Blog #199

 

Tonight is New Year’s Eve.  In previous years, when we were younger, richer and not surrounded by Covid, we would don our tuxes and our jewels and go out to hobnob with our friends.  Lots of wine, expensive food and dancing.  I would hug the men and buss the women and give my wife a big and well-deserved kiss.  But that was then. Tonight is the last day of 2020, and we will not leave our condo.  There won’t be any dancing, no wine for me, certainly no jewels, no hugging of friends, but one thing I won’t give up – the kiss for my wife.  She’s the best!

 

2020 has been about as pleasant as a toothache.  But somehow, somewhere, there must have been something good about 2020.  There must have.  I’ll think of something in a minute.  Well, we made it through.  That’s one good thing.  And I only got one year older even though it feels like eight.  And my granddaughter was bat mitzvah’d.  And The View has not been expanded to two hours.  Oh, tidings of Whoopi and Joy, Whoopi and Joy.

 

Hi there and welcome back.  I hope you’re feeling well and working on your New Year’s Resolutions.  I’m having trouble this year.  I’ve given up smoking already and drinking and ice cream and red meat.  I’m not overweight.  I do my exercises.  I’m nice to my family and friends.  I’m not messy.  I no longer wear my socks on the wrong feet.  So I put a lot of thought into this year’s resolution.  Here it is: In 2021, I resolve to make you smile at least once a week.

 

Let’s see if I can squeeze a snicker out of you with this.  When Simple Simon said to the Pie-Man, “Let me taste your wares,” what did the pie-man say?  He replied, “My whats?”  “No,” said Simon, “your wares.”  “Ok,” said the Pie-Man:

 

I have a few wheres and some whats

They’re loaded with sprinkles and nuts

Some nows and some thens

Some whys and some whens

But sorry, no ifs, ands or buts.

 

C’mon, admit it.  I saw that little smile.  Carol and I have made a joint New Year’s Resolution to get matching tattoos, and we’ve already picked them out.  Mine says I LOVE CAROL.  So does hers. 

 

This week, the CDC, the Centers for Disinformation and Confusion, issued two press releases.  The first said that there have been very few cases of flu this year because of social distancing and mask-wearing.  The second warned us that Covid cases are exploding in number because too many people are not social distancing or wearing masks.  And these are the people we look to for information.  It’s like being in a Hall of Mirrors.

 

The Weekly Word is a short one this week.  Buss simply means kiss.  That was back in the first paragraph.  Have you forgotten already?  Buss is sort of ancient and archaic, but then, so am I.

 

Winter snuck up on us last week.  I’m not sure anyone noticed.  Winter used to mean it’s cold outside so let’s get our behinds out of here and go someplace warm.  But life has changed so much that now outside simply means the space between my heated car and the front door of the grocery store.  And travelling?  We used to drive to Florida and North Carolina, but that’s not in our plans this year.  And going someplace warm just means turning on the space heater in the bathroom.

 

Message from Shakespeare:  In winter with warm tears I’ll melt the snow (Titus Andronicus).  It’s pretty cold out now, but I’m not worried about Winter.  I have lots of warm places to nap and good food and water.  And I have Pops pretty well trained by now.  I learned it from Nonnie.  She told me, “Just purr and he’ll do anything you want.  And if you bite him once in a while, he’ll get over it.”

 

Carol got a call today from some marketing company that wanted to pay her $70 to participate in a 2-hour focus group on radio preferences.  She agreed, but when they found out her age, they said no thanks.  They don’t care what radio stations old people listen to.  Nobody cares about old people in general?  They clog up the highways and waste our country’s medical resources.  They pester their children about the simplest technological task.  Who needs these silly old people anyway?  Unless you’re a four-year-old or six or eight or ten, and you want a really cool bedtime story about dinosaurs and princesses and poopy old men who fall down and make you giggle and who never stop loving you no matter what.  Goodnight my precious grandchildren.  Sleep well.

 

My wife does not sleep well.  She doesn’t like my stories; she says I don’t talk fast enough.  I have suggested that she try going to the Opera – that always puts me to sleep -- but instead she keeps trying new cocktails and stratagems, all suggested by her friends who are quick to give her a list of things to try, none of which has ever worked for them.  “I take organic cherry juice to sleep and it never works.  You should try it.”  Yesterday, one of these well-meaning friends told her about white noise, random sounds that she could find on her phone.  Having selected three different ones and unable to decide which was best, she played all three simultaneously: screeching psychotic birds, torrential tropical monsoons and another that was just loud.  Amid the cawing, dripping and screaming – she could not sleep, and neither could I.  The next day I called the well-meaning friend to ask her if this night-time cacophony actually helped her sleep.  “Hell no,” she confessed, “but it keeps my husband up all night.  Why should he sleep if I can’t?” 

 

I see all this talk of sleeping and story-telling has made you jealous.  Now-now, I’ve told you plenty of stories too, and I’m pretty sure some of them have put you to sleep.  So goodnight to you all.  Happy New Year and may 2021 be a safe and loving year for you.  Stay well and count your blessings.  See you next year.

 

Happy New Year from Carol, Michael and Shakespeare

 

Send comments to:  mfox1746@gmail.com

 

 

 

Blog #198

 

It’s Christmas Eve.  When my daughters were little, their Nana, my mother, would celebrate the secular joys of Christmas.  She would make waffles for breakfast, serve a deli buffet for lunch and make a fabulous turkey dinner for extended family and friends -- and in the interstices of all that eating, we had presents, lots of presents.  Each present was wrapped by my brother who was 5½ years older than me and a graduate of the Washington University School of Fine Arts in dress design.  All the presents, no matter the size or cost, were wrapped with such intensity and flair that we were sad to open them.  They were like a collection of Fabergé eggs displayed for the Tsarina, each with a unique and intricate bow so perfect as to be worthy of a museum.  We took pictures of the wrapped packages.  My brother died from cancer at the age of 61.

 

Those celebrations are long gone, but Hanukkah celebrations are even better because the children get to open presents for eight nights.  My grandchildren are getting older now – they range from 19 to 7 – but I remember when I had little toddlers come to visit for Hanukkah.  The games, the fun, the chaos!  It took no time at all before every floor, table and counter-top was covered with toys, diapers, diaper bags, sippy cups, bottles, clothes, Kleenex and other noisome collections of indefinable detritus.  What fun!  I miss it. 

 

I apologize if all that was a little wordy.  Let’s get the Weekly Word out of the way and then we can get started.  Interstices are intervening spaces, gaps between a series of things, like the spaces between your toes where you put your toe-spreaders.  At least you girls.  And maybe some of you boys have toe-spreaders.  Who knows?

 

All right, hi there, welcome back and Merry Christmas.  I hope you are all well.  My favorite (and only, so far) Hanukkah present was a six-pack of Bombas white socks.  They are comfortable and the perfect size and they’re all the same, so you never have to worry about matching them when they come out of the drier.  The laundry is actually one of my wife’s jobs along with cooking, cleaning, doing the dishes and watching every vapid television program on the air.  I have my job too.  I watch bird videos with Shakespeare.  Well, someone has to do it.  And I write to you.

 

I wore my Bombas the other day and was walking out the door to go to the grocery store when Carol said, “You’ve got those socks on wrong.”  My wife should work for the CIA.  Maybe she does.  There is not a thing that goes on in her world that she doesn’t know about.  She reads minds, foresees the future and would notice if an M&M was missing from the bowl and know which color it was.  She noticed my socks. “You’ve got them on wrong,” she reiterated.  What?  They’re all the same – same stripes, same BOMBAS on the toes, same black reticulated pattern on the top of the foot.  But, she pointed out, there is a logo on the side of each sock.  So what?  Well, according to my little Diane Von Footsenberg, those logos must be displayed on the outside of the foot, not the inside.  Who knew?

 

By now surely everyone knows

The troubles I have with my clothes

But this aging Fox

Even screwed up his socks

By putting them on the wrong toes.

 

Well, this old dog can still learn a new trick, I suppose, and I shall henceforward wear my socks properly.  I might even make the cover of Cos-toe-politan.  Which reminds me that it’s time to start making New Year’s resolutions.  I have a few thoughts:

 

·        I will never go out with anybody named Fang Fang.

·        I will learn to speak Turkish so I can watch all the series on NETFLIX.

·        I will always wear my socks on the right feet.

 

Message from Shakespeare:  Thou shalt not stir one foot to seek a foe (Romeo and Juliet).  I will always wear my socks on the right foot.  That’s because I don’t have a left foot.  Come to think of it, I don’t have any socks either.  Maybe Pops will buy me one shoe.  That way, I could be Puss in Boot.

 

Last Friday, I was watching the Nightly News, and there were Mike Pence, Nancy Pelosi and Mitch McConnell all getting their Covid Vaccine shots.  Did I not tell you?  Am I not your own personal Nostradamus?  In Blog #193, five weeks ago, I foresaw that the first people to get the vaccine would be the politicians.  And there they were, reinforcing my belief that the only people in the country that politicians care about are themselves. 

 

And what happened to the elderly getting the vaccine because we were the most vulnerable?  I am not hearing anything like that anymore.  Now it’s healthcare workers.  And minorities of course.  And essential workers.  We are not workers and we are not essential.  Oh, and prisoners.  Please tell me in what Lewis Carroll Cuckooland do Bill Cosby and Sirhan Sirhan get vaccinated before you and me!  Plus, I just heard the Surgeon General say that all illegal immigrants need to be vaccinated.  Chinese spies will get vaccinated before we do.  Rabid dogs will get vaccinated before we do.  We have become the non-essential, non-minority, non-important, burdensome elderly who will be forgotten in the vaccine wars and allowed to die without even the respect of having someone come to our funerals.  But hey, Nancy Pelosi got hers, so all’s right with the world.

 

Ok, I got that off my elderly and non-essential chest.  I’d better stop before I set off my pacemaker.  It was eleven years ago today, Christmas Eve, that my heart stopped and I needed that little fellow implanted in my chest.  We’re both doing great.  And I hope you’re doing great as well.  Have a happy and safe Christmas and count your blessings.  And remember what Mother Teresa said, “The good you do today may be forgotten tomorrow.  Do good anyway.”  See you next week.  That’s me who will see you next week, not Mother Teresa.  Oy, if you see Mother Teresa next week –well, I hope they get Limerick Oyster in Heaven.

 

Michael                Send comments to:  mfox1746@gmail.com

 

 

Blog #197

 

As Herman’s Hermits once sang, “There’s a kind of hush all over the world.”  The election is over; the election challenges are all but over; and we are at home in our forced relaxation.  It’s quiet.  It’s peaceful.  I’m miserable!

 

Hey, I don’t mean to complain.  The world has an over-abundant supply of self-pity, and I really don’t need to add to it, but the truth is that we seniors have plenty to complain about.  Covid, prescription prices, cable TV excluding NBC, aching backs, boredom, isolation, unwanted updates to our phones, salt – but what can we do about it, riot?  We certainly saw enough of that last Summer, but there’s an innate problem with Senior Riots.  Can you just picture a bunch of old people marching the streets chanting:  WHAT DO WE WANT?  WE FORGOT.  WHEN DO WE WANT IT?  WE FORGOT THAT TOO.

 

Where was I?  I forgot.  Oh yes, hi there and welcome back. I hope you’re feeling well and that you had a nice Hanukkah.  My daughter made latkes, which we appropriately called Potato Pan(demic)cakes.  They looked good on FaceTime, but that’s the closest we got.  Of the 8,312 alternate spellings of Hanukkah, I have chosen to use this version because it’s the one my children and grandchildren use.  When I was a kid (images of dinosaurs and telephone cords dance through my head) we spelled it with a Ch at the beginning, but languages and spellings adapt to common usage.  We no longer can understand the 14^th Century language of The Canterbury Tales -- Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote -- and I’m certain that 500 years from now, people (if there are still people) will think our literature as foreign as Chaucer is to us.

 

But I will never abandon the language I learned from my teachers and my mother.  I will always use the proper forms of lie and lay and always use none as a singular and always spell kidnapped with two Ps.  As phones have gotten smaller, so have words and now kidnaped with one P has become acceptable.  Well, for every P that young generation uses, we seniors need to P twice.  But fear not.  I, your bastion of all that is fuddy and duddy, shall remain steadfastly loyal to the ancient language I learned so many years ago. 

 

Weekly Word:  A bastion is an institution, place, or person strongly defending or upholding particular principles.  It is a reservoir of strength and security.

 

Ok, let’s use some of that English to talk about what’s going on in the world.  Are you staying locked up, away from your family and friends and all human contact as if you were a leper?  That’s what it feels like. Carol, however, even in these days of isolation, fills up her day efficiently.  Of course, she can do two or three things at once and can easily pack 48 hours-worth of activities into any 24-hour day.  The only multi-tasking I can do is to be lost and poorly dressed at the same time.  It’s a gift.

 

Gone are the days when we would go to a movie, or a nice restaurant, or the symphony.  I have friends who love the Symphony, but I suspect many people go only because it is the place to be seen with the High-Class glitterati.

 

The Socialites gather like sheep

They sit there and make not a peep

Through Wagner and Strauss

They’re still as a mouse

Because they have fallen asleep.

 

And while we are talking about the use of language, there’s this big kerfuffle over whether Jill Biden, the soon-to-be FLOTUS (First Lady of the United States), should continue to be called Dr. Biden because she has a doctorate in education.  I have a Juris Doctor degree, Doctor of Jurisprudence, so I think I should be called Doctor as well.  I have instructed my grandchildren to call me Dr. Poppy.  But you, my loyal readers and friends – you can just call me Dr. Limerick.

 

You know, each week I bring you my collection of little musings and stories like a pet dog dutifully brings dead squirrels to the front door.  The dog actually thinks his master is going to love them.  Well, I’ll keep trying.  Here’s one that might ring true.

 

If Dante were writing The Inferno today, I’m certain that his choice for the location of Hell would be the space underneath my desk.  There are enough wires down there to reach Mars and enough plugs to populate Jeff Bezos’ head. There are eight “things” plugged in.  There’s a router and a modem and a computer and a printer and a lamp and my iPod and two other things that could be nuclear warheads for all I know.  I am so technically hapless that I could screw up a nail file, so it’s a sure bet that if it has a wire, I’m guaranteed to put it in the wrong place.  I’m amazed that I have children.  And stop laughing.  It probably looks the same under your desk.

 

Message from Shakespeare:  Bulldogs are adorable, with faces like toads that have been sat on (The Merchant of Venice).  Who would ever want a dog?  They go outside and chase squirrels.  I never go outside and never chase anything nastier than a rubber ball.  And I can be just as loyal and cuddly. 

 

Many of you, out of concern or just a gossipy and gory curiosity, have been asking what kind of eye surgery I am having next month.  It’s called a Vitrectomy and Lensectomy.  Hopefully, after ectomy-ing the lens and the fluid from my left eye, they will do whatever they want in there and put everything back where they found it. You can Google all the slimy details if you like, but I’d rather not.  I would surely faint.

 

Ok, enough dead squirrels for one week.  I hope one or two tickled your whatever.  It’s time to go.  I’ve probably gotten a little too wordy.  Am I getting too wordy?  I don’t think I’m getting too wordy.  Do you?  Really?  I’ll stop.  Soon.  Wait, just one more thing.  Stay well and count your blessings.  There, I’m done.  See you next week – Christmas Eve.

 

Dr. Limerick                            Send comments to:  mfox1746@gmail.com

 

 

 

 

 

Blog #196

 

My daughter Jennifer sent me a picture that captures the essence of 2020 perfectly.  It is a picture of a house and a front yard.  In the Christmas spirit, the homeowner had implanted in the yard three very large, plastic red letters spelling

 J  O  Y.  A lovely thought to be sure.  Sometime, during the night, a sudden wind had blown down one of the letters leaving this message on the lawn:

  O  Y.   That says it all for 2020, doesn’t it?

 

Thinking of signs with a letter missing reminds me of earlier this year when I was searching for a pet and drove by a large building with a sign that read Burlington Cat Factory.

 

Hi there and welcome back.  I hope you are feeling hale and/or hearty.  What a horrible year this has been – disease, depression, boredom.  We actually had an outing this week, an expedition, a sally-forth.  Carol has left the building!  It was Senior Day at Walgreen’s and a Category Five Hurricane couldn’t keep my wife away.  We advanced in a lightning-like sortie, took the hill (and the lipstick) and withdrew with a 20% discount.  I apologize if I’ve gone a little stir-crazy here.  A slang term for prison is stir, and inmates who become mentally disturbed from confinement are called stir crazy.  I think it fits me perfectly.

 

You know, they’re still burning American flags in Iran after the assassination of one of its nuclear scientists.  I’ve never seen Americans burning Iranian flags, or any foreign flags for that matter.  I guess we’re too busy burning our own flag in protest of something or other.  I wonder if American flag companies make two versions, a flammable and an inflammable.  Well of course they don’t, because flammable and inflammable mean the same thing.  Like habitable and inhabitable or ravel and unravel or caregiver and caretaker.  Who invented this language – Homer Simpson?

 

And speaking of language, last week I was extoling the pleasure of enjoying an increased amount of propinquity with my wife due to the Covid shutdown.  In response, a few readers asked why I didn’t use propinquity as our Weekly Word.  So here it is: propinquity is the state of being close to someone or something.  A good synonym would be proximity.  It looks like Carol and I will be sharing a little more propinquity now that I have scheduled some eye surgery for early January.  I’m not sure which I’m dreading more, the eye surgery or my 75^th birthday.  The operation is on a Tuesday.  It’s take-out.  Is that what they call it?  Maybe out-patient.  Follow up appointment on Wednesday, birthday on Thursday.  For a while, Carol will have a three-legged cat and a one-eyed husband.  Isn’t that odd!  Get it?  Odd?  Three and one are odd numbers.  Never mind, I forgot you’re not good at math. 

 

Post-op, I will be wearing not only a Covid mask, but an eye-patch as well.  Can you picture that?  I’ll look like a Mr. Potato Head that got run over by a reindeer.  Carol, as ever, will be a kind and solicitous nurse.  The first thing she will do is give me a bell, so that I can ring when I need her – as long as it’s not during her on-line Mahjong game, her bridge game, her canasta game or Jeopardy.  And I will be a good patient.  It won’t be difficult getting along without my left eye for a while.  It might even be an improvement.

 

We all could have much better sight

If we shut our left eyes from the light

For without our left eyes

We would be twice as wise

‘Cause we only would see what is right.

 

Besides, as William Shakespeare said, The sun with one eye vieweth all the world (Henry VI, Part 1).  Okay, Shake ‘n Bake, that’s your cue.

 

Message from Shakespeare:  Pops can still watch bird videos with one eye, can’t he?  We do it every day, schnuggled up together in front of the screen.  I call that propinquity.  Pops calls it Close Encounters of the Bird Kind.  He thinks he’s funny.

 

It’s a great time to have an operation.  I have nowhere to go anyway.  I can’t go to restaurants or bars or movies.  Did you see that Warner Brothers is going to release its movies on HBO the same day they open in theaters?  Goodbye movie theaters.  They are on the way out along with bookstores and slide rules.  Slide rules? 

 

One thing I won’t miss about going to the movies is the Movie Watcher Reward.  The last time I got one of those, it was good for fifty cents off the purchase of a “combo”.  I went to the refreshment counter to see what a “combo” was and found it was a large popcorn, large soda, a 12-inch long Snickers bar, three pair of Levi’s Dockers and a Toyota mini-van.  If I bought all of those, I would get a fifty- cent discount. 

 

But my clever wife is taking things in her capable hands and ordering me a slew of movies to watch at home.  Yes, my 21^st Century Fox has put together a list of movies for old people including -- The World According to AARP, Rheumatism at the Top, To Kill an Early-Bird and, appropriately, Cataract on a Hot Tin Roof.

 

I have missed a lot of things during this pandemic – being with my family, traveling, my friends, movies, restaurants.  And you know what else I miss?  Seeing people smile.  When I’m out at the grocery store or a doctor visit, everybody is wearing a mask.  If they are smiling, I can’t see it.  What a shame!  My mask is a black background with a bunch of red and green smiley-faces, so at least people who see me get to see a cartoon smile.  Next time you’re wearing a mask, try a big, over-the-top smile.  Smile with your eyes and your ears and your forehead.  Try it now for me.  Go ahead.  That was great.  You have a nice smile, and I feel better.  Don’t you?

 

I’d better go now.  You-know-who wants to watch a bird video.  We’ll be back next week, and so will you.  You know you will, so stay well, count your blessings and practice up on that big smile.

 

Michael                Send comments to:  mfox1746@gmail.com

 

 

 

Blog #195

 

And speaking of plungers.  Were you speaking about plungers?  I wasn’t speaking about plungers.  We have a plunger.  Everybody has a plunger.  I have no great place to put it, so I just keep it in a corner.  But I noticed that it had accumulated some mold or slime or some je ne sais quoi (it’s a French plunger), so I asked my wife to give me her Martha Stewart advice.  Should I soak it in bleach?  How much bleach should I use?  Can I use the bucket?  Do we have a bucket?  How long should I soak it?  I figured she would know what to do.  And she did.  She looked at it for two milliseconds and said, “Throw that disgusting thing out and buy a new one for three dollars.”  Simple enough.  Why didn’t I think of that?

 

And speaking of plungers (sound familiar?), did you celebrate World Toilet Day?  Yes, World Toilet Day.  It was two weeks ago.  It wasn’t even National Toilet Day; it was WORLD Toilet Day.  Look it up.  I’m not exactly sure what we were supposed to do in celebration, so I did what I do best.  I wrote a limerick.

 

Yes, World Toilet Day, this is it!

So I went to my toilet to sit

But I just didn’t care

And was bored sitting there

‘Cause I really did not give a shit.

 

I apologize for that, but sometimes the Limerick Muse just grabs me by the throat and makes me write things I shouldn’t.  I bet all you plumbers out there liked it though.  I respect plumbers.  They’re the people who actually do know shit from Shinola.

 

Hi there and welcome back.  Did you have a nice Thanksgiving?  I hope so.  We had turkey, dressing, mashed potatoes, gravy and apple pie.  Thanksgiving is my favorite meal.  I even request a turkey dinner every year for my birthday.  And, by the way, for my next birthday I’m not even counting this year.  I barely used it.

 

This Thanksgiving dinner was absolutely delicious.  Just the three of us – Me, Carol and Shakespeare.  Very nice, but sad as well.  Abby, my St. Louis daughter, made the turkey and dessert.  Carol made the dressing, potatoes and gravy.  Then we divided the goodies up into the appropriate portions, traded packages between the two households and ate in our separate homes.  I decided to perk up the evening by dressing for the occasion, so without telling Carol, I donned nice gray slacks, a navy blazer, blue shirt and bow-tie.  Really!  I was sartorially magnificent if I do (and I do) say so myself!   Carol took one look, smiled and said, You know you’re going to spill gravy on that nice shirt and then you’ll have to take it to the cleaners.  She’s such a romantic!  After the delicious dinner, Shakespeare and I played Fetch.

 

Message from Shakespeare:  You can’t lose a game if you don’t play the game (Romeo and Juliet).  Pops and I play a great game.  He rolls a ball down the hall.  I watch.  Then he fetches it and brings it back.  I watch.  I have him trained to do it three or four times before he gets tired.  He’s such a good boy.

 

After playing, we asked Alexa to play some new Christmas songs.  First, she played All I Want for Christmas is the New Vaccine.  Then David Duke with his rendition of I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas.  And finally, Anthony Fauci’s new hit:  Grandma Got the Covid From a Reindeer.  Rudolph’s bright red nose is covered by a mask this year, so Santa is going to have to use a GPS.  At holiday time, that means Gifts Provided by Santa.

 

And speaking of Jingle Bells, what sound does your phone make when it rings?  My phone allows me 29 different choices.  Plus, you can search online for an unlimited list of ring tones.  I, as the fuddiest and duddiest person you know, have of course chosen a ring that sounds like the telephone used to sound when I was growing up.  Carol has figured out a way to assign specific sounds on her phone to various individuals or groups.  There is a special tone for daughters and grandchildren, another for her Tier One Friends, a separate one for Tier Two Friends and then a muffled splutter for strangers, carpet salesmen, serial killers and me.  I bet you all will want to know whether you’re in Tier One or Tier Two.  Ha, ha!  I’m not telling.  I haven’t had much chance to call my wife lately.  Since Covid arrived, we are seldom more than ten feet apart.  I consider that propinquity as my silver lining amidst the dark cloud of the pandemic.

 

Although we did stay at home alone for Thanksgiving, we made, this week, a bold and terrifying excursion into the frightening world of masks and sanitizers.  Well, we had to.  It was Senior Day at Walgreen’s, and not even a Category 5 hurricane would have stayed my wife from the adventure of replenishing her supply of makeup, or, as she likes to call it, periodic maintenance.   That reminds me that, besides Covid, Carol and I actually experienced a hurricane and a tornado in August.  What a year!  I tried to buy a pair of ruby slippers on Amazon, but they wouldn’t guarantee that, if I clicked the heels together, I would go back to 2019.

 

IN THE NEWS:  An Iranian scientist was assassinated, and Iranians have taken to the streets to burn American and Israeli flags.  I have wondered this before – where in Iran can you buy American or Israeli flags?  Turban Outfitters?  Exploding Toys R Us?  Boomingdales?  Imamazon?  I checked and found the right website where you can buy suicide vests, Great Satan signs and flags to burn.  It’s called Shiite Happens.

 

Weekly Word:  Sartorial means relating to clothing or style of dress, which reminds me that I have to go – I need to take that shirt to the cleaners.  But I’ll be back soon enough to start writing next week’s blog.  Until then, stay well, my friends.  Hold on until that vaccine is available.  And remember to count your blessings.  See you next week.

 

Michael                          Send comments to:  mfox1746@gmail.com