Is There Ever Enough Holy Water, To Snuff Out The Flames???

Doug & I took

my 83 & 1/2-year old Mother

out to dinner this week.

It was a little Valentine gift,

since we hadn't seen her
 for a few weeks.

While we ate bruscetta
 in one of her

favorite Italian joints
in Yonkers,

she was filling us in on the

recent happenings in

her social circle.

Since my Father passed away,

she has kept busy & active

within her community.

She still sits on the

board of directors

for one of the

local organizations.

She was at a

monthly board meeting

the other night.

They brought in

some member of

some fire department,

for either Yonkers or

The Bronx.

This was a nice fellow.

A helpful fellow.

He gave an informative talk

about Senior Citizens &

fire safety awareness.

He talked about
evil power strips &

how they are the biggest

cause of interior flames

since Mrs. O'Leary's heffer

kicked the lantern &

made crispy critters

of downtown Chicago.

So now,

she's on a tear through

her house,

seeking out

evil, killer power strips.

And, she wants an

inventory head count,

on how many

her children & grandchildren
 are employing.

She then muses out loud,

"I never thought about it,

but since our house

is two stories (plus the attic),

This is the house from
The King of Queens...

This is my parents' house...
Can't watch that show.


what do I do if there's a fire

in the upstairs hallway?"

One of her
Senior Citizen comrades

had asked the nice 

fire representative

if putting a

WET TOWEL

over their head

was a good idea.

He chuckled a little &

clarified for the man

that putting a wet towel over

one's head is only advisable

when you have NO CHOICE

but to run through the flames,

in order to save your own ass.

Sitting in your bedroom,

with a wet towel

draped over your head

will accomplish nothing...

(except to get your hair wet)

"You could take a wet towel &
stuff it under the door,
to block the smoke from
entering your bedroom,"
he generously threw in.



Even though that
cleared up

a real toughie,

my Mother remained on point,

talking about how inefficient

of a solution that would be,

in her world...

as her bathroom is

DOWN THE HALL...

THE ONE THAT'S NOW

ENGULFED IN FLAMES.

How am I gonna wet my towel???

What do I do,

not having an attached

Master Bathroom???

I gently, yet dutifully,


 in the persona of her
 smart-assed daughter,

gently suggested
that since

she has multiple
mini bottles of

holy water at her bedside,

from The Holy Land

The Promised Land

Disney Land,

and Neverland...

She's going to be p.o.'d,
 that I told you this about her...

...that should a fire,
(God Forbid)

 beset her &

catch her off guard

 on the second floor,

she should practice flinging
open bottles of

the said Regal Waters,

in the direction of the towel.

She actually laughed &

thought her daughter

 had a nifty idea,

in both wetting the towel AND

getting God's
blessing of protection,

all in one fell swoop.

She then circled around &

said, "Be serious, now....

What do I do???"

"Mom, you may not have an

attached master bath,

but you DO have an attached

MASTER OUTDOOR PORCH.

Go stand on the porch,

until either the fire department

shows up

or your children do...


whoever comes first."

"I won't burn out there???"

"No, Mother....

You live in a

brick house

with an attached brick porch...

Think of The Three Little Pigs, Mom."

It then instantly hit me,

that last I journeyed
to her upper porch,
there was tar paper on the

floor of the attached porch.


I jumped back in.

"Ooohh, Mommy!
I forgot!

Pick up your feet!!
Pick up your feet!"

"What?
Now what is it that I have to do?"
 she nervously inquired,
as if the porch had eerily,
 spontaneously combusted,
while we were smack in the
middle of the fire-safety review.

"If the flames hit the tar paper,

you're toast.

Pick up your feet,
sit on the brick railing &

wait to be rescued,"

I helpfully advised her.



"And for God's sake,
don't be a pill &
jump off of the damned porch,
because you think they are
taking forever
to get there!!"

She looked a little relieved,

when she informed me that

there is no longer tar paper

on the floor of the

attached master porch...

There's Rubber...

Uh, huh..




Hey Mom...

I went on-line to the
 Our Lady of Lourdes website

&

ordered your Holy Water in the

30-Gallon
Economy-Size
Drum....

~SusiTheJ~

        Got A Light?

 

A Nun With A Southern Twang

Having been a victim of the
Catholic School System,
for 14 fun-filled years,

I thought about how much time
 I spent under the influence.

Yet when I further dissect the experience,

I come to realize that
all of my nuns came from the same place --

The State of Rhode Island.

There are only 1.4 Jewish People
 in the entire state.

Oh wait.
That's 1.4% of the entire population
of Rhode Island.



My bad.

But it certainly explains
 why I'm not writing of the
mass exodus of Rabbi's
 out of The Ocean State...



The Nunsters have it.

The Official Nickname of Rhode Island
 should not be "Little Rhody"
 nor should it be
"The Ocean State..."


It should be

"The Sister State."


Could be worse.





Could be "The Mother State."

It took until I was in
the third grade to

intellectually get it,

that Rhode Island did not
 export nuns as their
biggest GDP...
although the Quahog clam
seems to be running
neck and neck with the Nunsters.

 See?                                  See?

      They come from the Sea!            They come from the Sea!     

Talk about a strong case for

for some wicked-strong 

legislation for

 Nun Control.

So, in my long-winded way,

I got to thinking about what

 a little diversity in

the nunery would look like...

Or more importantly,

sound like.

Having all of those

Sisters & Mothers

out of New England,

I can't help but feel I was robbed

of the experience of some

culturally mixed up geography in these ladies.

What the heck

would a red-neck

nun sound like, anyway?

Sweet, yet stupid-like?

(forgive me, Lord...)

Ever hear a nun say,

Y'll??

Yikes.

I don't want to know if my nun had

baled hay and could rope a dogie

from the time she was 10.

I mean, she had to have had 

some semblance of a life,

before committing herself to

 The Archdiocese of New York, right?

Did my nun eat pork rinds?

Was she a NASCAR fan?

For Crikey's Sake!

Did she ever tip a cow

in her misspent youth?

"Thank you...

Thank you very much.

I'll be here all week.

Don't forget to Tip Your Cow."

Jus' Wondering....

~SusiTheJ~

Free at Last