It was sundown on the prairie. I placed a hand above my brow and squinted toward the western horizon. The dying rays of the fireball made long shadows accompany the cow pokes strolling down Main Street. I sighed and wiped my hands on my apron for the hundredth time.
Where is that kid the folks call Willie, I wondered aloud. He said that he'd return long before the Harvest Moon peeped over Twobucks Ridge. I'd been watching and waiting for half an hour but there was nary a sign of that man-child. Just as I turned to head back into the saloon, a cloud of dust appeared among the cacti occupying the desert on the outskirts of town.
Then, I heard ole One-Boot Kevin yell at the top of his lungs, "He's coming! The Kid is back!"
The sheriff fired his pistol into the air six times. It could have been a warning but then again; maybe he was just excited about his new gun. Either way, folks grabbed their younguns and headed indoors in a hurry. I, too, deserted the dusty road. Not that I was afraid of Willie, but that half-blind horse of his was a bit unpredictable.
I was behind the bar fixing a sarsaparilla when The Kid strolled through the flapping doors. He paused, and looked around the room. The piano grew quiet and everyone froze. In the corner, the drifter known as Nobody, let out an eerie whistle and retreated beneath his pancho like a turtle in a stampede. Somebody Jones laughed but he hasn't been right since that horse kicked him in the ear last year. The rest of us kept our eyes on The Kid.
The kid looked at me and tipped his hat. Then he blinked his right eye three times and said, "Evening, Ma."
"Evening, Kid," I replied. "I'll have your supper right out."
He made his way to the back of the room and sat down at the table with his brother, Sillie. Sillie grunted but didn't speak.
Safe for now, everyone resumed their conversations and card games. The piano man played a happy tune. A breeze came through the door bringing the odor of horse flesh and cow patties. All was well.
I came out of the kitchen carrying two plates. I placed one in front of The Kid and one in front of Sillie. They bowed their heads briefly and then Sillie picked up his fork.
"Wait!" shouted The Kid.
Once again, everyone froze.
The Kid reached for his holster and we gasped in unison. I started trembling as he slowly withdrew his - ruler. He measured Sillie's piece of Texas toast and then he measured his own toast. Mercifully, they were the same dimensions. Then he pulled out a meat scale from his boot and weighed the wieners. All was equal. But then, he began to count the beans.
"No, son, don't do it," I pleaded. "You're just gonna make yourself upset. I promise you, it's all evenly distributed. Besides, all those beans together don't amount to a hill. Please, Kid, just eat. Why torture yourself like this?"
"It's the principle of the thing, Mama," he said. "You say that you love us the same but you always give my brother a little more food than me. He gets the biggest cookie. He gets a larger slice of cake. Last week, he had half an ounce more water than me in his bubble bath."
"But Kid, he's two years older than you and sixty pounds heavier! Come on Kid, you're not a bean counter. Stop the madness. You know that I love you boy."
But the Kid just kept counting those beans. In the corner, some ranch hands were placing bets on the outcome of our family feud. I couldn't stand by and see my family torn apart over something so trivial.
Finally, in desperation, I said, "Kid, if you love me. You'll stop this nonsense and eat your supper."
The Kid put down his magnifying glass and glared at his brother. Then he picked up his fork and started to eat those cold beans.
I looked up and thanked my lucky stars. We'd survived another close one on the range.
Copyright 2009 Monica F. Anderson. All rights reserved.
www.drmoeanderson.com
Showing posts with label inspirational. Show all posts
Showing posts with label inspirational. Show all posts
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Pass The Praise
Most people are not very good at taking compliments. We like to get them, no doubt, but, then, we don’t know what to do. The appropriate response is a simple, “Thank you. That’s very kind of you to say.” Instead, we make statements like, “This old thing? I’ve had this dress forever,” or “Nah, it’s not a big deal. I always make banana bread from scratch at four in the morning.”
Why do we do this? Why do we minimize praise?
On the other hand, we often fall short in the compliment-giving area. There is nothing wrong with praising someone for doing a good job. We need to compliment each other a whole lot more than we do. If your co-worker has a nice new haircut, tell her. If your son took the time to iron his wrinkled shirt, tell him he looks nice even if he only ironed the cuffs and the collar. Maybe he’ll iron the entire shirt next time. Again, it’s important to understand the effect of praise. Research has proven that praise, as opposed to criticism, leads to more of the positive behavior.
I’m on this tip because I was a weather-proofer for most of my life. When you weather proof a home, you go through it looking for every thing that’s wrong. You find windows that don’t seal properly. You check to ensure there’s enough insulation in the attic. You look for light seeping through cracks around the entry doors; an indication you need to add weather stripping. You pore over every square foot to see where you’re losing energy.
In my advancing age, LOL, I’ve learned it’s just as important to look at the good things in my home. It’s beneficial to my mind and spirit to notice what is working properly. This applies to homes…and relationships.
We need to seek balance between the praise we give our loved ones and the criticism we hurl at them. We need to spend much more time talking about what’s working properly in our relationships.
I’ve come to believe that people are like my sports watch. It’s inexpensive and the design is simple. However, it’s much more complicated than it appears. Whenever, I travel outside my time zone, I try to change the time on the face of the watch. Invariably, I forget the peculiar combination of buttons I must push to change the time. I get mad at the watch and yell at it. I tell the watch it’s wrong and I’m going to replace it. Sometimes, I hit the watch.
It doesn’t change.
In order to get the watch to change on the outside, I must change the inside. I can’t do that by randomly pushing buttons. I have to push the right buttons, in the right order. Once, I get into the “heart” of the watch, I change the “behavior” of the watch. In other words, it responds favorably to my wishes.
I react the same way and I suspect you do, too. If someone says the right thing in the right way to me, I’m willing to help them. I want to help them. Yelling or hitting me doesn’t make me want to do anything but leave.
Perhaps this works for everyone. Maybe if we show each other more appreciation, we’ll get along better. I’m willing to try. Are you?
© 2009 Monica F. Anderson. All Rights Reserved
Why do we do this? Why do we minimize praise?
On the other hand, we often fall short in the compliment-giving area. There is nothing wrong with praising someone for doing a good job. We need to compliment each other a whole lot more than we do. If your co-worker has a nice new haircut, tell her. If your son took the time to iron his wrinkled shirt, tell him he looks nice even if he only ironed the cuffs and the collar. Maybe he’ll iron the entire shirt next time. Again, it’s important to understand the effect of praise. Research has proven that praise, as opposed to criticism, leads to more of the positive behavior.
I’m on this tip because I was a weather-proofer for most of my life. When you weather proof a home, you go through it looking for every thing that’s wrong. You find windows that don’t seal properly. You check to ensure there’s enough insulation in the attic. You look for light seeping through cracks around the entry doors; an indication you need to add weather stripping. You pore over every square foot to see where you’re losing energy.
In my advancing age, LOL, I’ve learned it’s just as important to look at the good things in my home. It’s beneficial to my mind and spirit to notice what is working properly. This applies to homes…and relationships.
We need to seek balance between the praise we give our loved ones and the criticism we hurl at them. We need to spend much more time talking about what’s working properly in our relationships.
I’ve come to believe that people are like my sports watch. It’s inexpensive and the design is simple. However, it’s much more complicated than it appears. Whenever, I travel outside my time zone, I try to change the time on the face of the watch. Invariably, I forget the peculiar combination of buttons I must push to change the time. I get mad at the watch and yell at it. I tell the watch it’s wrong and I’m going to replace it. Sometimes, I hit the watch.
It doesn’t change.
In order to get the watch to change on the outside, I must change the inside. I can’t do that by randomly pushing buttons. I have to push the right buttons, in the right order. Once, I get into the “heart” of the watch, I change the “behavior” of the watch. In other words, it responds favorably to my wishes.
I react the same way and I suspect you do, too. If someone says the right thing in the right way to me, I’m willing to help them. I want to help them. Yelling or hitting me doesn’t make me want to do anything but leave.
Perhaps this works for everyone. Maybe if we show each other more appreciation, we’ll get along better. I’m willing to try. Are you?
© 2009 Monica F. Anderson. All Rights Reserved
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Texting My Way to Heaven
It's getting harder and harder to get into heaven. The Ten Commandments and Great Commission don't ask that much of us. The police and Congress have way more rules governing behavior. I'm not implying it's not challenging to obey the laws of God and man. I'm just saying we should be able to get through an ordinary day without choking an annoying neighbor or parking illegally. Of course, I moved recently so I don't know my neighbors in the biblical sense and I don't work downtown where parking is at a premium. Nevertheless, as the daughter of a Babtist preacher and retired football coach, I have confessed my sins, excepted Jesus as my Savior, and stopped betting on the outcome of the Super Bowl. Good stuff, right? Well, apparently, not good enough.
Today, I got a text that read, "If you love Jesus and you're glad he woke you up today, forward this email to ten people and you will receive a blessing. Act in the next sixty seconds or something bad will happen to your family."
When did this happen? Was there an amendment to the Bible to bring it up to date? I thought it was timeless. I don't recall reading anything about forwarding text to prove my love for Jesus. Geez. Like I don't have enough to do and not do. Now, I gotta forward text and emails to get a blessing. If I don't act quickly, something might happen to my peeps. If I do send ten text, I'll lose ten friends and deplete my remaining text for the month. Since it's an electronic omen, will my peeps iPods malfunction or will their cell phones stop working? I'm busy. I don't have time to scroll through my contacts to find ten people who won't curse me with a plague for sending them this text. I know! I'll send it back to the person who sent it to me ten times.
Hopefully, they'll get mad and stop texting me. I'd consider that a blessing indeed. LOL.
P.S. If this blog made you laugh, forward it to ten friends in the next sixty seconds.
Copyright 2008 Monica F. Anderson
www.drmoeanderson.com
Today, I got a text that read, "If you love Jesus and you're glad he woke you up today, forward this email to ten people and you will receive a blessing. Act in the next sixty seconds or something bad will happen to your family."
When did this happen? Was there an amendment to the Bible to bring it up to date? I thought it was timeless. I don't recall reading anything about forwarding text to prove my love for Jesus. Geez. Like I don't have enough to do and not do. Now, I gotta forward text and emails to get a blessing. If I don't act quickly, something might happen to my peeps. If I do send ten text, I'll lose ten friends and deplete my remaining text for the month. Since it's an electronic omen, will my peeps iPods malfunction or will their cell phones stop working? I'm busy. I don't have time to scroll through my contacts to find ten people who won't curse me with a plague for sending them this text. I know! I'll send it back to the person who sent it to me ten times.
Hopefully, they'll get mad and stop texting me. I'd consider that a blessing indeed. LOL.
P.S. If this blog made you laugh, forward it to ten friends in the next sixty seconds.
Copyright 2008 Monica F. Anderson
www.drmoeanderson.com
Monday, August 06, 2007
Cookie Monsters
I'm very angry and I don't get angry often. Well, not very often. I get upset, disgruntled, peeved, and agitated. Those are silent, seething, I-don't-want-to-get-punched-by-someone-angrier-and-larger-than-I emotions.
I'm angry because I was at Sam's this evening purchasing large quantities of paper products and eating my dinner. I had a sample of crackers for my grain group. I had a single cherry for my fruit group. One really nice employee gave me not one but two souffle cups of tilapia. Oooh. I think they'd sell more of that stuff if you actually got enough of the sample to taste the food. Like "Taste of Sam's." Anyway, it was time for dessert. I deserve a dessert. I work hard. All I wanted from that huge warehouse of canned goods was toilet tissue and a frickin' cookie.
I look forward to that cookie for the entire week! They have free cookies in the bakery and I feel no qualms about grabbing one at the end of my shopping/eating spree. I pay an annual fee for the privilege. I drive miles and flash my Sam's card with the hideous picture on it. (My hair was awful that day.) I walk on cold, concrete floors in harsh lighting for the right to eat those free cookies.
So, I was in line behind three people. There were four cookies left in the container. Four BIG cookies. The two little kids with the dirtiest hands I've ever seen, shuffled the cookies and selected one each. Normally, I'm a germ freak but I'm not aware of any outbreaks of E. Coli being traced back to cookies. Dessert does not kill. Not directly anyway. The guy in front of me was so excited his hand shook as he slowly reached into the cookie thing and took--yes the last two cookies! What the heck? I was practically standing on the heel of his shoes, breathing down his neck. I know he saw me. I was furious. I swear if he wasn't like 90-years-old, I would have lost it.
I opened my mouth to protest when the bakery lady came running over with more cookies. The greedy dude acted as if he were going to take more. How many cookies does a 100-lb man need? I love the elderly. I'm about to be one of them, but dang. It occurred to me that he might be on a fixed income and he needed the cookies. Then, I looked in his cart. He had steaks--several steaks. I had one five-buck rotisserie chicken for the week. Hmph. I reached over him and grabbed four cookies.
Now, I'm angry because my stomach hurts. What possessed me to eat four cookies on an empty stomach?
I'm angry because I was at Sam's this evening purchasing large quantities of paper products and eating my dinner. I had a sample of crackers for my grain group. I had a single cherry for my fruit group. One really nice employee gave me not one but two souffle cups of tilapia. Oooh. I think they'd sell more of that stuff if you actually got enough of the sample to taste the food. Like "Taste of Sam's." Anyway, it was time for dessert. I deserve a dessert. I work hard. All I wanted from that huge warehouse of canned goods was toilet tissue and a frickin' cookie.
I look forward to that cookie for the entire week! They have free cookies in the bakery and I feel no qualms about grabbing one at the end of my shopping/eating spree. I pay an annual fee for the privilege. I drive miles and flash my Sam's card with the hideous picture on it. (My hair was awful that day.) I walk on cold, concrete floors in harsh lighting for the right to eat those free cookies.
So, I was in line behind three people. There were four cookies left in the container. Four BIG cookies. The two little kids with the dirtiest hands I've ever seen, shuffled the cookies and selected one each. Normally, I'm a germ freak but I'm not aware of any outbreaks of E. Coli being traced back to cookies. Dessert does not kill. Not directly anyway. The guy in front of me was so excited his hand shook as he slowly reached into the cookie thing and took--yes the last two cookies! What the heck? I was practically standing on the heel of his shoes, breathing down his neck. I know he saw me. I was furious. I swear if he wasn't like 90-years-old, I would have lost it.
I opened my mouth to protest when the bakery lady came running over with more cookies. The greedy dude acted as if he were going to take more. How many cookies does a 100-lb man need? I love the elderly. I'm about to be one of them, but dang. It occurred to me that he might be on a fixed income and he needed the cookies. Then, I looked in his cart. He had steaks--several steaks. I had one five-buck rotisserie chicken for the week. Hmph. I reached over him and grabbed four cookies.
Now, I'm angry because my stomach hurts. What possessed me to eat four cookies on an empty stomach?
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Begging For Ketchup
Okay. The bad weather during the growing season effected produce. Fruit and vegetables are more expensive and, in my opinion, not as flavorful. I don't like spinach, but it looks less tasty. Cause and effect. Supply and demand. Ben and Jerry. Got it. Why is it called produce anyway? Lettuce doesn't "produce" anything. Mine sits in the refrigerator missing spinach and waiting for me to make a salad. I hate cooking. It's boring. Of course, I may be doing it wrong. That's happened before. I'd be happy to observe you cooking anytime. That's the best way to learn.
Anyway, I can live with bland apples; America, we have a more pressing issue! Can anyone tell me the origin of the current condiment crisis? What in heck happened to the salt and pepper supply? Do we need to drill for ketchup? It's pandemic. (I never get to use that word. I don't even know what it means.)
Real Conversation:A garbled voice greets me through a weathered speaker.
"Hello, welcome to Burgerama. May I take your order?"
"Yes,I'd like a double cheeseburger, large fry, and a diet Pepsi. Oh, and a slice of chocolate pie. Hmmm, make that diet Pepsi a water instead."
"Okay, you want a chicken sandwich, onion rings, and lemonade."
"No, I said a double cheeseburger, large fry, chocolate pie, and cup of water."
There's a pause, static, then, "Okay. Your total is $19.95. Please drive to the second window."
I pull forward while digging 80 quarters from my ashtray. I sit at the window for 20 minutes while the employees giggle and do a very raunchy version of the Electric Slide by the shake machine. I pay the drive-through lady. She frowns at the coins, but seems comforted by the knowledge that I'm probably not an exotic dancer. While she slowly counts five pennies over and over, I examine my order. To my surprise, it's correct. The fries are cold but I console myself with the fact I wasn't given onion rings like last time.
"Ma'am, may I have some ketchup and salt and pepper?" I ask as she throws my change on the ground, missing my hand by two feet.
She frowns again and asks, "Are you going home?"
"Yes."
"Don't you have salt and pepper?"
"I do but it doesn't cost $40.00 per pound like this hamburger. I paid for minerals and liquid tomatoes. I want my salt, pepper, and ketchup."
"Fine. Here's one package of salt and one package of pepper. How many packets of ketchup do you want?"
"I have seven fries. I want seven packets of ketchup."
Burger lady trembles and whispers, "That's too many. I'll get fired if I give you more than two."
"Okay. Give me two ketchup, a napkin, and a straw."
"Straws are a dime each. I need a manager's approval for napkins. Will you pull forward? I'll send him to your car and you can ask him."
America. Stock up now. Soon, we'll be rationing relish.
Copyright 2007 Monica Frazier Anderson
www.drmoeanderson.com
www.myspace.com/wwwdrmoecom
Anyway, I can live with bland apples; America, we have a more pressing issue! Can anyone tell me the origin of the current condiment crisis? What in heck happened to the salt and pepper supply? Do we need to drill for ketchup? It's pandemic. (I never get to use that word. I don't even know what it means.)
Real Conversation:A garbled voice greets me through a weathered speaker.
"Hello, welcome to Burgerama. May I take your order?"
"Yes,I'd like a double cheeseburger, large fry, and a diet Pepsi. Oh, and a slice of chocolate pie. Hmmm, make that diet Pepsi a water instead."
"Okay, you want a chicken sandwich, onion rings, and lemonade."
"No, I said a double cheeseburger, large fry, chocolate pie, and cup of water."
There's a pause, static, then, "Okay. Your total is $19.95. Please drive to the second window."
I pull forward while digging 80 quarters from my ashtray. I sit at the window for 20 minutes while the employees giggle and do a very raunchy version of the Electric Slide by the shake machine. I pay the drive-through lady. She frowns at the coins, but seems comforted by the knowledge that I'm probably not an exotic dancer. While she slowly counts five pennies over and over, I examine my order. To my surprise, it's correct. The fries are cold but I console myself with the fact I wasn't given onion rings like last time.
"Ma'am, may I have some ketchup and salt and pepper?" I ask as she throws my change on the ground, missing my hand by two feet.
She frowns again and asks, "Are you going home?"
"Yes."
"Don't you have salt and pepper?"
"I do but it doesn't cost $40.00 per pound like this hamburger. I paid for minerals and liquid tomatoes. I want my salt, pepper, and ketchup."
"Fine. Here's one package of salt and one package of pepper. How many packets of ketchup do you want?"
"I have seven fries. I want seven packets of ketchup."
Burger lady trembles and whispers, "That's too many. I'll get fired if I give you more than two."
"Okay. Give me two ketchup, a napkin, and a straw."
"Straws are a dime each. I need a manager's approval for napkins. Will you pull forward? I'll send him to your car and you can ask him."
America. Stock up now. Soon, we'll be rationing relish.
Copyright 2007 Monica Frazier Anderson
www.drmoeanderson.com
www.myspace.com/wwwdrmoecom
Monday, May 28, 2007
How To Properly Pat His Behind
See, I have always envied athletes their freedom of expression. Where else but on a field of sport can you intentionally swat a well-toned rear end as a form of congratulations? Imagine the president of a university doing that as the valedictorian receives her diploma. Harassment right? In fact, I don't know anyone anywhere who can pull this off in public except athletes. I've studied their technique. It's fairly simple. The fingers must be fully extended, not curled. That's groping. Contact must be brief and to the right or left of the mid line. Also, the ideal spot is around the height of the convexity. Above or below and you risk being labeled a pervert. Finally, you have to say something profound like, "A'ight, baby." (Yeah, the men pat a friend's butt and call him "baby." Go figure. We really need more of this at home for good dish washing.) Oh, don't say something lame like, "Excellent work. I'm so proud of you." That's about it except don't linger afterwards. Trot away and don't look back.
I don't think it's fair that everyone can't share in this delightful pastime. So I decided to try it with this extremely cute guy at the grocery store. He successfully selected two vine ripened tomatoes and placed them in his shopping cart. From the expression on his face, I could see he was quite pleased with this accomplishment. There was no one to share his joy. I'm compassionate. I walked by, slapped his rear end, and said, "Good job."
Thankfully, security let me pay for my yogurt and Oreos before they escorted me to my car. The guy didn't complain--his wife did. She should make him wear a ring. He wasn't marked. He made eye contact. How was I to know?
I switched tactics. Instead of patting, I tried jumping into the air, chest first, to greet my neighbor. I've seen WNBA players do this. Warning: this only works if the other person jumps also. Thankfully, the police let me off with a psychiatric evaluation and a restraining order. Hmmm. Guess I need to take up a sport besides golf. I'm not even going to tell you what happened on the ninth hole yesterday.
I don't think it's fair that everyone can't share in this delightful pastime. So I decided to try it with this extremely cute guy at the grocery store. He successfully selected two vine ripened tomatoes and placed them in his shopping cart. From the expression on his face, I could see he was quite pleased with this accomplishment. There was no one to share his joy. I'm compassionate. I walked by, slapped his rear end, and said, "Good job."
Thankfully, security let me pay for my yogurt and Oreos before they escorted me to my car. The guy didn't complain--his wife did. She should make him wear a ring. He wasn't marked. He made eye contact. How was I to know?
I switched tactics. Instead of patting, I tried jumping into the air, chest first, to greet my neighbor. I've seen WNBA players do this. Warning: this only works if the other person jumps also. Thankfully, the police let me off with a psychiatric evaluation and a restraining order. Hmmm. Guess I need to take up a sport besides golf. I'm not even going to tell you what happened on the ninth hole yesterday.
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