It’s not a secret that I am married to my third husband. He’s quite nice, we enjoy our life together in many ways and thanks to this marriage I have acquired a relatively new skill. That has been due to the fact that my dirty little secret throughout all these marriages is that I have not known how to do the wash. There you go. A grown woman, nearly into retirement, who didn’t know how to do laundry.
They say admitting there is a problem is the first step. Quite frankly, I didn’t think it was a problem. I had a rather basic approach to washing clothes: wad up a bunch of them, throw them in a wash machine, dump in something that would turn into suds and hope for the best. It didn’t seem that hard. Au contraire, mes amies! (My French is better than my laundry skills).
Apparently there are RULES about doing laundry. It’s clique-ish, like junior high. Certain clothes will only go with certain clothes otherwise they run. I had thought they would run out of the washer, perhaps into the dryer, but that’s not what happens. What they meant was that clothes have to be SEPARATED by color, fabric type and some other things I can’t remember. Then the APPROPRIATE laundry detergent has to be administered and in the correct amount. New information:  one does not put dish soap or shampoo in the washing machine in an effort to clean clothes.
Let me just say a few words about bleach here. I have been forbidden to have bleach because it’s not to be used as an all-purpose sort of cleaner. I was confused on that point. Turns out, it makes stains and holes in things if it’s used too often or if too much is put in with the laundry load. (That’s a new term for me). So I spent years blissfully ignorant of laundry compendium and my clothes were getting clean.
That’s how this story gets to husband Number 3. During a somewhat heated discourse about who knows what, I uttered something to the effect of “Fine then, I’ll do my own laundry.” He has not touched it since. Weeks went by while I shopped for new, clean clothes. Who thought he would listen to me about such nonsense.
Finally, I had to face facts. I would have to do my own laundry! Shopping is often an answer, so I went. Not for new clothes, but for clothes cleaning artifacts. Did you know there is an aisle in the grocery store that has scores of soap products meant specifically for washing clothes? They are called laundry detergents and many have exorbitant claims to cleanliness, softliness, spotliness, you name it. The one I chose is blue and smells good. I had also seen this one in television commercials advertised by a man in a white tuxedo who is doing laundry. Because I had always thought that men do laundry, this seemed like a logical choice. I brought it home. I read the directions! Separating various colors of clothes, I put some in the washing machine. I pushed buttons that I had seen my husband push. The clothes came out clean! I am now doing my own laundry! Can I get an amen!
It’s been weeks now. The clothes get separated, put in the washing machine and come out clean. I read the directions on the bottle of detergent every time and put some, not too much, in the washer and the clothes come out clean and fresh. I am a clothes washing genius!  I certainly hope that no one tells me I can’t dry my clothes in the micro-wave.

Today in the United States we are celebrating Mother’s Day with various gifts, flowers, meals and greetings. It’s a wonderful day to be a mother or to have one that you celebrate. A mother isn’t always the one you were born with. A mother can come in the form of being a grandmother, aunt, sister, cousin, or friend. Sometimes they give advice, sometimes they’re just there when you need them. These women often exert a powerful influence on our lives and today we are celebrating the fact that somehow these women made us be better in some way.
In preparation for the day, I did a little research on the word “mother.” Throughout the world, the word for mother is very similar in sound and in letter. The word almost always starts with an “m” and typically includes an “a.” Below is a list of various languages and their word for mother. This list is not all inclusive by any means. Nor does it need to be. Because during my research, I discovered that while the word for “mother” has some differences, the word for “mom” is nearly always the same.

Aleut – naa/ana                Greek – Ma                 Persian – mamen
Africaans –ma                   Hindi – Ma                 Russian – mat
Cherokee – e-tsi               Irish – Ma                  Spanish – mami
Czech – maminka            Italian – Mamma     Swahili – Mama
Dutch – mam                    Malay – Emak           Swedish – Mama
English – mom                 Navajo – Ama           Turkish – Ana
Finish – A                           Nigerian – Mama     Yiddish – Muter
French – maman              Norwegian – madre

Happy Mother’s Day to all of you who have given or received the kind of love and regard that made someone think of you as “mom.”

The Twin Cities is rapidly becoming a very prolific jazz city with many venues and musicians proffering their talents in town. In particular, jazz can be found on many nights of the week in Lowertown St. Paul. Once home only to sparsely populated coffee shops and artist’s lofts, things have changed quite a bit in the past two years. One such offering was Sunday night’s at an eclectic performance venue called Bedlam. There was a weekly offering of “Solomon’s Sessions.” A local trumpet player, music teacher and, now musician with a graduate degree was hosting a venue for jazz musicians to drop in and blow their horn. Or play their bass or riff their piano or bang their drums. All of this was to the delight of jazz fans and a continual stream of top shelf musician’s trying to make a living playing jazz. This was funded for a year, but hopefully we will see more of Solomon Parham and his particular brand of jazz in the future. Given recent growth in this area, it’s more than likely. Today’s offering is my take on an evening at the jazz club.

Come in early and stake out your seat.
It’s cold in here now but when the music starts
You’ll feel the heat.

Move your table to get the best view.
It’s not crowded now but when the music starts
You’ll find that it’s true.

Get a drink in time to see the first set.
The servers aren’t busy now but later,
That’s all you’ll get.

Tune out the patrons that talk incessantly.
They’ll continue to talk,
They’re not inclined musically.

Move your table again and squeeze in your chair.
They’re playin’ just for you,
The hottest music anywhere.

The bass player is lookin’ at ya but the saxophone
player gives you the snub.
The server with the tip jar noticed you.
Welcome to the jazz club.