Blog #207

 

Our friends, the Goldmans, just hired a housekeeper from Sweden named Inga.  Last week, Mrs. Goldman told Inga to set the table for four because the Schwartzes were coming for dinner.  When Mrs. Goldman returned later that afternoon, she noticed the table was set for eight people.  “Inga, I told you the Schwartzes were coming and to set the table for four.”  Ya, Miss, Inga replied, but Mrs. Schwartz called and said they were bringing the Blintzes and the Knishes.”

 

Hi there and welcome back.  I hope you’re feeling well.   Sorry about that old joke, but everything seems to be getting old these days and I am beginning to feel caged, stir crazy, cooped up, purposeless.  Get the picture?

 

Each day is a lot like the next

I read and I write and I text

And day after day

I feel the same way

Repetitive, bored and perplexed.

 

We have tried, during Covid, to spice up our lives with a little Nature.  We adopted Shakespeare.  He’s sitting next to me as I type, waiting for me to finish so he can watch squirrel videos, but as much as I love the little thing, a tabby cat is not very exotic.  We drove to a place called Lone Elk Park where, from the safety of our car, we saw an emaciated elk and a few bulimic bison, but let’s face it – St. Louis is not a beautiful place, even when it’s blanketed in snow.

 

At the Zoo, one time, I had a couple from Denmark.  “Ah,” I said, “I have been to Copenhagen and I thought it was a truly beautiful city.”  They looked at me as if I were as crazy as Marjorie Taylor Greene.  Of course, to a tourist, Copenhagen consisted of the old, charming port area with the multi-colored houses, the classic old boats and the wonderful outdoor restaurants.  But it’s a big city and this couple probably live in a row house by the train station and think the city is dirty and old and boring.  Perspective can be everything.  A tourist to St. Louis sees the Arch, the Old Post Office and the Zoo and they come away thinking the town is magical.  The only Nature I get to see is when I watch the squirrel videos with Shakey.

 

I did go out for a haircut today.  I have gotten haircuts throughout the last year and, as you know, have done plenty of errands.  But today I felt different.  I felt liberated a bit, less afraid of my fellow travelers on this pestilential planet.  Having been vaccinated makes me feel safer, I suppose, less constrained.  I still wear my mask everywhere; I still wash my hands 40 times a day, but somehow, I feel a tiny bit safer. 

 

Maybe Award Season will cheer me up.  Are you ready for Award Season?  The Golden Globes, Critics’ Choice, Grammy. SAG, Oscars.  I don’t know 90% of the nominees anymore.  I mean who is Kaley Cuoco?  Is that a person or a new disease from China?  My wife and her friends watch every award show, mostly just to see the ubiquitous Red Carpet.  Who are you wearing?  What kind of question is that?  Actually, Joan Rivers introduced the phrase in 1994.  But tell me this -- why is it that all the guy interviewers on the Red Carpet are 5’3” and all the girl interviewers are 6’3”?  Once I saw Ryan Seacrest interviewing Charlize Theron; it looked like a squirrel trying to climb a giraffe.

 

We need an award show for old people, but all the good names are taken.  The Grammys would have been an apt name or, at our age, SAG is reasonably descriptive.  Maybe we’ll just call it the Oldies.  We could get Dick Clark to host it.  He must still be alive somewhere.  Oh, he’s dead?  Perfect!  They could give awards for the Oldest Tie or the Most Organized Pill Carrier or the Longest Number of Days Without Losing Your Reading Glasses.  And “who” would all these famous oldies be wearing?  Probably Donna Medi-Karan or Oscar de la Yenta.  I don’t know who I’ll be wearing, maybe Jewish Dior, but I know who I’ll be eating – Colonel Sanders.  And I know what movies I’ll be rooting for – No Closet for Old Men and the unforgettable I Remember Whatshername.

 

Message from Shakespeare:  Nothing can seem foul to those that win (Henry IV, Part 1).  I would like an award show for cats.  Tomcat Hanks and Cat Blanchett could win for Romeow and Mewliet.  Maybe I could be an actor.  I could play Captain Ahab’s cat.  Purr.

 

Carol and I don’t always see eye to eye.  That’s because I am 5’10” and she is her little 5’3”.  Ok, I lied -- I may no longer be 5’10”.  I’m getting shorter it seems.  I don’t feel it; I don’t see it, but the nurse tells me I’m shorter every time I have a physical.  I always thought my grandchildren were getting taller, but now I realize it was me getting shorter.  It’s inevitable, I suppose.  I can just picture the future as I continue my vertical vanishing act and go from Munchkin-sized to Hobbit-sized until, eventually, I will qualify as a Happy Meal toy.  Or an interviewer on the Red Carpet.  Charlize, would you like fries with that?

 

I used to have an employee named Angie, who worked as a receptionist.  Angie was spunky, had a plethora of personality and was 4’5” tall.  When Angie was in the supply room looking for some printer paper or in the kitchen looking for a new can of creamer, she often discovered that these things were stored in a cabinet that was out of her reach.  It didn’t bother her one bit.  She would just stand there and yell “Tall Person” and the nearest tall person would respond and get what she needed.  Nothing was going to stop Angie!  And nothing is going to stop me from sending you another blog next week.

 

Our Weekly Word is plethora, which means a large or excessive amount, and I hope to have provided you a plethora of entertainment this week.  Please stay well and count your blessings, and I'll see you in a week.

 

Michael                                    Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com