Life On The Naughty Chair

I'm the reason they started prayers in school. I'm also the proof that prayer is not enough.


life on the naughty chair

A Brother Named “Fluffy.”

Fluffy My brother

Some kids are lucky enough to get a dog or a cat for a pet. Some kids get a cow or a horse. Some are limited to a fish or a hamster.

I got a brother.

I wanted to name him “Fluffy” but I was not allowed to name him. No, no . . . THAT privilege went to the people who dropped him off in my life and made me responsible for feeding and exercising him . . . not to mention house training him. If someone ever tries to give you a pet that they have already named, NEVER, accept it. That means this is a “insert type of pet here” that someone else tried to love and they failed. It is true, sometimes it is the fault of the people who bought the darn thing, but most likely, especially if the pet is a brother, the fault is completely in the pet.

Someone is trying to pass off their broken lame pet on you. Continue reading “A Brother Named “Fluffy.””


Run Biff Run!

run biffster run

My brother tried to run away from home in high heels once.

He made it just passed the corrals down by the slough. Then he slipped on a cow patty, caught his heel in a gopher hole, and he was down for the count.

A couple of cows tried to revive him. Well maybe the one who licked him did. The one who peed on him may have remembered him from an unfortunate milking incident earlier. People pee on people here in Australia when they get stung by a jelly fish and that is a good thing. Well, it is a good thing in comparison to either death or surviving several hours with the sensation of the entire Mormon Tabernacle Choir using your body as an ashtray to put out their cigarettes on . . . repeatedly . . . all through the Hallelujah Chorus . . .. I am not sure about the whole cow take on it. Humanitarian or not? Discuss amongst yourselves. Continue reading “Run Biff Run!”

Lemon Gin, The Rocket Fuel of Dreams

lemon gin

We had our own Eiffel tower on the prairies.  We were pretty excited to get it – some kind of telecommunications contraption stuck right there in a wheat field.

The thing is that none of the farmers seemed to even notice.

That is what happens to you when the wheat seeds get into your boots and sprout and grow into your body and overtake your brain.  Your head is kept  fixed solidly on the combine and your whole world becomes straight lines etched into your field. Continue reading “Lemon Gin, The Rocket Fuel of Dreams”

Parallel Universes and Peas

parallel universes

My grandfather got really pissed at the Biffster once because he wasn’t being manly enough to please his old world sensibilities. Mostly he was terrified that the Biff might be “queer.” I mean there were so many clues to justify his concern, like the fact that Biff wasn’t hitching up his jeans, scratching himself or strutting while both horking and spitting. My grandfather was a keen observer of all things life. He didn’t just leap to his conclusions, he defied all gravity and flew across Grand Canyons of expanse to reach them. He was a gifted gifted athlete! Continue reading “Parallel Universes and Peas”

Halloweening Like Weenies on the Canadian Prairies


I went Halloweening as a kid. It was impressive, being I was raised by my Grandparents and lived in the middle of nowhere, aka the prairies of the Great Frozen Northland, aka Canada.

The first rule of thumb was that our costumes had to be “tasteful.” I know that those of you who know me completely understand the kind of box that put me in. I am just lucky that I escaped my childhood not having been completely stunted in my magically impressive repertoire of hysterically funny, probably inappropriate, social commentary. How I ended making it out the other end of my childhood alive, considering those kind of restrictions, is beyond me. I clearly had a special angel intervening with some kind of Teflon shield. Continue reading “Halloweening Like Weenies on the Canadian Prairies”

Moses, Briefcases, and Crinolines. A Sunday School Take Down.


While other kids were getting their “Strawberry Shortcake” back packs I was insistent on a briefcase. I had some important stuff and no way was I going to trust it to some pony that sparkled or that dimwit Barbie.  I firmly believed that if you were going to be taken seriously, you had to dress the part.

It was really effective in church. They would herd us into Sunday School class – I am serious … this bell would sound and  this guy who looked like Moses leading the Israelites (only we were more miniature and in fluffier dresses)would take us through the wilderness (the pews) to the promised land of milk and cookies.  It would be years before I found out that “Moses” was a woman and that yes, women could have facial hair like that and really ugly brown sandals. Continue reading “Moses, Briefcases, and Crinolines. A Sunday School Take Down.”

Dear Biff, About Your Haunted Service Station

service station

Dear Biff;

Re:  Your Sears Automotive Service Station – the Haunting.

A lot of time has passed and I suppose we are proof that restraining orders can be successful if cared for and updated regularly and the two people involved are kept on separate continents.

I am on Facebook now and lots of people post pretty pictures with sayings on them about families and love and forgiveness.

I block them right away. Continue reading “Dear Biff, About Your Haunted Service Station”

Snowball’s Own Private Hell


My children grew up thinking I knew everything because I came from the farm.  It is an easy mistake to make, people frequently turn to farmers for answers, knowing that we are wise in the ways of the wheat and the cow.  Sometimes I wish I had been a city girl so that I could just walk the streets like normal and not be constantly sought out for my wisdom.  It is such a burden.  Like I can never ever live on the top of a mountain.

My kids would ask me, “What kind of crop is that mommy?”  They turned to me for everything.  So naturally when they saw a white cow, they asked, “What do you call a white cow mommy?

My answer? Continue reading “Snowball’s Own Private Hell”

Don’t Blame the Kidnappers

happy easter brother

I got a lovely card from my brother for Easter.

He was all like,  “… hey, this is what we have been doing for the past 20 years,”  and then all, “hey, this is what is new with some of the rest of the family,”  and then, ” hey, some of the people we went to school with are doing these things.” He threw in some bunnies and eggs and little yellow chicks… but mostly I could read between the lines and know that he was really wanting to know if I had his stupid teddy bear, was that actually it on my Facebook page, and he remembered it differently than that … it looks kind of worn and small but still … could he have it back now? Continue reading “Don’t Blame the Kidnappers”

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