Once upon a time in a far off land….There was a beautiful Queen and a little Prince and Princess.
It was Thanksgiving in Sacramento in about 1972…. At school all the classes were talking about Thanksgiving and what it means and what all our families were doing and practicing being Pilgrims and Indians.
The teacher instructed the class to find out what they were having for Thanksgiving dinner and share with the class the next day.
The little Prince pestered, and pestered the poor Queen until she finally snapped.
Prince: Ma! Ma! What are we having for Thanksgiving??? Huh? Huh?
Queen: I don’t know yet…..
Prince: Well?? Huh? Huh? Ma! Mommy! I NEEEEEEEEED to know RIGHT NOW!!!
Queen: Damnit son, we’re having Hotdogs. Okay?? Hotdogs.. Got it????
Prince: What? Wow! Really??? I loooooooove hotdogs! Cooooooool!
The little prince went back to school the next day and each child told what their family was having. Some were having Italian, some were having roasts, but most were having turkey and all the trimmings. When the little prince was asked what they were having, he cheerfully said Hotdogs!
Apparently that wasn’t an acceptable answer.
On thanksgiving when the Queen and her King and the little Prince and Princess were sitting down to dinner, the doorbell rang.
The Queen was taken aback when she beheld several of the teachers from the school holding out a turkey and all the trimmings for the poor little Princes family that were only to have hotdogs!
…….. Now- anyone who knows our family KNOWS my mom would rather the ground open up and swallowed her whole instead of being embarrassed. EVER.
Imagine the teachers surprise when they beheld us all eating a turkey dinner! They were sputtering that my brother said all we had was hotdogs and my mom was about to round on my brother….
Lesson: Watch what you tell your kiddo-s. It WILL come back to haunt you!
This fall my husbands business was a sponsor of the Hammer Down Big Rig Truck Show in Mandan, North Dakota.
What started as a get together of friends to tell tall tales and do ‘burn outs’ in the shop parking lot, morphed into this brand new annual event. A neat fact- All grass roots! There were no major sponsors- just all the ‘guys’ pitching in.
It was beautiful fall day for ND- 90 degrees! And far more trucks than expected showed up! By the end of the week it was announced they had 75 committed and ended up with just under 100.
~ I personally think they came for the Truck Races~ that’s right.. These folks took their Big Rigs on the dirt circle track and went for it…
Can you hear the song in your head???
It was a dark of the moon… on the sixth of June …and a Kenworth pulling logs… cab over Pete… with a refer on…and a Jimmy haulin’ hogs… we was headed for bear on I-1-0…about a mile outta Shakey Town…I says Pig Pen, this here’s the Rubber Duck… and I’m about to put the hammer down. ~Convoy~ by CW McCall
This turned out to be a great event! Young and old alike had a great time reminiscing about “way back when I was hauling…” and telling tall tales about close calls and impossible feats.
Lessons? Of course there lessons… Never underestimate your audience and Always be prepared for anything.
See ya there next year!
Once upon a time in a far off land (California), my mother decided to go to work. Until this point she was like most moms, a ‘stay-at-home’. Pretty much a slave to my brother and I.
Each year she and Grammy would cook a special dinner for us of all things homemade Italian. We usually had friends over for this event.
Well, when mom went back to work, we were teenagers. And mom said “Feed yourselves after school”. Sighhhhhhhhhhhh.
My brother developed a love for Chef Boyardee raviolis. He ate them every chance he got.
Now fast forward to our favorite big Italian dinner…
Mom and Grammy go all out. The table is groaning under the weight of the food. We all pile it on. And before the rest of us can really get going on it… my brother says to my mother:
“This is ALMOST as good as Chef Boyardee!!”
My mother didn’t say a word. She just gave him The Look. (most of us know exactly what The Look is) and took his plate away.
I was busy protecting mine… all the time wailing “I didn’t say it!!”
She dared us to even try to eat one bite. And she cheerfully informed us that we EVER wanted a hot meal again, then we had “better damn well fix it our own damn selves” because we sure as heck-o wouldn’t be getting one out of her ever again. Period. End of discussion.
To this day, we have NEVER had a meal cooked by her. If wanted a ‘cooked’ meal, we either fixed it ourselves, went to Grandmas or took mom out.
My “Mutha” wasn’t messing around.
~ Today on the radio I listened to an interview between well known Italian chef Gino D’Acampo and a British talk show host… and of course the moment I got in the house I HAD to Google the live event….
In a nut shell~ The host insults the poor man by saying “If you just add ham….” who quickly replies with
“if’a my Grand-a-mutha had wheels, she’d’a be a bike-a”
Can you Hear the cadence and inflection in your head?? I can.
I laughed and laughed.
Because I am half Italian. and I understand. COMPLETELY.
~When we were younger, my brother told my mother that her cooking was “ALMOST as good s Chef-Boy-R-Dee”
My mother went on strike with some gestures and muttering with what we loosely translated to mean “If we ever wanted another hot meal, we’d damn well better fix it ourselves because we sure the heck-0 weren’t getting it from her.” (ever)
I actually have some very funny stories about being Italian… But we’ll save those for a later date! WHY??? Because I will have to run fast when my Mother finds out I put her picture in here! ~