Blog #419                                March 20, 2025

 

“My Mama didn’t raise no fools.”  Did you ever use that phrase?  “My Mama didn’t raise no fools.”  Besides the horrible grammar, I bet most of you have said it at one time or another.  I have used it a few times, and every time I do, my wife looks me straight in the eye and says, “Are you serious?  Your mother raised three fools.”  She is right, of course.  Fool #1 was my older sister, who was nuts.  She hated doctors, didn’t trust them and never went to one.  She died at the age of 63 from a curable disease.  Fool #2 was my older brother, who was lovable, but outrageously eccentric.  He hated doctors as well and never went to one.  He died at the age of 61 from a different, but also curable, disease.  Fool #3, of course, is me.  My wife says the only smart thing I ever did was marry her.  What The Princess lacks in humility she makes up for in common sense, because she’s right.

 

I admit that I have filled my 79 years with plenty of foolish decisions, but ignoring and avoiding doctors has never been one of them.  Hell, I have enough doctors to populate a cruise ship.  Which, now that I think of it, is not such a crazy idea.  Hire a bunch of doctors and have an Annual Physical Cruise for seniors.  You board the ship at 4:00 p.m. and immediately begin prepping for a colonoscopy which every passenger receives the next morning -- on the Poop Deck, of course.  Afterwards, you recover by the pool surrounded by a gluten-free, low-cholesterol buffet fit for a slender king.  Day two is your choice of a PET Scan, CAT Scan or MRI (open-sided of course so you can look out at the ocean).  Urine samples every night, physical therapy at the piano bar, walker-races on the Bridge, no-one on blood thinner allowed in the Dart Room, defibrillators in every cabin.  And there’s more:

 

We’ll give you a Heart-Cath in Cuba,

A Full Body Scan in Aruba.

Next day we’re at sea

And we’ll replace your knee

So you won’t need a cane when you SCUBA.

 

And it’s all covered by Medicare!

 

Hi there and welcome back.  I hope you’re feeling well.  Did all you Lads and Lassies enjoy your St. Patrick’s Day?  Now, wait, wait.  I know I just called you girls Lassies, but don’t get insulted.  I didn’t mean that you looked like a dog.  At least I didn’t call you Rin-Tin-Tin.  I had a girlfriend once who was very melancholy.  She had a body like a melon and a face like a collie.  Bada-bing, bada-boom.

 

This week is also Spring Break time, when Florida is packed with Gen Z-ers, the generation between ages 13 and 28.  These are the people who, for 51 weeks a year, without mercy or respect, lecture their grandparents about eating healthy and protecting the environment and spreading love and acceptance.  For the other week, they are down in Daytona Beach getting drunk, smoking pot, beating each other up and polluting the beaches with beer bottles, vomit and condoms.  Thank you, Gen Z, for all your advice.

 

I hope your electricity is on.  Mine isn’t.  On Friday night, St. Louis experienced violent thunderstorms and tornados.  Around 9:00, when the lights went out, Carol and I and a bunch of our neighbors went down to the garage to huddle in fear.  It reminded me of a time, about 7 years ago, when we had our three local grandchildren at the house during a period of tornado warnings.  We all went down into the garage for safety.  Tyler, who was 12, and Austin, who was 8, wanted to go outside and run around in the wind and rain.  Boys, right?  But Charley, my little 10-year-old Princess, was curled up in the back seat of my car.  I went to check up on her, and she said, “Poppy, I can’t believe I’m going to die with my hair looking like this.”  She’s still a Princess, only now she’s 17.

 

I’m writing to you now on Saturday.  The lights are still off, and I can only write until my computer charge runs out.  Carol, my fully grown Princess, has a luncheon today, so she is getting ready with a flashlight and two candles.  She called me back to the bathroom to hold the flashlight while she was applying whatever lotions and potions and sticks and tricks she uses.  And what was the first thing I did when I walked into the bathroom?  I turned on the light switch.  Don’t lie to me, you do the same thing when the lights go out.  It’s just a reflex.  Part of your brain knows that the lights won’t come on, but a different part just flips the switch out of habit.

 

Message from Shakespeare: I say there is no darkness but ignorance (Twelfth Night).  It’s so dark in the house and so quiet.  And so cold.  I like it warm in the house, but when I’m cold, I just go sit on the old man’s lap to warm up.   And get a schnoogle.  Purr.

 

The power finally came on early Tuesday morning.  It was out from 9:00 Friday night until 1:30 Tuesday morning.  We were in bed, asleep under warm covers and, since no lights came on in our bedroom, we were not awakened.  Later, however, I calculated through the application of Fourier transforms and the asymptotic algorithm, along with a trebling of the sidereal azimuth, that the correct time of power access was around 1:30.  Was that gobbledygook to you?  Me too.  The only word you need to know is sidereal, our Weekly Word.  It means relating to the stars and constellations.

 

You already know the word gobbledygook.  I actually used that word in a message to Dr. Aneurism this week.  I had my semi-annual ultra-sound, and they sent the results which could not have been less decipherable if they had been written in Urdu.  So I messaged back to request what all that gobbledygook meant.  They understood, and sent me an explanation.

 

And now, the alignment of the starts (sidereal, remember?) tells me it’s time to go.  I’ll be back, with or without lights, and so will you.  Stay well and count your blessings

 

Michael                                             Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com