Blog #235                                         September 9, 2021

 

Carol and I usually have Sunday dinner with our daughter Abby and her wonderful family.  At dinner, my wife often introduces some audacious question for the kids to answer.  They love it.  Her question this week was, “What are you going to say at my funeral?”  They all laughed and said funny things about their Nonnie.  Carol moped.  She was not satisfied with the level of love and admiration they displayed.  She wants them to work on their speeches and have a dry run.  I think that’s a fabulous idea – have a dry run of your funeral and hear what everybody is going to say while you still have the opportunity to change your will.

 

Hi there and welcome back.  I hope you’re feeling well.  Our Weekly Word today is audacious, which means showing a willingness to take bold risks.  And now, I will show my own penchant for audacity by venturing into the world of political correctness.  Pray for me.

 

I met a tourist at the Zoo this week, a man about my age, which means somewhat older than Bill Clinton and somewhat younger than the Pyramids.  He said he hadn’t been to the Zoo since he was a kid.  I told him he was still a kid.  Everybody’s a kid at the Zoo.  Paul the Apostle said, When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things.  With all due respect to Paul (you have to be nice to Apostles), I suspect he was never a grandfather.  Grandfathers are just wrinkled little boys who have never “put away childish things” and still have their youthful love of toys and sports and zoos.  I was young and foolish then: now I am old and foolisher. (Mark Twain).

 

One of the things that we Grandpas do well is reading books to the kids.  I decided once to read them Alice in Wonderland, so I picked it up at the library.  When I got home, I noticed it was not the Alice I grew up with, but a new, improved, politically-correct version called Alice in California.  The plot was similar, but the characters had all been given new names.  There were:

 

§  Tweedle Dee and Tweedle 40^th Percentile

§  The White Privileged Rabbit

§  The Woke Hatter

§  The Walrus and The Union Middle-Class Craftsman

§  The Queen of Color

 

Next week I’m going to read Snow White and the Seven Vertically Challenged Asexual White Men.

 

And if the boys like trains and G. I. Joes, the girls still like dolls.  All right, all you feminists out there -- shoot me, drop me into a vat of organic beet juice, make me listen to old Joan Baez 8-tracks.  I can’t help it if my granddaughters like dolls. One of them wanted some accessories for her American Girl doll.  But when we tried to do the shopping, we found out that her doll was not purchased at American Girl.  It was, as they say, a knock-off.  I choose to refer to it as an Undocumented Doll.  I wonder if you can take your Undocumented Doll to American Girl for lunch.  Well, they can’t refuse to serve the doll, can they?  That’s discrimination!  They can’t refuse service on the basis of age, race, gender, or factory of origin.  The Doll has rights too.  I want a lawyer, a member of the ABA, the American Barbie Association.  I want the NAACP, the National Association for the Advancement of Cabbage Patch.  How about the NRA -- Natives for Raggedy Ann?  We need a sit-in, a demonstration, a boycott.  Or in this case, a girlcott – an American Girlcott.  

 

And now American Girl has a new line of dolls.  If you press the little button under the arm, a recording of the Star-Spangled Banner plays and the doll automatically takes a knee.  It’s called the Un-American Girl Doll.

 

As I was driving home from the Zoo yesterday, I saw a big white van in the lane next to me.  It was an extended passenger van that could hold 10 or 12 people I suppose.  On the side of the van, in big orange letters, it read Machu Picchu Tours.  Machu Picchu, for those of you who think Central America includes Kansas, is in the Peruvian Andes.  Now I’ve been lost many times in my life, but I’ve never been that lost.  I mean, I’ve been known to miss an exit, but this guy missed an entire continent.

 

Professors at school tried to teach you

But somehow they just couldn’t reach you

They erred in their thinkin’

That any old Incan

Would know how to find Machu Picchu.

 

I live to write limericks, and the second I saw that van, I knew I had a challenge.  I don’t even know if the poem makes sense, but to rhyme both Incan and Machu Picchu in one limerick – well, if I smoked, I’d light up a cigar or if I drank, I’d give myself a toast.

 

One more thing and I’ll let you go.  I have this little thing with my foot, and Dr. Foot suggested I wear a thin cushion in my shoe.  Do you know what that means?  With the cushion, I am now 1/32 of an inch taller.  I feel so lofty.  I’m High in Hialeah, Tall in Tallahassee, Macho in Machu Picchu.  Ok, I’m also getting Boring in Bora Bora.

 

Message from Shakespeare:  Speak on, but be not over tedious (Henry VI, Part 1).  Mostly, he’s boring wherever he is, but I put up with him because he plays with me and buys me toys.  He even tried to read me a book.  It was called Puss in Three Boots.  Purr. 

 

Happy New Year to all of my Jewish readers.  On the Hebrew calendar, it is now the year 5781.  Seems like only yesterday it was 3528.  My, how the years fly by!  Whatever calendar you use -- the Hebrew, the Gregorian or the Incan -- may the next year be a safe and happy one for each of you.  And now it’s time to go. Stay well, be calm and count your blessings.  See you next week.

 

Michael                                   Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com