Blog #19
Hi and welcome back.
I hope you are all spectacular today.
I’m good, but I can never be spectacular in the a.m. because there is a
chore I must perform each morning that I am not qualified to do – getting
dressed. When it comes to dressing
myself, I’m worthless, clueless, and classless.
It got so bad that a few years ago I took everything out of my closet
that was made of linen and gave it away.
I just couldn’t remember in which months linen was allowed. Does January have an “L”?
Yes, I know my fashion faults and limitations and so
does my wife. But she doesn’t scold me
very often about my clothing. I told her
once that I’d rather her let me be a fool some of the time than treat
me like a fool all of the time. It was
one of my best lines, and she respects that.
But there’s one article of garb that I will let no-one disparage or talk
me out of – a gray sweatshirt that has comfort written all over it. Actually it has “Sports Illustrated” written
all over it and is as warm and as soft as a poodle. I got it years ago for renewing my daughter
Jen’s subscription to the magazine. It
was one of those insulting promotions available only to new subscribers, not
available to loyal readers who have overpaid for a dozen years. I bitched about that and begged and pleaded
that my little girl (she was about 35 then) was a loyal reader and wanted to
cuddle up with a warm sweatshirt and the Super Bowl Edition. That worked, and when the shirt arrived, I
stole it and never let her know about it.
Well, she had the Super Bowl Edition.
It's Summer and we decided to take our three local
grandchildren to the St. Louis Art Museum and to Ted Drewes, a local
frozen-custard landmark. First we saw
the Modern Art. I have already told you
that I’m not a fan of opera, and now I must admit that I am apparently without
the gene that allows a person to be convinced that talentless trash is somehow
subtle and meaningful. But we liked the
mummies and the knights in armor. Then
we went to Ted Drewes. Now that
is art!
Somehow I recently found myself accompanying my wife,
daughter and 16-year-old grandson on an excursion whose sole purpose was to buy
him clothing. Shopping for clothes is an
activity I rate one step above going to the Art Museum and one step below being
sent to prison. Luckily, I had a volume
of short stories by Rudyard Kipling (does that even surprise you by now?) and I
went to find a seat. Near the entrance of
the store were two hard, uncomfortable wooden chairs and two soft,
comfy-looking wheelchairs. I chose the
wooden seat, not wanting to look my age, and opened my Rudyard. Not a minute later, a woman carefully led her
shuffling and drowsy mother to the other chair and left her. And there we were -- the ancient and nearly-comatose woman and
me. You don’t have to say it – I
know. But I bet she doesn’t have a blog.
Right now it is pouring – really, really pouring. I’m about to go out and look for two
aardvarks. I know, of course, that Carol
is not going to join me. She promised to
love me in sickness and in health, but not in the rain. It reminds me of the time we had planned a
driving trip with another couple to Arkansas and Tennessee. We had Triptiks and reservations and
everything, but the forecast said RAIN! My wife had consulted the National Weather
Service, NASA, the Pope and L. Ron Hubbard and decided that the weather in
Arkansas 96 hours hence would not be propitious, and we cancelled.
I’ll
go on a trip in a plane,
A
copter, a kayak, a train;
I’ll
go on a ship
But
when I take a trip,
I’m
not gonna go in the rain.
Thank goodness my sweet wife was not on the ship with
Columbus. “Hey, Chris. Did you know it was raining? You better shut this ship up, Little
Captain. Nothing’s gonna get discovered
today. Uh-uh. I’m not getting my hair wet for a
bunch of Indians. You can discover
something tomorrow if the sun’s out. And
by the way, see if you can discover a Nordstrom’s. These Gucci’s are killing me.”
When I’m not reading, writing, volunteering or
drinking Diet Cokes – I’m thinking.
Sometimes I just think of strange things. “Really”, I hear you chuckle. I
have two strange thoughts for you today.
The first is -- do Israeli musicians read music from right to left? The second is – what do you say to God when
He sneezes? The first thought made me do
some research and here’s what I found.
Music goes from left to right no matter who the musician is. Hebrew lyrics must necessarily follow the
notes left to right, but each Hebrew word is written, naturally, right to
left. The answer to the second thought
is above my pay grade, and if any of you is disturbed that I called God by the
term “He”, well go ahead and change it to whatever you want. Just don’t leave a smudge on the paper.
Let’s ramble on to some other useless topic. How about the IRS? When I got back from Asheville, the mail
included a notice from that miserable, draconian and loveless agency informing
me that I did something wrong and owed them $1700 in penalties. There was a number to call, so I grabbed my
book, found a comfy chair and settled in for a few hours of “hold” music. You know, it isn’t so much the waiting that I
mind. I’m sure all of the vicious,
greedy and evil employees of the IRS must be very busy stealing, conniving and
cheating us poor slobs out of our money.
Plus, I’m certain that each sadistic, sinister and disgusting agent gets
a demonic thrill making us wait on the phone.
No, it isn’t the waiting I mind; it’s the music. Where do they get that
crap? If that’s elevator music, the
elevator is on its way to Hell. I’m
convinced that most of the mental health problems in America are caused by
“hold” music. Over and over,
never-ending, loud and horrible. But I
had no choice, and I punched in the number.
Six minutes later a very polite gentleman answered the phone. He listened to my excuse and decided to waive
all penalties. The entire call lasted
eleven minutes. Don’t ever say anything
bad about my friends at the IRS.
Ok, back to the book title thing. Week One Winner was The World According to AARP. Week Two Winner was Into
Thin Hair. So now we have two good titles. All we need is a book. I’m working on it. Thanks for participating.
And thanks for reading. Stay well and see you next week
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