Happy Trails to You

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:

                                                                  You're welcome.

Please Hold

Thought for the day: If it weren't for electricity, we'd all be watching television by candlelight. [George Gobel]

[image courtesy of morguefile]

And if it weren't for telephones, I reckon we'd all be sending smoke signals.

To tell the truth, I had no idea what I was gonna write about for today's post. Oh, I had a few nebulous ideas, but nothing that stirred much enthusiasm in me.

Then Monday happened, and serendipity struck.

When I went to my ophthamologist last week, she prescribed another eyedrop to add to my daily regimen, and told me to come back in a month to have the pressure remeasured.The staff kindly made a return appointment for me, and I went on my merry way.
That afternoon, Smarticus' next surgery was scheduled, and you guessed it... it fell on the same day as that aforementioned appointment.

No problem, right? I simply went online and canceled the appointment, and figured I'd make a call to the (ugh!) appointment center on Monday to reschedule.

OY! Big problem! First, after dutifully entering all the required information into the automated system, the robo-voice told me all lines were busy, and there'd be a wait of anywhere between 56 minutes and an hour and 23 minutes... (Where do they come up with arbitrary numbers???) so did I want someone to call me back. To sweeten the offer, I was assured that I "wouldn't lose my place in line." A no-brainer, right? So I left the required information, and about two hours later, give or take, I got that promised call-back. Cool, huh?

Nope. Not cool. An automated voice once again informed me that all lines were busy, but the next available assistant would take my call. (Why, why, WHY did they call me back, if they were only going to put me on HOLD again?) Silly naive me thought it'd only be a short wait. After all, I was next in line, right?

I gave up after waiting for more than an hour, and I've gotta tell ya, it gave me enormous pleasure to slam my phone receiver back into its cradle. (One of the pleasures of owning a landline. Also... I have NEVER accidentally dropped my phone into the toilet or run it through the washing machine. Just saying...)

Then I took the phone off the hook. Phooey on 'em! I had stuff to do, dammit!

And I was MAD! SOOOOO mad, I wanted to punch the wall and scream. So natch, I did what any other perfectly normal weird irate writer would do... I wrote a silly poem that evening:

'Tis a sad and tragic story,
But one that must be told,
About a most unlucky fella
Whose call was put on hold.

A recorded voice informed him
There'd be a slight delay,
'But your call is quite important,
So please don't go away.'

Then began an endless loop 
Of an irritating tune,
Plus timely saccharine assurances
That someone would answer soon.

'I'm sure this won't take long,'
The foolish man did say.
'I'll simply sit and wait my turn...
Why not? I've got all day.'

Minutes passed, and then passed hours,
As life went on around him.
Yet still he sat, phone pressed to ear,
For his determination bound him. 

The longer he waited,
The more he had to stay.
His call'd be answered any sec,
So he mustn't go away.

With zero sleep and little food,
He clutched his phone for days.
He began to hum that damnable tune,
And his puffy eyes looked crazed.

Then finally, on day twenty-two or three,
The music stopped; he held his breath,
And he heard a woman say:

'Thank you for your patience.
I'm so glad that you could stay.
Now won't you kindly tell me
What I can do for you today?'

'Your mattress stinks; I'll not return
To your crummy store Sweet Slumber.
I demand my money back!'
'So sorry, sir. Wrong number!"

***********

On Tuesday, I played it smart. I called the dreaded appointment center first thing in the morning. So first thing, in fact, after dutifully entering all the required information into the automated system, I was informed that the place didn't open until 8 AM. (The slackers!) There was a happy ending, though. I called on the stroke of eight, and by golly, I was first in line, and the task was accomplished in a matter of minutes. From now on, I will ALWAYS make that call at 8 AM. Burn me once, shame on you. Burn me twice, shame on me.

So are automated telephone systems and being put on hold the banes of your existence, too? Oh, and let's not forget those delightful robo-calls. (I guess there weren't enough people being duped via email, eh?) If none of those things make it to the top of your pet peeve list, what does? (Why not write a poem about it? HA) And, ya know,  if we can't beat the system, we might as well laugh at it...

                                     

Kinda makes ya nostalgic for the good old days of telephone, doesn't it? Well, except maybe for those pesky party lines. You know... when you knew your nosy neighbor was listening to your call, because you could hear her open-mouthed  breathing. Oh, but remember those really sweet helpful operators? Remember... Earnestine?

                                    Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

The Wings of an Eagle

Thought for the day: We are eagles of one nest... the nest is in our soul. [Led Zeppelin]

[image courtesy of unsplash]

Eagles are majestic creatures. The kings and queens of the skies, you might say. With their immense wingspans, they have the ability to soar high, and their high-flying maneuvers... from the mighty flaps of their wings,... to the graceful glides on the air... to the sudden wing-back swoops to the ground... are all magnificent things to behold.

We, too, have the ability to soar high, but like reluctant eagles, we sometimes give up or lose our desire to fly. I've told the following story before, which is loosely based on a James Agreey story, The Parable of the Eagle, but in support of the post I want to write today, it begs to be repeated:

[image courtesy of Morguefile]

While traipsing through the woods one day, a farmer happened upon a lone eaglet perched on a fallen log. He scooped up the young bird, carried it home, and put it in the barnyard with his chickens. Before long, the young eagle was walking and clucking like a chicken and pecking at the chicken feed on the ground.

When the farmer's friend, a Native American named Joseph, stopped by the farm one day, he was appalled to find the majestic eagle in the barnyard scratching in the dirt like a common chicken. With a laugh, the farmer said the bird had been raised like a chicken and never taught to fly, so he was now more chicken than eagle. Joseph insisted the bird still had the heart of an eagle, and he could... and should... be taught to fly, so the farmer agreed to let his friend try.

Joseph picked up the eagle, and said, "You're meant to be the king of the sky. Stretch forth your wings and fly!"

But the timid eagle looked at his chicken friends pecking corn from the ground and jumped down to join them.

The next day, Joseph tried again. This time, he took the eagle up to the roof, and again, he said,"You're an eagle, the king of the skies. Stretch forth your wings and fly!"

And once again, the frightened bird returned to the safety of the chicken yard.

The third day, Joseph carried the bird to a nearby mountaintop, held it high above him, and said, "You are an eagle, the king of the skies. Spread forth your wings, and fly!"

Hesitant at first, the bird looked back toward the farm, back toward the only life he knew. Then he trembled, stretched his mighty wings, and with a triumphant cry, soared into the sky.

It's possible the eagle sometimes misses the chickens; he may even visit the barnyard once in a while for old time's sake. But as far as anyone knows, he's still living life as an eagle, the king of the skies... just as all eagles were meant to do.
                                                                         *****

It's easier to hang around in the barnyard, because the prospect of stretching our wings can be very frightening, but we should never let someone else define our capabilities. Why let someone else's doubts stop you from trying? By the same token, there are a lot of things happening in the world today that might make you want to hide in the barnyard... or stay in bed with the covers pulled over your head. It seems like every day, there is something else in the news that's discouraging and disheartening. Nothing but one dark storm after another...
                                                      Are you hiding from those storms?

[image courtesy of unsplash]

[image courtesy of unsplash]

One of the many interesting things about eagles: they don't hide from storms. Nope, they don't fly straight into them, either. They're much smarter than that.

They fly above them. Up above the storm... above the clouds... to find clear blue skies and wind currents that can carry them effortlessly through the air.

All birds find shelter during a rain, but the eagle avoids rain by flying above the clouds. Problems are common, but attitude makes the difference. [Abdul Kalam]

An eagle uses the negative energy of of a storm to fly even higher [Eric Thomas]

Flap the wings of inner strength to fly above the clouds of a storm. Cry not if left alone. Like an eagle, you are strong. [Vandana Saini]

I get it. I'll confess to feeling occasional angst over the state of the world today, but we must give ourselves permission to soar above those feelings. Wallowing in discouraged sadness... in the dirt of the barnyard... won't help anyone or change anything. We may not be able to change the entire world, but we can certainly do our best to make a difference right where we are. We can't single-handedly stop all hateful behavior in the world... but we can certainly devote ourselves to being kind in our everyday lives. A simple act of kindness may be just the boost another person needs to soar above the clouds.

[image courtesy of unsplash]

I've often defined myself as a pathological optimist, but that doesn't mean it's always easy.

There is an eagle in me that wants to soar, and there is a hippopotamus in me that wants to wallow in the mud. [Carl Sandburg]

It has to be a conscious decision. I have to fight  my inner hippo... and occasionally have a diet soda with my cheeseburger.

You can't soar like an eagle when you hang around with turkeys. [author unknown]

When the storms of life gather darkly ahead,
I think of those wonderful words I once read.
And I say to myself as threatening clouds hover,
Don't fold up your wings and run for cover. 
But like the eagle, spread wide your wings
And soar far above the troubles life brings.
For the eagle knows that the higher he flies,
The more tranquil and brighter become the skies.
And there is nothing in life God ever asks us to bear
That we can't soar above on the wings of prayer.
And in looking back over the storm you passed through,
You'll find you gained strength and new courage, too,
For in facing life's storms with an eagle's wings,
You can fly far above earth's small petty things. 

[Helen Steiner Rice]

Attitude is a choice. Happiness is a choice. Optimism is a choice. Kindness is a choice. Giving is a choice. Respect is a choice. Whatever choice you make makes you. Choose wisely. [Roy T. Bennett]

If you don't like something, change it. If you can't change it, change your attitude. [Maya Angelou]

                            Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

Don't Mess with My S'Mores

Thought for the day:  Camping is nature's way of promoting the motel business.  [Dave Barry]

Why didn't Noah swat 'em when he had the chance?

Some people love camping. Some people don't. Some people think there's nothing better in the world than spending time close to nature; others think close to nature means going barefoot, and roughing it means the TV in their motel room is smaller than their set at home.

I used to like camping. Probably wouldn't be my first choice now, but I have plenty of fond memories of camping as a kid, and of camping with our kids when they were growing up. (Is there ANYTHING that smells even half as good as bacon cooking outside in the early morning?)

Sure, camping has its downsides. Like the  mosquitoes that consider bug spray nothing more than a tasty finishing sauce, the tenacious horse flies that have to be pried off with a crow bar, and the sneaky little ticks that have such a talent for  burrowing into the most unpleasant places. And then, of course, there's always the inconvenience of  having to trek to the port-a-potty in the pitch black middle of the night.

Never wipe with leaves that look like this!

Or worse, finding your kids blithely playing in a pretty little patch of poison ivy.

 But the state of California offers a whole new breed of things for you to worry about when you take the family camping. (Or do just about anything else.)

Forget worrying about a bear attack.

Don't worry about one of those giant trees smashing your RV.

Maybe what you should be worrying about is that nasty campfire. Forget about running out of marshmallows. Don't worry about finding sticks long enough to hold wieners over the fire. (sigh) Worry about the fire. 

     Because the fine state of California says campfires are hazardous to your health.

Proposition 65, AKA the California Safe Drinking Water and Toxic Enforcement Act of 1986, was enacted to protect the state's citizens and their drinking water from chemicals known to cause cancer and birth defects. An admirable goal, to be sure.

However, the law requires the governor to release a list of these toxic substances at least once a year, and businesses must notify the public about the presence of any of those substances. Still sound pretty admirable?

The problem is, signs like the one above now pepper California like termite holes in a rotten piece of wood. Certainly in campgrounds, because chemicals associated with things like campfires and RV holding tanks may be hazardous to your health. And at gas stations ... because ya know, there may be ... um... gasoline... there. Probably in hospitals, too, because cleaning products are also on the list. The latest list of toxic chemicals fills twenty-two pages, and includes well over 800 substances, so the signs are becoming so ubiquitous, it's questionable whether they have any meaning anymore, other than as fodder for potential lawsuits. 

Posting signs to warn us of the obvious makes about as much sense as a label on a can of peanuts saying Warning: Contains peanuts. I mean ... have we really become that stupid? I certainly hope we are much more competent than our governments seem to think we are.

So, bottom line, if I ever do go camping again, it sure won't be in California. Campfires are much more friendly here in Georgia.  (And who wants to go camping if you can't fix s'mores with a clear conscience?)

You know, I'm thinking our house probably wouldn't pass the California sniff test. I mean, we have two cats. ('Nuff said there.) I painted the walls last year ... I actually scrub the floors... and cook. Don't forget the evils of nail polish, acetone, super glue, spray paint, and who knows how many other things most of us use regularly. How 'bout you? Do you need one of those signs at your house, too? (Sheesh.)

                            Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other. 

Oh, and a thanks and a tip of the hat to my amateur radio pals Barry and Judi for suggesting this as a possible blogpost topic.