Blog # 329                               June 29, 2023

 

Happy Fourth of July to everyone.  It was in 1776 that our Founding Fathers, “preferring hard liberty before the easy yoke of servile pomp” decided to declare independence from England.  We wanted our own government, our own laws, and our own version of American Idol.  The quote about “preferring hard liberty” is from John Milton’s Paradise Lost, a tough read, but worth it in spades!  I get my kicks above the waistline, Sunshine.

 

The Fourth of July is coming up next Tuesday.  It celebrates our flag and our Constitution and our national Anthem.  Do you have a problem with any of that?  Well, some people do and they show it with protests and demonstrations.  But just like other things, protests just aren’t what they used to be.  In the 1960s, we had real protests – fiery protests.   Feminists burned their bras, anti-war activists burned the flag, students burned the ROTC building, blacks burned Watts and the occasional Buddhist burned himself.  Those were the days!  Everybody had a Zippo and they knew how to use it.

 

Hi there and welcome back.  I hope you are feeling well and getting your rest, because you know you will have to stay up late on the Fourth.  I’m throwing out a suggestion about Independence Day.  I think we should move it to the middle of December.  In December, we could start the fireworks at 5:00, eat some ribs and be in bed by 8:00.  In July, we don’t start until 9:00 and we get home way too late.  I need my beauty sleep.  Don’t you dare send me a snarky little response to that! 

 

And you’d better rest up, because next week is Carol’s Birthday, an unending Bacchanalian fête lasting the length of a hockey season, during which she is taken to lunches, dinners, brunches and snacks by every woman, it seems, in North America.  There are so many cakes and candles that I believe it affects the global temperature. 

 

Bacchanalia is a good word, good enough to be our Weekly Word.  It means a drunken revelry, not exactly descriptive of a lunch with Carol and her friends, but a good word nonetheless.

 

The almost-birthday girl is at this moment in the other room doing the Sudoku, reading a book and watching a talent show.  She watches them all – America’s Got Talent, The Voice, Idol, Dancing With the Stars.  She doesn’t miss any of them, and now the library of talent shows is expanding rapidly.  She’s already started to tape two new ones.  The first pits the two front-running candidates for President in 2024.  It’s called America Doesn’t Have Talent.  The other features a bunch of young Vietnamese women competing against each other and is called So You Think You Can Polish.

 

Have I shared with you my research into what historical figures were Jewish?

 

·        Guinevere was Jewish.  Why do you think King Arthur had to have a round table?

·        Cleopatra was Jewish.  She would never admit she was growing older.  That’s why they called her the Queen of Denial.  (If you didn’t get that one, well, I don’t know what to say.)

·        And then there was the Wicked Witch of the West.

 

Of course she is one of the Jews

It’s clear if you follow the clues

She’s afraid of the rain

Has her own private plane

And she’d kill for a pair of red shoes.

 

I was at Walmart the other day, and I saw a guy with a parrot on his shoulder – a small, colorful and well-behaved parrot.  I have seen them before.  It must be a support bird.  So now I have to tell you my favorite parrot joke.  A woman buys a parrot and brings it home.  When she takes the covering off the cage, the parrot looks around and says, Awk, this place looks like shit.  The woman immediately grabs the parrot and throws him in the freezer.  Two hours later, she takes him out and puts him back in his cage.  He is shivering miserably.  She asks the parrot if he knows why he was punished.  Awk, it was because I said a bad word.  I promise I will never do that again, but I have a question – what did the chicken do?

 

Message from Shakespeare:  My lungs began to crow like chanticleer (As You Like It).  If I could talk like a parrot, Pops could carry me around on his shoulder and I could tell everybody that I’m the smartest three-legged cat in the whole world.  Purr.

 

Last Thursday, we flew to Florida.  It was a very strange adventure.  As we waited in St. Louis to board the first leg to Houston, we were informed our plane was delayed by an hour.  We needed to make a 3:00 flight in Houston, but still had time.  Then I began getting emails from Southwest Air telling me that the 3:00 flight from Houston to Fort Lauderdale was delayed to 5:00, then 8:30, then 9:30, then 3:00 then 5:30, then 3:30.  All of these emails came in a period of half an hour.  Then I heard an announcement – Would Michael Fox please come to the counter.  I advanced to the counter and was told I’m not going to make the connection and need to be re-routed.  I became confused.  Then the agent became confused.  Then a young man came up to the counter and said he was Michael Fox.  That was freaky.  Two of us on one flight.

 

We got on the plane, and I decided that we needed to sit up front and get off the plane as soon as possible to make our connection.  Carol sat in the first row, center seat between two slim men.  I took the first row, center on the other side between Mothra and Godzilla.  The woman on my right needed a seat-belt extender and the one on my left needed a crane.  I seriously could not sit straight back, but had to turn my body sideways to squeeze between the world’s biggest salt and pepper shakers.  What a flight!  After all of that, we landed in Florida right on time.

 

As my favorite Wicked Witch would say, what a world, what a world.  No, I’m not talking about Carol.  Shame on you.  Stay well, count your blessings and may the Fourth (of July) be with you.

 

Michael                                             Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

Blog #328                                June 22, 2023

 

The Travelling Foxes are leaving once again, this time to Sunny South Florida to visit Carol’s sister (Linda) and her husband (Larry) and to help them celebrate their 60^th wedding anniversary.  I was at their wedding sixty years ago.  Carol and I had been dating for only a couple of months, but she invited me to be her squire and dance-partner.  We were 17.  I was a good dancer back then.  When I was 12-13-14, I would win all the jitterbug contests with my dance-partner Judy.  I don’t remember much about my sister-in-law’s wedding except how beautiful my date looked in her peach bridesmaid gown and how much fun it was to dance the jitterbug and the twist with her and hold her close on the slow dances.  We were pretty good dancers back then.  Sixty years later now, and she’s still my beautiful dance-partner.

 

Hi there and welcome back.  I hope you’re feeling well and dancing as fast as you can.  And I hope you all enjoyed a nice Father’s Day.  As you know, yesterday was the longest day of the year.  It was so long, the grocery stores got to raise prices twice.  It was so long that I had time to see two different doctors.

 

I have a bunch of doctors.  People my age have to have a whole panoply of doctors, one for every specialty and another just to keep track of the others.

 

I need Dr. Heart for my chest

And two for my eyes would be best

One for throat, ears and nose

One for fingers and toes

And one just to spy on the rest

 

I used to have only one doctor.  He gave me lollipops.  This week, I had to visit Dr. Gland for a test.  The first thing they did was weigh me and measure my height.  “Please don’t tell me my height, “I begged.  “It’s depressing.”  They told me anyway.  Holy Thumbelina!  Pretty soon I’ll be borrowing clothes from a Ken Doll.  Senile Barbie and Shrinking Ken visit the Home.  I used to be average in height, but these past few years?  Just call Snow White and have her set the table for eight.  I’ll fit right between Happy and Dopey.  They’ll call me Poppy.  Hey, eight will make it easier to get up a couple of bridge tables.  I’ve actually played bridge with people I would describe as Sleepy, Grumpy and Dopey.  No names please.  The test results were fine, but nobody gave me a lollipop.

 

And now for a little vignette which actually happened a couple of days ago.  My neighbor, Betty, called me.  She was in the lower-level garage of our building and was charged with the task of moving another neighbor’s car from one space to another.  The car was a new Mercedes and she was having trouble understanding its workings, so she called me.  She should know by now that I’m as good at mechanical things as a snake is at playing the violin. But I went down to look.  The car was red and beautiful and German.  Now, I have nothing against the Germans, although they did kill six million of my kin and bygones be bygones and all that.  Still, I could live without German cars.  But there was no choice; the car needed to be moved.

 

I got into the driver’s seat.  Betty said, “I have the fob in my purse, and the car is keyless.”  Good, I said, a perfect match -- it’s keyless and I’m clueless.  I pushed a round button and the car started with an angry growl befitting a Sturmbannfürer.  So far, so good.  Now to shift to reverse.  I looked for a lever or switch or anything that might shift gears.  I stayed away from the button marked Zyklon B.  Finally, we noticed a small appendage sticking from the steering column that had an R and a D printed on it.  But who knows?  In German, the R could stand for Rousenmovenuppin and the D for Derbackenrollen.  Eventually, we got the little kruppmobile moved to the right spot, although it took us longer than it takes to shine a centipede’s shoes.  Please, just give me a good, old American car – like my Toyota Corolla.

 

Let’s make our Weekly Word vignette, which means a brief description or episode.

 

It’s about 8:00 on a warm summer evening now.  Shakespeare is watching a cat video on his computer and I have just gotten up from reading a bit in my monster Stephen King book (monster both in size and subject matter).  It’s very peaceful.

 

It was peaceful at the Zoo yesterday as well.  I talked with dozens and dozens of visitors and handed out maps.  I gave a map to a young lady, and I was about to give one to her husband, but he waved me off.  “I’ll just follow her,” he said.  Great idea, I said; I’ve been doing the same thing for 56 years.

 

Which brings me to SIRI, another woman whose voice I follow like a puppy follows his mother.  My daughter has a SIRI that sounds like a British man, and she told me she could change it to sound like all kinds of voices, even Cookie Monster. “Take next exit, go to Quik Shop, buy me cookie.”  I asked her if she could program my SIRI to sound like Carol’s voice.  She somehow got it to work, but the first time I used the Carol-Voice to get directions, it said, “Are you lost yet, Mr. Magoo?  It’s a good thing I’m here or you’d wind up in Ethiopia.  Get into the other lane.  And put your foot on it.  I don’t have all day.  And turn the A/C off.  I’m cold.”

 

Message from Shakespeare:  They that have voice of lions, … are they not monsters? (Troilus and Cressida).  I have the voice of a lion – a little, tiny lion – but Pops should put my voice on his phone.  I can only say meow and purr, but he knows exactly what I’m saying:  feed me, pet me, buy me a new toy.  It’s the same things Carol says.  Purr.

 

Wait, there’s that Carol-SIRI voice again:  That’s enough.  I’m bored.  Tell these people who think you’re funny to stay well and count their blessings and get this blog over with.

 

Yes Dear                        Send comments to:  mfox1746@gmail.com

 

 

 

 

Blog #327                                        June 15, 2023

 

I pick on my wife a lot in my blogs, especially last week, but this week I promise not to pick on her.  Last Sunday was our 56^nd Anniversary.  Carol is a beautiful and special partner who has given me a spectacular family and a glorious 56 years.  She is the sunshine of my life! So, Honey, in honor of our anniversary, I won’t pick on you this week.

 

There, that was easier than buying a bunch of flowers, wasn’t it?  Seriously, Carol and I have had a wonderful marriage, although sometimes I feel like we have failed to share things equably.  For instance, we have, between us, two holes-in-one.  She has both.  And we have, between us, 112 wrinkles.  I have them all.

 

I recently saw a bumper sticker that read:  MARRIAGE IS FINDING THAT ONE SPECIAL PERSON YOU CAN ANNOY FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE

 

I’m going to put one on my car that reads:  MARRIAGE IS FINDING THAT ONE SPECIAL PERSON YOU CAN SHARE EVERYTHING WITH. YOUR TRIUMPHS AND YOUR FAILURES. YOUR BAD JOKES AND YOUR MEDICAL PROBLEMS. YOUR PRIDE AND YOUR EMBARRASSMENT. YOUR SMILE AND HER SMILE.  EVEN YOUR PIZZA.

 

I’m gonna need a bigger bumper.  Then I saw another bumper sticker that said: I AM A VETERINARIAN, SO I AM PERMITTED TO DRIVE LIKE AN ANIMAL. And I thought, man there must be a lot of proctologists out there.

 

There’s another woman I call Honey, and I bought her lunch last week.  She is tall and slender and was very amiable as I fed her romaine leaves from the end of a three-foot pointed stick.  Honey is a giraffe at the Zoo.  The Zoo has added a giraffe-feeding experience, and today a group of volunteers and employees were asked to be the guinea pigs to see if the giraffes would cooperate.  I was first in line and Honey was very appreciative.  And really tall! 

 

I was down and I needed a laugh

So I went out and fed a giraffe

But her gigantic size

Means I’m forced to revise

And call it a laugh and a half.

 

Hi there and welcome back.  Yes, we’re back from North Carolina and my granddaughter’s high school graduation (and her spectacular Valedictory Speech).  I hope you are feeling well today.

 

One night in North Carolina, we went to an Italian restaurant for dinner.  Have you ever been to the Rest Room in an Italian restaurant?  Most rest rooms are decorated with paintings or pictures of the owner’s family or newspaper clippings.  Italian rest rooms have pictures of murderers and mob bosses.  The fanciest one in St. Louis has pictures of Marlon Brando as the Godfather and James Gandolfini as Tony Soprano.  This place in North Carolina had (not kidding) mug shots of various famous Italian murderers.  Apparently, the Italians are prouder of their criminals than of their Chicken Cacciatore.  Perhaps the cook is an ex-con.  If you’ve been in the can, you make cannoli or cannelloni.  And for dessert, Strawberry Jailato.

 

Well, what am I going to talk about now?  I’m reading a Stephen King book that’s 600 pages long.  If he can write 600 pages, I ought to be able to write another two for you.  Let’s see if Shakespeare has something to say.

 

Message from Shakespeare:  Write till your ink be dry (Two Gentlemen of Verona).  I can’t write very well.  I only have one hand.  And I didn’t know you wrote with ink.  But I can tell you what I think about Pops feeding giraffes.  Can a giraffe curl up on your lap and be happy playing in a shoebox?  Stay away from those stretched-out, ugly ponies and save the food for someone who loves you.  Like me.  Purr.

 

We stayed at a Marriott Residence in North Carolina.  It was a very nice place and we liked it – until the last night.  We got back to the room at about 9:30, tired and ready for bed.  Immediately, I heard Carol shriek, “They’ve stolen our sheets.” We had specified that we didn’t want any housekeeping for the three nights, but someone had come in, removed the sheets and pillow cases and had not replaced them.  I went downstairs to engage the Night Person, a frustrating and officious little man.  I reported the Case of the Missing Linen.  He disappeared and returned in ten minutes with the information that he would get me some replacements.  I waited another fifteen minutes, at which time he surfaced and gave me a bundle of sheets, 

 

Aren’t you going to make the bed?

I’m not housekeeping.

Is there anyone from housekeeping here?

Not at night.

Are you the manager?

No.

Then what are you?

You’re being very rude.

 

Which was the first thing he had said all night that made sense.  I took the linen upstairs.  There were no pillow cases and the bottom sheet was the wrong size.  We went to sleep anyway.

 

The next morning, we went downstairs and found the manager.  Carol gave me a look.  I am a graduate of the Ricky Ricardo School of Obedience and knew her look meant: Sit down, Attila, and keep your mouth shut.  Under my wife’s persuasion, the manager agreed to give us the last night at no charge.

 

Officious (our Weekly Word) means assertive of authority in an annoying, domineering way.  Just the kind of people you hate.

 

My St. Louis daughter just called to ask me what I wanted for Father’s Day dinner.  It really didn’t matter what I said, because my better half will intervene and change it to something she likes.  Now, a praying mantis is a thoughtful creature.  After copulation, the female mantis immediately eats her mate, saving him from decades of mental torture.  Not being as fortunate as a male mantis, I have been through 56 years of this Lucy pulling the football away from Charlie Brown routine, and this year, I just told my daughter to call her mother and ask what I wanted for dinner.  It saves time and who cares anyway? It’s only one meal.  It all comes out the same color in the morning. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

So have a happy Father’s Day and just eat what she tells you to.  I’ll be back next week.  Until then, stay well and count your blessings.  I’m sure counting mine.

 

Michael                          Send comments to:  mfox1746@gmail.com

 

Blog #326                                June 8, 2023

 

Nobody’s perfect!  Certainly not yours truly.  Last week’s L. Oyster included an email address with a typographical error, so that all of your loving and admiring comments got rerouted to Jimmy Hoffa or L. Ron Hubbard or who-knows-where.  The problem was addressed quickly, but I apologize.  I personally respond to every comment I receive, so if you didn’t receive a response from me – well, maybe you heard from L. Ron.  Once again, as the young people say, “my bad.”  As the Catholics say, “mea culpa.”  As Jewish husbands say, “Yes, dear.”

 

What a week!  Tuesday was the 25^th Wedding Anniversary of my oldest daughter (Jennifer in NC).  Today is the 22^nd birthday of my oldest grandchild (Zachary in NC).  Tomorrow, we leave for that very same NC to attend the high school graduation of my #3 grandchild, Alyssa, and to watch her give the Valedictory Speech to her class of 600.  And Sunday will be our anniversary.

 

Fifty-six years ago, on the 11th of June in 1967, my wife and I were married and all our hopes, aspirations and dreams were combined into one – hers!  We made the normal vows – to love and to cherish (that was my vow), to honor and obey (I think that was mine too).  She must have made some vows, but I forget what they were.  I think she vowed to stay dry. 

 

“There he goes picking on Carol again,” I hear you girls cry. (I don’t care what age you are, you’re still girls to me.)  Hey, you know I love her and am her willing and loving slave.  Besides, you should thank me for picking on my wife every Thursday.  If your husband reads the blog, then he will realize that his wife (that’s you) isn’t the only one who tells him how to dress and what to eat and where to park.  Now, if he complains, all you have to say is – Don’t yell at me, Carol does the same thing.  And to you guys -- hey, we always have a choice.   We can do what she tells us, or we can regret it later.

 

Hi there and welcome back.  I hope you’re feeling well and staying dry.  It’s been easy to stay dry lately, since we have had very little rain in St. Louis, but a few weeks ago my granddaughter had a soccer game.  The Princess of Never-go-out-in-the-rain and I were both in attendance, where Charley played well and the team won. The weather was perfect until 60 seconds after the game ended, when the skies threatened to open up with an un-forecast deluge.  Carol said, give me the car keys, and hightailed it out to the parking lot like an impala fleeing a cheetah, leaving her loyal husband to drown on the concrete path.  She made it to the Ark, although she had to kick a couple of Unicorns out of the way.  By the time I got there, I was as wet as Lloyd Bridges and she was as dry as a matzo.  I can hear you now – Don’t yell at me, Carol does the same thing.

 

I’m very excited to report that four of my grandchildren are employed.  Two in North Carolina have real jobs, and the two high-schoolers in St. Louis have summer jobs.  And I was just offered a position.  I was shopping at our local super market, having picked up some cat food for Shakespeare and a banana for Carol, and I would have self-checked but one of the checkers was looking lonely, so I went there.  We began talking about grocery prices, and she told me that she lives alone and always buys the same things every week.  Last year, her weekly list cost her $40.  This year it was $82.  Now that’s what inflation is, my friends.  What you hear on television is a lie.  I responded, flippantly, that groceries were so expensive, I had to live on cat food and bananas.  She laughed and handed me a flyer recruiting part-time workers for their stores.  I was interested.  I wouldn’t mind earning some extra money as a Distribution Consultant.

 

It's true my finances are drastic

But I just found a job that’s fantastic

I can start any day

Once I’ve learned how to say

“Would you prefer paper or plastic?”

 

Message from Shakespeare:  ‘Tis no sin for a man to labour in his vocation (Henry IV, Part 1).  I have a job too.  I provide Pops with someone to spoil, pet, take care of and buy presents for.  That’s my job.  And don’t yell at me, Carol does the same thing.  Purr.

 

“Like sands through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives.”  And now it's time for another Covid booster, so I had to go online to make my appointment at CVS.  I wanted to just call CVS and talk to someone, but I understand they don’t want their staff wasting time on the phone, so there I was online.  I’d rather have a tooth pulled.  But I started and stopped and failed and somehow managed to make an appointment for myself at 11:00 the next day.  But when I tried to make an appointment for Carol, I discovered that making an appointment for Person B on Person A’s computer was more intricate than setting up a mahjong game with the Pope.  But, through the right combination of patience and dumb, stupid luck, I somehow was successful in making an appointment for Carol at the same place, on the same day, but at 3:00 p.m.  So I called the pharmacy direct and asked if we could both get the shots at 11:00.  Of course we could, the pharmacist replied.  So much for the plan to save the staff from answering phone calls.

 

I just took a break to read my e-mails.  Each week I get a lot of e-mails from you, mostly complimentary.  Things like you’re very funny and I never knew you were that funny.  Dave Barry said, “Being funny, when it’s your job, is work.”  I suppose it is, but it’s fun.

 

Weekly Word:  Valedictory means, simply, farewell, and a valedictory speech is a farewell speech.  My valedictory message to you now is to stay well, count your blessings and come see me next week.  And would you prefer paper or plastic?

 

Michael                                             mfox1746@gmail.com

                                                          This one’s right.

 

 

 

 

Blog #325                                June 1, 2023

 

More apartment buildings, more strip malls, more Starbucks!  What have we done to our planet?  In the sage and prescient lyrics of Joni Mitchell, we’ve “paved Paradise and put up a parking lot.”  But what can I do?  Can I solve all the pollution and the greed and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to? (Shakespeare, not Joni).  Surely not.  So, I look out for my family, try to be honest with my friends and relish the time I have with those I love.  And I write to you each week.  Sometimes you even listen.  Hi there and welcome back.  I hope you’re feeling strong and healthy today.

 

One of those thousand natural shocks, according to Dr. Gland, is my parathyroid.  I had some X-rays taken and they proved negative.  So there!  Can I get a copy to send to my son-in-law?  I mean, what’s the point of having a loving and wonderful radiologist son-in-law if I can’t ask him to drop everything he’s doing to tend to my problems?  The clinic said no, they could not give copies to anyone but my doctor.  But it’s my gland!  Nope, it’s against HIPPA.

 

I had two courses of action.  I chose the Yosemite Sam chasing Bugs Bunny with a shotgun course.  Are you crazy?  Get a grip on freaking reality, people.  You cannot deny me a copy of my own medical records.  Can I speak to someone with an IQ higher than my shoe size?  It worked.  I’m not proud, but it worked.  Take that, you flea-bitten wascally wabbit!  I’m not really good at diplomacy.  “Diplomacy,” Winston Churchill said, “is the art of telling people to go to hell in such a way that they ask for directions.” 

 

The weather has been exemplary, and I’ve been spending time volunteering at our Zoo.  Yesterday, I fielded my favorite question.  A middle-aged woman asked, “How do you tell the male red panda from the female?”  Now, I’ve had that question once before (about camels), and I knew I had to exercise a modicum of caution with the answer.  Here’s how you tell, I replied, the female has bigger closets.  Now that’s diplomacy! 

 

My wife is a wonderful woman and truly a piece of work.  Besides demanding the bigger closet (actually, all the closets) she is constantly jealous of her time and does not suffer delays well.  We were driving home from golf last Sunday, when she noticed some adult Canada Geese shepherding their flock down a grassy curb.  Carol said, aww, aren’t they cute?  But when we passed them, there appeared another little gaggle of Mama Goose, Papa Goose and four little puppies walking right in front of us in the middle of the road.  I was forced to stop the car. The Princess of Lickety-Split does not like being slowed down by useless things like geese or red traffic lights.  Screw those filthy vermin, she said.  Honk the damn horn and get those friggin’ bastards out of my way!  So much for aren’t they cute.

 

I truly despise all those geese

They’re smelly and filthy and mies

They’ve ruined my whole day

Get them out of my way

Or I’ll fry the whole flock in hot grease.

 

Weekly Word:  Although I cannot find mies (rhymes with geese) on Google, I know from my Jewish heritage that it is used in Yiddish to mean ugly.

 

Message from Shakespeare:  Sleep that knits up the ravelled sleeve of care (Macbeth).  I don’t think Carol is mean to animals.  She’s nice to me.  Though sometimes when I wake her up at 4:30 in the morning, she turns to me and says “I hate you.”  I know she really loves me.  Who wouldn’t?  Purr.

 

Besides celebrating Memorial Day with some golf, we went to my grandson’s soccer game.  Afterwards, we visited a place called Wally’s.  To say that Wally’s is a gas station is like saying Buckingham Palace is a bungalow.  The station had 80 gas pumps, just for the cars, an acre of retail space inside, 112 different kinds of jerky, a bakery, a carousel of people making six kinds of popcorn, Chinese food, BBQ sandwiches – and way more.  It’s an event.  I bought a Diet Coke.

 

A friend of mine is retiring.  “I’m afraid,” he told me, “that I won’t be able to fill up my time.  What am I going to do all day?”  Well, you’ve come to the right old man, I told him.  Here’s what you do:

 

·        First of all, you’re going to need more doctors.  You used to be able to get by with a Dr. Doctor, a Dr. Tooth and maybe a Dr. Eye.  But now you’re going to need a Dr. Heart, a Dr. Skin, a Dr. Back, a Dr. Hand, a Dr. Pain and a Dr. Asshole.  That’s the technical term for a proctologist, but can, on occasion, be used for other individual doctors as well.  Much of your week will be taken up finding, making appointments with and waiting for your doctors.

·        Part of your time will be occupied with filling up your weekly pill dispenser, both A.M. and P.M. sections, and with ordering refills from Canadian or Indian pharmaceutical companies so that you can save $3.20 a year.

·        A large portion of your time will be determining how you can access NETFLIX now that you no longer can leech off your children’s subscription.

·        You will spend a significant number of hours going to your grandchildren’s gymnastics tournaments and oboe recitals.  You must do that or they won’t teach you how to get NETFLIX.

·        By the time you have dealt with all that, it will be time to watch Jeopardy, take a nap and get to the early-bird special.

·        And each Thursday, you have to read Limerick Oyster.

 

IN THE NEWS:  The countries of Venezuela, El Salvador and Honduras have officially notified the International Olympic Committee that they will not be sending teams to the 2024 Paris Olympics.  It appears that all the people in those countries who can run, swim or pole-vault have already made it to Texas.

 

And I don’t care whether you run, swim or pole-vault.  Just get your behind back here next Thursday for the next Limerick Oyster.  It might even be a good one.  Until then, stay well, stay busy and count your blessings.

 

Michael                                             Send comments to mfox1746@mail.com