So today, I make my first prepared speech for Toastmasters.  A tall tale, which I share with you here:

Let me know what you think of my inflections, eye contact and wild gestures.

Thanks!

Good Evenink Madame Toast Mastah!  Ladies and chentlemenz, I tell youse now a tale of da Gray House Ghostie.

People often wonder, is there really such a thing as a ghost?

If you were a state like New Jersey, you might say an emphatic, “Yes!”  Haunted by the imposing shadow cast by New York City, aka the Big Apple, New Jersey is a mere shade of a state.  It is so small it could be an apparition.  Despite what New Yorkers might say, New Jersey is an actual state.

But New Jersey is apparently not a state willing to stand up to the bullies of New York.  What other state would house an NFL football team yet allow it to be called the New York Giants?  Is New Jersey such a shade of gray, that it can’t assert itself and allow the Giants to say where they are really from?

Nah.  Jerzoids are scared to death.  Must have something to do with the rumor that Jimmy Hoffa is buried within the concrete walls of the Meadowlands.

Or is New Jersey just a Ghost of New York’s mobster past?  Like Jimmy Hoffa, a skeleton in the closet.

Yet there is more to this ghostly concept then what New Jersey’s lack of statehood may or may not mean.

For lurking deep in the bowels of suburbia, in an unassuming 26-room, gray mansion, there once prowled a phantom.  This ghoul was so feared that on Halloween, not a child dared to Trick-or-Treat there.

How do I know this?  Because this is the house of Vicky’s past.

Late at night, the ghost would creep into my room and send beams of light shooting and racing around the walls.  Lamps that were broken would flicker an eerie green.

And worst of all, when the house was dead silent, from the depths of the living room, Scary Belafonte would bellow a ghastly rendition of Day-o…

Now you might say that perhaps my sister was playing jokes on me.  And I might agree.  Because she was prone to pranks that scared the wits out of me.

But the last time it happened, I was twenty-four, on a trip back east visiting the family.  At twenty-four I was too old to be scared by my older sister.  And she was too old to be living with our Dad.  It was just me, him and the ghost.  She wasn’t there.

Another thing that wasn’t there was the family piano.  It was sold long ago.

But somehow, in the middle of the night, or ghosting hour, the long-gone piano managed to manifest itself out of thin air.  A rotten pianist began banging out the theme from “The Apartment”.

It didn’t sound like this:

It sounded just like elephants dancing on silverware.  That’s how my mother used to play it.  Frightening.  Especially since she was alive and well in California at the time.

When the piece was finished, the locked door of my bedroom creaked open.  Eerie green lights flickered from the broken lamps.  A chain rattled.  I knew that the ghost was seeing if there were any encore requests.

That was a negative.

The next morning I told my father of my horrible experience.  He said, “Oy!  It’s dat dentist ghost.  Good thing he only played the piano and didn’t whip out his drill instead.”

The next year, my father installed skylights in the attic.  He said that the ghost flew out into the sky and finally escaped the chains that held him in this earthly existence.

But, that is only what my dad says.  Because with the way the Giants have been playing, I believe the Dentist Ghost of the Gray House has gone to the Meadowlands and is drilling the walls to release Jimmy Hoffa’s ghost.

BOO!

Fun Your Way out of the Box!

ghost story · tall tales · Toastmasters

Wow.  Today was an amazing day!

It was just an easy going, just do regular stuff kind of day.  But everything seemed to click like clockwork.  Days like that don’t happen often, so when they do, it makes me feel like the Swiss were playing with my winder, as opposed to Roger Rabbit.

So what made the day so special?

Well, Zill and I met our new best friend Vania Silva!  And from Vania, Zill was finally able to pick out a handbag that sung to her.

Vania and Zill

If you are a woman you will know what I mean.  And to be honest, I found a handbag that sung to me, too.  So, we both bought handbags.  And went home with our heads purse-ting with song.  But not before other women found their own private pocketbook symphonies.

Customers finding bags that sing to them at the Brazilian Bella shop at HB Farmer's Market Friday!

So today’s theme?  Fun Your Way into a New Bag!

brazillian bella · fun bags · swiss clock makers

Today  I stopped at my office.  And thought I’d be quick.  Zill didn’t want to take the hike up to the elevator.  Because Yoga Gentle wore her out.

Cartoons do yoga too!

So I parked in a nice shady spot, and she stayed in the car.  Out of habit, I locked the vehicle.  With Zill in it.  Walking into the building I thought, “Ooops.  I hope Zill doesn’t try to get out of the car.  Nah.  She won’t do that. ” So I put that thought right out of my mind.

I didn’t know that I would bump into anyone that I knew.  But I did.  And we talked.  A little.  Well, actually more than a little.  But not too much, because we talkers became distracted by a car alarm going off in the parking lot.

Nah.  That couldn’t be my car.

But we left the building anyway.  Just to check.

Yep.  It was my car.  And yep.  Zill was pissed.

That’s what I get for making her sit in a car with the aroma’s of deep fried okra in it.  I de-activated the alarm.  Gotta hypnotize myself not to do that again!

And for pay back?  Yeah.  There was pay back.  Zill threw bits of deep fried okra at me all the way home. Should have gotten the deep fried pickles instead!

Slime your way out of the box!  It’s fun and pretty tasty, too!

car alarms · deep fried okra