Blog #71

I am writing to you from the Lake of the Ozarks in Missouri where we are spending a few days with some friends.  Today we boated on the large, beautiful lake, three senior guys and their wives.  As we pulled away from the dock, the friend who was driving handed me a map of the lake.  Now I could show you on a globe where Djibouti is, or Komodo or the Andaman Islands or Timbuktu for that matter.  But with directions – well, not so good.  Men, although they will never admit it, are just not good at directions.  Let me put it this way – if they dropped me on first base, I couldn’t find second base.  But, we puttered around while the girls enjoyed the outdoors by sitting in the part of the boat farthest away from the sunshine and the water and discussing the color of their toenails and whether Donald and Melania will stay married.

The guys ignored the girls (isn’t it cute that I call these 70+ women “girls”?), because we were too busy obsessing over the multi-million-dollar mansions crowding the shoreline.  That one must cost $3 million.  Look at that one.  It looks like a castle.  I just don’t get a thrill ogling an $8 million mansion, knowing that I can’t afford the light-fixture in the 9^th bathroom.

I used to be rich, and it was good to be rich for a couple of years, until it all went away.  But I can’t say I spent my life that much differently.  I just spent it in different places – Hawaii, France, Italy, Martha’s Vineyard, Russia.  Talking about getting lost, that Russia trip was a challenge.  We started in Stockholm on a cruise ship and visited Sweden, Finland, Russia, Estonia, Latvia, Poland, Germany and Denmark.  By the sixth day, I was totally confused.

There’s so many places I’ve been

I don’t know what country I’m in

I cannot determine

A Swede from a German

And can’t tell a Pole from a Finn.

Poor Poland!  Being stuck between Russians and Germans for a thousand years makes Dante’s Inferno look like Canyon Ranch. 

Hi, everyone and welcome back.  I hope you’re well and hanging in there.  I apologize if last week’s edition came out a bit late.  There I was, Wednesday night about 9:00, back at home, ready to post all my wacky thoughts to you when – BAM! – my heart started acting up.  Shortly thereafter I was in an ambulance headed for the hospital, and you know what?  The driver got lost.  I told you, didn’t I?  Men couldn’t find their way out of a McDonald’s bag if you left them a trail of French fries.

When I arrived, they didn't call my cardiologist.  Instead, they called the technician who worked for the pacemaker company.  He showed up with his little computer, and, without actually touching me, read my heart activity and adjusted my internal device.  Isn’t that amazing?  I’m not sure exactly what he did, but now I can make popcorn pop in my mouth.  When he was done, he informed the desk that he had spoken to my doctor and I could be released.  Well, that didn’t happen quickly enough for my little Princess.  What could?  So she grabbed a sheet of paper and a magic marker and wrote a sign which she taped to her shirt.  It said:

I am currently in PRE-BITCH mode.  You do NOT want to be here when I upgrade.

It worked, and Mr. Patient and Mrs. Im-Patient were discharged instantly.  When my speedy little woman is in a hurry, the rest of the world had better move.  We got home after midnight and I posted my blog. 

And speaking of unspeakable things like hearts and hospitals, do you read the obituaries every morning?  Most of my friends do.  Not me.  I’ll learn the bad news soon enough.  My good friend Deb in North Carolina says the obituaries are beginning to look like her address book.  That’s the price we pay for aging.  So let’s all try to stay healthy.  Laughter is good for your health, they say, so I’ll try to make you laugh.

Donald Trump, Ivanka Trump and Mike Pence were flying on a plane.  Donald looks out the window at the wide expanse of America.  “You know,” he says, “I could drop a thousand hundred-dollar bills out the window and make a thousand people happy.”  Ivanka says, “Yes, Daddy, but I could drop two thousand fifty-dollar bills and make twice as many people happy.”  Then the Vice-President says, “And I could drop a hundred thousand one-dollar bills and delight many more of my flock.”  At which point the pilot turns his head and says, “Well, I could drop all three of your asses out the window and make half the world ecstatic.”

There, I made you laugh!

I don’t have to tell you that America has a large population of obese people as well as a large population of hungry people.  Isn’t there a way to work that out?  That’s what we call in the Literary Biz a rhetorical question.

Wait a minute, that was pompous, wasn’t it?  Me, calling myself literary?  Silly poems and letters are hardly literary, so I apologize for the hubris.  The question we were talking about was rhetorical because I wasn’t asking you for an answer.  That’s because I (there’s that pomposity again) have the answer.   It’s called the Food Transfer Management Association (FTMA), lovingly shortened to “Fatty Mae”.   Everybody who is overweight by some reasonable measure will be forced to pay a Fat Tax.  The tax will be paid not in dollars, but in nutritious food which will then be distributed to the needy.  So, for those who want to fill themselves up like the Hindenburg, fine, but it’s going to cost them.

I guess I’m finished for this week.  Stay well, count your blessings and be sure to come back next week.  I’ll be here.  Neither rain nor snow nor ventricular fibrillation will keep me from brightening your Thursdays.  I hope I do brighten them.  See you then.

Michael                          Send comments to:  mfox1746@gmail.com