Sweetpea’s Garden

Before I left Baltimore, my friend Megan said I should make a list of all our family idioms. I had realized that we had some, shall we say, “unique” family sayings, but Megan said that what we have goes far beyond the norm and not only do we have more, but we use them all the time without even realizing it.

Then last week my sister-in-law mentioned that she and her friends had been keeping a quote book of memorable moments which they dust off and share when levity is required. This made me think of Megan and what she recommended to me. (Although the two ideas differ somewhat, one made me think of the other.)

So here goes…for those of you who know us well, please feel free to add to the list cause I am sure I missed some of “ours” (and please note, I do not claim that any of these phrases began with us; just that we use and perhaps have/had overused them). Also, please add your favorites that we may have never heard but that you find hilarious or telling.

It is raining like a cow pissing on a flat rock
Even a blind pig finds an acorn once in a while
Sh** or get off the pot
What’s this we sh** white man?
Fish or cut bait
Don’t fish off the company pier
She is a few cards shy of a full deck
Take all your money out of the bank and buy a clue
She doesn’t have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of
Don’t put the cart before the horse
We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it
Children should be seen and not heard
When I want your advice, I’ll ask for it

Now I am left wondering what this list says about my family…perhaps the most fun part of this list for you all is to try to decide who said what

Bossman just forwarded me a link to what might be the strangest convenience-food item ever. And really, I just can’t beat his comment, either:

Puts the “um” in “yum!”

Indeed.

Those of you reading this who know me in the offline world know that, generally speaking, I don’t give a crap about football. I’ll watch a game every now and then in the interest of camaraderie, but I don’t follow a team (college or NFL), and wouldn’t miss it if nobody ever played again.

Thus, it comes as a surprise to me how invested I am in the upcoming Super Bowl. Normally, football’s big event provides me with nothing more than a chance to hang out with people, drink beer, and watch the advertising industry try to thrill me with its cleverness. This year, though, I am interested in the game, and what I want is to see the Giants pull off an upset and win.

In fact, I need the Giants to win, though explaining why involves a little trip in the wayback machine, to 21 years ago.

In 1987, the Giants made it to the Super Bowl, and their first chance at a national title since the 1950s, when my dad was a teenager. A true fan, as in fanatic , he jumped at the chance to go to Pasadena for the game when his lifelong best friend called and announced he’d gotten tickets. The story of Dad and Bud’s California adventure — and the related tale of the snowstorm that trapped them in St. Louis Kansas City on the way home — has become the stuff of family legend, and both the ticket and commemorative seat cushion had places honor in my parents’ upstairs bedroom. (No, I’m not kidding. My mom is an unusual woman to have let such things happen without a fuss.)

I think the Giants’ next Super Bowl, in 1991,* came too close on the heels of their first to justify another road trip, and by 2001, Dad’s MS had progressed to the point where that kind of travel just wasn’t an option, but his enthusiasm was undimmed. I’m sure it would be over-stating to say he never missed a game on tv, but he planned his weekend around the Giants in the same way he did around church; that is to say, pretty consistently.

When Dad died last March, we buried him in his Giants jacket.

For reasons I don’t fully understand and have almost no ability to articulate, a win will stand somehow as a point of honor to his memory. Or perhaps as a sign that, wherever he is, he’s still got a stake in the game. I don’t know. Sunday is the day before what would have been his 69th birthday, so I just know it needs to be now, this year.

So, unless the Patriots are your team the way the Giants were Dad’s (which he wouldn’t understand, but would forgive), please join me in saying:

LET’S GO GIANTS!

* Yes, I looked up the dates on Wikipedia. 1987 I knew, but there’s no way I’d have the rest of it memorized. I mean, please.