Blog #379                                         June 13, 2024

 

I told you last week that my anniversary was coming, and I thank you for all the lovely congratulatory wishes.  You are nice people.  A few days before the date arrived, I went to buy a greeting card.  The cards were so effusive, I decided to get two.

 

The big Anniversary Elf

Went looking for cards on the shelf

Every one was so sweet

And the praise so complete

That I bought one to give to myself.

 

I deserve it, don’t I?  The card I bought said I was the best husband ever, and I gave it to Carol to sign and to give to me on the appropriate date.  If I wanted a card, I pretty much had to buy it myself, because over 57 years my wife has bought me – let’s see, seven times four, carry the two, divide by . . . well, NONE.  While I was there, I bought one to give to her.  It said, “It’s so wonderful being married to the greatest spouse in the world,” and when you opened it up it said, “Isn’t it?”  Last week she told me not to say so many nice things about her, so this week it’s all about me!

 

But enough about me.  Hi there and welcome back.  I hope you’re feeling well and enjoying the warmer weather.  I used the word, effusive before.  It’s our Weekly Word and means expressing feelings of gratitude, pleasure, or approval in an

unrestrained manner.  Basically, it means “gushing with praise.”

 

If you’re not out there gushing with praise about the weather, you’re probably inside?  Has the trash gone out more than you?  I bet you’ve been doing a lot of cleaning.  Even if you live alone, I bet you’ve been cleaning. Solitude is no excuse for sloppiness, said Armistead Maupin.  A funny name and a funny author.  Did you ever read his books called Tales of the City?  No?  Well, it’s too late.  The books are about the singles scene (gay, straight, trans) in San Francisco in the 1970s.  There are nine books in the series, and they are amazingly charming and full of laughs.  The problem is that they are full of 50-year-old references like Dorothy Hamill haircuts and the Bob Newhart Show. 

 

This week, there will be no reason to send me congratulatory notes.  No birthdays or anniversaries coming up.  Too bad, because I do love your comments. They’re the only way I can tell whether I’m doing a good thing here or “just standing in the rain talking to myself” (Cool Hand Luke).  I hope I make you happy once in a while and never make you miserable.

 

“Miserable it is to be to others a cause of misery.”  That’s what Eve said in Paradise Lost right after the little bitch infected us all with original sin by breaking her promise to God.  That was the first pandemic, because Eve actually infected the whole Human Race.  At the time, of course, it was just her and Adam, but it meant that all of their offspring were infected to Eternity, or a Trump second-term, whichever comes first.

 

What was Eve thinking?  This wasn’t a silly, insincere promise like promising your husband to honor and obey.  No, this was a promise to GOD, the Big Dog, the one to whom everyone is praying to give them everything they want.  No, not Joe Biden!  Pay attention.  It’s GOD I’m talking about.  The old guy up in the clouds with the white beard and the direct land-line to Joel Osteen.  I’m fond of Eve, actually, a beautiful woman who got everything she wanted by lying to and manipulating her husband.  Makes me feel right at home.

 

Message from Shakespeare:  Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows (The Tempest).  Cheer up, Pops.  Don’t be such a Downer Dog.  Life is good.  We have lots of food and a comfy couch to sleep on.  We play with each other and we have that woman who sleeps in our bed.  She’s not so bad.  C’mon, I’ll jump on your lap and let you scratch my neck.  Purr.

 

And that woman who shares our bed loves to shop.  Carol approaches shopping like a lioness stalking a gnu.  (What’s a gnu?  I don’t know, what’s a gnu with you?)  To her, shopping is a two-day event.  Day One is hunting – locate your prey, mark it with your scent, withdraw.  Day Two is gathering – move in for the kill with a vulpine and hungry ferocity, zap it with your credit card, drag it home.  Men don’t have that shopping instinct.  They go to the store, grab the first thing they see and that’s it.  Wham, Bam, you know the rest.

 

Buying on Amazon just doesn’t satisfy the same sensory longing that a day in the mall provides.  The girls can’t smell the item or feel it or match it with their nail polish.  But Carol has adapted.  She’s found a new way of shopping.  It’s called “Michael, buy this for me”.  It works pretty well for her.  I either buy it online or actually leave the house, not daring to return until I have fulfilled her order.  Sometimes I have to go to more than one place.  The other day, I told her, “You know, I had to go the extra mile for you.”  She said, “Going the extra mile just means you missed the exit.”  How did she know I missed the exit? 

 

Have I mentioned any shootings today?  My grandson Zachary, who turned 23 on Saturday, lives in Madison, WI.  Zach was lying in bed Saturday evening when he heard shots and screams and sirens.  Right next door to his apartment building, nine people were shot during a high school graduation party.  My goodness!  What a world!

 

One thing that’s good about the world is that it contains three glorious, intelligent and beautiful women who call me Dad.  Sunday is Father’s Day, and I know I will get three phone calls and some cards as well.  I am a supremely lucky fellow.

 

And you are lucky too, for I know that no matter how many challenges, disappointments and sadnesses that you have experienced, you still have some heartwarming blessings you can count.  Go count them right now, and stay well.  See you next week.  And Happy Father’s Day.

 

Michael                                    Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com