Blog #296                                November 10. 2022

 

Last Saturday we changed our clocks.  Last Tuesday we changed our Congress.  What a seamy, filthy, debasing and degrading process is an American election.  There is no-one you can believe – not the candidates, not the pollsters, not the news media.  For months, we are deceived, lied to, embarrassed and insulted.  But we voted, we tried, with hopes of choosing people who could lead this country in a better way.

 

Sisyphus, a character in Greek mythology was punished by Zeus, who forced him to roll an immense boulder up a hill only to have it roll back down every time it neared the top, repeating this action for eternity.  That’s how our politics strikes me.  We work and strain and sweat every two years to try to make our country better, and as soon as the voting is over, the damn rock slides right back down the hill.  So now the election is over.  Will there be a solution to our national malaise?  Can we ever stop this internecine feuding?  I certainly don’t know.  The only good news is that the political ads are over for a while, and we can get back to watching emus selling insurance, pillow guys selling slippers and fast-talking drug salesmen listing the side-effects of Eliquis.

 

Our Weekly Word is internecine, which means destructive to both sides.  Carol and I do not have any internecine squabbling when it comes to politics.  She’s a pretty smart woman.  She listens to FOX, NBC and CNN and she calls herself an Independent because she has studied both sides.  This is how she explains it:

 

“I listen to those who are Blue

“And the Red ones, I check them out too.

“Then I take what they’ve said,

“Weigh it all in my head

“And vote Democrat when I’m through.”

 

Every time.  So much for independence.

 

Hi there and welcome back.  I hope you’re feeling well.  Did you win the lottery?  Me neither.  But I bet you had it all worked out what you were going to do with the money.  I can just hear you now.  “I’ll give 100 million to each grandchild and 200 million to charity and I’ll buy the Louvre and make it a pickle-ball court and maybe a million to the nice man who writes me limericks every Thursday.”  I have more modest ambitions.  If I win the lottery, I am going to donate all my clothes and buy an entire wardrobe all of one color so that everything will match.

 

Last week, Carol had lunch with her pedicurist.  I thought that was a little bizarre to begin with, but who am I to interfere in a relationship between a woman and her pedicurist? I’m not sure where they were going, either Dunkin ToeNuts or Ruby Toesday, but I was assigned to pick her up.  She told me if I got there early, I could wait at the bar next door.  Early?  I am always early.  Always!  Punctuality is the politeness of kings!  I really didn’t want to wait at a bar, but she said just go there and try to pick up some girls.  She really said that!  How am I going to pick up some girls?  Read them my blog?  I can just see all those young women shoving each other out of the way to get closer to the raggedy old fart reading some kind of limerick gibberish.  It’s a good thing I’m not in the market to pick anyone up.  I can barely pick up my cat.  Instead, I passed the time wondering what you eat at lunch with your pedicurist.  Probably corn chowder and, of course, toe-fu.  I know, I’m corny, but at least I’m on time.

 

Message from Shakespeare:  Scratching could not make it worse .. such a face as yours (Much Ado About Nothing).  I don’t like to be picked up.  It usually means I’m being taken somewhere I don’t want to go, like to Dr. Cat to clip my nails.  The place smells like stupid, filthy dogs.  But sometimes when Pops picks me up, he just wants to turn me over and scratch my belly.  That’s pretty nice.  Purr.

 

I have a new name – it’s Sherlock.  What, I hear you cry?  How did you become Sherlock?  Well, Carol and I went out one morning to do some errands.  On the way to Trader Joe’s it began to pour.  I said, “I guess I’ll be the one running in to get the groceries.”  “No shit, Sherlock,” was her reply.  She likes rain as much as the Wicked Witch of the West.  So I ran in to Trader Joe’s and got drenched.  But never fear, my princess stayed as dry as Death Valley!  A full-fledged Jewish Princess in ultimate bloom is a frightening thing.  I hope my daughters are fortunate enough to follow in their mother’s glass slipper.

 

I actually like going to the grocery store with my wife.  It’s a nice walk up and down the aisles and I get to wave at all the stuff I’m no longer allowed to eat.  The last time we went, I dropped Carol at the grocery store’s left entrance.  What are you doing? she asked.  You see, in Missouri we always shop from right to left, although in Israel, I’m pretty sure they shop from left to right.  I’m miserable, she said.  The phrase I’m Miserable spoken to a husband is akin to the phrase Code Blue spoken to a doctor, and requires the same urgency and attention.  Every morning, Carol walks a few miles on the treadmill, but the thought of walking from the dairy section to the produce is too exhausting.  It’s like Frank Sinatra used to sing: “Oh, it’s a long, long way from milk to cucumber.”   Of course, she could never be expected to shop from left to right.  She’d have to read her list upside down!  So I drove her to the right-side entrance.  Good boy!  Good Sherlock!  I’m not embarrassed.  It is, after all, my proud and sworn oath to protect my bride from unwanted weather or exercise. 

 

And it is also my proud and sworn duty to be back next week with more stuff for you.  It might even be funny, so don’t miss it.  Stay well, count your blessings and buy some more lottery tickets.  Maybe this time, you’ll win. 

 

Sherlock                                  Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com