You ask, I answer: Who is Bonita Dixon, and What is New With Tonya

When I spoke with my son, Bruce Smith-Standish, this morning using something call "Face Time" on my husband's "iPad" and Bruce asked how the "blog" was going and I informed him that it was going swimmingly.

We chit chatted for a couple moments as he brought me up to speed with his home, the business, Master John's latest win the legal arena, and the exciting news that Tonya, our "grandiguana", is going to star in a local San Francisco commercial.  Being cold blooded, Bruce seems to think that Tonya will enjoy all the lights on the sound stage.  I reminded him not to spoil her as she may come to expect a few extra crickets all of the time.

Tonya seems nonplussed as usual.

Bruce tells me that part of being a good blogger is to interact with with you blogience (blog+audience) and to show interest in them.

In reading through your comments - and I do so value them - I have noticed that there are those of you who wonder who is Bonita Dixon.  Coincidentally, I myself have been asking myself  who Bonita Dixon thinks she is for eons.   However due to liable laws I cannot tell you a thing about Bonita Dixon.   Instead I shall tell you about an imaginary neighbor named "Juanita Hickson."

The Smith-Standish home is on South Woodland Road, west of Shaker Heights Country Club.   The main house, in the English Manor style, is nestled slightly lower than the road, making it feel especially welcoming.  From our south windows we have a magnificent view of the fifth tee of the course - truly breath taking. 

When Col. Marcus Griffin died - he of Griffin Manor, the stunning house three doors from ours - was sold to a Mr. and Mrs. "Hickson".  Since they are not in the Cleveland Blue Book, or members of the golf club, we assumed that they were new to area.  Neighbors along this stretch of road know one and other because we all belong to the club, but we tend to enjoy our privacy at home. 

One day, who should come to our front door like a waif in distress was Mrs. Juanita ("just call me "Nita") Hickson and she was in dire need of a phillips head screw driver. People stranded in the dessert are in dire need of water; but a screw driver?  Unless one is Dean Martin, I think not.  Nevertheless, I rang for Charmane, our housekeeper, and asked if she could check in the tool room in the carriage house for a phillips head screw driver.  While we waited, "Nita" regaled me with everything that they were doing to the house, how she studied classical harp, and how she was "a planning" to have the neighbors over for cocktails. 

"That," I said, "sounds very nice."  What else was I to say?

And while she spoke I noticed a certain love of verbal contractions and a couple "he got" and "ain't's" thrown in for my auditory pleasure. I also learned that "Nita" was Mr. Hickson's third wife, and just know that the third one is always a charmer.  I also learned that she was a native of Youngstown; so you can see the situation was disintegrating by the moment.

Charmane thankfully returned with two screw drivers, one large and one small and "Nita" snapped them up and off she went like an untied balloon cast into the air.  Not so much as "Thank you" or "I appreciate this favor."  No. Off she flew. Charmane said "Mrs. S, that is the last of your tools you'll ever see."

I made a mental note and went about my day - I had done Mrs. Hickson a favor and I was bound by proper rules of behavior to trust that she would return the screw drivers, both of them, in a reasonable amount of time. 

Within the month, the screw drivers had not been returned.  Edwin thought nothing of it, but I am believer in "Neither a lender or a borrower be" and if he wasn't going deal with it I certainly would.

It was early October.  I was wearing my favorite brown Peck & Peck knit skirt suite that I am so found of, and the smell of leafs and the rustle of them under my sensible heals made me remember those New England days of my childhood when the temperature was mild and the sun crisp and bright but waning.  Absolutely invigorating!  It lifted my spirits and I felt a smile almost come over my face.

I began to walk up the "Hixson's" circular driveway - it really is a charming house - very Sister Parrish in style - when there before me the living room bay window as "Nita" playing her Concert Grand Harp for all to see - and she was naked!

For a moment, suspend disbelief and imagine this is what I saw.

At that moment I was especially glad that I had not sent Edwin down to recover the screw drivers.

She couldn't see me because her naked back was facing me, so I had a moment to compose myself. I steeled myself, straightened my suit jacket, and marched myself to the front door and rang the bell with purpose.  The delightful Westminster chime, that Col. Griffin was so fond of when he a resident of the house, rang with authority.  The plinking stopped.  I heard a slap, slap, slap of unshod feet upon the marble foyer floor of the house, while "Naked Nita" sing-songed out, with all the manufactured talent that a summer stock stand in could muster, "Who is it?"

"It is I, Martha Smith-Standish.  And I have come to call, " I announced.

A few moments later Naked Nita answered the door, wearing a dressing gown. "Does this woman not know the meaning of the word propriety?" I though to myself.  "Evidently not or she wouldn't have been fingering that harp of hers in the window for all to see," I reasoned back.

I explained my reason for dropping in, uninvited, and asked if she had the screw drivers, to which she said that she though she did.  I asked for their return and that I was fine standing in the hallway.  Heaven forbid I should sit on any of her upholstered furniture - especially since I could not be sure if if Naked Nita hadn't also seated herself upon any of the seats.  It would have been unhygienic!

When she returned the screw drivers she made the mistake of saying she was just in the middle of her harp practice to which I answered, enigmatically "I see," because I had.  Now if I would have said "I saw" then she would have known for certain - better to keep them guessing.  I thanked her, mentioned that we should "see more of each other" - a little hint to make her wonder what I knew - and left.

My property in my hands, the cool warmth of the October sky and the rustling of fallen leaves under my feet again reassured me that life, when properly attired, is indeed delightful.

Dear Reader, remember, although I was offended by her nakedness, manners indicated that I shan't leave her as coldly as she left with my hand tools. No and to the contrary. One should always leave a door open in case one needs volunteers or cash donors for future causes.And besides, the Smith-Standish axion that "the world is simply not as large as we would like think" really does come into play.  Try as I might, I knew that until "Nita" moved on to a "snappy" retirement villa in Naples, Florida, I really wouldn't be outside her sphere of probability.  Prepare for the worst and when it happens you are not surprised is my motto, and that applies to "Nita" just as much as it does for a hurricane, loud people who often, and ignorantly claim, unique personal rights under the United States Constitution, or as my nine year old grandson Armand would interject, Zombies.

That was the first of numerous encounters with Juanita that have ended poorly.

We have been to her home for a musicale (I was disappointed when it was not harp selections from O' Calcutta) and we did attend Mr. Hickson's funeral.  He died in bed. What a Surprise!  I now see Juanita here and there, and she has joined committees and tried to make herself relative to society, however reports continue from her immediate neighbors that she still insists on practicing in the nude, to which I reply "why practice, she is most certainly a pro by this point."

Now remember, you shouldn't think that any of this has anything to do with Bonita Dixon. Parrish the thought!  Besides, Bonita Dixon plays a cherub encrusted guided harp between the hours of 4PM and 6PM, not a true concert grand. 

Well, I should go - Thursday is my duplicate bridge night.  Tonight, Murial Cardwell is hosting at her gracious home on North Park Road.  Wish me luck!

I remain,

Mrs. Edwin Smith-Standish

My doctor visit and what I caught someone who is not Bonita Dixon doing at Heinens

Yesterday before I left for the grocery store and the gynecologist, I wrote in my blog that I was going to have my Vagina examined.

Well, this evidently upset my son Bruce who told me that in no uncertain terms that the blog needn't include such graphic detail.  I told him that he was being silly. It is a perfectly natural task to go to ones doctor and have preventive medical care, and that includes having ones vagina examined semi annually, does it not?

And it is a silly woman who can not say the word Vagina, let alone take herself and get it examined.  Indeed, why should be ashamed of our reproductive system?  Well, what say you?

This admission almost made Bruce insane at the shear mention of the examination.  Bruce sometimes forgets that he and his older twin brother were both vaginally delivered when they were born, so why should it be an issue now?

So I said  the word.  "Vagina, vagina, vagina, vagina, Bruce," I said.  "It has a name and it is by it's name that we call it what it should be called."  To which he replied "Oh, Mother!"

Bruce has always had issues with the Vagina. Thankfully his twin brother Chip has no such issues.  They are the ying and the yang, so to speak.

As a young child my mother insisted that I call it my "kitten".  And as I grew older there were other names for it, many which I am sure that you all know.  But the word "Vagina" is the medically acceptable name and that is what it should be called, no?  After all, we are all adults, presumably, so using the word V-A-G-I-N-A, or its Latin root of Cunnis shouldn't shock anyone, and if it does than shame on you.  Yes, you.  The person reading this.  I say shame on you for not saying Vagina!

Anyway Dr. Rosenblatt,  my gynecologist, proclaimed me healthy and suggested that I do Kegel exercises to tone myself.  In fact, I am doing them now because it is practical to do so.  So that is that.

Bonita Dixon when she isn't tasting grapes

More shocking though than a pelvic exam was what I witnessed at Heinen's.  I shall not say her name only to say that it was not Bonita Dixon that I witnessed, sampling one too many grapes.  Yes, one should taste their grapes before buying a bunch, but one need not try two or even twenty as the person who is not Bonita Dixon was doing.  No wonder food prices continue to escalate when you have people like Bonita Dixon (not that I saw her, but I'm just using her as an example) munching their way through the produce section.

Today I am going to the attend the charade that passes for the Episcopalian Ladies Guild Meeting and we are discussing ways that children should dress for winter.  A member will stand up and say "Wouldn't it be grand if we could pool our resources and buy coats for the underprivileged for the coming winter?"  Fortunately, we've all been to this meeting long enough that this will be our cue to get our our check books and make a donation.  And I shall turn toward one of the members who is not Bonita Dixon and suggest that she add a couple dollars to clear her karma for the grapes that she feels are placed at the store for her to munch on while shopping.

Such is life, no?

Until next time, this Mrs. Edwin Smith-Standish signing off and urging to to have your Vagina's examined as part of your preventative care regimen.