Blog #72

I’m reading a Larry McMurtry book in which one of the characters says, “Old age is a worthless damn thing.”  I can’t agree.  I believe my senior years are filled with great opportunities to add and contribute.  And I don’t mean reading more books or going to classes or visiting places I’ve never seen.  Whatever I might gain from those things will be gone when I’m gone.  No, I mean the opportunities to leave behind some of yourself in the things you teach, in the care you take of others, even in the entertainment you might provide.  “It’s not what you gather, but what you scatter that tells what kind of life you have lived.”  Helen Walton said that, and Helen should know.  Being the wife of Sam Walton, and the richest woman in America at one time, she gathered and scattered more than most.  Helen is also famous for another quote:  Marriage is a relationship where one is always right and the other is always the husband.

Ok, now that the serious crap is out of the way, let’s get started.  I love my doctors.  I love them so much that I have forgotten their names.  That’s why I call them Dr. Heart and Dr. Skin and Dr. Back.  I do have one criticism of doctors – they all seem to be in love with their titles.  On every list – donors’ list, membership list, guest list – their names have to have the DR in front.  Nobody else has his or her occupation permanently affixed to his or her name.  Geez, I hate that “his or her” phrase.  From now on, I’m just saying “his”.  That will save two words.  You don’t like it, send me a note.

So I was at a funeral (yes, another one) and there, on the marble walls lining the chapel, were names memorializing the deceased.  And on one, instead of Joe Schmo, it said Dr. Joe Schmo.  Seriously?  I thought death was the Grand Equalizer.  Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.  I guess now it’s dust to Dr. Dust.

My favorite doctor is Dr. David, my son-in-law in North Carolina.  Not only is he a radiologist, but he has his own rock n’ roll band.  He has some goofy name for the band, and I don’t like it, so I gave him a list of names appropriate for a radiologist’s band.  Here they are:

The Rolling Bones, X-Ray Charles, Cat Scan Stevens, The Mammograms and the Papagrams, Donnie & MRI, Jethro Skull and, of course, Pelvis Presley.

I love lists.  Hello and welcome back.  I hope you are doing well in this super-heated Summer we’re having.  Summer means golf and swimming and vacations.  I remember one Summer, my North Carolina family was vacationing in Orlando, when I got a call from my granddaughter.  “Poppy,” she said, “I got splashed by a whale!”  She was not excited at all.  On the contrary, she was wet and cold and bummed.

That whale was much bigger than me

And jumped up right out of the sea

He splashed all my clothes

From my head to my toes

He did it on porpoise, you see.

When my little granddaughter first told me she had been splashed by the whale, I responded with the dumbest question of the year:  Was it a big whale?  A big whale?  Of course it was a big whale, you ignorant old poop.  They don’t make little whales.  That’s why they call them whales!  The book’s not called Moby Little Dick, is it?  She’s precocious. 

I have many faults.  One is, according to my wife, not driving fast enough.  I know I don’t drive as fast or aggressively as she’d like, but I look at it this way – in the car I can adjust the temperature precisely as I like, listen to whatever kind of music I want and rest comfortably in a cushioned seat.  I’m happy!  Do I need to go faster?  Do I need to get to the doctor’s office two minutes earlier so that I can wait forty minutes?  Do I need to race home so I won’t miss the opening minutes of The View?  What’s the hurry?  Relax and enjoy the Summer.  I could eliminate her criticism of my driving just by letting her drive, but she makes me nervous when she’s behind the wheel.  First of all, she sits too far forward.  She’s closer to the steering wheel than the guy who painted it.

And second, my wife is good at everything -- except waiting.  She is starting now to time the red lights and is majorly unhappy if they are too long.  And she has zero patience for anyone that is in her way.  “I’m going around that person. Who allows them to drive?  I’m not stopping for that light.  MOVE!”  She’s like a Maxine Waters who has skipped her Ritalin. 

Last week, near the end of the blog, I said I hoped that I brightened your Thursdays.  That’s a pretty slimy way of begging for a compliment, isn’t it?  It was gratifying to learn that none of you would fall for a cheap trick like that.

You men know what begging for a compliment is.  It’s when your wife says, “Honey, do you think this dress makes me look fat?”  A husband must either know how to respond to that properly or have a good orthopedic surgeon.

Actually, I did receive a few responses that said, “Yes, you do brighten my day.”  Thank you, Sheila and Joyce and Fern and Carol and Nancy.  That was truly very sweet.  I wonder if my wife is upset that I talk to so many of my limerick girlfriends via email.  Just to be safe, let’s keep it among ourselves.  If she got mad and stopped picking out my clothes, that would be a bad thing. I’d leave the house half the time looking like Clarabell.   

And if you remember Clarabell, you’re my kind of people.  Thanks for visiting with me today.  You know I like it when we talk.  Stay well and count your blessings.  I’ll see you next week.

Michael                          Send comments to:  mfox1746@gmail.com