Not Quite Right...

I enjoy mixed metaphors. My friend Kelly said them all the time when we worked nights together. "That guy's not the brightest knife in the drawer," she would say. "Don't count a leopard before its spots." Once she said, "That guy's gonna bake his own bubble and burst." That wasn't so much a mixed metaphor as . . . well, I don't know what that was. My favorite was the time she told our boss, "You just have to grab the horn by the balls..."

If Kelly was the queen of mixed metaphors, my husband is the crown prince. They're not always metaphors. He often asks if my mother is going to be volunteering this week at the local homeless shelter, what he calls the "Doris Day House." I imagine my mother and Doris, tucking a loose strand of frosty white hair back into her beehive, dressed in a tight sheath by Irene, washing dishes together at the kitchen sink and singing "Que Sara Sara, Whatever Will Be Will Be."

"Well, I tell him, I don't know about Doris Day, but I think she'll be at the DOROTHY Day House on Wednesday."

Today we were talking at the lunch table. "I wish I had a million dollars," I said. "Hot dog!"

"What's that from?" Matt asked.

"It's a Wonderful Life," I said.

"I remember that movie," he said. "At the end when they're having the house party, a bunch of punks show up and have a big fight."

I did a quick scan of my memory. George Bailey. Comes home. Whole town. Waiting for him. Everyone cries. Bell rings on Christmas tree. Zuzu: "Teacher says, 'every time a bell rings, and angel gets its wings.'" George: "Atta boy, Clarence!" Everyone sings: "Auld Lang Syne." The end.

Punks? I think. Big fight?

"I'm sorry," I say. "Could you describe when in the the classic Christmas movie a group of punks come to beat up George and Mary Bailey and their angelic offspring?"

"What? What are you talking about?"

"It's a Wonderful Life."

"Oh," he said. "I thought you said, 'Some Kind of Wonderful.'"

The end.

If you think you've got troubles...

...ask Matt about what he did to our new outdoor carpeting. Don't have his phone number? Oh, all right. I'll go ahead and tell you.

He draped our outdoor carpeting over the edge of the deck so he could sweep all the helicopter seeds away before laying the carpet down. Then he got distracted by my cries for help. Which sounded like this: "Help! Help!" I can't remember why. Maybe because I was getting ready for one of the weddings I officiated this weekend? And the baby was crying and trying to pull my pants down with his tugs and pleading for attention? Probably something like that.

So Matt doesn't get back to the carpet right away. And later he's in the backyard. And he starts wondering: "Why can I see the porch light through the carpet?" This would be the motion-sensing, light-sensing porch light that stays on all night because the timer is set wrong. Or something. We've never been able to figure out what's wrong with it. So whenever anyone crashes on our couch, they say, "Hey, your porch light is staying on all night." And I say, "Yes, we know. Matt's been meaning to fix that, but he's not sure how and anyway, how can he get it done when I'm always crying out for his help like this: 'Help! Help!'"

So it turns out that if you drape outdoor carpeting over a porch light that never shuts off, the light will actually BURN A HOLE THROUGH IT.

Yes. You may have troubles. But you don't have them troubles now, do you?

Springtime at Our House

Our sweet neighbor & her little dog, Luna

Whoa. Whoa! Somebody stop me...

Mr. Will, 14 years old & my constant companion

You must turn your head sideways to watch this movie...