Blog #496                                September10, 2026

 

I am going to start this week with the Weekly Word, even though I haven’t used it yet.  The word is pontificate, which means to speak in an annoyingly pompous and dogmatic way, a practice in which I am expert.  Don’t worry, the word will show up later.  But for now, let’s talk about stamps.

 

I went to the Post Office to buy stamps.  Eighty-two cents.  For those of you around my age, we remember when postage was three cents.  For those of you a little older, you probably remember just feeding the pony some hay and sending it on its way.  When I asked for stamps, the young man at the counter asked me if “flags were all right”.  “Are flags all right?” I gasped. “Do you have to ask if flags are all right?”  He said, “Well, some people don’t like them.  It’s a political statement.”

 

I thanked the young man, walked to my car and sat inside for a while thinking.  I’ve lived in this country for 80 years.  I’ve had the opportunity to work, save, invest, buy a house, raise a family – and vote.  I’ve voted for sixty years.  Sometimes my favorite candidate won, sometimes not.  But I got to vote in a country that elects its leaders, good or bad.  And all this time, we’ve had a flag.  It was the same flag under Biden as it is under Trump.  It was the same flag under JFK and Ronald Reagan and Barack Obama and George Bush.  It’s the symbol of this country that has allowed us the opportunity to grow, to succeed or even to fail.  I’ve had successes and plenty of failures, believe me.  But I will always support the country and the flag that is its symbol.  “Yes,” I told the young man.  “I want the stamps with the flag on them.”

 

And by the way, in my lifetime, we have elected Democrats nine times as President and Republicans eleven times.  So both sides have contributed pretty evenly to where we are today.

 

Hi there and welcome back.  Are you still here?  Good.  I hope you are feeling well and staying away from doctors.  Do you realize that if you forget your birthday, you can never receive any medical services?  Every time I encounter a doctor, nurse, technician or office staff – they ask for my date of birth.  Over and over.  The person who drew my blood last week -- a nasty, evil-looking, vampiric creature – must have asked me four times.

 

The Nurse I call Lady Macbeth

Asked my date of birth with each breath

It’s ok - I let her

It’s surely much better

Than asking for my Date of Death.

 

Message from Shakespeare:  To me, fair friend, you never can be old (Sonnet 104). Nobody knows my birthday, but Pops celebrates it in April.  I think I’m seven years old now, but it doesn’t matter because they say cats have nine lives, which is fine with me as long as I can spend all of them with my Pops.  Purr.

 

I have told you many times that I know nothing about cars or anything else mechanical.  I only know about useless stuff – like Edgar Allen Poe or chemistry.  Here’s some chemistry:  Two hydrogen atoms meet. One says, 'I've lost my electron.' The other says 'Are you sure?' The first replies, 'Yes, I'm positive.'  See?  Useless!

 

Carol and I went shopping at Nordstrom’s.  Well, Carol was the shopper.  I was the chauffer-companion and carrier of packages.  She was looking for some jeans, but when we checked out, she commiserated with the young sales clerk that all they were showing were baggy-leg jeans.  She asked the clerk if she had sold many of them.  “No,” she replied, “and I tried some on and they made me look ridiculous.”  Let me describe the young clerk.  Her legs were all tattooed up and down; her hair was bright pink, and there was enough hardware hanging from her nostrils to crack a safe.  And she thought the jeans made her look ridiculous?

 

Well, I guess we all have succumbed to the fashion of the day.  I think the silliest men’s fashion statement I tried was the medallion.  I guess it was the early 1970s and we would wear a sport coat over a turtleneck with a heavy medallion hanging from a chain around our necks like we had just won the Nobel Prize for Stupid.

 

And then there’s the trial of Lindsay Clancy who brutally strangled her three children.  Apparently, the majority of the jury was convinced she was not guilty of murder because she was mentally ill.  Most of you are not going to agree with me here and I may lose some readers, but, as Larry McMurty said, “I wouldn’t have gone in for writing if I hadn’t liked talking to myself.”  So here’s what I think:  If it looks like a duck, feels like a duck and quacks like a duck, it’s a damn duck.  She murdered her three children, and if our society has come to the position that mental illness is a reason for treating that kind of horror in a less serious manner, then how soon will we slide down the slippery slope to “not guilty by reason of depression”?  And then “by reason of unhappiness” or “anger” or just “having a bad day”?  Don’t send me your counter-arguments.  I’m not in the mood for arguing.  I’m in the mood for pontificating.  It’s much more fun.  Ah, I told you the word pontificate would come up and there it is.

 

I passed a drug-rehab center today and there was a sign on the lawn that said, KEEP OFF THE GRASS.  Have you ever had a bad habit that was hard to break?  Maybe even an addiction?  I used to smoke, but I don’t do that anymore.  It was easy to stop – the 86^th time.  I used to drink, but I don’t do that either.  There’s one thing to remember about bad habits or addictions -- just because you got the monkey off your back doesn’t mean the circus has left town.

 

Time to go now.  Stay well, count your blessings and keep off the grass.   Come back next week, everyone.  Who knows what I’m going to say?  Don’t miss it; it might be about you. 

 

Michael                                    Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com