Saturday, May 8, 2010

Happy Mother's Day

It was turning out to be an absolutely horrific day off.  I needed to clean the house and didn't want to spend all day doing it.  The morning went down the toilet in a hurry.   Literally.    It was the bathroom that nearly killed me.  OK, I exaggerate, maybe it wouldn't kill me, but the disaster had the capability of embarrassing me through the entire county; two towns and a city at the very least.  There was only one person I could call for help.   The one person who could possibly die laughing ( she had already had one heart attack by now), but who could tell me what to do in a panic.  My mother.



"In the flesh."

"I need help."

"Of course you do, but why are you calling?"

"Mom, this is no time to mess around, ''my toilet is on fire."

"I'm sorry, I must have heard you incorrectly, what I heard was,  "My toilet is on fire."


"It's not like you to panic, how did this happen?"

"I was cleaning the bathroom last, ran out of cleaner, figured any chemical is good chemical so I grabbed the ammonia, and dumped it in the bowl, only I grabbed the wrong bottle and it was rubbing alcohol that I dumped in."

"Um, yuh, well, rubbing alcohol and water do not spontaneously combust."

"I know that."

"Well I didn't mean to insult your intelligence; how did the fire start and is it still burning?

"Yes.  I forgot about the alcohol.  Went to make the bed.  When I went back into the bathroom to light a candle, I always light a candle after I clean, and I threw the match into the toilet, and POOF!"


"Oh you are a genius. Thank You."

"No problem, I have to call your sister and tell her."


And soooo... even if flushing won't solve the problem, call your mother, she will!


  1. That was really funny! Thank you for the giggles, and also thank you for the very sweet comment you left on my blog. Have a fun day!
    xo Paulette ;)

  2. Alas, I'm glad to see that there is another that falls short in what most people can take care of without a thought. And Moms also lovingly reinforce who we are.

  3. I almost wish I could write this as some sort of private note that only you could see. I have been reading all of your entries...every one.

    I have to start off with a confession. When I first visited you a couple of weeks ago, I thought you were a man. Maybe it was the blog title: Stonehenge....that has sort of a manly ring to it. Yeah, I know you have a picture hanging up there but the figure in it is small and you have to really squint to see it...and only when I copied it and expanded it a bit could I find out the truth. Well, I discovered the truth while reading, but the larger picture confirmed it. Even when reading your notes, I thought you were a gentleman. I apologize.

    Second...I just want to mention this while I am staring at the screen. I find that I have to highlight your entries to read them clearly. The black on gray is pleasing, but the contrast is not so great.

    With that embarrassing preamble, I now get to say that I find you amazing....kind, gentle, thoughtful, reflective, and amazing. Your story...the who that you scribe in your words for your children and future generations. You speak directly from the soul to teach us...not just about you, but about contending with life.

    My blog, Gently Said, is full is full of silliness and fuzzy-type goodness. Now I stop to think of what I should be telling my children and grandchildren. Do I have the words and knowledge and depth? I think I have decided...or you have allowed me to write them a series of letters...not necessarily about me...but just about...

    Well, congratulations on being female. You've touched my heart...but I suspect that you hear that often. I'll continue to listen.

    Kind and warm regards,


  4. Well crap -- I just realized I called your blog Stonehenge instead of Stone Horse. The embarrassments keep piling up.


  5. I'm back from the future to read this. (from your link on one of your latest posts). What a surprise to Jerry here! (one of my favorites).

    This is a great story. I remember one time I walked into the kitchen to see my son sitting at the counter watching his toast burn (smoke and all). He was frozen....