Take My Wife, Please

                There is one four letter word that gets my hackles up, believe it or not.   Now, I’m no prude – I love lively self-expression filled with colorful words.  Sometimes it takes one of those “Seven Dirty Words” that George Carlin embraced to get the point across.  Those forbidden words can serve as a sort of punctuation, providing the perfect emphasis or pause.   In fact, I love to swear. 

But this particular word, although the meaning is benign, has the connotation of ownership or belittlement that makes my skin crawl.   At the top of my least favorite word list is ‘wife’.  Now, I’ll admit right off that there are times when this word is appropriate when explaining connections between people, but I think this term is incredibly over-used and in most cases can be replaced by a more expressive word or just a plain old name.  For example, “John and his wife are coming for dinner.”  Does John’s wife not have a name?  Do you not know her name?  Learn it.  Names are always better than labels.

“Is this your wife?” asked after a manly handshake and hello.  “Sorry, I’m not owned by anyone, but we are married.  My name is Sharon.”  I know, I know – a petty complaint and a little ridiculous. No big deal.  You can say the same thing about the term “husband”.  You are right.  My husband, my daughter, my dog – these are all merely explaining a relationship.  Honestly, I don’t kick and scream every time I hear the word (but you might notice my slight convulsions when that word is thrown in my direction).

But HERE is the one use that gets my lips-a-curling and my fangs-a-showing:  “The Wife.”   As in, “The wife and I are going on vacation.”  THE wife?   You can’t do better than that?  I use 'the' when referring to objects.  THE glass in on THE table.  THE radio is on THE wrong channel.  THE poop is in THE grass.  Do you ever hear “THE husband” except when someone is deliberately turning it around for a laugh?  It’s almost worse than ownership, because it rings of resignation.  “This is THE wife.  I don’t claim her as mine or anything.  She’s just there.  She’s like the furniture.  THE lawn.   She isn’t even a she, she’s a THE.” 

I may not be writing the words, but you can bet I’m picturing all of those colorful swear words in my head right now, just thinking about ‘THE wife’.  Feel free to join me in this visualization exercise.

 Well, now that I’ve gotten that off the chest, I’ll get the child off to school and start the day.  

Happy Friday to y’all – or whatever day it is when you read this.

March Forth!

                I am lucky enough to call myself a Patches Pal.  If you grew up in the Puget Sound area in the 60's and 70's, chances are you are also a Proud Patches Pal!  If you didn’t, well…I feel kind of sorry for you because you don’t know what you missed.  Each morning before school I sat shoulder to shoulder with my siblings, squatting on the shag carpet in front of the big old console television giggling at J.P. Patches and all of his goofy sidekicks, like just about every other kid within sight of Mt. Rainier.  Always in the center of the screen was his huge Grandfather clock, complete with Grandfather’s face.  We watched that show, and that clock, until it was time to rush out the door to catch the school bus at the corner.

                J.P. Patches was the mayor of the City Dump from 1958 to 1981. He lived in a shack with Esmerelda the rag doll and his gender-bending girlfriend named Gertrude (played by Bob Newman…in fact, most characters that visited were played by Bob Newman) not to mention his pet rubber chicken named Tikey Turkey. Today is March 4^th, always a special day at the Seattle City Dump. Mr. Patches declared the fourth day of March as extra special because this was the only day of the year that stated a command, “March Forth!”

                On this day J.P., who some knew out-of-make-up as Chris Wedes, would lead a raucous march around his shack. Mr. Music Man would play special marching music to encourage us kids at home to join the march and celebrate the day.  Never does this date pass that I don’t march a few steps in J.P.’s honor.

J.P. had a constant parade of visitors such as Ketchikan the Animal Man, Miss Smith from Miss Smith’s Delivery Service, Officer Patty-Wagon and Boris S. Wort – the Second Meanest Man in the World.  You could see Bob Newman sweating at times as he juggled all of his alter-egos, costumes and make-up in one show.  Visiting characters had to be careful when leaving the City Dump, as most of them fell into a seemingly bottomless pit right outside Patches’ shack door. He often warned them, but they never listened.   We didn’t see them fall, just heard their call for help fade as the victim fell far down into the dump’s abyss.

The best thing about this old show was that it was live, mostly improvisation and slightly subversive.  There were so often jokes, aimed more at adults, that made the characters AND the crew bust-up laughing. We children laughed along with them because we thought we were supposed to, but  we didn't really know why.  Last night I watched an old episode with my family (yes, I have a DVD set – you can borrow it if you promise to cherish every moment) where Ketchikan read an old classic story to the television audience, “Henny Penny”.  We watched the Animal Man catch the giggles when he reached the part about “Cocky-Locky” and proceeded to laugh himself off his chair while the crew egged him on.  My stomach still hurts from my own gut-busting guffaws!

To this day I can't listen to the classic jazz tune “In the Mood” without thinking of Mr. Announcer Man (his theme song) on Friday mornings giving his weather reports and general advice.  Was there ever a childhood birthday that we didn’t sit silently in hopeful anticipation, fingers-crossed, waiting for J.P. to see us in his ICU2 TV Set, wish us a Happy Day and tell us where in our house to find that hidden special birthday present?

Calling all Patches Pals:  Please join me today in a short march in honor of our childhood hero.  If you don’t have marching music, just find a pot and wooden spoon, chant with the beasts in the Secret Room, “OO-GA-CHAKA!  OO-GA-OO-GA-OO-GA-CHAKA!” and lift those knees high.  And March Forth!!

My oldest daughter's first Halloween.  I had to introduce her to my childhood hero.  So glad I did.