JULY 22, FUNNY HOW THINGS WORK

Is it just me or when doom and gloom appear, it seems to take with it all sense of good? If you look at today’s economy, the state of the Union, the fact that we are going nowhere but downward as a country, we also get hit with the heat wave of the century!

Seems the President and Congress can’t come to terms on how to screw up the economy even more, and our grandchildren will be cursing us for years to come. Meanwhile, the weatherman can’t wait to tell us how lousy we will feel for the next few days! I have an idea, why not combine an economic depression with a heat wave? Maybe we can all come down with a respiratory infection as a bonus.

As I sit on my recliner typing this at 6:00 am, the TV is on, and they are giving the weather forecast for the day. 100 degrees, hot, humid and hazy. Heat advisory warnings are in effect and they are telling the audience to be careful and watch for pets and old people. While they tell me this, they are wearing suits, with the cuffs popping out from under the sleeves of the jackets and ties! The heat index will be 115 degrees!

Later this afternoon, at the peak of the heat, I will go to a class get-together, in this heat, and all I will do is drink water, then all I will do is go to the potty! TLW (The Little Woman) actually feels sorry for me, since she will be in the air-conditioned Wanna-Be-Bank and Truss Co.

If things aren’t bad enough for the city dwellers, they are advised to stay away from the water today, keep off the beaches. Why, because of raw sewage that is escaping a plant that had a fire.

Tomorrow (Saturday) and Sunday are not any better, the same thing. Tomorrow I will go into the pool and stay there, coming out for only the most absolute necessities. Maybe, just maybe by Christmas Eve, things will get a little better.

AUBREY ROSE

That is not the title of a love song, about a young lady who broke my heart, but the tale of one who stole it away!

She is only just under 7 lbs, so she has no weight issues for her size, she has a round face that is so beautiful that I must say she is even prettier than me, hard to believe, huh?

She also has a title, #12, as in the twelfth great grandchild for my Mom, who made the trip to the hospital in spite of her inability to walk from arthritis. Mom was seeing one more time what she started so long ago in Brooklyn NY, where her daughter was born, and is now the grandmother of Aubrey Rose.

Aubrey Rose also gave me an opportunity to spend a few hours with Mom, something I don’t do as much as I would like or should.

It is great how a birth can do things to the family as a whole, the unifying moments of coming together to witness and celebrate the birth of a new member of the family.

Mom was very happy to have had the opportunity to see the baby, and I was very happy to give it to her. But she said something to me that is sticking in my mind. She said to me: “Joe, I forgot how much fun you are, you made me laugh all afternoon, thank you!” Then she kissed me.

BOB APODACA, YOU OWE ME!

#1 Son was all excited! A real live New York Met was coming to town, and was speaking in the school auditorium.

“Dad, Bob Apodaca is coming to speak at the school!”

“You want to go?”

Of course, since I’m his father he didn’t say I was a dumb ass for asking.

Off we went: the kid and me to see Bob Apodaca. The place is crawling with Mets fans and closet Yankee fans. As we enter we are given large posters of guess who. You haven’t been paying attention: BOB APODACA! Pay attention!

Mr. Apodaca gives a nice little talk to the kids, and their fathers, and promises he will autograph the posters. Somewhere in between his saying that and our leaving, we missed out on the autograph! I tell #1 Son to try to go back stage and I’ll try out here to find him to give us an autograph. I know neither of us will succeed, but who knows. While #1 Son is gone, I sign the poster and disguise my penmanship to fool him.

#1 Son comes back, looking very disappointed, and I give him the poster I signed, hoping to fool him but make a bad situation good in his eyes, he is like a toothless pit bull, he doesn’t bite! He tells me it’s fake, and I am now feeling lower than he is. I let my kid down.

Where do you send a father like me? A monumental screw up and it is all my fault. Today, whenever he is home, I remember that night in the school building, the poster and Bob Apodaca.

BOB APODACA, YOU OWE ME!

What? You thought this story had a happy ending?

THE NIGHT THE LIGHTS WENT OUT

I sat on my duff surfing the Internet, when suddenly-it was telling me I was no longer connected! (Actually, if you ask my mother, she will tell you I was disconnected long ago) This was shocking as I tried to reconfigure what was wrong. Suddenly, TLW (The Little Woman) was wanting to know why she wasn’t getting the Internet, The TV then went down, This was getting serious, we might have to talk to each other after 6:30 pm! My God, that wouldn’t do!

“Joe, (me) check to see if the phone works. No phone! If she tries to poison me now, I couldn’t call out for help. I was starting to sweat. I go up to my studio to try to re-boot the modem, and while I do, the lights go out! There really was nothing we could do now but talk to each other!

It got me thinking: what did they do before TV and radio? The poor bastards!

It was an oppressive July night, so humid, my neighbors gold fish was sniffing my nose. No God, not the AC, I need that to sleep!

“We need to keep the refrigerator door closed at all costs, and the house doors closed to the outside, no heat is to enter and no cool air is to escape.” I said this like I was in full charge, taking over in a crisis, being ‘the Man’. #2 Son was at work, and TLW had escaped to her car and her air-conditioning having left me alone! Fortunately, I heard what I said and did so.

We had inquired about when the lights might come back on and they said at 8:00 pm, and precisely at 8:00 pm, the lights came back on! Do I get a rebate for down time from the power company? Do I have these sick thoughts often?

When the lights came back on, a sense of relief came over me and I suddenly found myself moving down to the refrigerator, to see if the beer was still cold, then checked the TV and Internet, life is good again. 

DYSFUNCTIONAL

I don’t know if it is old age or not, but lately everything seems to be a little more difficult. For instance typing, I already made a few typos in these few words! My hands seem to feel like they are stiff and uncontrollable! I type and find a surprise spelling when I look!

Making the bed this morning I realized that the bed spread was too far over to one side, making me have to pull over everything to get it right. My mother taught me to make a bed, and she was a stickler about it. I learned hospital corners and tucking. She made me iron my own clothes, and other chores, so that if I ever got married, and it didn’t work out, I wouldn’t need to come home! “When you leave to get married, YOU LEAVE” Dear Mom!

TLW (The Little Woman) just interrupted me as I was typing the last paragraph! What was her problem? Chains! Yes, those links that tie man down, that humbles us all. She has a necklace with a chain so delicate if you breathe on it: it will come apart!

“Joe, can you do this? I used to be able to do this!” It is so small, I have to take my glasses off, to focus and my hands are still stiff from paragraph one above, as I attempt to do it.

I can’t climb ladders, go on the roof and other chores I used to handle easily, it is time to put me out to pasture it seems. I have a conversation and there are two things I want to tell someone, I tell one, and forget what it was I wanted to say for the second thing.

I go into the next room, but why?
 ________________________________________________________________________

BREAKING NEWS •  BREAKING NEWS • BREAKING NEWS • BREAKING NEWS •

We interrupt this edition of DelBloggolo to give you this important message:

Aubrey Rose Schneider was born this morning,  weighing in at 6lbs, 12 ozs, to Annmarie and Greg Schneider. 

We now return you to our regularly scheduled blogue. 

__________________________________________________ 

One day I took out the vacuum cleaner, there was a battle wagging between me, the canister, the hose and I was losing! It tangled, got stuck behind a corner, and I suddenly recalled some language I once heard dad use.

I now have to write everything down, someone tells me to not forget something, I not only forget, I don’t remember someone telling me not to forget!

WHO CHEATED WHOM?

I have often heard about how the white man robbed the ‘Native American’ out of Manhattan Island for $24 worth of trinkets. In the time it took for me to get educated about the facts, I compared what I learned yesterday to what I think today.

Who’s kidding whom? Did the white man steal their land or did they buy it? I mean who was leading the Native American (NA) delegation during these negotiations? Was it an adult or some kid? Really, anyone ever hear about “Buyer beware” Am I being naïveté?



Let’s face it: Whitey did the NA a favor, taking off the hands of the NA’s a frightful task of getting the subways to run and the buses properly routed. Do you think it would have been fair to leave these poor people with the Taxi and Limo Commission? What about garbage and snow plowing, I don’t think so.

And the mobs! My gosh there are a lot of people on the streets at lunch hour, all strolling around, I’m sure they would have no regard for a tee pee sitting on say 5th Avenue and 50th Street.

Like most reparations, they come too late, or too soon. Never did anyone pay back something on time, when it was in its purest form. The Germans made reparations too soon during the 20th Century for starting WWI, bankrupting Germany and we are too late to pay back the NA’s! It’s not the same place anymore! By the way, this NA stuff is starting to get to me: I’m calling them Indians for now on. (Dear #1 and #2 Sons, get over it.)

So let’s say we give back Manhattan Island to the Indians (Get over it guys), will they do the right thing and return the trinkets? All $24?

Just saying.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY DON UYENO!

IF I HAD…

You always hear it; “If” and when the word stands alone it is very large. The word “If” can stop a dream and it can define one. It is conditional and it is controlling, the word “If” is big.

Often I think to myself: “If I had…” and fill in the end. It might be a dream, a hope a want, but all too often I think that.

Recently I strolled through the agency to sign some checks and visit some people, when I came across a man who was passing me, and seemed to be very happy. His nature was such that you could almost become as happy as he seemed. Infectious would describe it best. He was riding a scooter like vehicle, so he obviously could not walk, but he got around. He has a developmental disability, but can read because he was delivering the inter-office mail. If I wanted to start my day off right, I would love for him to greet me first thing!

I though this spirit was one filled with calmness, serenity and beauty. Here obviously was a man of peace, teaching me to be one too. I thought that if I had the power to make him walk, his spirit would be reaching a wider world than the confines of the agency only, then it dawned on me, he IS out there, I need to be him, if I only knew how.

What I wish to say is there are people out there just like this gentleman, filled with a spirit that penetrates the barriers we put up as strangers. He has his problems, but doesn’t care, or doesn’t know, or maybe, just maybe does know but chooses to brighten his day by making mine bright too! We could all be like him!

WHERE HAVE ALL THE CHILDREN GONE?

“No more pencils no more books,
No more teachers dirty looks.”


Many years ago, on the streets of Brooklyn, children would gather in late June to celebrate the end of school. Both the Catholic and public schools let out about the same time and there was joy in the air.

“Break the windows, break the chairs,
Throw the teacher down the stairs!”


Freedom! The passion was greater than the day they liberated Paris in WWII.

As the days progressed through the summer, children all over Brooklyn took out their toy maker, what today we would call: imagination!

Poor kids would collectively own a rubber ball, and in the middle of the streets of Brooklyn, turn the streets into imaginary Ebbets Fields or Yankee Stadiums or even The Polo Grounds. A simple pink rubber ball, an old sawed off broom handle taped for grip, two man hole covers and chalk and you suddenly had a ball field, a field of dreams!

The girls had their world too. The sound of snap, snap, snap as an old gray clothes line was converted into jump rope, one girl on each end turning the rope into a large loop, a cadence of rhythm and rhyme, and the jumpers ready to do their turn, grim determination on their faces, pig tails flapping, little cotton dresses and ankle socks jumping in unison.

The little skip hoping of a single skip rope, a chant that mesmerized the listener who witnessed the eventful flawlessness of it all, as a sister or a girlfriend danced on the one spot, skipping rope.

There were the little games of stoop ball, the boys and girls both playing. “Five, ten, fifteen”… Suddenly the ball returns on the fly instead of a bounce. “OOOH, OOOH one hundred fifteen” and so the games went.

At night the magic came. Games like: Red Light, Green Light, Iron Tag, Simon Says, and Hide and Seek occupied our time until we were called in by mom or dad. “Five minutes more, Ma!” we would call out. “I SAID NOW!!!” was our stern admonishment. And as we left, we could still taste the chocolate from the Bungalow Bar Ice Cream man, Pete, with his pencil moustache.

I can recall my sons going out to play, all day, everyday. When school was over, out they went, and summers meant Little League, and soccer and basketball, and bikes.


And so today I look out on the street. All I see are parked cars, and lawns that are being watered. I see no children! Where are the children, where is the sound of laughter, balls bouncing, playful cheering? Worst yet, is there no one who is developing a personality, a skill, a bag of memories that he can take with him forever? What will he tell his children were his childhood memories? Will he tell them, about a kid named Mookie, or JoJo or Skip, or will he not have anything to tell them? Maybe he can answer with a text message: “No childhood :-(“

REBOOT ME SCOTTY!

OK, I do complain a lot, but sometimes it is justifiable. One morning in July I came down stairs from my shower to get a cup of coffee, poured it and went into the den, where TLW (The Little ‘Woman) sat reading a newspaper.



“Joe-my laptop computer said that something happened to the Internet or some thing and the modem needs to be rebooted! It seems the TV went down and then came back up again! I can’t get on the internet. You try.”

Resolving to kill myself since it was so early in the am, I thought that the day was starting off badly. Back up I go to my little hideout from the world where the modem is situated. I shut it down, reboot, the modem, the computer and my desire to live. The internet goes right up, the email works, all is good in my office. Triumphantly I descend the staircase as Caesar may have after a stroll through Gaul.



“Did you fix it?” asks TLW.

“It’s working upstairs!”

On we both go, but nothing works but my high blood pressure.

TLW makes an announcement: “It’s not working! Maybe you should reboot the modem or something.”

Me; “Well, I rebooted the modem before, and it works upstairs, maybe I’ll reboot the something you just mentioned.”

“What?”

“Never mind” and with that I go back upstairs, this time I reboot the modem again, test my computer to see that it works and go back downstairs to test both our lap tops. Just as I suspected: IT WON”T WORK! I feel like Napoleon leaving Moscow.

I do a little reconfiguring with the preferences, curse a little, and sip my coffee. (This is called multi-tasking, and should not be tried at home without supervision if you are over 60.) It works! IT WORKS!! OH, LORDY IT WORKS!!!

Like Hitler entering Paris, I march off for a cup of coffee from my Krup coffee maker. It’s on, the water is ready to brew, I put in a new pod and…

My coffee maker doesn’t work!
“Toots, the coffee maker isn’t working.”
In marches TLW, looks at it, hits a few buttons, nothing.
“Maybe you need to reboot it or something, Joe”

???

THE WAY I SAW IT

It was my first drawing class in college. I was nervous and at the same time excited. I had heard all kinds of stories from my Dad when he took a drawing class, and I had heard stories from other art majors. Live model drawing, what every artist needed.



I remember telling my aunt and uncle that I was taking the class, and of course my uncle had one vision of what the model should look like, and that was not going to happen. The model they sent was an older woman in her late 40’s and strategically knew how to operate. The blanket was a must, not only for her, but: for me, especially after lunch.

There is an initial awkwardness that comes over everyone including the model, and I had male models as well, that starts off the session, then everyone settles down. We begin to draw and it doesn’t bother one that the model is stark naked.



My aunt asked me one day after a session how it went, (I was staying at her home for the semester) and then told me a story. Seems as artist had a naked model women in his attic studio. He was sitting have a cup of tea with her, when suddenly he heard his wife’s footsteps coming up the stairs. “Quick, take off all your clothes!” he said.

One evening I had a show of my charcoal drawings, my parents coming to see it, it was a proud moment. I was considered a fine artist in a true sense, my drawings were so good, a few were stolen. At first I was angered, then I realized that they were worth stealing, and in a strange way felt good about it. I wondered what was so wrong that they didn’t steal them all!

THE COUNTRY IS GETTING OLDER!

Or so the reports go. The older population is now more people than the younger one. Having no idea what constitutes the “older population”, I assume I am in a minority now. (This is my blogue: you don’t agree, write your own blogue)

I feel that the world do-gooders are making allowances for just about everything and now will allow for older people, or the majority. It is only fair, that I represent the older people whom I have enormous respect for. Here is a list of some of the things we will need for them.

Disposable toilet seats, the paper idea sucks. Create something that stays in place.

Foot-pedal toilet seats that allow one the opportunity not to have to handle a seat to raise or lower it. This prevents older people from having to reach down and bend their backs.

Whose idea was it to start making all the type in the world so darn small? It must be 4 point they are using, and that is on the road signs!

Why the hell is everyone starting to whisper, seems no one talks up anymore.

We have passing lanes, and HOV lanes, now let’s set up lanes for the younger generation that thinks they are invincible, driving at 100 mph through traffic. This will protect the normal drivers from getting killed.

Another idea I have is for slower drivers, the ones that do 20 mph on a highway with their let turn signal on. Let them have the shoulder, and it should also house every so many miles a rest stop.

A special dining area set aside for senior citizens in all restaurants. This designated area will NOT have loud piped in music, the service will come once to the table to take your order, once to deliver it, and finally once to clear away the dishes and give you the bill. That means no more coming over and interrupting conversations with the inane: “Is everything all right?”

Any public building that caters to seniors should ban rug rats, unless the rug rats are properly muzzled and tied to a seat.

Speaking of restaurants, not only is the type too small on the menus, but why don’t they turn up the lights so someone has a fighting chance to read them. Any one couple with over 40 years of marriage, you don’t want a romantic setting, you want to know who you are talking to, while you eat.

Aspirin should be available in restaurants, next to the free sugar and salt packets, placed on tables in the senior citizens section, along with something to clean up the spills on your clothing.

I don’t think I am asking too much, the political correct police could probably make sure the rules are followed and that everyone over the senior citizen line is accommodated.

Thank you, I’m going to take a nap now.

STARTING A NEW NOVEL

While I shop around my ‘Tolik’s Odyssey’, I am starting a new one, to amuse me and to help me hone my writing skills. No one loves a good book better than me, but that doesn’t stop me from trying to write one. If people say anything about me when I kiss off, it will be that I kept on going.



Writing a book takes time, research and a familiar subject. It means taking things that you like to do, and putting them together in one package. I love to explore, but not read as much as I like to write. Somewhere in my genes lies a writer from my past, a ‘poeta o giornalista’ who couldn’t contain him or her, or died frustrated trying.

As a child I had no desire to write, in fact I didn’t have the desire when I became an adult. However, when I was just about to retire, I decided I needed to express myself in written form, and started the blog in March of ’06. I haven’t stopped writing since. I did a little copy here and there in the business, but nothing major, nothing I think is noteworthy. It seemed growing up that my observations were oral or with a pencil or paint. I found this talent to draw and it made me become more aware of the world. Mom encouraged my endeavors, and so did Dad, who had a talent to draw. His ambition as a teenager was to become a commercial artist, one he never fulfilled, but saw me become a designer. This kind of put closure to his dream, and I am happy that he lived to see me become successful at it. I always worked to make him proud, and very difficult thing to do as his son.

What compels me to write now is my visual sense, one that I can describe in details as I see the scene, my imagination and my love of history. My novels will all be historical in nature, based on truth and facts that can’t be altered, but one could embellish upon. The story always seems to write itself, I come along for the ride. As I write, I can’t wait for the next day, to see where I will put the character. I owe a great deal of thanks to #1 Son, who encouraged me and even gave me pointers that I still use as my bible.

So what happens? Not only #1 Son is a writer (A pretty good one too) and #2 turns out to be terrific like #1! Speak of pride, speak of a sense of accomplishment, the kid can really mix a consonant or two with a few vowels and make one hell of a soup!

But there lies an irony in all this. TLW (The Little Woman) will tell you, the many years I would come home from work, angry at every copywriter that ever existed, sounding off about how they keep changing their minds, vowing that if my child EVER became a writer, I would disown him or her! Really.



If you are interested in reading some of my Tolik’s Odyssey got to: http://deliterature.blogspot.com/ but start at the bottom of the page and read the next chapter above it.

IT’S THE TIMING THAT COUNTS

On July 9th, we celebrated TLW’s (The Little Woman’s) birthday, that is, I celebrated it. Being a stickler for details she likes things to be precise, exact and not a moment too soon.

If someone was to say “Hello” and I didn’t hear it, TLW would go to great lengths to tell me that someone had just said “Hello” to me.

She may be related to Abe Lincoln to some degree, maybe way back; because of an incident that occurred many years ago when we were first married. She had gone to a pharmacy about 3 to 5 miles away, (this was 40 years ago) and purchased something. Upon returning, she discovered that they gave her 1 cents change more than they should have. She was ready to go back to return it! No she didn’t go, I threw myself in front of the car and explained what the gas consumption would be.

She feels very guilty if we leave Mass early because we need to, never lied in her life, (That’s what she’s got me thinking) and will always return anything that she finds where she can find the owner. This is very difficult living with these circumstances.

There is her dark side too, for instance: When we go to a restaurant, and she orders sensibly I pay for it, no, not the check, (She does that because she has all my money anyway). What happens is I order something interesting and she ‘tastes’ it. BIG TIME! Out comes her little shovel she hides in her bag and scoops a taste. If it looks like I losing weight, I am.

But like I said before, she likes to be precise. So what happened Joe Bob, you ask? Well, on her birth date, I wished her a happy birthday, asking her if she felt older.

“I feel fine, besides I’m not that old until 9:30 tonight. When I was a kid (She remembers that far back!) it was important to be older on that date, and now we wish to be precise, thank you.”

SHALE WE?

Last month there was a report on 60 Minutes about the abundance of shale there is in this country. About the equivalent of two (2) Saudi Arabias!

Shale is a fine-grained sedimentary rock that forms from the compaction of silt and clay-size mineral particles that we commonly call "mud". This composition places shale in a category of sedimentary rocks known as "mudstones". Shale is distinguished from other mudstones because it is fissile and laminated. "Laminated" means that the rock is made up of many thin layers. "Fissile" means that the rock readily splits into thin pieces along the laminations.

In the late 1990s natural gas drilling companies developed new methods for liberating oil and natural gas that is trapped within the tiny pore spaces of shale. This discovery was significant because it unlocked some of the largest natural gas deposits in the world.

We are talking natural gas. Gas that can heat our homes, drive out businesses, and make us independent of Saudi Arabia and all the towel heads and sheep dating goons.

We can now buy bigger SUV’s, and fill them up and menace people with small cars more easily, we can fill it up cheaper and more often. Yes, shale is good!

We will now have more cars on the road, longer commutes due to traffic jams, and no place to park! Lines at the Shale station will be longer, causing one to wait their turn more often than not.

This is going to anger our friends from the Middle East of course, since no one will buy their gas and oil deposits. They may want to try selling their sand. They might even need a hand out from Uncle Sap!

You are probably wondering why I wrote this, so am I!

THE END OF THE WORLD???

One morning in early July, I was driving #2 Son to work. Driving #2 Son to work is all about timing. He likes to leave the very last minute, or preferably after he is due in and still be a few minutes early to smoke a cigarette. I like to get him there asap, and leave, asap. When we are a few minutes early, he likes to sit in my car and talk politics. When we are a few minutes early, I like to leave asap.

As we are driving, there is a SUV about ¼ mile ahead of me and it pulls along the side of the road and parks. A guy jumps out in his late 60’s or early 70’s running toward me, his hands raised up as he is running, telling me to stop!

At first I think it is my brother-in-law John, since he looks so Polish, (Don’t ask), then I realize it is not him: but some stranger. Then the look on this guy’s face is such that fear has taken it over, making me think that something, maybe his car is about to explode!

Coming to a screeching halt, just about 2 inches from where he is standing, he reaches down, picks something up, turns around and goes back to his car. No explanation, no acknowledgment, no nothing!

WHAT COULD BE SO VALUABLE THAT HE WOULD RUN TOWARD MY CAR AS I AM DRIVING AND RISK HIS LIFE?

As we pass piss-pot, #2 Son rolls down the window and says: “THANK YOU!”

ALL DRESSED UP WITH NO PLACE TO GO

The other day I came down from my shower and poured my coffee, then sat in my chair in the den. Looking to place my cup, I see a credit card next to my chair. Across the table sat TLW (The Little Woman). Picking up the card that reads: “AARP” I inquire, “What’s this?” (A credit card that says AARP, knucklehead)

TWL says it’s a credit card that says: AARP!

“Oh!

“Yes, it gives you 10% off at an escort service.”

“Oh? Where am I going?”

“True.”

“More importantly: why?”

“Well don’t worry, it does give you instructions.”

When I turned 50 they started sending me the official literature for old people. It read in essence:

“Congratulations! You are now entitled to embarrass all your children in public, go to dinner at mid-afternoon, and drive at 20 mph with your left turn signal on for as long as you like. When you discover that, you then can switch it to the right turn signal to complete your drive. The AARP card allows you to leave your overloaded shopping cart in the middle of the aisle where you can stare at the products on the shelf and try to read them. What’s more, you may let one loose anywhere you choose, including office buildings and churches. You are entitled to the complete medical dictionary to carry on intelligent conversations with others your age, while identifying drugs and what they will do to you.”

And so I proudly carry my card, knowing that all that is available to me, and that as I cross streets, or am about to open a door, someone will be there for me. When I stand, go: OOUUUUUFFFF! People will not stare, just wait to see if I die.

Getting old is not so bad, you have new places to hide small change, like in your wrinkles, you become faster when you sit down, the gravity pulls you down, and best of all, when someone asks you for a favor or money, you can say with confidence: “WHAT?”

A MOUSE WITHOUT A COMPUTER!

If there is one job I hate, it is cleaning out the basket for the filter of the pool. I have a nice size pool that although it is not Olympic in size, it is a good size. Like a wife or a car though, it does need maintenance, and so I go out to inspect and replenish the chemicals that I swim in.

I usually get a bunch of leaves and small twigs and sometimes even a bird.

One year I found a small bird that was still alive, but just barely. I decided to take it out and see if it could fly, and because it was so water-logged it couldn’t, I took it to the side of the pool and placed it under my snorkel mask to allow the sun to dry it out a bit, I got it some bread and fed it, and left it alone but watched it. Sure enough it dried out and took off! I was a hero, even though it was to myself.


Then there was the day I caught a rat in the pool, no, not a politician, a real sincere rat. (See my blogue: Saturday, July 24, 2010, R.I.P.)

My epic battle was one for the books as you read it. (Make sure you read he comment by Jimmy ‘Pants’ Jim Pantaleno.)

So, I go out to the filters and open it up, sure enough it is stuffed. But all I see are little claws and pink bloated bodies. Now I think there must be about 3 or 4 in there and how do I get them out without touching them? I look around and find a food plate made of aluminum. I punch a few holes in the bottom towards the edges and fold it somewhat so it fits into the trap and can scoop them out, Sure enough there are 4 mice and not one lousy computer! I scoop and head for the next trap, open it up and sure enough, there floats the rest of the paisanos! A couple of more float, this must have been a migrating clan, out for a day at the pool!

The difference from the others were that these were very tiny!

I often wonder if I’ll ever find an elephant in the darn pool. (No fat jokes about me, please.)

TLW JUGGLES HER DAY

When Happy was alive, TLW (The Little Woman) liked to start her mornings off quietly, with no incidents to speak of, and just her coffee and newspaper.

Happy, our American Cocker; would like to start her day off by having little incidents around the den in the following: poop, and pee. Happy has gotten old, so old she can’t control herself.


Every morning it seems, TLW started her morning cleaning up the little incidents that Happy has left us. But this morning was the worst morning yet.

As I came down from my shower, I see paper towels all over the den floor, with TLW toeing the towels to get them to start absorbing the pee puddles Happy left overnight.



“What happened?” I asked.

“What else, she is losing it!”

I go into the kitchen, and get my coffee, and there on the counter is a rather large puddle of coffee, or happy managed to get up on the counter.

“What happened here?”

“OH, when I started to make the coffee, I saw what was happening with Happy, so I immediately started to clean it up, and I kept hearing a strange noise. When I investigated, I plugged in the coffee without putting on the cover, the coffee was shooting straight up into the UNCOVERED coffee pot and onto the counter! So there I was, mopping up poop and coffee, popping in the air”

OLDER THAN… WELL, OLD!

As we planned for the wedding last month, TLW (The Little Woman) made her customary announcements, one of which was: “You know you have to wear black socks for the wedding?”

Being a Mets fan, my intelligence comes into question from time to time, but still this news stunned me. Looking into her eyes I said:

“What do you mean?”

“The wedding, you need black socks for the wedding, you know that, right?”

“Well of course I do, I’ll go out and buy a new pair.”

“WITH ALL THOSE SOCKS IN THE DRAWER!”

“Well, I haven’t bought new socks in years, well before I retired. Most of them are so old that they are thread bare and see through!”

“SO WHY DON’T YOU THROW THEM OUT?”

“Who goes into my sock drawer anymore. I only go into it if I want to hide those green spearmints I like.”

“Why don’t you go through your drawers every once and a while and throw things out?”

“Well, you know me, I like to use white socks, they are comfortable, and no big deal, I like white socks. No choosing, no worry about conflicts, white goes with everything, it’s the new black! After all, I have kept some things a long time and haven’t gotten rid of them. YOU’VE been around for over 40 years, you’re still around.”

“You mean you don’t have a pair of matching black socks that you could wear to the wedding?”

“Well, I don’t have a pair, and about the black socks, nothing matches anymore, some are longer than others, some are a little threadbare, some are blacker than others. What would happen if I get run over by the trolley we ordered to transport everybody from the reception hall to the church? Mom always wanted me to have clean underwear, so I assume she meant socks too.”

“You’ re too much!”

“OK, you go upstairs and see what you can do, I give up.”

“OK, I’ll get you a new pair when I go out.”

“Good, and get me a new pair of black socks, too.”

“What?”