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Humor » Jolana Malkston » Page 3
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Jan 302014
 

Jolana Malkston 4It’s 29ºF outside. The wind chill makes it feel like 20ºF. That wouldn’t be unusual or of particular interest for the month of January—except that I’m in Florida’s Panhandle where it’s not supposed to be 29ºF with a wind chill factor of 20ºF in January.

I’ve heard it said by some that global warming is to blame. Now that’s scary. If the Earth gets any warmer, we’re all going to freeze to death.

Macho Guy, Schnoodle Dog and I left Michigan to spend our winter vacation in the South to get away from that kind of cold. The idea was to spend time having fun in pleasant, warm and sunny weather. Ha! That is so not happening. Come to think of it, last year was pretty chilly too. It could be a seasonal weather pattern, but not one I’m in favor of.

When we first arrived in the panhandle this year, it rained and it was chilly. It rained quite a bit. It rained nearly every day for a week, and then it stopped. The sun came out for a couple of days, lulling us into a false sense of security. Yeppers, we fell for it.

When we least expected it, the weather gods played their nasty impractical joke on us. If you have been watching the national weather, you know that it’s cold down south, very cold. Not just very cold, mind you, it is freaking polar vortex cold down south.

This is not what winter weather down south is supposed to be like. It’s not supposed to be frigid, icy and snowing down south. It’s supposed to be sunny, pleasant and warm down south—even hot. I’m supposed to be spending my days wearing a swimsuit (one that covers as much of my mature figure as possible) and sunning myself on the sugar white sands of the shimmering Emerald Coast while reading a heart-warming and spicy romance novel. Macho Guy is supposed to spend his vacation playing bogey golf.

On the forecast of snow and/or sleet and ice, local school districts in this area of the panhandle ordered schools closed for the next 48 hours. Businesses closed. Golf courses closed.

When ice formed on the road surfaces, bridges and portions of interstate highways were closed. I’m guessing there was no line item in the transportation department’s budget for salt. Down south, I imagine they only use it for the rims of Margarita glasses.

Since it was too cold to do anything outside today but shiver, we decided to go to the movies. We bundled up in the winter coats we wore the day we left Michigan. There were only a few cars on the roads in addition to ours. We figured they belonged to “Snowbirds” like us who know how to drive in winter weather. Strangely enough, the roads we travelled were all clear.

We arrived at the theater only to find a notice taped to the entrance announcing that the theater was closed because of the inclement weather forecast. The second theater we tried was also closed. So was the nearby mall. It was mid-afternoon—broad daylight—and all the sidewalks had been pulled in.

There was nothing to do but go back to our rental cottage and sit around watching TV. Ho-Hum. We might as well have stayed in Michigan. If we were at home, we would not be paying rent in order to be bored stiff staying indoors in the winter. At home, we could be bored stiff staying indoors and shiver free of charge.

I am not pleased with this unexpected turn of events—and I am not taking it well. Neither is Macho Guy. We talked about a winter staycation for next year—where cold weather and snow wouldn’t come as a surprise and mess with our plans—and we talked about all the money we’d save. It sure is something to consider while we’re sitting around this rental cottage watching TV and being bored stiff.

I knew we should have packed a deck of cards. 🙁

Jan 212014
 

Jolana Malkston 4It never fails. I find something I like. Something I really like. Something I totally like so much that I get hooked on it and then when I go looking for it again I can’t find it.

It could be anything: an exceptional new TV show, a delicious new cereal, or an oh so comfortable bra style. If I liked it, if I enjoyed it, if I wanted another, whatever it was would be doomed to cancellation or discontinuation.

Has that ever happened to you? It has happened to me so many times, I feel like a jinx. I’m afraid to like anything for fear of putting it in the crosshairs of termination.

While on winter vacation in Florida last year, it happened again. After nearly two months, Macho Guy and I reached the Key Lime Pie saturation point and went to Fresh Market in search of something—anything—different for dessert.

We were about a week from leaving for home and were trying to use up all the food left in the refrigerator and freezer, so we concluded it was best to keep it simple and go with that dependable old standby ice cream. In the interest of not having to throw out anything we didn’t eat, we decided to buy only one carton of ice cream.

Of course that meant selecting only one flavor. Uh-huh. You get the picture.

Macho Guy is a Butter Pecan man. I’m into any flavor as long as it is Chocolate. Would there be a duel to the death in the frozen food aisle—half-gallon ice cream cartons at ten paces? Neither of us was willing to surrender. A week and a half of dessertless dinners loomed on the horizon.

Usually when Macho Guy and I can’t agree on something, the rule is that we settle for a second or third choice that neither of us is particularly excited about but is willing to accept in the name of compromise. Ice cream flavors are an important exception to this rule. Taste buds are involved. One cannot settle for second or third best when it comes to ice cream. Our taste buds would rise in revolt.

Macho Guy blinked first. He threw up his hands in frustration, told me to get whatever I wanted, and walked away from the freezer section in a snit. I beat back the impulse to do a victory dance and was about to reach for the Chocolate-Chocolate Chip-Fudge when my conscience got the better of me.

Tsk, tsk. Thinking only of yourself. Is that how your parents raised you? For shame.

Oh, shoot. Just once, couldn’t I be a little bit naughty? Darn that conscience.

I sighed and virtuously went back to perusing additional selections to find a flavor both Macho Guy and I could live with. That’s when I spotted the winning candidate on the freezer shelf. There it was, a new flavor, one I’d never seen or heard of before—Mocha Almond Fudge.

It had to be delicious with a name like Mocha Almond Fudge. It had to be delectable with a name like Mocha Almond Fudge. It had to be decadent with a name like Mocha Almond Fudge. Not only that, it had both nuts and chocolate in it—something for both of us.

I yanked the freezer door open, grabbed the half-gallon of Mocha Almond Fudge, stowed it in my shopping cart and hunted Macho Guy down. He was still sulking like a two-year-old when I pulled up beside him at the Deli section’s olive bar and announced that I was all done shopping and ready to check out.

MACHO GUY: [with an air of martyrdom] Okay, what did you get?

ME: [coyly] Something different I wanted to try.

MACHO GUY: [peering into the shopping cart] What’s that?

ME: [bubbling with excitement] Mocha Almond Fudge.

MACHO GUY: [snorting derisively] I thought you said you got something different. Fudge is chocolate.

ME: [taken aback] Not just fudge—Mocha Almond Fudge. [reading from the description on the carton] “Coffee ice cream accented with chopped roasted almonds and a rich chocolate sundae sauce.” Sounds yummy, doesn’t it?

MACHO GUY: [unenthusiastically] I guess.

We had it for dessert that night. It tasted even better than its name sounded rolling off my tongue. We both loved it. We both had seconds. We both agreed that I was a genius for finding it.

We finished the half-gallon in a few days. We rushed back to Fresh Market to buy more. There wasn’t any.

Please, not again. I liked it a lot—loved it—so it’s gone forevermore. Why was I not surprised?

Disappointed, we left Fresh Market and stopped at a Publix supermarket on the way back to our rental condo. Ever hopeful, I was drawn to the frozen foods section to check out the ice cream. I scanned the ice cream freezer and—it couldn’t be, could it? Yes! It was! Blue Bell Mocha Almond Fudge—there on the shelf. I rejoiced—the jinx had been broken. Halleluiah! I couldn’t grab it fast enough.

We returned to Michigan in March, and I went grocery shopping on our second day home. I filled my cart with necessities and then headed for the frozen desserts. I scanned the ice cream freezers. Rocky Road. Moose Tracks. Chunky Monkey. Um, where was the Mocha Almond Fudge? I wasn’t seeing it. I scanned the freezers again, certain I must have missed it. I didn’t. I should have known it wouldn’t be there. I rejoiced too soon. The jinx had not been broken after all.

I refused to give up in spite of that initial setback. I searched and searched but couldn’t find Mocha Almond Fudge in any grocery or supermarket in my area of Michigan. It finally occurred to me that I could hunt for it more easily and efficiently online.

Yes! I found the Blue Bell Ice Cream website. I found Mocha Almond Fudge. I found joy. May God bless you, Google!

Uh-Oh. Now this couldn’t be good. Blue Bell distributes its ice cream in only 20 states. Michigan isn’t one of them. Bummer to the nth degree.

I reluctantly began to accept that Blue Bell Ice Cream is a southern thing and I would only get to enjoy Mocha Almond Fudge for the two months out of the year when Macho Guy and I winter in Florida. How unfair is that? ::sigh::

Hold on. I may have been too hasty. There were more results to check out.

Oooo! Dreyer’s/Edy’s Grand makes Mocha Almond Fudge and a Kroger store not far from me in Michigan carries it. Yay! Yippee! W00t! Dare I say “Halleluiah” again?

At last, my dessert quest reached a successful conclusion. Victory is so sweet. As Winston Churchill once said: “Never, never, never give up.” I’m glad I didn’t because now I can enjoy Mocha Almond Fudge in both Florida and Michigan.

Persistence may be its own reward, but I think I’ll reward myself with a dish of Mocha Almond Fudge. Care to join me? Just google it for a store near you that carries it. Your taste buds will be glad you did.

Dec 312013
 

Jolana Malkston 2If you haven’t made any New Year’s Resolutions as yet, I have a beauty of a suggestion for you. Join me in resolving to cure a rampant conversational speech plague.

You’ve all heard them–the people who cannot speak without prefacing whatever they say with one or more of the following: Look, I mean, Like, and You know.

We all know at least a few of these people. Their speech is also peppered habitually with uhs, urs and ums. Some of the worst offenders are athletes, teens, politicians, and the talking heads on television.

Yes, I know the First Amendment to the Constitution grants us freedom of speech, but damn! The Founders never had to deal with these grating words, phrases and sound effects that are vocal place holders for those who abhor a pregnant pause or any pause at all, and who refuse to take a deep breath in order to collect their thoughts.

Unfortunately, this speech pattern plague is contagious and it is spreading. You can catch this plague by continually hearing people speak who are infected. Even the articulate are coming down with it. Not long ago, the erudite syndicated columnist Charles Krauthammer began delivering his televised comments by prefacing them with the word look. The first time I heard him do it, I cringed and I feared for the end of civilized discourse.

Actually, I should be the last to cast the first stone. I am a recovered You Knower, a graduate of Marianne H’s “One Step Taking-You-Know-Literally Habit-Breaking Program.”

Marianne H was a college classmate of mine who took it upon herself to break me of the aggravating habit of capping each phrase I uttered with the two pointless and annoying words you know. Here is an example of the successful Marianne H technique, which she employed over and over until she achieved the desired result—never again hearing me say you know needlessly.

ME: You know, this assignment is the dumbest ever, you know?

MARIANNE H: No, I don’t know.

ME: [looking perplexed] You don’t know what?

MARIANNE H: You tell me. You’re the one who said you know, and I don’t know what it is that you think I’m supposed to know.

ME: Huh?

And so the epic struggle began. Every time I said you know, Marianne H said no, I don’t know. She literally took me literally whenever I said you know. Seriously. Constantly. Endlessly. She drove me crazier by saying no, I don’t know than I drove her crazy by saying you know.

Fortunately, the struggle did not end in a stalemate. Marianne H won outright. It didn’t matter to whom I was speaking. If I caught myself about to say you know, I heard Marianne H’s voice inside my head saying no, I don’t know, and I bit my tongue. After a while, I no longer had to monitor my speech to avoid saying it. Marianne H cured me, and I shall be forever grateful to her.

I believe Marianne H’s “One Step Taking-You-Know-Literally Habit-Breaking Program” may also be employed successfully to target those afflicted with habitual utterances of Look, I mean, and Like. Here are a few suggestions for what to say and do whenever the afflicted voice those aggravating words:

THE AFFLICTED: Look…

YOU: [turning your head] Where?

THE AFFLICTED: I mean…

YOU: [looking perplexed] What? You haven’t said what you mean yet.

THE AFFLICTED: Like…

YOU: [shrugging] Like what?

With dedication and perseverance, together we can eliminate a widespread and irritating speech-pattern plague from what would otherwise be intelligent conversation.

Look, I mean, like, shall we give it a go? You know? 🙂

Dec 242013
 

Jolana Malkston 2Years ago, before I became a Christmas Curmudgeon and when Firstborn and Little Brother were still young enough to believe in him, I got Santa Claus to visit us at our house on Christmas Eve.

You don’t believe me? I suppose I can’t blame you. It does appear to be an outrageous claim–but I did it. Truly. I swear.

You may wonder how I was able to accomplish such a stupendous feat. As the saying goes: It’s not what you know, it’s who you know. I just happened to know Santa.

Actually, I knew three of them. I was a reporter on the staff of a local newspaper at the time, working on a feature story during the Christmas season. My story spotlighted the volunteer work of three local gentlemen who dressed annually as Santa Claus.

I interviewed all three and they told me heartwarming stories of their personal experiences portraying Santa and how much fulfillment they derived from bringing happiness to children. One of the Santas told me that he also visited the homes of family and friends as Santa on Christmas Eve. He asked if I had children. When I said yes, he asked if I would like him to visit my children on Christmas Eve.

Would I? You’d better believe I would. Firstborn was starting to show signs of not believing. I couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when Santa arrived on our doorstep.

On the day before Christmas, it was all I could do to keep my secret to myself. I finally told Macho Guy just to keep from bursting. Once the sun went down, we eagerly awaited a knock on the door, signaling Santa’s arrival.

The knock finally came, and I ran to the door.

ME: Look who’s here, everybody!

SANTA: Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas!

MACHO GUY and ME: Merry Christmas, Santa!

FIRSTBORN and LITTLE BROTHER: [mouths hanging open, eyes wide as saucers, in whispered voices] Sa-a-anta.

SANTA: [Sits on couch with both boys] Have you been good little boys?

FIRSTBORN and LITTLE BROTHER: [nod vigorously in unison, both speechless]

SANTA: You have? Let’s See. Do you listen to Mommy and Daddy and do what you’re told?

FIRSTBORN and LITTLE BROTHER: [nod vigorously in unison, both speechless]

SANTA: Do you remember to say please and thank you?

FIRSTBORN and LITTLE BROTHER: [nod vigorously in unison, both speechless]

SANTA: Do you keep your rooms clean and tidy?

FIRSTBORN and LITTLE BROTHER: [nod vigorously in unison, both speechless]

SANTA: Do you do your homework when you’re supposed to?

FIRSTBORN and LITTLE BROTHER: [nod vigorously in unison, both speechless]

SANTA: Do you eat all your vegetables?

FIRSTBORN and LITTLE BROTHER: [nod vigorously in unison, both speechless]

SANTA: Do you remember to brush your teeth and go to bed on time?

FIRSTBORN and LITTLE BROTHER: [nod vigorously in unison, both speechless]

SANTA: Keep up the good work, boys. You’re on Santa’s Nice List. [standing, preparing to leave] I have to be going now. It’s almost time to deliver Christmas presents to all the good little boys and girls.

FIRSTBORN and LITTLE BROTHER: [nod vigorously in unison, both speechless]

ME: Thank you for  stopping by to see us, Santa. We know what a busy night this is for you.

SANTA: [going out the door] Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!

MACHO GUY and ME: Merry Christmas, Santa!

FIRSTBORN and LITTLE BROTHER: [wave good-bye, both speechless]

ME: Were you boys excited to see Santa?

FIRSTBORN and LITTLE BROTHER: [nod vigorously in unison, still speechless]

MACHO GUY: If you two want to stay on the Nice List, you’d better be in bed and asleep when Santa comes back with your presents.

FIRSTBORN and LITTLE BROTHER: [shriek and make a mad dash for the stairs and to their rooms]

ME [to MACHO GUY]: You are so evil.

MACHO GUY: You’re jealous because you didn’t think of it first.

ME: Oh, right. It’s not their bedtime yet. We always let them stay up a little later on Christmas Eve.

MACHO GUY: They deserve to go to bed early. They lied through their teeth to Santa.

ME: Tell me about it. But you have to admit it took guts to lie to Santa’s face.

MACHO GUY: [Putting his hand to his ear] Listen. Do you hear that?

ME: What?

MACHO GUY: [smiling] Silence.

ME: [smiling back] Blessed silence.

MACHO GUY: Alone at last.

ME: This could be our best Christmas Eve ever. Remind me to thank Santa.

Dec 172013
 

Jolana Malkston 2Christmas shopping is no longer the adventure and delight it was in my youth. The excitement of seeing the wonderland of glittering Christmas decorations in the department stores after Thanksgiving is gone, mainly because they are already on display when I shop for Halloween candy. I don’t get to enjoy Halloween or Thanksgiving first. The retailers want to rush me by those holidays and propel me straight to Christmas as soon as possible so they can get their hands on my money before I spend it on something inconsequential, such as the mortgage on my house

I do not care for giving the day after Thanksgiving such a downbeat name as Black Friday. I think Black Friday would be more appropriate in October at Halloween.

The first time I heard the phrase, I thought a disaster of major proportions occurred on that day in the past—for example, an extinction-level volcanic eruption such as Krakatoa or a stock market crash. A salesclerk patiently explained to the clueless that it was just the opposite of disaster: merchants coined the name because it is the biggest sales day of the year for them and is so lucrative it is the day that puts retail stores “in the black” [ink, that is]. Charming. Maybe it’s just me, but Thanksgiving and Black Friday are like oil and water. On the fourth Thursday in November, we gather our families together to be cheerful and thankful for our blessings, and then the day afterward is (gasp) Black Friday when many of us shop till we drop. Occasionally, some shoppers literally drop other shoppers who stand between them and one of a store’s few door-buster sales items. Perhaps Feeding Frenzy Friday would be a more descriptive name than Black Friday.

I’ve been shopping online for the past several years. The phrase Cyber Monday sounds more upbeat and benign than Black Friday, doesn’t it? It’s much more convenient and less of a hassle to go from one website to another than it is to drive from one brick and mortar store to another and hunt for non-existent parking spaces before one even gets to shop at all. When I shop online, I don’t have to camp out the night before in front of a store in the November frigid cold. I can shop when I choose on my computer, and I can shop in my pajamas while savoring a cup of hot chocolate with mini marshmallows. No one ever tackles me or tries to rip a bargain from my grasp while I’m shopping on my computer in my pajamas while savoring a cup of hot chocolate with mini marshmallows.

I’m a grandparent now. I take time out from being a Christmas Curmudgeon to enjoy going with my grandchildren and their parents to the children’s Christmas Eve mass, and I enjoy giving gifts to my grandchildren at Christmas and seeing their faces light up as mine once did at their ages. Those things are still meaningful and fun for me.

In addition to buying gifts for my grandchildren and close friends, I choose a tag each year from my church’s Christmas Giving Tree to provide a gift for an anonymous person, child or family in need. It rekindles my Christmas spirit, and it just plain makes me feel good to make a deserving person’s Christmas a bit merrier. 🙂

I no longer write a Christmas newsletter to send to everyone I know. [They’re probably grateful for that and who can blame them. Seriously.] I don’t mail out Christmas cards anymore. I send electronic Christmas greeting cards nowadays. They’re different, I like them, and my friends and family members say they are fun to receive. [The US Postal Service is undoubtedly unhappy about that. Well, they’re the ones who keep raising the price of stamps.]

Macho Guy used to be a Christmas decorating fanatic. Since he and I now spend our Christmases with our sons and their families in their homes, the Christmas decorations around here have been toned down considerably. We don’t hang wreaths. We don’t hang stockings. We don’t hang Christmas lights from the eaves. Our only decoration right now is a small artificial tree that we have on display in the living room. For years, we took that tree down from the attic, put it together, decorated it, and then reversed gears after Christmas. Finally, we decided to leave it decorated, cover it with a sheet, store it under the stairway to the lower level, and take it out each year in December. All we need to do is uncover it, put the Angel on top, and we’re done decorating. Spending Christmas with the kids and grandkids at their homes comes with an added bonus. Our grown children and their spouses do all the work. Macho Guy and I just show up with gifts and great big smiles on our faces and play with our grandchildren.

My Christmas season is fairly low key. However, I do make a few exceptions. For the past few years, I’ve been having fun on my computer counting down the days to Christmas with Jacquie Lawson’s animated advent calendar. Every December before Christmas, Macho Guy and I go with friends to quaint little Frankenmuth, Michigan for dinner, a bit of Christmas shopping in the quaint little shops, and to enjoy all the fabulous outdoor Christmas decorations and Christmas lights there. We attend several Christmas parties annually and make merry. We attend Christmas mass to hear again the Good News of Christ’s birth and take in the beauty of the almost-large-as-life manger on the altar. I watch my parents’ favorite uplifting Christmas movies every year without fail: It’s a Wonderful Life (1946), Miracle on 34th Street (the 1947 classic version), and Scrooge (the 1951 British version of A Christmas Carol starring Alistair Sim—the best Scrooge ever). Viewing those films takes me back to the Christmases of my childhood. I confess that Scrooge is my favorite guilty Christmas pleasure. It never fails to bring me to tears.

Oh, dear. I just reread what I’ve written and I am amazed to realize that I am not the complete Christmas Curmudgeon I believed myself to be. It appears that I do not entirely dislike the Christmas season. I have found different ways to enjoy it in the present than the ways I enjoyed it in the past. I am not a curmudgeonly Scroogette after all—but you never heard that from me. I have a certain image to protect.

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