Don’t Have To Believe Everything…

Getting depressed at Christmas is a real thing for some folks.

Secret Santa’s didn’t visit my house, again–there’s always next year.

This is the time of year when imperfections become endearing qualities.

Grandchildren complain about Grandma’s “iffy” internet service.

My dogs check the mailbox everyday, not for Christmas cards or letters, but rather, for scents from other dogs.  I suppose that’s what the Holidays mean to them–and all other days.

It’s the most wonderful time of year–as you’ve already heard many times.

I’m offering the following free advice to everyone this Christmas.  You don’t have to believe everything you read, see, and hear.

While my thoughts circle further round the drain–who or what the heck is Eddie Redmayne?

Have a Holly Jolly, non-gender specific, carbon-neutral, appropriately proportioned Christmas this year!

 

image, http://www.wkrg.com/

 

 

 

Day Before the Day Before

A nice breakfast started the day.  Then off to the grocery mega-mart.

It wasn’t long until I lost my job as shopping cart driver.  Where I currently reside they’re called “buggies” and not shopping carts.  While staying in the upper Midwest do “as the Romans do.”

My spouse wasn’t aware of it, she piloted the cart in circles, instead of straight lines.  The shortest distance between two points was a straight line.  All in the name of efficiency.  Why should I care?  I’m retired, have nowhere else to go, nothing to do.

Shopping’s done.  Cooking will be done by the experts.  I’m the official turkey carver.  That’s the view from here–the day before, the day before Thanksgiving.

Murphy’s Law–Logistics Corollary

In the throes of logistics misery is a terrible place to be.  Called in a favor from a friend with a pickup, to deliver lumber for my project.

Not long after my arrival at the big-box, home improvement parking lot, there was a page.  My friend’s pickup broke down on the way.

Everybody has a Plan B–Plan B failed.  The store’s only rental truck was already rented.

A new day–will Plan B continue to fail?  Will logistics haunt me another day?  It is October–the month of Halloween, ghosts and goblins.

The Committee Has Spoken

A more loose-knit committee has heretofore never been seen.  Building a piece of furniture, with tools and volunteer craft persons 800 miles from the comfort of my workshop, is proving to be a challenge.  Not impossible, but quite unwieldy.

Yesterday afternoon, most of the committee members met in a informal backyard setting, around the swimming pool.  There were no disagreements.  However, most members were more concerned with what was for dinner–stuffed pork chops.

My two mutts and Bogart, step-daughter’s dog, are getting along well.  There was an incident the second morning, where my trusting spouse, let Maggie out of the yard to test whether or not she would stay within property lines.  Needless to say, Maggie headed for the nearest ravine–full of briars.  The recalcitrant pup was retrieved; and in the process, we met Roxanne–the nice neighbor lady across the street.  It turned out we had mutual acquaintances, and received an invite to an upcoming soire.

That’s the view from here in the northern climes.  The leaves have yet to change, but the temps have gotten into the forties at night.  Another impromptu committee meeting could happen at any time.  More volunteers could join this rag-tag army.  Wouldn’t that be something?

The Right Side

It has been quite a while since I’ve done one of these Saturday morning coffee klatch things.  There have been some distractions lately.

It’s a new day, with beautiful sunshine.  Family concerns over the past several weeks have worked themselves out.  There are better days ahead for those concerned.

This is the day set aside to recognize those among us that are left-handed.  I count myself among the eleven percent.  If you are a fellow lefty, I respect you.  You can relate to issues faced by other lefties.

Stay on the right side today–whether you’re a lefty or not.  Have a second cup of Joe on me, and a happy Saturday.

 

It Wasn’t My Fault–Really

The dog ate my homework.

I was abducted by space aliens.

The internet was down.

Saturday, was a very hot day.  The cool down, clean up, and recovery took time–after mowing.

After that, on to running errands with my spouse.  My spouse has had some health concerns of late, so I went with her to the grocery.

The third thing did really happen.  After I had a chance to sit down with my laptop, the internet crashed.  Agonizing over things beyond my control was pointless.

Dialing For Doilies (Trouser Truths)

Oh, Lord, won’t you buy me a Mercedes Benz…

Oh, Lord won’t you buy me a color TV

Dialing for dollars is trying to find me

I wait for delivery each day until three…  –Janis Joplin–

 

Remember doilies–those white crocheted things on the back of your grandma’s couch and overstuffed chairs.  They would slide off and granny didn’t like little fingers playing with them.

There was an old TV show, called “Dialing For Dollars,” viewers competed to win cash.  I don’t think “Dialing For Doilies,” would have been nearly as popular.

Before I fire up the grill, more silliness for a Sunday afternoon–a grandfatherly conversation.

When I was your age, we wore real trousers–made from real fabrics.

Wore them with pride.  Snugged them up to our chests–like they should be.

Because we were real men–and that’s what real men did.