I spotted the following short article the other day and thought, ‘Woohoo, at least I’m not the only wild woman on the planet!’ Here’s what it said . . .

AP) A 96-year-old great-great-grandmother says it was “fun” going around the Indianapolis Motor Speedway at 180 mph. “Oh, that was fun!” Edith Pittenger of Muncie said recently after taking a trip around the famous track in a two-seater Dallara with driver Arie Luyendyk Jr.

“I didn’t know how fast we were going, but we were going,” said Pittenger.

Of course I loved that the 96-year-old woman went zipping around that track at 180 mph, but even more, I love that her children gave her the experience as a gift. That says a lot. They obviously knew, accepted, and loved their out of the ordinary mom, quirks and all, and it really doesn’t get better than that.

I can see myself going through a Bucket-List of sorts when I get old. Considering all I’ve done, how those things might have affected others, then what I’d like to do before my time on this planet is over. I hope the last part of that list only holds one or two items because I’ve already done damn near everything already. Right now, still quite a few years away from 96, my list contains too many ‘want tos.’ I want to do a cattle drive, take a helicopter ride into the Grand Canyon, go to Tuscany and dance in the vineyards, walk through the catacombs in France, fish for blue Marlin off the islands of Hawaii. . . .

Some folks think I get a bit too adventurous at times, but the way I see it, whether we only have one lifetime in the grand scheme of things or more than one, there should be no little bit with living. It should be approached as one would settling down before a chocolate cake. Fill a glass with milk, collect a few napkins, set both near the cake platter, then undo the top snap to your jeans, all BEFORE you start eating. Now dive in. Yeah, ya might puke somewhere down the line, but lawd what a feast!

So what’s on your “Want to” list?

Okay, I know it’s sort of customary for kids to do the flowers and chocolate thing for Mother’s Day because they really don’t know what else to buy. Am I right? Well, I did get my fair share of both this year, but one of my daughters really went the extra mile. She went out and bought me something I’ve really wanted for some time….the course needed to get a concealed carry license! Woohoo!

Yeah, I know, I know, while some women are out there hankering for diamonds, I’m out here wanting to blow up stuff. Now don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t turn my back on one of those sparkly rocks, but I’ve got to tell you, I wouldn’t have traded this adventure for a roomful of them.

Most of the concealed carry course was spent in a classroom, which was filled with men, of course. Here we learned the history of revolvers, semi-auto pistols, rifles, etc, (that part was pretty damn boring because it was taught by a guy who’d missed his calling as a geometry teacher) then went onto safety issues. I tolerated most of this fairly well, considering I was itching like you wouldn’t believe to get out on the firing range. Although I have to admit that I did learn one really important fact—that thing that holds a round of bullets in a semi-auto pistol is NOT called a clip. It’s called a magazine or mag. Call it a clip in a court of law, should you wind up there due to overzealous James Bond tendencies, and a prosecutor will fry your butt because it will label you as an amateur who shouldn’t be carrying a pistol in the first place. Geez, so much for Hollywood training, huh?

The last instructional part of the course delved into the law, which really got my attention because it prompted so many terrific questions. Things like, “If I witness a robbery, can I shoot the robber?” or “If someone breaks into my house, should I shoot them in the leg or shoot to kill?” The training officers really came to life then, telling story after story about some of the tough calls they had to make while on the job.

Then, after 7 grueling classroom hours, came the best part—the firing range! We only needed to go through 36 rounds to complete the course. I went through 100, and it would have been more had I not run out of ammo! What a blast! Here’s a little pictorial of my day….

THE DUDES–There was more testosterone flying around this room than in a packed football stadium!

INSTRUCTOR GEO-

MY TOYS- .380 and a 9mm Luger

THE M-A-G-A-Z-I-N-E

WAY COOL!

SAY WHAT?

LEFTY ON THE MOVE

COME TO MAMA

YEAH, I MEANT TO DO THAT!

SOME MAMAS SHOP WITH THEIR DAUGHTERS. ME? WELL….

YEAH, THEY WERE BRAVE ENOUGH TO MAKE ME OFFICIAL!

A friend sent me something the other day that really put a spring in my step, and I thought I’d share it with you. Now it has nothing to do with writing, then again, it has everything to do with writing. It has nothing to do with my books, and thank heaven for that because even I get tired of touting those puppies. It has to do with attitude, an attitude that, if adopted by Americans en masse, just might change the future of our country. It has to do with one woman simply having enough . . .

This is an open letter written to the branch manager of Proctor and Gamble—

Dear Mr. Thatcher,

I have been a loyal user of your Always maxi pads for over 20 years, and I appreciate many of their features. Why, without the LeakGuard Core ™ or Dri-Weave ™ absorbency, I’d probably never go horseback riding or salsa dancing, and I’d certainly steer clear of running up and down the beach in tight, white shorts. But my favorite feature has to be your revolutionary Flexi-Wings. Kudos on being the only company smart enough to realize how crucial it is that maxi pads be aerodynamic. I can’t tell you how safe and secure I feel each month knowing there’s a little F-16 in my pants.

Have you ever had a menstrual period, Mr. Thatcher? Ever suffered from “the curse”? I’m guessing you haven’t. Well, my “time of the month” is starting right now. As I type, I can already feel hormonal forces violently surging through my body. Just a few minutes from now, my body will adjust, and I’ll be transformed into what my husband likes to call “an inbred hillbilly with knife skills.” Isn’t the human body amazing?

As bran manager in the feminine-hygiene division, you’ve no doubt seen quite a bit of research on what exactly happens during your customers’ monthly visits from Aunt Flo. Therefore, you must know about the bloating, puffiness, and cramping we endure, and about our intense mood swings, crying jags, and even out-of-control behavior. You surely realize it’s a tough time for most women. In fact, only last week, my friend Jennifer fought the violent urge to shove her husband’s testicles into a George Foreman Grill just because he told her he thought Grey’s Anatomy was written by drunken chimps. Crazy!

The point is, sir, you of all people must realize that America is just crawling with homicidal maniacs in Capri pants. Which brings me to the reason for my letter.

Last month, while in the throes of cramping so painful I wanted to reach inside my body and yank out my uterus, I opened an Always maxi pad, and there, printed on the adhesive backing, were these words: “Have a Happy Period.”

Are you #*#$^ kidding me?

What I mean is, does any part of your tiny middle-manager brain really think happiness—actual smiling, laughing happiness—is possible during a menstrual period? Did anything mentioned above sound the least bit pleasurable? Well, did it, James? FYI, unless you’re some kind of S&M freakazoid, there will never be anything “happy” about a day in which you have to jack yourself up with Motrin and Kahlua and lock yourself in your house just so you don’t march down to the local Walgreens armed with a hunting rifle and a sketchy plan to end your life in a blaze of glory. For the love of God, man, pull your head out. If you just have to slap a moronic message on a maxi pad, wouldn’t it make more sense to say something that’s actually pertinent, like “Put Down the Hammer” or “Vehicular Manslaughter Is Wrong”? Or are you juts picking on us?

Sir, please inform your accounting department that, effective immediately, there will be and eight dollar drop in monthly profits, for I have chosen to take my maxi-pad business elsewhere. And though I will certainly miss your Flexi-Wings, I will not for one minute miss your brand of condescending bullshit. And that’s a promise I will keep . . . ALWAYS.

Best,
Wendi Aarons
Austin Tx.

You tell ‘em, sistah!

Over the last week or so, I’ve been trying to recollect and journal some of the old superstitions I’ve heard over the years. Ones from this area, sayings my grandparents, parents, and their friends mentioned often. Especially the ones that managed to lodge in my brain and take root as if they were actual truths. Ones I shared with my own children.

I’m planning to lace some of these superstitions into a future book. For whatever reason, I’m getting the notion that these nuggets may help flesh out ‘place’ in my writing. That they will give the reader a more three-dimensional view of the community that surrounds the main character, then, with any luck, turn the community into a character of sorts. That’s what I’m hoping for anyway.

Anyway, here are a few I remembered . . .

1. A long nose is a sign of intelligence.

2. If your nose itches you will kiss a fool.

3. If a person’s eyebrows meet, he is of a mean disposition.

4. If your left palm itches, it’s a sign of money. To be sure to receive that money, rub the itchy palm over a pocket.

5. To cure a child of asthma, stand him up by a post and lay a knife on his head, then run the knife into the post. When the child grows above this knife, he will no longer have asthma.

6. To cure hiccoughs rub the palm of your left hand with the thumb of your right.

7. To cure night sweats put a pan of water under your bed.

8. Put a chew of tobacco on a bee-sting to relieve the pain.

9. When a crawfish hole is open it will rain soon. If it is closed, there will be no rain.

10. If the sun is shining while it’s raining, the devil is beating his wife.

11. Before you go swimming, dip your hand into the water and make the sign of the cross. It will keep you from drowning.

12. If you touch a bird’s nest, the bird will not return to it.

13. If you handle frogs, you’ll get warts.

14. Don’t hand over a saltshaker during a meal. Slide it across the table.

15. If the picture of a living person falls from a wall, it’s a sign that someone will soon visit you.

Are superstitious diddies like the ones above common where you live? If so, what are the most common?

A couple of weeks ago I went on an adventure to a voodoo temple in New Orleans with a few friends. The reason for the jaunt was to shoot promo footage for a possible TV pilot, so all of us were pretty amped up by the time we got there. Even better, this wasn’t to be just a visit to a voodoo temple—plans had already been set for us to participate in an actual voodoo ceremony! Although the priestess scheduled to perform the ritual offered to run the full gambit, —meaning she’d use a sacrificial chicken in the ceremony, which I thought would be WAY cool to witness–, we opted for the beginner’s version, sans chicken. The last thing we needed was animal rights activists hunting us down.

That said, I thought you might enjoy a little pictorial tour of the event. . . .

Meet Princess Miriam—yes, it is princess, according to Miriam, not priestess. The difference being a ‘princess’ is a woman born into the voodoo culture, a direct descendent of a voodoo queen, while a priestess is a woman who learned the rituals from a queen or princess but wasn’t born into a direct bloodline.

Here’s a look inside the temple – -

This is one of the altars….kinda looks like the inside of my closet.

Once we were given a short tour of the two rooms, which lasted all of two minutes, Miriam and the drummers began preparing for the ritual. Food and/or liquor or most often used as offerings during a voodoo ritual. The spirit Miriam intended to contact must have had digestive problems because her offering consisted of bananas, tortilla chips, and ice.

Let the ceremony begin!

As weird as the pictures may portray the ritual to have been, in truth, I found it to be little like an over-zealous, over-drummed Baptist prayer meeting, just with weird words thrown in. The ‘trance’ that was supposed to occur when the spirit overtook Miriam looked far too much like a sixty-plus-year-old woman dancing to a great rock-n-roll song. In fact, although fabulously talented in their own right, there were times I thought the drummers were going to break out with a Little Richard beat.

All in all, I had a great time and wouldn’t trade the experience for anything. And I learned a bit more about a culture that’s always existed in my own backyard. Voodoo – - – Miriam explained voodoo to be a state of mind, a way of life, just as being Catholic or Baptist or Mormon is. Judging from the money I saw exchanged between her and a couple of clients, she may be right. If nothing else, voodoo sure seems to have the whole religious ‘gimme’ thing down pat.