Blog #344                                October 12, 2023

 

I went to a funeral last week for a man named Phil – a good friend and a good man.  Phil was constantly trying to convince me that classical music was better than Rock and Roll.  I told him that any piece of music longer than three minutes was too long, so he would send me short pieces of classical music.  I did not confess to him that, some years ago, I listened to Arlo Guthrie’s eighteen-minute-long Alice’s Restaurant song every single night for a year, but that’s just between me and my shrink – and now you, I guess.

 

Phil was 84, and besides his children and grandchildren, most of the funeral attendees were similarly aged.  Old people at a funeral, as they listen to the speeches and the prayers, naturally imagine what their own funerals will be like.  Later, some friends and I were talking about that and I confessed to them that I have already written my funeral service and left instructions on how it should be delivered.  Both friends, older than me, said they didn’t expect to survive me and wanted to hear what I had written.  Print it in your blog, they said. 

 

Hi there and welcome back.  I hope you’re feeling well and will be feeling well for many, many more years, so we don’t have to talk about funerals.  Let’s talk about doctors.

 

I had a physical.  Dr. Doctor said I was just fine, but it was the process before I saw the doctor that was troubling.  The nurse weighed me, measured my height and told me I had shrunk another ¼ inch.  “I’m not happy’” I said.  “Well,” she said, “I don’t care if you’re Happy, Sleepy, Dopey or Doc, but you’re getting shorter.”  The only thing shrinking faster than me is the size of the laundry detergent bottles at the Dollar Store. 

 

I wonder what my Dwarf name would be.  I prefer Funny.  I know what my wife’s would be – Speedy.  When I pull into the garage, she opens the passenger door and starts to get out 20 feet before I’ve parked.  I’m thinking of installing child-restraints in the front seats.  While I’m still rolling to a stop, she shoots out of the door like a Cruise Missile and sprints to the elevator like Usain Bolt before I’ve even put the car into Park. 

 

She’ll never need a Dwarf Name though, because she hasn’t shrunk at all.   You know those little cut-out family stickers you put on the rear window of your car?  From left to right there’s always a tall cut-out father, then a slightly smaller mother, then three kids arranged by height, then a dog and finally the cat.  I can just picture ours in a few years.  In order of height there will be Carol, the cat and me. What a world!

 

Message from Shakespeare:  ‘Though she be but little she is fierce (A Midsummer Night’s Dream).  Pops’ woman is little and she’s nice to me, but I can’t push her around like I do the old man.  I can get him to do anything for me as long as I look pretty and purr.  I learned it all from her.  Purr.

 

And what do I do when I get depressed by funerals and height measurements?  First, let me introduce our Weekly Word.  This week, it’s ameliorate, five syllables: uh-me-lee-or-ate. It means to make something better.  Got it?  Ok, now here’s the answer to what I do when I’m depressed:

 

When this tired and aging old chappy

Is feeling dejected and crappy

To ameliorate

My downtrodden state

I try to make somebody happy.

 

Mark Twain said, “The best way to cheer yourself up is to try to cheer somebody else up.”  Usually, that’s as simple as driving to McDonald’s and buying Carol a small mocha frappe, no whip, no chocolate drizzle.  That makes her happy, which makes me Happy.  See, now I’m one of the dwarfs again.  Or, I can make her happy by accompanying her to Senior Day at Walgreens.  We go there to get discounts and to see all our friends.  I serve as my wife’s chauffer and mathematical consultant, calculating whether 20% off is better than buy-one-get-one-half-price.  It’s not.

 

Did you know that today marks the 531^st anniversary of the day Chistopher Columbus landed in the New World and began the slaughter of millions of indigenous people.  Chris was Italian.  Actually, he was Genoese.  There wasn’t any country named Italy back then.  I know if Carol had been on the ship, he would have arrived a lot earlier.  Step on it, Slow-Poke, we haven’t got all century!

 

Everyone believes that Columbus was sent over here by King Ferdinand to find a shorter route to the East Indies.  Actually, the whole thing was about Queen Isabella’s birthday.  Ferdinand asked the Queen what she wanted as a birthday gift.  “Oh, Ferdy,” she replied, “I need to find something new and fresh to wear.  The stuff in the stores is so 1480s.  Why don’t you send that creepy little Italian out to find me a Saks?”  And so he did.  Chris landed on the island of Hispaniola, but it was a holiday and everything was closed except the furniture store which was having a Going Out of Business Sale.  Chris was able to pick up a few Early American pieces for the Queen’s boudoir, 90 days same as bullion.  The owner of the furniture store, Uncle Montezuma, was so pleased he decided to name next year’s sale a Columbus Day Sale.

 

Have you heard that Paris is infested with bed bugs?  It’s true.  There are so many punaise (bed bugs in French) that the Olympic organizers have inserted some insect events to take the tourists’ minds off the little biters in their boudoirs.  That’s more French.  Maybe my new Dwarf Name should be Pepė Le Pew.  The new Olympic events include Waterbug Polo, Daddy Long Jump, Bugby and, in swimming, the Butterfly and the Pest Stroke.

 

It has been a depressing week with the war in Israel and the incompetence in Congress and a funeral.  Thank you for letting me vent some silliness to ease my spirit.  I’ll be back next week.  So will you.  Stay well, count your blessings and pray for Israel.

 

Funny                            Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com