Meet the New Year….

So, another calendar is just about gone.

Right now, 2019 is packing its bags, more than happy to get out of Dodge before the preverbal sh…stuff…hits the fan.

2019 can’t hide that goofy grin on it’s face as it folds the last of August and the brrrrrrrr months into tight little squares and packs them away.

In the meantime, 2020 is out back, pacing, already looking the worse for wear; already a little grey showing around the temples, and a few too many wrinkles around its eyes…at least for a fresh new baby year, which hasn’t even gotten its feet squarely on the ground, yet.

Yep, I guess it knows, like the rest of us…this is going to be one mixed up, screwy year.

Except 2020 is in charge of keeping it all together, in one piece; however it pans out, folks are not going to forget 2020. 

Nope…not for a long long time.

If you listen closely, as the winds of change rattle through threadbare trees, it sounds very much like…“Meet the new year…same as the old year”.

You know the tune…everybody knows the tune. 

Of course, now, you’ll be humming it the rest of the day and probably night.

Maybe tomorrow too.

Which annoys 2020, to no end.

The Christmas Rush

Every year I take a look at my past Christmas posts to see what sentimental side of the fence I should land on. If I was in a negative mood, last year, I’ll try to balance it out with something positive, this year.

However, sometimes, I write positive even though I feel negative. The thought being, maybe I can write myself out of the negativity.

So, figuring it all out is a crap shoot.

Which, I suppose, is hardly in keeping with the Christmas spirit.

But sometimes it’s just cool to write “crap”, whenever the opportunity presents itself...holiday season or not.

Although, some people might say….

In any case, I’ve decided to go positive, this year.

And no…not in a “I’m positive Christmas is going to su—make me crazy…again…this year!” kind of way.  

It’s all full speed ahead, holiday cheer, ho ho ho, jingle jingle all the way.


Boughs of Holly, Sugar Plums dancing, Mistletoe hanging, Toddies imbibing and logs on the fire...George Baily's got nothing on me!

I’m all in.

Except for….

No…not gonna go there.  Not this year!

Perry Como, Andy Williams, Charlie Brown, Nat King Cole…

Even with all the hub bub, dashing through the snow…oh what fun is to sing a sleighing song tonight!

But a lot of people are in a bit of a hurry.

I guess they don’t have my positive, no pressure Christmas attitude.

There’s such a rush towards Christmas.

Especially in a year when Thanksgiving comes sooooo late in November.

Short holiday turn-arounds tend to put folks into a panic getting all their holiday decorating and traditions underway. They’re untangling lights and unpacking ornaments even before Uncle Henry has finished carving the turkey.

Next door neighbors are out blowing up their inflatable snowmen and whathaveyous long before Santa turns the corner onto 34^th street.

Houses require decorating, inside and out. Parties need to be planned, menus must be decided. Christmas carol play lists must be created. Holiday outings scheduled and fulfilled.

Old Aunt Lucy’s not gonna strap those elf ears on by herself, anymore.

There’s less than a week now, people…let’s go go go go go….!

Small Town Thanksgiving - From 2011

Thought I’d share my original Thanksgiving story from 2011. 

I’m sure most of you have never read it and if you have, I’m sure you’ve forgotten it. It’s one of my personal favs, mostly because it was written at a time when I actually knew how to use a semi-colon.  

But does anyone really know how to use a semi-colon?

Social Insecurity

The government is doing everything in its power to make me feel old.

And I’m not talking about the endless mind numbing, word bending, brain freezing, back bending, gobbledygook that comes out of Congress and the White House every minute of the day.

Or the watching paint dry, snail’s pace at which things do or do not progress and are or are not resolved.

I mean, one of these days they’ll make that Nixon fella pay for what he did…or didn’t do.

No, I’m talking about something on a more personal level…something that really matters…at least to me.

If you recall—and why would you, even though you should—I turned 65 earlier in the year.

65…that magic number which evokes images of broken-down cattle, lumbering out to pasture, spending their remaining days munching on bean curds, or whatever it is old cows munch on.

65…the age your grandpa hung those risqué posters of Betty White, down in his rumpus room.

65…the age when people politely say you haven’t changed a bit, since High School, which makes you wonder how bad you must have looked in High School.

65…the age the government says you must begin to reap your Medicare benefits; in whatever part of the alphabet you should choose…be it A…B…C…or D.

Pick a letter, any letter…just pick one…or two…or three…or all the letters you want.

They’ve got a letter for everything.

Once you’ve deciphered all of that and you’ve gathered—you think—all the letters you’re gonna need to cover that unexpected goiter removal at age 75, you’re now ready to take on Social Security, which, in my case, I can begin receiving at age 66, my full retirement age,

which is just a mere third of a year away.

Of course, if I were a year younger, I’d have to wait another 2 months, past age 66 to rake in the moola.

And if I were two years younger, I’d have to yet endure an additional 2 months…etc. etc. etc.

So, it appears there are times when younger isn’t necessarily better.

Back Then - Right Now

With Halloween’s ghosts and ghouls well in the rear view, we now commence gobbling up bushels of November days, trotting ever onward toward Thanksgiving.

See what I did there?

I incorporated as many cliched, Thanksgiving references I could stuff into a single, festive serving.

There…I just did it again!

Not easy….

No indolent MeleagrisGallopavo, am I.  You won’t catch me sitting idly by, bogged down in cranberry jelly dodging Turkey shot.

Uh uh…not me…

Besides the fact, I prefer lying, idly by, I’m always on the lookout for new and exciting gobbledygook to confuse the issue and keep you, the reader, scratching your head.

How’m I doing?

So, we snuck in another Halloween, last week; complete with several Billion little holiday revelers pounding on our front door. It was a bit touch and go for a while, whether or not we would. The weather was an issue, most of the day, with a threat of heavy rain in the evening. Luckily, except for a few isolated showers, it held off and we shoveled out a couple of truckloads of “Fun Size” candy bars.

Although, as I queried,last year, what’s “Fun” exactly about teeny weenie candy bars.

So I’ve started a campaign aimed at all the major Willie Wonkas among us, to rebrand these “Fun Size” confections more appropriately as “Terribly Life Crushing, Disappointment Size”.

Which—besides the fact, I used the same line last year and it still sounds a bit harsh—I believe is more appropriate.

Why sugar coat it…so to speak?

When Last Convened….

When last convened, I was opining on how quickly we’d progressed from January to July, in the blink of an eye.

And now, with yet another blink, we’ve landed in the waning days of October,

I really need to get some eyedrops.

I wonder what would happen if I sneezed?

Hello, 2055!

If all goes according to plan, I’ll be 101, in 2055.

101, thinking…Ahhh, I miss 91…them were the days!

All that wild partying and galivanting with the hot chicks from the Geriatric Cognitive Dissonance wing.

I’ll probably be signing up for Medicare Part Y by then; still without Dental or Vision coverage.

But that’s okay, because, by then, I’m sure they’ll have found a way to regenerate bicuspids and corneas.

Have snap on Knee and Hip replacements.

Velcro shoulder replacements.

Total Brain recalibration and rehydration that will allow us to recall where we left our keys…back in 2014.

So that should be pretty cool.

In the meantime, how was your summer?

January to July in the Blink of an Eye

These days, we fly from January to July in the blink of an eye.

Even while producing factitiously formed frolics of rhyme, which, in and of itself, might be considered a caustic crime.  

Sorry…once you get mixed up in a cycle of random rhymes and sophomoric sophistry…not to mention atypical alliteration…it becomes a bit of a treacherous trick to essentially exit.

But I will persevere, if only so I can be done with this before lunchtime…both mine and yours.

Not to mention August.

So, let’s not…mention August…at least not yet…not until it’s time.

Which is where I was heading with this…again…until, you know, the desultory detour.

Time, time and more time.

It all comes back to time.

Time and time again.

And I’ve been wasting a lot of it…time, that is…trying to figure out where it all goes, and why it goes so fast.

Not that I need tell you.

 I just did a “time” keyword search of past stories and discovered…well…I waste a lot of time, discussing time in some form or another. 

I guess I missed my calling as a watch maker. 

But I’ve made some progress in my temporal temporality fight, over time.

I’ve figured out you can’t really worry about it, too much.

Racking Up Another Summer

Summer is now officially here!

As of 11:54 A.M. EST, this past Friday, the sun arrived at its highest point in the northern hemisphere, which means we experienced the greatest amount of daylight and least amount of darkness of any day of the year, not counting the ever present dark, gloomy, rainy skies we’d been living under for the last 6 months…or thereabouts

My lawn looks spectacular, however, including the bountiful new crop of mushrooms within, so there’s that.

Yep, we can all start officially enjoying the summer, whole hog, instead of the half hog unofficial enjoyment we’d only been permitted between Memorial Day and now.

So go for it!

In any manner of hog you prefer.

And don’t dawdle because we only have a measly 3 months of official summer left, and you know how that goes.

The LL Bean Fall catalogue is flooding your local post office as we speak, and I’ve already started unpacking my Christmas lights.

It goes fast.

Which is why I don’t get as hung up on the comings and goings of the seasons as much as I did when I was younger...ish.

Off You Go…go….

You probably don’t spend too much time talking on the phone these days.

You probably text more than talk.

You’re in…you’re out.

Don’t forget, to bring your pants home, this time!

Texting is short and simple.

Talking, is not.

“How are you? No, I didn’t know about your eczema flare up. Yes, I did see that movie. No, I won’t tell you how it ends. No, I didn’t see that one…oh, he was dead the whole time…no kidding. So, you ended up with sausage instead of meatballs?  I suppose that was a nice change.  How long of a procedure is that? I have no idea if it’s considered cosmetic or not.  Well, your guess is as good as mine. Okay, I guess your guess is better…I guess.”

Talking can drag on…for a while.

Especially when you’re not quite sure how to get off the phone.

Even after 8 hours.

You could use the direct approach.

“Holy Moly, my kitchen is on fire…I have to go!”

Or Holy Moly, whatever…fill in the blank.

Because Holy Moly is always a good go-to escape route no matter what you attach to it.

Or you can be even more direct… 

“You know I really don’t care about anything you’re saying…in fact, while you’ve been yammering on and on for the last hour, I’ve been cleaning my oven, and the hour before that I was counting the litter in in the litter box.”

You could say that…some people do…not saying who.

Although, unfortunately, for the most part, people don’t like to be rude.

Impeachment and me

I may have been a little hasty in my rush to claim full and complete exoneration, a few weeks back.

Yeah….

Especially since full and complete pretty much mean the same thing.

Apparently, there are some obstruction of justice issues, still on the table.

Like my dirty breakfast and lunch dishes.

And possibly a late night snack or two.

Possibly.

Z said there’s no justice in that…especially since she knows I know she can’t stand a messy kitchen and I expect she’ll clean it all up in the morning.

Along with all the dirty laundry left on the floor, which Z hates, especially since most of it belongs to my friend Vladimir, who dislikes going to the laundry mat. 

Vlad say's he's above all that, and I believe hm. 

I have no reason not to.

He' was very forthright and genuine when I looked him right in the eye and asked him about it.

A Cinematic Life

When I was a kid, which some people—I won’t say who—say I still am, I liked to view my life as a movie.

Complete with soundtrack, special effects...oh, and of course, an audience.

Somewhere, out there, perhaps in a galaxy far, far away sat a rapt audience hanging on my every move.

Of course, since my daily, real life was kind of average, at best, and boring, at worst, it was important to create alternate scenarios, all of which involved some sort of secret agent work.

I mean, what better cover could there be for the world’s greatest covert hero than a suburban 5^th grade Catholic school kid?

Maybe a nun; especially since they could conceal any manner of weapons under those big, baggy outfits they wore, back then.

You’d be amazed at the sheer number of items they could whip out of their sleeves, alone.

Are Black Holes Really Exciting?

Everyone’s excited about this photograph depicting the first actual view from earth of a Black Hole.

Sort of....

The so-called event horizon, beyond which even light cannot escape and where all known physical laws break down…sometimes, also referred to as The White House.

Sorry…I couldn’t resist.

According to the scientists, a black hole is the region around an extremely compact clump of matter whose intense gravitational force so powerfully distorts and warps space that you might think of it as a puncture in space itself. 

Kind of like what one of my old college roommates produced on Saturday mornings after his usual raucous Friday nights.

Originally, according to the NY Times, black holes were just one mathematical solution to Einstein’s field equations of general relativity. There was no guarantee that they corresponded to real astronomical objects.

Even Einstein was skeptical that they existed…as well as the need to tip, since he was known as a notorious cheapskate, among the other geniuses.

Completely Exonerated!

After months of endless suspicion and accusation, I’m please to say the Mueller Report has completely exonerated me!

Completely….

I can’t tell you how relieved that makes me.

Well, actually I can tell you…and in fact I probably just did.

I guess it’s just one of those weird things you say but don’t really mean.

Like… after months of endless suspicion and accusation, I’m please to say the Muller Report has completely exonerated me!

Anyway, my point is…I’m in the clear.

No more WITCH HUNT!

So I’m glad that’s over.

Because witches are pretty scary.

Especially the green ones with the brooms and weird hats.

And hopefully that “Fixer” fella will stop sending me snap chat messages asking for advice.

How should I know what color tie works best in C Block?

At least, now, I can get back to doing the people’s work.

Here’s an Idea

Everyone has an idea.

Except my Uncle George; at least according to my Aunt Sally. Aunt Sally always says Uncle George has no idea…no idea at all. Then she usually winks and walks away.

In any case, distant relatives aside, there are a lot of ideas floating around, so there’s a pretty good chance you’ve had one yourself…maybe more than one…maybe even a couple.

Even me…I have an idea once in a while.

Like this one…an idea about ideas.

Hey…I didn’t say it was a great idea…or even a good idea. I just said it was an idea…about ideas.

My first idea about ideas is the more you say it, or read it, the weirder it looks and sounds.

Spring Hope’s Eternal

Hope sits on the doorstep of Spring.

Every year, with a big smile, waiting to be let in.

It’s the best thing about spring.

Hope.

After all those abbreviated, dreary days, grey skies, drizzle and frozen nights blanketed with snow...it’s spring!

The sun hangs high, stirring lawns, awakening buds, elevating new sprouts of crocuses, daffodils and tulips upward and outward.

All of it shouting in celebratory tones…we made it!

It’s spring!

Now, instead of merely dreaming of better days, we can actually set our sights on them—months of them—ahead.

Not that we’re totally without hope throughout the bleak months of winter.

We hope Netflix finally comes to its senses and starts streaming “The Musters” after all of our complaints.

We hope the nor’easters arrive packing mostly rain, and, if not, hope most of the snow drifts on our neighbor’s driveway instead of ours.

The Essence is Time

Let me be the last to wish you a Happy New Year!

Hopefully, I’m the last, because if people are still wishing you a Happy New Year, a couple of days before St. Patrick’s Day, then both you, and they, need to get out more.

Like me...I need to get out more, at least enough so my tires don’t crumble with dry rot, again.

So, it’s been awhile.

I’ve been a little slow out of the gate getting the retorts rolling, this year.

Not that it was intentional.

It just was.

Not sure why.

As I was telling Super Retorter, Joan, just the other day, every time I sit down to write I seem to get easily distracted and that’s the end of that.

I think I’m going to blame Trump. He’s constantly after me to work up pithy new Tweets for him to put out there. 

Of course, I have no idea what I’m talking about, especially at that hour of the morning, so I just throw out any nonsense that pops into mind, just to get rid of him. The next thing I know he’s got the whole world in an uproar.  

Crazy, huh?

Go figure….

I’ve also spent a lot of the new year trying to find myself…again.

This year I found myself in the cookie cabinet, which wreaked havoc on my waistline.

Not to mention the cookie cabinet.