Passport Photos

My favorite humorist is Erma Bombeck.  

I suppose I’ve read all her books and will travel to the Erma Bombeck Writer’s Workshop in Dayton, Ohio next month to rejuvenate on the humor of others and refresh my own humor style.

One of Erma’s books is titled, “When you look like your passport photo, it’s time to go home.”

Not only do I agree with her sentiment, I have to amend it by saying, 

“When you feel like how your passport photo looks, you should have gone home 3 days ago.”

I mention this tidbit because I’ve recently returned from an eight-day  trip to Spain.

I have looked and felt like my passport photo. 

I’m not sure if you’d characterize it as the mug shot of a prisoner or the prison matron’s photo, either way, it isn’t attractive.  

In fact, I cringe each time I look at my passport photo and wonder what the custom agents think in seeing it, doing a “double take,” wondering what happened to my genetic makeup.

Nice portraits take a skilled photographer and a halfway decent looking subject. 

I’m a good photographer, so I make every effort to make my subject look her best.  

I can’t assume that anyone else would try that hard to make me look decent.  

Photos of me tend to catch me with my finger up my nose, mouth wide open, chewing food, showing every freckle, wrinkle, age spot and my mustache.  

Pair that with looking 5 sizes larger, 20 years older, and you have my typical photo.  

Told you...

However, the passport photo adds two extra items; it has to be taken with the head tilted downward and not smiling. 

At least that has been my experience, and I look downright ugly.  

But I’ve been told this is a good thing.

True case in point:

A 50ish year-old  woman decided to get a passport photo made when she was dressed to the nine, beautiful wardrobe, jewelry, hair coiffed and perfect makeup.  She was pleased with the outcome and insistent that the photo be taken her way, smiling and looking up and into the camera. 

The passport came back beautiful.

Her three week, grueling trip across Europe left her desperate for her own bed.  

She went to the airport hoping to sleep many hours on the plane, but had to go through customs first.  

The customs agent looked at the woman and the passport photo, confused about the difference.  

The two were so dissimilar that she was pulled aside, interrogated for several hours and missed her flight.  

Family members had to fax photos back to the customs agent. 

When he was thoroughly convinced the passport actually belonged to the woman, she was free to go home.

Did this woman learn her lesson?  

Apparently. 

She went home, took another set of photos as directed and looking “normal," then applied for a new passport.

I suppose there is merit in looking haggard in a photo, when after a trip I actually look and feel like it.

Apparently, I can’t win.

May all you travels have passport free photos... but if they do, grin and bear it.

I'd love to hear from you, email me at aitken.helen@gmail.com

Keep smiling.

Even when I get it right, I get it wrong

Tonight’s menu featured sautéed chicken with spices and a prepackaged sauce, some potatoes baked on a skewer for 2 hours, and carrots with green beans in butter and grape jelly.

Now, I could have made many mistakes.  The potatoes could have been baked to death, shriveled and dry.  That didn’t happen; they were just right.

The carrots were cooked in a little bit water with some salt and butter, and then a can of green beans went in the pot with 3 teaspoons of grape jelly.  The carrots could have been undercooked and the grape jelly could have turned everything purple.  That didn’t happen, it was the right color, texture and flavor.   

The chicken fillets were individually frozen pieces.  I thawed them, then sautéed then in a little bit of Worcestershire sauce, some garlic and onion powders, and added a chicken stock packet.  They could have turned into hockey pucks.  That didn’t happen; they browned perfectly and were delicious.

 

Apparently the stars and planets were aligned properly, everything came out beautifully and I didn’t poison anyone.  I mention this because Scott was highly skeptical when he saw the dinner.

 

“What’s this thing on my plate?” he asked.

“It’s chicken.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure.”

“It looks strange.”

“It may be slightly curled, like a lobster tail would be on the grill, but it’s chicken.”

“Where did it come from?  How old is this chicken?  What’s the expiration date on this chicken?”

“They were frozen pieces.”  Looking insulted, I picked up the bag and said, “The expiration date is 8, 2010.”

“Are you kidding?  You’d fed me chicken that expired 4 years ago?”

Smiling, I said, “Of course not.  The expiration date is 8, 2014.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time you fed me expired food.”

“I’m offended.”

“It’s not like you’ve never done it in the past or that you won’t do it in the future, just that you do it.”

“Humph.”

Scott took his food to the man cave and 20 minutes later, came back saying, “I want you to see this, I cleaned my plate.”

This would be his way of paying me a culinary compliment.

 

It’s bad enough when I doubt my own cooking abilities and blow up the microwave, but it’s worse when I’m expected to serve bad food.   

I can’t win.

May all your dinners be culinary delights instead of bad experiments.  I'd love to hear from you.  Email me at aitken.helen@gmail.com.

Have a great dinner.

The Funny Book with the Ugly Cover

My favorite thing to do is to laugh.
I can laugh with family, in the theater, in the car or by myself.
Better still, it's free and tax free!

I have such a loud, deep laugh and sadly, least of all unladylike.
One friend said he liked to hear my "guffaw" and it made him want to laugh with me; he told me he loved my "belly laugh".

A "Guffaw" is a loud and boisterous laugh...
Guffaw, hmm, even the word sounds unladylike.

Laughing feels good, and I have to remind myself that it's also good for the body.
The movement of the lungs jiggles the body into moving good oxygen throughout, causes the body to spend some calories, stimulates the brain and even exercises the liver.

I know I can use some good oxygen, and for heaven's sake, let me burn some calories without doing push ups.
Even Mr. Hercule Poirot would not oppose the stimulation of "the little gray cells, and James Bond could have used more laughter to keep his "shaken, not stirred" liver into better health.

Laughter's residual effect spreads to the mouth, where the lips turn upward in the best accessory for the face; a smile.

The mystery man behind the book is my husband, Scott

I found that during the Book'em N.C. Writer's Conference and Book Fair on Saturday, I spread a little humor through my book, It Only Happens To Me... Can You Dial 9-1-1?  

I set up my table with my books, business cards and some rack cards that had on one side my writing information and on the other, "A Cat Story", a small humor story from my book.

As people walked by, I handed out the rack card saying, "Would you like to read a funny story?"
Most of the time, people took it and walked on.
Some people stood there, read it and laughed a little.
Then there were a few people who "needed" to laugh and found that my story fit their need.

Consequently, I was able to talk about my book.

"It's the funny book with the ugly cover," I said.
When these people saw the burning popcorn in the microwave cartoon, they smiled and could relate.
I even thought some people were astonished to find that a few of the short non-fiction short stories in the back had been been selected for awards.

Even humor can be elevated to literary.

One woman, who bought my book took it with her to lunch.
Later that afternoon, she came back to find me saying, "I've been reading your book and I'm almost half-way finished with it.  It's so funny.  I generally find funny books to send to friends and this will be my new one."

She had me pose with my book and she took my photo.

I guess my mission to spread humor was realized.
In the near future, I'll start working on my next book, It Only Happens To Me... Normal is So Overrated.
Hopefully, that cover won't be so ugly, but still funny.


May all your days be filled with laughter and smiles.  If you have a funny story to tell, please send it to me at aitken.helen@gmail.com.  Who knows, it may wind up in the next book.

Keep laughing.

ADHD Days

Today, I can’t concentrate on writing and the excuses take center stage.

I get up and straighten the kitchen.  Well, not scour or clean, just move the trash and recyclables around, then hang up my coats and purses that have piled up on the kitchen counter.

Then, I have to have snacks.

Back to the computer to do some research.  

Ten minutes later, it’s time for a bathroom break.

I pass by the kitchen and need something else to eat.

At my computer, I hear sleet falling.  Now I’m cold and need a blanket.

Lunch time.

I eat my lunch by the computer and realize it’s getting dark, so I turn on all the lights.

“Hey Scott, bring down the ‘Happy Light’ so I won’t be in the dark.”

“Don’t look at it long; you don’t want to be overly happy.”

Apparently you have to look at the light…Can’t say it’s helped me work.

I suppose I need to put dinner in the crock pot, maybe a pork loin and some potatoes.  

Done. 

Back to the computer.

I think the dogs’ blanket needs washing. 

Back to the computer.

Time to put the blanket in the dryer.

Two hours later, I haven’t accomplished a thing.

Scott looked at the pork loin in the crock-pot.  "It looks like you're cooking some kind of leg." 

"It's pork loin."    

"Does it come from a pork leg?" 

"No."                                                                      

                                                                       

From his expression, he wondered if he liked pork leg.             

     

From my expression, he understood,  there's always chips and salsa.

I give up.  

May all your days be "Happy Light" perfect.  If you have any tips for keeping me on task, please write your comment below, or email me at aitken.helen@gmail.com.  

First Things First

It seems that by the time I clean the house, pack up the ordinary items on display, unpack and put out my beloved Fitz and Floyd Christmas things, it’s time to pack them up again.  

And then, clean again.  

It took Scott and I one evening to get the Christmas tree together and trimmed.  

It took me three days to wrap the gifts that fit under the tree, in front of the fireplace, on the chairs and over the floor.  

It took my dogs two trips over one strategically placed package to flatten it.  

But, I’m not worried about what the box looked like, because it went to my Brother-in-law.  

“Out-law” might be more fitting.

It took us all of 33 seconds to unwrap the gifts and pile the lovely wrapping paper and bows across the room.  

It also took a 55-gallon plastic bag to pick up the mess.

Now that everything’s back in order, I guess it’s time to write the Christmas cards.




May all your days be filled with wrapped presents and a trash bag big enough to pile everything in it.   Please send my Christmas card to aitken.helen@gmail.com.

Knowing When To Keep Quiet

I tend to give advice, on everything.  I can’t help it, maybe it’s the teacher in me coming out.  I just want to be helpful.  When dealing with my husband Scott, it’s better to know when “helping” is annoying.  Learning to park the boat and trailer is a time when it’s best to keep my advice to myself.

Trailer practice began at the local Assembly of God Church parking lot.  It was Thursday, 6:30 pm, and no one was there.   I’m not quite sure why Scott wanted me to come along, moral support?  He knew I would be documenting this experience for posterity’s sake, and maybe for a laugh or two.

Scott used new, glow-in-the-dark orange rubber cones to mark a regular-sized parking space.  If it had been me, I would have taken three spaces and then worked my way down to one after practicing a month.  I suppose Scott is an optimist.

When my mother taught me to ice a cake or sew on a button, she said, “Hold your mouth just so, so you can concentrate.”  I still partially hold my mouth open when I’m doing anything tedious and generally things turn out okay.  I would have suggested to Scott to hold his mouth just so, but before the words came out of my mouth, I realized that I would be better off keeping that idea to myself, as well as the minuscule size of the parking space.

Scott tried to move forward into a position where the trailer was perfectly behind the car.  He backed up and ran over the cones.  Not even, close.  He said, “I’m going to circle around again. I’ve got plenty of gas.”  I didn’t say a word.

Not deterred, Scott drove around the parking lot three times, until he found the perfect spot.  It was sort of like watching my dog finding the right space on the couch after circling it six or seven times.

Once he was in position, a truck appeared in the space directly across from us.  This person knew what we were doing.  How could you miss us?  They had the entire lot to choose a space and decided to throw a mental monkey wrench into Scott’s plans. 

Within minutes, an SUV whipped in and immediately the back window lowered; the face of a buck-toothed girl wearing large glasses gaped at us, mouth-hanging open.  Then big truck number two arrived and parked closely to the first one, everyone watching us.  Apparently, we were going to be their evening entertainment, and I wanted to hide. 

Scott ignored it all and began to talk to himself as he backed up, “If I want the front of the boat to turn right…,” not finishing his sentence.   I sat quietly, staring at the floor.

Even with all the pressure, Scott performed admirably.  “I don’t know how I did it.  It was a fluke.”   I became his cheerleader.  It wasn’t enough to park the boat and trailer once, he managed to do it three times by 7:20 pm, astonishing!

Before the sun set completely, we got home and angled the car and trailer for the driveway.  I suppose it was good that he practiced in the parking lot, because our driveway is about the same width as a parking space.

I said, “Do you want me to put the cones out, so you can see to back in?”  Scott stared at me with that look that says, “Are you stupid?”  I shut up.

I got out of the car and became the traffic controller, redirecting two cars, and held a conversation with some neighbors walking their dog.  Scott said, “You’re supposed to be helping me.”   I guess I had been quiet for too long.  Twenty minutes later, the trailer and boat were parked.  

When Scott got out of the car, his shirt was drenched, and he had aged some.  Since he didn’t hit my car or the garage, life was good.

The saga continues Saturday, when we put the boat in water for the first time.  I wonder if we should take the orange cones, or maybe just keep my mouth shut.

May all your boating adventures be "smooth sailing."  Email me at aitken.helen@gmail.com

Have a great day.

This humor piece was originally printed in a shorter version in the December 2013 issue of All At Sea Southeast magazine, page 18, http://www.allatsea.net/wp-content/uploads/2013/12/all-at-sea-southeast-1213.pdf.

A Chicken Sweater

Shelburne Farms posted a photo of a Chicken with a sweater on Facebook, from a friend online and I had to pass it on.

Shelburne Farms is a 1,400 acre working farm, education center and National Historic Landmark in Shelburne, Vermont.  

They said it was...“Just a fun photo from some knitting enthusiast!”

This would be...“For that hard-to-buy-for chicken in your life.” 

On Facebook, 1200+ people "like" the photo, 1600 people shared it, and almost 400 people made comments, some in other languages. 

Here are some of the best ones.

"Tres chic, or rather tres chick!"

"Pre-heating dinner?"

"Never get done that way, ya need a little fire!'

"Is that a chicken in a knit sweater?"

"I never know what to get my chickens for Christmas!!!"

'And I thought I went overboard with my chicken wearing diapers."

"If it's that cold, they need slippers, too!'

"I just spit out my milk...."

'Is it loosely fitting, or is it choking your chicken?"

'That's not a poncho, that's a pullet-over!"

"Eggsellent!"

"And maybe a matching hat, with a few naturally dropped feathers at the top.'

"Teriyaki????"

"I think I've seen two other versions of this pattern: Fowl Neck and Rhode Island Red Riding Hood ;-)"

"Will it have cold butt?'

"Why is dinner wearing a sweater?"

"A chicken poncho. I see this hitting the runways at the Paris Haute Couture shows this spring 2012. What chicken would not want to hit the town for the opera or a fine sup in such fine sartorial splendor?"

'I normally wrap my chicken in foil and put it into the oven to warm up if it's cold."

"I have a pressure cooker with that chicken's name on it, and believe me it will be nice and warm.'

"My friend says, "Here is a chicken with a capon'."

"One of my girls is still molting -- this would be perfect for her! Love it!"

"What they really need is a something to keep the frostbite off their combs, maybe a little Velcro hat?"

"Can you do this in a crocheted pattern?"

"I can't see what boots she has on."

"The new KFC chicken wrap?"

"It’s a chicken cozy!"

"I thought my dogs were spoiled...."

"You will not believe, I am wearing a sweater I made right now with yarn that looks like the chicken’s."

"Nothing says Happy Holidays like a pre- warmed Chicken."

"Warm thighs and wings - Yummmm !"

"Recon it will fit a blue and gold parrot."

"Free ranged?"

And then there was a comment that referenced penguins...

"Penguins like sweaters too." http://www.grist.org/list/2011-10-18-you-know-you-want-to-knit-a-sweater-for-a-penguin

Don't you just love a chicken sweater?   Feathers off to Shelburne Farms.  

I'd love to hear your comments.  Email me at aitken.helen@gmail.com.

Have a great day.