Sybil Bruncheon's A Tale for Thanksgiving Time: "SUBURBAN STORIES THAT STUN AND STUPEFY"...

TODAY IN THE NEWS!..... The warning signs had been there for several months. Mrs. Ruth Anne Snively of 1148 Pembroke Lane had complained to her neighbors of strange voices, coming at first from the telephone, the radio, the television where it seemed strange voices always might have been heard. Indeed, "Ruthie", as she was known to all the Girl Scout Troop mothers, had been known for her quick wit, her sparkling sense of humor, her quirky imagination, and for her desire to be a stand-up comedian in local clubs "once the kids have grown up" as she put it. She even managed a couple of tentative debuts at the local Kiwanis and Shriner's clubs where her little act was described by the local critics as "refreshing"....and "a charming bit of whimsical and timely fluff filled with social commentary and some recipes".

Perhaps it was no surprise when Mrs. Snively began to exhibit eccentricities like a growing diet of Hostess Ding Dongs, Pringles Potato Chips, and vegan "beef" jerky. Frequently, she would answer her front door with facial masks of Marshmallow Fluff and Peter Pan Extra-Crunchy Peanut Butter. Her dependence on increasing dosages of St. Joseph's Aspirin for Children did not go unnoticed at PTA meetings...And on weekends, she could be found incoherent in back alleyways completely drunk on cocktails of Tang ....and Woolite....and Maraschino cherries. After her husband Arthur left her taking the children to Chillicothe, her friends tried interventions and enlisting the aid of the Come To Jesus Society Of Sobriety down on Walnut Street... but nothing worked.

It was finally on that terrible day in January when Snively wandered into her kitchen and overheard all her appliances talking behind her back. Oh yes!..They quickly smiled and pretended to change the subject, but it was too late. She had heard the worst!...and the jokes at her expense.... comments about "that tired old apron", and her "water-weight gain after the Holidays".....It was all too much! TOO MUCH!...and so, lovely, sweet, witty Mrs. Ruth Anne Snively calmly went to her former friend the Sunbeam waffle maker, laid her perfectly coiffed head down on its non-stick surface, and slowly pressed herself into a fluffy breakfast treat for the police to find later in the afternoon. Her suicide note was found on the counter beside an unopened bottle of Mrs. Butterworth's and a virgin stick of Land 'O' Lakes lightly salted butter. (You know Land 'O' Lakes? The one with the Indian maiden on the front whose knees look like breasts??)

Well, Ruth is now being treated for first degree burns and minor cheek-dimpling at Flower Of Mercy Hospital downtown, and will be receiving a lovely re-contouring of her complexion while being housed in their newly opened Extreme Neurosis Wing. She's slowly being re-acclimated to Kitchen Chore duty.... but under strict (and loving!) supervision.... (she continues to wear earplugs to ...shut out.. "unwelcome" chatter"...)

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Sybil Bruncheon's "Diller-A-Dollar Tales For Today's Investors"...

Becky Shrubmeyer and Helen Thikfistle prided themselves on being modern women who could take their house allowances from their husbands and not only keep their homes running but also put aside some "pin money" to play the stock market. During the day, when their housekeeping chores were done, the laundry was in their washers and dryers, and dinners were already on the stove, Becky and Helen would sit over afternoon coffee and chocolate chip cookies and clip coupons for the grocery store and check out the financial pages of the Times and the Wall Street Journal... and boy did they hit it big! So big, in fact, that they finally opened separate (and secret!) savings accounts away from their husbands' prying eyes.

Their accounts grew and grew as they bought and sold, bought and sold; stocks for mining copper in Idaho and gold in Nigeria, corn futures in Iowa and wheat in Argentina, pork bellies in Kansas and beef from Brazil... The world truly was, as the saying goes, "their oyster"! The money poured in, and their private savings accounts climbed into the six figures. Even nice Mr. Throckmorton at the brokerage would greet them by their first names and scurry over with his secretary, Miss Pynch with coffee and donuts when they might wander into the office once a month to confer about their investments. All the other brokers and their support staffs would point and whisper about "those two gals from Grandy Corners" in the mostly male world of profits and portfolios of 1957.

It all seemed ideal, didn't it? The sleek and chic 1950s unfolding in post-war abundance... until that bump in the road called the Eisenhower Recession... when all the laughter and martinis turned into screeching and tears. Yep, "the gals" had made a careless choice to invest all their money in lipstick and mascara futures in some place called Iraq. In a single weekend, their accounts were gone... all gone. And it was back to the ironing boards and jello molds with carrot shavings, Spam chunks, and mini-marshmallows... with Phil and Carl none the wiser… oh well...

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