Mayberry Moments

Before, during, or after this post, you may want to take a peek/refresher course at the “Who’s Who” page up at the top of your screen. I’ve added some visuals to help you try to keep things straight for the next few posts, and life. 

Here’s a reader review from another one of my high school besties, Agatha.. I am posting this here (instead of just on the Reader Reviews page) because there are a few “new reader” spotlights coming up- one of whom is Agatha’s papa, Andy. I thought this might be a good lead-in, and just to give you all some more context as to what life is/was like in Mayberry. I present to you: Agatha.

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Bev and I knew each other when we were very young as Mama G & Smoke were friends of my parents.  But I got to know her much better in 3rd grade when she moved to the cool kids school (this would be Mayberry) ;).
I have so many memories of Bev, it is very hard to pick just one so I’ll share a couple highlights.  The MANY times we rode our bikes into Mayberry to meet at the park.  Jesus that gravel bike ride for 3/4 mi. was awful….  Taking a step up into the world when we got older, we upgraded to mopeds. Henrietta, Ardith, Bev and I were the moped gang; and I mean this in all seriousness (Bev would add that we might also be called the honking moped gang).  Bev’s moped had a cookie monster flag, and I sure hope she has a pic she can post to show this awesomeness (stay tuned, guys).  The moped gang was all fun and great until one ride in Mayberry when Ardith wiped out on some loose gravel.  I shut mine off when we stopped to help and that may have been the end of ol’ blue…don’t think she ever started again.  I had to call Con (Con is Connie, Agatha’s mom- more on her shortly) (meaning I had to WALK to the church to use a phone) to come pick me up with the truck.  Let’s upgrade this a bit more to when we had cars.  One day on the drive home from school, Bev in shotgun, something happened to my car. (Now that I think of this, I have no idea what it was?)  For some reason we decided it would be a good idea to try and get out while the car was creeping along VERY slowly and run with it.  (WHAT WERE WE THINKING?!?!?)  Anyway, this is much harder than it may seem.  No one got ran over or died, but I may or may not have peed in my pants a little from laughing so hard. (Bev’s take on this has to do with watching Agatha get out from her driver’s seat, trying to run along with the idling car, then falling on her ass, leaving Bev in the moving vehicle. In the passenger seat. Pissing herself. Bevvy here had to reach over, push the brake pedal with her hand, put the car in park, and then run around to the driver’s side to back the ol’ Grand Prix up to pick up Agatha from the gravel road. We then drove 85 mph+ the rest of the way home before Agatha would’ve literally peed her pants. Might not sound that funny through text/words on a screen, but I can guarantee you- if you ever have the chance to watch one of your best friends fall out of their car, safely onto a gravel road- do it.)

The memories go on…feeling like barfing after each eating an ENTIRE funnel cake and riding the silly silo a few times, before boarding the bus, on our Treasure Island band trip (Treasure Island may sound familiar, guys- read up on Goldenstein family escapades here).  Our “stash” for cruising (this would be an abandoned farm where we kept our booze when we were eighteen), cruising in our high school town, hanging at Henrietta’s grandma’s house before games, volleyball. Walking beans/picking up rocks with you, Mama G & Smoke (and many others) which almost always included them yelling at you to speed it up or something, haha!

I have no idea what my favorite post of yours is, there are too many good ones!!  I usually read at night when I get in bed & every post I can picture you doing (or have seen you do), so I often have to try hard to control my laughter so I don’t wake the littles…Love ya Bev!!!

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Thanks, Agatha, for some more insight on the good ol’ Mayberry life. Can’t wait to introduce everyone to AF and Con, Mouse and Nan, and Double D and MJ. 

-Bev

MamaG’s Instagram STAYS lit, y’all.

-Bev

P.S.- Don’t worry; the Tupperware has been located. It was at cousin Gertrude’s house this whole time. Don’t worry about who left it there.

You know how sometimes things are really funny when they happen and then you tell someone about the really funny thing and they just stare at you? I feel like that might be this post, but we’re gonna toss a few of these out there anyway.

A collection of quotes captured from the 2 week Goldenstein/Page holiday extravaganza:

“I do know what YouTube and the internet is, I guess.” -the one and only Smokey G.

“Well, they’re just stupid people that’s why they’re broke.” -unknown (because Bev was drunk when adding these to her phone and doesn’t remember)

“This beats the shit outta goat-ropin’ in my book.” -Smoke strikes again (I wish I could remember what we were listening to…

“You have a little whiskey, do you?” -cousin Bessie’s fiance, Alfred¹
“Well, I had a little shot of wine because I had a coffee cup handy.” -Smoke (because drinking wine out of a coffee cup is way more normal than drinking whiskey out of a coffee cup?)

“Got seventeen likes with that picture of your dad.” -MamaG, on her sixth Instagram post. It features Smoke washing dishes.

“I bet you thought it was Simon Estes in there. It was me.” -Smoke, post-Christmas Eve singing shower

“We went to Rod Stewart at the Corn Palace.” -Aunt Sue, reminiscing on vacations past

“They’d have to knock me out for that. And I’m not talking Valium- that’s bullshit.” -MamaG

Aunt Judy spits wine everywhere after someone said something ridiculous…”My brand new top!” -her boyfriend, Newt, on his new ‘top’ from Yorkman’s (one person who loves Yorkman’s as much as MamaG? Newt.)

*Bev is wearing socks that say ‘determined’ across the toe (which I HATE and is a whole other post in itself…)
“Deter mined? Is that what your socks say, Bev?” -Aunt Sue

“Why don’t you sleep in pants?” -6-year-old Norma
“It’s comfortable.” -me
“Sometimes I do that when I poop before I nap.” -Norma

*during family game of Trivial Pursuit, in which most of us can’t answer a goddamn question, but MamaG, Uncle Bart, and Maude run the board…
“How much juice does it take to run four 60-watt bulbs an hour?” -Smoke, sauntering around the house, turning off lights

“Lookie here, Bev. I never could grow a handlebar mustache, but look at these brows!” -Smoke

So, again, maybe they aren’t funny to you because a) you had to be there, and b) you need to know the insane person who said the quote, but hey, I hope you found a chuckle out of at least one of ’em!

Anybody up for Rod Stewart at the Corn Palace? (*raising hand*)

-Bev

¹When Alfred said this, he wasn’t actually Bessie’s fiance… but he sure showed drunk Bev Bessie’s ring that night, and Bev had to keep a secret for much longer than anticipated. However, Alfred and Bessie are now engaged. Congrats, Alfred and Bessie!!

OK, all, I am rising above all the Christmas cookies and Coors Lights I’ve been consuming to bring you a very important (albeit very brief) post.

It’s MamaG’s 60th birthday, y’all! We’re off very shortly to celebrate the same way we do every year: by consuming MaidRite sandwiches at her favorite sandwich shop in River City (biggest city near Mayberry). If you’ve ever wanted to buy a pound+ of ground beef (with special spices) slapped/spilling out of a grocery store hamburger bun for $1.75 or so, this is your place. 

I really must go now. I can’t find my brush, and if I show up to MamaG’s birthday party without my hair brushed, this blog (and its proprietor) will be toast.

Oh, and add my brush to the list of crap I’ve lost on this trip… namely, my phone charger. So, if you’ve had a hard time getting a hold of Bevvy G, there are several factors weighing in: 
a) no charger- i.e.: phone dangling off the battery cliff at all times
b) 40+ family members in town for the holidays (and constant events)
c) said Christmas cookies and Coors Lights

OK, I literally have to go get ready so MamaG doesn’t have to murder me for being late to ground beef sandwiches on her birthday.

Happy Birthday, MamaG!

Love,
Bev (and all of my readers)

P.S. Stay tuned to Bev’s Instagram for pictures of the sandwiches later. You really may be blown away.

If you follow Bev on Instagram, you saw a post this week of MamaG setting up Instagram on her iPad. And by, “MamaG setting up Instagram on her iPad,” I mean, “MamaG rapid firing questions at Bev about how to set up Instagram on her iPad.”

Highlights include her following me into the bathroom, and asking me questions while I was sitting on the toilet. Most of the questions had to do with what happens when she “sends” an Instagram. I tried to tell her that you don’t “send” an Instagram (even though you now can- that’s not beginner level), but then I did “send” her an Insta message from the bathroom, which she somehow figured out how to answer.

Another favorite moment was when she was asking me if she followed _____, would he be able to “see that” (which I think means know that she followed him)…. so I told her he could see her right now. (she didn’t believe me)

My absolute favorite moment, though, was when we were in the initial setup process, and Insta asked if she wanted to follow people who are already in her contacts or something along those lines, and shortly after, came up with some suggestions for her to follow. The suggestions were all verified accounts, and she slowly reads down the list…. “Nike, no. Starbucks, no. Justin Timberlake? He’s not in my contacts!”

So, there you have it. MamaG has Instagram, and she even kind of knows how to use it, as I woke up this morning to see that she has added a profile picture! It’s of Smoke and her on a tractor, just in case you’re wondering.

Before we know it, she’ll be sliding into Justin Timberlake’s DMs.

-Bev

Yesterday, I had a dream that I dozed off on Smoke and MamaG’s couch for a little Thanksgiving Eve nap. I was in the very beginning stages of light sleep, peppered with the occasional, “You sonofabitch!” from the kitchen, as MamaG was preparing today’s turkey, which, apparently meant killing it a second time. Then, as I drift into a deeper sleep, the doorbell rang. It was Smoke Goldenstein. Ringing the doorbell at his own house, because he had basically cut off the tip of his thumb, and was bleeding everywhere. I then woke up and had to spring into action, gathering gauze and tape until MamaG was at a good stopping point with ol’ Tom so she could then tend to Smokey G. After everything was taken care of, I had to help MamaG put Tom into a bag to sit in the fridge to be ready for his big moment today. (That’s the annual Thanksgiving Eve tradition of me gagging into a turkey carcass while MamaG half-laughs-her-ass-off and half-yells-at-me-about-how-I’ll-have-to-make-a-turkey-someday but then I yell back about how I’ll pay someone to take out the innards and secretly pray that I never have to make a turkey.)

Happy Thanksgiving to you, my lovely readers. I’m thankful for you. All 48 of you. You, and Joe Biden memes. Oh, and that I’m not wearing a sling this year.

Cheers!

-Beverly

P.S.- That wasn’t a dream.

Bevvy G here has been pretty quiet, partially because I didn’t want to blow it. It being the surprise Maude and I had planned for Smoke’s 60th birthday… which involved Bev flying home late last Friday night, then showing up at the Goldenstein farm early Saturday morning with Maude, Jasper, Margaret, and Norma.

Surprisingly, Smoke and MamaG literally didn’t have a clue we were planning this, and the surprise went off without a hitch! Smoke got to spend the day doing what he loves- farming. And explaining farming to people who have no clue what they’re doing. Like my 5-year-old niece, Norma. And me.

I quickly realized that the most helpful thing I could do was to stay the hell out of the way, so I spent much of my day sitting Bitch in the back of the “good truck”- you know, the one that doesn’t shock you when you honk the horn. (Smoke has 3 farm trucks, you see. That might be another post…) 

Anyway, while I spent my time 100% at the mercy of others to open the truck doors and let me out for air every once in a while, Smoke got to ride around in all of his farm equipment, and we each took turns riding with him. And bringing him snacks. I think the day was a success.

Highs of the weekend:

-Smoke didn’t have another heart attack when surprised

Lows of the weekend:

-Apparently we were too late. If we would’ve arrived just thirty minutes earlier, we would’ve caught Smokey G “clipping his toenails in his underwear in the garage”… Shoot.

Here are some pics for those of you who don’t have a damn clue of what a weekend on the farm actually looks like. (and, yes, I include myself in that group)

OK, this has nothing to do with farming. But that, my friends, is Casey’s breakfast pizza. If ya don’t know, now ya know.

I still can’t figure out why Maude is the favorite… Oh, she can drive a tractor, and she doesn’t have a public blog where she documents all her drunken escapades? Oh. I guess there’s that.

That’s a combine. I do actually know that. I can even answer some very basic questions about it, should any of you have any. Anything too specific gets directed to Smoke. He will begin his (extremely technical) response with, “I’m no expert.” 

That beautiful Mayberry skyline.

This is called a shock. I don’t think it will come as a shock to any of you that I have no idea why this is called a shock. MamaG?

Smoke, in his Sunday finest. 

Just… explaining. All the time.

-Bev

Smoke would like to extend a thank you to all of you who left a birthday comment here yesterday.

For the record he actually even posted two comments yesterday, but they went to my spam folder for some reason. (this happens with some people’s comments on the blog. Anyone with more technological knowledge than a fruit fly have an idea on how to help me with that?)

Anyway, after a successful birthday of being in the combine (boom), Smoke and some other family members and friends headed down to the local pub, The Henning House, for supper¹ and a nightcap. 

I wish all of you could’ve heard Smoke’s phone call (after a few Black Velvets) to me trying to explain that he does read the blog and he does know how to comment (with MamaG’s help)… but that his comments from that morning weren’t showing up.

Classic.

-Bev

¹Yes, we call it supper. And we will fight you about it.

Well, guys, today is a big day in the Goldenstein family. Today marks the 60th birthday of the family patriarch. The man who started it all. The glue who holds it all together. The man who, singlehandedly, keeps gray sock manufacturers in business.

Smoke.

Happy 60th, Dad. May you spend the day the way we all want to spend our special days… listening to Dr. Dean Edell on AM radio in your combine, eating cold deli meat sandwiches. I hope MamaG slips a few extra Oreos or frozen Snickers in your lunchbox today. Maybe even both. Hell, you only turn 60 once.

Feel free to leave birthday wishes for Smoke in the comments. I’m sure MamaG will read them to him, as I’m 99% sure he reads here, but couldn’t find it on his own if you promised him high-yielding corn for the rest of his days. Look at me, making farm comments, Smoke. You done good.

Love,
Bev

I’m down at a ‘city’ nearby Mayberry, visiting Ardith, one of my high school besties. Since most of my time around the Mayberry area consists of eating fried cheese and drinking beer, I took advantage of being in a ‘city’ and went to a real gym (i.e.: not the treadmill in MamaG’s basement). I walked in right as the class started, which is not my jam (I’m an early bird kinda gal), and it was my first time at this gym, so I was slightly intimidated, and not sure what to expect. Would the people be nice or rude? Would I be the fattest person in the class? Would I be wearing the craziest pants (Bev loves workout pants with wild prints on them)? Would I be able to hack the workout? Will there be any partner work (please, God, NO)? 

Most of my fears were put at ease as soon as I walked in the room, as the average age of the class participants was probably 51 (and this is after my 33-year-old ass arrived). One older lady was wearing a shirt that said #NoDaysOff with white leggings with flamingos on them. She was definitely my favorite.

It took me a millisecond to acclimate to the room, and I was kind of scanning the other people to see what equipment we needed. It turns out, everyone was super nice, and quickly told me to grab a mat and drumsticks. Yes. Drumsticks. 

I am honestly not even sure how I can try to begin to explain this class to you, but if you’ve ever done a jazz routine that includes squats, lunges, and drumsticks, then that’s it. Oh, and every song opens with “chest openers”- aka, you tap your drumsticks in front, and push your elbows back like you’re back in 7th grade, trying to make it look like you actually have boobs.

Let’s just say this. It was a workout, all right. A cheek workout from trying not to explode in laughter every 30-45 seconds, and look like a total asshole in front of your new best friend.

#NoDaysOff

-Bev