Just Goes to Show You

My watch band broke.  A tiny, little pin fell out. I’ve been looking at my bare wrist ever since.  Went to two jewelry stores to have it repaired.  Was referred to a third jeweler, some distance away that could possibly fix it.  I now have a new watch.

It’s the annual spring power, house wash.  Driveway, sidewalks, windows, walls freed from winter grime and mold.

The dogs are barking and growling at the intruder in their domain.  Now, it’s their nap time.

On the beach, blue dragons washed ashore.  What were blue dragons?  Blue dragons were really sea slugs.  “Blue Dragons” appealed to me more than did sea slugs.  Blue dragons diverted attentions away from recent shark sightings.

A rather large alligator was spotted in the busiest part of downtown.  It was captured by fire and rescue.  When did that become their job?  The gator was relocated and released.

It’s nearly summer here.  That’s when the creepy crawly creatures come out.  Another negative airline story, just today.  American Airlines took the heat off United Airlines.  Just goes to show you–it’s always something.

 

A Modicum of Diversion…

Pineapple on pizza–yes or no?  Why was she yelling at me?  It wasn’t about pineapple or pizza.  Leather sofas were on sale at the local, discount, close-out store.  Not the first place to shop for furniture in my estimation.

“Why don’t we go and just look around?”  That meant we weren’t going to leave without buying something–better to just go along.  My hopes were, that nothing would happen to ruin this beautiful, sunny, winter day.

The sofas were better than expected–stock overruns from a popular major manufacturer.  Who was I to have doubted?  Even though, I was in for some dreaded furniture rearranging.  If everything stayed the way it was, from now till eternity, it would have been just fine with me.

At the service desk, two men waited.  The gray-haired older gentleman seemed calm.  The younger man, who may have been the son, complained about noise emanating from the other side of the store.  There, a young child was in the midst of throwing a temper tantrum.

“Why hadn’t she taken the young boy outside?”  Said the young man to his father.  “Nobody wanted to hear that kid’s ear-splitting screeches.”  The father mumbled something about permissive parenting being the downfall of civilization.

Waiting for the store clerk’s return, seemed to take forever.  We were second in line, behind the disgruntled young man, and his father.  The clerk returned briefly from checking inventories.  The young man complained about the noisy child to the clerk; the clerk refused to take sides, went back to work.

That was when the stalking began.  “I’m going to check on why this bratty kid won’t stop crying,” Announced the young man.  My wife and I looked at each other.  What business was it of his?  And what could he do about it–without causing a major incident?

The young man walked away hunched over, like he was trying to make himself smaller, to avoid being seen.  Jacket collar pulled up to his chin.  It was comical–in a Groucho Marx sort of way.  He carefully duck-walked the rows one-by-one, until the offenders were spotted.

What had he done–if anything?  The store was, once again peaceful.  The little boy stopped crying.  Had I underestimated the young man’s skills as a “Child Whisperer?”  Our sofa was in stock and would be delivered in a couple of days.

Then, temper tantrum, version 2.0, began, like a loud clap of thunder.  The young man and his father, were aghast.  “I’m going to show them a thing or two,” The son, announced.

In his best Groucho Marx, killer commando mode, the stalking resumed.  My wife and I made an exit at that point–wondered how things turned out.  Nothing made the police blotters.  It was one of the strangest public scenes we’d witnessed in our lifetimes.

Spinning Out of Control

MOAB’s, FOAB’s

Parental acronyms

For ultimate weapons

Terminology seized upon

By capitalist opportunists

MOACS–mothers of all clearance sales

MOAP’s, FOAP’s–mothers, fathers of all pizzas

MOAPCS–Mother of all pre-owned car sales

Overplayed, until they became PM,F,OATTA

Pathetic mothers, fathers of all trite, tired, acronyms

I won’t even mention, except in passing

The poor folks in Moab, Utah

What must they be thinking?

 

 

RIP: J. Geils & Lots of Miscellaneous

I really didn’t care what his full given name was at the time.  It seemed odd that most media outlets mentioned popularity of his namesake band–only in the eighties.

For it was earlier, in the seventies that I was turned on, in a big way to this R & B, almost reggae–couldn’t sit still, hard-hitting, made me want to dance, band.

Give credit where credit’s due, but do yourselves a favor and check out “Those Bad Boys from Boston’s” “Live” Full House album from 1972.  You won’t regret it.  Still sounded good today.  Although listening as a 68 year old, it didn’t do my hearing and tinnitus any favors.

Other music news:  Bob Dylan’s hasn’t gone away–he finally stepped up and accepted his Nobel Peace Prize.

My two dogs are pouting because it’s flea and heartworm treatment day; medications administrated by yours truly.  In two hours all will be forgiven and forgotten.

When you’re trying to fake a vacation–too many people, I’ve observed, take work with them.  They never relax.

Good ways to waste time:  Whoever it is, stop sending me spam.  I don’t need any help in this department.

Great malls of the people:  Shopping malls all over the country are being boarded up.  Over expansion, and too much competition from the likes of Amazon.

I’ve always wanted to say this to someone consuming a bloody rare steak, but thought the better of it.  “Trust the autopsy is going well?”

Advice, I wish someone would have given me.  “Some day this won’t be enough.  Then it may be too late.”

Thick-headed as they came.  Aloof at the six-o’clock news.  This is Warren Burrows, reporting from somewhere in West Dictatorial, Africa.**

Still to come:  Rockabilly Rubik’s Cubes?  Could be the latest thing?

Masters of hype exercised their “nuclear options” again, with more comparisons to Hitler.  Comparing Abe Lincoln to Hitler?  I’m a pretty nice guy, compared to Hitler.  Knock it off with the Hitler comparisons.

My jury duty obligation has ended.  I was a “bridesmaid, not a bride”–as I was not selected for a trial.

Someone took umbrage with a post I made on another forum this week.  I thought the post was extremely innocuous.  They were more interested in picking a fight, than disagreeing with me.  I didn’t take the bait–as much as I wanted to call them out for their ignorance.

 

 

–Image, http://www.cdandlp.com/–

 

 

 

 

 

 

**There was no implication that the continent of Africa, was superior or inferior to any of the other seven continents.  Forms of government, or even countries without forms of government, vary throughout the world.  Different strokes for different folks.  Thick-headed” journalistic references were fictional, and not intended to impugn, or do harm.       

 

 

The Easter Egg House

In the spirit of the season, a retake on “The Easter Egg House” from three years ago.  This was a cautionary tale, on the perils of not consulting one’s spouse, when it came to home decorating ideas.

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The shutters were faded.  Formerly Wedgewood blue–they looked more gray than blue.  “Honey, if I painted the shutters they would really make the front of the house pop,” I suggested.  “Just don’t spend too much money.  Keep it as close to the original color as possible.”

My helpful paint store friend showed me color chips–and more color chips.  There was “On the Town” blue, “At the Opera” blue, “Philadelphia Independence” blue, “Katmandu” blue, and what the heck was “Etruscan” blue?  In the hundreds, perhaps thousands of chips, there was no Wedgewood blue.  I was all alone–lost in the color forest.

It was dumb on my part–I didn’t bring a color swatch with me.  A picture–anything, would have been helpful.  On to “Plan B”–select what I imagined, was closest to Wedgewood blue.  My good intentions jumped the track at that point.  I selected “Regatta Blue.”  It was a pleasant color–who didn’t like ships, sailing, and the sea?

My color choice became the talk of the neighborhood.  At home my “Regatta Blue” morphed into a garish, happy, Caribbean steel-drum band blue.  It should have been, “Weekend at Bernie’s,” blue–I was gonna’ be so dead.  There was no easy way out of this dilemma.

“The house looks like an Easter egg,” She said.  “You’ve got to repaint.  I can’t bear looking at this every day.”  This time we went together to a different paint store.  I wasn’t going to risk going back to the same store and explaining.

A darker, more tranquil shade of blue was selected.  I hated do-overs.  For the colors to match, all shutters had to, first, be painted the lighter, brighter blue–then top-coated with darker blue.

Then, the gossip started.  the phone rang off the hook.  “Do you know what your husband is doing?”  “That color is hideous.”  “Where did you get that color?” “Why is he painting your shutters two different colors?”  “When is he going to do something about it?”

None of my neighbors called my bright blue shutters ugly to my face–only behind my back.  I knew what they were thinking.  Nobody had to spare my feelings.  The shutters looked good, with what turned out to be six coats of paint.  I’ll carry this, along with the approximately 2,917, plus another 32, blunders made in my life–thus far.

I got in digs with one particularly pesky neighbor.  “Would you like me to paint your shutters and trim when I’m finished?  I’ve got extra paint left over.  Could I paint your birdhouses?  They’re looking a bit shabby.”  There was no response–only silence.

“Y’all Finished, When Y’all Done”

Dignity can not be taken away, unless we allow it to be.

Staying on my side of the centerline.  This is a semi-serious story about the process of writing and other things.  Wait a minute–the process is serious.  A process that reflects on everyone and everything in this room.

In every boardroom,  backroom, penthouse, hovel, and hacienda–it’s all anyone wants to talk about today.  Did you know it was worse than what everyone thought it was?  I’ll stay in the shallow water, as to the seedy aspects of this subject.

The resignation of this state’s governor, is plastered across the headlines.  Thanks goodness, former Governor Bentley, had enough dignity left to do the right thing and resign.  Everyone, including myself, breathed a sigh of relief. Kay Ivey will do a good job as the new governor.

An Indian girl was alleged to have been, or not been, raised by monkeys.  There should be a new time zone–called “Giraffe Standard Time.” That’s not as weird a suggestion, as one might think; considering someone suggested that April the Giraffe run for Alabama governor.

Noises

Loud noises, proud noises

Good noises, bad noises

Happy and sad noises

Nature noises, mature noises

House noises, mouse noises

People noises, steeple noises

Nosey noises, mosey noises

Gentle noises, sentimental noises

Things that boomed

Whooshed, swished, zoomed

Grinding, grating

Clunking, clanking

Thumping and bumping

Dripping, droning

Groaning, moaning

Squeaking, squawking

Cheeping, chirping

Hiccuping and burping

All day and all night long!

I can’t sleep–shut up already!!!!