Pretty Polly

I admit this is a repeat, but if you don't get a laugh from this one, you're having a really bad day. New ones are coming, be patient.

Hello. My name is Polly and I am very pretty. 

Just say the word, pretty, and you'll know what I look like. I am arm candy and I like it that way. I'm naturally friendly and I've never met anyone who didn't like me. Well, they spent some time with me, anyway, so I assume they liked me. I'm definitely a BFF type. 

I know what you're thinking. How can anyone take someone named, Polly, seriously? Well, for one thing, Nirvana has a song, "Polly" and so did the Kinks. Polly Bergen was a successful actress and singer a long time ago. And sadly, Polly Klaas was murdered. 

Ooooohhh,  don't forget Aunt Polly in "Tom Sawyer."  And, the late great C.S. Lewis' main character in "The Magician's Nephew" is named, guess what, Polly Plummer. That's Plummer, not plumber. 

Okay. I've heard it a thousand times. Polly wanna a cracker. Polly Wolly Doodle. Pollyanna. Polly Put the Teakettle On. It gets really tiresome. FYI: Polly is a Norwegian peanut snack brand. Bet you didn't know that.

We looked up the name, Polly, in Wikipedia today. It says that Polly is a nickname, for girls. I don't claim to be a rocket scientist, but did anyone really think it was a name for boys? 

The name supposedly was derived from the name Molly. In 18th and 19th century New England it was a common nickname for Mary. I mean, if Molly is going to become Polly, then shouldn't Mary become Pary, not Polly? And to make matters worse, the two genetically engineered sheep were named Polly and Molly. 

What is a poor bird like me to do? I'm so lucky to have gorgeous feathers, a sweet disposition, a delicate voice, and well-manicured claws.  I got Latin Love Affair Pink this week, just love it.

Jirapan, care-giver extraordinaire

"Don't tell me about Jesus," Florence said. 'I'm Jewish."

"I tell her," Jirapan says, "Jesus loves you. You see. He your friend."

Jirapan has been in the USA for 25 years but she still rolls her r's into l's and gets words mixed up or they just somehow don't get included in her stories. But, Jirapan tells everyone who listens that Jesus fills her heart with joy, and her blessing is to share this love. So, a 95-year-old Jewish lady telling her to shut up about Jesus goes in one ear and out the other. Besides, Jirapan is convinced that at 95 this woman needs Jesus' love now.

Jirapan used to have a hair salon, so she comes to our house once a month to cut my husband's hair and always fills us in on her recent exploits.

"At first she angry with me. but that not stop me," Jirapan says, laughing as she speaks, sighing and clasping her hands which she raises above her head. "I have to tell Jesus' story.  I talk and talk. He Jewish, too, and cleanse us so we go to heaven. Without him forgiveness, we go to hell. You cannot go to heaven without Jesus.  I tell her that. Don't care if she get angry. God give me this job to do. I keep talking."

"So, how do you know this woman?" I asked.

"I know her son, Mal (Mark) who is gay, but I forgive him and pray for him, too. He my friend for long time, good man,  and I think about him, then he call me and ask me to help his mother who just home from the hospital. Temporary, I tell him, I have no time, but God want me to know this lady. I know that much now," Jirapan says, as the words come to her fast and tripping one over the other.

All this comes tumbling out, full of conviction and giggles and even a tiny little finger-wagging. Mostly it is the laughter that fills syllables and inflection, and all her story-telling. It gets criss-crossed and jumbled but Jirapan knows her purpose.

  

"I do favor for Mal. He find no one else, so I say okay. Now, three weeks later, his mother want me everyday and she listen when I talk about Jesus. Still Jewish, but listens, she nicer now. I get her to take a bath, I get her to eat, take her medicine. She do what I say. I don't care if she say I have to leave when I talk about Jesus. She a good woman, her sons make her feel bad, and that no good. I tell them to be good to their mother. God tell us: Love your mother and father."

Jirapan tells me what really bothers her about this family. One of the old woman's sons wants to put her in a nursing home.

"Throw his mother away! He say his mother too much trouble!!" Jirapan says. "My culture, you take care of your parents. Lot of work, maybe, but you do it. Right thing. I know right thing from wrong thing. Throw his mother away. Shame on him. She still can do for herself."

Jirapan frowns at this point and stomps one of her tiny feet that happens to be in a strappy kitten heel shoe. "This woman is good person, she go to heaven. God love her," Jirapan says. "So, I keep talking about Jesus. She getting stronger everyday. I take good care of her. If she still able to fight with me, then she doing okay. I tell myself she getting to normal. Think positive. She old, so what. Mal pay me, and I need that, but I glad he call me about his mother."

Thing is, Jirapan spoils this old lady. She treat Mark's mother like her own mother, and she wants Mark and his brother to do the same thing. She tells him to think of how many years his mother took care of him, changed his diaper and cleaned him up. She tells him to tell his brother that. Jirapan's determined.

"So, now old mother, Jewish woman need taking care. Think about it," Jirapan says. "I tell Mal to get her frowers (flowers) , mother like loses (roses). Do every week. Say to her, I love you."

And that's the truth. To some extent. 

THE END OF HEARTS AND HOUSES FOR SALE

I'm going to put this serialized story away, in the drawer for now. Something new and fun will be posted soon. 

Meantime, I used to work here at Warner Bros. studio. If you want to be in show biz, Rule #1: you have to be a professional, not a fan. Rule #2: Do the work. Rule #3: Know when to quit.

Hearts and Houses for Sale: Bon Ton

Hello, Selene Here. Listen to the latest here or read about it yourself, below:

At least 25% of housing sales in San Pedro are short-sales these days. It's so sad for the sellers. Good for the buyer and the banks. But, really sad for the sellers. At least the house on the hill sold for the asking price. It will be home for the Broom family thanks to Captain Katz and of course, the previous owner who definitely has a trick or treat mentality.

"I am going to refer to him as 'the previous owner' from now on," I told my sister. "I don't like him, well, I do like him, but I don't trust him."

"Some men aren't trustworthy," she said. "But look at President Obama. He's so hot, and, he's obviously reliable and he must have been honest, so far." She paused for a moment before continuing. "I think he's trustworthy."

"He's smart," I said. "And he's amazingly well dressed. He knows how to wear a suit."

"Michelle is a really good mother," my sister said. "I know everybody says the girls are darling, but that's because they have such a good mother and father."

"That doesn't mean he will be a really good president," I said. Although, like everybody else, I hope so.

"Do you think he's ever had an affair?" my sister asked. "He' so ambitious and I'd have an affair with him."

"If he has, we'll find out," I said. "Poor Michelle when that happens. I guess she can, well, I guess she'd ask Hilary for advice."

"I wouldn't want to live in the White House," my sister said. "If you stood at one end of the place and shouted you still couldn't be heard at the other end, so someone could, hypothetically, be hiding and up to no good."

"I wouldn't want to sell the White House," I said. "Only someone in a very bon ton crowd could afford it if it was a regular house."

"Imagine what it would be worth," my sister said. "I wonder what it would sell for nowadays. That's one big house to heat and furnish, but it's really old and in great condition. Keeping up the grounds alone must cost a fortune."

"It would probably be a short-sale with an attorney attached. Pity the poor real estate agent," I said laughing at the irony of such a sale. "She'd earn every penny on that one."

"I hope the Obama's are happy there," she said.

"I'm meeting with an attorney whose on the other end of the divorce shack sale," I said, changing the subject.

"Maybe he's really cute, and, single," my sister said. "Hey. What happened to Mohammad? Did he call?"

She's older than I am. She looks out for me. I'm not going to answer. I don't want to disappoint her or get myself depressed.

And that's the truth. To some extent.

to be continued

Hearts and Houses for Sale: A Paw at the Window

It was a dark and stormy night. The wind whipped the branches against my bedroom French Doors. Alone in my Tempur-Pedic king size bed, I tossed and turned unable to sleep. [That has never happened before. The bed is amazing.] Then a scratching at the door, woke me in a start. Bolt-right up in bed, I began to sweat and peered through the morning light. A paw--a striped orange paw--begged to be let in. Poor Mittsy, my seven-toed cutie-pie.

I had left her outside all night. Not exactly Wuthering Heights, but a little excitement. And now I felt like a bad parent.

The concert is next week. Unfortunate mistake, but dinner with Mohammad had been wonderful. I don't remember what we had and I left the menu in my car, but suffice it to say, I hope to see him again. He said, "I'll call you," which doesn't bode well. Well, maybe it does in his culture. Hopefully, we are still going to the concert.

I'm staying in bed today. A stack of dusty books sits on my bedside table, waiting to be re-read.

Wuthering Heights
Oblomov
Lost Horizon
Dead Souls
The Bluest Eye
Peony

Now The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison is one of my favorite books of all time, but so sad. I think I'll pass on that today. Same goes for Pearl S. Buck's Peony.

I think Oblomov by Ivan Goncharov tugs at my heart today. The main character stays in bed for the first 200 pages. A woman woes him out of bed. And for a stoic Russian of 200 years ago, this man gets my heart a-fluttering.

Do you think if I stay in bed for 200 pages, some one will ply me with poetry and dredge up dreamy romance from my woeful heart and sorrowful psyche until I must put on my best suit and whisk them away? Goncharov, right, that's his job today. 

I think I'll bring Mittsy to bed with me. Modern America, again. She has no expectations except to be fed, played with, and provided a clean litter box.

Then with any luck, I'll wander the Moors in the afternoon and get some groceries at Trader Joe's. Hey, life ain't always exciting.

And That is the truth. To some extent.

to be continued...