Hi, guys. I know. It's been too long, so I figured I'd pop in to say hi and give y'all a brief update before another month slips through my fingers. My daughter has been working reeeeeeeally hard, both with a physical therapist and on her own at home, and her progress is absolutely astounding. I'm so proud of her determination and good attitude. She was even able to shoot some pool a couple days ago!
And me? I'm doing well. Better some days than others, but mostly, I can't complain. Thanks to some wonderful ham friends, all the antennas and towers that were at the side of the house got dismantled last weekend. Woo HOOOOOOOO!!! Still more antennas and towers to go, but this is a huge step. (I haven't seen the naked side of my house in years!) Hams are the BEST. Really. I've gotten lots of other stuff done, too, but no need to bore you with the details. One kinda neat thing... my neighbor mentioned that he was going to buy a riding lawn mower, and I told him he could just use mine... and asked him to give me a brief tutorial so I can operate it, too. Get this. He's gonna use my mower, but he's also gonna maintain it... and cut my grass! Win-win for both of us! Life is good.
I started writing the following post one year ago today. I got about half of it done, but then Mike got sicker, and I wasn't in the mood to finish. Now is its time. Might as well... I'd already done the research and taken notes. HA. No promises, but I'll try to get back to the blogosphere a little sooner next time. Y'all take care. I love you guys.
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Thought for the day: The older you get, the better you get. Unless you're a banana. [Rose
Nyland]
Some of you may remember this cute little guy, because I've shared his picture
with y'all before. Mike (AKA Smarticus) gave him to me for Valentine's Day about
a thousand years ago. Give or take.
Anyhow, when you squeeze the monkey's belly, he gives a wolf whistle and says
in a raspy dirty old man kinda voice, "I go bananas over you!"( If he had
eyebrows, they would've wiggled, I'm sure.)
The monkey's voice is fading and is growing more and more muffled, but he
still looks good as new. Even his banana looks pristine. Which is a lot more
than I can say for the bananas I bought at the grocery store a couple days
ago. I swear, if I ever get a speeding ticket on the way home from the grocery
store, it'll only be because I was trying to get home before the darned bananas
turned brown.
A ham radio friend emailed me the picture on the right, which he described as
a giant elephant made out of bananas.
First thing that came to my mind was that a heckuva lot of people must've
worked on THAT project. I mean, just think about what it'd be like if anyone
ever tried to pull off a feat like that single-handedly. Before the poor slob
even made it to the halfway point, the first bananas he'd put in place
would've already mutated into smelly oozing gobs of brown mush that he'd have
to replace. Impossible, I tell ya! It'd be like trying to fill a
bottomless bucket with water. Oh, and don't forget the fruit flies. The smell of overripe and rotting bananas would attract fruit flies like... um, flies. Yeah, exactly like flies. Those annoying little boogers would magically materialize out of nowhere, and they'd establish a brand new thriving community faster than a hungry gorilla can inhale a banana .
So, um no. Not gonna try that. I'll happily bake some banana bread or a
decadent banana cream pie, but ix-nay on the banana-building with a bunch of
rapidly rotting bananas... while being swarmed by fruit flies.
But what would be fun is... a banana CAR. You know, like the famous Oscar Meyer weinermobile... only instead of a rolling hot dog, it'd be a rolling... banana. I find that idea rather... a-peel-ing.
Evidently, a guy named Steve Braithwaite liked the idea, too.
This self-proclaimed goofy fella decided about a decade ago to up his eccentricity credentials by creating a unique vehicle to tour around the U.S. and spread joy. He wanted something totally ridiculous and fun. Looks like he got just what he wanted, dontcha think? Built on the chassis of a 1993 Ford pick-up truck, this impressive never-rot banana mobile measures twenty-three feet long and is 9.8 feet tall. Like everything else, the pandemic has changed things for this adventurous gent, but no doubt, as conditions improve, I reckon he'll be able to resume his appearances at fairs and festivals all over the country. His license tag? SPLIT.
Hmmm, which reminds me... do you know why the banana split?
He had artistic differences with the rest of the bunch.
And how about the banana smoothie?
He's the one who gets all the girls.
Ever hear of shoes made out of bananas?
Yep, they're called slippers... (Totally nonfriction!)
Okay, how about some fun facts about bananas?
The inner skin of a banana peel works well to polish leather. (I wonder what inspired someone to try this for the first time...?)
Bananas can float on water, because they're less dense. (Does that mean they're smart? )
Bananas grow on plants considered herbs, but the banana itself is classified as a... berry. ("Berry" is a botanical term, indicating the presence of seeds, pulp, and three separate layers: the exocarp is the outer skin, the mesocarp is the part we eat, and the endocarp is the part closest to the seeds... which are on the inside. Ironically, blackberries, mulberries, strawberries and raspberries aren't actually berries at all... but bananas, pumpkins, avocados, and cucumbers ARE.)
Bananas are low in salt and high in potassium, generously providing a natural way to help lower blood pressure. Most of you probably already knew that, but did you know banana potassium is slightly radioactive? (K-40) Not dangerous... just interesting. (If someone eats too many bananas, do you think he could go into banana-phalactic shock...?)
Bananas may serve as a mood enhancer. That's because they contain tryptophan and B-6, which help the body produce seratonin. (All they do for me is give me gas... which makes me giggle. So yeah... mood enhancer... never mind.)
In addition to polishing your leather shoes with a banana peel, you can also rub that inner peeling on your skin to alleviate itching and inflammation. (And the fruit flies will just LOVE you!)
Would you believe humans share about 50% of the same DNA that's in a banana???
A cluster of bananas is known as a hand, and each banana is a finger.
In China, it's illegal to stream videos of anyone eating a banana.
Despite the banana's phallic shape, alas, its sex life stinks. Cavendish, the kind of banana most of us eat, is sterile. In the wild, most bananas have very large seeds and are mostly inedible, and what we eat is a mutation, in which the seeds are underdeveloped and incapable of sexual reproduction. Farmers use cuttings to start new plants and replant cuttings to clone.
There. Now you know far more about bananas than you ever cared to know. You're welcome.
Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.
P.S. The picture of the giant elephant made out of bananas that my friend sent me is actually a depiction of the Hindu god Ganish, made of green bananas. It was created in Odisha, India, in 2017, and at the conclusion of a 10-day festival, the ripened bananas were then distributed to the poor.
Thought for the day: Everything is possible. The impossible just takes longer. [Dan Brown]
Hi-ya. Well, crap. What the hell happened to January? Didn't it just start? How could it be gone already?
Sorry about that. I've all but disappeared from the blogosphere over the past year, but I thought I could at least come up with something once a month. I mean, that isn't too much to ask, is it?
Evi-damned-dently, it is.
I hate to be the one to break it to you, but it's becoming increasingly apparent that we're all trapped in a rather bizarre time warp. Maybe you've noticed it, too? Each day drags by on leaden feet, possibly an indication that there's been a shift in the time-space continuum, causing each day to surpass what used to be its usual 24-hour allotment. Yet, paradoxically, the weeks and months slip through our fingers faster than a greased pig's leg on a hot summer day.
Or perhaps not. Maybe it's just me. Okay, fine. Sounds like the title of an article in an old True Confessions magazine, but here is it: Trapped in a Time Warp. That's my excuse. You buying it?
Oh well, that's the only excuse I've got for letting January get away from me without posting some kind of update. No promises, but I'll try to do better. So how are you guys doing?
Me? I'm doing okay. Matter of fact, I've kinda been doing the... impossible. When I look back at the number of seemingly impossible things I've tackled in the past six months, it boggles my mind. There's still a loooong way to go, (I'm afraid my dear husband was a bit of a hoarder... pack rat... junk collector... archivist.... whatever you choose to call it) but I've gotta say, dismantling Mike's main amateur radio operating position last week... clearly a daunting I can't do that endeavor... was one of my biggest victories to date. His Emergency Communications Central Extravaganza was based at a massive computer desk, and every square inch of it was covered with multiple stacks of radios, power supplies and converters, amplifiers, antenna tuners, laptops, mikes, keys, and a host of other equipment, all interconnected with a baffling maze of cables and power lines. The rear of the desk held four (Count 'em... four!) power strips, and various cords snaked all over the place, all screwed or otherwise clamped in place. Stuff plugged in here and there, cables fed through holes drilled throughout the desk, and to make things interesting, there was also some nifty homebrew stuff that he built to fit his needs. (It helps to figure out what something is before attempting to take it apart, especially when dealing with high voltage.) Anyhow, suffice it to say, it was all very complex... but I did it! Then I had to get that big-assed desk out of the house. OY. Not just BIG, but also very HEAVY. Had to dismantle some shelves and remove a door, but by golly, I got that son of a gun out the door. I still have to finish removing 25 coaxial cables that were feeding his station. They're now cut off about six inches below the ceiling, and they have to be pulled out to the exterior of the house, so I can fill the hole. (A task that'll have to be repeated at several other spots around the house. yippee) But ya know what? I've got a plan, and I think I can implement it. No, I know I can. Who knew? I had no idea I was so... capable.
Whether you believe you can do a thing or not, you are right. [Henry Ford]
My friends and kids kinda think I'm a bad-ass, too.
(shhhh) Feels kinda good.
I don't particularly like having to do so many things by myself, but it's reassuring to know that I can. There are things I'll definitely need help with, but they can wait. Sure, it'd be nice to get our five towers and bazillion antennas down now, but they can wait. I may sometimes forget I'm such an old broad, but I don't think I'm ready to climb to the top of any towers to dismantle antennas. Not impossible... just not smart. Best wait until the pandemic is under control and invite some young hams over to lend a hand. If they take 'em down, they can have 'em. Win-win, right?
So what else has been happening? My wonderful daughter Sunshine fell at work on December 17. It was a freak accident in which she not only dislocated her right ankle, but she also fractured it in three places. Poor thing. She was whisked away in an ambulance, and after a considerable wait... alone, of course, because of the surge in Covid cases... an orthopedic surgeon finally addressed the dislocation. Then they put her in a temporary cast and... sent her home! She had to wait two whole weeks before getting surgery. Extensive surgery, too, because there were lots of bone fragments floating around in there... and now she has more metal holding her ankle together than I ever would've believed possible. All in all, it's been a painful ordeal for her, but she's been a real trooper. I'd say she's a bona fide bad-ass, too. We've got our fingers crossed that she gets upgraded to a boot when she goes to the doc later this week.
I used to read a lot. I mean... a LOT. Now? Not so much. Took me a while, but I figured out howcum. I used to do most of my reading in the evenings while Mike watched TV. But now, for the first time in my life, I'm in charge of the remote control. HA! It's funny how much more interesting the tube can be when you're the one doing the choosing. Plus... I've got several streaming services now, too, so I've been indulging in some binge watching. How cool! In addition to binge-watching shows like This is Us and Outlander, my other new hobby is buying stuff from Amazon. All kinds of stuff. One of my latest acquisitions is a stud finder. What a great idea! I haven't taken it out for a test run yet, but I have high hopes for it. Using a simple handheld gadget would be soooo much easier than having to sign up on some stupid online dating site...
I used to write, too. Not any more. My PC died shortly after Mike did, and that's where my manuscript lies. I do have it stored on a backup hard drive, so all is not lost, but I haven't made any attempts at replacing the PC yet. For now, I'm relegated to this, my old laptop. It'll do for now. Good enough for checking email and making a brief foray into Facebook from time to time.
Ugh... Facebook. A very brief foray is more than enough.There's way too much negativity for me on there these days.
But working on this laptop is a little rough on my old eyes. (sigh) I wish they were as young as I am...
You wouldn't believe how many hours I've been working on this post. Ridiculous. But I'm about done. It's been kinda nice sitting on my butt this long. It gave my back a bit of a break from the heavy-lifting I did yesterday, so it's all good. I can get back at it tomorrow. Gotta stay busy. Busy, busy. busy.
I have the choice of being constantly active and happy or introspectively passive and sad. Or I can go mad by ricocheting in between. [Sylvia Plath]
I choose active...
Before I go, I'm gonna share a video. This song has been running rampant through my mind all day... care to join me?
Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.
Thought for the day: I don't have to chase extraordinary moments to find happiness--- it's right in front of me if I'm paying attention and practicing gratitude. [Brene Brown]
Tomorrow is Thanksgiving here in the U.S. For a number of years, this drawing, along with my silly Thanksgiving poem, provided an easy-peasy starting point for a blog post to celebrate this time of the year. A good way to ease into the Holiday season with a smile.
But this year feels different.
Because it is.
This year is different in many ways, not just for me, but for all of you, as well. How do we give thanks when the entire world is being swamped by the third... and largest... wave of this relentless pandemic? When our healthcare workers are being overwhelmed by the sheer number of patients, by their own exhaustion, and by what must be utter frustration at the number of people who still refuse to wear a damned mask?
How do we rejoice when we're still isolated, for the most part, from our families and friends? How do I rejoice without my husband? How do you rejoice without that special person you may have lost this year? How do we keep smiling through our tears?
One day at a time... one blessing at a time.
image courtesy of Unsplash
It's been four months since my husband died, and I must admit, it's still sinking in that he's truly gone... and each time that soul-sucking reality punches me in the gut, it knocks the wind out of me all over again. Yes, it brings tears to my eyes, but not for long. What good will tears do?
Far better to concentrate on the many blessings that still remain. We can spend all of our time lamenting what is gone... what has changed... or we can choose to accept our circumstances and be grateful for the many good things remaining. Goodness and joy are still all around us... we just have to look away from our sadness and anxiety and pay better attention.
I betcha turkeys are finding it easier to be grateful this year, eh? Especially the really big ones. Not much demand for 20-something pound turkeys when our gatherings will be so much smaller. My daughter, her husband and a family friend will be sharing Thanksgiving dinner with me... but no turkey. Not even a little one. It almost feels like blasphemy to have something other than turkey, but Mike was the big turkey-and-all-the-fixings fan in our family, and it seems almost disrespectful to go through all the hoopla without him. So we won't. New beginnings. New traditions. We'll eat lighter fare, and we'll enjoy each other's company. And we'll shoot pool. Maybe play some board games. The one thing I'll try not to do is cry. Laughter is so much better for the soul.
For all of you, I wish much joy and laughter, too. Whether you're celebrating Thanksgiving or just enjoying a regular run-of-the-mill Thursday, I wish you a grateful heart and many blessings. In spite of everything, life is still good. Different, yes. But still good. I am soooooo grateful for my kids... my friends... you. Hang in there, people. We've got this.
y
Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.
Thought for the day: If you don't like something, change it. If you can't change it, change your attitude. [Maya Angelou]
I reckon we've all had to change our attitudes to survive this crazy Twilight Zone of a year. Fine, I can do that... I have done that. I'm sure you have, too.
But one thing I don't want to change is my darned clock. I mean, why in the name of all that's good and holy would anyone choose to nudge the clock back an hour this weekend? Who, I ask you, is delighted at the prospect of prolonging this year from Hades by adding an extra hour to it? Now, if the powers that be really want us to turn back time, I think they should make it worth our while. Why not crank it back ... oh, I dunno... maybe twenty years or so? Betcha that would garner near-unanimous support.
Could be worse, I suppose.
At least we don't have to rearrange huge stones to change the time, eh?
A handy-dandy guide just for you...
Yeah, I know it's a pipe dream to think we could dig our heels in and forget about changing the clock. (Now if we could move it forward ... like past the election, past the pandemic, past the insanity...)
I trust that, like me, you've had enough of this stinking year. We've had our fill of the pandemic... the needless deaths... the racial divide... the protests and rioting... the toxic political atmosphere... the lies... the venomous hatred. It sucks. All of it. But wait! That's not all! Let's not forget the horrific wildfires, the hurricanes, and the floods. And how about them murder wasps? The brain-eating amoebae? And of course, for me, the worst thing, the most definitive thing, has been my husband's death. Some of you have lost loved ones this year, too. I say ENOUGH, already! We're full of this year. Fed up! Done with it. Then again, so many bad things have already happened this year, what else could possibly go wrong?
WHOA!!! Scratch that! I take it back. If the zombie apocalypse is coming, I don't wanta know. This year has been for the birds. I tell ya, it's enough to make a saint swear.
Come to think of it, birds, too. Yep, I've got it on good authority that birds are fed up with this year, too. Specifically, ever since five African grey parrots were adopted (from five separate sources) by the Lincolnshire Wildlife Park in London, those angry little guys have been cursing a blue streak. To keep their fowl attitudes from spreading to the other parrots in the sanctuary, the ornery little potty mouths had to be moved away from the others. Quaranteed. So to speak. Hmmmm, I bet that didn't do much to improve their attitudes...
On the plus side, this year... this pandemic... this unrest... can't last forever. Before we know it, it'll be winter. Then a new year... and hopefully, a better year. A more hopeful year. Less stress. More joy.
But FYI: best to be careful this winter. I mean, it's this kinda year...
Sure, this year has given us all a ton of challenges, but it hasn't been all bad. There's been some good stuff, too. Like I found a really good company to fix our air conditioning when it went belly-up smack dab in the middle of our Georgian summer. I've also gotten pretty darned good at fixing toilets, if I must say so myself. Plus, all that hand-washing and disinfecting has made toilet-cleaning easier than ever. It seems the stuff has permeated my skin, so now the toilet gets cleaned every time I tinkle. Woo HOO! Oooh, and our younger son got me set up on Netflix. Awesome! I loved it, and quickly developed a brand new binge-watching talent. Until it stopped working. (My TV isn't "smart," so he fed the stream through our DVD player... which decided to stop working. ) BUT... a new TV... a "smart" one... is supposed to be delivered today. I also got a cellphone. A first for me. Something I never ever wanted, but I got tired of my friends and family insisting I "had" to get one. So I did. A week ago. I hope they're all happy now. (Just because I have it doesn't mean I'm gonna use it.) Just kidding. A little. At first, I kept it nearby... in its box. Turned off. (sigh) Fine. It's still in its box, but at least, I turned the darned thing on. Baby steps, right?
Anyhow, chins up, people! (Otherwise, you'd be staring at your feet or your boobs all day. And that's just weird.) Maybe if we were to rate 2020, we'd struggle to give it any stars at all, and we wouldn't recommend it to anyone, but this, too, shall pass. Honest. Sure, if 2020 were a drink, it'd be hemlock or maybe that yummy colonoscopy prep stuff.. If it were a movie, it'd be ... what? Baby Boss, maybe? Sausage Party? Which song...? Oh, I've got it. It'd have to be the dogs barking Jingle Bells. Come on... help. Which song and/or movie do you think suits the essence of 2020? Sock it to me. I've got nothing but time.
Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.
After being such a barely there blogger for the past few months, I'm kinda late to the game. You guys got a big ol' fat head start on me, but I'm only just now beginning to "appreciate" the "new and improved" version of Blogger that's been foisted upon us by the mighty blogging powers that be. (Yippee, huh?) Turned out, I freaked out over nothing. Yeah, the draft of this old post looked weird... I mean, the html coding showed in lieu of the pics and videos that were in the earlier post... but that was it. Much to my delight, everything re-appeared like magic once I hit the preview button. So not a big deal. But even if it had been, it would've totally been worth it. See, my wonderful son-in-law is verrrry musically talented (in oh-so many ways) and I simply HAD to rerun this oldie-but-goodie "just for him." And for you guys, too, of course. I mean, we ALL need to lighten up and laugh, right? (Right!)
Thought for the day: Beans, beans, the musical fruit; the more you eat, the more you toot. The more you toot, the better you'll feel, so beans, beans for every meal!
Nope; it wasn't ME!
Have you ever wondered what makes something funny? What makes one person laugh uproariously at a comedian, while the next holds his nose and says the routine stinks? I mean, we all laugh at something. Even little babies laugh.
Music and laughter ... universal languages. Is there anything better than the sound of a baby's unbridled belly laugh? That in itself sounds like the sweetest music, doesn't it? So we cross our eyes, stick out our tongues, and make all kinds of faces at babies. We tickle their chubby little bellies, make utter fools out of ourselves, and generate weird noises... all in the hopes of getting to hear their precious laughter.
And what, I ask you, does almost every baby in the world think is funny?
Apparently, they're partial to... farts ... those musical toots.
Please don't think lesser of me, but (shhh!) so am I. There must be something wrong with me. Maybe a twisted kink in my DNA helix has stunted my maturation process. That would explain it. Why else would a woman my age still think flatulence is so darned funny?
I know. Embarrassing, isn't it?
What three qualities matter most to you in the people you hang around with? For me, it'd have to be kindness, intelligence, and a good sense of humor. But lately, I've begun to question the qualityof my sense of humor, because I must admit, few things are off-limits when it comes to cracking a joke or twisting words into a groan-worthy pun, and it doesn't take much to make me laugh.
Like last week. While talking to a gastroenterologist's appointment nurse on the phone, I asked her where I should report. Upstairs, where my regular doc saw patients? No, I was to go downstairs. "Figures," I said. "In the bowels of the building." Nothing. (Tough audience.) So I apologized, and said she must hear that all the time. Nope. I was the first. See? Sick sense of humor.
Then there was the time Smarticus came home from a hunting trip and told me about a harrowing experience he'd had after one of the other fellas fell out of a tree stand. While driving his friend to the hospital, my poor hapless hubby looked out his truck window and saw a wheel roll past... HIS wheel. Needless to say, he got everything fixed, and got the guy to the hospital okay, but what would YOU have said to him under the circumstances? Me? I sang. Uh-huh. I sang, You picked a fine time to leave me, loose wheel ... See? Sick, sick, sick. But not as sick as my penchant for potty humor.
Years ago, when our daughter was about eleven, she ... how shall I say this ... cut the cheese in church. Not noisily, mind you, but with an exuberant and lingering bouquet. Most normal mothers would have scolded her for not saving her stink for the bathroom, or at least given her a suitably disapproving look. Not me. I leaned over and whispered, "Gives a whole new meaning to church pew, huh?"
Fortunately, we weren't asked to vacate the premises.
This is an ACTUAL musical!
But I can't help it. I think the sounds of flatulence are absolutely hysterical.
Call me gauche, but the very idea of a musical about a man's fartistic abilities strikes me as fall-down-on-the-floor funny. (I mean, really! Can you imagine a man on stage tooting his arse like a trumpet?) But I'm not kidding! 'Twas an honest-to-goodness off-Broadway play intended to delight all lovers of potty humor and "pull my finger" shenanigans. Entitled The Fartiste, this play, based on fart artist (I kid you not!) Joseph Pujol, a 19th century Moulin Rouge tooting star, blasted its way to some great reviews and thunderous applause. Pujol had the unusual ability to suck air in through his anus, and then blow it out again, which enabled him to use his posterior portal to tootle tunes on a trumpet, emulate the sounds of thunder and ripping fabric, and even to blow out the theater's gas jet lights. What can I say? From what I've read about it, the play didn't stink.
Can you watch this video without laughing? I can't.
A few years ago, Smarticus and I saw two boys in a Dollar Store aisle playing with Whoopee cushions they'd pulled off the shelf. The more rude noises they squeezed out, the more they laughed. Um, me too. Matter of fact, I just HAD to get me one of those things. For one of our grandsons, of course. Didn't mean I couldn't entertain myself by squeezing it as we went through the store. (WHAT? I had to make sure it worked, didn't I?) Anyhow, the intended recipient of the grand gift didn't enjoy it nearly as much as his younger siblings. Especially the twenty-month-old, who would squeeze out a good one, wrinkle his nose, and say, "EWWWWW! Schtinky!" Then he'd laugh hysterically. Um, me too.
It was about then I began to wonder if some aspects of my humor weren't a tad juvenile. I mean, laughing at the same thing a twenty-month-old found amusing? The same thing that makes babies all over the world laugh?
But, as it turns out, I'm not alone. That book on the right? Belongs to my husband. One of our grandsons picked it out for him.The shameful truth is ... our whole family cracks up at bathroom humor.
And we aren't the only ones. The reason for this, I don't know, but many people find flatulence hilarious. Not burps, or hiccoughs, or sneezes ... just poots.
Smarticus once emailed me a newspaper article about a little girl who won a speech contest with her speech about ... you guessed it ... farts. I even read an article in a scientific journal about a medical researcher whose major focus is studying ... you guessed it ... farts. (Guess his lab is in the bowels of the building too, eh?) Sorry. And another about an Australian study to determine whether pooting in the O.R. could contaminate the field of operation. The conclusion? There's a minute possibility, but only if the perpetrator is naked and taking direct aim at the surgical site. But, don't worry about your surgeon eating beans. According to the study, flatus germs are as benign as the bacteria in your yogurt. Both of these article, I must say, although reporting on the results of serious studies, (or as serious as studies in this particular field can be) were full of puns, innuendos, and fart jokes. Y'know, like something I would've written.
Kinda made me proud.
So, um bottom line, maybe I'm okay after all. Right. I'm a mature sophisticated woman. (Shut up. This is MY fantasy.) And maybe I'm not the only one with an inner child squealing I don't wanta pull your finger.
So, how's the wind blow with you? Fart jokes crack you up, too, or do they just plain stink? And what's the most inappropriate thing you've ever said or done in the name of humor? Come on. You can tell me ...
There was an old fellow named Clyde
Who fell into an outhouse and died.
One day, his brother
Fell into another, And now they're in-turd side by side.
Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.
Thought for the day: See as much as you can, I guess. Rachel Carson said most of us go through life 'unseeing.' I do that some days... I think it's easier to see when you're a kid. We're not in a hurry to get anywhere and we don't have these long to-do lists you guys have. [Jim Lynch- The Highest Tide]
Yep. It's that time again. Yet another month has slipped through our fingers, and as you can clearly see by that nifty badge on the left, it's once again time for our monthly IWSG posts. As always, thanks to our fearless leader, Alex Cavanaugh, for founding this fine group, and thanks to all the other nurturing guys and gals who've helped turn it into the thriving community it is today. I'm telling ya, this group offers better support and lift than the world's most expensive bra. (No pesky underwires, either!) To join this super supportive group of writers and to see links to other participating blogs, please go HERE
It's April first, (No fooling!) and for the past, I dunno, eight years or so, I've taken the month of April off from blogging to concentrate on writing and editing, but here we are at April's front door, and I still haven't decided whether to take a break or not. So tell ya what... if I show up, as usual, I reckon I decided to hang around. If I don't? Don't worry. I'm just fine, and heck, who knows? I might even be writing. (What a concept!)
[image courtesy of pixabay]
The pandemic that's been gathering momentum this past month is on everybody's mind these days, so it only makes sense that this month's question is about COVID-19:
The IWSG's focus is on our writers. Each month, from all over the globe, we are a united group sharing our insecurities, our troubles, and our pain. So, in this time when our world is in crisis with the COVID-19 pandemic, our optional question this month is: how are things in your world?
[image courtesy of morguefile]
Thanks for asking. Because of the medical stuff that's been going on in our household for quite some time, staying at home ( except for obligatory trips for chemo and radiation) is a verrrrry easy order for us to follow. It helps that we thoroughly enjoy each other's company, but we also like to eat. And I like to cook. Which means, even though I keep a well-stocked pantry, it was clear that a trip to the grocery store was in order. Fortunately, our local store instituted an old farts hour last week.(Um, NO, they don't actually call it that...) On Tuesdays and Wednesdays, we oldie but goodie folks can now shop at 7AM before the younger folks gain entry. Cool, huh? So I planned to go last Wednesday.
[image courtesy of morguefile]
I must confess, though, I was a tad uneasy about the whole thing. See, my night vision isn't so hot, and at 7AM, it's still plenty dark here. In the past, I've had so much trouble seeing in the dark, I'm ashamed to say Smarticus had to drive us home from the hospital after one of his surgeries. We were supposed to leave the hospital in the early afternoon, but they kept him in recovery much longer than expected, and by the time he was discharged, it was way past midnight... and very dark. I tried to drive us home, but it simply wasn't safe, so I had to pull over and let him get behind the wheel. Since that awful experience, I had some eye surgery that's definitely helped, but I hadn't had an occasion to test my ability to drive in the dark since then... until last week. In the house, I make sure to flip light switches on so I can see my way safely through the house at night... but how was I going to manage outside???
I went outside. So far, so good. I go out early every morning to get the paper, so that was no problem.
It was too dark to see the buttons on my fob, so I fumbled the key into the door lock and got the door open. Eventually.
Buckled in and started the car. No problem.
Then... BIG problem. I couldn't SEE!!! Not a thing! I mean NOTHING!!!
I turned on the high beams.
Nope. Still couldn't see. I wasn't exactly in panic mode at that point, but I was a teensy bit upset. I mean, I needed to go to the grocery store, but Smarticus needs his sleep. I did NOT want to wake him up just to take me to the store...
Then I started laughing.
[image courtesy of morguefile]
The only thing worse than being blind is having sight but no vision. [Helen Keller]
What a DOOFUS! I had it all ass-backwards!
When I stopped laughing, I removed the sun screen from the windshield.
I could see just FINE. I still can't believe I did that. How could I be so dumb? (Don't answer that!)
The trip to the store was uneventful. Actually, it was kinda nice sharing the space with the handful of other seniors who were there, even though a lot of the shelves were woefully bare. (Would you believe even the frozen Brussel sprouts were completely sold out?!)
After all, the true seeing is within. [George Eliot]
[image courtesy of unsplash]
It's a relief to know I can see well enough to drive safely in the dark now, but I need to do some serious innerseeing to figure out if I'm ever gonna finish the trilogy I started a while back. I think what I have so far for Book Two is really good, but it's been more than a year since I've even looked at the unfinished manuscript. Now that most of Smarticus' treatments are (hopefully) behind us, it's time to decide: to write... or not to write. If you don't hear from me for the rest of the month, that might mean I'm writing again. Or it might not. Who knows? I might be alphabetizing everything in my china cabinet and washing my spices. Or something like that. Either way, know that I'm okay. And I'm no longer afraid of driving in the dark.
How about YOU...?
Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.
Thought for the day: Please don't squeeze the... HEY! Where's the Charmin???
This is a common sight all over the world right now.
If poor ol' Mr. Whipple from the old Charmin television ads were still alive, wouldn't he be astounded? I mean, his very raison d'etre has disappeared. There's absolutely no reason to warn anyone not to squeeze the Charmin these days, because there's none left in the stores for anyone to squeeze... or buy.
Maybe we should blame the mysterious disappearing t.p. on those darned bears... (Or should I say bares?)
Believe me, I'm not making light of COVID-19. Like many of you, my hubby and I are both in the high risk category. But...( Or should I say butt?) as usual, I think the best way to cope with what's happening is with humor. (Surprise!)
So how about a silly little poem/song? (You can imagine me picking my guitar and singing, if you will...)
♪♫♪♫ The pandemic news is scary, And no telling what's to come. We're locked down in isolation, And some brains have gotten numb. That's the simplest explanation For this obsession oh-so-dumb. The world's kinda crumbling around them So– they crave paper to wipe their bum??? CHORUS: Buy it, buy it, and then buy some more. Stack it in the closets; pile it on the floor. Stash it in the basement; stuff it in the car. Drink up all your bourbon, and then store it in your bar. Throw out all your furniture; you can use it as your bed. Build towers to the ceiling, and then fill a backyard shed. Ignore your grumpy neighbors when they look at you and frown, Because you're gonna have the cleanest butt in town.
Like a swarm of hungry locusts, They ravage every store, Grabbing every roll in sight And then moving on for more. This worldwide troop of buttheads, Perhaps a million strong, Care only about their precious rears As they sing their hoarding song: CHORUS: Buy it, buy it, and then buy some more. Stack it in the closets; pile it on the floor. Stash it in the basement; stuff it in the car. Drink up all your bourbon, and then store it in your bar. Throw out all your furniture; you can use it as your bed. Build towers to the ceiling, and then fill a backyard shed. Ignore your grumpy neighbors when they look at you and frown, Because you're gonna have the cleanest butt in town. Fat rolls, thin rolls, packs from four to forty-eight; Soft stuff, rough stuff, and stuff that ain't too great. It really doesn't matter... it's all about the hunt. "Let no roll go unpurchased!" (A stinky selfish stunt.) Until this pandemic's over and the panic buys grow still, They'll amass more toilet paper to leave their children in a will. This behavior is atrocious; I think it's very wrong, But that happy horde of hoarders still crow their hoarding song: CHORUS: Buy it, buy it, and then buy some more. Stack it in the closets; pile it on the floor. Stash it in the basement; stuff it in the car. Drink up all your bourbon, and then store it in your bar. Throw out all your furniture; you can use it as your bed. Build towers to the ceiling, and then fill a backyard shed. Ignore your grumpy neighbors when they look at you and frown, Because you're gonna have the cleanest butt in town... ♪♫ The cleeeeeanest buuutt in toooooown.... ♫♪
Okay, was that silly enough for you? No? Good, because I've got some cartoons for ya, too.
(Dime bags of t.p....)
our heroes... always eager to help
Don't forget! It's more important than EVER to WASH YOUR HANDS!!! But...
Until next time, hunker down and take care of yourselves. And keep smiling.
P.S. On Wednesday, I took advantage of the early morning hour of shopping set aside just for us old farts at our local grocery store, and I thought I'd do you guys a solid by sharing a valuable public service announcement with you:
Thought for the day: Patience is a virtue; keep it if you can. Seldom found in women, and never found in men. [unknown]
That thought for the day is something my mother used to recite fairly often. Whether or not that helped me become as ridiculously patient as I am now or not, I don't know. But maybe. Or maybe it's simply because of my training. You know...kinda like a dog who's forced to sit still with a treat sitting on his snout until his owner gives him permission to eat it? When there is no other option, you darned well learn how to be patient.
My mom was fairly patient, but my father was always a gnat hair's breadth away from exploding in indignant fury. He didn't want to wait for anything... ever. I do remember one kinda funny result of that, though. One year, my mother bought him an electric razor for Christmas, and when he opened it on Christmas morning, lo and behold, there were already whiskers in it! He'd found the hidden razor weeks earlier and had been using it right up until my mother wrapped it. (I guess he musta liked it, huh?)
So are you the patient type? I think most mothers pretty much have to be, what with all the countless hours of waiting they have to do for their kids' appointments and activities. We older folks, too, what with all our trips to various doctors. Smarticus was never the patient type, but since his medical stuff started, he has little choice. When you've got all those appointments and procedures, week after week after week, you either learn to be philosophical about the endless waits and the not knowing, or you do yourself more harm by letting it get to you. We've learned to be more patient together. Right now, we're patiently waiting (And I ask you, why isn't HURRY THE HELL UP a virtue???) until we finally get results. Maybe next week... maybe not. At any rate, why focus on what's yet to come? It's better to make the most of THIS day, dontcha think? Que sera sera.
How do you think you'd do with THIS test of your patience?
Let's take some more looks at the funny side of impatience, shall we?
Do you suffer in silence? We don't. We might be patient, but we're also yakkers, and we usually get the people around us talking, too. And the little kids giggling.
We never had to push (or slingshot) our kiddos out of the nest, but I'm not surprised by the number of parents who do. I mean, when Johnny's old enough to invite his lady friend... and her children... over for the weekend, he's old enough to get his own place.
This one reminds me of a poster Smarticus used to have in his office at work. It showed a couple of buzzards, and one of them is saying, "Patience, my ass! I'm gonna kill something!"
Hmmm, come to think of it, Noah must've had the patience of Job...
Okay, so let's give it up for patience!!! Gimme a P...
Faith is not simply a patience that passively suffers until the storm is past. Rather, it is a spirit that bears things... with resignation, yes, but above all, with blazing, serene hope. [Carazon Aquino]
Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.
