Blog #122

What are you good at?  I’m having trouble answering that question.  I cannot go anywhere without getting lost.  I cannot fix a toilet or anything else for that matter.  I don’t know how to use FaceBook or shop or grow plants.  I could go on forever about the things that I’m bad at, but I’m bad at remembering them all.  I’m not strong like Superman or handsome like George Clooney, or humble like Donald Trump, and I often feel about as useful as a typewriter repairman.  No, I’m not Mr. Right.  But I am not completely useless.  I am pretty good at writing little poems, essays, speeches and songs.  Not a bad talent, mostly frivolous, but handy to have at times.  No, I’m not Mr. Right, but I’m close.

If you’re looking for some Mr. Right

Get a handsome and chivalrous Knight,

But for poems or a song

Then you cannot go wrong

If you come straight to me – Mr. Write.

Mr. Write, that’s me.  I actually enjoy writing.  It’s “the most intimate, solitary pleasure that one can imagine” says Gabriel García Márquez, so let’s see what I can write for you today.  First of all, hi there and welcome back.  I hope you are feeling happy in this hot month of July.  “People don’t notice whether it’s winter or summer when they’re happy,” said Anton Chekhov, and he was surely a happy and upbeat guy.

I actually have some happy and upbeat news for you.  No more whining and complaining about my limping around, because in September I’m having a hip replacement.  I’m actually excited.  One day in the hospital, two weeks on a walker, two weeks on a cane, good as new!  That is, if you could possibly imagine looking at what I see in the mirror and calling it new.  I’ll tell you all about it as the process moves forward.

I don’t know why I go to so many doctors when all of my friends seem to have acquired comprehensive medical knowledge far superior to any physician.  Just announcing the hip replacement thing elicited all manner of “knowing” advice.  For instance:

·        Do it from the front, not the back.  That’s the best way.

·        Get three opinions.  You never know.

·        Do it on a Monday.  The doctors are fresher on Mondays.

·        Make sure the surgeon has a G in his name.

·        Make sure the surgeon didn’t vote for Trump.

Thank you to all my well-meaning friends for your compassionate advice.  Seriously!  I know it’s just human nature to share medical folklore, but to be honest, I think I’ll stick with the guy who has a real medical degree.

Once I get my new hip, I’ll be pretty much perfect.  The most recent report from Doctor Doctor says my HDL, LDL, PSA, QVC, ESPN AND MTV are all exemplary.  My medical complaints to you throughout the years have, of course, been tongue in cheek. That tongue-in-cheek syndrome can be very painful, you know.  After the hip surgery, I’ll have an artificial joint in my right hip, a pacemaker in my chest and a female cornea transplant in my left eye.  I’ll have more replacement parts than an ’87 Chevy and will be recognizable only by my fingerprints.  But you can always find me – just look for the guy walking ten paces behind the Princess of Lickety Split.

And with a new hip, I’ll probably sleep like a baby.  Isn’t that a strange expression – sleep like a baby?  Babies wake up every two hours, crying and spitting.  Who would want to sleep like a baby?  Another strange expression is -- she’s like a sister to me.  Do you all really have wonderful, loving and considerate sisters?  My sister was like an erratic, psychotic cuckoo clock to me.  So next time I say, “You’re like a sister to me,” don’t make the mistake of taking it as a compliment.

And my brother, by the way, was an eccentric, bizarre Dickens character who saved cardboard toilet-paper rolls, so it should not be a surprise to you what a weird and unstable mass of tissue is my brain.  You seem to like it enough to come back every week, so let’s move on.

At dinner the other night, Carol asked our three local grandchildren one of her famous questions.  Actually, she asked two.  The first was, “What do you like best about me?”  Do you know what chutzpa is?  Now you do.  Her second question was a little less Carol-centric.  She asked the three kids, “If you could pick going anywhere with anybody, where and who would it be?”  Here are their answers, word for word.  I swear.

13-year-old boy:  I want to go to the Bahamas with the cutest girl in my class.

9-year-old boy:  I want to go to the Galapagos with Poppy.  He’s my little scientist.

11-year-old Princess:  I want to go to the Mall with Poppy’s credit card.  She takes after Carol.

Congratulations to the USA Women’s Soccer Team for winning the World Cup.  My favorite player, the fabulous Megan Rapinoe, was a big disappointment to me and should be an embarrassment to the team.  Not because of her feet – because of her mouth!  She will never put her hand over her heart during the National Anthem; she will never sing the National Anthem; she will never visit the “f***ing White House”.  These are all things she has said, and has every right to say in this country.  Here’s what I want to know, why is someone who refuses to respect the USA flag, refuses to sing the USA National Anthem, hates the USA President and hates the USA iconic home of government – why is such a person playing for the USA?  There are enough people in Europe who hate Americans.  We don’t need to compete in Europe with an American player ragging on her flag, her anthem and her President while wearing USA on her shirt. 

Ok, sorry for the patriotic rant.  And for the quotes from Márquez and Chekhov.  I guess you’re ready for me to stop.  Three strikes and I’m out, right?  So stay well, count your blessings and please come back next week.  You’re like sisters and brothers to me.

Mr. Write                                           Send comments to:  mfox1746@gmail.com