Blog #212

 

Back in St. Louis now after a brief trip to North Carolina and Florida.  We made the drive from West Palm Beach to St. Louis in one day – 18½ hours – and arrived with a sore back, a sore tush and bugs from eleven states plastered to the windshield.  Shakespeare was very glad to see us and we schnuggled for a long time.

 

Message from Shakespeare:  O Lord that lends me life, lend me a heart replete with thankfulness (Henry VI, Part 2).  As much as I complain about the old man, I was very happy to see him.  We hugged and scratched.  We’re best buddies and I’m glad he’s back.  Don’t tell him I said that.  It’ll make him even more arrogant than usual. Purr.

 

Hi there and welcome back.  I hope you’re feeling well.  Have you all gotten vaccinated?  I hope so.  Maybe we are finally emerging from the horror that was 2020.  Who could have imagined a year:

 

·        When entering a bank without a mask was forbidden

·        When, at a family gathering where everyone was smoking pot, the only thing that was illegal was the gathering

·        When the only math the children learned all year was how to measure six feet

·        When “dining out” really meant out

·        When finding a needle in a haystack was easier than finding a roll of toilet paper in a grocery store

 

The shots have allowed Carol and me to feel liberated and almost normal.  Well, I suppose I will never be almost normal.  You probably have figured that out by now.  It’s April already.  Be careful and don’t let anyone play any April Fools’ Day tricks on you.

 

You know, April Fools’ Day is connected with the Jewish celebration of Passover.  We celebrated Passover this week in remembrance of the liberation of the Jewish people from slavery in Egypt.  Let me refresh your memory: The Ten Plagues, the parting of the Red Sea, Charlton Heston.  How could you forget?  We call it The Days of Wine and Moses. Late in the story, after the Jews have fled to safety, Moses shows up with some commandments.

 

Originally, Moses only had two Commandments, Thou shalt not kill and Thou shalt not wear brown sandals with a black yarmulke, but, as he was coming down the mountain, he ran into a couple of slick salesmen.  Moses could never resist a good deal. 

 

He had two Commandments, but then

He met these two fast-talking men

“More Commandments, you see

And besides, they’re all free.”

In that case, he said, I’ll take ten.

 

Those were the Gefilte brothers, Harry and Sol, who then convinced Moses to buy their whole supply of spoiled fish and eat that instead of shellfish.  And that is how Moses became the first April Fool. 

 

Oy, am I in trouble for that story!  God is probably looking on Amazon right now to find a plague for me.  “Hey, God, with all due respect, Covid was enough!”   I’m not really worried. God loves a good story.  I knew that as soon as I read about the Virgin Mary.  Oy, now I’m in trouble with the Jews, the Christians and God.  In hockey, they call that a Hat Trick.  The Jews call it a Yarmulke Trick.

 

By the way, what do you say to God when God sneezes?  Ok, I’d better stop playing with God here.  In Job 38:12, God counters Job’s arrogance by asking, “Have you ever in all your life commanded a day to dawn?”  I can’t even command a cat to get off my pillow.  And I would not even think of commanding my wife to do anything.  You think those plagues were tough?

 

It is ironic that just as Jews were celebrating their escape across the Red Sea, an immense cargo ship, the size of a shopping center, was stuck in the Suez Canal, preventing hundreds of other ships from escaping the Red Sea.  So they called Charlton Heston and he and Yul Brynner dug it out.  Tell me how it is that a “boat” that weighs half a billion pounds can float and yet every time I go into a pool, I sink like a jar of the Gefilte Brothers’ fish.

 

In related news, the football coach at Duxbury High School in Massachusetts has instituted a new series of audible signals.  Those are the code names for football plays that the quarterback calls out at the line of scrimmage when the defense has changed position.  Usually you’ll hear “Red Left” or “Fox Down” or something like that.  This coach invented plays whose code names were “Hitler”, "Auschwitz” and “Holocaust”.  I have not made up one word of this story.  God, if You’re still listening, do You have any plagues left over for that moron?

 

In other news - - - let me just point out that if you are writing a blog and need some extra wacky, weird and strangely unbelievable material, the news is just full of it.  Funny, that’s just what my wife says about me.

 

Back to the news, Bill Gates is about to institute a plan to shoot chalk dust into the atmosphere of Sweden to absorb the sunlight and cool down the planet.  Does this not frighten you?  Surely the inventors of the internal-combustion engine did not imagine they were polluting the atmosphere with their carbon-dioxide.  They were wrong.  But now Billionaire Bill has the hubris to shoot calcium carbonate (chalk dust, also full of carbon) into our air without knowing the consequences.  One of the side effects of this lunacy will be that the sound of thunder will henceforward be the sound of fingernails scratching a chalkboard.

 

Our Weekly Word is hubris, which means extreme pride or arrogance, and I am proud to be the poster boy for both.  I will come back next week to exhibit more of the same.  That is, if God lets me.  For those of you who celebrated Passover, I hope you had a wonderful holiday.  For those who celebrate Easter, I hope yours is full of peace and love.  And for all of you, keep counting your holiday blessings and stay well.  I’ll be back next week, whether you want me or not.

 

Michael                                    Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com

 

 

Blog #211

 

Here I am in North Carolina, just in time for tornado season.  The last time we were in North Carolina, in August, we survived a direct hit by Hurricane Francis and a tornado.  But we are not deterred because North Carolina is the home of my daughter, son-in-law, three grandchildren, three dogs, two cats and 13 chickens.  We are currently under a tornado-warning for the rest of the evening and all our friends are calling us, worried about the chickens.  They don’t care if we humans are swept away by the storm and dumped on the Yellow Brick Road, but they’re worried about the poultry.  Nice.

 

Actually, one of my grandchildren, Zachary, is not here.  He is a sophomore at Duke and currently under Covid quarantine as is the entire campus.  We have tried to call him, but talking to him is harder than getting a National Security Clearance.  He is always too busy.  My daughter wheedled and cajoled and finally convinced him to Facetime us.  There he was, sporting a bad Bob Dylan hairdo and a bad Cat Stevens beard.  Apparently, he is also too busy to shave or get a haircut.  Carol thought he looked like a terrorist.  I thought he looked like a hostage.  He’s such a good boy.

 

I meant to talk to you last week about St. Patrick’s Day, but I guess I was too busy.  Actually, my Irish cousin Seamus sent me a greeting.  Here’s what he said:

 

Faith n’ Begorrah, if it isn’t St. Patrick’s Day!  Top o’ the mornin’ to you, Lads and Lassies, and the rest of the day as well.  It’s your old Leprechaun Seamus O’Fox from County Limerick.  Yes, and sure’n there is a County Limerick in Ireland.  You can trust old Seamus on that.  St. Patrick, you know, kicked all the snakes out of Ireland.  Then he came back with the potato famine and kicked nearly all of the Irish out as well.  But we celebrate him just as certain, and we do it with grand old Irish Whisky.  How else would a good Irishman celebrate?

 

Yes I am the Leprechaun Seamus

In Ireland sure’n I’m famous

And if you should think

That I can’t hold my drink

Then faith, you’re a damned ignoramus.

 

Hi there and welcome back.  I hope you are feeling well.  And you girls, when I called you Lassies back there, don’t get insulted.  I didn’t mean that you looked like a dog.  I had a girlfriend once who was very melancholy.  She had a body like a melon and a face like a collie.  Bada-bing, bada-boom.

 

There has been a lot of talk about Dr. Seuss being offensive to Asians or Aunt Jemima being offensive to African-Americans.  No-one should tolerate insulting, abusive or offensive behavior.  But who gets the most frequent and vicious abuse?  Old people.  Every day I receive cartoons on the internet depicting old men and women with distended paunches, sagging breasts, drooping jowls and vanishing hair.  None of my friends looks like these exaggerated cartoon characters.  Well, maybe one or two.  And what are these characters doing?  Forgetting things, losing things, unable to walk or speak.  And what do we old people do?  We laugh.  The cartoons are funny.  We can take it; we can laugh at ourselves.  Keep laughing at yourselves, My People.  The world’s too serious as it is.

 

Besides, we have the Olympics to worry about.  Specifically, the Old-lympics, the games specially created for us oldies and goodies.  They have Pickle-Ball this year and Synchronized Napping and a new event called Sprint-Sprint.  Contestants start in a sitting position with their cellphones on their laps.  The winner is the first to reach his or her internet provider and speak to a live person.  The World Record is currently 47 minutes.  My wife is entering the Pentathlon where contestants must read a book, watch Netflix, play bridge online, talk on the phone and exercise at the same time.  She’s a shoo-in.

 

From North Carolina, we slid down to Florida to visit my sister-in-law and brother-in-law, very nice people.  Hospitality is the art of making guests feel like they’re at home when you wish they were.  But we stay anyway and they treat us wonderfully.  The weather in Florida is much better -- no tornadoes, no hurricanes yet, very nice.  Florida, fondly known as God’s Waiting Room, has a large population of senior citizens, and why not?  We like high temperatures and low taxes.  This time of year, it is also packed with Gen Z-ers, the generation under 24-years-old.  These are the people who, for 51 weeks a year, without mercy or respect, lecture their grandparents about following science and wearing masks, protecting the environment and spreading love and acceptance.  For the other week, they are down in Miami Beach getting drunk, smoking pot, spreading Covid, beating each other up and polluting the beaches with beer bottles and condoms.  Thank you, Gen Z, for all your advice.

 

I guess all this activism by our grandchildren is a sign of progress. “Progress has never been a bargain. You have to pay for it.  You may conquer the air but the birds will lose their wonder and the clouds will smell of gasoline."  That is a quote from the movie Inherit the Wind.  I am reminded of it often by the ever-growing pace of technological growth and the plethora of new gadgets and ways to download and upload and monopolize your time.  Sometimes it’s nice just to think about a quiet place where the birds are beautiful and the crickets hum and the clouds don’t smell of gasoline.  And you can grow older – and shorter – in peace.

 

Message from Shakespeare:  My soul is full of sorrow (As You Like It).  I am not a Gen Z-er.  I’m a Gen-Cat, and this Gen-Cat is going to bite somebody’s ugly behind if he doesn’t get home soon.  I miss him.  Purr.

 

Cajole, our Weekly Word, means to persuade by sustained coaxing or flattery.  Just like what I do to you every week to convince you to come back next week.  You’d better!  Keep well and keep counting your blessings.  See you next week.  And Shakespeare, if you’re reading this (imagine that!), I’ll be home tonight.

 

Michael                                             Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com

 

 

  

 

Blog #210

 

I got on an elevator today along with another man – tall, big, 40ish.  In other times, you would look at the person, smile, nod your head, maybe say an innocuous word or two.  Not anymore.  Now, you can’t smile at each other because you’re both wearing masks.  You can’t even make eye contact because everyone is reading a device constantly, always, 24/7.  They are reading their texts or their emails or their Twitter or Limerick Oyster.  What have we become when we no longer interact with the people around us?  We have become a sad and robotic society.  Social media has made us anti-social.  Obviously, Mr. Big-Tall-40ish and I did not communicate.  His loss.  Maybe mine too.

 

Later that day, I went to get a blood test.  I hate blood tests.  Even somebody else’s blood test!  When the young man began to take my blood, he asked me about my book.  I had a book. Is there ever a time when I’m without a book?  Is there ever a day when a mattress isn’t on sale?  I sat with this young man for 15 minutes after he was finished drawing blood.  We talked about books and his job and his trip to the Grand Canyon.  What a pleasure.  I didn’t want to leave.  He didn’t want me to leave.  Simple, friendly, social contact.  If you’re ever down on people and need a lift, just go get your blood taken.  It’s fun.

 

If I’m beginning to think that having a blood test is fun, you know I have nothing to do.  I have no worlds to conquer, no wrongs to right, no dragons to slay.  I actually went out this morning looking for a dragon to slay, but all I found was a McDonald’s.  I ordered a Bacon-Egg-Cheese-Biscuit for my grandson.  They were out of bacon.  What?  McDonald’s out of bacon?  That’s inexcusable.  It’s like Colonel Sanders running out of chicken, Nordstrom’s running out of shoes, Trump running out of combs.  I got the sandwich anyway.  I’m flexible.  Besides, it wasn’t for me.

 

Hi there and welcome back.  Are you feeling well?  Feeling Springish?  Spring will officially arrive in a few days – the Vernal Equinox, when the day and the night are the same length everywhere on the planet.  When it’s the Vernal Equinox in the Northern Hemisphere, it’s the Autumnal Equinox in the Southern Equinox and --- oh, you don’t really care.  All you care about is what time the next Meghan Markle interview is.

 

I know you’re going to hate me for this, but I’m having a hard time feeling sorry for Her Royal Highness the Duchess of Sussex.  She’s been in the news a lot lately, complaining that the people who gave her a royal wedding, a title and a palace weren’t nice to her.  Do you have a palace?  If somebody gave me a palace, I’d let them drag my nails across a chalkboard every morning.  But I guess I’m just selfish and shallow.  In addition, the Princess complains she has been depressed and has lost weight.  That’s a strange diet when you lose weight while gaining ten million pounds.  Poor Princess!

 

The Princess’s woes are alarming

Her list of complaints is disarming

She fights with the Queen

And from what I have seen,

Her Prince isn’t really that Charming.

 

I have a prediction.  Within a year, Prince Harry will jettison the Fresh Princess of Bel-Air and sidle back to the capacious skirts of Gran-mommy where, I’m sure, he will be welcomed with open tiaras.  Meanwhile, Meghan will be running around Southern California looking for a fixer-upper palace and appearing on Dancing with the Stars.

 

Last Monday was the Ides of March, another thing you don’t care about.  Neither do I so we’ll move on.  Monday was also the day we decided to go even further to find a dragon to slay.  We hopped in the car and drove to North Carolina.  My eyes are fine, we’ve been vaccinated, my daughter and her family have been vaccinated – so off we went.  Thirteen and a half hours, door to door.  Carol says it’s an easy drive.  Of course it is.  I do all the driving while she reads a book, talks to her friends, listens to Dr. Laura and sleeps.  No wonder she thinks it’s an easy drive.  Kind of like being a royal princess, except Carol’s prince is charming.

 

Message from Shakespeare:  I all alone beweep my outcast state (Sonnet 29).  Tuesday was a special day for me.  It was the one-year anniversary of when I was adopted.  And they left me home alone.  Their daughter, Abby, comes to feed me and take care of me, but it’s not the same.  I hope they come home soon.  Purr.

 

I’ve decided I need an exemption.  We all need an exemption from the political correctness culture.  It’s not fair to make people my age change everything they’ve learned and grown accustomed to all their lives.  Anybody over a certain age (say 65) should get a sticker like the ones that say I VOTED.  But this sticker should just have a big “O”.  And it doesn’t stand for Oscar Robertson and it doesn’t stand for Oprah.  It just means you’re old and your allowed to say “policeman” and eat Aunt Jemima syrup and read Dr. Seuss books.  C’mon, everybody, give us O people a break.  We’ll be gone and out of your lives soon enough.  Don’t make us spend our few remaining years worrying about what pronouns to use.  It’s not disrespect or sexism or any-ism.  We’re just at a time in our lives when it’s hard to change our ways.  We’re too O for TikTok and Bluetooth and we’re too O to figure out what to call the person who delivers our mail – a Mailman or a Femailman.  

 

Our Weekly Word is capacious, which means having a lot of space inside, roomy, but it looks like I’ve run out of room for this week, and it’s just as well.  I’ve given you enough ammunition to send me a whole basket of hate mail, but first stay well and count your blessings.  See you next week.  And Shakespeare, I’ll see you next week too.  I love you, Shakey.

 

Pops                                                  Send Hate Mail to mfox1746@gmail.com  

 

 

Blog #209

 

This is it!  I’m fed up with the Cancel Culture.  They killed the Boy Scouts; they tore down statues of the Founding Fathers.  They hate everything from the National Anthem to Mr. Potato Head.  And now they’re attacking Dr. Seuss.  These people say they’re all about love and acceptance but they hate everybody and reject everything.

 

I grew up with Dr. Seuss.  My favorite was If I Ran the Circus which came out when I was ten.  I read Dr. Seuss books to all my children and grandchildren.  When Dr. Seuss died in 1991, I wrote a “Dr. Seuss” book and sent it to his publisher.  I wanted to be his replacement – Seuss the Deuce.  The book was about a 10-year-old girl named Mary Elizabeth Mildred McNee who decided she wanted to be President when she grew up.  It started like this:

 

There’s really no limit, said Mr. Fitzbone,

To the list of the things you can do when you’re grown.

You could be a teacher, a lawyer, a judge,

A baker of biscuits, a maker of fudge;

 

You might get a job like Farina Jo Nems

Who paints little letters on red M&M’s.

You could be a farmer or make roller skates

Or maybe the President of the United States.

 

It went on for another thirty pages or so.  It was adorable.  It was clever.  It was relevant.  It was rejected.  Dr. Seuss has brought more joy and laughter and messages of love and acceptance to children around the world than any author I can think of: 

·        Messages of self-image: A person’s a person no matter how small.  Horton Hears a Who!

·        Messages of empowerment: You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself any direction you choose.  Oh, The Places You’ll Go!

·        Messages of environmentalism:  Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It’s not.  The Lorax.

 

These cancel people are unhappy with their lives and they want to erase anything and everything that makes you happy or proud.  Don’t let them.  Strangely enough, Dr. Seuss would have embraced even them.  He accepted everyone.

 

Well now they’ve attacked Dr. Seuss

There really is just no excuse

But Seuss said for certain

“A person’s a person

“No matter how mean or obtuse”

 

The Weekly Word is obtuse which means annoyingly insensitive.  Hi there and welcome back.  I hope you’re feeling well.  In retrospect, I’ve decided to consider the year 2020 a Dog Year – you know, where the dog lives one year but gets seven years older.  That’s how 2020 was for me.

 

I neglected to tell you last week that on March 3^rd I had another eye surgery, a cornea transplant.  I didn’t want you to worry about all the blood and gore and guts and pain.  Actually, it went well – no blood or gore and only a little pain.  The plan now is that, once it has healed, I’m supposed to be able to see out of that left eye.  Well, we shall see – or not.

 

The operation required an irritating recovery period during which I had to lie on my back with my nose facing the ceiling for long periods of time.  For the first 48 hours after surgery, I was in that cadaver position for 42 hours.  I spent more time on my back than the Happy Hooker.  Well, it gave me lots of time to think of erudite, illuminating and humorous things to write for you.  But I didn’t, so we’ll have to stick with the same old drivel.

 

Don’t forget that on Saturday, you will need to change to Daylight Savings Time. I’m not really good at either Springing Forward or Falling Back, although I am becoming an expert at Lying Down.  So when I get up on Sunday, I won’t be sure whether it’s 6:30 or 8:30 or even Sunday.  In Arizona, they don’t change the clocks.  They know how to keep time in Arizona.  And it’s a dry time too.

 

Whenever I am recovering from something, Carol puts a bell on the nightstand, and when I ring the bell, she magically appears like a Fairy Godmother to minister to my needs. This week, I did not use the bell even once, so she awarded me the No-Bell Prize. 

 

Message from Shakespeare:  O sleep! O gentle sleep! Nature’s soft nurse (Henry IV, Part 2.  I have sat with Pops all week, trying to be a good nurse and then he says stupid things like 2020 was a Dog Year.  It was a Cat Year, of course.  It was the year he adopted me.  Sometimes he’s such a dumb dog.  Purr.

 

My oldest grandson, Zachary is a sophomore at Duke and is very, very busy.  Too busy, apparently, to call his aging grandparents.  We try to contact him, but he always responds that he can’t talk now; he’s busy.  So imagine my glee when I received a text: POPPY, I WILL HAVE SOME TIME TO CALL YOU THIS WEEK.  That was two weeks ago.  Have you heard from him?  Me neither.  So today I sent him a text:  ZACH, I’M WORRIED ABOUT NONNIE.  SHE HAS LOST A LOT OF WEIGHT.  I ASKED HER WHY SHE’S NOT EATING.  SHE SAID SHE DIDN’T WANT HER MOUTH TO BE FULL IN CASE YOU CALLED.  I know that’s an old joke, but he probably has never heard it.  It worked.  He called and we had a great talk for 45 minutes.  He’s such a good boy!

 

It’s now the end of the week and the results are in – my eye operation was a grand success.  I can already see better than I have in years and I feel rested after lying down longer than Rip Van Winkle.  Do you know who wrote the story of Rip Van Winkle?  No, not the Brothers Grim, not Mother Goose, not Dr. Seuss.  It was Washington Irving.  By the way, if you need an eye doctor in St. Louis, I recommend Dr. Geoffrey Hill.  He did a great job on my eye and is one of the good guys besides.

 

Ok, time to go.  Stay well, count your blessings and read a Dr. Seuss book to a kid.  You’re never too old, too wacky, too wild to pick up a book and read to a child (Dr. Seuss.)  See you next week.

 

Seuss the Deuce                                 Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com

 

 

Blog #208

 

I am reading the Iliad.  Well, someone has to do it.  It’s my “side book”.  I’m reading a regular book (Cider House Rules for the third time), but I always have a side book that I read a few pages a day.  It took me 18 months to get through Origin of Species and about that long to finish Paradise Lost.  You remember the Iliad, don’t you?  Helen of Troy and the Trojan War and Brad Pitt and all the Greek gods who were busy picking sides and helping this or that warrior.   

 

I just read the part where some sexy, minor goddess named Thetis is flirting with Zeus to try to get him to help Achilles.  This is Zeus, the thunderous, all-powerful Big Kahuna of the gods.  Zeus was to the Greeks what Rush Limbaugh was to Conservatives.  Well, sly old Zeus has had a previous tryst with this little strumpet and he agrees to do what she asks, but he’s afraid of what his wife, Hera, will say.  He tells Thetis, “Hera . . . will be at me, scolding all day long.  Even as matters stand she never rests from badgering me.”   

 

This was Zeus’ way of saying, Oy, am I in trouble!  I am fascinated that Zeus, the all-powerful, lightning-throwing Master of the Greek Universe; Zeus who could command every human and every other deity in his world, could not control his own wife.  I’ll bet Kanye West knows something about that.  Kim Kardashian-West has recently filed for divorce.  I think her grounds were that he named their kids North, Psalm, Saint and Chicago.  In a recent text message to her husband, Kim warned she was taking back her old name, not to mention all of Kanye’s money.   

 

I’m going to do all my best

To empty out your treasure chest

I say this with passion

I’m taking Kardashian

But, Honey, I’ll leave you the West.

 

Oy, is he in trouble!  But not as much trouble as Andrew Cuomo, Governor of New York, who has taken a lesson from old Zeus and, allegedly, asked one of his subservient goddesses to play strip poker.  Well, she had a pair and he got a flush.  Between that and the nursing home scandal, the Governor is about as popular in New York as the Red Sox.

 

Hi there and welcome back.  I hope you’re feeling well and looking forward to Spring.  The highlight of my week was changing the date on my watch to March 1^st.  I bought the watch at Kohl’s (I call it my Kohlex) and, although it keeps time accurately, I had to manually spin through 72 hours to get to March 1^st.

 

Have you noticed that this is Blog #208?  Do you know what that means?  Well, to those of you who thought 2^nd Grade was the best three years of your life, let me explain:  208 blogs in 208 weeks; divide by 52 weeks in a year and you have four years of blogging and whining and rhyming and scolding.  How could you have put up with it all?  You deserve a medal.  And I deserve a rest.  But I, your indefatigable correspondent, will faithfully plod onward.

 

Indefatigable, our Weekly Word, means persisting tirelessly, which I shall.  Last week we had snow here in Missouri, and now it is raining.  Actually, it is pouring – really, really pouring.  I’m about to go out and look for two aardvarks.  I know, of course, that Carol is not going to join me.  She promised to love me in sickness and in health, but not in the rain.  It reminds me of the time we had planned a driving trip with another couple to Arkansas and Tennessee.  We had maps and reservations and everything, but the forecast said RAIN!  My wife had consulted the National Weather Service, NASA, the Pope and L. Ron Hubbard and decided that the weather in Arkansas 96 hours hence would not be propitious, so we cancelled.

 

Thank goodness my sweet wife was not on the ship with Columbus.  “Hey, Chris.  Did you know it was raining?  You better shut this ship up, Little Captain.  Nothing’s gonna get discovered today.  Uh-uh.  I’m not getting my hair wet for a bunch of Indians.  You can discover something tomorrow if the sun’s out.  And by the way, see if you can discover a Nordstrom’s.  These Gucci’s are killing me.”

 

I am very happy to report that Lady Gaga’s dogs, named North, Psalm, Saint and Chicago have been returned unharmed.  No, wait, those are Kanye’s children.  Gaga’s French Bulldogs are Koji and Gustav for whose safe return she had offered a reward of $500,000.  Wow, for half a million dollars, I think Queen Elizabeth would have wrapped up her Corgis and shipped them to Gaga-land via UPS (United Pooch Service).  Actually, Liz no longer has corgis, her last one having died in 2020.  Her only remaining royal pooch is a Dorgi named Candy.  A dorgi is a cross between a corgi and a dachshund.  I had a feeling you wanted to know all this.

 

Message from Shakespeare:  Bulldogs are adorable, with faces like toads that have been sat on (A Midsummer Night’s Dream).  Hey, Pops, if I were lost, how much would you pay to get me back?  I’m waiting for an answer, and remember, I still have claws.  Purr.

 

Aw, Shakespeare, you know I would never let you get lost.  And besides, who would steal a three-legged cat with a bad attitude?  Oy, am I in trouble!

 

And while we’re talking about extraordinary amounts of money, Congress is about to pass a stimulus package amounting to $1.9 trillion.  My goodness!  If we indeed have 1.9 trillion dollars or can borrow it or print it or whatever they do, why don’t we just divide that up among the poor.  It would be enough to give every American living at or below the official poverty line a check for $60,000.  Why don’t we just do that and declare poverty in America wiped out?  Doesn’t that make sense?

 

Ok, here’s a little Pop Quiz (or, as my grandchildren call it, a Poppy Quiz) to see if you’ve been paying attention.  Out of the following – Candy, North, Chicago, Gustav, Saint, Koji and Psalm – which ones are dogs and which are Kanye’s children?   Stay well, everyone, count your blessings and come back next week so we can start Year Five together.  See you then.

 

Michael                                    Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com