Blog #411                                January 23, 2025

 

My wife makes chop suey.  It’s delicious; pieces of chicken breast, brown rice, bean sprouts, water chestnuts, Chinese noodles, bean molasses, some other stuff.  Yummy!  She made it last week for dinner, and there was enough for two nights.  On another night, Carol went out with the “goils” and I picked up some orange chicken at Panda Express.  More Chinese food.  On Friday, we celebrated my granddaughter’s 17^th birthday at her favorite sushi restaurant.  Then on Saturday, we went with friends to a popular Chinese restaurant called Yen Ching.  Chinese food every night, six nights in a row.  I felt like doing laundry.

 

Now that was a tasteless, hackneyed and racist joke, but it’s going to lead me into a story.  Do you remember, growing up, all the stereotypical allusions we learned?  The Chinese ran laundries, the Irish were drunk, the Scottish were stingy, the Polish were stupid.  And the Jews?

 

From 1968-1970, I taught high school math at Kinloch High School.  Kinloch was a small, very poor, all black community in northern St. Louis County.  I had been hired in June over the phone with no personal interview.  They needed a math teacher; I needed a job.  When I showed up for orientation in August, the principal looked at me like I was a three-toed sloth.  “You’re White,” she said.  “Yes, Ma’am,” I replied.  I even remember her name – Lucie T. Balou.  I was the only White person, student or staff, in the building, but that was fine.  Several of the teachers were young black men and we would hang out at lunch or after classes.   I didn’t hide that I was Jewish, of course, and it came up one afternoon.  One of the young teachers asked, “Why is it that all you Jews like money so much?”  I looked him straight in the eye and replied, “We don’t like it any more than you do.  We’re just smart enough to get it.”  He smiled; I smiled.  So much for stereotypes.

 

Hi there and welcome back.  I hope you’re feeling well and I hope you realize how much I appreciate your coming back here each week to hear my stories.  Did you watch the inauguration?  And the rally afterwards?  We’ve gone from a President who can’t talk to one who can’t stop!

 

I hope you’re in a warm spot.  It is very cold here in St. Louis.  The ground is covered with snow and the streets are still dangerous.  But I needed to do an errand.  Carol told me not to go but I went anyway.  Neither wind nor rain – well, you know the drill – and off I went.  I drove carefully, assiduously and with unerring attention to the sparse traffic and the blustery conditions, and I arrived unscathed – at the wrong place.  Well, you didn’t expect me to drive safely and accurately at the same time, did you?  Neither did Carol. 

 

And, by the way, hackneyed, our Weekly Word, means something that is not fresh or original.

 

I was recently talking with a friend of mine, a widower, and he was telling me that he was engaged in making a list of all the attributes he was looking for in a woman to be his companion.  It seemed to me, I told him, that a list is an interesting mental exercise, but you never know when there will be a connection, and if the sparks fly, screw the list.  But what do I know; I’ve fallen in love only once.  Even so, I thought it would be fun to try making a list of all the qualities I want in a woman, and it took me a while.

 

The time that I spent was a lot

To list what I want and do not

And the list made me see

That the best girl for me

Was the one that I’ve already got.

 

I am truly a lucky guy.  And, of course, that’s the story of the Piña Colada song where the guy puts out an ad for someone who likes everything he likes -- piña coladas, getting caught in the rain, etc. – and who shows up?  His own lovely lady.

 

One thing for sure, though, is that if a woman ends a sentence with a preposition, she is not someone I want to spend my life with.  But I would like a closet.  Why can’t men have closets?  We knew a couple who lived in Phoenix in a grand and gargantuan house on top of a mountain.  The wife had a closet complex the size of Delaware.  She actually had one closet just for her Judith Leiber bags.  If you don’t know what a Judith Leiber bag is, just imagine a purse with the price-tag of a Tesla and the size of an English muffin.  I asked the husband to show me his closet.  He led me into his study and pointed to a corner where there was an open suitcase and a large cardboard box that used to hold Charmin.  The girl’s name, I remember, was Jill.  I don’t remember his name, but then why should I remember the name of a man who doesn’t even have a closet?

 

You see, in my world, the world I signed onto when I said “love, honor and obey,” husbands sometimes get treated like an unmatched sock.  It’s the truth!  Even Joe Biden didn’t get a closet.  That’s why he had to hide all those classified documents in the garage.  We husbands need a better lobby, and I don’t mean like in a hotel.  Nobody fights for our rights.  I’m hoping President Trump will fight for us.  If Melania lets him.

 

Message from Shakespeare:   Robes and furred gowns hide all (King Lear).  Pops does have a closet.  It’s a little one in our room, which he calls the study.  The closet is big enough for me, and I like to sleep on the top shelf curled up with one of his sweatshirts.  Purr.

 

Alright, I’m leaving you now.  An unknown author said, never miss an opportunity to make others happy, even if you have to leave them alone in order to do it.  But I’m only leaving you for a while.  Stay well, stay warm, count your blessings and don’t go too far, because I’ll be back in a week.  See you then.

 

Michael                                    Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com