a kid. I am way too young to get married."

Fact #2- Kindergarteners are not really very good with numbers.

Kindergartener- "Ms. Stinglash! How old are you?"

Ms. Stinglash- "How old do you think I am?"

Kindergartener- "Eleven."

Ms. Stinglash- "How old are you?"

Kindergartener- "SIXTEEN!"

Ms. Stinglash- "That makes you older than me."

Kindergartener- "AND BIGGER!!!"

Fact #3- If you want kindergarteners to avoid stepping in the throw up in the middle of the hallway, the only way is to pick them up and hurl them over it.

Ms. Stinglash- "Walk next to the wall here...you need to be closer to the wall....Why are you walking in the middle of the hallway? WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?!? STOP!!!! YOU ALMOST STEPPED IN....WHY ARE YOU ALL GOING OVER THERE? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?!? THIS WAY!!! I SAID THIS WAY!!! GET OVER THERE!!! NOW!!! AUUUUUGGGHHH!!!"

Fact #4- Kindergarteners are lousy spellers.

Kindergartner #1: "Ms. Stinglash! Ms. Stinglash! Clinton said the m word!!!!!

Ms. Stinglash (thinking) What the hell is the 'm word'?


Fact #5- Kindergarteners are not as lousy at spelling as you think.

Kindergartener #1- "I can spell a lot of words."

Kindergartener #2- "Can you spell the B word? I can spell the B word."

Kindergartener #1- "I can spell the B word too!"

Kindergartener #2- "I can spell the B word and the s word."

Kindergartener #1- "So can I!"

Kindergartener #2- "You know what word I can spell? I can spell THE F WORD!"

Teacher from across the room- "Great job kindergarteners! I like how you are all sitting and chatting so nicely with your neighbors! Looks like you have earned some marbles for our marble jar!"

Kindergartener #2- (whispers) "I can totally spell the F word."







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100th Post!

So this thing that happens- I get an idea that makes me giggle, I put my fingers to the keyboard and start typing. More giggling happens as I press "publish." Then even more giggling as I read the published piece and then joyfully fantasize about all the giggling that will soon occur in front of computer screens around the world. Hard to believe that this phenomenon has happened 99 times!

Which makes this very post my 100th post! Which I had planned to re-post my first post in honor of. Which I wrote on August 21, 2008. Which I am now posting for you. Enjoy it. It is one of my favorites and the first time around no one read it but my sister....

Ironically I chose the name Sandy for myself...not knowing that eventually I would start calling myself Sandra/Sondra Stinglash...

And here it is-

DATING YOURSELF

This might give you an idea of where I am at these days.

I am taking a course in anatomy and physiology and we are studying cells. The other day, our professor projected an image of a sperm cell on the wall. I looked at it and the first thought that came to my mind was, "Jerk."

Clearly, right now anyway, dating a man is out of the question. My solution is to date myself for awhile. My sister and I came up with the idea of dating yourself, an idea so brilliant that it is sure to start a whole movement. This review of a blind date can shed some light on how it is done:

Date Lab
Dates like this happen every day. Heaven help us.

Sunday, March 23, 2008;

5:00 p.m., Wegmans, Grocery Store

Sandy: I thought it a bit risky to go to my date’s home for the very first date. But it was Easter and Sandy seemed to be in the same situation as I was. No family plans or Easter engagements. When she suggested that we meet at Wegmans, buy food and then go to her house to prepare dinner together, I thought, “Why not” If I got a creepy feeling from her, I could bolt before we got to her house. I found her in the produce aisle, picking out artichokes.

Sandy: I recognized Sandy right away from her picture. She looked nice. Her hair was up. She was slender and dressed in jeans, Doc Martens and a vintage coat. She looked part big city punk, part Ms. Frizzle from the Magic School Bus.

Sandy: She seemed like my type and I was happy to see that she liked artichokes too. We picked out a couple nice ones, a small baguette, and some cheese. Sandy insisted on paying for the food, which I thought was nice.

Sandy: We walked the few blocks to my home. The weather was mild and sunny.

Sandy: We ended up walking to Sandy's home. I was surprised that we didn't drive. Maybe Sandy doesn't own a car. She seems a little out there- one of those environmental vegetarian feminist types. She had brought her own bag to Wegmans. I hope she isn't a lesbian. We mostly talked about the weather. Turns out her house is pretty close to the grocery store. Her house was kind of cool on the inside. I like the way she had it decorated.

Sandy: When we got to my house, I put the artichokes in the steamer and poured a glass of wine. That done, it was time to get to know my date better.

Sandy: I was a little put off that she hadn't bought a bottle of wine for us; instead she popped a left over bottle out of the fridge. There was really only enough for a small glass. Now that I think about it, it was probably better that way. It is better if I don't drink too much on a first date. I have gotten into trouble that way.

Sandy: We talked a bit about the books we are reading. Turns out that Sandy is an avid reader too.

Sandy: In the middle of our conversation, Sandy grabbed a book. She started reading out loud. The book was interesting and it was fun to discuss the passages she read. After a while though, she started to read to herself. I thought that was a little rude, but to be honest, I had spied an interesting book on her shelf, so I grabbed it and started reading too.

Sandy: The artichokes were ready at about 6:30. We sliced up the baguettes and cheese. I got worried because it wasn't really much of a meal, more of a light snack. But Sandy acted very gracious and said the food was delicious.

Sandy: The appetizer was delicious. I couldn't wait for the main course. I was so hungry, especially after walking from Wegmans and waiting so long for the artichokes to cook. It took me a while to realize that there wasn't going to be a main course. So, I hung out for a little while longer, to be polite, but then decided to take off. It was still early and I figured that I could stop somewhere and buy some food for myself.

Sandy: Sandy had to leave earlier than I had expected, but it was a really nice first date. I'd give the date a 4. I would definitely like to see her again. She was easy to talk to and I felt comfortable with her. I had a nice time.

Sandy: Blind dates are always a bit awkward. This one was a bit strange, but it wasn't too bad. I would give the date a 3. I would see her again, but I will wait for her to call or e-mail me.

Interviews by Loni Carbunkle

UPDATE: Sandy and Sandy exchanged e-mails addresses and phone numbers. They have sent each other a few funny youtube videos, but they haven't scheduled a second date yet.





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Yoga Class
















Standing in Mountain pose, feet a comfortable distance apart, we allow our heads to reach upward, yearning for the sky, opening our hearts to life, love and possibility...

We invite our shoulder blades to plunge downward, surrendering to the earth's gravitational pull, imagining our feet growing roots that coil and wrap into the center of the earth...

While at the same time, widening the back of our necks with each nourishing inhale, and then with each exhale, lengthening the neck like a little growing tree sprouting upward...

Becoming the mountain, solid and strong, feeling the little mountain goats as they graze upon our shoulders...

Breathing the arms upward as we visualize the arms reaching upward, mountain goats scurrying, our hands journeying together as if long lost lovers reunited after many years apart...

Hands as lovers, joining together in prayer position, palms pressing together, whispering to one another things that only hands can whisper...

Chest heaving upward with an inhale sending the hands skyward, ripping apart, divorcing outward, hanging loosely on either side of the body, strangers once again....

Arms extending outward, folding deep, deep, deep into our hip sockets, softening the knees, we dive downward into the depths of our very souls...


Guess who took a yoga teacher's training workshop?



Namaste





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Beaming With Pride





















Once in a great while my son, Eckhert, does something that makes me beam with pride. I know what you are thinking- that he finally started that humor blog he talked about a few months back.

Not it.

No humor blog. He did write one post which he sent to Edna, my inner editor, as he has no inner editor of his own. She checked it for typos and errors and sent it back quickly so that he could make haste setting up his blog and publishing his first post.

Which he never did. Instead he spent his time dropping dirty clothing onto his floor and throwing tissues into his garbage, watching them fall on the floor instead and shrugging.

He may have spent a bit of time studying though because he just finished high school one semester early, having rocked nine regents exams and graduating with honors. Not too shabby really.

But that isn't it either.

The beaming with pride comes from the confidence and originality he shows when he speaks to the army recruiters who are calling him regularly to tell him how joining can support him in his quest to go to college, open his own business, sleep all day...it matters not what he says his goals are...the person on the other end of the phone has an answer for him. Joining the army, marines...what have you...is guaranteed to make his dreams come true. He has told the recruiters that he is a pacifist, a communist, an anarchist, a sociopath, and a homosexual. He has claimed to be androphobic (afraid of men) and papaphobic (afraid of the Pope). The only thing that had them concerned was his claim of homosexuality. Everything else they could work with.

Rather than just telling the recruiters that he has no interest in joining up, he instead turns it into a game of chess- he says something outrageous and then waits for the response.

I was leaving the house the other night as Eckhert picked up the phone. It was Sargent Hunter.

"Just a second, Sargent Hunter," says my 18 year old son, "I have to say goodbye to my mommy."

Beaming I tell you. Just beaming.









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Have a Nice Day!





















Hey! Is that you!? How are you!?!

It has been a long time, hasn't it? You are looking great! New haircut? No? New Glasses? No?

Oh, you got your teeth cleaned! Fabulous. It's a good look for you.

I really like your pantsuit. What would you call that color? Really? I would say that it is more of a saffron- it definitely has a bit of yellow. The little paisleys are a nice touch. Very nice.

How am I? Thanks for asking. Not bad. Can't complain.

I know! I know! You're right! I really haven't been around much! Life is so busy nowadays. You know how it is, with the kids, the dog, the family rock group tour schedule, the new slow cooker, and all the rabbits. Crazy, isn't it, how time gets away from you?

It is nice to be back. Things look pretty good around here. The followers are looking great. Nice to see all their smiling faces. I always liked those guys. A very good looking intelligent bunch of people. Good to see them again.

It was great seeing you. I have to run. I'm off to pick up more rabbit pellets. But let's get together real soon. We'll do lunch!

Have a nice day!











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