Blog #29
Do you realize what an exhaustive effort goes into
writing these blogs? Have you ever tried
writing an 1150 word essay every week? I
know you can’t because you have very busy lives. Me too!
I have to throw out the trash and squeeze the last droplet out of my
toothpaste tube and put all my unmatched socks in a pile, hoping they’ll mate. I take this writing thing very
seriously. (That probably means there
aren’t a lot of yucks to look forward to here.)
Anyway, since I have already done my chores today, I’d better get
started.
Holidays like Labor Day are great, but not what they
used to be. You see, when you’re retired
and unemployed, you don’t get the day off for a holiday. A three-day-weekend means nothing to a man
who exists in a seven-day weekend.
Yet somehow, even though I have nothing to do, I seem to stay very
busy. There’s bridge and poker and the
Zoo and tutoring at the jail. There’s
lunch with my friends, picking up prescriptions, Walmart for essentials, Dollar
Tree for reading-glasses, envelopes and greeting cards. Then I have to read my books and write my
letter to my daughters and put this blog together. And, of course, doctors. I’m exhausted just thinking about how busy my
days are, even though I really have nothing to do.
Each
day as I try to get through it
I
find that there ain’t nothin’ to it.
It
seems to be true
When
there’s nothing to do
That
it takes me all day not to do it.
And, yes, I gave myself away. To my friends out there, I love you, but I do
not spend $4.95 on a greeting card for your birthday, your anniversary or your
final colonoscopy (I think that’s when you’re 75). I get the cards two for a dollar at the
Dollar Tree. There actually is a card
for a final colonoscopy. It reads: I ran
into your proctologist the other day and your name came up. He said “I never want to see that asshole
again”. Congratulations! Only kidding.
But I’m not kidding when I tell you that my friend,
Mel, went to buy a new car when he was 74 or thereabouts. The creepy juvenile who was his salesman
said, “Sir (I hate when they call you Sir), since this is probably the last
car you’re going to buy . . .”
What a jerk! The only satisfaction
in dealing with a young jerk like that is knowing that he has all his
colonoscopies in front of him. (Can you
actually have one “in front” of you? I
guess not, but we have spent too much time on this subject, so let’s put it
behind us.)
A few weeks ago, September 3rd actually,
was International Vulture Awareness Day.
Did you miss the party? Too
bad. Can you even imagine such a thing? The Zoo was all over it, displaying posters
with cartoon likenesses of cute, little, smiling vultures. First of all, birds do not have teeth and
cannot smile. Second, vultures are
neither little nor cute. If they wanted
an accurate Vulture Awareness Day, they would show real pictures of real
vultures. Then everyone would go out,
buy a gun and slaughter all the horrible creatures. I wonder who eats a dead vulture.
The other day I dropped my keys right between the two
front seats – you know, the place where everything disappears forever. I looked; I reached – nothing! There I was, freaking out and reaching
between the seats with two restless children in the back seat wondering what
Oldilocks was up to. I got out and felt under
the front seat – nothing. I pulled the
driver’s seat as far up as it would go; then I went to the back seat to see
what was uncovered. Holy Buried
Treasure, Batman! There, in the revealed
space formerly under the front seat, were nine colored markers, two straw
wrappers, a Nilla Wafer, Jimmy Hoffa, the Cardinals World Series chances and a
previously unknown Kardashian sister – and my car keys. Whew!
It’s High School Reunion season. I’ve got a 55th coming up next
year, and I know what to expect – a registration package requesting a picture
and a summary of my life.
Ridiculous! Forget the picture. The only way anyone is going to be attracted
to my face after 55 years is if it has four strips of crispy bacon taped to
it. Or if it looks older than theirs. And the life resumé -- they all look the same. The last one I looked at was: Married with four wonderful children and six
beautiful grandchildren. Have travelled
extensively. Love to read!
Where do I start?
Let’s start with the six beautiful grandchildren. I have eight of my own, but grandchildren are
like slobbering dogs. I can tolerate mine,
but keep yours at a very healthy distance. And your travels? Do I really care if you have a coconut
autographed by Don Ho’s drummer? And the
reading part? If I remember my class
correctly, there are a few who would surprise me if they could read at all.
C’mon people, I know you agree with me. We don’t care what all those old classmates
look like and we don’t care what they’ve been up to for all those years. Lose the picture and the synopsis and give us
what we really want – a list of your
medications. I mean how much fun would it be to learn that
Ken (yes, we actually had people named Ken back in the days when women would
rather have their Poodle skirts spayed than name a child Chayse) – how much fun
to learn that Ken was taking Prilosec?
It serves him right, by the way; he was such a pain all those years.
And what about knowing that Freddy is taking Melatonin? I’m convinced the reason he can’t sleep now is because he slept through Mrs.
Kimmel’s Geometry class in Sophomore year.
And did you know that Sharon is on Zoloft? I’m not surprised. If I had to live with that Klingon she’s
married to, I’d be depressed too. I’ve
learned a lot of words in those 55 years, and my favorite is Schadenfreude.
Look, I’ve got issues of my own, and naturally if I
read that someone was on some bad medicine I would suffer for them and pray for
them, but wouldn’t that exact information help me to empathize and re-connect
better than knowing that their son works for Google or that their six-year-old
took second in a regional oboe competition?
And do I really care that they had their picture taken at Mt. Rushmore next to Pat Boone’s grandson?
Save all that for the obituary.
See, I told you there weren’t going to be any yucks
today. Stay well and please come back next week.
Michael
(Married with three wonderful children and
eight beautiful grandchildren. Have
travelled extensively. Love to read!)
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