Ashley Jane Butternut

Ashley Jane Butternut, died Tuesday from a fall during the Squash Squad practice.

Ashley was an honor student at Produce Mahket High School. She was a member of the Squash Squad and recently was elected to the student council.

She leaves her parents Cushaw and Summer (Squash) Butternut, two sisters, Delicata, and Patty Pan, and a brother, Peter Pan.

Memorial Services will be held Tuesday at 7pm at Our Lady of the Perpetually Clueless Cathedral.

In lieu of flowers, the family asks that you send a donation to the You're-The-Grand-Prize-Winner Sweepstakes. Donations can be sent to Rose Dewy-Cheatham, And Howe Avenue, Mahket City.

Squad Member Squashed

Tuesday dawned like any other day. Members of the Winter Squash Squad were up early and hard at work preparing for the big Thanksgiving festival. They were rehearsing their signature move, the pyramid, when the unthinkable happened. Ashley Butternut plummeted to her death.

Coach Al Zucchini was at a loss to explain the accident. "These are good kids. They lookout for one another. They've done this move a thousand times. Ashley was a good squash, so young and fresh."

Team member, Amber Hubbard described what happened. "It was like, you know. Like Ash was on top of the pyramid and like this like you know like giant like hand came out of the sky and grabbed her and like dropped her like to the ground."

Ashley Butternut was pronounced dead at the scene. Mahket officials are investigating the incident. Mark A. Corn of the Mahket released an official statement. "This was a very tragic accident. Our hearts and prayers are with the Butternut family at this difficult time."

Ashley's mother, Summer Squash Butternut told the squad members. "Ash was so proud to have made the squad. She loved the sport and her teammates and loved being on the top of the pyramid. She died doing what she loved best."

Grief counselors will be on hand to help squad members cope with their loss. A memorial service is being planned.

Mrs. Butternut said Ashley's rind would be composted in a private family service.

The Ancient Mariner

The Young One and I were watching a program.

"Water, water, everywhere. And not a drop to drink," quoted The Young One.

"Water, water, everywhere. And all the boards did shrink," I added. I was pleasantly surprised she knew the quote. "Did you read The Rime of the Ancient Mariner in school?"

"No."

"We spend thousands of dollars on your tuition, and they don't teach you the Classics?" My favorite rant.

She fixed me with "the look" as only a teenager can.

"That's because no body cares."

"I care," the English major in me said indignantly.

"That's because you were around when all these guys wrote this junk."

Looks like the mariner isn't the only one that's ancient.

Wipe, Please.

During the last Mahket run, Ma toodled on the scooter to the produce department with me trailing a safe ten paces behind.

Ma stopped and surveyed the department. A hunter getting the lay of the land.

"You know those green peppers you picked last time went bad. Your father put them in the basement."

"That's not my fault if you don't store the food properly."

"I know," she conceded. Ma horned in on the display of green beans.

A younger woman was carefully selecting her choices, one by one, and putting them in a plastic bag.

"You didn't do a good job picking out the green beans last time," Ma sniffed. "Some of them were touched."

I almost commented on what was touched, but kept my mouth shut.

"I want a pound. Pick them like that girl over there is doing."

"Maybe we should let her pick out your green beans," I muttered.

The woman turned as she overheard the conversation. I smiled politely as I pulled a plastic bag from the roll.

My turn came, and I approached the altar of the green beans. Under Ma's hawk gaze, I selected a candidate and promptly rejected it. I was sure there was nothing particularly wrong with that green bean, but it seemed the prudent way to go. I selected another and put it in the bag. Ma must have approved because she zoomed down the aisle in search of other veggie prey.

By now, you've all picked up the fact I hate shopping. I hate grocery shopping in particular, and I especially despise shopping at the Mahket. I don't do the grocery shopping for my own family. Himself came to me as the designated slayer of grocery since he did the food shopping for his mother, and he naturally assumed the role in our marriage. It was either that or starve. Grocery shopping falls under the "not a Little Princess job" like yard work or bathroom cleaning.

I looked at the mound of green beans as if they were writhing adders. I pushed my hand into the underlayers to see if the specimens were any better than the fellows on the top. As I did this, I began to wonder how many people, during the start of flu season, have pawed through the beans before I arrived. Had they washed their hands before they arrived for shopping? Had some child picked and wiped his hand on his nose and helpfully helped his mother select green beans? I shuddered, and made a mental note for next time. Grab another bag and use it as a glove so I wouldn't have to actually touch the produce.

More selecting and my eye caught the sign announcing Fresh Green Beans. Fresh my Aunt Fanny. How fresh can green beans be sitting in a bin that is not refrigerated and sitting in the bin for God knows how long? Do the beans stay in the bin overnight? Does the produce manager have his clerks restock the vegetables into a refrigerator overnight? The beans sitting in the bin can't be fresh. Fresh is being shipped to the produce plant minutes after picking and being flash frozen and ensconced in a polybag. If vegetables are not sealed in a polybag, they shouldn't be brought home.

I took my bag of beans to the scale to be weighed. My hands felt gritty. Another mental note, bring some wipes next time. Better yet, try to get Ma and Dad to subscribe to Peapod, the online grocery shopping service in their area. Though that wouldn't work, I'd be getting calls at all hours that "they didn't send me my green beans."

I found Ma in the aisle looking at polybags of apples.

"I want a bag of MacIntosh."

Shopping with your mother, $200.00. Not having to hand select MacIntosh apples? Priceless.

A Major Award

If you didn't go back to read all the comments on the Bloggerversary Contest Winner, Alesia sent this comment:

Thanks everyone! My box arrived yesterday, sadly (yet somehow appropriately) the lottery ticket was a loser. Auntie Rose is now in a place of honor in the dining room hutch.

Just like Auntie Rose to send you bupkiss. She stiffed Ma too, out of $2M yesterday. At least you have the consolation of the Little Debbies. Ma's only consolation was me raining on her parade.

It started yesterday when I brought lunch to have a visit with the Weebles. Ma wanted me to take her to the post office because she had received a registered letter. She took a half an hour to get ready.

In the meantime, I found the card the mailman left to see who sent the letter. There was no name, no company, just a bunch of numbers. A bogus notice. Secretly, I hoped it was from the FBI indicting Ma with illegal gambling or terrorist funding. Or maybe a bill from the telephone company with all the charges for calls to Jamaica that I had the phone company remove from the bill.

I was also wondering why the mailman didn't leave the letter. Ma is a virtual shut in and she's home all the time. If she ventures outside, it's to sit in a chair on the front porch. I guess the mailman knew it was a fake letter and didn't want to bother about it.

Finally, Ma is ready. We drive to the post office. Wait in line for days because there is only one clerk working. A second clerk was at the counter but he was ignoring the line.

Ma got her letter and two books of stamps. As I'm juggling, the letter, her pockabook, and trying to put away her checkbook, she's demanding I open her letter.

"Let's go to the car, Ma. My hands are full and I'm dancing as fast as I can."

I got her settled in the car and she opened her letter.

"I don't have my glasses. Read this to me."

"I can't read and drive, Ma. You'll have to wait until we get home." Besides not wanting to drive into the guard rail, I can't read while driving as I get motion sick.

On the ride home, Ma is dreaming of riches. She'll pay for my girls' college education in full. I'd rather she pay me for the furnace, but I don't say anything. All I can think of is if she won, all the strings that would be attached to the winnings.

At home, Ma looks at the letter and focuses on the big $2 Million printed on an official looking certificate.

She's fairly dancing around the living room with joy. I started thinking of the father from "The Christmas Story" when he won a prize for entering a crossword puzzle contest.

"A major award! A major award. Hot damn!"

Too bad Ma didn't win the leg lamp. At least she would have something to show for all the do-re-mi she's spent on these contests.

"See," she said shoving the letter at me. "I told you I was going to win."

I read the letter. It stated if Ma sent $20 her name would be put in the next round of entries for a chance to win the $2 million. Just like Auntie Rose to stiff Ma again.

"You didn't win anything."

It was sad to see her face fall. All the dreams and all the control she would have with the money.

"All they want you to do is send them more money so they can trick you into thinking you won a contest."

I should have brought Ma a box of Little Debbies. She already has the framed picture of Auntie Rose.