"I WOVE ANTS! I WANT TO PWAY WIFF HIM"

"I wreally wove ants."

"I wove ants, ants, ants."

Chuckle, that's what she said.  My little granddaughter, she's only 3, stands about this tall, barely able to reach a door handle.  She saw a carpenter ant scurrying around on our picnic table, first thing she did was let out a squeal.

"I want to pway wiff him!"

'Cause she's so short, she has to stand on the picnic table's bench, and lee-ee-ean over the edge of the table to try to catch this little black bug.

I'd put a small dish of jelly on the table to attract Baltimore Orioles.  It was a suggestion I'd heard earlier in the week and was willing to try it.  Of course, it attracted the wildlife!

Ants!  

Ne'er was there a bird in sight.  Just ... ants!

Lil' Alayna's hand reached out to catch a running ant.  He'd run anywhere and everywhere but never to her, right?

So, I picked up an itty bitty twig and said, "Here, Alayna, block him with this."

Poor sad child, she didn't know how to block.  She poked instead.  And he ran!  For his dear life.

 

"I want another ant.  Him is gone."

Using a piece of paper I'd folded into a box we were able to scoop one into it.

"I twapped 'im," she said.  "I caught you, ant, so you don't fall."

Just as fast as ants are, this one scurried between the folds of the box and disappeared.   

And aren't the young so truthful?  Cause she admitted to me,

"Now I am sad, saddy, sad, sad," she said.  And I chuckled at her choice of words.

"I want another ant."

"Him is gone.  I find 'im."  She looks all over, under the whirlygigs from the maple tree, and along my ink pen resting there.

"There you are.  Come on ant," she held out one hand and blocked with the other.

She turned her face up to me, and said,  "I want him on my hand."

I gathered one up.  I shook it into her hand.  She shivered, but kept him cupped.

"That tickles.  Him tickle me."  Her giggles are so sweet.

"Look at me I am balancing the ant," and she lets the ant trickle from her left hand into her right.

I didn't make that up, she did use the word balancing.

That black ant scrambled to safety.  HE DROPPED to the table.   

Lil' Alayna looked at the dish where ants were coming back to take a taste, "Is that ant foo ood?"  Food is two syllables, right?

"Yes, Alayna, here...."  I said and I held out my hand for her to return it, "Give me a second, I'll crease these corners a little tighter on this box, that way the next ant can't escape."

She studied the palm size box, "GrammyPam can you make a woof!"  I laughed, cause at first I thought she was talking about the neighbor's dogs barking.

I said, "Oh, Alayna, I'm not very good at making woof sounds."  And then, slow me, "Ding!"  I got it.  "Oh, you mean a roof!  A roof for this little box." (Gotta compensate for that language barrier, LOL)

On the table was a dime sized little puddle leftover from this mornings rain.  She pointed to it.

"This is a swimming pool," she said.  I looked to see what she was talking about.

So, I had to ask her, "A swimming pool for what, Alayna?" 

"For the ant!  The swimming pool is him home."

All on her own, she finished this little circus act.  I knew she'd had enough, 'cause this little drama queen granddaughter of mine said,

"GrammyPam.  I'm thirsty.  So.  So.  So thirr-sty."

She jumped off that picnic table like a black ant on a mission.

Then she half turned, gave one last look, "I can't find an ant!"  

She stomped her foot and said, "Ah - GAIN!"

THE GARAGE SALE CUSTOMER

"I got married at 16, yah."  The garage sale customer was lively;  he was lively in action, and lively talking.  His big voice filled the garage.

"Quit school at 15 and a half."

"And I ain't had a drink in 33 years."  He looked at me to see if I was impressed.

About this man that was talking, mom would say, "He wasn't anything to look at",  just a country gent, medium height, medium brown hair, around 67 years old.  How did I know his age?  Well, in a round about way, he told us.

This stranger came into my garage sale after browsing the flea market that's a mile up the road.  Our sales enjoy the spill-over traffic.  When customers get done shopping there, they come here.  

All kinds come, young t-shirted girls with food spattered kids, grandmas with their sisters (both grandmas), truckload of 3 or 4 men "just browsing", or collectors "came to see whatcha got".  The hispanics "Si, you take two?" and the Asian, "My name Singh."

Well, this country bumpkin didn't give his name, but all of us that were within ear shot learned everything pertinent there was to know about him.

"I was married to her for 18 years.  'Til she ran off with another man.  Broke my heart."

I sympathized, "Sorry to hear that."

"I ain't forgiv'n her," he went around the table of sockets for sale.  "She's sick.  My daughter said, 'Go see her, she might ask you to forgive her.'  I ain't forgiving her.  She broke my heart."

"I been married now for 33 years.  Before she became my wife said she'd had enough alcoholics, she had an alcoholic dad, and she wasn't marrying one."

"I quit drinking."  He shrugged his shoulders with a so-be-it attitude.

"That was easy.  I quit drinking."

"It's been 33 years and I ain't had a drink."   

He looked at the tall young man that had just exited his Honda Accord to come in to shop, and offered advice,  "I'm all for getting married, young man.  There ain't nothing wrong with marriage."

"You get married young man," and he nodded his head.

The tall young man in white casual shirt answered, "I'm just listening," and he grinned.

A third gentleman, rotund, friendly, smiling, enters the garage sale, then chuckled,  "I've been married 3 times.  I must like it."  

By now, this country fellow's at the next table with kitchenware checking out the prices on the Corning casserole dishes "Well, you ain't seen a man buying dishes before, I bet.  I do the cooking.  My wife can't cook.  I can cook.  She can burn an egg!  Shoot, she can burn a hamburger.  Ever see anybody burn a hamburger?  She can burn a hamburger!"  

These three men pay for their purchases and all amble off to their various vehicles.

I turned to my husband, laughing, re-telling the customer's story.  Hubby responded, "That's a good one, too.  But, I ain't never heard one like the one about my boss's friend.  She made a tuna salad sandwich.  We don't know how she did it, but....she burnt the lettuce!"

"I'LL GET YOU SOME MUSIC!"

My darling hubby has this unique-to-us ability to identify any snippet of a song you might sing to him, be it the chorus or some random line in a verse.  Either way, he's tops in my book!  

He will also name the original artist and the time frame in which it was recorded.  He might even tell you other songs attributed to the same artist.  

I'm spoiled.  I can't remember the complete words to any song much less who sang it, I just turn to him.

He's been working hard lately holding down a part time job, not playing for us songs that strike his fancy.  Used to he'd go to the Noblesville public library and bring home stacks of CD's to play on his stereo.  The boys and I would get a plethora of genre's, our own famous singers performing right in our living room complete with trivia ad libs.

This morning he's not due in to work until later so I poke in my own CD.  It's various songs by one single singer.  

I'm singing along having a good ol' time making toast.  He's making his breakfast of eggs when he begins to make unhappy noises.

"Where'd you get this clown?" he asked.

Max Graves is singing Little Green Apples.  It should be Roger Miller.

"NOOOOOooooooooo!"

Max Graves is singing Hello Dolly.  It should be Louis Armstrong.

Darling hubby, pulls out a fake gun and shoots my CD player!  Now, I'm belly laughing.

Max Graves is singing Those Were the Days.  It should be Mary Hopkin.

DH bangs his head on the stove hood!  "Thud, thud, thud!"

That's it, he can't stand it.  He heads to the computer.  Youtube is invoked.  Youtube triumphs.  He vehemently declares,  "You ruined my morning.  I'll get you some MUSIC!"

As his eggs burn, and I'm watching "the show" and laughing hard, I shut down his burner, then open windows to let out the smell.

I can just see him over there "dancing by the record machine".  

From the family room speakers, I hear Joan Jett singing.   "Put another dime in the jukebox baby, I love rock and roll."

Ventriloquism For Dummies

Ventriloquism For Dummies

"Throw your voice!" 

Aliza, The Ventriloquist's Doll, came nestled in a box labeled with attention grabbers,  "Throw your voice!"  "Put on a show!"  "Wiggle your fingers!"

In smaller print across the bottom, "Hand not included",  "Swazzle enclosed."

Swazzle?  

Is that a kazoo?

The ventriloquist took out the swazzle, a mouth piece, and gave it a try. 

"Schew, schew," it sounded like a toddler blowing "who" with spittle!

Still thrilled, The V, the ventriloquist, removed the doll, stroked her hair, smoothed her dress, and instantly threw her back out!  

Then ... Aliza spoke!

"It's difficult to get a good night's sleep around here."  the doll said.

"Chucky hogs the bed?" asked The V, the ventriloquist.

"It's fear."

"Is Chucky out to get you?"

"All night long, I'm Aliza on the edge!"

"I wanna be the dummy that talks." she continued.

"You want to go on the road, put on a show?" asks The V.

"Yes, you're holding me back!"

"I threw your back out.  I'm not holding you back!"

"Yes, you are.  I can feel it!"

"When Aliza down, it stands up."  she said.

"When you lie down WHAT stands up?" asked The V.

"It.  And when I stand up, it lies down."

"What stands up when you lie down?"

She bent to look down, "My feet.  MY FEET!"

"All right, all right, Aliza, relax.  You're fine."  said The V.

"Aliza wake at night," the doll complained.

"I know.  I hear Chucky has you on pins and needles."

"Not Chucky, it's my doctor, he's into acupuncture."

Then the dummy doll talked about being put to rest.

 "Aliza-mongst the best of them.  And the worst," 

"Who's the best?" asked The V.

"Oh, there's Charlie Horse,  Punch & Judy, Peanut, Walter."

"Who's the worst?" 

"Lamb Chop and Akmed.  He's a terrorist, you know."

"What's so scary about Lamb Chop?

She shivered and trembled, 

"Lamb CHOP sounds like Miss Piggy butchering supper,  "Hiiiiii....Ya!"

"Hey, mister V, if I held out my hand, would you bring it to your lips?'  she asked.

"Is this going somewhere?" asked The V.

"I want to know what it feels like to be treated like a real live woman, not a fir with a fungus."

"I'll have to think about it." 

"Kiss my spruce!" 

"Is that true?  Do you really want me to kiss your spruce," asked The V.

"No, not really, Aliz-again!"

"Say good-night, Aliza."  said The V.

The dummy replied, "Good night, Aliza!"