Blog #462                                         January 15, 2026

 

The light went out in the bathroom.  It’s one of those long tube-thing lights.  Is that too technical for you?  Carol was out at a luncheon or something, so I was on my own, a position that usually leads to disaster.  But, somehow, I pried the plexiglass cover off, got the two tubes out and took them to the hardware store where I sheepishly asked for help.  I left with the two replacement tubes and then it hit me:  I had to get them home unbroken, install them and replace the Plexiglas sheet all by myself.  I considered that to have about the same likelihood as my getting hit by a falling cello.  Plus, my wife was gone.  I was alone!  I could fall off the stepladder and break both legs and die of starvation!  I could have a cardiac event and not be able to call 9-1-1!  I could get hit by a falling cello! 

 

Well, I got home, took out the stepladder and screwed up my limited courage.  I took a deep breath, told myself that I was a capable and clever man and had to do what a capable and clever man should do – wait for his wife to come home.  When she did, I asked her to hold the stepladder.  She refused.  You see, she remembered too well when her father was replacing a lightbulb and her mother was holding the ladder.  They were younger at the time than we are now.  Well, her father fell and broke a hip – not his hip, the mother’s hip.  So Carol said, “I’m not going to let you fall on me.  You’re on your own, Buster.”  And so I was, but then I remembered what the Russian novelist Ivan Turgenev said -- “If we wait for the moment when everything, absolutely everything is ready, we shall never begin.”   So I pressed forward and got it done with only two band-aids and a little crack in the plexiglass that almost no-one can see.

 

And now I can concentrate on writing this week’s Limerick Oyster.

 

Message from Shakespeare, the three-legged cat:  I am sick when I do look on thee (A Midsummer Night’s Dream).  What he really should concentrate on is playing with me.  He spends so much time reading all those books and writing all those stupid blog things and going to his card games – well, he doesn’t spend enough time playing with me.  I mean, what’s more important than a man’s cat?  Purr.

 

Hi there and welcome back.  I hope you’re feeling well.  And speaking of limericks, let’s speak of limericks.  You know by now that I have been writing a letter to my three daughters every week for 28 years.  I still do, and each one contains a limerick, sometimes two.  And, of course, I have kept a copy of each one and a running count.  I am frighteningly anal, am I not?  The total as of now is 1,499 limericks, so I decided that my fifteen hundredth limerick should be about my fifteen hundredth limerick.  I guess that makes it a meta-limerick.  I wrote it about 4:00 in the morning while lying in bed.  Here it is:

 

I don’t juggle or do magic tricks

I just sit here and write limericks

I’ve written you rhymes

One-point-five thousand times

In two years, it’ll be one-point six.

 

Not my favorite limerick, but it got the job done.  My favorite limerick was inspired by the 2007 story of Lisa Nowak, an astronaut who had a boyfriend who was fooling around on her.  So she drove 900 miles to confront the miscreants, and to save time, she wore diapers so she didn’t have to stop.  True story.  That inspired me to write this:

 

To follow the man she sought

She went to the store and bought

A box of Depends

It’s perfect, my friends

To cover your astronaut.

 

Miscreant, our Weekly Word, means a person who behaves badly or in a way that breaks the law.

 

Have you been to a hotel lately?  The last time I was in a hotel, in Los Angeles, it was a bizarre and humbling experience.  They really should put up a sign:  NOT RECOMMENDED FOR OLD PEOPLE.  Unlocking the door to my room was the first challenge.  There’s this little card and you don’t stick it into anything.  You just swipe it in precisely the right place at absolutely the right angle for exactly the right number of mini-seconds, and it opens.  Well, it’s supposed to.  I was about to ask the desk clerk for the right Hindu mantra to use when Carol finally showed me how to do it.  Once the door was unlocked, you had to open it.  It weighed 800 pounds.  I had to get two bell-hops and Arnold Schwarzenegger to help me push.  Who designed this place?  Mengele?  Then you have to turn on the lights.  There was no light-switch.  What happened to light switches?  Instead, there was a white, plastic plate with a picture of a light-bulb on it and if you touched it in the right place, some lights got brighter or dimmer.  All I wanted was to turn on the light, not engineer a New Year’s Eve light show in Times Square.  And, of course, the likelihood that we would figure out the television set was the same as the likelihood of Joy Behar asking Kristi Noem to a sleepover.  And don’t even get me started about how to work the shower.

 

Why would you replace a thing as simple and obvious as a $2 light switch with a $90 touch-plate with arrows and pictures of light bulbs that only Elon Musk knows how to operate?  It was obvious that all these highfalutin, new-fangled gizmos cost a lot of money, because, even though the room was $350 a night, it clearly was not enough to pay for toilet paper wider than a roll of Scotch Tape.

 

You know, I’m not sure all this technology can improve on the old, reliable things they purport to replace – simple things like light switches, paper towels or light bulbs that actually cost less than a BMW.

 

Or simple, unassuming, friendly little blogs I send you each week.  I hope you enjoyed this one and will be back next week.  Stay well and count your blessings.

 

Michael                                    Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com

 

 

Blog #461                                January 8, 2026

 

Well, I’ve done it.  I turned 80 yesterday, and, according to my grandchildren, I am now officially old.  You know you’re an old man if your cell-phone still has the factory installed ring-tone.  You know you’re an old man if you spend more time shopping for deals on pills than on cars.  You know you’re an old man if your PSA score is more important than your golf score.  You know you’re an old man if installing a light bulb is the technological highlight of your day.  You know you’re an old man if you have read 900 books.  And you know you are a ridiculous old man if you have kept a list of all those books.  I read a lot because it fills up my head with a bunch of things I never knew before.  Don’t worry, I still have room up there.

 

I really do read quite a lot

And learn things more often than not

I learn, I might say,

Something new every day

To replace all the stuff I forgot.

 

Hi there and welcome back.  Please do not send any birthday cards.  However, if you are overwhelmed with magnanimity, a light-blue Mercedes convertible would be nice.  I hope you’re feeling well and getting used to writing 2026 on your checks.  Yes, I have a list of all the books I’ve read since 1979.  That’s the year my wife suggested I should start reading more.  I agreed, and she handed me The Far Pavilions by M. M. Kaye.  Since then, 47 years ago, I have read 939 books, over 408,000 pages.  That’s not really so crazy.  I think Carol has read more than that and many of you have too.  What is crazy, lunatic, batty and actually frightening is that I’ve kept a list of every book, it’s author, number of pages, the year I read it and my rating.  Last year (2025) I read 34 books and my favorite was Terms of Endearment by Larry McMurtry.

 

Movie Review:  On New Year’s Eve, we went to see Song Sung Blue with Hugh Jackman and Kate Hudson.  I enjoyed it very, very much and recommend it to you.  It’s the story of a Neil Diamond impersonator and it’s full of music that you will all know.  After the movie, we had a wonderful dinner with wonderful friends.  A very nice evening.

 

I feel like I know something about a lot of things – history, astronomy, evolution, poetry.  I can even talk a little about Calculus or Sponge Bob.  But there are just some things I do not understand at all, and, as your weekly griot, I feel compelled to share them with you.  First, why is “phonetic” not spelled like it sounds.  Or why is “abbreviation” such a long word.  Or why a woman who drives a $100,000 Mercedes and wears a diamond ring as big as a cinnamon roll will go into a casino and play the penny slots.  Or my cable bill.  Now, I won’t bore you with all the details of my cable experience, but here’s the bottom line:  if we get rid of HBO, we can save twenty dollars a month, but if we keep HBO, we can save thirty.  Does that make any sense?  Well, that’s what the cable man told us.  You know the expression “my Mama didn’t raise no fools”?  Well, my Mama raised nothing but fools, but at least this fool had the sense to marry a smart woman.  So Carol took that thirty-dollar deal faster than Nicolás Maduro was siphoned out of Venezuela, and we left as happy as a turkey on the day after Thanksgiving.

 

Did you notice the word griot?  That’s our Weekly Word.  It’s pronounced gree-oh and it means a traveling poet or storyteller.  I’m proud to be yours.

 

I read a news story today about a man who has been on Death Row since 1990 and is scheduled to be executed next June.  This is what we call a non sequitur.  One second I was talking about dinner with friends, and the next second I was talking about Death Row.  Actually, they do have something in common – food.  You see, the condemned is suing the State because his food is not prepared to his religious standards.  He does get his special food, but he complains that it’s not good enough.  Well, I have the perfect solution – kill him now.  Why does it take so long to execute an execution?  I don’t like the death penalty, but if we’re going to have it, we should do it!  If you have been found guilty of murdering your wife, who gives a Flying Frankfurter what you eat?  We as a society have determined that you are not fit to live among us.  But you get to complain about the menu?  Maybe the food’s not hot enough?  Well, let’s get this over with and, where you’re going, I’m pretty sure the food is always hot.

 

I have noticed a family of phrases being used more and more.  They are phrases like: You gotta do what you gotta do.  It is what it is.  Cheap is cheap.  It’s not over till it’s over.  I can only do what I can do.  All of these phrases have the same meaning – nothing.  They really mean, “I have nothing to say, but I was going to exhale anyway so I figured I might as well pass it over my vocal cords.”

 

Message from Shakespeare:  Truly, thou art damned like an ill-roasted egg, all on one side. (As You Like It).  How come I never get hot food?  I mean, I can’t complain.  I get wet food and dry food and I get it every day and it tastes good. 

Hey, it is what it is.  Purr.

 

My friends, we have been with each other now for more than eight years.  You know everything there is to know about me and my wife, my cat and my daughters – even the chickens.  And I feel like I’ve come to know you too.  So I think I have the right to make this request: don’t make any New Year’s resolutions. I like you just the way you are.  Please stay well and count your blessings.  And even though it’s not over till it’s over – it’s over.  See you next week.

 

Michael                          Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com

 

 

 

 

Blog #460                                January 1, 2026   

 

Did you all have a nice Christmas?  I hope so, and no matter what our religious persuasions might be, I’m certain that each of us was visited by our favorite Christmas icon, that bearded fat-man we call on every Christmas to bring us the things we want -- General Tso.  I hope your gifts were loving and your chicken spicy. 

 

Another year has gone, and it was a strange one indeed!  Have you ever seen anything like 2025?  Hurricanes, fires, mass shootings, sexual scandals, politics, politics, politics!   It seems like the most prevalent form of hatred now is political.  We thrill when something bad happens to “their” side.  We mope when something bad happens to “our” side.  We’ve stopped talking to family members and friends because they didn’t vote the right way.  I think it is very sad.  Don’t we have something better to do?  Well, I have something better to do.  I have to clean up a whole bunch of things I’ve been wanting to tell you.  First of all, hi there and welcome to the 2026 version of Limerick Oyster.  I hope you’re feeling well.  Let’s talk about shoes.

 

Some time ago, my wife and I went to a play.  At the end, as the standing ovation waned, she said to me, “I’m missing a shoe.”  I bent down and looked under my seat.  There was a shoe, and I picked it up and handed it to her.  “That’s not my shoe.”  What?  Am I at a play or a sale at Nordstrom’s?  She quickly found hers and I was left holding a red shoe.   What was I going to do with a red shoe?  Soon, of course, the shoe was claimed by a churlish woman who I’m certain suffered from athlete’s foot, toe fungus, plantar fasciitis and warts.  And probably gout.  I gave the red shoe to the woman with a pleasant reminder that, “There’s no place like home.”  Then I drove home as fast as I could and scrubbed my hands in turpentine.  Why does it seem so disgusting to touch someone else’s shoes?

 

Or take pills prescribed for a dog?  I was having some arthritis a while back and my daughter Jennifer said she had some arthritis pills she got for her dogs.   The canines didn’t like the pills, so she offered them to me.  Of course I refused such silliness, but I went to the internet anyway to see what these doggy-pills were all about.  It’s really amazing how many canine illnesses there are.  You knew there was a list coming, didn’t you?  I love lists.  Here are some doggy diseases:

 

·        Ulcerative Collie-itis

·        Barkinson’s

·        Dysenterrier

·        Restless Tail Syndrome

·        Itchy Pomeranian

·        Rin Tin Tinnitus

·        Mastiff Neck

·        Aarfritis

·        Irritable Bow-Wow Syndrome

 

I like dogs.  I like to talk to them and have them around.  But I don’t want one.  I watch many of my neighbors walking their dogs, and I just am not up for that any more.  Besides, I have Shakespeare and I have my wife.  She’s like a high-strung little poodle with curly black hair and skinny legs. 

 

Message from Shakespeare:  It warms the very sickness in my heart (Hamlet).  There he goes again, that old fool, saying he likes dogs.  Dogs are big and loud and sloppy and have to go outside.  Cats are soft and quiet and smart.  And, by the way, cats have diseases too.  I think I have purr-sitis and cat-aracts and kit-zophrenia.  Purr.

 

You know that a bunch of cows is called a herd and a bunch of wolves is a pack.  But there are a few offbeat names for groups of other animals: a crash of rhinos, a dazzle of zebras, a journey of giraffes, a pride of lions, a parliament of owls.  All of these are real, and I would like to propose one more – a Cacophony of Women.  Well, have you ever heard Carol and four or five of her friends all talking at the same time?

 

I often pick on my wife here, but it’s really the husband-wife conflict that I am exposing, not her.  The truth is we have a great relationship.  She does what she wants and I do what I want.  For instance, a few years ago three of my friends and I planned a golfing trip to San Antonio.  All by ourselves.  This was our trip, our time, just us men!

 

The guys all developed a plan

To go where a man is a man

Where we can be free

To be all we can be

As long as our wives say we can.

 

They said we could.  Actually, my wife is wonderful and  very easy to deal with.  I just have to make sure never to allow her to become miserable.  When my wife mentions the word “miserable”, something had better change!  And that means now!  Like the Holiday Party we went to recently.  After about an hour, I could see that she wanted to leave more than a CNN reporter wants to leave a Trump rally.  You can always tell when she wants to leave.  She starts to make comments like, “Do you think your car door opener will work from here?”  Or, “Do you remember where you parked?”  It works every time.

 

Let’s do our Weekly Word.  It’s churlish, which means irritable and rude.

 

I hope you had a nice New Year’s Eve.  We went to a movie and dinner.  I’ll give you the movie review next week.  We didn’t stay up until midnight.  Not any more.  Youth is when you are allowed to stay up late on New Year's Eve. Middle age is when you are forced to and old age is when you don’t want to.  You can say that another way.  Youth is when you watch the ball drop in St. Louis and then go out and party.  Middle age is when you watch the ball drop in New York so you can go to sleep at 11:00.  Old age is when you watch the ball drop in Paris so you can turn in right after dinner.

 

Charles F. Raymond said, Another year! Use it kindly; you will not have it long, and almost ere you are aware, it will be past.  I hope the new year treats you kindly.  Stay well, count your blessings, and don’t be churlish.

 

Michael                                    Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com