Prompt

Uh oh, Grandma’s in Trouble

/ Sheila McIntrye Good, Author / 13 Comments

The Daily Post Prompt: Thorny

As you may have read, I recently took a trip to Washington D.C. I typically visit D.C. twice a year to see my youngest daughter who has been there almost six years. This time, however, it was a treat to take my oldest daughter and my two lovely granddaughters with me. It was the first time flying for the young ones, and I was interested in how they might react to the security checkpoint. Their mother and I gave them a brief summary of what to expect, and we got in line.

I have a pacemaker. I can walk through the x-ray machine but must avoid the wan. As a result, I frequently get the pleasure of the pat-down; which I have no problem submitting to. I’m not one of those who scream civil rights or whimper about being ‘touched.’  So, pat away. They want me to strip? No problem. I’m past the age of being offended. All I’m interested in is getting on the plane, having an uneventful and safe flight and arriving at my destination in one piece.

Everything was going smoothly until the officer swabbed my hands. My daughter and granddaughters went through without a hitch. They were grabbing their things off of the conveyor when an alarm sounded. A woman next to my daughter said, “Uh oh, Grandma’s in trouble.”

To which my daughter replied, “Nah, she has a pacemaker; she’s fine.”

“Nope, that was not her pacemaker. She set off an alarm.”

Talking about a thorny situation … I was watching my granddaughters, not paying much attention to the officer swiping my hands. Then the alarm sounded, and I glanced at the monitor. “Stay here,” the officer said, calling to another officer. Puzzled I looked at the monitor and my eyes widened; it was flashing in big letters – TNT!

“Holy s*@&! What the hell had I touched?” TNT?? Seriously? 

Yep, that’s yours truly at the beginning of my second and more thorough pat-down. I thought my flippant remark about stripping was about come to fruition – that or a cavity search.  Lucky for me, it didn’t get that thorny!

I was eventually cleared and allowed to board the plane, but I was certain, somewhere, some dude was typing my name onto a  watch list.

The girls had a good laugh at Nana’s expense, of course, and we had a blast in D.C. Oops! I mean fun! FUN. If anyone’s listening out there  – I meant FUN!

Maybe, my daughter should come home more often. It’s getting hard to take me anywhere.

Here’s a travel tip:  hand lotions with glycerine will test positive for explosives! Who knew!

I’d love to hear your thoughts on the subject. Join the conversation. Talk to me or tell me your story. I’m all ears.

 Theorem 31 

/ Sheila McIntrye Good, Author / 4 Comments

Daily Post Prompt: Rhyme

 Although I would never call myself a poet under any circumstances, I can’t imagine a girl alive that didn’t at some point try her hand at writing poetry. Usually, and I’m guessing (wink, wink) every girl has poured her young heart out in rhyme and unreasonableness. I’m sure my cow pasture journal was filled with sappy attempts. I don’t have the remnants of those but I do have one special poem, written while in high school with an amusing little back story.

I would rather have been tied to a stake and set afire than forced to take algebra. However, back in the day (don’t ask, it was a long time ago), if you wanted to go to college, you took algebra. My teacher was a young man fresh out of college and for some reason took a special interest in this struggling student. In fact, had I accepted a dinner date with him (sworn to secrecy, of course) I could have come out with an A. I turned his generous invitation down and instead wrote a poem, which he rather liked. I’d take my chances on the grade.

 Theorem 31 

Oh, that teacher in 1st period
his Theorems and his Proofs!
the more I try, the harder it gets
and, the Lord knows that’s the truth

The corollaries and postulates,
know them one by one
now, get to work and state the Proof
Of Theorem 31

I proudly state the given
then comes L1=L2
man, on my way, am I
and AB=BY.

I look again at what
I am proud to prove and
suddenly see despair

I know that Mr. Morgan’s near
I sense him in the air.
He’s standing there right over me
With ruler in his hand

Sheila that’s wrong,
dear heart
Erase it and try again

Oh, that teacher in 1st period
his Theorems and his Proofs
they’re driving me up the wall
and, God knows that’s the truth.

With a long, deep
and sad, sad sigh
I begin to erase it
I begin to cry

The shreds of hair lay
All around
My tear-stained face
Is streaked

So here, go again
compose yourself
don’t look so stunned

Sheila, it’s really very easy
now, take this sheet
Quit pulling your hair
now, prove Theorem 31

 

I’d love to hear your thoughts on the subject. Join the conversation. Talk to me or tell me your story. I’m all ears.

Such an Old-Fashioned Word

/ Sheila McIntrye Good, Author / 8 Comments

Homage

Aw, such an old-fashioned word. Homage – a noun; defined as – respect, honor, reverence, worship, admiration, esteem, adulation, tribute, acknowledgment, recognition, and accolade; memorial services are an example. It’s a word we rarely if ever hear in our daily conversation and certainly rarely see exercised, at least the way I remember.

When I was growing up, certain values and behaviors were expected. It was the norm to honor our elders, parents, teachers, police, fireman, pastors, and most especially our leaders.

Our parents taught us to respect the individuals serving in these roles for the extraordinary contribution each one made to make our lives better, be it a home, education, or nation where we could grow and prosper. Today, it would appear those receiving recognition are the least deserving.

Sadly, paying homage is not only an old-fashioned word but an antiquated practice trampled beneath the feet of political correctness; our loss for sure.

“The Greatest Homage We Can Pay Truth is to Use it.” 

Ralph Waldo Emerson – Click to Tweet

 

I’d love to hear your thoughts on the subject. Join the conversation. Talk to me or tell me your story. I’m all ears.

Spicy Language

/ Sheila McIntrye Good, Author / 4 Comments

The Daily Post Prompt:  Spicy

“Morning mom.” Karen stopped in the doorway of the kitchen and stared. Her mom, lost in the pages of a book, hadn’t heard a thing and her coffee sat untouched in front of her. Karen stepped back into the shadow of the hallway. Her mother didn’t move except to turn the page and with each turn, her face flushed a deeper red. It looked to Karen as if she wanted to crawl inside the book.

She couldn’t remember a time, at least in recent years, she’d seen her mother looking so … happy? Content? Moved? No! Excited, that was it. What the hell was her mother reading? She squinted and leaned closer in an attempt to read the cover. Mr. Tubs slipped up behind her and rub against her leg. Karen yelped and stumbled into the room.

Her mother sprung from her seat as if bitten. She grabbed the chair to keep it from toppling and slapped a dish towel over the book. “Heavens, Karen you scared the life out of me.”

“Sorry,” Karen said, “you can thank Mr. Tubs for that, he caught me by surprise.”

Her mother carried her untouched cup to the sink. “Sit down, I’ll get you some coffee.”  She opened the cupboard, “Cream and sugar?”

“Yeah, thanks.” Karen lifted the corner of the towel. “Whatcha reading?” Her mother spun around and grabbed the covered book from Karen’s grasp. Her face flushed crimson. “Nothing you’d like.” She stuffed the book in a drawer. “Gladys gave it to me, and I can’t imagine why. It isn’t very good.”

“Really?” Karen bit her lip to keep from laughing. “Why’s that?”

She handed Karen a steaming cup of coffee. “The language is a bit spicy for my taste.”

“Couldn’t tell it from the look on your face when you were reading. Fifty Shades of Grey, mom?” Karen snickered.  “Spicy indeed.”

 

 

 

I’d love to hear your thoughts on the subject. Join the conversation. Talk to me or tell me your story. I’m all ears.