Blog #368                                         March 28^th, 2024

 

Are you ready for Easter?  It’s this Sunday.  Easter is the day when every chick is fuzzy and yellow, every little bunny is cute and cuddly and every turkey is laughing because it’s not Thanksgiving.  It’s the day when 90% of Americans will celebrate the re-birth of Jesus in the spirit of goodness and cooperation and salvation to all.  The next day, they will go back to hating everybody who doesn’t vote like they do. What a world!  If it didn’t have all of you in it, I’d move somewhere else.

 

Hi there and welcome back.  I hope you are feeling well.  I hope I am feeling well too.  You see, although you are reading this on Thursday morning, I am writing it several days before, and although you, on Thursday, know whether my parathyroid surgery went well, I don’t know any such thing as yet.   Am I worried?  Yes.  I know everybody says it’s an easy operation, but I’m as nervous as a caterpillar at an elephant square-dance and as miserable as the winner of the Moms Mabley Look Alike Contest.

 

Besides, I had to spend a lot of time coordinating which medicines I should take, what soap to use, where to be, when to be there.  It seems like most of my busy schedule is monopolized by health-care.  Seeing doctors, ordering pills, picking pills up, putting pills in the weekly organizer, arguing with the insurance company.  Well, it’s something to do. 

 

As children our job was to play

Then for decades we worked for our pay

Now we’re all up in years

And we’ve found new careers

Just dealing with doctors all day.

 

In preparation for being laid up for a few days, I went out and did whatever errands I needed – grocery, Walmart, bank, get Shakespeare’s nails clipped – all that important stuff.  I don’t mind doing errands, but this time of year, as the weather improves, the streets are full of construction trucks and utility trucks.  You can’t drive anywhere without being stopped or rerouted by rows and rows of orange traffic cones.  I haven’t seen that many cones since Yom Kippur.

 

Message from Shakespeare:  Pops spends all that time dealing with doctors and pills.  I spend most of my time sleeping and sitting by the window watching the birds and the insects.  You should try it.  Today I saw two bees, maybe it was three, or was it two?  Two bees or not two bees, that is the question. (Hamlet).  Purr.

 

I just heard Carol tell Alexa to set a timer, and, as Alexa responded, I saw Shakespeare lounging on the couch.  Wouldn’t it be great if my cat would behave like Alexa?  Shakespeare, tell me the capital of Bangladesh.  Shakespeare, play some Beatles.  Nothing.  But then I don’t have much better luck with Alexa.  Yesterday, I told her to play James Taylor music.  She said, Sorry, Carol told me not to listen to you.  So there I am, with a cat who thinks I am his own personal slave, a wife who knows whose personal slave I am and an Alexa who thinks I am as annoying as a Jardiance commercial.

 

Speaking of commercials, I am so tired of that Liberty Bibberty guy.  I think he’s on television more than Hoda Kotb.  Actually, do you know who holds the official Guinness World Record for “most hours on television”?  I’ll give you a hint – it is not Johnny Carson or Walter Cronkite or Big Bird.  Answer to follow.  See, isn’t that clever?  Now you have to read the rest of this magnificent missive just to get to the answer.

 

The Olympics are coming this summer, and my clever bride has used her ingenuity to create a bunch of new Olympic Events.   There’s Synchronized Talking – Carol and her friends are the favorites and practice every day on the phone.  Then there’s Women’s Floor Exercises – participants mill around a restaurant floor looking for a round table with a view.  The world record (held by guess who) is four rejected tables in less than 60 seconds.  She’s writing a new book now to help women find the best spot.  It’s called The Queen and her Nights at the Round Table.  And, of course, there’s Women’s Volleyball, where the players wear gloves so they shouldn’t break a nail.

 

It’s getting closer to Surgery Day and I’m still as terror-stricken as a rabbi in Minnesota.  But I shall screw up my courage and remain intrepid.  And that has to be our Weekly Word.  Intrepid means fearless and adventurous.

 

Ok, now it’s Wednesday and I’m home.  The surgery is over.  Everything went perfectly and I feel fine.  We arrived at 5:30 on Tuesday morning.  The hospital complex is the size of the pentagon and harder to navigate, but we found the operating theater.  Everyone there was personable, professional and gentle during pre-op, op and post-op.  Sounds like a Coasters’ song from 1960, doesn’t it.   I love my baby, op, bop and pre-op.

 

We started surgery at 7:30. Now, when I say “we”, I mean two surgeons, two attending surgeons, a nurse anesthetist, four operating nurses, a guy from Medtronic to monitor my pacemaker and little, old me.  The room had more smart people than the entire United States Congress.  I was asleep, of course.  The surgery was over at 10:00; I woke up at 10:30 and hung around until 4:00 when they sent me home.  I was extremely happy that I didn’t have to spend the night.  You know how nights in the hospital are.  The nurse comes in at 9:30 and says, “I hope you have a restful night.  I’ll be back every 30 minutes to take your vitals and draw blood.  Sleep well.”  Thank you all for your good wishes and prayers.  It all went swimmingly, as the British say, and I feel fine.  Thank you, again.

 

Okay, the person who holds the Guinness Record for Most TV Airtime is Regis

Philbin with more than 16,000 hours.  If you guessed Hugh Downs, you were close.  He was second.  And that brings us to the end of this week’s adventure into boredom, silliness and madness.  We’ll do some more next week.  So stay well, count your blessings and come back next Thursday.  I’ll still be boring, silly and as imbalanced as a three-legged cat.  Oops! 

 

Michael                                             Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com