Blog #237

 

“Travel makes one modest,” said Flaubert, “you see what a tiny place you occupy in the world.”  I like travel books and history books and foreign novels.  They take me to places I’ve never been and to times long ago.  I see exotic cities and listen to exotic people and learn many, many things.  And yes, I learn humility as well.  How insignificant and puny we are!  We live in a place that is microscopic compared to the size of the Earth, in a time dwarfed by the thousands of years of human existence, in a society that is only the most recent of the uncountably different ways of life.  In all likelihood we will pass without leaving a mark.  Mae West said, “You only live once, but if you work it right, once is enough,” so I am satisfied with my place in this progression of life, for I have my humility and my family and my books – and you!

 

Yes, I have you, my loyal readers.  Hi there and welcome back to Limerick Oyster where together each week we embark on a new adventure.  That’s what I need – an adventure!  I seem to be in one of those low and slow periods right now.  Feeling useless and unwanted – feeling like Motel 6 would not leave the light on for me.  Do you ever feel like that?  Nothing to do?  As bored as Venus de Milo’s manicurist?  As lonely as Donald Trump’s humility coach? 

 

We need an adventure, but alas, I don’t think it’s in the cards for me.  The South Seas?  Timbuktu?  Galapagos?  Who am I kidding?  I’m never going to get there.  The biggest adventure I have all day is discovering where I put my keys.  What adventure book am I going to write?  Dulliver’s Travels.  The most exciting thing that’s happened to me all week was getting a flu shot.  So far in 2021, I’ve gotten three vaccine shots and a flu shot and I have not fainted, thrown up or gotten woozy.  I do think, however, that my left arm is losing air.

 

Carol watched the Emmys this week.  She watches all the awards shows –Emmy, Tony, Gracie, Critics Choice, Oscar, American Music, SAG, Grammy.  And all these awards are being given to rich people clad in luxurious jewelry and outrageously expensive wardrobes.  People to whom “summer” is a verb.  Where are the awards for ordinary people?  Where are the Run of the Mill Awards that go to the average men and women who get up every morning, go to work, raise a family and make life as stable and comfortable as they can for themselves and their children?  And all without the help of a makeup artist or a life coach.  And without lying to a university that their daughter was a rower.  Where are the Average Joe and Jane Awards for the hardworking construction worker or plumber or nurse or teacher who can’t afford a new car every year and who respond to the question who are you wearing by saying Oscar de la Walmart?

 

Summer is over now, and Autumn is a few days old.  I like Autumn.  Of course, at my age, I like any season that will have me.  Still, wouldn’t it be nice to spend Summer in Aspen, Autumn in Vermont, Winter in Florence and Spring in Paris?  I’ll be spending all of those seasons in my condo, I suppose, but that’s fine.  My home is filled with wonderful things – a beautiful wife, a beautiful three-legged cat and my computer, where I can find you every Thursday.

Message from Shakespeare:     You have no such mirrors as will turn Your hidden worthiness into your eye (Julius Caesar).  Did you hear that?  He called me beautiful.  Maybe I am, although I never look in a mirror.  It’s too frightening to look in a mirror.  Every time Pops does, I hear him cry, Mirror, Mirror, on the wall – what the Hell happened?  Purr.

 

Last Thursday was the Jewish holiday, Yom Kippur, during which many celebrants fast all day.  My wife fasts, but I’m not sure how much good it does.  How could she get any faster?

 

The Universe couldn’t be vaster

Nor Covid a greater disaster

The truth can’t be truer

The sky can’t be bluer

And Carol can’t get any faster.

 

She is, after all, the Princess of Lickety Split.  She walks fast; she thinks fast; she plays cards fast.  And me?  One of her complaints about me is that I drive too slowly.  At least I drive, even at night.  I don’t understand what’s so hard about driving at night.  I can get lost in the dark as easily as I get lost in the daylight.

 

What shall we talk about now?  Whenever I get writer’s block or athlete’s foot or trench mouth or whatever it’s called when you run out of things to say, I look up the strange news on Google.  Here’s what I found:  Researchers in Germany successfully trained cows to use a small, fenced-in area with artificial turf flooring as a bathroom stall.  They trained cows to go in a litter box?  Ok, so what am I going to do with that?  I could write a limerick, I guess.  Litter does rhyme with shitter, after all, but somehow my strange mind decided to do some research instead.  There are 90 million cows and cattle in the United States, a statistic which makes the green crowd scream with horror – cholesterol and cow farts and the planet is doomed!  And yet, back in the elysian days before the dreaded White Man arrived, there were 60 million bison, a comparable number, and the Plains were full of bison and grass and Native Americans and sunshine, lollipops and rainbows.

 

Before Columbus (ugh, horrible, tear his statue down!), there were only 4 million people living in what is now the United States.  Now there are 330 million.  So, whereas the bison/cow population has gone up by 50%, the human population has exploded by 8,200%.   So now who do you think is responsible for farting up the atmosphere with methane gas?

 

I’ll leave you with that thought.  The Weekly Word is elysian, which means peaceful and perfect – just like next week’s blog is going to be.  I promise.  Don’t miss it.  Until then, stay well, count your blessings, take a Gas-X and I’ll see you next Thursday. 

 

Michael                                    Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com