Little Red Ridin' Hood

(I took a writing class many years ago from Dee Pace. Once of the assignments was to take a classic fairy tale and make it contemporary. You can tell from this piece when I wrote this. It's not meant to be a political statement, I just have a warped sense of humour....and it just sort of flowed. It's been awhile, so hopefully all the innuendoes are still recognizable.  Enjoy!)

Once upon a time in the land of freedom and opportunity, a mother prepared her daughter who had reached the age of assent, to go out into the cruel world of harsh reality.  For mother knew there to be many who were powerful, whom she likened to wolves because they would prey under the guise of goodness upon the innocent.  With these admonishments, mother sent daughter into the world, dressed in a patriotic, nautical dress.  Adding the perfect touch, she topped the dress with a smart beret perched slightly to the left upon her daughter's head; enhancing thick dark locks, while displaying big blues eyes, robust cheeks and a toothy grin.  Mother sent along a basket of goodies to be shared only with those possessing grandmother's teachings–that of being worthy.  With a basket overflowing in wisdom, charm and self,  daughter left mother's home listening to one last caution, "Do not go down the avenue named after the train state, and do not go near that big white house. . .because there lurks the power that consumes."

The young lady enjoyed her freedom and found a few worthy of the gifts she carried in her basket.  Little by little, she began to share her gifts, using her grandmother's teaching.  Surely her mother was mistaken; she had yet to find power--a wolf disguised in promises with disturbing consequences of broken vows.  With this assurance, the young lady found herself upon the doorstep of that big white house.  Giving in to temptation, she knocked.

A very large, giant of a man opened the door.  His smile quite large, with eyes quite leering, he clapped his hands in glee.  "Oh, my, young lady, have you come to my aid?"  Remembering her mother's warning, she feared this man might very well be that wolf disguised in powerful clothing. 

Smiling again, he asked, "And what is your name?"

"Lou Ann, sir," 

"And your last name?"  He rubbed his hands together and smacked his lips, while watching her intently through hooded eyes.

"Ski," Lou Ann softly answered.

"What a nice moniker, Lou Ann Ski."  The man couldn't hinder the shining gleam of lust radiating from his eyes.  "Please come in and let me look through that quite attractive basket you are carrying so closely to your chest."

"Oh, sir, there is no way I could come in.  I am not supposed to be here.”  Lou Ann clutched her basket closer and turned to leave.

“Ms. Lou Ann Ski.”  The man grinned.  “Oh, I love that name.  Do you mind if I use it all together?  It seems to roll so fluently over my tongue and out of my mouth.  Please, my dear. Come in my office, its oval, you know . . . and we shall discuss this fear you have of power.”

Not able to dissuade this man and so sure she could change his evil ways, she marched behind him--straight into his office.

While he talked, she couldn’t help but notice certain things.  Stopping in midstream, he asked her if, perhaps, she had a problem?

“Oh, no sir.  I just noticed what big eyes you have.”

“Oh, my dear Ms. Lou Ann Ski, all the better to see you--”

“And what big teeth you have--”

“All the better to--”

As he attempted to finish the sentence and grab her by the shoulders, a much harried, angry lady burst forth into the room.  Her flushed face clashed angrily with her dress.  Too bad, because she looked so pretty in pink.

“Stop this now, I say!”  The lady seemed wicked as a witch.

“Who are you, ma’am?”  Lou Ann asked.

“I am from the west wing.”  The lady answered testily.

“How did you know I was here?”  Lou Ann asked in her innocence.

“You won’t believe this, but I was led here by a star, but not from the East . . . I think from Texas.  I am trying to stop the injustice of power over innocence before this goes too far.”

The man moved to say something, perhaps in apology, to the witch.  She stopped him cold with a withering look and a condescending, “Zip it, I don’t want anything out of you.”

Amazingly, this seemingly powerful giant stepped back, and Ms. Lou Ann Ski realized who truly held the power within the big white house on the street named after the state with trains.  Leaving as quickly as she could, she thanked her lucky star--the one from Texas--for saving her from more embarrassment for not seeing sooner, the wolf dressed in powerful clothing.

Seeing eye front seat driver???

A Dollar’s Worth

By Alisa Dollar

Prof told me I had the makings of a good country song when I was telling her about driving husband’s pickup while he was driving me nuts. Before I finished the tale, she was laughing.

I decided to write an article instead.

Disclaimer to men who can’t laugh at themselves….stop reading here; women, you’ll be nodding furiously in agreement.

It started when husband had his eyes checked. I had a dental appointment to have my teeth cleaned. The two offices are within a mile of the other across town. Husband decided I’d drive after his appointment because his eyes would be dilated. Unlike some, it takes quite awhile for him to look normal, not like a wild person.

Everything went well until I had to drive. He is very protective of his pickup and more so when I am driving said pickup.

Remember, he can’t see.

I will admit upfront I feel as though I’m driving a bus which in and of itself is bad enough; but to have a front seat passenger side wild-eyed helper makes for a very irritating afternoon.

That’s the good part.

The bad part is that Mr. Wild-Eye Know-it-All Can’t See Husband decides I don’t know which lane to get into in order to turn. Then, I must not know this pickup is different to park than my 4-door Taurus.  What? Like I don’t know I’m driving a tank?

And the last and most indefensible thing he said to me “What if you had to parallel park, what would happen? Huh?”

As calmly as I could I replied that was a mute point as there were no parallel parking spaces available and that most likely I would ram whatever was in front and back of me like I did all those years ago when I took my driving test.

“I’ll bet you didn’t pass either!” he grumped while still telling me that I needed to back up and retry because I was too close to the car next to us.

I refused to tell him I had to retake the test.

As much as I don’t like to go to the dentist, I was happy to get in that office and catch my breath.

Maybe I will write a song--I was driving my husband’s pickup while was driving me nuts.

It really does have a ring to it.

Patience......DID YOU HEAR ME???? :-)

A Dollar’s Worth

By Alisa Dollar

Have you ever wondered why the love verses in 1 Corinthians start with “love is patient”? All you have to do is be married 42 years—or 5 minutes.

We celebrate 42 patient years together this week. Son’s marrying this week to a lovely young lady.

While talking about the upcoming nuptials, he laughed at something I said about his dad. I reminded him his life as a single, only think and/or take care of yourself days are numbered.

He informed me that he’d lost that when they committed to marriage.

I laughed because idealistically he truly believes himself. When reality hits for both of them, they’ll understand my laughter.

Marriage is a wonderful institution. I took vows knowing I would do my best to keep them. What I didn’t know was how hard it is to keep them!

I really thought I’d be June Cleaver in sweats, barefoot, sans pearls. I thought hubby would be Ward in a button down oxford shirt, jeans and boots. We’d have two perfect children and live happily ever after.

<GAG>

I suppose there are those that have a perfect, pearly, clean house, three hot meals marriage.

That is truly wonderful. I wouldn’t be able to stand the quiet. Think about it. Did Ward ever yell at June? Did June scream at Ward or Beaver and Wally? No. She put her hands on her hips and shook her head and said in even tones how things needed to be.

I’m a believer in letting it all out, get it over with, hug, kiss, and as that TV comedian says “Git’r done!” By the way, I don’t really understand that guy, but that’s another column.

After visiting with son, I thought of things just this weekend that would reiterate love is patient.

The time changed Saturday night. Husband says aren’t you going to bed, remember we have church and communion at nine. Of course I know all that, but I don’t say anything. Love is patient.

Sunday morning ten minutes before time to leave, I hear “Do you know what time it is?” Love is patient.

Sunday afternoon I’m cleaning my closet to put winter in and summer out. “Are you going to clean this mess up?” Love is patient.

Those are just a few. Husband has a list as well.

I know why this is first. Marriages wouldn’t last without patience.

Love is patient.

My theory and I'm stickin' to it..........

A Dollar’s Worth

By Alisa Dollar

My theory....there’s got to be a father. A daddy. A man.

This goes beyond birds and bees. I never understood that anyway. They just aren’t a good match.

Now in humans, there is a man and a woman. I fall into the category that believes the Adam and Eve story and thankful that I don’t like apples. Husband does, but “I” haven't tempted him with one, metaphorically speaking.

I thought most women thought the same. Give or take the beginnings.

Many years ago, Gloria Steinem was to give a lecture at the university. I wanted to go. I’m one of those people who need to see, hear, and learn for themselves. I knew her to be a feminist. I didn’t fit myself into that category but had a few friends really into the women’s movement.

I believe women can do anything they wish to do and succeed. I figured I’d fit in somewhere.

The first hour was very nice. Ms. Steinem prepared well for the city and university she visited. I was instantly captivated by her beauty (she was in her mid-50s and a knockout) and her ability to bewitch an audience.

That was the first hour. The second hour I began squirming. Somehow the subject matter turned to why men are evil and had caused a malignant curse upon all woman kind.

I waited for lightening to strike while my friends yelled “Yes! YES!”

I prayed I wouldn’t end up on any local television channel walking out and embarrass my kids. Husband is used to my antics.

At coffee afterwards I was very quiet. If you know me-- that’s a sign of trouble.

One turned to me and asked what was wrong.

“I love my daddy.” I replied.

“What has that got to do with anything?” United they asked.

“I also love my husband. And my son. Oh shoot, I like men in general.”

“And?” Again asking together.

“Let me put it this way.....had it not been for a man, none of us would be here. We wouldn’t be mommies.”

Mouths dropped. “Why would you think we don’t know or appreciate that?”

“First clue? When y’all were yelling “right on” with your fists in the air!”

Steinem’s a great speaker and motivator.

Though I enjoyed her, I came away with a much different perspective than most there.

I appreciate men who are fathers, sons, brothers and friends. From the reaction of my “right on” friends, they thought they felt the same as me.

Maybe the difference is that I don’t mind telling men I appreciate them.

I know I can open all doors, but that is not the point. It is nice to have them opened for me by a gentleman.

With that said, it does not mean they should have control of the remote.

This is where I draw the line.

Happy Father’s Day!

Another damn bird story........

A Dollar’s Worth

By Alisa Dollar

Another parakeet we had was adopted. I should’ve known better when friends said little bird needed a home with kids. What they had, but failed to mention, was a brat bird!

An albino bird with pretty white feathers and red rimmed eyes made me think she was a hung over, but overall, she was a striking chick.

It didn’t take long to realize why friends wanted to dump Chickie. She was a monster in the making. The only good thing is that she never tried to lay an egg (remember Cookie?)

Chickie loved freedom. She also loved to peck anything wood. She pecked the rims of windows, the arms of furniture, or the top of paneling. Chickie drove me nuts (which most times is a very short trip) when she’d roost on my glasses and pick-n-peck at my eyelashes. Why me?

Over time, we became attached to Chickie and her “ways” but I never really bonded with her because I thought she was too high maintenance and downright mean. When one of the kids heard me yell “Quit that!” they’d run to rescue Chickie. I know a bird doesn’t know how to taunt, but there were times I’d swear she smirked at me when they’d take her.

One day, son ran to me hollering to come quick or sister was going to kill Chickie. My first thought was if I hesitated just long enough, maybe she would complete the deed. However, my overactive mothering instinct pushed me to the kitchen immediately not wanting daughter to face the aftermath.

What I found was and still is, extremely funny. Daughter had decided to give Chickie a bath and thought she’d destroyed her ability to fly. Son explained he tried to tell her to put the bird back in the cage and she’d fly when she dried.

As she wailed, “But mommy look, Chickie really can’t fly.” She’d throw Chickie into the air and the poor bird kerplunked to the floor.

I have to admit it was pretty funny, but I could see daughter really was going to break feathers and all if I didn’t rescue Chickie.

We put Chickie in the cage and covered it with a towel and waited two hours.

Amazing! Chickie could fly and it wasn’t long till she was back to the busywork of destroying the edges of anything wood—and my eyelashes.

Saving her life must’ve meant something.

Chickie never smirked at me again.

It's a dog's life.....(I think)

Dog Day Afternoon

by

alisa dollar

“Please, listen to me. Let me out, now! Please? Pretty please?” I whimper in a semi-begging, semi-demanding plea. Mr. Master continues to watch the latest reality show on television. Reality for me is dancing frantically, manipulating fast paced staccato steps in an attempt to not urinate all over newly vacuumed, off white carpet complete with a bouquet fragrance. I always get in trouble when I do a no-no.  Thank goodness all I have to do is pee.

It’s one thing to do it when everyone is gone, but quite another when Survivor 100 is on. God forbid I should reek, wait make that wreak havoc behind the controller of the ever handy remote. Hey you! Is there a button on there for pet needs to go out for a few seconds? I didn’t think so.

I begin to run back and forth from master to door, master to door, wagging my bottom, anxiously relating through energetic body language this is damned important.  Hellooooooooooo!  What?  Am I invisible?

Aw, geez. I don’t want a pat on the head, dammit, get up and let me out! I can’t be held responsible for any accident caused by lack of enthusiasm on your part to open that damn door, capiche?  What the hell. I’m not even Italian. That’s what happens when frenzy sets in.

And how many times have I heard how smart I am? Yeah right. If I’m so smart why haven’t I figured this routine better, eh?  YES!  Finally. Open the door, open the door, open the door. Oh man, you don’t need a beer now, do ya? Open the door, open the door. VOILA! My prayers are answered! Wow. That was a close call.

I stretch in luxurious pose on a cool ceramic entrance to guard my palatial turf - behind a glass door of course. No need to sweat the small stuff. I savor my chewy while my plush tummy relishes its secure foundation. In the background, my ears perk every time Mr. Master burps and belches between cheers mixed with curses at the screen in front of him. So much for survivor. It’s tough being a dog.

As the day progresses it becomes very clear I am being snubbed.  Mr. Master side-steps every frisky attempt to block his path. Walk? Wanna walk?  I could dump. I haven’t dumped yet–walk? What? Big Brother comes on now? Oh brother. What next? Do they have one for dogs?  Prolly hair of the dog with my luck.  Okay okay, I get the message.

Head down, I slip away unnoticed to my favorite escape to sulk and lick my wounded soul. Convinced that life as I knew it changed with the invasion of stark reality. Not the usual bumps and grinds of supposed “real life” portrayed on television, but the sure and undeniable certainty Mr. Master was never going to learn the tricks I’ve demonstrated since puppyhood. Easing my still agile body underneath a bed, I cradle my head on paws and fall into a pouting, fitful doze.

“Buddy?  Where are you, bud?”

 Damn that tail. I try my best to keep my carcass still.  I have yet to pardon Mr. Master. He must beg. He must roll over. He must fetch until I sanction forgiveness.

“Buddy, guess who’s here?”

Oh no.

“Buddy? Come out, Lily Girl is here.”

Drat. That witless cat. My nemesis. I inch further under the bed.

“There you are, Buddy. Come out.” Mr. Master issued a no nonsense command.  “Buddy.  Here. Now.”

Uh oh. He means business. I creep backwards, slow as thick molasses. Maybe Lily Girl will go climb a tree or....

“Buddy!” Loud and clear, followed by an apologetic, “I don’t know what’s wrong with him, he’s been behaving weird all day.”

What? Mr. Master doesn’t know what’s wrong with me? I’ve been behaving weird? Yeah right.  Was it me playing Russian roulette with the remote? Was it me who refused a walk in the glorious sunshine? Was it me who....

“There you are, ol’ boy. Come say hi to Debbie and Lily Girl. Don’t give me that sad oh-poor-me look, Buddy.  Get over here.  Now.”

There he goes again. The voice beyond reason. The voice of controlled authority.

I drag myself off my less than cheerful haunch and poke nose to nose with Lily Girl with a snorting hey, girl.

Why am I not surprised she responds with a swipe of a sharp clawed paw? 

Geez, Lily. It’s not like I’m happy to see you are anything. Keep your animosity to yourself. I have to. Get with the program. Our people are watching.

“Aren’t they cute together?” Ms. Mistress sighs. “I just knew they’d be friends.”

“They didn’t really have a choice, now did they?” Mr. Master chimes in. “I’ll have to admit though, I’m amazed Buddy let’s Lily Girl get at him that way.”

Amazed?  AMAZED? What - you drug me over, demanded I be civil no matter what. The damn little monster comes at me and I have no choice but to sit here because I have been taught manners? Because my master makes me mind and hers lets her be a...a....cat?  Puh-leeze. Amazed, my ass.

“It’s good though, right? Since we will all be together soon?”  A sultry whisper followed by a resounding smooch on Mr. Master’s eager lips.

Wait! Don’t I have a say? Does Ms. Mistress know you watch reality television? Does she know you belch and burp beer 24/7? Does she know you are a slob and only clean when she and IT are coming over? Does she.....

“Yeah, it won’t be long. Wanna put ‘em in the garage while we go get a little lovin’? Mr. Master suggests through a drooling murmur.

“Buddy, Lilly Girl–to the garage.” Voices integrate in harmony.

Lily Girl looks around with adventurous eyes. I gauge her reaction.  Damn. Forlorn. I stretch flat to the cool cement.  Lily Girl snuggles by my side to seek comfort and protection.

Hmmmm. Maybe this will work after all.                                                             

The End

My Window Faces Whatever Way it Faces......

A Dollar’s Worth

By Alisa Dollar

My Window Faces South is one of husband’s favorite songs. He says he doesn’t listen to lyrics and I’m a lyric person. I decided to find the words.

They made no sense! I told him that on the way to visit a friend in the hospital. He said why? I proceeded to tell him why would you be halfway to heaven if your window faces south; wouldn’t heaven be north? And if it’s snowing would there even be cotton fields? And what on earth did the Suwannee have to do with the window?

Husband gracefully and humbly (how it pains me to write that) said he didn’t know the lyrics, he loved the music but from the convoluted explanation I gave, he said he could quickly give a succinct and correct connotation in one word.

I smartly said, “Yeah? What?”

“Homesick.”

“That is ridiculous and you know it, you just don’t listen to lyrics so now you are making up meanings!” I accused.

“Think about it….and remember the era it was written.” He starts off like I’m some kid. “He is away from home, probably up north since it is snowing. His window faces south, which would be where he is from.”

“Get outta here!” I interject not so quietly.

He ignores me, which is normal since he has selective hearing, and continues, “He’s halfway to heaven because he faces what he left behind and loves….the south, cotton fields and so on.”

I got really quiet for two reasons. One it sounded reasonable and two it made me mad that he didn’t even KNOW the words till I told him and he got that!

I conceded he might be right.

The next day after church, Bree, Speedy and husband and I were at lunch. Yes the preacher has to put up with the four of us.

I was telling the story exactly as above. Bree looked at husband and says, “She doesn’t know her directions, and has decided that north is heaven?”

Husband shrugs a “well consider the source” shrug and she has the nerve to laugh.

Speedy didn’t say a word and I have to say admit I was on the verge of thanking him for not making fun of me.

I should’ve known better.

 “I guess I won’t go to heaven then.”

“Why?”

“If I have to go through Amarillo, I’m not going!”

They all laughed.

I did too. What else could I do?