Blog #487                                July 9, 2026

 

We all just celebrated the Fourth of July, Independence Day. the 250^th birthday of the United States of America.  We celebrated our flag and our Constitution and our national Anthem.  Do you have a problem with any of that?  Well, some people do and they show it with protests and demonstrations.  But just like other things, protests just aren’t what they used to be.  In the 60s, we had real protests – fiery protests.   Feminists burned their bras, young men burned their draft cards, anti-war activists burned the flag, students burned the ROTC building, blacks burned Watts and the occasional Buddhist burned himself.  Those were the days!  Everybody had a Zippo and they knew how to use it.

 

Nowadays, people don’t burn anything on the Fourth except the burgers.  But be careful!  The golf, the fireworks, the barbecue -- they could all kill you.  Especially golf!   I used to play golf twice a week.  I was never great.  I was never horrible.  But as the years go by and my age becomes four times my handicap, I play less and worry less about my score.  My friends are the same.  Why worry about pars and birdies when you can worry about tripping over your putter and breaking a hip.  Or being thrown from a cart and gouging your leg.  Or driving into a lake and drowning.  Or having a heart attack from the heat.  It’s a par-72 jungle out there!  Now, a good day at golf looks like this:

 

At golf today nobody died

And nobody fainted or cried

No back pain, no scars

No birdies or pars

So all that was hurt was our pride.

 

Another dangerous summer activity is boating.  Riding a boat is great fun and brings out, mostly in men, some ancient instinct that has come down to us from Ulysses that makes us believe we actually know how to tie a knot and steer a boat.  Of course I can’t do any of that.  I’m Jewish!  If Jews could sail a boat, God would not have had to part the Red Sea.

 

Hi there and welcome back.  I hope you’re feeling well, and I hope you had a great holiday celebrating our country’s semiquincentennial celebration.  Yes, that’s a word, our Weekly Word in fact, and it means, obviously, a 250^th anniversary.  None of us, most likely, will ever see that word again, but if you do, remember who taught it to you.

 

Often, I have a reader ask me, “why don’t you ever mention me in your blog?”  It’s really simple, I tell them.  Just say something outrageously stupid and that may get you in.  Usually that ends the conversation.  But recently, I did have a friend say something that shocked me.  He said he didn’t think America was the best place to live.  Ok, here’s where I stand, for better or worse.  I’m a proud American.  I think it’s the best country in the world and I will always root for the Americans.  Certainly, there are times when I don’t like the President or the laws that are passed or the decisions that are made.  But that’s Democracy!  I get to vote, and if I lose, I live with it.  And that’s what America is about.

 

Message from Shakespeare:  Service and the loyalty I owe, In doing it, pays itself (Macbeth).  And I’m a Yankee Doodle Pussycat.  Some of the Founders were related to me, like James Catison and Catrick Henry.  But one relative I’m not proud of – Aaron Purr.   Meow.

 

I just received an email from a high-school friend, a psychiatrist from Philadelphia.  He told me he was writing a book about mental illness and wanted to use a poem I had written back in high-school.  Why he has saved one of my 60-year-old poems till now, I can’t say.  Maybe he had a crush on me.  I won’t bore you with the poem, but it was a 12-line rhyming version of the following joke:

 

A man took his wife to a faith-healer.  “Guru,” he said, “my wife is sick.”  The Guru looked into the woman’s tired and swollen eyes and touched her pallid, shrunken skin and said, “No, my friend, your wife is well.  She only thinks she’s sick.”  A week later the man saw the healer again.  “Well,” said the Guru, “is your wife better?”  “She’s worse,” said the man.  “She thinks she’s dead.”  It figures -- I finally get a poem published and it’s in a book about mental illness!

 

Did you notice I used the word till two paragraphs earlier?  The word is actually until.  For a while, I tried writing ‘til, the apostrophe being my sacrifice to the Grammar Gods, but I have decided to give in to the common usage of till.  I feel somehow dirty and weathered by that decision, but life goes on, the language changes and we old dinosaurs of diction must adapt or become extinct.

 

And speaking of words, a friend told me that some woman on the TV used a word with a C that was not rated G.  There’s a limerick there somewhere, but you only get one a week.  Yes, my friend said, she used the dreaded C-Word.  “What,” I exclaimed, “Constipation?”  Well, each generation has its own forbidden words.  When I was young, Hell, Damn and Bitch were forbidden in my house.  Lucy and Desi were not allowed to share a bed.  And “gay” meant lively and carefree.  Things are certainly different today!  As the Wicked Witch of the West would say, “What a world!”  Besides constipation, there is another dreaded and forbidden word for those of the older generation.  It’s the F-Word – Fried Foods.

 

And you know what else has changed?  Toilets.  Now, when I walk away from a public urinal or seat, it flushes itself.  Then at the sink I just pass my hand under the soap dispenser and soap comes out.  I wave my hands under the faucet and water comes out.  I approach the towel dispenser and towels come out.  If they could just figure it out so that if we waved our hands behind us, crap would come out, then we wouldn’t need laxatives.

 

Ok, I’m talking about toilets again, and that means it’s time to leave.  See you next week.  Stay well and count your blessings.

 

Michael                                    Send comments to mfox1746@ gmail.com 

 

 

 

Blog #486                                July 2, 2026

 

When I was growing up, there was a restaurant in St. Louis called The Parkmoor.  Some of my friends turned the letters around and called it the Krap-Room, but it was great.  Slimy burgers and delicious onion rings and root beer.  The menu of the Parkmoor had a cartoon picture on it that showed the restaurant building with a parking lot filled with customers arriving in every kind of conveyance you could imagine.  Cars, trucks, bicycles, motorcycles, canoes, boats, horse-drawn buggies, ocean liners, trains, super-sized airplanes, space ships, helicopters, dirigibles, parachutes.  Thousands of them, all wanting to get a taste of Parkmoor.  And every time it’s my wife’s birthday, that’s what it reminds me of.  Yes, today is my lovely wife’s birthday and thousands of her admirers are busting the seams and breaking down the doors to schedule luncheons and breakfasts and parties.  Soirees, jamborees, buffets, dinners, functions, celebrations, get-togethers and cornucopic jamborees.  Is that enough words for you?  I even made some of them up.

 

The birthday rush started a few days ago and will last for about ten months during which I shall see little of her at meal times.  But, what can I do?  I might as well throw my hat in and wish my bride a lovely, crowded, hectic and happy birthday.  She deserves it.

 

Message from Shakespeare:  There was a star danced, and under that was I born. (Much Ado About Nothing).  I never get taken out for my birthday.  I never get taken out for anything, except to get my nails clipped.  I hate that.  Pops grabs me and stuffs me into a carrying bag and we drive away.  It’s not that it hurts or anything.  It’s just that when he puts me in the carrier, I always think he’s going to give me back to the shelter.  I would die if he did.  I like it here.  Oh, I guess I should wish Carol a Happy Birthday.  Purr.

 

Hi there and welcome to this hot, canicular weather.  What does that mean?  Well, canicular, our Weekly Word means relating to the period between early July and early September when hot weather occurs.  And besides that, it’s an election year. Are you sick of political ads yet? I’m already nauseous.  It’s only July, but with primaries and special elections – well, watching television is no fun anymore.  The late-night shows have nothing but political ads and commercials for male enhancement pills.

 

Now all those commercials I viewed

Have totally soured my mood

They’re all for elections

Or pills for erections

And, Man, either way you get screwed.

 

I have a great line that I use at the Zoo when one of the big snakes, the anaconda or a boa constrictor, is not on exhibit.  “Where’s the snake,” some little urchin asks.  “It’s got reptile dysfunction,” I tell them.

 

When I work at the Zoo, I’m usually handing out maps and giving answers to highly intricate and technical questions like Where’s the bathroom?  When I handed one tourist a Zoo map with the words ZOO MAP clearly emblazoned thereon, she asked me, “Is this a map to the Zoo?”  Dumb as a pot-sticker.  “No,” I replied calmly, “it’s a map of Venezuela in case you’re planning to visit there later.”  Jeesh!  Another tourist, upon receiving his map, handed me a $5 tip.  Wow, I must really have looked old and decrepit!  I refused and told him to buy his daughter an ice-cream instead.

 

Everybody says that retail is dead, but I’m not so sure.  Now trending are small stores that specialize in only one or two items.  It makes life so simple.  For instance, if you need bags, go to Sacks.  If you need bagels or donuts, go to Hole Foods.  And if you need dice, go to Seven-Eleven.

 

I went to a funeral.  Dozens of cars were guided into the cemetery grounds by the funeral home employees and lined up in a tight parking queue.  As I turned my engine off, one of these employees walked up to the car and I rolled down the window.  Stop the story!  I did not actually “roll” down the window.  Ford introduced the power window in 1941, and although some of us may remember driving a car with windows that you had to “roll”, pretty much we haven’t rolled any windows since Phineas T. Bluster was Mayor of Doodyville.

 

So I lowered the window, whereupon the funeral person asked me what I considered to be a patently unnecessary question.  He said, “Are you here for the funeral?”  There I was, with fifty other cars parked in an immovable line in the middle of a cemetery.  “No,” I calmly replied, “I was wondering when the Jennifer Aniston movie started.” 

 

If you’re depressed, go to Lows.  If you want to buy marijuana, go to Quick Trip.  And if you want to take your first wife to lunch, go to Fed Ex.

 

If you need cheap landscaping, go to Dollar Tree.  If you need help in doing a blog, go to Write Aid.  Or if you’re looking for a boorish, insulting and obnoxious man, go to Dicks.

 

I got a letter today addressed to Resident.  Here’s what it said, word for word, no joke: Dear Jesus, we pray that you will bless someone in this home spiritually, physically and financially.

         

Do they think Jesus lives here?  Who knows?  I looked everywhere.  I even looked in the bathtub.  He could be taking a walk.  I’ve heard of Dear John letters and Dear Santa and Dear Abby, but Dear Jesus?  I should be careful what I write about Jesus.  He could sneak out of wherever he’s hiding and read it.  And my luck – I’d be the first person he doesn’t forgive.

 

Well, you’ll forgive me, won’t you, if I apologize for anything I’ve said in the last 486 weeks that has shocked, insulted, scandalized or disappointed you?  I’ve been married fifty-nine years, so I’m good at apologies.  Come to think of it, I retract it all.  I am who I am and you get what you get.  I’m not apologizing to anyone.  Except Carol.  So come back next week and be shocked and scandalized some more. I know you love it.  Count your blessings, stay well and watch out for the heat.  I’ll see you next week.

 

Michael                                    Send comments to mfox1746@ gmail.com

 

Blog #485                                         June 25, 2026

 

Last week, if you remember, I said that making fun of your wife was as old as Adam, and we eavesdropped on a few conversations between God and Adam.  And since I didn’t get hit by lightning, we might as well try another.  Here it is.

 

“Hi, God, it’s Adam again.  I don’t know what to say, God.  I told you what a horrible mistake it was to create that woman, but in the past week or so I’ve gotten used to her a little.  I mean she’s annoying and a real pain in the rib, but she’s taken up gardening and I’ve learned how to hunt and we pretty much stay out of each other’s way.  But then, God, you made an even worse mistake.  You made another woman!  Now everyone’s miserable.  Now she wants a new cold shoulder fig-leaf outfit.  Something called Figtoria’s Secret.  And she wants a nicer donkey – something German.  Why don’t You just make two more of them and then create a mahjong set and a card table and that will get them out of my hair.”

 

Message from Shakespeare, the three-legged cat: “All of Creation’s a farce. Man was born as a joke”.  When did God create cats?  I’ll bet cats were created before people.  That’s why we’re smarter and faster and better looking than people.  Even with three legs, I’m faster than Pops.  Purr.

 

Hi there and welcome back to my wifty craziness.  Have you been watching the World Cup soccer games?  What a spectacle!  The pomp and circumstance are explosive – flags and crowds and songs and more.  And when they play the national anthems, the players don’t mouth the words or take a knee – they scream out the words to their country’s song as loud as they can.  Each game is like its own Super Bowl.  And there are 104 of them.  That’s right, 104 World Cup games.  It’s like 104 Super Bowls.  It’s colossal.  By the way, I figured out how many games there were before I looked it up, but I only got 103.

 

·        There are twelve groups with four teams each.  That’s six games per group: A-B, A-C, A-D, B-C B-D, C-D.  Trust me on this; I used to teach math.  Six games times 12 groups is 72 games.

·        Then 32 teams move on to the elimination rounds.  To crown a winner, you have to eliminate 31 teams and each game eliminates one team.  So, to eliminate 31 teams, you need 31 games.  31+72=103

·        But, FIFA tells me, there will be a game to determine third and fourth place.  That’s the 104^th game.

However you count it, it’s an impressive endeavor and, so far, it’s been handled very well.

 

One hundred-four games as a whole

And each one’s a big Super Bowl

Are the Games a success?

Well, the answer is “yes”.

Which of course has been everyone’s GOOOOOOOOOOOOOAL

 

Wifty is our Weekly Word.  It means silly or scatterbrained, which I guess I am.  But if I’m wifty, my wife is swifty.  Have I told you my wife is speedy at everything?  She likes to call it “efficient”.  Let me put it this way -- if she had been married to Frederic Chopin, the Minute Waltz would have lasted 30 seconds and Jules Verne would have made it around the world in a week.  Yesterday we were at the grocery store and she was running the aisles like a kangaroo with a hot coal in her pouch.  I mean she was in a New York hurry!  And all the while she was talking to me: “Why aren’t these bags over here? It would save so much time. Why are these here? Why aren’t those there? Get that old lady out of my way. Go stand in line at the deli so I don’t have to wait. Go to the third checker; she’s the fastest.”

         

Then she saw somebody she knew and stopped in the aisle to talk for twenty minutes while I stood around shuffling my feet and trying to figure out the difference between a rutabaga and a turnip.  I wonder if Adam has a cell phone.

 

As I mentioned, I was a math teacher, and I used to tutor mathematics at the county jail.  While I was there, I came up with a weird idea.  You may have noticed that I am overflowing with weird ideas.  This one involved the inmates participating in an exhibition of their talents.  No, not breaking and entering -- singing and dancing.  There must be a lot of talent among the prison population.  We could have a show and call it Broadway Felonies or something.  Or maybe a game show like Let’s Make a Plea Deal or You Bet Your Life Sentence.  Or maybe we’ll just do a talent show.  We’ll call it So You Think You Can Sing Sing.  Well, it never happened, but maybe someday.

 

I hope you are not depressed today.  I hope you are never depressed, but I know better.  We all have our periods of depression.  Health, money, politics, a dozen other things.  They say the signs of depression are losing appetite or sleeping too much.  I’ve had some depression to deal with, and I’ll tell you this: depression isn’t sleeping too late.  Depression is being told you have a week to live the day after you paid $700 apiece for two tickets to Hamilton next month, and you know your wife will take some other guy.  Depression isn’t losing weight.  Depression is losing your job and having the employment office tell you that the only position for which you are qualified is to be Will Smith’s manager.  Is he even still alive?  See, it’s always a mistake to punch a rock (Chris Rock).

 

And happiness is maybe making you smile a little on a depressing Thursday.  Here’s a joke:  A lady comes home from the plastic surgeon.  “The doctor told me I had the breasts of a sixteen-year old,” she tells her husband.  “What did he say about your 75-year-old ass?” the husband asks.  “He didn’t mention you,” she replies.

 

Hey, a little history, a little politics, a little poetry, a little rock n’ roll, a joke or two.  It’s all right here in your weekly Limerick Oyster.  So count your blessings and stay well.  I’ll see you next week.

 

Michael                                    Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com

 

 

 

Blog #484                                June 18, 2026

 

I’m back.  And so, apparently, are you, so let’s get started.  I came home the other day and was met by my lovely wife.  We started to compare stories of the day, but after ten seconds her phone rang.  She answered it, said “Hold on” to whoever it was, and looked at me.  You see, I like talking to my wife.  I like to tell her about the people I have met or how many times I took the wrong exit on the highway.  What I hate most is getting shoved aside by a phone call from one of her over-talkative friends.  You know who you are.  She recognized my feeling and started to tell the caller she’d call back.  But instead, she looked at me and asked, “Are you going to change clothes?”  Change clothes?  Did I look messy?  I was chapfallen.  But, after almost six decades of marriage, I knew how to translate that simple question.  Are you going to change clothes? translates to, “I really would rather talk to this person than you, but I know you don’t like it, so if you have something to do, do it now.”

 

Hi there, everyone, and welcome back.  I hope you are well today.  If you have read even a small sample of these blogs, you know that I talk about my wife a lot and that I sometimes pick on her.  Making fun of your wife is as old as Adam and Eve.

 

“She’s always nagging at me, God -- something about those damned apples.  She probably thinks an apple a day keeps the Devil away.  Women! And now she wants clothes! Clothes?  Who needs clothes?  And she wants to know on what day You’re going to create Skechers. Her feet hurt.  Plus, she thinks You’re a woman.  Seriously, God? What were You thinking? You could have just created three other guys and a golf course”

 

But although I make fun of her, you all know I would do anything for her, even change clothes just so she could yabber with her friends.  You still know who you are.  Or give her my socks.  We went to a movie and Carol reached into her purse for a pair of hospital socks to keep her feet warm.  You must have some of those, don’t you?  They’re the ones with rubber on the bottom so when you walk around in the hospital you won’t slip and break something that you haven’t broken already.  I love long sentences. She has at least one pair of every color of these socks, and the sad truth is that she got them all from the various times I was in the hospital.  “How do you feel? When are you getting out? Grab me a few pairs of socks. I like pink.”  But when she searched at the movie, she realized she had forgotten socks so I removed mine and handed them to her.  Is that love or what?  I have a warm heart.  And cold feet.

 

The Weekly Word is chapfallen.  It means cast down in spirit; depressed.

 

Message from Shakespeare, the three-legged cat:  Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore (Sonnet 60).  I’m glad that Pops is home from the beach.  I let him know how happy I was and how much I missed him by keeping him up the whole first night he was home.  I wonder if he missed me.  Purr. 

 

We had a wonderful time on Bald Head Island.  Pickleball, beach, card games, food.  The weather was great and the company, my family, spectacular.  One night, six of us entered a trivia contest at the local pizza joint – Carol, me, one daughter and her husband and two kids.  We won, and it was a nice prize -- $30 gift certificate to the pizza joint.  We were proud.  Here are a few of the questions:

 

1.     How many minutes does it take sunlight to travel from the Sun to the Earth?

2.     What was the first toy ever advertised on TV?

3.     How many different color M&Ms are in a standard package?

Answers later.  Summer officially begins in three days, June 21st at 3:24 a.m. CDT.  At that instant, the North Pole will be tilted closest to the sun and those in the Northern Hemisphere will experience the longest day of the year.  It’s called the Summer Solstice.  Ok, all that mysterious drivel is swell, but haven’t you ever wondered why Summer isn’t just June, July and August?  June should start on the day of the Summer Solstice and August should end at the Autumnal Equinox (more arcane weather-speak).  Then Autumn can be September, October and November just like everybody thinks it is.  When Aristotle or God or Donald Duck or Pope Gregory XIII decided to make the calendar, why didn’t they ask us?  We would have made it so simple.

 

Even though the official start of Summer is three days away, the weather has been sizzling.  How hot is it?  I’m so glad you asked.  Relax, grab a cold drink and I’ll tell you how hot it is.

 

It's so hot, Iran’s ayatollah has decided to stand in Trump’s shadow.

It’s so hot, cows are giving evaporated milk.

It’s so hot, the trees are fighting over the dogs.

It’s so hot, I saw two squirrels fanning their nuts.

It’s hotter than Joy Behar’s tongue.

 

It’s too hot for playing or talking

The birds are too hot to be squawking

I saw a dog that

Was chasing a cat

And both of the poor things were walking

 

“Hey, God.  It’s Adam again.  That woman you made just gathered some fruit and wants me to ask if You have a round table.  There’s only two of us on the whole planet and she thinks she needs a reservation!  Oh, and she wants it not too near the serpent.  Jesus Christ!  Oh, You like that, God?  That Jesus Christ thing?  I just made it up.  You like it so much, you’re going to name Your Son that?  Now that’s catchy.”

 

Ok, it’s about time for me to get hit by lightning.  I’ll see you next week.  Please count your blessings and stay well.  Oh, and below are the answers to the trivia questions.

 

Michael                                    Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com

 

1.     8 minutes

2.     Mister Potato Head

3.     6 colors

 

 

Blog #483                                June 11, 2026

 

Do your kids or grandkids play a musical instrument?  Do you remember when they were in 3^rd grade and it was time for the class recital?  There they were, my little angel and 43 brats who couldn’t possibly be as cute as mine.  Each one had a violin.  They were eight.  How horrible was this going to be?  Did I bring enough cotton balls to shove into my ears?  The Music Director walked onto the stage, accepted the applause of the anxious parents and addressed his mini-Paganinis. Here were his instructions:

 

Please take your position right now

And fiddle as if you knew how.                  

At the start of the show

You will all take a bow;

At the end you will all take a bow.

 

By now, you should be very adept at reading limericks, so I shouldn’t have to tell you that the word “bow” in the above rhyme has two different meanings and two different pronunciations.  Should I?  Well, I thought it was clever.

 

Movie Review:  Michael, the story of Michael Jackson was terrific.  If you are of my generation or younger, you cannot deny what a phenomenon Michael Jackson’s stardom was and how compelling was his music.  The actor playing Jackson, Michael’s actual nephew, was sensational.

 

Hi there and welcome back.  I hope you’re feeling well.  I have two things to celebrate with you today.  First, today is Carol’s and my 59^th anniversary.  Can you believe that she has put up with me for so long?  I can’t.  I am very, very lucky to have been allowed to spend six decades with that beautiful woman.  My love for her is amaranthine.  Second, we are on Bald Head Island, just off the coast of North Carolina.  When I say “we”, I mean 15 of us, children, spouses, grandchildren.  Oh, and a dog.  So, let’s see, 15 times 2, carry the four and divide by π – that makes 34 feet puttering, pattering and prancing around one large rental house.  It’s been crowded, but great fun.

 

Message from Shakespeare, the three-legged cat:  O pardon: since a crooked figure may attest in little place a million (Henry V).  They didn’t take me, probably because I have an odd number of legs, so I’m home alone all week.  But they took a dog.  Scruffy, stupid dog.  I hope he gets sand in his tail.  Purr.

 

Yes, amaranthine is our Weekly Word.  It means undying, never-ending.

 

Carol and I flew to North Carolina, and as we were boarding the plane, walking down the aisle to our seat, Carol grabbed some young man sitting in an aisle a couple of rows forward of ours.  “Young man, could you help my old, decrepit, useless husband to lift his carry-on bag to the overhead?” she sweetly asked.  Of course he did.  He was very nice.  In fact, when we landed, he got up, walked back to our row and asked if he could help get my bag down.  Wasn’t that nice?  Then some lady behind us asked if he could help her too.  Then another.  I think he’s still on the plane.  No good deed goes unpunished, right?  That’s not true, of course.  Every good deed is rewarded by the goodwill it engenders and the good feeling it leaves with the doer.

 

Did you know the longest running scripted show that is still on the air?  It’s The Simpsons, which has run for 37 seasons.  I have never seen one episode, but I’m guessing Bart Simpson has never matured -- or have his viewers.  But there are plenty of programs that have grown older and have decided to change their names to reflect the extreme old-age of their audiences.  Modern Family is now Ancient Family.  Blue Bloods has been changed to Thin Bloods.  And, for the extremely old, there’s Hawaii Nine-O, Grey Haired Anatomy and Wheelchair of Fortune.

 

How are you at song lyrics?  I must admit I’m still pretty good for songs from the  50s through the 70s.  But sometimes, you just get something in your head that’s wrong, but sticks anyway.  For instance, you know the Do-Re-Mi song?  “Do, a deer, a female deer”.  For years I thought one of the lines was “Ti-A drink with Jan and Fred.”  Seriously.

 

Well, the other day, Carol was watching Jeopardy or playing bridge online or something.  Anyway, Carol shouts, “Who sang, Hold me closer, Tony Danza?”  It was Elton John, I said, and it’s “Hold me closer, Tiny Dancer”.  I think he wrote that song right after he wrote Pop goes Vin Diesel and Here we go ‘round George W. Bush, George W. Bush, George W. Bush.

 

I told my daughter Abby about the Tony Danza story and she said that happened on an episode of Friends.  Well, it happened with Carol also.  Funny!

 

I had to borrow my granddaughter’s pickup truck the other day.  This is the truck that’s so tall I need a Sherpa to get in.  Once in, however, I was tooling along nicely, feeling like your average American Redneck, when I decided to turn on the radio.  This is a teenager’s ride, and I prepared myself for the Death Metal Burn in Hell Kill Your Parents and Take Some Drugs station.  But you know what I got?  National Public Radio.  My granddaughter listens to NPR?  I was impressed!  Until, that is, they started a piece on why some lizards have green blood.  No wonder our teenagers are so messed up!  They listen to NPR!  I would have enjoyed the Death Metal station more.

 

I don’t believe in omens or fortune-telling or parapsychology or magic.  I’m a scientist, after all, and yet – well, something happened the day before we left that has me a bit shaken.  A couple of years ago, my son-in-law Robert bought me a bobble-head made to look like me standing in a golf shirt holding my putter.  That’s PUTTER!  You have a filthy mind.  Today I moved the little figurine from one spot to another and the head fell off and rolled under my chair.  The head that looked exactly like me!  It was very spooky!  Does that mean this is my last blog?  Who knows?  I will try to be very careful this week. You should be careful too.  Stay well and count your blessings.  I’ll see you next week.  I hope.

 

Michael                                    Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com