Part 3: (Of My Newest 6 Part Series) A Good Sense Of Humor Is Hereditary… And That’s A Fact.

 

My parent’s first Christmas together presented one major problem.

The tree.

My father picked out the Christmas tree the first year my mother and father were married. A tree like the ones he had grown up with.

My mother: “That’s the tree you picked out?”

My dad: “Yes, isn’t it beautiful?”

My mother: (laughing) “That tree looks like a Charlie Brown Christmas tree.”

My dad: “What do you mean? That’s the kind of tree we always had growing up.”

My mother: “Seriously? We never had a tree like that. We always had a full Christmas tree.”

Often, people who fall in love come from different experiences. This can be a stumbling block, or just a lesson in compromise and the perseverance it takes to make things work.

Let’s face it, what you love, is what you know… especially when it comes to your childhood memories, the way certain meals are prepared, or even your taste in decorating.

Yet, some of these things, like the style of your Christmas tree, can create an argument larger than who left the cap off of the toothpaste or how someone could forget to put the toilet seat down.

Not for my parents.

My mother went out and bought the fullest Christmas tree on the lot… what she had known as a child. She stood the tree in a stand and decorated it.

My father kept his Christmas tree up and decorated it.

The first year of their marriage, my parents proudly displayed two fresh Christmas trees in their small apartment.

One, a Charlie Brown Christmas tree, as my mother had called it… with sparse branches that hung towards the floor with the weight of the ornaments… this was the tree of a hard-working mailman, the father of eight.

The other, a full-bodied tree, with thick, rich branches. Reminiscent of the tree bought by the father of two, an appliance repairman.

When my sister and I came along, my parents celebrated Christmas every year with an artificial tree.

When we begged for a real tree, we learned of their differences and all about their first Christmas together. My parents laughed as they told us the story.

Growing up, we never got to have a real tree but we learned about the power of compromise and the importance of having a sense of humor.

For me, I tell this story with pride.

It has shaped my compassion, as well as, my ability to compromise and take another person’s feelings into account when you have a difference of opinion.

And you know what else?

My parents had another tradition that trumped my longing for the smell of a freshly cut Christmas tree in my childhood home.

On Christmas eve, Santa not only brought the presents, he brought and decorated the Christmas tree.

Every Christmas morning, my sister and I woke up to see our Christmas tree for the first time. The twinkling lights would shine on the dimly lit hallway wall as we made our way to the living room. The first glimpse of our Christmas tree took my breath away and I was just as excited about the tree as I was about the presents that were under it.

It was truly magical!

As an adult, I know that my parents spent many late Christmas Eve’s placing color coded branches into the base of our artificial tree, stringing lights, putting up ornaments and assembling bikes into the wee hours of the morning. They sacrificed their sleep and most likely their sanity, to give us the most memorable and exciting Christmas morning any child could ever dream of.

I wouldn’t trade those memories for the world.

My parents are really special, amazing people.

But I know at this point I don’t have to tell you that.

There are always more stories and more laughter to come…

Join me for Part 5: My parents favorite wedding gift… well, maybe most misunderstood wedding gift…

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Part 2: (Of My Newest 6 Part Series) A Good Sense Of Humor Is Hereditary… And That’s A Fact.

True to form, Ed was late picking Jean up for their first date to the movies.

The lights were low and the movie had already started, as Jean and Ed made their way, taking small sideways steps past the knees of the seated patrons.

Self-conscious about blocking the view of everyone seated, who were already watching the movie, Jean nervously glanced back to see what was taking Ed so long to make his way down the dimly lit aisle.

Ed seemed to be moving at a slow pace, as the woman’s head in the row in front of him jerked to the right.

Jean heard a gasp escape from the woman’s throat.

Ed stopped in his tracks, trying to figure out why the woman had groaned.

Moviegoers in the seats behind expressed their disdain by yelling, “sit down.”

The woman’s long hair was caught in the fly of Ed’s pants.

Ed fumbled to release her hair.

“Oh God, Is this really happening!” thought all of the parties involved.

But it was happening.

Ed struggled to free the entwined hair from his fly as the movie played on.

Finally, he managed to free himself (and the woman’s hair) from the grip of the zipper on his pants and take his seat next to his date.

For most people this would have been the first, and last date, not to mention a story that would live on in infamy.

For my mother and father, it was the beginning of many embarrassing, funny, unbelievable stories that they wholeheartedly embraced as part of the love story that was unique to them… and one that they would tell for years to come.

Join me for Part 3: My parent’s first Christmas together.

 

 

Part 1: (Of My Newest 6 Part Series) A Good Sense Of Humor Is Hereditary… And That’s A Fact.

One of John’s friends is a college writing professor and a published author. He told John that my blog is both funny and well written… that’s quite a compliment, especially coming from him. I’ll take it, but truth be told, I can’t take all of the credit. I believe that a good sense of humor is hereditary, you get it from your parents.

My mother’s name is Jean. She is a beautiful, blonde haired, blue-eyed Polish girl, really a knock-out. My mother was introduced to my father by their mutual friend Jack. (Yes, for those of you following my blog, Jack is the man who told John, “Johnny, Johnny, Johnny, you’ll never be bored!”) and the inspiration for a four-part series by the same name, as well as the reason I started this blog.

The first time my parents were supposed to meet, my father, Ed, arrived late (which was his trademark, and apparently an imperfection that I have also whole-heartily embraced during my lifetime). Ed was a handsome, fit, dark-haired, brown-eyed, serviceman in the United States Army.

His best friend, Jack, brought my father to Jean’s house but due to his late arrival, no one was home.

My grandparents owned a cabin on the lake in Ridgefield, Connecticut. When my father failed to show up on time, my grandmother announced they were going to leave for the lake, and they did. My grandmother wasn’t waiting for my father to get there and she made it clear that Jean wasn’t staying behind at home.

Jack was a good friend to my dad and a natural match-maker. When no one was home at Jean’s house, they got back in the car and headed to Ridgefield.

I believe that this was the night that my mother and father fell in love.

Ed and Jean spent their evening walking around the lake holding hands and talking. This was the beginning of a whirlwind romance. The chemistry was so amazing that my father asked my mother out to the movies. They were the perfect couple. Don’t believe me? Check out their photo below.

Image may contain: 2 people

What could possibly go wrong on their first real date that was so outrageous that when I heard the story, I asked my mom, “And you went out with him after that?

Stay tuned to find out in Part 2: Embarrassment at the movies…

 

 

 

City Fish

The restaurant I work for gets their fish delivered fresh daily.

Everyday at 11:00 a.m. the phone rings.

Everyday, including Sunday, and they call at 11:00 a.m. like clockwork.

You can count on it.

I answer the restaurant line to hear a voice on the other end say, “City Fish!”

“Good morning, City Fish!” I reply.

“Just calling to see if you need anything today.” The voice on the other end of the line states.

“Hold on.” I say, as I walk into the restaurant’s kitchen with the phone to my ear.

“City Fish!” I announce. The chef stares at me as if the idea City Fish is calling to get our order comes as a shock to him.

The kitchen staff begins scrambling through the coolers and discussing what we may need to order.

I wait.

The man from City Fish waits.

To break up the dead air I say, “You know, maybe if you called at the same time everyday, we would be prepared for this.”

I hear him laugh into the phone.

Finally, we manage to get our order together and I am able to repeat it and hang up the phone.

The following morning at 11:00 a.m. the phone rings.

“City Fish!” I hear a voice say as I pick up the phone.

“Good Morning City Fish!” I reply, “Let me get to the kitchen.”

“Guys, City Fish!” I call out, as everyone stands like deer in headlights.

“One minute.” The chef states, as the usual conversation and commotion among the staff ensues.

“Okay, we’re working on it now.” I say with a laugh, “Do you like to fish?”

“Yes, I do.” Replies the man on the phone.

To kill some time I ask, ” Have you every heard Brad Paisley’s fishing song, “I’m Gonna Miss Her?”

In the background, the kitchen staff is flustered, talking and opening and closing cooler doors, trying to figure out our order.

I can do a pretty good southern drawl as I begin to sing into the phone…

Well I love her
And I love to fish
I spend all day out on this lake
And hell is all I catch
Today she met me at the door
Said I would have to choose
If I hit that fishin’ hole today
She’d be packin’ all her things
And she’d be gone by noon
Well I’m gonna miss her
When I get home
But right now I’m on this lake shore
And I’m sittin’ in the sun
I’m sure it’ll hit me
When I walk through that door tonight
That I’m gonna miss her
Oh, looky there, I’ve got a bite!
By the time I finish two verses, the guy from City Fish is laughing his ass off.
“Do you get sung to by all of your customers?” I ask.
“No, that was a first!” He replies, with a chuckle.
I give him our order and we end our call.
I know I’ll be ready to talk to him again tomorrow, at precisely 11:00 a.m.
As for the kitchen staff, well, I’m not so sure…
I’m guessing I may have to provide some more “Live” hold music.
And, you know what?
That’s okay.
Life is too short not to have fun!

 

I Love It When Karma Makes You Laugh Out Loud!

Today we went out for lunch with my mom. We always have fun with her because my mother is just amazing and a delight to be around… today wasn’t any different.

During lunch my mother shared a story that made me say, “I’m totally blogging about that!”

The story took place many years ago when my mother’s Aunt Evelyn and Uncle Frank both worked as toll collectors on the Connecticut Turnpike (I-95).

They had to drive their own vehicles to work because they worked opposite shifts.

One morning, my Aunt Evelyn woke up to find that her red Ford had been stolen from their driveway.

They reported the theft to the local police but the car was never recovered. Not being in a position to purchase a new car, they had to come up with another plan.

Everyday, Uncle Frank drove Aunt Evelyn to work in the morning, picked her up from work in the afternoon, then went to work his shift at night… only to repeat the entire process the next day.

Aunt Evelyn knew that this was a lot on my Uncle Frank. After a few weeks, she told him, “You don’t have to drive me to work anymore, I’m going to take the bus.”

And take the bus she did!

Back and forth on the bus from home to work and from work back home.

Weeks passed and turned into months.

On her way to work one morning, the bus slowed to stop at a red light.

Aunt Evelyn was sitting at a window seat, watching the morning hustle and bustle outside.

“Wait is that my car?” She thought, as she noticed a red vehicle parked on the side of the street.

She got off the bus to get a closer look and read the license plate.

It was her car!

She reached deep into her pants pocket and pulled out the car keys that were still on her key chain.

Slowly, she slid the key into the door and it unlocked.

Aunt Evelyn moved into the driver’s seat and put the key into the ignition.

To her surprise, the engine started with a roar.

You could say, my Aunt Evelyn “stole” her car back that day, or just “reclaimed” what was rightfully hers.

Feeling victorious, she drove to work in her own car.

I would have loved to have seen Uncle Frank’s face when Aunt Evelyn returned from work driving her red Ford and recounted that incredible story.

I think the only thing that would have given me more pleasure than that, would have been to have seen the look on the thief’s face when he walked outside and realized that the car he stole, had now been stolen from him.

Karma! I love it when it comes full circle… and I love it when it makes me laugh out loud!

 

 

I’ve Been Nominated for Humor Writer Of The Month!(Please Read, LIKE And Share From The Erma Site… I Mean, Help A girl Out.” Thanks In Advance!)

I am so shocked and excited to be nominated for “Humor Writer Of The Month” on Erma Bombeck Writer’s Workshop! If you’re too young to know who Erma Bombeck is, please Google her, she is a legend! I promise that she will make you laugh!

I’m not sure how you actually win this title but I’m calling on all my family, cousins (I’m Irish Catholic on my father’s side, so I have a lot of cousins) and friends. Please click on the link below, read, LIKE and share from the Erma site so I get credit.

Here’s the link:

http://humorwriters.org/2017/07/31/id-like-check-ticks/

Many thanks and much love,

Erin Cooper Reed 🙂

Men Of The World, Seriously?

Please don’t take this personally, but I have a bone to pick with you…

If you think that I’m about to say, “Please put the toilet seat down,” I’m not. I’m smart and actually capable of doing that myself… just sayin…

I live with four men, not to mention my son’s friends, who frequently sleep over, especially during the summer months. That being said, let me point out that all of you lift the cover and toilet seat during many bathroom visits.

If you’re following along thus far, let me ask you one question, “How is your vision?”

Let me answer that… Pretty damn poor.

I can not for the life of me understand why in the world you wouldn’t feel compelled to clean the rim of the toilet as well as the underside of the toilet seat for the next person.

ARE YOU BLIND, or are you just waiting for me to make it pristine for your next bathroom experience?

Unless you have been living under a rock, I’m pretty sure that you are as grossed out by your “bathroom experience” as I am.

What gives, and what is behind this power struggle?

Can we possibly call a bathroom truce?

Related image

If not, I’m planning on starting my new diet by stopping in the bathroom and lifting the toilet seat before every meal.

Check back with me in a month when I’m thin… I think I might be onto something here.

You are ALL pissing me off, no pun intended.

Erin Cooper Reed

Note to self: Seeing that I’m raging right now… If I had to lift up the toilet seat EVERY time I went to the bathroom, you’d be able to lick it with no repercussions after the sanitizing I would willing do on your behalf. That’s just common courtesy.

I just don’t get it… and maybe I never will…

This has been a Public Service Announcement.