Monthly Archives: April 2014

LYFT THEME SONG

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Average White Band “Pick Up The Pieces”

(sax)

Where ya come from?  Where ya goin?

We will pick you up.  Big fist bump.

(bass)

Come go with us , request a Lyft

Come go with us, request a Lyft

(sax)

Where ya come from?  Where ya goin?

We will take you there.  Not one care.

(bass)

Come go with us, request a Lyft

Come go with us, request a Lyft

 

Where you at now?  Where you headed?

We will come get you.  With pink swag too.

 

Come go with us, request a Lyft

Come go with us, request a Lyft

Come go with us, request a Lyft

Come go with us, request a Lyft

(bridge)

Pink mustache pink mustache/Pink mustache pink mustache

Pink mustache pink mustache/Pink mustache pink mustache GLOW!

For the Birds

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A few suggestions from the wee hours of sleepy time:

1)  Keep it down. 

We get it.  You adorable birdies have something to say.  Maybe you’re even trying to have a conversation in the trees.  Or find your feathered friends.  Or tell them how to find you.  But if you could just use your inside voices–even though I realize you are outside–I’d be much obliged.  Just until daylight if you please.

2)  Change it up.

Here’s a thought:  If no one outside my window is responding to what you are saying in a positive way, maybe you could fly for just a few minutes to a different place.  Might I suggest the Pine Ridge neighborhood?  They are ALL early risers. 

3) Say something different.

I’m looking at you Mr. Peek Boo.  Peeeek Boo.  Peeek Boo.  Peeek Boo…………………..Peek Boo.  Newsflash NO ONE WANTS TO PLAY PEEK BOO.  IT’S TOO DARK TO BE SUCCESSFUL.  Let’s play the quiet game shall we?  Until…I don’t know, 6am?

4)  Read your Birdie Bible

I’m pretty sure interrupted sleep for 40 nights is the thing that made Noah snap and throw you all OUT OF THE ARK. 

 

My Nickname

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Yesterday someone asked me and several others if we ever had a nickname growing up.  I shrugged and shook my head at first, remembering how hard it was to make something cutesy out of my name — Shannon.  People called me “Shainer,” “Sha-na-na,” and at Christmastime “Oh, Shannonbaum, oh Shannonbaum” but none of them really stuck.

My kids all raised their hands and I nodded remembering family nicknames through the years, but I didn’t remember my own.

Until.

It came back like a ton of bricks.  I wasn’t “Goody Two Shoes” or  “Nark,” or “Band Geek” but something much, much worse.   I had repressed it, apparently but now it came crashing down like a ton of bricks.

Thunder Thighs.

Oh, how I had longed to be taller and leaner like my 8th grade gal pals.  What a blow it was at age 16 when my parents said the words, “No, you’re probably all done growing.”

I had the strongest kick on the swim team and it showed from my ankles to my hips.

For a moment the shame of adolescence came back to me, but my 40 something self-esteem quickly beat the crap out of it.

Then I came home, turned over the calendar page at my sink and saw this:

Get Hoppping

Thank you God for Thunder Thighs!