BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

Yeah, I know… Not exactly patriotic sounding given that this is July 4th and all. But, don’t read anything into that title. I’m NOT unpatriotic. I just don’t like parades.

I used to. Well… Sorta…

I mean, I watched the parades on Thanksgiving Day when I was a kid. We still turn them on in the morning while I am doing the last minute cooking before heading out to visit family. Or, as will be the case this November, the ton of cooking here at home because it’s the everyone goes elsewhere year. Since I have little family left, E K, the O-spring and I do it up big time here at the house. This allows for E K to have leftover turkey, which is one of her all time favorite things, surpassed only by leftover corned beef and leftover “Aunt Ida’s Stew.”

But, I’m getting off track, aren’t I?

When I was a kid my parents took me to see parades. I guess back then, as a child, they held a different kind of meaning, because I didn’t hate them. I wasn’t particularly fond of them, mind you, but I didn’t abhor them as I do these days.

In one case I actually enjoyed a parade. It was sometime around the late 60’s and it was the Christmas parade in “downtown” Fulton, Kentucky. For those of you who aren’t aware, Fulton, Kentucky is from whence I hail. Well, I was born in Fulton. I lived in the neighboring farm community of Water Valley. Of course, then we moved to Saint Louis and… well, there I go getting off track again.

So, the thing is, it was the late 60’s in Fulton, Kentucky. We were standing there watching the parade go past us and along came a contingent of ROTC types, led by a Majorette of sorts.

Now, obviously the picture to the left isn’t her. I mean, after all, that’s a doll in the pic. Not that the Majorette in question wasn’t a doll, because trust me, she was.

However, in this case, since she was leading a bunch of ROTC types, she was dressed in a skimpily “Majorettified” military uniform, complete with the black, vinyl go-go boots of the era. I suspect you could find something that closely approximates her attire by surfing the adult “costume” (wink wink) websites. But, I figured I shouldn’t grab any pics from there. I already get enough porn seeking traffic through here because I write about EKay’s dominatrixishness.

Anywho, on with the show… The doll in question was pretty, wearing a uniform, and man could she twirl that rubber tipped metal stick. Moreover, the baton twirling beauty smiled at me. Granted, she had a parade smile stapled to her face the entire time, but I’m relatively certain she smiled right at me. That’s the way I intend to remember it, at least.

But, after a moment or two she was gone, and the rest of the parade filed by, brought up in the rear by the jolly elf riding a firetruck. As usual,  Santa Claus  was tossing individually wrapped circus peanuts to the crowd. (They tended to survive the fall better than candy canes).

I didn’t get one though.

As the confections showered the onlookers, pelting us in the heads and bouncing onto the streets, bigger kids than me scrambled to collect them. My mom purposely stepped on one so she could save it for me, almost taking out the fingers of some man who had been reaching for it. But, the minute she moved her foot some twelve-year old vulture swooped in and took it. The little bastard.

But, that’s not why I hate parades.

Nope… I hate them because they are long, generally boring when you get right down to it, and they always involve crowds. I don’t do crowds.

But, it doesn’t really matter. I still have my fond memories of that parade all those years ago. Maybe I didn’t get a smashed circus peanut, but I did get a  sandwich at The Whistlin’ Pig (a Fulton, Kentucky institution). And guess what? My uniform wearing, smiling, baton twirling beauty of a Majorette was sitting at the table right next to ours.

More to come…

Murv

I’m a little odd, but I guess we already knew that, didn’t we?

But, my “half a bubble offedness” aside, I’m also a bit of a medical anomaly at times. Just ask my buddy Gina. I say ask her because she’s one of those folks who packs initials around behind her name. As in MD, which as we all know stands for, “Me Doctor.” So, Virginia Witt MD, can tell you I’m an odd duck. Take for instance that she recently suggested that I try Zyrtec for my allergies. Non-drowsy, 24 hour relief, and I can still manage to function and work… Yeah… Uh-huh… Right. I was comatose for 36 hours. But, I don’t blame Gina. It’s all because I’m not quite right in the body chemistry department.

Just for grins I’ll give you another example, and it will even be far more relative to this story… (How’s that for a ham handed segue? Okay… Well, more of a rump roast handed segue then? Good.)

Anyway, yeah… Chicken Pox. The itchy, bitchy scourge of kids everywhere. Well, except for those who have had the vaccination, of course. My point is, I had them. Like every other kid on the block back in 19-koff-koff, I had the speckledy spots, annoying itch, fever, and general crabbiness o’ the pox. Good thing I got that out of the way, right? I thought so. Until I was 21, that is. I was working at Videoconcepts (as I’ve noted in other nostalgic blogs) and one of our customers came in with her kid to rent a movie. The next day she called us to let us know that her kid had broken out in the Pox, so beware. Well, no biggie for me. I’d already had them. I was safe.

Not.

I contracted them again. I’m here to tell you, Chicken Pox as an adult is just as bad, if not worse, than as a child.

Okay, so all good. I’ve now had Chicken Pox twice. If the antibodies didn’t build up in my system the first time around, surely they must have on the second go. I am now invincible against all things Chicken Pox related.

Then I met E K. Now, before you go to emailing the Evil Redhead and telling her that I’m blaming her for something, just hold on a sec. You see, it’s not her fault. As outlined in the “Mahwage” blogs, I “lell in fuve” and courted her. We were married. And then the Chicken Pox came… But, not right away.

You see, upon our getting hitched, I gained a couple of nieces. However, due to them living in a distant land called Washington State, it was a good bit before I ever met them. However, in the interest of not waxing ridiculous about the one or two years between the wedding and meeting the nieces, I’ll skip forward to the summer of the Chicken Pox.

These new additions to my extended family were a bounding, energetic pair of girls aged 4 and 5 as I recall. Or, maybe it was 3 and 5… Either way, they were pint-sized munchkins with more energy than humanly possible, and they were an absolute joy to be around. We did the sightseeing, BBQ’ing, and all that stuff that goes on when family visits from out of town. Our nieces took a shine to me, for what reason I will never know, and before long I became “Uncle Murk.” Soon, the favorite game became “Toss Puppy Patch.” Puppy Patch, you see, was a small, stuffed dog. I think it had something to do with a cross between Cabbage Patch Kids and Pound Puppies, which were the toys of the day. At any rate, “Toss Puppy Patch” eventually morphed into games of keep away and catch involving a Koosh Ball… Puppy Patch, it seems, was starting to get a little airsick. Still, we had a blast for several days, and “Uncle Murk” was binked on the Brainpan by a Koosh Ball on several occasions. Yet another reason I’m a bit addled, I suppose…

However, as with all good things, the visit came to an end. Brother-in-Law, Sister-in-Law, nieces, and even Puppy Patch had to return to the Pacific Northwest. Tearful goodbyes were said, and we all went back to our daily grinds.

Then, came the phone call. Niece one has full blown Chicken Pox, and niece two is coming down with them fast. No worries. I’ve had it twice now. I’m invincible!

Not.

A week later I was running a fever that pushed over the 104 barrier. My back was killing me, and tiny red dots were appearing everywhere. And, I do mean everywhere. The bottoms of my feet, inside my nose, and all manner of other places we won’t talk about. The Pox had come to kill me for the third time. The doctor (Not Gina) told me that I was in possession of the absolute worst case of Chicken Pox he had ever seen during his entire practice. In fact, I came very close to ending up in the hospital. Fortunately, I didn’t…

I did, however, spend quite a bit of time delirious. One day when E K came home from work during lunch to check on me, she found me literally laying in the middle of the floor babbling to myself. What’s worse, I was so delirious that when I opened my eyes and saw the stilettos and gams in front of me, I was scared to death of her. Not because of her EKayishness as one would  normally surmise, but because I thought she was going to have me “put to sleep.” (We just a few days before had needed to euthanize one of our felines, so my overheated brain was making some very odd connections.)

And, once again, before you run off telling my niece(s) that I blame them for this, put a sock in it. They already know. In fact, I joke with niece one about it all the time.

And, besides, niece one is really what this blog is all about.

You see, all of this happened many moons ago. Better than two decades, in fact. The energetic little munchkins have grown up. They are both lovely and brilliant young ladies now. And, when I say brilliant,  I do mean brilliant…

So brilliant, in fact, that niece one is getting herself a hoodie today. Or, at least, that’s what I like to call it, just because I’m silly that way. In case you aren’t getting the joke, by hoodie I mean today is the ceremony for her Doctoral Hooding.

Yep… Niece One is now Doctor Niece One. Professor of American History.

Unfortunately, due to a prior engagement, I am unable to attend this fashion show. But, I’ve already been in touch with her to let her know how proud I am.

Still, I really wanted to be there so I could bink her in the head with a Koosh Ball during the ceremony. You know… Just for old time’s sake…

Congrats, kiddo… Or should I say, Doc?

More to come…

Murv

Please Note: Names have been purposely omitted because I certainly don’t want my nieces to have to deal with the stigma of having me as their uncle. 😉