A veggie tale...

Sunday, is a working day for us working folk.


Housecleaning, laundry, cooking, and of course the dreaded grocery shopping.

My God, I hate to grocery shop.

Especially since I've decided that we aren't eating healthy enough around here and I know what that entails.

A closer inspection of every darn thing that goes into my cart.

A closer examination of all the crap I usually feed my loved ones.

Hauling around extra healthy bottled water and a heart filled with guilt makes the trip even worse.

It's sooooo much easier to just throw in a bag of cookies, a couple of boxes of mac and cheese and call it a day.

Anyway, I was feeling out an avacado when I heard someone say something to me.

I looked up and in front of me was a young man who I recognized, but couldn't place.

A friend of Sweet Prince Buttercup's??? Bears??? Someone Googie knew?

"How are you Beth?" he asked me.

Who who who who who the heck are you? I thought.

And where do I know you from?

"I've been doing fine" I said. "how bout you?"

When he began to talk more I suddenly remembered who he was.

A kid from my program.

But wait...something had happened.

This was the face, the voice, the smile I remembered.

But gone was the dingy raggedly cut long black hair.

Gone were the seven (or more) rings that used to hang off his ears.

The stainless steel bolts that pierced his eyebrows, with skin and hair and perpetual redness around them...GONE.

Gone was the thick black ring that he wore in his lip.

He used to twirl it when he got into trouble.

It made my stomach hurt to see it go round and round.

He was always in a lot of trouble.

Gone were the angry chains and spikes that he used to wear around his wrists and neck.

And in a funny twist, gone were the grungy black shorts that he wore all winter, instead in this muggy August heat he wore a pair of light colored jeans.

And an American Eagle tee.

And his hair...my God, you should have seen his hair.

Light brown and cut in the most current "handsome young guy" look.

"Still on probation?" I asked.

He'd been taken out of our program when it was determined that he was not going to cooperate. He was not going to behave. He was not going to stop endangering himself and others.

He was the only kid our visiting chef ever almost laid his hands on.

He caught him eating raw stewing beef off the end of one of our butcher knives and chef came unglued.

He backed him against a wall and yelled like I've never heard him yell.


Jared was good for that kind of stuff.

The shock value of any action was his motivation.

The more outlandish, the more outrageous, the more he liked doing it.

To the other youth he was a Day Treatment hero.

To the staff, he was a mighty thorn in our sides.

A 6'4" inch thorn.

"Yeah, still on probation" he said "for another six months."

Obviously "placement" had been good for him.

"I'm on non reporting" he said.

I asked him about what his court order said and what the judge had him doing.

"Working and eventually going to college" he said.

Awesome, I thought to myself.

We talked for a couple more minutes and then I swear I wanted to reach up and give him a big hug...I was soooo proud of the new and obviously improved him.

Instead I offered a closed fist.

Which he bumped with his own.

"Take care kid" I said "and stop by school when you're in the area. I know the other staff would love to see this transformation you've had."

"We love to see our kids all grown up."

"I will Beth" he said "see ya around."

I don't remember much about the rest of my mundane Sunday grocery shopping.

I do remember catching people looking at me.

Probably wondering why this crazy fool woman was skipping around the fruits and vegetables.

Whistling and giggling.

And shaking her head.

Witnessing a miracle will do that kind of stuff to ya.

EDITED TO ADD....Don't anyone go getting their bloomers in a bunch..I have nothing against long black hair, spikes, piercings, tattoos, grungy clothing, etc etc etc, honestly, I don't...I do have something against angry, self destructing teens who make the world an unsafe place for themselves and others.


I try never judge a book by its cover.

Bear goes to Boston......

"Can I go to Boston?" read the text I received yesterday at 2:45 pm in the middle of my Culinary Arts Class.

Wow, I hoped thought, wrong number.

I once before got a wrong number text.

(Googie told me not to respond, that people screw around with people like that.)

Then my work phone rang.

"Did you get my text?" Bear (my just turned 19 yr old son) asked.

"You want to go to Boston?" I asked

"Boston, as in the state Boston? (my very intelligent co-workers glanced at me kind of funny when I said that..forcing me to clarify..)

"I mean, as in Massachusetts.... You want to go to Boston, Massachusetts????"

Have you been sniffing glue?

"Seriously....you want to go to Boston?"

He gave me the details and I told him I'd call his dad and call him right back.

"He never asked to go on any Girls Gone Totally Wild sex/tattoo/multiple body piercing a thon Spring Break trip" I reminded Daddio.

"And he's never been in one bit of trouble"

What the hell was I doing here??? I was talking Daddio into agreeing to let Bear leave the country.

Fly to the moon.

Be swallowed up by a tesseract...a sort of "wrinkle in time" in space and time, a fifth dimension.

"I will need every one of their full names (including any alias's), phone numbers, addresses, MySpace, Facebook and any YouTube account info" I told Bear about his travel companions.

"I want parent's names too"... (a quick credit check couldn't hurt).

When everyone checked out okay and Bear got the go ahead it was a mad dash to get packed, secure some flow (that will probably be stolen when he is robbed and raped in some filthy germ infested rest stop along the way) and do all the things one does when leaving out of town.

"We don't have a small tube of toothpaste MOMMMMMMMMMMMM" Bear screamed into the phone, it was the 27th call he made to me at work, in the 45 minutes he had to get ready to leave.

This trip on the fly was starting to grate on my nerves.

"I don't know if I want to go" Bear said on call number 29.

And again with call number 32.

"FLIP A FREAKIN ASS COIN AND DO WHATEVER THE FRICK IT TELLS YOU TO DO OKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKAY?" I yelled, when he called again to tell me he wasn't sure.

A second later when a screwdriver stabbed me in the heart (be nice to him you idiot, if you let him go and God forbid something happens.....) I got control of myself....

"Sweeeetheart" I purred "this is an adventure. You are going to have a blast. Make a decision, figure that there are going to be pros and cons, just like every other decision you are ever gonna make. Once you make a decision you will feel better. Just make one, make up your mind and go with whatever it is that you decide. Have some confidence in yourself. GO or DON'T GO, decide. Now, are you going to Boston or not?"

"I don't know" Bear said "should I?"

For cryinoutloud ........

OF COURSE YOU SHOULD NOT GO....an accident could happen, you guys could get so lost that you'd never make it back.

Boston is far kid, really really far.

(One step closer out the door you go.)

I'll miss you Bear, be safe and hurry home.

And don't forget, hide your money in your sock....

(I will age 20 years this weekend...... guaranteed)

Bark at the moon.....

I knew it, I just knew Daddio was wrong when he answered "No" to my question "is the moon full?" a week or so ago.

People act weird when the moon is full, myself included.

I drift into other lanes on the highway.

I forget words.

Except four letter ones.

Which I spit outta my mouth like discarded sunflower seed husks.

And it's all because I'm so aggravated at....um, well, everything.

And it appears as if the entire human race has joined me.

It's like the whole world has pms and dementia combined.

Full moons have me channeling late comedian George Carlin on the highway when I scream at anyone going slower than me calling them assholes "a-holes"  and anyone daring to go faster is certainly a "maniac".

It's a no win situation.

The only one driving properly is, well, actually none of us.

Nothing seems to go right...when it's a full moon phase.

While making dinner, I cut myself.

I run to the garage with a dish cloth tightly wrapped around my bleeding finger Daddio bellows "What did I tell ya? I knew this was gonna happen. You think you are some kind of fancy chef tossing those big knives around..I told you...I TOLD YOU.."

(Just for the record, Daddio has been predicting this exact tragic event for over 27 years, every time I cook and he watches.)

I've done a bit of predicting myself over the years buddy...Predictions like "one-a deeze days Alice...POW to da Moon"....

And speaking of POWS to somebody's kisser.....

As Googie was getting ready to leave the house she leaned in to kiss me goodbye.

She's famous for presenting a cheek for a peck...I often follow suit and we'll give a kiss-kiss in the air like debutantes or old Italians.

Today she decided to give me a real peck on my cheek.

And I decided to give her a real peck on her cheek.

At the same time we puckered up and turned toward each other...

SMACK....right on the old kissers.

"EWWWWWWWWWWWW" we screamed in unison, then wiped our mouths.

It's not everyday your daughter tries to French kiss you....

That damn crazy ass full moon.....

(PS...I later sent Googie a text message saying "I kissed a girl and I liked it"....she probably read it while stopped at a red light, since she'd never read a text whilst driving.)

When da moon hits da sky like a big pizza pie dat'ssssssssssssssss amore.