Blog #61

As you may remember, we were recently in North Carolina with our three oldest grandchildren.  They are 16, 15 and 12, so all they need is for us to feed them and stay out of their way.  That’s fine, but feeding them is a challenge.  My daughter Jennifer, before she left on her trip, filled the fridge and cupboards with food, but she is very particular about what she buys.  Basically, she has turned into Rachael Ray on Ritalin and everything she buys is organic and natural and fat-free and whole grain with no fructose or GMOs or fatty this or artificial that.  I mean she is the only person I know who has both curds and whey in her kitchen.  Well, I can’t deal with it.  I need chicken.  I stay away from red meat, but I am by nature a carnivore and crave some form of animal protein.

With tofu my heart will stop tickin’

And eggplant will cause me to sicken

No quinoa or curd

Just flip me the bird

This carnivore’s stickin’ with chicken.

So I was forced to order in some Chinese food.  What could possibly be more American than Chinese food?  I found a local place and pulled up the menu on line.  I’m such a techie.  Then I called and told the nice Chinese lady that I wanted a Number 7 with chicken.  Ok, she said.  And a Number 16 with shrimp.  Ok, she said.  Plus a Pork Fried Rice.  Ok, she said.  Then I asked her how long.  “How Long not hee today,” she replied.  I said ni hau and gave her my address.  Ni hau means good morning in Mandarin.  Or maybe it means “there is yak dung on your nose.”  I’m not really sure.  In any event, the food arrived and was spectacular.  The only glitch was when I opened the fortune cookie.  It read “Those who insult other people’s noses may die from food poisoning.”

Hi there and welcome back.  I trust you are feeling well.  I hope it’s not one of those days for you.  You know what I mean, a day when everything is wrong, hopeless or broken.  It seems like a lot of days are one of those days nowadays.  I’m feeling it too.  Maybe it was the Pork Fried Rice.  Or maybe it’s just my weekly angst over finding something that will entertain you.  I mean it’s been 61 weeks and often I worry where the next thought is coming from.  Sixty-one weeks!  That’s longer than any of Elizabeth Taylor’s husbands lasted.

But I decided not to worry.  Worry is like a rocking chair – it’s something to do, but it doesn’t get you anywhere.  Besides, I’ve come to feel confident that some bizarre concoction of insanity and foolishness will pop out of my strange head if I squeeze hard enough.  Let’s see what’s hiding up there.  How about Presidential assassinations?  That should cheer us all up.

In 1975 Lynette “Squeaky” Fromme pulled a gun on President Gerald Ford and pulled the trigger.  The six-shooter she held had four bullets, but the chamber she shot was empty.  Otherwise she would likely have killed the President.  She is now free and living in New York.  In 1981 John Hinckley fired four rounds into the Presidential limousine, hitting President Ronald Reagan in the chest and wounding three others.  He is now free and living with his mother.

Pardon my complete ignorance, but isn’t shooting the President a bad thing?  I thought it was.  Then why are Fromm and Hinckley running around free?  Of course!  I get it now -- Ford and Reagan were Republicans and in Washington, shooting a Republican isn’t considered such a terrible crime.  You’ll notice that the guy who shot a Democratic president was dead two days later.  I’m convinced that if Sharon Tate had been a Republican, Charles Manson would have served six months – top.  Hey, in California he might even have been elected Governor.

I’ve got it!  A terrific new business idea!  I’m not kidding here, so listen up.  Have you ever had a cat that became unruly or incontinent?  You don’t want to put poor old Fluffy down, but what choice do you have?  What we need is an old folk’s home for cats.  Don’t laugh – yet!  For $99 a month we will board your cat, feed him his favorite food, and let him tinkle anywhere he damn pleases.  You can visit him and play with him.  You can even Facetime him.  We’ll have a vet on call and a cemetery out back (a nice plaque is extra).  We’ll call it Feline Gardens or Meow and Later or Tom & Geriatric or something.  Think about it.

My sixteen-year-old grandson is going to the Prom.  Of all the members of the family, the one most obsessed with the Prom experience is Carol.  She has been urging and cajoling Zach for months about asking someone to the Prom by telling him how happy he would make the girl’s mother.  I’m trying to remember if, when I asked Carol to our High School Prom, I was thinking of her mother.  Let’s move on.

Luckily for Grandma Busy-Body, the Prom was the weekend we were in North Carolina, and Carol was peppering Zach for days with tips and suggestions about how to behave.  He was very receptive to all the suggestions except the one about the step-stool.  You see, Zach drives a pickup truck.  Everyone in North Carolina has a pickup truck, and his is a big one.  It is so tall off the ground that I cannot get into the thing without a Sherpa.  Hence, the step-stool so the girl won’t have to pole vault into the truck with her high heels and tight dress.  I mean, how happy would the girl’s mother be if the girl broke her leg before dinner?  It’s all about the mother.  Anyway, he rejected the idea, so Carol enlisted Zach’s twelve-year-old sister to do a dry run.  She put on some of her mother’s heels and gave it a try.  She made it.  It wasn’t elegant, but it worked.

Well, it looks like I found some things to talk about after all.  Chinese food, assassinations, proms, my mother-in-law.  Which reminds me – Happy Mother’s Day to all you Happy Mothers out there.  I wonder if there’s a Sad Mother’s Day.  I hope not.  Stay happy; I’ll be back next week.  And while you’re waiting, count your blessings and stay well.  And think about your mother.

Michael                                            Send comments to:  mfox1746@gmail.com