How Not to Eat Pineapple

Adrianne had not remembered the rules. That is, until she was lying flat on her back in someone's backyard, her head wedged against the edge of their sidewalk. She, like every other guest at the party, knew the rules. They'd been drummed into her head as a child just as they'd been drummed into the head of every young child. But remembering them in all the frantic excitement of a two year old's birthday party she realized, as she lay in her prone position, was quite another matter.

On the negative side, taking a bigger bite than she could properly chew and talking while she had a foreign object in her mouth was not very ladylike. But on the positive side, she had managed to land on the ground with much grace and as little fanfare as possible as far as she could tell.

With the piece of pineapple lodged tightly in her esophagus, she must have remembered other less known rules like, 'don't ruin a good party' and 'don't make a spectacle of yourself' because she had not screamed in agony or writhed on the ground when the pain exploded inside her chest. She distinctly remembered hanging on to the gate with her head down, wondering when the explosion of pain was going to leave her body and vaguely, what she should do about it. She also remembered wondering briefly if they would postpone the party if she suddenly stopped breathing while she was draped over the gate.

As she slowly regained consciousness, she became aware of feeling the cold ground at her back where air had been at her last conscious thought, and with the feel of rough cement against her cheek. She realized belatedly that she had, with no prior planning involved, become the entertainment for this delightful social occasion. However Adrianne, with some embarrassment, knew that her performance wasn't exactly designed for the birthday celebration of a two year old.

Feeling somewhat better when she awoke after her bout on the ground that she'd felt before her debut, she carefully opened her eyes and anxiously tried to sit up. "Wait until the ambulance gets here," a male voice said with the air of authority as he placed his hand firmly on her shoulder.

Lying prone, Adrianne felt conspicuous as many of the party-goers focused their attention upon her. Little faces, their mouths agape in wonder at this aberration on the ground, stared at her. Some giggled, some poked and some jostled her arm, trying to get her attention.

"Why are you lying on the ground?" one small freckle faced little boy, braver than the rest, asked with a sense of determination and a swipe of his runny nose on the back of his grimy hand.

Closing her eyes, in an effort to ignore the circle of people surrounding her, she listened and realized with surprise that a party takes on a much different perspective when you are a guest in a horizontal position.

She decided that it was much like when she was giving birth to what seemed to be a twenty pound baby and the nurses were talking over her perspiring body about the dinner party they'd attended the previous evening. They'd then gone on to talk about their love life, which was the last thing she wanted to think about during that particular experience. In this case, a few chatted about inconsequential subjects as if unconscious of the interruption, one cried while another comforted her sobbing friend as if it was one of them in the prone position. Admittedly, Adrianne agreed others were trying to console her when all she wanted to do was get up off the hard-packed ground. The small children were eventually pulled away from the upsetting vision of a lady having an unscheduled nap on the newly cut lawn at their special birthday party but not before they had drooled all over her new outfit.

After the paramedics left, with assurances from herself that it was unnecessary to go to the hospital, she was finally led to a chair to recover from her plummeting blood pressure. As the party resumed, Adrianne had time to think and to reassess her deplorable eating habits. She realized that, as with everything else in life, there are always lessons to be learned. To be continued ...

Get Stuffed

This was published in 'Our World' in 2004 - While doing my will, my lawyer asked what should have been a simple question, "Do you wish to be cremated or buried?"

Not liking either idea, I considered my options and eventually an idea began to take shape.

"I could be stuffed," I said presenting the idea to my five offspring. None were impressed. "Think of the opportunities. I could attend all of the family functions. You could share me week by week. I can be at every dining room table. I can continue to share your lives with you. You can talk to me. I may not answer but I'll certainly be a listening ear. I really can't think of anything nicer!"

They obviously could because not one jumped to say they would take me first. In fact, not one said they would take me, period.

Undaunted with their present lack of enthusiasm, I mulled over the possibilities.

Hinged knees would be a necessity for mobility. Hinged elbows would also be necessary for family dinners and hinged fingers to hold a wineglass would be a must.

They must never let my hair go gray and they should make sure my make-up is always applied. I certainly wouldn't want to attend any social function looking like I had been dragged there. And I definitely wouldn't want to become frayed around the edges. But most important, I wouldn't want to miss anything. They know how I hate to miss a good party.

Each one insisted that while it may be a good idea, (although they weren't convinced), someone else could keep me. How could they not want me when they loved me? I began to realize that love me they do but decline me they did. I was fighting an uphill battle with my wonderful idea.

I decided to convince the grandchildren that a 'stuffed' me would be great to have around filling their homes with warmth and love.

However, I quickly discovered there was no success in that area either. A 'stuffed' me did not appeal to anyone except me.

But I was not convinced that I was totally on the wrong track. I pointed out the benefits of having a stuffed relative. No one else would have one. And if nothing else, I would be a conversation piece right up there with ownership of a Wayne Gretzky hockey puck. When suggested, Wayne Gretzky's hockey puck won hands down.

I began to hear rumblings that I may instead be stuffed into a closet or a shed (not exactly my idea of being stuffed), if I persisted with my notion.

I was rethinking my idea when my grandson suggested that it might be a good idea after all.

I was ecstatic. I finally had a convert. I'm so happy you like my idea," I enthused.

"Yeah," he smiled charmingly in a way only a 10 year old can, "I was thinking that if we put you out beside the garbage cans, it might help keep the crows away."

Now back to that very simple question.

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