“Wooden” It Be Nice?

Why was it necessary to spend an entire afternoon making telephone calls?  Telephone calls that should have ended with the first company representative.  Why had the company not received requested information already sent?

Was it wrong to assume sent information was lost?  Lying on someone’s desk, ignored, gathering dust?  Like the old saying–assume nothing.  In future transactions, duplicate copies will be made, dated, with employee names noted.

It was a health related issue, regarding medication. There was nowhere else to turn. Wouldn’t it be nice if business transactions could be completed on the first contact?  Without checking, re-checking, repeated follow-ups?  “Wooden It Be Nice?”


That Was the Cat, That Ate the Rat, That Lived In the…

“Did I have a living will?” Asked the desk nurse. “Yes,” I answered.

I was living when I walked in to the facility. And, I expected to be living, when I departed.

“Your blood pressure’s a little high,” The nurse commented.  Could it have something to do with waiting so long?    After waiting over an hour, the doctor came in for a ten-minute consultation.

What a circuitous path it had been so far. It started with being chided by my spouse for snoring, and possibly having sleep apnea.

My insurance plan gatekeepers deemed an overnight at the local sleep clinic unnecessary. A home study kit, from a health equipment vendor, for two or three nights, was an acceptable substitute.

It had been around six weeks since the process began. The first health equipment provider, repeatedly, failed to call to arrange delivery. The local sleep clinic advised, that particular company had gone out of business, without regard to their clients.

“What a way to run a railroad?” I thought. A second health equipment company summoned, and they called this past week. Delivery promised in three to five business days. I just wanted to do the study and see it through to the end.

That would be the end of this tale, if it were not for the gastroenterological issues. The barium swallow test at the hospital, went well–or so, I thought at that time.

Another referral, to a gastroenterology clinic, resulted in a future hospital visit, for an endoscopy. For those unfamiliar, it was similar to a colonoscopy, except from the other end.

Bathroom Conundrums

The endless debate–does the toilet paper roll feed over or under?  Should the toilet seat lid be left open or closed?  The my-way-or-the-highway folks already know and are only too happy to share their opinions–whether wanted or not.

“I never made mistakes–only found 300 ways of doing something wrong.”  A statement attributed to the great inventor, Thomas Edison.

The toilet seat lid and ring lean forward–ready to strike.  When seated, it strikes you smack in the middle of your back; as it attempts to close while you are doing your business.

It never opens fully to rest on the tank.  It’s purposed to close after usage.  For those of the male species, the lid has to be propped open with one leg or arm during usage.  The design couldn’t be more wrong.  The point of buyer’s remorse has long passed.

I want a good toilet seat, not fancy or gimmicky, reasonable priced, that lasts longer than a minute.

Another Saturday Gone By

It’s eight in the morning.  Another cloudy day.  How long has it been since we’ve viewed the sun?  Too long.

Back from a brisk walk–feeling good.  At least it didn’t rain.  There have been a lot of songs written about rain–“Singing In the Rain,”  “Into Each Life Some Rain Must Fall,” “Can’t Stand the Rain.” Enough about weather and rain.

The good news–I survived dreaded Saturday postings.  To paraphrase: I got let down easy, let down slow, so I’m taking it easy, don’t you know.

My significant other and myself went to a popular casual dining chain restaurant the other night because they ran a forty per cent off special.  We’re retired, always looking for bargains.

Got a notification from the credit card company today.  It said “wasn’t the amount of your tip a bit excessive?”  What business was it of theirs?   I enjoyed a good meal at 40% off regular prices and tipped at the regular price.  Nowhere was it advertised, “40% off tip night.”

Thanks omnipotent credit card company for fraud checking.  Leave it at that.

Don’t hate me for being clueless.  I lost interest in pro-basketball years ago.  I’ll spare you the details.  At the car repair shop waiting room this past Thursday, the television was tuned to an all-sports channel.  Reading material, as I expected, ran out rather quickly.

I first assumed the Golden State Warriors had won the national NBA championship.  No, that wasn’t the case; even though I had two hours to figure it out.  Silly me, everybody was buzzing about Kobe Bryant’s record sixty points.

Hope you had a great Saturday!  Since everything seems to be affected by the rise and fall of oil prices, here are some parting thoughts.

  • Double, double, oil and trouble
  • Oily to bed and oily to rise
  • At oil’s fall, all slowed to a crawl
  • The oily boid gets the woim
  • Oil’s well that ends well




When sentences are jerks
And, syntax won’t work
Sound bytes, don’t bite
Phrases go through phases

When prose flop
Poems are a mess
Bad ideas–just won’t stop

When you’ve been cut down to size
By readers, that undress
Best efforts, with their eyes

When flummoxed by others
That don’t follow any rules
Stuck by the road–like a big, fat, fool

When crazy thoughts pass, through your thick head
Efforts, all for naught–because, soon you’ll be dead

At Okey-Dokey–It’s all Okey-Dokey!
Clean up that mess; we can help get you
back on track–on your way to success!

If you’ve read to the end
You knew–it was pretend
If there were, such a place
I’d be first in line–to be committed!


I stared with
Bloodshot eyes
He stared back
Like he didn’t care
Whether I was
There or not
Deathly pale
Spittin’ nails
Madder than hell
With a look
That dared me
To cross him


I don’t like challenges to my creativity.  And I’m not talking about job pressures or the responsibilities associated with being a homeowner.  Or with being a husband, either–for that matter.

What I’m talking about, are the little gremlins that put the whammy on my best efforts.  I should say–don’t take this as a personal gripe session.  There are more pressing issues people face everyday.

When I’m angry, I write rhyming poetry in my head.  Today, I wish somebody would stop me.  Because, today, I feel a kinship with Beatrice–the nice, technically challenged lady, in the “E-surance” commercial.  We’re going to hang out today. Have a nice chat–maybe do lunch?  After the gremlins hit, this morning, I realized we’ve got a lot in common.

Sure, I’ve written some stinkers.  And I’m not a diva–or the male equivalent.  Which would be, what?  A “miva?”  My nice post about “Breaking Free” posted this morning–six days in arrears.  It’s happened before, so this time, it went straight to the trash can.

Why should it matter whether or not I have six drafts in cue–and don’t publish them in the order written?  That’s most likely where the problem lies–and I just don’t know it.  Because, apparently–“That’s not the way it works–that’s not how any of this works.”


Just like the weather
It’s either rain or shine
Some days I’m doing fine
Some days, blogging is fun
Some days, I’d like to shove this blog
Where it can’t see the sun
So, if you don’t want to see
Yourself in print
Stop pissing me off
If you please!


The idiots ruined everything
The idiots talked too much
The idiots made it rain
The idiots always complained
Even though, they had everything
The idiots drove too fast
In slow down stretches
They were ungrateful
Miserable, idiot, wretches
Idiots took it all from me
My sanity–my dignity
Whatever happens
I don’t care one whit
I’m not responsible
Because the idiots
Drove me to it!

When things don’t go well, it helps to think of yourself as a genius and the rest of the world as a bunch of idiots. –Tom Perotta–



Stagnant water and vegetation cover the half-empty Chadwick Lake in central MaltaNo reflections cast
It was, just as well
Why waste time
Looking at nothing?
When there
Was nothing
To see

Only green, smelly
Common pond scum
Through, which poked
A, stick or two
Probably, attached
To a log, underneath

Frog and turtle
Breeding ground
For mosquitos
All other organisms
Tragically succumbed, in
Their final act of cynicism
Or, was it, “algae-cide?”

From strangely
Stilled waters
That usually
Ran deep
Reiterated, predigested
Pabulum, regurgitated
Into roadside rubbish


A waste of time?  I wasn’t a junior high kid seeking peer approval.  I’m sixty-four years of age for heaven’s sake.  Blogging was supposed to be an avenue for self-expression.  If I spent a couple of hours per day, it wasn’t a burden.  If it interfered with daily activities, it became an obsession.  Were my expectations out of line?   Didn’t people understand that I wrote about subjects that were most important to me–my relationship with my maker and my family?  If they couldn’t deal with that, then to hell with ’em.

What was I seeking?  …Accolades, recognition, notoriety?  It’s not what you say, it’s how you say it.  Politicians, have to be, all things to all people.  Advertising is part of mass culturization.  I refuse to crank out drivel for audiences applauding like so many trained seals.  What was the best way to break out of my funk?  …With a reality check.  Fame and fortune eluded me years ago.  Paparazzi and hordes of fawning sycophants could be annoying.  Something I’ll never know about.  Now, for something completely different–here are some miscellaneous thoughts.

Free parking?  Those residing in major urban areas deal with parking issues every day.  The rest of us are spared–except during the holiday season.  I was wondering, could a person select a parking spot, then cover the car with crime scene tape?  Then, voila, instant free parking–anytime, anywhere.

Decorating tips?  Interior decorating is not my cup of tea.  Is the trend of using dark colors on walls outmoded?  Here’s a thought.  Dark colors absorb light.  Additional lighting costs more and wastes energy.

Getting even?  This was borrowed from recent headlines.  Call in an anonymous tip that Jimmy Hoffa’s remains are buried under your neighbor’s driveway.  Sit back and watch the forensic team destroy your grouchy neighbor’s property.

It’s Al Capone’s Vault:  I’ve vented my frustrations.  I no longer felt like Geraldo Rivera at the reveal of Al Capone’s vault.  It’s time to walk it off and move on.