Rocky, the Pigeon, Came for Coffee

There wasn’t anyone off-limits for a colorful conversation with the young girl whose imagination knew no bounds. While growing up, my mother referred to me as Chatty Cathy, the talking doll of the 50s and 60s. My mother would poke her head into my bedroom late at night, wondering who in the world captured my attention this time.

Vintage Chatty Cathy doll, 1961, Courtesy of Pinterest

My mother taught me to care for whatever crossed my path. She had large-scale paintings and photographs depicting all Mother Nature offered. In my mother’s eyes, every day was Earth Day.

My Late Mother’s Bev Doolittle Painting, “Sacred Circle

As a grown woman, I’ve been accused of being a softie. I cry tears of joy holding a puppy, although I never allow anyone to see. If someone’s telling their heart-breaking story, I want to put on my sunglasses, however, that’d be rude. I marvel at the crickets and frogs every evening as they perform their choir meant only for me. They sing, I’m grateful and everyone’s happy.

Last night around 7:00, I went onto my backyard to move the sprinkler around after its 30-minute section was thoroughly soaked. A pigeon began circling and finally landed a few feet away on the sidewalk. I immediately thought it peculiar to have a bird instantly feel comfortable in my presence.

The sun was no longer blasting me like a furnace, therefore, I sat down in one of my chairs to relax. The bird took no time hopping toward me. However, I noticed it was hopping on only one leg! When it was at my feet, I took a close look at its injured leg and discovered its three toes were badly mangled.

The pigeon appeared to be a Rock Pigeon, therefore, it wasn’t long before I attached a name and a gender. I asked Rocky what happened to his leg and why he decided my backyard was the place to be. With every word, Rocky’s head tilted sideways. Was he truly curious and interested in what I was saying, or did he think I was off my rocker?

I brought some granola out for Rocky and set it on the ground. He had a bite to eat and jumped onto the chair next to me. I told him to stay at my home as long as he needed and wanted. I wondered whether he had a family worried sick because he was away from them. I talked into the evening and he eventually grew weary.

Rocky crouched down into a ball of feathers and his tiny dark eyelids began fluttering. Although he didn’t want to miss a word I relayed, he couldn’t hold his eyes open any longer. Rocky tucked his head down low and his long beak became invisible in his neck feathers. I bid Rocky good-night and sweet dreams.

I crawled into bed and wondered about my new friend. Would he be safe during the night with only one working leg? What if a band of raccoon decided Rocky would be their feast? I tossed and turned with concern for Rocky’s well-being. I finally dozed off and was shaken out of a sound sleep by a nightmare.

Photo Courtesy of LA Weekly

During my horrific dream, a white cobra was on the back porch railing with his ugly head reared near Rocky. I jumped out of bed and charged at the cobra and ordered him to stay away from my pigeon. I awoke with my heart pounding and opened the sliding door to check on Rocky. He was sound asleep in the red chair exactly as I left him.

The following morning, I awoke at 6:15 and peeked out of my sliding door to check on Rocky. Would he still be there? Would there be merely a pile of lifeless feathers? To my astonishment, Rocky was sitting up in the chair with his eyes wide open. I was thrilled he decided to stay and was fit as a fiddle. I told Rocky I’d be back in 10 minutes and we’d visit some more. I was excited to have kind-hearted company!

I raced back inside to make a cup of coffee, grab a blanket, put on a sweater and a pair of fuzzy slippers. As promised, I went back outside to join Rocky, however, when I walked toward our favorite red chairs, I was saddened to see Rocky’s chair empty. Perhaps due to his injury, he desperately needed a safe haven for the night. I didn’t mind being a fly-by for him.

I’ve been a Chatty Cathy since my years as a tiny tot. My mother used to say I could sell ice cubes to Eskimos. Even though my imagination runs wild with friends from the Great Beyond, I’ll always remember Rocky, the pigeon, who came for coffee.

WANTED: A Comfortable and Beautiful Bra

Photo Courtesy of iStock

If shopping for a training bra as a 13-year-old threw me into a tailspin, can you imagine what it's like as a middle-aged woman?

Deborah, 1973

Begrudgingly, I was forced to admit my bras no longer fit properly. They hurt my stomach when I sat down as the underwires dug in. Thankfully, in the evenings I could pull the straps off through my sleeves and sling that contraption across the living room. However, when my neighbor unexpectedly texted me to go for a walk in the early evenings, I had to retrieve the discarded bra and put it back on. This process became such an ordeal, I was forced to admit the time arrived for a heart-to-heart conversation with the girls.

I felt frustrated. The time, effort and money for such an undertaking are indescribable. However, I was also sad. Before I could affix my support system one morning, I suddenly realized gravity took over. What were once up, were now down. Isaac Newton was correct in his Law of Gravity apple demonstration.

There was a good reason for my discouragement as my mind's eye solemnly went back in time. After becoming a mother over 20 years ago, I noticed a shift in the girls, however, I figured after a few months, they'd bounce back. Shortly thereafter, I was glancing through an Oprah Magazine when I stopped on page 55. There was an article dedicated to getting properly fitted for a bra. The writer promised once this took place birds would suddenly appear, the most elegant meals would be prepared effortlessly and the potholes in one's life would be paved. I instantly decided, "I want that!"

As quick as a flash, I put my baby in the car and raced to Nordstrom for my smooth fitting. My young son and I were waiting in a dressing room when two gorgeous 20-somethings sauntered in with a measuring tape, pencil and a clipboard.

One of the young women told me to take everything off from my waist up. I screeched, "But, I'll be half-naked!" In a professional tone, she replied, "We realize this is an uncomfortable process, however, how else will we properly measure you?" I told the gals I needed a few minutes to gather my wits.

Approximately 10 minutes later, I peeked out from the dressing room door. I was told to hold my arms high into the air while one of the gals wrapped the measuring tape snuggly around my upper rib cage. When the embarrassing process was complete, I was told the results and emphatically denied, "I'm not that size!"

Even as the years passed and I realized I was fighting a losing battle, I elected to remain a natural woman. Admittedly, there's not a lifting cream in the world for breasts, thighs or one's turkey neck. With the dollars spent over the years, I could make Avon quiver.

Sure, there are bras to present a false impression of perkiness. The advertisements are in magazines from PEOPLE to Rolling stone. I even saw them in my mother's Home & Garden magazines during the 70s. Jane Russell was shown excitedly holding an 18-hour Playtex bra, "Hurry, Full-Figured Gals!"

Photo Courtesy of Vintage Ads, 1978

A year ago, I added four-inch bra extenders to offer comfort, yet to no avail. Today, it was time to face my music and embrace the need for more supportive undergarments. I drove to Walmart since Macy*s in the mall is closed until further notice. I moseyed through the aisles with a couple of easy wants in mind. I didn't want any more back fat or fatty skin oozing over the edges underneath my armpits. I surmised I better get bras with full coverage as Jane Russell instructed. It would be awesome to find styles in ice cream colors, such as pastel pink, green or blue.

I was becoming encouraged at the prospect of looking and feeling like my former supple self. Hmm, I also want the bras to have the company information and size stamped into the fabric, as opposed to a tag, which constantly scratches the middle of my back. I didn't want the cups to have lace or a seam as this rumples the fabric of my tops. In the petite-cup section, I noticed bras without underwire and thought that could be my ticket to ride. Perhaps the bras could also produce a little cleavage on the front, instead of on my back. I felt my requests were not too selfish and, therefore, absolutely achievable.

I walked in circles for several minutes locating nothing in my perceived size. At last, the bombshell of a realization took place. The imagined size I needed was in an entirely different section of the lingerie department. With my heels dug into the concrete floor, I was forced into the private world of Jane Russell's pride and joy. I picked through the racks until I located six bras in a variety of pastels. Now, I was excited and hopeful. It was time to try them on and I headed to the dressing rooms.

The two stodgy female dressing room attendants noticed me walking in their direction with the six-item limit and their eyes narrowed. I intuitively read their suspicious minds, "Oh, look. Here comes a live wire. She obviously has no clue what's happening around the world." I knew I could win them over with a smile and cheerful voice. "Good afternoon, ladies. I'd like to try on these bras, please." There was a dulled silence and then, one of the women tilted her head to the side and said, "You know the dressing rooms are closed now, right?" I asked, "How am I supposed to know which bra to buy? Oh, I get it. I take them home, try them on, return them, take them home and try them on again. It's a process, right?" The ladies were delighted when my internal light bulb switched on.

I took home two of the Secret Treasures Essentials in pastel colors. When I arrived home, I put one on and did a little jig while listening to my favorite music. Then, I sat down in my reading chair, however, things didn't feel quite right. I looked down and noticed the cups were only half full. With delight, I discovered the bra was too large! The following day, I returned to Walmart for a smaller size. When I approached the Customer Service area, there was a male and female attendant. With the bras hiding behind my earthbag, I crossed my heart I'd be helped by the female attendant and was pleased when Lady Luck smiled on me.

I stepped forward and carefully laid the over-sized garments on the countertop only to be horrified to see the hush-hush garments covered the entire surface. I took the exchanged items home, however, they were too tight around my expanded rib cage. I returned the following day with hopes this time would be the charm. After making the exchange, I realized I tried on six different bras - at home. I didn't need a dressing room after all!

I'm light years away from my first training bra, however, there's cause to celebrate my motherly womanhood. Even though I'm now qualified to play a wide receiver, I love my figure and wouldn't trade it for all of the tea in China.

I continue persevering to reach my personal best. Fortunately, Wally World is open 24-hours a day, seven days a week. It may take that long to locate a comfortable and beautiful bra.

*Thank you for sharing my stories

Toilet Paper or Corn Cobs?

     I was talking with my aunt Audrey and the subject of toilet paper came up. I mentioned the frantic scene this awkward item created and asked, “What in the world did people do before toilet paper was invented?!” With a chuckle, she cleverly responded, “What until you Google the Thunder Mug, an item used during the outhouse years.

     The entire world is in the throes of creating a new normal. I hear the line every day, “When we return to normal. . .” Never again will we return to normal. For the first time in my near-60 years, everyone on GOD’s green earth is on the same page.

     Perhaps, it took me a tad longer to comprehend the magnitude of what’s been happening since the tail end of 2019. I’ve been known to have a Pollyanna attitude while wearing rose-colored glasses. Alfred P. Newman, the hero in MAD Magazine, was my childhood mentor and his classic saying rings in my ears to this day, “What? Me worry?” I tend to refrain from spinning in circles as if the sky is falling. Could this be a detriment at times? After all, becoming frantic means a plan must now be put in place.

     At the beginning of this month, I heard the jungle drums of a toilet paper shortage. The reason? No, it wasn’t the stores’ fault. It was the greedy hoarders who wanted this prized item to themselves. Surely, you jest. I had three rolls of bath tissue sitting quietly in my bathroom and, therefore, figured I was all set for this long winter’s nap.

     A thoughtful relative called and said I better get a few canned goods before they, too, were gone. I headed to Raley’s Grocery Store for a couple cans of soup. As I was walking in with my earthbag tucked securely under an arm, I was face-to-face with a man pushing his shopping cart packed to the rafters with toilet paper. He even managed to shove several packages onto the rack underneath. I was appalled learning the rumor mill was true!

     I bit my tongue and refrained from shooting daggers straight into his selfish eyeballs. I attempted reasoning with my Aries fire sign. Perhaps, he bought 100+ rolls to share with his children, grandchildren, friends in his neighborhood, the disabled citizens he knew and with those in needy circumstances. Yes, that’s what’s he was going to do. I vowed, after this shopping spree, of course, to never darken Raley’s doors again for allowing such gluttony.

     I found a few cans of Amy*s soups and then mosied to the paper goods aisle to see whether the ugly rumors were true. As sure as shootin’, the aisle from one end of the large store to the other was empty. Recently, I learned from a single woman she had 36 rolls of bath tissue and heard on the news people were scrambling to buy paper dinner napkins as a back-up so she, too, jumped on this bandwagon. Fortunately, we were on the telephone when she excitedly relayed her news, therefore, she couldn’t see my wide blue eyes roll into the back of my shaking head. However, she was right, there were no paper dinner napkins in sight.

     My curiosity had me by the vital jugular vein. I Googled and learned what was used before toilet paper was invented in 1857. To my dismay, I discovered the go-to items for personal hygiene were leaves, grass, ferns, corn cobs, maize, fruit skins, seashells, stone, sand, moss, snow and water. NO, this can’t be true! However, I feared it was. Years ago, I asked a friend, told who travels the world non-stop, how he feels clean when unable to shower. He responded as if I lived under a rock, “Butt wipes, of course!” With hesitancy, I asked, “Does the label actually say that?!”

     My incessant curiosity was further piqued when I remembered the Thunder Mug, my aunt Audrey mentioned with a laugh. I was horrified when I read it was a jug used on cold, icy, or rainy nights for when you didn't go to the outhouse. You kept it clean and ready under the bed for emergencies, babies and old folks. Talk about T.M.I.

     Last week, I went to Walmart for a few essential items such as nondairy creamer, Krazy Glue and mascara. I noticed several people stirring around a corner. I pushed my cart toward them and a pallet of paper goods. I asked a plainclothesman what was happening and he said the items just arrived. I asked whether they were for pre-orders and he said they weren't. He asked whether I needed anything and I said I could use a couple of rolls of bath tissue at some point. He reached over everyone's head and grabbed the largest package available and gently set it in my cart. I told him I was so grateful to him and thanked him three times. He smiled graciously. The package he handed me contained 18 rolls of 2-ply Cottonelle. Although I pushed my cart away shaking my head at my good fortune, I wondered whether I was a hypocrite. To relieve the guilt, I messaged my circle to see whether they needed any.

     Amidst this new normal in my life, I’m discovering a calm. I’m in close touch with those I care for deeply, my home is spotlessly disinfected and the yards are up to snuff. I’m even handwriting letters and sending them via Snail Mail, along with care packages.

     Call me a snob, however, if I had my druthers, there’d be a bidet in every bathroom. No one, especially me, would ever worry their pretty little head again about toilet paper or corn cobs.

LadyBugs on My Panties

Deborah Gilson, Rhonda Platt, 9-2018

I was all dolled up with someplace to go: my 40-year high school reunion. My 13 beauty t’s were crossed and my i’s were dotted. My hair was colored and styled, my brows waxed with a shapely arch, my teeth whitened and the weird hairs on my chinny-chin-chin removed. Every nook and cranny had been addressed, including my shaved legs complete with tan-in-a-can color. After all, “tanned fat is always better than white fat”, advises Katy Cochrane, a close childhood friend.👍

Rhonda Platt, a dear friend since we were 13, was flying in from Alaska to stay with me. She always has the low-down on beauty secrets and I desperately wanted to be in the know. I emailed to let her know I was wearing a gown, which required a strapless bra.😮

Rhonda immediately responded and told me to purchase a silicone bra. “A what?”, I queried hesitantly? She sent a photo to better guide me.😉The moment I saw the photo, I knew I was in over my head mumbling to myself, “That flappy thing will never stick to my boobs.” I drove to Victoria’s Secret anyway and whispered to the young salesgirl, “Hey, I need one of those rubbery bras in a D or DD - if they even make them in that size.” I secretly hoped no such item existed, however, she returned a moment later with the unwanted item in her hot, little hands.😟

I drove home and thought I’d better have a practice session before Rhonda arrived. I wanted to seem in-the-know on her trusty recommendation. I yanked the blubbery cups out of the box and made sure there was no lotion on my skin, per the box's explicit instructions. I learned I could tighten the cups with the centerpiece to create cleavage, too! I was excited at the prospect of bringing my girls closer together.😁

With precision, I rolled the super-sticky cups onto each of my breasts while gripping the instructions between my teeth. With firm hands, I pushed the cups on and held them in place for a moment. Hesitantly, I let go and watched the left cup slowly roll off and dangle onto my stomach.😥

Rhonda arrived and boy did the good times begin rolling. The neighbors could hear screams of laughter from sunup til sundown. The first evening of our reunion was about to take place and it was time to get our attire together. I was wearing a fitted black skirt just above my knees and wondered whether any V.P.L.’s, Visible Panty Lines, could be seen. I peered over a shoulder at my backside into my full-length mirror, pulling an Elastigirl pose.🙄

I hollered to Rhonda who was also getting ready. I told her my concern of a rumpled butt and she suggested a pair of Spanx. I was instantly reminded of the time I wore a pair of costly Spanx to a black-tie affair. During the dinner, I felt the Spanx rolling down my torso and onto my rear. I knew I had to race to the ladies room. The moment I stood, they continued rolling down to my kneecaps. I hobbled to the bathroom where I tore the thing off and threw it into the garbage can.😬

“Um, I don’t think Spanx are for me”, I hollered back to Rhonda. I decided to wear my paneled granny panties, instead. Besides, they would also conceal my motherly tum-tum. Rhonda and I were dressed to the nines and excited for our first reunion evening. We were meeting Bernice McHale Corey and other friends there. We became reacquainted with several attendees and I began talking with Don, one of the guests. All was going swimmingly, I thought. I was poised, confident and relaxed while having a wonderful time. Don asked whether I looked familiar to him and I said I thought his hair was familiar.🤔

He rattled off several facts about me from my teen days and I became visibly perplexed. I asked how it was possible he could know so much about me while I knew nothing about him. He flatly responded, “You ran with various large groups of popular friends. I was a brainiac. You didn’t have time for me.” I cringed with shame and embarrassment at my once deeply shallow demeanor. The hot air emptied from my balloon and I sheepishly replied, “Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t give you the time of day. Hopefully, I’ve grown up a bit.”😱 Although I wanted the ground beneath my chair to open up, I nervously remained next to him with my tail between my legs.

Rhonda and I screamed with laughter on the way home. We exchanged stories we gathered from the evening’s events. We could hardly wait to see what the next reunion evening brought. The 100 attendees looked magnificent in their gowns and dress coats. Again, I dressed for success in the hopes stories of my teen shenanigans was complete. However, Lady Luck was nowhere to be found.😧

Robin, Bernice, Me, Rhonda, 9-2018

Someone pulled my graduation photo from their phone. I was horrified to see my full set of teeth, complete with big, blue eyes squinted shut. The owner of the phone questioned my obvious glee and asked about the elation on my face. I admitted during the day of the graduation practice, I buried a bottle of booze under my chair for the evening’s event. The group of listeners was hanging on my every word when finally their memories began flooding in. “Oh, my God! That’s right! The bottle was passed up and down our row!”🍾

Deborah Patterson-Gilson, 7-1978

I nearly escaped another’s horrifying memory of me. In the desperate attempt to present a healthy, mature and respectable image for my son, I buried countless treasures in my sub-conscious. “Hey, Debbie! Remember the time you snuck out your bedroom window and couldn’t get back in?”, someone shouted?🤨

I straightened my shoulders and told of that evening’s adventures. In 1978, the band Boston released their debut record ‘Don’t Look Back’ and I threw a party in their honor. I had a 10 P.M., curfew and left the outdoor party to dutifully head home. I told Bernice McHale Corey's brother to pick me up at 11:00 after my parents were asleep. With a thrill, I climbed into his white pickup and we headed back to the party. At 3:00 in the morning, he dropped me off at my parents’ home and drove away. It was then I realized I hadn’t given my plan enough thought.😖

I was petite and my bedroom window was 12 feet higher than the flower bed. I couldn’t even jump high enough to reach the bottom of the window. After 30 minutes of failed attempts, horror became a reality. I’d have to ring the doorbell with a lie. My mother let me in and I explained how my horses escaped their paddock.🤥With her finger pointed at my bedroom door, she uttered through gritted teeth, “You’re grounded for a month, young lady.”😭

The reunion evening continued swimmingly until Bud Dangl said he, too, had a funny story about me, although he preferred to tell me in private. “Aw, come on, Buddy. After all, how bad can it be?” He shrugged his shoulders and began another cringe-worthy tale of when I was 17. He relayed what Robb Hüebner, his cousin, told him years ago. A party was in full swing and the bathroom was crammed with attendees. Robb was using the bathroom when I charged in saying I had to pee. Robb pushed everyone out and turned his back, however, not before taking a sneak peek. He then held the door closed until I finished while the Steve Miller Band blared “Jungle Love” in the background.🎤

It seemed highly improbable I’d be carefree about my privacy with a male present, however, I knew the story to be true as I treasure ladybugs to this day. I wanted to holler, “Holy crap, stop with this story, Buddy!” However, I feared my late mother’s Baptist-reared finger staring me in the face. Instead, I silently thought, “WTF?”😵

The other morning I awoke and 40 years passed. A few days ago, I was a fresh-faced young girl wobbling through pastures wearing platform wedge sandals and a stuffed bra. Although I’m where I longed to be as a full-fledged woman, I secretly snicker thinking back to the years when I wore ladybugs on my panties.🤭🤫