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.

 

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