I made a pair of pants.

Ever since I can remember "going back to school" meant having major anxiety. At first, I think it had something to do with what I would wear on the first day, for my sister it was about weather or not she had enough school supplies. Then for me, it became more about who I thought was planning to beat me up, or walk behind me with her minions and voice her disapproval of my very existence. But that's a whole other story.

The summer I'm talking about here was between 8th and 9th grade. I was worried my mom wouldn't flip the bill for my extensive clothing list and that she would state some arguement like, "you can't even fit all the clothes you already own into your closet" or some such nonsense. Never mind the fact that I didn't really try to fit them in my closet. I figured, why bother? I was just going to wear them again anyway. It was the same philosophy I had about making my bed. I was just going to sleep in it again the next night and unless the Queen would be stopping over for a tour, nobody was going to see it unmade.

In an attempt to preempt my mothers arguments I decided to have a garage sale. I invited my neighbor ladies to join me. They brought over a lot of good stuff. Including a set of dusty old drapes for the late 50s early 60s, with the biggest floral pattern I had ever seen. The background was a worn and faded navy and the flowers were bright, or they used to be bright, lime green. My mind started to race. What could I use all that fabric for? I loved to make things and that was a big cheap pile of fabric. I know! Hammer pants!

Remember MC Hammer? He had the greatest pants. Big, crazy harem leg bags.

I didn't even bother to wash the drapes first. I just started sewing. I used the pleated part at the top for the waist band, you know the part where the hooks usually go? Yea, that part. My pants were spectacular! The calf section was so tight it was hard to get my foot through. Just how I wanted it. And the crotch, well it was triumphant! Steatched out, it measured about two feet and rested just at the knees. I couldn't wait to wear them to school.

The problem with wearing them to school was obvious enough. I was already the target of bullying, what were they going to do to me if I wore an old curtain to school? I didn't want to find out that bad.

Then it happened, I found some girls who didn't wish to hurt me, or trick me or make up things about me. They just wanted to include me, laugh with me and have fun. That was all the encouragement my pants and I needed.

The first dance of the school year was coming up. Perfect opportunity to break out the
pants. But what does one wear with such a creation? Luckily, I had been in a play a couple summers back. The Sound of Music. I played Brigitta. There was a little white blouse that had been part of my costume, it worked. Didn't detract from the outfit's focal point.

As I walked down the steps from my room ready to go to the dance, my mother stood there silent. But really, what fashion advice can a mother give to her 14 year old daughter that she'd listen to anyway? None, that's what. Oh, she'd have loved it if I'd been one to wear sweater sets and matching slacks. I'm basing that on the clothes she purchased for me in my absents. The decision had been made, there was no turning back now.

Wouldn't you know it, the rest of the school was speechless too! I don't even think anyone threatened to beat me up. It was a really fun night. The only thing I was asked was, "you made those yourself? Out of curtains? Really?" If you think about it, what kind of ridicule would a teenager have for someone brave enough to wear housewares and call it fashion? It gave me the courage to wear the pants again, this time during the day.

I thought I better wash them first. They had to be at their best.

Here's where the trouble comes into paradise. You can't throw twenty five year old fabric in the washing machine and expect it to come out perfect. Especially if that fabric has been hanging in a window all those years.

My spectacularly triumphant creation disintegrated. The only thing left of my pants was the waist band. You know the part where the hooks go? Yea, that part.

I went to stonehenge

It rains in England. A lot.
Once in her life my sister had a job that came with much international travel. One trip in particular, as you may have guessed, was to England. This was during a time when our parents lived in Naples, Florida. E and I thought it would be a kick to go to the UK, just the girls. So we gave our mom the information, she would meet us at the Minneapolis airport and we'd head for Europe. While we waited for her, a gate agent came on the speaker and announced that there were six first class seats open at $500 bucks a piece. Wow, that would be great, I thought. A twelve hour flight squeezed between a couple of other people did not sound appealing. I wasn't sure how I would handle it. Nobody was biting on the $500 a piece so they dropped it to $300! Even though our mom had not yet arrived in Minneapolis, I couldn't pass up the first class seats. I bought them for us. And boy am I glad I did. You see, our mom's flight was late getting in from Miami and since we were first class seat holders, they held the plane until she got to the gate. Of course when she got there I told her she owed me $300 bucks, but it was worth it. She was pretty happy to find she was flying to England in first class. I think it was my favorite part of the trip. Mostly because I had such bad jet lag, it was difficult for me to function in a foreign country, but also because it rains in England. A lot. It's also windy.

The above photo was of my mom and I in the Cotswolds. I did, absolutely love the Cotswolds and would go back in a heart beat. Notice the umbrella my mom is holding and the pink jacket I'm wearing. These things come in to play in a moment.

My sister worked most of the days we were in England but on this particular day all three of us played tourist. We took a bus tour to the Cotswolds, Bath and Stonehenge. I was happy to take a bus tour where someone told us when and where to get on and off. I had grown weary of navigating the winding streets and metro stations. Mind the gap. It was also driving me nuts that every time I'd ask someone for directions they would end their statement with a question like "isn't it" or "don't you".
Can you tell me which direction to walk to find the closest metro station? It's that way, isn't it? I don't know, that's why I'm asking you. Right, yes. You walk down that street, don't you? Again, I'm not sure, can you please tell me? Right, yes.
If I could write in an English accent I would.

A stop or two in the Cotswolds came first. The air was heavy and cool but the mist lent itself perfectly to the location. It was at the same time romantic and eerie. It could have been the weather but the streets were empty. It felt like a sweet little ghost town.

The next stop was Bath. It was a resort town during Roman times and is now just considered the country. We were fairly soggy by this point in the day. There was much to see, eat and shop for in Bath. It rained the whole time. Remember the umbrella from the photo? The only thing keeping us out of the rain? It was left in the restroom by one who shall remain nameless, but she was holding it in the photo. So the little pink wool jacket I was wearing was WET by the time we went back to the bus. It started to smell like a dead goat. So much so that I was forced to sit alone in a row toward the back of the bus by my mom and sister. It was OK though because the Australian girls in the very back row were pretty entertaining. They actually chose to sit back there and they didn't stink. They did seem to have a bit of a drinking problem however, or at least one of them did. Before we left Bath they had gotten two big hot chocolates and one of them spilled hers all over the front of her butter yellow sweatshirt. The other one laughed the entire way to Stonehenge. It was contagious.

By the time we got to Stonehenge the wind had picked up exponentially and the temperature had dropped. But you can't go all the way to England then drive three hours out to the middle of no where and not get out of the bus to see an ancient druid calender, can you? No, you can't. Thankfully, the bus driver had an umbrella collection from other forgetful tourists. Before we left the bus I dawned my dead goat and headed for the door. As he handed me my umbrella, the bus driver gave me a funny wish-I-had-a-clothes-pin-for-my-nose kind of a look. We must have seemed like a bus full of homeless people. We were wet, windblown, smelly and one of us had been covered in thick brown hot chocolate. He warned us as a group of the wind, but in his English way. It's a bit breezy, isn't it?

Remember in the movie Forrest Gump when he was humping through the swamp in Vietnam describing the rain? I think about that scene when I think about Stonehenge. It was the sideways little bitty stinGinG rain.
The photo to the right is of my mom and sister. Mom is on the right, notice how the borrowed umbrella is molded to her body? Yeah, it was that windy... wasn't it? This photo was taken seconds before both umbrellas were blown inside out. The lovely multi-colored umbrella my sister is holding was found in Ireland a week later. I was still kind of giddy from the girls laughing behind me on the bus, so this was really hilarious to me. That and I have never been so tired for so long in my life, you know how you get... slap happy.

We made a beeline for the gift shop to warm up, which is where everyone else was too.  There were dozens of people in this tiny little shop. It was, thankfully, hot in there. The heat made my jacket smell even worse however. I felt bad for the people with noses, but what was I supposed to do? They didn't sell sweatshirts like they do in every shop on American soil and it was really cold outside. I had to keep wearing it.

I don't even remember viewing Stonehenge while we were there. But I do remember thinking it was smaller then I thought it would be. But that's how I felt about Mount Rushmore. I bought a book in the gift shop about Stonehenge and read it on the way back to London. Three hours of riding in a bus full of wet folks with me now in the back of the bus completely alone.

I think that night I actually slept, after I threw my jacket away.

I got a mannequin head from a department store

In my early 20s I worked in the display department at Carson Pairie Scott. I got hired on as a Christmas tree decorator at the beginning of October. Yes, October is too early to decorate for Christmas. You don't need to tell me that, I've heard it about 9,000 times. Every person over the age of 45 thought it was appropriate to share that opinion with me, as if I had any control over it. I made $4.25 an hour, major decision making about marketing strategy was not in my job description.

Luckily most of my work was done behind the scenes, in the bowels of the material girls paradise. The dark corridors held tricks and treasures of the... you know I can't for the life of me remember the technical name of the department. I know it's not display, hmmm? Anyway, not important for now.

Along one wall was a huge pile of dead mannequins. One in particular looked a little like me so I asked my manager if I could have her head. He said yes, but I'm not sure how we got the thing out of the store. You know that they can't give away garbage? It has to be crushed and professionally removed. The retail world is a colossal wasting machine.

So I get the head home, chuckling the whole way because I knew what I was going to do with it: scare Chuck. I have been blessed with an easily surprised and befuddled husband, which plays into my need for practical jokes perfectly. Nobody wants to play pranks on someone who doesn't react, what's the point?

The first place it went was the refrigerator. I knew that as soon as he got home, he'd check it, see the head and scream. It was just as much fun as I'd imagined. He doesn't seem to have peripheral vision so he didn't notice me standing next to him silently giggling. It took him a split second to realize what he was seeing and when he did, he jumped back and shrieked like a little kid.

We took turns hiding it and trying to scare each other with it. For me, it never got old. She was found in the linen closet, bathtub, bed, closet, washing machine, you get the idea. Everywhere we put her she was positioned in such a way as to be staring at the scaree.

We also joined forces, started calling the head Frieda and on a few locations-- scared guests.  There was a bar cabinet in our living room that had a door that you would pull toward you in a downward motion creating a table for the bar wear and bottles. Freida could be found in there just waiting for friends to make themselves a drink. Worked every time and started the evening off with a good laugh.

I think Frieda got thrown away when we moved from our Minneapolis house. I miss her, but all good jokes must come to an end.

My dog decorated a neighbors car.

When we bought our first house in south Minneapolis we got a puppy and named him Jake. We didn't know it at the time but he was part Husky part Satan.
Beautiful blue eyes though. Isn't there a song about the devil having blue eyes, or is it a blue dress? Anyway, Jake was always full of surprises. This whole blog could be nothing but a list of the crap he wrecked. I can't actually remember a day in the two years we had him that he didn't at least attempt to destroy something. He ended up getting hit by a car one day. We were sad, for awhile.
Don't get me wrong, I love dogs. I'm a freak for dogs!
One day while Jake and I were walking he needed to pause to do some business. I'm not sure what he had eaten the day before, but it literally could have been anything from florescent light bulbs to candles. Whatever it was made the poo rather like butter cream frosting gone bad. When he was finished, he moved to scratch the ground with his back legs to cover it, in that half ass way that they do. He caught the pile with his foot and threw it onto a near-by parked car. A white car. He must have been aware of the severity of the pile or he liked my reaction because he kept doing it and didn't finish until he had flicked most of it. The car was spattered with blobs of poo and dirt with tufts of grass thrown in for flare. There was some left that had been smeared into the grass but not enough to bother picking up and there was no way I was going to stick around to clean the neighbors car. I was doubled over with laughter and barely made it home.

P.S. if that was your car, it wasn't a poo chucking vandal, it was my dog... and he didn't hate you.

I slept in the car, while driving, kind of.

I'd just like to start by saying not all my stories involve driving.
E and I have always had a close relationship with our Grandparents so when we decided on a whim to drive three hours north for a visit, it wasn't unusual. I was seventeen at the time which I guess would make E fourteen.
E had managed to scam a twenty off my Dad that morning so we could fill the car and hit the drive-through on the way up. I can't remember what we were driving but I do remember the radio reception was hit or miss, mostly miss. I remember this because a Lincoln flew by us and we sang "Hot-Rod Lincoln" for about an hour because there weren't any other songs playing to distract us... until we saw the guy had been pulled over. Then we just laughed. "Boy you're gonna drive me to drinkin' if you quit drivin' that hot. Rod. Lincoln."
By the time we got to Duluth we were getting bored so I thought we should play a road game. We'd pretend to be sleeping as other cars passed us on the left. I kept my right eye open to see the road but the left one was closed and for good measure, my mouth was agape. So was E's. We'd wait until a car was just about to pass and then get into character. We could tell if they were looking or not because of the speed at which they passed. One car in particular actually kept pace for a minute or two and that was just too long for me to keep a straight face. I started laughing and looked over to see a car full of people with their faces pressed up against the glass, mouths agape. When they saw us laughing, I think they were more relieved than annoyed. I bet there was more than a little nervous laughter going on in that car.
With our prank being a success we kept trying it, but the anticipation of fooling another car full of kids filled our stomachs with butterflies and we found it too hard to keep from giggling. I don't know many people who giggle when they sleep, so it was over.
When we got to Gram's we told her of our antics, she chuckled and said, "you girls" as she often did.
We had a nice visit and in a couple of days made our way back home. As we zipped through Duluth we caught a radio station. Hot-Rod Lincoln was playing! We laughed.

I passed out while driving.

It must have been in the news or something, cholesterol and sugar levels in the blood of teenagers I mean. I was 16 and my sister was 13. Anytime our mom made a declarative statement it usually sounded more like and accusation, "You're going to the clinic tomorrow, you need you cholesterol checked!" Our mom worked full time when we were growing up so it was up to me to drive us to and from the clinic.
My car at the time was a humongous beast of a thing, it was, to quote the B52's "As big as a whale and it's about to set saaaaaiil." A 1972 Chrysler Newport. There is a well known cliche that describes the color perfectly, but I hate that description, so I'll just say it was kind of a greenish brown. It could seat about a hundred people, but that's a blog for another day. It was in great shape for it's age and believe it or not, my dad used it to tow our 24 foot boat.
I don't remember much about the time period before our appointment but knowing my sisters need to be early for everything and to assume that I would be late in spite of her best efforts, I'm sure there was a lot of... "Heidi! Let's goooo!" To which I'm sure my answer was something like, "shut! up!" We're best friends now, but as kids... not so much. Mom's of girls, there is hope.
It wasn't until we got to the clinic that I learned they intended to take my blood. I though maybe I'd have to pee in a cup and put said cup in a mysteriously small door cut into the middle of the bathroom wall. Sitting in the lab chair at the clinic I was so tense I could have made diamonds, if you know what I mean. The word clench doesn't even come close. I remember hearing the blood pumping through my ears. The lab technician took six viles of my blood.  Six! How many tests did they need? After Elvira was finished I was feeling a little woozy, but I thought it was because I was so scared of the gigantic needle sticking out of my arm. It turns out you're supposed to eat before or right after giving blood, but nobody told me that. My guess is, to keep me from realizing I was going to give blood. And anyway, what 16 year old girl eats?
I wobbled out of the labyrinth of corridors to find my sister sitting in the waiting room. While I'm on it, who designs clinics? The same people who designed Cesar's Palace in Las Vegas, no doubt. Do they not want people to find there way out?
We get into the hot car and head for home. We lived about 6 miles from the clinic and the top speed between doors was about 30mph, 40mph if your 16. The next thing I can recall is turning into our neighborhood and my head began to spin. Then it began to get dark. Like I was looking down a tunnel. Tunnel vision, as it were. I started to slow down and told Erica, my sister, to take the wheel. She said, "No! Heidi, just drive!"
"I can't see", I said as my head hit the wheel. I do remember slamming it into park, we were probably still going about 15 miles an hour. This was the days before seat belts were in fashion so basically we were floating in this boat of a car. Erica lurched forward. My vision was in and out, black and light.
Please just drive us home, were only two blocks away.
No, I don't have my license, just go Heidi!
I can't see, just get behind the wheel and drive us home.
No, I'm only 13.
So what! OK, law dog, go get Ike (our beloved next door neighbor).
No, Heidi just drive us home.
Walk home, call mom and get Ike.
No! Go!
I can't see (or speak effectively I guess). Fine, don't let me run into anything.

We get to the house about 5 minutes later, pull in the driveway and the car gets slammed into park again before coming to a complete stop. Erica hops out, runs in the house and calls my mom. Heidi passed out while we were driving, she said in her matter of fact way. Meanwhile... I'm trying to get myself into the house. I take one step inside the door and fall flat on my face. Lights out. She passed out again, Erica says. Let me talk to her. She can't talk. This went on for awhile.

My mom, being understandably concerned, called the vampires, I mean clinic and accused them of taking too much blood. They assured her it was the normal amount. They said to have me drink a little OJ and rest awhile. Info that would have been helpful while I was still at the clinic.

Obviously, I was fine after an hour or two. But to this day it comes back to me every time I have to have blood drawn, which I avoid at all costs.