Blog #58
It’s the rainy season here in St. Louis. Carol hates rain. Rain is anathema. I’m not sure whether it’s a hair thing or
she’s related to the Wicked Witch of the West.
Maybe I shouldn’t have said that.
She is constantly attuned to a weather app so she can plan when to leave
the house. My oldest daughter is like
that too. We were on a vacation in North
Carolina with Jennifer and had stayed inside the whole night
because Carol and Jennifer had determined that the forecasts were ominous. It did not rain a drop. Then the next morning, right after breakfast,
the two of them, whom I had begun to refer to as Cloudy and Cher, were watching
their electronic devices again. “I
think today is the day we should stay in the house; the forecast is 60%
storms.” While the Storm Sisters
were thus preparing to ruin my day, I was on the porch where I could see a
beautiful sunny sky with not a cloud in sight.
The
women just sit and complain
“The
forecast is calling for rain!”
If
Columbus’ crew
Had
included those two
We’d
all still be living in Spain.
Andre Gide said one doesn't discover new lands without consenting to lose sight of the
shore for a very long time.
That probably includes getting wet as well.
Did you know there was a mutiny on Columbus’ first
voyage? The crew said they were going
home. “Not all of you are going home”,
said Columbus. “The ones that
I kill are staying here.” I must
confess that story is apocryphal and does not occur in official histories, but
I like it. And yes, I do my research to
validate all the things I tell you.
I just got a new medication prescribed. It’s some nerve something and I looked it up
online to check out the side effects.
See, there’s that dogged research again.
Here’s what I found – dizziness, drowsiness, weakness,
tired feeling, blurred vision, headache, strong cravings for McDonald’s in the
morning and a strange compulsion to read Moby Dick. I’m pretty sure I can handle it.
I will add the new pill to my already impressive menu
of pills, capsules, ointments, salves, nose sprays, lotions, potions and soft
gels. I have carefully categorized
pill-takers into four groups. I have so
much free time! The groups are Free
Lance, Organized, Anal and Screwball.
Free Lance includes
those of you who simply know what pills to take and when to take them. Organized
pill-takers need some additional help and use a pill box with seven
compartments marked with each day of the week.
Anal pill-takers – you
know, maybe that’s a poor choice. By
anal, I don’t mean suppositories; I mean someone who makes sure the oven is off
before leaving the house – five times.
Or someone who goes to McDonald’s every single morning. Anal pill-takers have a pill box
with fourteen compartments so the medicines can be split between a.m. and p.m.
And then there is the Screwball category which includes me. I just fill each compartment with one kind of
pill. When it’s time to take pills, I
open them all. I still think a great
parlor game would be for each person to write down all their pills on a piece
of paper and throw it into a pile. One
list would be chosen at random and everybody would guess who it belongs to. We’d call it Who Wants to Be a Pillionaire? Kind of like Colonel Mustard in the Kitchen with the Stool Softener. I confess I’ve used that line before, but with
your memory? -- I’m pretty sure you’ve forgotten. That’s because you take too many pills.
Carol and I went to Whole Foods. She shopped while I maneuvered the cart in
the constricted aisles clogged with hungry, health-conscious do-gooders clad in
jogging gear and clutching reusable sacks.
As we passed the egg department I noticed a sign assuring us that these
eggs had been harvested from cage-less chickens. I read on and learned that the chickens
responsible for these pearly ovoid beauties are not kept in individual cages
but are allowed to roam around the barn where water and food are available at
various stations. This was beginning to
sound appealing. Free food and drink,
lots of exercise, no work, no tax returns, no Joy Behar and all you have to do
is lay eggs. Do you think I could learn how to
do that?
When I got home I flew to the Internet looking for
egg-laying lessons and found a bunch of bitchy Vegans complaining that cage-less
chickens were still overcrowded and never let out of the barn. What do they want the farmer to do, take
these birds to a Broadway show? You knew
a list was coming, didn’t you? Here it
is, Broadway shows for chickens:
The
Best Little Henhouse in Texas, Hatched Yesterday, Guys and Fowls, The Gizzard
of Oz, Ham(and egg)ilton.
Lighten up, Vegans.
I know eating cumquats and nuts all day can purse up your brains, but
Jeesh! Anyway, after reading for a
while, becoming a cage-less chicken began to lose its appeal. Mainly because you have to get screwed by a
rooster.
Do you have a middle name? Do you remember your middle name? Is there any reason for having a middle
name? I am convinced that the sole
purpose of a child's middle name is so he can tell when he's really in trouble. If my mother called out “Michael”, she just
wanted to see me. If she yelled “Michael Bruce”, I knew some
serious punishment was on my horizon.
Some people have more than one middle name, like Julia Scarlett
Elizabeth Louis-Dreyfus. I have a
granddaughter with two middle names. And
then, of course, there’s Picasso, or should I say:
By the time he wrote all that on the canvas, there was
so little room left he had to squash up the faces. I’m
about ready for this letter to be over.
Are you? I thought so. May you have wonderful days and crisp clean
nights. May your troubles be light and
your delights many, and may you have peace and happiness all week long. Sounds wonderful, doesn’t it? Hell, I’d settle for the whole week to go by
without getting sued by Stormy Daniels.
Please stay well, count
your blessings and come back to me next week.
What would I do without you – lay eggs?
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