The calla lilies are in bloom, again.

Several years ago, I found a pot of miniature pink calla lilies in the florist area of a grocery store. They were lovely and only $5. So, I got them. When they finished blooming, I planted them in my flower bed. And forgot about them.

The next year, I noticed something coming up in a patch that looked intentional, even though I didn’t remember what it was.

Oh! Wait! It’s a pink calla lily! Except….

I remembered the blooms in the pot being smaller. And, when they came back the next year, they were the size of regular callas. When I moved to this house, I transplanted them. And they faded. They started coming up white with a little edge of pink.

Over time, I found a miniature purple calla at the grocery and a friend asked me to plant a lavender miniature calla that came in a flower basket that had been sent to her when she was recovering from surgery. Two years ago, I found a dark red one that absolutely delighted me. And last year, I transplanted everything to the front flower bed. (The callas in the back were getting crowded by overgrowth of hydrangea and fig bushes.)

Remember how I said the pink one had faded over time to mostly white? Can you tell which of theses is supposed to be the colors I planted? I can’t. Except I know where I planted the red one.

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Lalochezia

Lalochezia lal·o·che·zi·a (lāl’ō-kē’zē-ə) n. Emotional relief gained by using indecent or vulgar language.

One day, I was at my parents house and needed to store some kind of food. (I’ve forgotten what.) I had a container and was sitting on the floor going through all the lids that had accumulated in the cabinet trying to find the one that fit. And, as is my habit when I’m doing something that’s frustrating me, I was swearing to myself. A kind of sotto voce “shit, damn, hell, fuck, hell, shit, damn, damn, damn, shit fuck, hell…”

My father came in the kitchen, heard me and started laughing. I said, “What? It’s funny that I’m sitting on the floor look for a lid for this damn bowl?”

He said “No. I came in your room one time when you were about 4 years old and you were looking something in your toy box. And you were talking to yourself saying ‘shoot, durn, shoot, durn, heck, shoot, heck.’ It’s funny how somethings don’t change even though the language is more mature.”


I work in a medical lab and our work space is called a bench (even though it is a long table). And the benches in my department are about 3 or 4 feet apart. It is possible to be facing someone else while you are minding your own business doing your own work in your own space. Also, there are days that are a little stressful and my lalochezia kicks in to help me deal with it.

One day, my manager called me in to tell me that another employee had complained about my language. I asserted that I had not been swearing at my coworker. I had simply been doing my work and talking to myself as I did. “Also,” I said, “if she has never heard those words, how does she know what they mean? And if she does know what they mean, clearly she has heard them before and I haven’t been giving her an accidental education.” I thought about it a minute and said “And another thing. If we were that close to each other that she could hear me, why did she need to come complain to you? Why didn’t she just day ‘Kitty! Shut up! You’re bugging me.’? I probably would have.”

Sometimes, I add an extra “fuck” to my conversations at work when she’s around, now.

Cake!

This photo was taken to mark my second birthday. My father had turned 24 the previous April and there was chocolate cake.

little kitty

I have always loved chocolate cake. And I decided that I wanted a piece of that birthday cake. So, I pushed a chair over to the kitchen counter and cut myself a slice.

I don’t remember where I got the knife. What I remember is standing on that chair eating the slice of cake that I was holding in my left hand and holding the knife with my right hand. My mother walked passed the kitchen door and didn’t register me standing there for a second. I suspect that the horrified expression on her face when she backed up to look in the kitchen is what welded it to my mind. As I recall, she swooped in to pick me up and relieve me of the knife while I diligently chomped away.

About 50 years later, she asserted that children have no memories of any time before they are 3. I asked her how old I was when that happened. She said, “You couldn’t possibly remember that. You were only about a year and a half old!” I said, “You never told me that story in my life. I even remember the dress I was wearing. It was a baby blue dress you had smocked.”

Her jaw dropped. She said,”I guess you do remember.”

The S-word.

When my son was 3and a half years old, he came home from daycare telling that a boy had gotten in trouble for saying a bad word.  

I said, “What did he say?”  And my child looked at me me like I was stupid.

“I can’t say it.  It is a bad word.”

“Well, you aren’t saying it as a bad word. You are just telling me.”

He cut his eyes at me like he wasn’t sure I wasn’t setting him up for trouble and lowered his voice. Mind you, there was no one else in our house.  

“He said the s-word.”

“Shit?”

At this point, he was totally exasperated with me. 

“No, Mom.  He said,” and his voice dropped to a whisper, “‘shut up.'”

He didn’t understand why that cracked me up.  But, I did agree with him that “shut up” is a very rude thing to say.

A guy goes into a bar

An old fellow is sitting in the pub with his dog beside him. There's
a television over the bar and the dog is looking at it.

Another man watches for a long time, and then finally goes over and
says, "I notice your dog has been watching the movie on TV. It's
really weird. It's like he's following it. He looked sad at the sad
parts, and it almost looked like he laughed at the funny parts, and
then I'd swear he wanted to applaud at the end like he really loved
the movie. I'm surprised!"

"Aye, I'm surprised too," the dog's owner says. "He hated the book."