Michael Jackson’s actions were so unforgivable that I cringe when I hear his music. But now that he’s gone, is it okay to dance? I’m not sure.
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A Timely Postscript
Some dates are more memorable than others.
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Fluffy and the Alligator Shoes
Fluffy and the Alligator Shoes
The house I grew up in had many lovely architectural features – a fireplace, a lovely stairwell, and a beautiful oval stained glass window that was in my mother’s closet.
I loved sitting in that closet. It was a cozy and private place for a child to play, and the light coming through the stained glass would bathe the closet floor in lovely colors as I sat between the windowed wall and the wall opposite that held a rod for my mother’s clothing and a shelf below for her shoes.
My mother wasn’t much of a clothes horse, and I don’t remember that she had any really memorable outfits; she used no make-up other than lipstick; and the only jewelry she usually wore were earrings and a stand of pearls. But I do remember she had a pair of strappy, alligator shoes that she prized and were probably rather costly.
My dog Fluffy was a puppy then. (See The Puppy in the Waiting Room)
In fact Fluffy often followed me into my mother’s closet, and we were playing there once when I heard her call me to dinner. I ran out leaving the dog behind.
Hours later I was upstairs in my third floor bedroom when I heard my mother cry out from my parents’ bedroom a floor below, “Look what that dog has done! She’s been in my closet and she’s destroyed my pair of alligator shoes!”
“Ah Jess,” I heard my calm and ever-conciliatory father say, “don’t be too hard on Fluffy, and don’t exaggerate. She only chewed up one shoe, not the pair.”
I don’t think my mother was amused.
-Dana Susan Lehrman
Going Down the Old Mine with a Transistor Radio
If he wanted those cows milked, it was going to happen with the radio on.
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