If It’s Not One Thing, It’s Another

September 28, 2025 / skidaz / Leave a comment

Read the title in your best nasally, whiny Roseannadanna voice, and you’ll understand my week. Please know, I’m not looking for sympathy; in fact, my purpose is to bring a smile or a sigh of relief that it didn’t happen to you.

My former husband used to say, You can’t have construction, without destruction.” Monday was destruction, which began in my hallway at six AM, when they jack-hammered up the floor. Not only were my dogs terrified, but the deafening sounds of scraping concrete gave me a roaring headache. Then came the construction phase, which continues through this coming week. The constant whirring of the tile saw and mortar mixer increased my anxiety.

On Thursday, a large limb on my grapefruit tree snapped sent a hundred, large unripe fruit to live with Jesus. (Note picture) Friday and Saturday, mother nature finally sent rain to the desert–not the lovely gentle rain that soaks the parched soil, but the wild torrents of flooding. And during these severe storms, my kitchen skylight leaked, and the ceiling bubbled. And just when some semblance of calm appeared, one of my dogs vomited, which necessitated a very pricey trip to the emergency vet clinic.

Thankfully, my dog is better, and tomorrow I’ll schedule appointments with my landscaper and my roofers. Hopefully, by mid-week my hallway floor will be finished. Until, the next time….

The War Continues

May 4, 2025 / skidaz / Leave a comment

Just when I thought I had conquered the coyotes, they returned again. Instead of two, this time there were six predators in my front yard nosing around. My Carl Spackle alter ego took to the internet in search of more preventive measures. I bought another gallon of wolf urine flakes and sprinkled them around the yard.

My research also found that coyotes are afraid of conflagration. Aren’t we all who live in the desert? Obviously, with the Phoenix bad air quality and the environmental destruction of fires, I wouldn’t set my yard on fire. Thankfully, though, I found solar lights that resemble flames, which I installed today. On Monday, I will have installed coyote rollers on the top of my block wall.

If all of these preventive measures fail, I have one more Hail-Mary trick in my bag. Pricey and very labor intensive. According to my hours of study, donkeys will attack and drive off these yellow-eyed beasts forever. I was surprised to learn there are miniature ones who are equally as capable as the full-size. Of course, this drastic, last ditch effort would require building a stable and an arena. Further, I’d have to hire a ranch hand to tend to the feeding and clean-up, as I can barely keep up with the dog poop, let alone that of donkeys. I’d also need a truck and a trailer because every church in my ‘hood would want my donkeys for their live Nativities, and every elementary school would want me to take them for “Read to Donkey” day.

Yes, I remain in all out war with these varmints. If all of my proactive prevention fails, I may have to seek an audience with Pope Donald since he controls everything! Hee haw!

I Hate Snakes

April 8, 2018 / skidaz / Leave a comment

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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.

Suspension from School

March 18, 2018 / skidaz / Leave a comment

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Call me a heretic. Call me old and crazy. I don’t care, but as a 47-year veteran of public education, I believe: NO child should be suspended from school…unless he/she poses a threat to the safety and well-being of others.

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Years ago, the preferred methods of discipline were standing in the corner, being paddled, writing a hundred times I will not…,or calling the parents. In many schools today, the answer is being kicked out of school for a day, several days, or a week or two. In this scenario, what does the student learn about his/her behavior? “Cool. I get to lie in bed till ten, eat out of the refrigerator, play video games, and watch television.” What does that accomplish? NOTHING.

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Forty-four years ago, as a high school principal, I had individual carrels installed in my office area. Kids who committed an infraction were sentenced to my supervision for several days. They were given their class assignments, their cafeteria lunch was delivered, and they were escorted to and from the restroom. They were not kicked out to the comfort of their homes.

Among the current offenses for suspension are such things as swearing, smoking in the bathroom, using a cell phone, violating the dress code, cheating on a test, writing graffiti on a wall, and the most ludicrous…truancy and/or tardiness. Really? Why kick a kid out of school for his/her failure to be late or not come to school? Absolutely, senseless.

So what is the answer to these offenses? The trendy new phrase is restorative discipline. While there are a myriad of fancy definitions floating in cyber space, it is simply the proverbial the punishment should fit the “crime” and serve as a teaching tool. Albeit, the perpetrator learns something. For example, kids who spray paint offensive racial slurs and swastikas should not only be financially responsible for cleaning up their mess, but have to spend “x” number of hours viewing actual footage of the Holocaust and write a research paper on it. Dress code violations are simple–put on your gym clothes or turn your shirt inside out. Smoking in the bathroom; research and write a paper on cancer or causes of house fires.

Certainly, there should be consequences for aberrant behavior, but in most cases out-of-school suspension is not the answer.

“I never recommend suspension for students. Why reward poor behavior with time off?”

A Greater Heart

February 25, 2018 / skidaz / Leave a comment

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(This is the last of my series on national heart month.)

Sharen is the owner of my ‘hood bar and grill. She went to school in the ‘hood, raised her family in the ‘hood, and for the last twenty-some years ran a business in the ‘hood. Her working day begins at 4:40 AM and sometimes doesn’t end until well after 10:00 PM. Most of the time, I’m in awe of her energy.

This month she opened her establishment to the high school baseball booster club for a fundraiser. In fact, she hosts three such fundraisers each year: baseball, pom and cheer, and the marching band. She solicits donations from her vendors, discounts the food and gives the organization a share of the bar business. In three hours the baseball boosters raised almost $4,000 to support the team.

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Sharen said, “I’m from the ‘hood and a huge supporter of public education. Occasionally, I do training for wannabe small business owners, where I remind them to be active contributors to their communities.” She paused, “Sometimes I just wish I could give more. I do the best I can.”

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America is jammed with good hearts. Maybe someday we will applaud them with the same enthusiasm we have for an Oscar winner or a MVP.

Where Everyone Knows My Name

September 17, 2017 / skidaz / Leave a comment

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The one thing everybody owns–a name. Mike, Becky, Matt, or Ashley. Whether they own a business, a car, or a house is trivial, when someone doesn’t call them by name. Persona non grata.

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As a teacher, I learned that lesson early in my career. It became more dicey when I taught at the college level, for I had 50+ students each semester. At the first class, I made each student introduce his/herself and noted on the roster some identifying characteristic. By the second class, I was able to call each of them by name. I’d dazzled them, and most of them were stunned. Invariably, each semester one would ask, “Dr. Skidmore, how do you know my name?”

“You know mine, right? Then, I should know yours.”

While I live in a city of over four million people, I’m delighted the grocery store cashiers wear name tags. At the end of my transaction, I thank him/her by name. My favorite waiter is Patrick. The restaurant owner is Michele. Our waitress at Trivia Night is Brie, and her owner/boss is Sharon. Cal runs the best sub shop in my ‘hood. Bar_Bet

Though some folk embrace anonymity, I don’t. I believe human interaction is dying–thanks to social media. When I was in high school and wanted to break up with my boyfriend, I told him face-to-face. When I disagreed with one of my professors, I spouted my objection. I certainly didn’t hide behind “Rate Your Professor” under a phony name.

So indulge me. Refer to folk by their first name–the only thing they own. You’ll be pleasantly surprised to see their reactions.

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I Beg Your Pardon, Mr. President

August 27, 2017August 28, 2017 / skidaz / Leave a comment

The events of the last few weeks have left me thunderstruck. I have zero tolerance for malicious hate. Further, I have zero tolerance for megalomaniacs–folks consumed with wealth,power, and omnipotence. Folks, who don’t play by societal rules, for they are above the law.

I’ve witnessed first hand the ascension of the former Sheriff. Over time, he morphed into a madman, fueled by a large campaign chest and national media attention. He bragged about his inmates wearing pink underwear, eating green bologna, and sleeping in tents in Phoenix summers. Now, anybody who has taken a criminal justice course knows rehabilitation or habilitation is not accomplished through humiliation.

As time went on, he focused on Latinos. His deputies routinely stopped brownish, innocent American citizens. He spent a million investigating President Obama’s birth certificate. He staged an assassination attempt against himself. Clearly, he was hell-bent on furthering his national image. Over and over, he was accused of racial profiling, defiance of the law, and ignoring court orders. He thumbed his nose and proclaimed, “I’m just upholding the law.”

I could cite countless examples of his grandstanding, like the $92 million Maricopa County wasted on his defense in the racial profiling case. Months ago, he was found guilty and awaited sentencing. He asked the President to pardon him. Friday afternoon, it was delivered. He said he and his wife planned to celebrate with spaghetti, calamari, and red wine at their favorite Italian restaurant. “I’m not through with politics; I have a lot to offer.” After 24 years as sheriff and at 85-years-old, that seems preposterous! But I’ve never danced in the spotlight. Some egos must not die until their last breath.

Mr. President, while I find your acceptance of proven, institutional racism unconscionable, I abhor your pardon of a man who failed to investigate hundreds of sex abuse cases, many of which involved children. Guess rape or sexual molestation didn’t feed the world’s toughest sheriff’s megalomania.

Columbus Took A Chance Redux

August 20, 2017 / skidaz / Leave a comment

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Six weeks ago, my blog was titled: Columbus Took a Chance, which concerned my venture to my ‘hood, dive bar. Far outside my comfort zone, but I did it. Many of you encouraged me to go back again for Tuesday Trivia Night. Some of you were gracious enough to express your interest in forming a trivia team.

Finally, folks’ schedules matched, and this week we met as a team. Cheap food, cheap drinks, and no entry fee. Just fun. Our team was comprised of Brittany’s father, Ken; Brittany, and her husband, Matt; my eldest, Annie; and me. Three, thirty somethings and two, well-seasoned adults. Given the beach decor of the bar, Matt and Brittany chose our team name as “Wilson.” I thought they were talking about Wilson sports equipment, but no. It was some character from a beach movie. Clueless Sue.

Thankfully, the disc jockey noted we were new to the game and explained in detail the rules. Three prizes would be awarded: $25, $15, and $5 in bar money. Since there were only four teams that night, we felt confident we would win a prize. Matt commandeered our team, kept our score tally, and pronounced, “We’re in it to win it.” OK, I thought. Doubtful. Whatever.

Unlike the first time I sat on the sidelines during Trivia Night and knew all the answers, I was a veritable, non-contributor. Rap and Country Western music, current movies, and pro sports are not in my brain bank. I was stunned by Ken’s absolute brilliance when he knew the Dallas Cowboys were a $4.3 billion franchise. Annie shone in Country Music, Brittany and Matt knew every movie, TV show, and Rap artist. I just sat, rooted them on, and paid the tab. The least I could do for my overt lack of knowledge.

The disc jockey totaled the scores, “And first place goes to Team Wilson! Twenty-five dollars in bar money.” WTF?

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Matt tossed the bar bucks at me. “See, Sue. I told you we’d win. Brittany and I’ll see you next Tuesday. Team Wilson will buy!”

This is NOT a dive bar. It has immaculate restrooms, nice patrons, and an attentive wait staff. Unfortunately, Annie can’t be there next week. So if you’re a Country Western music expert, take a chance and join Team Wilson! We’re buying….

Bon Vivant…Not

August 15, 2017 / skidaz / Leave a comment

I’ve never been a gourmet cook, perhaps because of my upbringing. Both of my grandmothers were simple, country girls who prepared simple, country meals. Each had their strengths. My maternal, Tennessee, grandmother’s fried chicken and green beans were delicious. My paternal grandmother’s homemade cinnamon rolls, blueberry muffins, and fruit pies were spectacular. Beef, pork, or chicken with various potato dishes were my staple. On rare occasions, fish was served. My mom never mastered the art of anything that tasted like spaghetti sauce, but to this day, her banana cakes light up my palate!

As a mom, I tried to introduce my kids to different foods. As toddlers, they abhorred baby food carrots and peas. Who wouldn’t? For years, my youngest ate only chicken fingers or a hot dog smothered with ketchup. The thought of ingesting a piece of lettuce, a slice of tomato, or a green bean gagged her. In contrast, my eldest was more daring. She loved spaghetti, stuffed peppers, prime rib, and baked potatoes and sour cream. Today, she’s a sushi addict.

However, when we’re together and want to venture out for dinner, we frequent Mexican or Chinese restaurants. I accepted long ago I’d never be able to duplicate their culinary expertise. When we’re in NYC, we eat cheese cake. Yes, we have compiled a list of best to so-so.)

Admittedly, I’ve never prepared veal, lamb, elk, javelins, deer, nor pheasant. Further my thought of preparing brains, liver, or mountain oysters gags me. So you can imagine my reaction to a high-end magazine’s feature story: Welcome to the New World of Eating Insects.

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Dragonflies, ants, grasshoppers, cicada, water bugs, and…freaking scorpions and tarantulas! According to one source, “over 2 billion people regularly rely on one of the 1,900 edible species of insects as a source of protein.” Cricket-flour chips are the new rage. Frankly, I can’t think of anything more revolting than a fly whose just sat on one of my dogs’ poop ending up in a casserole.

And to those of you who’ve been invited to my dinner party next week, the evite read: BYOB. I’m well-stocked with booze. Bring Your Own Bugs!

November Moth (Epirrita dilutata)