Blog #306                                          January 19, 2023

 

This week, we celebrated Martin Luther King Day.  Dr. King would have been 94 this year, but he’s not because he’s dead.  Of all the national holidays, only three recognize an individual – ML King Day, Christmas and Columbus Day.  I’m not sure why we have a day for Columbus, an Italian guy working for a Spanish queen who never actually set foot anywhere in the United States.  The only American who has his own day is Dr. King.  Not George Washington, not Abraham Lincoln, not Jefferson, not FDR or JFK or LBJ.  Not even Meghan Markel.

 

In January of 1969, almost one year after Dr. King was assassinated, before there was a day attached to his name, I was teaching math at Kinloch High School, a school with all black students, all black staff and all black teachers – except for me.  On his birthday, which was January 15^th back then, not some convenient Monday, the school had an assembly to mourn Dr. King’s death, and every speaker denounced the devil White People.  That was fun.  Being easy to spot, I actually hid under the bleachers.  True!  Here’s another true story.  I was in a bank recently, and I noticed the name-plate in front of one of the tellers said her name was Robirda.  I said to her, “You know, fifty years ago I taught high school and I had a student named Robirda.”  Where did you teach, she asked?  Kinloch, I said.  She smiled at me.  That was my Gran-mama, she said.  Talk about feeling old!

 

Hi there and welcome back.  I hope you are all feeling well.  Thank you for your kind wishes and concerns.  After my eye surgery. I spent most of five days lying on my back.  Some days it was 22 hours.  It was torture, as endless as waiting for a hockey season to finish, as frightening as being stuck in an elevator with the My Pillow guy, as boring as sitting in a Corvette in Joe Biden’s garage for six years guarding his documents.

 

Ok, just warming up here, exercising the old funny bone.  One of my friends suggested I trade in my cat for a seeing-eye dog. Kind of like trading in a car with only three wheels.

 

Message from Shakespeare: I count myself in nothing else so happy, as in a soul remembering my good friend (Richard II).  Seeing-eye dog!  That’s not happening.  You think he’s going to have a Message from Stupid Fido in every blog?  And I don’t care if he can’t see me.  I can always find him.  He’s the one whose clothes don’t match.  Don’t worry.  I’ll take care of him.  Purr.

 

In addition to Shakespeare, of course, my loyal bride is taking care of me as well.  As soon as we got back from the surgery, she placed a bell on my night-stand.  Do you remember the Ed Sullivan show where some Swiss milkmaid would appear with a row of bells?  The bells were lined up in order of size, and Heidi would grab them to play Somewhere Over the Rainbow by shaking them with strength and enthusiasm as if she were servicing a group of shepherds in the . . . wait, maybe different people have different images of her act.  Ed must have liked it; he invited her back four more times.

 

Where was I?  All these Heidi images have confused me.  The bell.  My bell was the littlest one, the final I in why oh why can’t I.  If I needed anything, I would ring the bell and Nurse Speedy for the Needy, Nurse Quick for the Sick would whoosh in like a mama hawk to see what her baby needed. I don’t know about Heidi, but Carol has always rung my bell.

 

I do have trouble reading a book, so I tried listening to music on the radio.  But somehow all I could get were Gangsta Rap stations.  Do your grandchildren like Gangsta Rap?  I’m not really sure what it is, but my grandchildren like it.  My, how popular music has changed!  We’ve gone from I Wanna Hold Your Hand to I Wanna Be Your Pimp.  From You Light Up My Life to You Light Up My Bong.  From Bye Bye Miss American Pie to Hello You Bitch Ho!  I made up those Gangsta Rap song titles because I looked up the real songs and the names were not fit to print.  What a world!

 

What is it about music that soothes us or excites us or makes us dance?  From an evolutionary perspective, it probably comes from birds and monkeys using sounds to attract mates.  So even the most ancient members of our species probably “sang”.  Of course, back then before the invention of the wheel, it wasn’t Rock n’ Roll, it was Rock n ’Rock.  I wonder who their big singing stars were.  Probably Sheryl Cro-Magnon, Rolling Stonehenge and Dinah-Saur (see the USA in your Pterodactyl).  If I can’t read or listen to music, maybe I’ll be like Don Quixote and “withdraw into the mountains in the company of a hermit.”  Except that one hermit plus another hermit do not make two hermits; they just make two guys who were not very good hermits at all.  And yes, to all you grammatically observant busy-bodies out there, “do not make” is correct.  I think.

 

And how, you might ask, am I writing this highly entertaining and informative blog if my vision is impaired?  It is because I have changed the size of the type on my computer screen from Lilliputian to Brobdingnagian.  What?  Our Weekly Word shall be Brobdingnagian which means gigantic and refers to the giants in the book Gulliver’s Travels as opposed to the tiny creatures called Lilliputians.  I guess I’m somewhere in the middle, between gigantic and tiny, except for one part:

 

I’m sorry to say, but my parts

Are midway on medical charts

Except for the best

‘Cause right here in my chest

Is a big, Brobdingnagian heart.

 

You thought I was going to say something else, didn’t you?  Shame on you.  But I love you anyway.  You light up my bong.  I trust that all you Brobdingnagians and all you Lilliputians and everyone in between will stay well, count your blessings and find your way back here next week.  I’ll leave breadcrumbs.

 

Michael                                             Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com