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I learned a new word today:

gaffe |gaf|nounan unintentional act or remark causing embarrassment to its originator; a blunder : an unforgivable social gaffe.

Oh my word...this word I know and live so well. My life and world is full of GAFFES. I guess this blog could bear the name, "God Made Me to Laugh at My Gaffes." I have not only embarrassed myself, but others through my blunders and naiveness. There are several gaffes that have created quite a stir that I could not possibly mention in public save a few key words. For instance, the shiny round disc I held up in the aisle,  "Does this belong to anyone?" I thought that colorful package was a disc cover for someone's floppy disc. Then there is the one with the kleenex box in front of the Idaho Falls Tigerettes and their mother's before a performance...to ease the fear of performing... You know the joke is on you when no one laughs and jaws are dropped as if in utter shock. Then I ask, what could possibly be the matter?  Some kind soul would then pull me aside and whisper in my ear the crude meaning of my joke. It is enough to keep anyone quiet for a long time...but oh know...not me...I am just a one gaffe after another.

As a Flight Attendent, I had many such instances. We were in New Orleans on Mardi Gras. It was a full plane with partying and already intoxicated individuals. There were blow horns and sparkly hats and beads. This group of people needed more than the typical soda and peanuts or pretzels. Passenger A: "Can I have a Bloody Mary, a cup of water and coffee with cream... oh and do you have change for a hundred...maybe some alka seltzer too?" and on it continued passenger after passenger. Finally, we had moved beyond the first two rows. It wasn't long until I heard, Passenger B,"Mam, do you have a towel and a refill?...I had a little spill." Out of sheer frustration, I blurted out a cliche that came to my mimd..."My are we all thumbs today?" Immediately upon completing my sentence, I glanced down and saw ten stubs, not fingers, stubs. Clearly it could have easily been mistaken for "all thumbs." I wanted off that plane yesterday. First off because of my stupid remark and second, the thought that I may I have hurt some one else's feelings was more than I could bear. I do not know if he had been in an accident or if this was something from birth. I  do know I was sick inside and I am sure the look on my face reveled just how sick. With compassion and a couple of words, "it is okay," he brushed it off, but it replayed over and over in my mind.

Then there was the day that a handsome African American passed by me. Somehow we ended up visitig about diverse subjects. We were off on the topic of watches. I was collecting them at the time, especially trendy Swatches. Thet were plastic, creative watches that were Swiss. I looked him square in the eye when I spoke, "yea I have seven, but my favorite is the one with the black face." Really. Did I really just say that to a black man?

What about the man from church that was blind. Somehow his cane found me more than once. He was in need of a ride home. I was happy to do that for him. I had a sheild in my window to protect the dash of the car from the sun. As I directed him to the passenger side of the car, I saw the shield, "Just let me get the BLINDER...I mean the thinganajig out of the window so you can SEE, I mean so I can see..."  Later on, it was "let me know when you SEE the street sign I am to turn on for your home." Everyone knows that a blind man can't see and yet much of our conversation required seeing..."Have you seen any good movies lately? Do you think she is cute? Is your house that one or that one," as I point to both sides of the street.

The harder I try to avoid the blunders, the bigger they become. Now living in a world where you have to be politically correct, I overthink everything and leave people wondering if I have a speech impediment. There have been occasions when I hear the little voice in my head say, "Why do you have to be so dumb?' Then I remember, it is those very things that people find so endearing. I think I am hilarious, yet I know I am not and just want to be...so if I can get a laugh or two when the discomforting situation has ceased and time and humor have added their touch...so be it.

One day my mom was seated at the dinner table with some pretty prominent people, in fact, the children were not allowed to attend. I had been suffering with major allergies. My mother had given me an antihestimine to help with the sneezing and runny nose. It was long over due and my sneezing started up again with a vengence. I ran up the stairs to the dining table. My mother asked,"Can I help you with something?" With confidence, I said for the table to hear, "Mom I think I need a hysterectomy."

Off on the Champs Elysee in France, the taxi drive asked me in French "Quel age avez-vous?' (How old are you?) I wanted to impress him with my wonderful one semester of BYU French and responded
"sept" which would be seven years of age. I was sure he had asked me how many people were in my family. His eyes were bulging with surprise. I went back to my hotel room later, found my handy dandy French Dictionary and realized the reason for his disbelief. All the whilde my mother is practically yelling thinking that if you talk real loud, the taxi driver will understand.

The first time I say the word "GAFFE" was in connection with Vice President Joe Biden. I guess I am in good. or not company when it comes to being a "GAFFER."

 

Big Sister Bully

My Sister is one of my very best friends. We are 15 months apart and growing up, we practically shared everything from clothes to cars to friends to the boys that we dated. Some would say that there was no way we could possibly be sisters because we were too good of friends. I have to say, my sister was a very good sport. It is true...we are the greatest of friends, but sometimes I question why. I was the Big Sister Bully that dictated the type of role she would play in all our imaginary schemes.

Let me describe to you what I mean. There was this one sit com "Gilligan's Island."

This was such a delightfully fun program that we would watch after school. The characters were 7 individuals stranded on a desert isle...the big rolly polly Skipper, the gangly doofus first mate Gilligan, the smart and handsome professor, the very wealthy elderly couple Mr. and Mrs. Howell, the beautiful Marianne and gorgeous movie star Ginger.

When we played, I was Marianne AND Ginger.

Michelle was Mrs. Howell.

Then there was Edgemont Gardens Elementary School. I was the young captivating Miss Kauer and Michelle was the weathered, grouchy, wrinkly, old Mrs. Rushton.

(Mrs. Rushton on the left)

The Beauty Pageants with the Moon girls also have bully written all over it. Dawn and myself were always the Beauty Queens. Adele and Michelle were the first runner ups. They may have received flowers, but they never wore the crown.

And guess what? She always happily played along.

So I ask myself, why? Why was I such a bully... always giving her the role of undesirable women (and pretend boyfriends) Why did I not only have to be one pretty woman, but all of them? I may never know. Maybe there was some jealousy. Clearly she was the better pianist, received 4.0 was the valdictorian

(My sister is the one to phone and update everyone, take initiative for family gatherings...)

and loved to do housework...so not me. Things come full circle. My Sister married first and with each passing day becomes even more beautiful than the day before.

(She raised two absolutely gorgeous beauty queens as well...Madeline and Jennifer)

She is the Marianne, the Ginger, the Mrs. Martin, the Miss Kauer, the Beauty Queens of this and the previous year all wrapped up into one.

 I love her.

Little Girls, Pretty Hair, TERROR

Truthfully, what is it about me and darling little girls with exceptionally adorable hair?

Picture this:

Salt Lake City International Airport, many people and a great deal of Security. I have an innate desire to compliment and make others feel good about themselves. That includes children. I love to be playful and as an educator, a primary worker and an aunt, I thought I had a unique gift with children. Not today. There across the way was a charming and very captivating little girl. If I had not known better, I would have believed "Goldilocks" had just stepped out of the infamous children's book. There they were, the most perfectly formed golden locks of hair. I have always envied the loose natural curls of others. I could not resist. I walked up to the little darling and said, "You have the most beautiful hair I have ever seen. Where did you get such gorgeous curls?" There was no "Thank you." Not even an "I know." Her face became distorted. She stomped her foot and sharply pointed her finger at me and then screeched at the top of those little girl lungs..."STRANGER...STRANGER. STRANGER. STRANGER." I was totally taken off guard and as I glanced around, everyone's eyes seemed to be upon me. I tried to tell Goldilocks here that I simply wanted to tell her how cute I thought she was but the more I talked, the louder the volume...humiliation and embarrassment.

(I do not know this little girl. I found her image on google...but this is almost identical to the golden curls I saw. The girl at the airport was a little bit younger and this will at least give one an idea of why I could not resist saying something.)

On Sundays, I would lead the singing in Primary. For the most part, the children enjoyed coming to Primary. There was one little girl that appeared to be terrified of Primary. She would cry and eventually be returned to her parents in another room. One day, she had come in to the Primary Room with her father. She sat on his lap in the very back as if to ease her into the routine of Primary. The rest of the children were singing and enjoying "Pick and Choose." It just so happened that the next name that I selected from the box of names, was that of the little girl. Here was my chance to show her how  fun  how absolutely safe and fun Primary could be. With much prodding and convincing she slowly walked to the front of the room. This enchanting princess of a girl had corn rows and hundreds of dark braids all over her pretty little head.

I bent down to help her post something on the board. I stood up to send her back with dad. The button on my sweater had become caught in her hair. I could not stand up. She tried to walk away and felt the tug on her head. All I could do was hover over her. No one could quite figure out what I was doing. The little girl began screaming and crying. I began to panic feeling that I was making her Primary experience a trauma. I offered comforting words and then asked for help. Clearly, dad could not assist because of the location of the offending button. One of the women from the Presidency came up and rescued the screaming child. I felt like such an idiot! The little girl was carried back to her seat (not by me) crying hysterically. I tried to regain composure and get my group of singers singing again. All I could think was really? Did that just really happen. Yes...yes it did happen and it would not be the end of my gaffes.

Hey Good Lookin

I was a shy young child. I had girls in the neighborhood that were great friends. They were not the problem. It was anyone outside that circle of friendship. We used to walk home daily from school and on Sundays, from church. Adele's home came first and then Nan's. I had to make the last few yards to my own home by myself. It usually was not a problem unless it was really dark or there was a strange dog. One Sunday, while walking home from church, I glanced in the distance and saw three teen boys. They were the hotties...older...much older and oh so cute. Desperately, I began to hope that they would finish their conversation and go inside. No such luck. I had just said good bye to Nan. I dreaded that I would have to make that walk alone past them. What would I say? Would I pretend that I did not see them? Was there an alternative route? Maybe...just maybe they would not notice me. No matter what, I had to keep going.

I put my head towards the ground. I felt the heat of embarrassment rise from toe to head. Each step closer meant increased panic. The walk seemed to be an eternity of steps. Then, as if in slow motion, their head turned my way. Dwayne put his fingers to his mouth and whistled. Rodney, in a rather flirty voice said, "Hey good-lookin...what ya got cookin?" It is in those moments that I worry about most...you just never know how I will handle an awkward situation. Before I could even think how to handle the compliment, like with grace and finesse, I blurted out a response. I can hear it still, "Hey good lookin, what ya got cooking?" "Lemon meringue pie" I had never baked a pie and of all the pies, why did I say lemon meringue...I was too young to operate an oven and yet it came out just as smooth and every bit as flirtatious as the way they had asked the question. This reaction seemed so foreign to my nature that I was even more self conscious. Not only did I talk with these "foxes" (what we used to call someone we thought was great looking as in "He is such a fox!") but I had to say something soooo stupid. I felt my comment made me appear far too arrogant...that I indeed was acknowledging that I was good-lookin by my quick response.

The words had been spoken. I could not take them back. I would see these hotties again at church  the following Sunday and most likely around in the neighborhood. They may have chuckled or found it humorous. . .I do not know . . . the last stretch home was a blur. I cannot look at or order  lemon meringue pie without thinking of Rodney, Bob, and Dwayne and hearing in my mind..."hey good lookin' what you got cookin'?" 

That last stretch home...

Holy Crap

Speaking of Da Vinci, our "sugar coated" dog, he is big. No, he is huge and weighs about 110 pounds. Me oh my, is he ever strong. I have been bucked off, knocked over and smashed more times than I could count. If we had purchased him as a full grown dog, I would have been terrified, but he was a puppy and I learned to love this dog and grow with him. I am sure he was just as afraid of others as they are of him. The moment there was a knock at the door, he would race to his kennel. Then, Da Vinci would scoot to the back as far as he could and bark incessantly as if to say, "get away . . .you frighten me. . . don't you dare get near me." Others perceive his bark as, "I am going to eat you up, tear you to shreds, and throw your remains to the birds." Da Vinci is also very protective and if there is even the appearance of someone hurting Noah, Da Vinci is there with a vengence ready to nip and defend .

At our home, we take turns taking Da Vinci out. It is not my favorite of duties, but I would rather do that than clean up his duty inside the home. We are sure to put him on the leash so that he will not go after someone or something . . . or run away for that matter. For the most part, it has not been a problem. I have more trouble getting him back into the kennel. When Rick is away, I cross my fingers that I will be able to find something in which to bribe him. I have been late for work a few times while I waited for Rick to come home and do what I couldn't do . .  put Da Vinci in the kennel. The bribe used to work beautifully, but he was on to me. I would throw the treat into his kennel. Rather than obediently stepping into his kennel, he would put two paws in and leave two paws out. That way, he could still have the treat and I was unable to shut the kennel door. The moment the kennel door begins to shut, he would push his big rumbumpus up against me and pull a reverse.

One particular weekend Rick was out of town. My biggest worry was seeing that Da Vinci made it back into the kennel before Church started. Noah and I were already running late. I was dressed in a skirt, white dress sandals with a heel, and my hair completely finished. I had leashed Da Vinci. All seemed to be running smoothly. He stopped abrubtly. His ears perked up and then without warning took off full speed after a cat he had spotted. I screamed at Da Vinci while holding on to his leash with all my my might. I could not keep up with him in my Sunday shoes and yet I was unwilling to let go. The cat jumped the fence and so Da Vinci made a sharp u-turn. At that moment, I envisioned myself at the end of a long line of people at Classic Skate. The good old " CRACK the WHIP " game.  I flew and I mean my feet left the ground. It all happened so quickly. I landed on the blue wheelbarrow and down into a pile of Da Vinci's poop . . . his crap! I was hurt something awful and I did not even know how to explain what happened to my pride. The next thing I knew, Da Vinci was chasing that cat down the street. I could hear Da Vinci's nails on the concrete. I stood, brushed off my knees and went to retrieve that darn dog. I was still shaking. I looked over the wall and thought, "that cat is toast . What will I tell the cat's owner? Will Da Vinci even come back? "

Da Vinci did come back and fortunately without a cat. I grabbed his leash and immediately took him inside. Noah had been waiting to put Da Vinci in the kennel so we could worship on the Lord's holy day.  I had holy crap that needed to be wiped off. After I had cleaned up and my knees had stopped shaking, Noah and I headed for church. . . Da Vinci of course would be in the dog house with me for months to come.

Bay Leafs and Coffee

I had enjoyed the intensive training in becoming a Flight Attendant for Delta Airlines. There was a great deal to learn about the equipment, emergency procedures and then there were the drills and simulations . . . so cool. I was prepared . . . prepared for about everything but the main job we would be required to do . . . SERVE DRINKS!  I have no experience at all whatsoever with alcohol. I have heard of a gin and tonic, but when the pressure was on and I was at the cart . . . I did not know which of the two would come from the liquor kit. Was it gin or was it tonic?

My very first trip as full fledge Flight Attendant was with a senior crew. . . meaning, they were experienced and already familiar with each other from previous trips together. It was obvious that I was the rookie and knowing that, made me all the more nervous and self conscious. Thank goodness I had been assigned to Coach. First Class was high maintenance and I would not only have to serve alcohol,

but actually mix the drink.

A rather frantic Flight Attendant in Charge stomped his way through the curtain, "Listen love, I need to go take care of some tickets at the gate. I need you to cover for me in First Class." The dreaded pit in my stomach was manifested . . . a huge pit, but I complied. The engines were running which presented another problem . . . I couldn't hear what the passengers were requesting. I delivered a wine here, a coke there, and  a bloody mary garnished with a green lime. I felt ever so grateful that I did not have to deal with money and giving change.

The call light went on, I gracefully made way to a gentleman by the window. " I would like a baabwaaa eeee . . ." " Excuse me ? " I questioned. He repeated his order. I just could not seem to make out what he was saying. I was rather mortified that I would have to ask one more time. . . but ask I did. The passenger answered quite a bit louder, "I would like a bay leaf with my coffee!" "Very well," I said. Off I went to the galley repeating in me head so as not to forget . . . "a bay leaf with coffee . . . a bay leaf with coffee . . ." I looked in every drawer. I opened every compartment. I saw cherries, lemons, limes, olives, salt, pepper, napkins, but I could not find the bay leaf for the life of me. I did think it was an odd request given that my mother usually floated her bay leaf in minestrone soup or spaghetti sauce.

I began to panic and get flustered. Finally, the Flight Attendant in Charge appeared, "Is everything alright darlin'? " "Yes , but I can't seem to find a bay leaf anywhere." With buldging eyes he asked,"A what?" I repeated again and like the passenger, quite a bit louder  "a bay leaf! The man in 4a would like a bay leaf in his coffee!" I still remember the flippant body language that exuded from this Flight Attendant's being. Then in a very condescending tone and a rather disgusting look he said, "Are you for real? We do not stock bay leafs on the airplane darlin', are you sure he didn't say 'baileys ' and coffee? "The Flight Attendant in Charge went over to the passenger, apologized for the delay, and then asked him to repeat the requested drink. (The passenger must have been thinking . . . "forget it.") Sure enough, he had ordered a baileys with his coffee. I could hardly wait to be excused from First Class back where I could hide behind the partiton separating Coach from First Class.

This trip and crew could not end soon enough. It was one mishap after another and I began to question

my change of employment. A few years later, a more confident "me" went about my duties without a thought. It was common for the Flight Attendants on the jump seat (during take-off and landing) to exchange stories.  I happened to be sitting next to one such. In a moment of silence, I had told her that a passenger had asked me if I had knitting needles she could use. (Now I was the one that was now thinking, "Are you for real?") She would retort with another story and another and so forth. Then she said, "if you think that is bad, I heard about a Flight Attendant that looked for a bay leaf to float in someone's coffee!" I responded nonchalantly, "Unreal . . . you have got to be kidding." We shared a laugh, but my mind was thinking . . .  "How could I be so dumb that  my little incident was worthy of repeating and even more strange that it had made full circle and come back to jeer at me. Where else and with whom did this little goodie of a story circulate? "

I am no longer a Flight Attendant serving drinks in First Class (which may be to the company's advantage, ) but I do know now that a bay leaf in a coffee is not a well known or accepted drink . . . at least not for now. . .

I Won't Sugar Coat This...

Our great dane, Count Da Vinci d'amboise, has been an incredible challenge for me. I love the dog dearly and accept that he is a part of the family, but doggone it, if he has not done a number on the home, the carpet, our shoes, our yard...you get the idea. I call him the garbage dog. He waits until he thinks no one is looking his way. In a slow and sneaky manner, he finds his way to the garbage. His face practically fills the garbage can. He muzzles around licking off all the wrappers until he has found the perfect treasure.

Upon hearing, "Da Vinci, what are you doing?" He scuttles about and makes a mad dash for his kennel. Sometimes, we are in the other room and he will still sneak food into his kennel. He has eaten loaves of bread in one setting. He ate Rick's steak off his plate when our heads were turned. Don't even think about putting your hand in the kennel to retrieve the item. His growl is fierce and he shows his teeth. It can be frightening even though I know he is a gentle giant. He is just protecting his goods.

I do not know how many times Noah has had food nipped right our of his hand. Whenever there is food, we must take precautions. The other day, I had made french toast topped with a heaping pile of powdered sugar for Noah. "Don't let Da Vinci get your food. Keep an eye on him, he will get it." All was well. Noah finished his breakfast and was on his way to school. I had put away the food and wiped of the table.

Busy me, went to begin my day. After checking my emails, I walked into the kitchen. I noticed a strange dusty spots on the carpet. I couldn't make sense of it and so I looked harder. It appeared to be a paw print. I thought to myself, "I wonder what Da Vinci has stepped in now." Ding! The moment of reckoning...please tell me it is not the powdered sugar. I glanced to the table where the sugar had been left. Sure enough, the sugar wsa no where to be found.

I peered into Da Vinci's kennel. There was Da Vinci, sitting so innocently inside his kennel. He was covered in white powder. There below this big mass was a layer of powdered sugar and an empty plastic bag. This was only going to be the second time in the morning that Da Vinci's kennel had to be carefully cleaned.

From here on out, Da Vinci better be a super "SWEET" dog.

Target Practice

One of my all time favorite places for me to spend money is Target. Unfortunately, it is also one (of hundreds) of Noah's favored pastimes. I have reached the point where going to shop is no longer a joy. Noah promises and promises that he will just look. Those casual glances become toys of all prices reaching out with persuasive hands into this young boy's heart. From there it is either a dramatic scene or a guilt ridden mom that gives into his desires...further perpetuating the dilemma.

I was hoping to make a Target run after work, BUT BEFORE I had to pick up Noah from school. I was still dressed in business attire and my beautiful long black dress coat. There would be no time for a quick change. The time posted on my phone was minutes from when Noah would be dismissed.

Noah climbed into the car. I informed him of the few errands that had to be completed prior to returning home. As I pulled into the Target parking lot, my heart began racing, my thoughts dialoguing "what would he ask for today?" and "just say no...just say no."I decided to have a discussion with Noah about why we were at Target and the items we would be purchasing. "This is not a toy run." He appeared to be very mature and understanding about the matter. "Hmmm maybe I have not given him enough credit," I thought.

As we walked into the store, Noah informed me that he would be back by the toy aisle. He reassured me that he would be "just looking." I reminded him that we had come for specific items none of which were toys.

Sure enough I found Noah still gazing at the toys on the shelf and there was one big toy box in his hands. The look on his face told me that I was in big trouble. The pleading, the whining, began. "But mom, I did not know this was going to be here." "I want it so bad. If I don't get it I'll just die." I calmly and matter of factly stated what we had talked about in the car and headed for the cashier. Noah jumped in my path. I had NOT expected a move like that. I tried to step around him, but he would match my move. He continued to   block me. This began to be rather annoying. The threats came..."then I am not leaving until you buy this for me." I had to stand firm in my resolve..."NO NO NO NO" The problem was that he had swift feet and I was unable to pass around Noah. Finally, I did one of those football fakes where you roll around and go the other direction and then like a mad woman sprinted for the front of the store. I hoped that there were no suspicious securtiy cameras viewing the whole of this situation. Part of me was finding the matter rather comical while the other part of me was alarmed at the fact that I had to run away from my son. I heard footsteps running behind.  They seemed to be following with haste. My dear little sweet Noah was not going to let the woman in a long dark coat, make an escape.

All of the sudden, Noah lunged after me with all his might and strength. His hands grasped my shoulders and the momentum pulled me down. It was a total "face plant" a pure "take down." There was no grace or class. I was... nose dive to the cold tile floor and Noah on my back. I was in utter shock! Tearfully Noah exclaimed, "Oh mom, I didn't think you would fall." I was furious and humiliated, so much so that I could not think to get up. So there I stayed wondering what my next move would be.  A woman walked by me and inquired, "Are you all right?" I am thinking, "that is one heck of a dumb question...my son just tackled me in the aisle of Target," but I responded with a firm "NO!" from the ground below.

Finally, I stood up and tried to gain some composure. Noah kept apologizing but I just couldn't even seem to acknowledge him. He didn't have to ask...he knew he WOULD NOT be purchasing anything today.

I do not know how long it was until I was able to laugh at the incident. I am sure that I made the other customers wince, then smile. It may have been the highlight of their day. I still go to Target and without a helmet and shoulder pads. Noah will still come to Target and want something while promising it will be the last time. The only difference now, is he invites two of his friends also wanting something. Some mothers drive around in a van with a bumper sticker that reads "SOCCER MOM." While mine on the other hand would read "SUCKER MOM."