I Hate Snakes

April 8, 2018 / skidaz / Leave a comment

snake pics (22)

Yes, I suffer from ophidiophobia or fear of snakes. When I walk into a classroom and the teacher has a snake in a glass aquarium, I freak! I perspire and feel nauseous. I pray I won’t faint in front of the class. Lo and behold, this week two encounters almost sent me to an early grave.

I was brunching with a high school assistant principal and merely asked, “What’s up in your world?”

“OMG! I have to tell you what happened. A teacher called my office to report a kid had a snake in his backpack.”

I gagged on my waffle. “Dear God!”

“The custodian and I went to the classroom and took the student into the hall. The young man was wearing a hoodie. Just as I was about to inquire about the snake, it poked its head out of the hoodie front pouch.”

Again, I gagged. I would have died in the hallway and been trampled during class change. “What did you do?”

“Followed protocol. Took the kid and his snake to my office and had him put the snake in a large plastic container, called the parent, etc. Look here’s a picture.”

Lordy it was huge! “What is it?”

“A ball python, named Keith. Mom took it home. The kid received a restorative discipline. It was fine.”

Fine? Doubtful.

Two days later, an unexpected visitor slithered into my backyard. My dogs were hysterical. I tried to get them in the house and away from the harmless king snake, but none listened. Then Max, my cabana boy’s dog and self-appointed defender of me, leapt into action. He grabbed the snake and tossed it in the air three times. The snake left the earthly world, and Max proudly strutted around as my savior from evil.

And though it was painful for me to witness, I was delighted Max agreed with me, “The only good snake is a dead one.”

Crisis on 38th Street

March 31, 2018 / skidaz / Leave a comment

21994414_10155766019509173_8283207962716558555_o I was working at the computer when my cabana boy rushed into my house. “Sue, Sue where are you?”

Now since this thirty-year-old is not prone to hysteria, I jumped from chair and sped to the kitchen. “Matt, what’s up?”

“I’m having a crisis?”

“Really at 2:45 PM on a Tuesday afternoon? What is it?”

“My prof just emailed the class and said we’re having a taco potluck tonight. I’m in charge of the meat! I’m on break from work; I don’t get off till after 4, and I have to be at class at 5! What am I going to do? I don’t know how to make taco meat. Should I go to Taco Bell and try to buy it from them?”

“Do you have the ground beef and seasoning?”

“No. I’m doomed.”

“Do you want me to save your sorry self?”

“Would you? Oh, I owe you. I owe you big time. Anytime you need something done just let me know.”

By the time Matt returned from work, showered, and changed clothes, the taco meat was bubbling away in the crockpot. His crisis was resolved.

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“Thank you, thank you, thank you. You know what’s weird, Sue? I’m the only guy in the class. The gals all were assigned things like, chips, tortillas, and sour cream. I got the one thing I just couldn’t walk into a grocery and buy.”

I smiled, “No. Not weird, my dear. You were being tested by the prof. She wanted to see if you could deliver. She taught you a subtle lesson on sexism. So as you plug in the crockpot at class, proudly announce that guys can cook.” I don’t doubt for one moment that wily prof wasn’t smirking.

A Timely Tale of Bullies

July 3, 2017 / skidaz / Leave a comment

th-1 A few weeks ago, I shared the story of Bob, my current cabana boy. Bob and his burly dog, Max moved into my guest house over a year ago. For a year, Max only ventured outside when my dogs were in the house. If they happened to see him, they’d chase him back through his doggy door. They’d gnash their teeth if they spied him through the sliding glass door. I would go and visit Max; I felt sorry for him, for his dad was gone much of the time. He spent endless hours alone–unhealthy for a pack animal. Dogs want to belong.

Like some of our children, Max was a victim of bullies. He was lonely and afraid. Even though, I made numerous attempts to introduce him to the group, they refused…unless his dad was present. Surprisingly, two weeks ago, Max wandered up on my patio and came through my doggy door. Given the mid-afternoon, Phoenix heat, my five were all asleep in various locales. No one took notice. And on that very afternoon, Max moved in. He quickly adapted to our routine. He knows his dinner is served in the laundry room, as each dog has an assigned space, i.e. office, powder room, playroom, kitchen. (Yes, with six dogs, I need separation at meal time.)

Further, like the rest of the pack, he understands I am the Alpha. It is my way! (Wish my own children understood I run the pack!). Curiously, though, Max quickly assumed another role–chief body guard of Sue. I can not walk from room to room without him beside me. He follows me around the pool as I brush grit from the walls. When repairmen come, I must banish him back to his own abode, as the hair raises down his spine and his teeth are in full display. No doubt, he is my protector!

Certainly, I was hesitant to bond with Max; he is Bob’s dog. Yet, most of us want a haven to belong. We don’t like being made fun of or ostracized. Each of us has something to share; each of us wants to further the greater good. So for the most part, the rest of the pack is relieved to not be #1 in guard duty of the old witch. All is well.

I shall never understand why Max ventured into my house two weeks ago. Perhaps his loneliness fueled his instinct to just belong. Hmm. Wonder if there’s a lesson here?

Cabana Boy=Eye Candy

May 30, 2017 / skidaz / Leave a comment

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Several years ago, I was antsy to do something worthwhile; I decided to redo my decimated guest quarters. Prior to her illness, my youngest and her dogs lived there, and eventually her one whacked-out dog destroyed it.

After all the carpet was removed, I had the concrete floors sanded. I painted the walls and worked for over a week staining the concrete floors. Certainly, I didn’t do a magnificent job, acceptable and a huge improvement. I decorated and used left over furniture, bought new appliances, a new air conditioner/furnace etc. In short, it was cute. Someone suggested I rent it. Me? Do I look like Ethel Mertz? Do I want to be a landlady? Absolutely, never!

“Mom, I have a friend who’s moving here from San Diego and needs a place to stay for a month. He got a job here, and he wants to check everything out before he rents an apartment. I told him he could stay here until he finds something. Hope that’s ok.”

“Do I know this guy?”

“No. I went to school with him in Colorado for one year.”

“And now, five years later, you’re moving him in to the guest quarters?”

“It’ll be fine, Mom. It’s just for a month.”

A month became almost a year. Joe was delightful, and I soon found myself doing his laundry, packing his lunches, cooking his dinners, and advising him on the random girls who frequented my swimming pool. My friends dubbed him my “cabana boy,” given his bi-ceps were larger than my thighs, his good looks, and his adeptness as a bartender. He took out the trash cans to the the road, he easily opened jars, and he dog sat when I was away.

Joe came in one night for dinner and announced, “I’ve landed a new job back in California.”

“Great! When does it start?”

“Next week.”

With Joe’s announcement came a line of young men wanting to take his place. My kid’s high school friend, Bob moved in a month later with his dog. I’ve known Bob since he was in the 8th grade, so the transition was easy. He’s just finished his junior year at the university with 3 semesters remaining till he graduates in elementary education. Unlike Joe, I don’t cook for him, but I do his laundry and have recently taken to charging him “rent.” (Translation: You give me money, and I’ll keep it until you want it back. Dr. Suze banking system of forced savings.). Of course, he has bi-ceps and abs on which I gaze. My friends are a tad jealous of the scenery in my swimming pool. Yet, every older woman needs a cabana boy to tend to her dogs when she’s gone. Agree?

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