Without Moms

Mother’s Day is upon us and it’s time to show our appreciation to the one person in the whole world to whom we literally owe everything.

I mean, aside from my banker.

Without Moms none of us would be here, except possibly my third cousin—twice removed, yet always returns—who we suspect is an extraterrestrial, mostly because of his odd middle toes.

But I digress.

Without Moms none of us would know the joy of a Peanut Butter & Jelly sandwich…even if it didn’t travel well in a brown paper bag that you sat on in 3^rd grade, on an 85 degree day in May.  It was still made with love and still delicious despite its odd coloring and peculiar shape.

Without Moms we would still be walking around with runny noses, even as adults, who may or may not sometimes use their sleeve to stem the tide.

Without Moms we would still be wearing mismatched socks…or wearing them a lot more frequently than we do now.

Without Moms we would never change our underwear…or learned that changing with your cousin still doesn’t count.

Without Moms we would be deaf from all the loud music that she turned down, after we turned it up, and she turned it back down, and we turned it back up, and she turned it back down….

Without Moms we would all have ruined eyes from watching too much TV, too close to the screen, in the dark.

Without Moms our faces would be frozen in hideous contorted shapes...forever…not just on holidays spent with our in-laws.

Without Moms we would never know the healing power of the miraculous mercurochrome bunny on our knee...or our elbow…or…well, you don’t need to know about that place, since it was an isolated incident…really.

Without Moms we would never have understood that we would never learn, never change, never grow up, and never know where the hamper was.

Without Moms we would always ruin our dinner.

Without Moms we wouldn’t even know how to eat our dinner; at least like a human, who knows the proper way to hold a fork, at least in public.

Without Moms we would forget out heads
if they weren't attached to our bodies…or at least we would never have thought of that concept.

Without Moms we would have never stopped fidgeting…or at least cut back.

Without Moms we would have never known who Ish Kabibble was, because, apparently, that’s who we looked like when we needed a haircut…sometimes still do.

Without Moms we would never have had the soundtrack from “The Way We Were” permanently etched into our prefrontal cortex.

And without Moms we would have had to walk a lot more, missed a lot more school, never have graduated, never have gone to college, never been fed, never had a roof over our head, never have been warm, never been nursed back to health with ginger ale and crackers, never have felt safe and never have understood unconditional love….even after discovering that mysterious dent that appeared on the fender of her brand new car, coincidentally on the first day you received your driver’s license.

Even then….

Without Moms we would never have had a lot of things and we would never be sure of a lot of things, today.

Except one….

What it means to be home….

 

 

______________________________________________________________ 

If you enjoy the Retort, please click "Like" on the FLR Facebook Page. 
 
If you don't like it, please click the same button...but with a negative attitude.


Or you can just

Tolerate the Retorts on Facebook if "Like" is too much of a commitment

For the latest Retorts: Click here

 

Follow @FreelanceRetort on Twitter    Tweet

Share this on Facebook

  

Gotta Love the Zen - Redux

Another from the Archive of Retort:

Original Post June 24, 2011
_____________________________________





My brains' still acting out.

It's pouting and grumbling, refusing to give me any ideas to write about today. So, I thought this would be a good time to bring up Zen.

I love Zen.

Zen is the Seinfeld of spiritual philosophies and disciplines.

Zen, in its purist form, its only form, is about nothing.

And that’s perfect for me....

I can do nothing...with my eyes closed.

This is my favorite unattributed Zen saying:

"To know that there is nothing to know,

And to grieve that it is so difficult

to communicate this “nothing to know” to others—

this is the life of Zen,

this is the deepest thing in the world...."

How cool is that!

I've been trying to tell people that exact same thing for years, except my method involves a lot shouting, disdainful looks and hair pulling...sometimes theirs.

And the beauty of Zen is that the less you know, the more you know…

You know?

And that’s alright with me. Especially since my brain is on a time out.

This is a Zen sign called the "open circle". There’s another symbol called the "closed circle", but we’re not discussing that today…because I say so.



From Energy Healing Circle.com :




“The open circle represents the imperfection found in all things, and suggests to the student to stop striving for perfection and instead to allow the universe to be as it is.”

See…just like I was trying to tell them in High School!

“The open circle is a concept that reflects closely with Japanese Zen Buddhism. The Japanese concept of wabi sabi is that all things are perfect as they are…”

So there!

An example would be, oh, I don’t know, let’s say, for no reason in particular, someone collects heart shaped stones on the beach, any beach, maybe even a Stamford beach. But instead of scouring the beach, day after day, wreaking havoc on their C2 vertebrae, they could easily go out and buy dozens of heart shaped stones in a store, someplace, and each one would be shiny, bright and perfect.

But they don't...cuz to the Zenster, these manufactured stones could never equal the perfection found in the imperfection of the real heart shaped stones hiding beneath the muddy shore. Plus, in a way, aren't the stones really finding you, instead of you finding them?

Capice?

And that’s so cool. That’s so Zen…

Buying them in a store is just so retail…unless they’re on sale.

And if that doesn’t make any sense to you, then more the better.

It’s Zen!

Anyway gotta go. My brain is starting to quibble with my body again. I’ve gotta separate them.

But I’ll leave you with this, a quote from the Buddha himself:

“People with opinions just go around bothering one another….”



Gotta love the Zen...








TweetFollow @FreelanceRetort

Devil May Car Care

I had to bring the car in for service over the weekend.

Nothing serious; just normal maintenance plus the yearly inspection.

At least that’s always the hope.

But when you routinely keep and drive your cars across multiple decades, like Z and I tend to do…you never know.

Hey, if it ain’t broke don’t fix it…I mean, literally.

Oh sure, somewhere down the road you’re occasionally going to lose a wheel or something…again, literally…but that’s what tow trucks are for.

However, there’s no getting around the required inspection…and you should change the oil, sometimes as often as once a year…or at least check it.

So I brought it in over the weekend, and crossed my fingers.

One of life’s golden rules to happiness and peace of mind is, once you find a good garage, stick with it.

Don’t worry about price, customer service or even garage décor, such as what calendar girls they have displayed behind the counter…trust is worth its weight in gold.

Of course I have no idea how much trust weighs, but I do know that a license plate light bulb is going to run you 75 buckos, and sooner, but probably later, you’ll get a call that your car is ready…when they need the garage space for poker night…and hey, Miss Rheingold, 65 was a keeper…even if she actually was 65 at the time.

I’ve been going to this one particular service place for close to 25 years, now, and all the guys know me by name.

Of course it’s not actually my name, but I kind of like being Alice, every now and them

I envision Alice as a free thinker, with authority issues.  He knows he only needs to fill his tank with regular gas, but insist on using premium.

But no special oil additives for Alice…“Just top ‘er off buddy and I’ll be on my way….”

He’s just that reckless when it comes to cars, is Alice.

Luckily, this time I got off easy; but like I said, you never know.

The duct tape seemed to be holding on the right rear tire so I only needed to replace the other three.

Last time it was all four.

The brakes were good…as long as I drove under 20 mph and had at least the length of a football field to stop.

The headlights are like new again once he replaced the bulb…or I should really say, head-light…the other one had a short in it or something. But, like they told me, it was lucky I had two to begin with.

And the transmission oil was a nice healthy brown, so I’ll take that…I guess.

What do I know?

And that’s just the thing; why I say being able to trust your car service place is worth its weight in gold.

I mean, let’s face it…most of us don’t really know what our mechanic is saying when he’s explaining why he needs to replace the Differmometer after he adjusts the Hacenbadafortran coupling…and while he’s in there he might as well change out the amatfenature module, because if you wait until you really need it replaced, you could end up spending more, not to mention risk driving without a gas tank, which, to be honest, is just like throwing good money after bad.

So you hate to do it, but you have no choice…you say, “Do what you have to do…and is that coffee fresh?”

And then everyone has a good laugh and the boys behind the counter say, “Alice, you’re a scream!”

Before long, or way, way, way too long, the work is done and they’re processing your credit card payment…while, at the same time, looking through the new boat catalogue.

“Now I can finally get that 55 foot cruiser, with the mahogany decking, I’ve had my eye on,” they tell you, while you high five and congratulate them before heading on your way.

Like I said, while it’s not a day I look forward to, having your car serviced does lead to some peace of mind knowing that you can once again tune in that FM station that was giving you so much trouble, for so long.

That is, when that new sound, reminiscent of a cat in heat, stops for a few seconds....

TweetFollow @FreelanceRetort

Lovelorn May

May arrived, late, this past Tuesday.

Yeah…I was half asleep, half watching Letterman’s monologue, when I heard a tapping on the big sliding door in back; the one off the back porch.

I just thought I was dreaming so I began to doze back off…but there it was again…tap, tap, tap.

 

"Hmmmm, that's odd", I said to myself, and whoever else was listening in.

Since it’s been my experience that maniac, serial killing, axe murders don’t normally knock, especially during Letterman, I figured whatever it was had to be fairly innocuous, so I thought I should go and check it out.

And it was…it was May…silhouetted in the glow of the outdoor spotlight, tapping on my back door like some prodigal son, returned from wherever it is son’s go to be prodigal.

 “May,” I said. “You’re here…early…but not a moment too soon!”

“Yeah…I heard,” May replied. “April pretty much blew it this year, huh?”

“Shhhhhhh…she’s still here, for another 10 or 15 minutes. I don’t want her to go off in a sulk. If she does, who knows what harsh feelings, not to mention weather, she’ll drag back with her next year.”

“You mean if she even bothers to come back next year,” May sneered.

I was surprised by the harshness in May’s remark, but then recalled there’d been some whispers, a couple of seasons back, of more than just a working relationship between April and May...that, as those things tend to do, ended badly...at least for May.

I guess the whispers were justified, which also explained why May had popped in before the official start of his shift.

I said, “Well, she was a bit on the cool side, this year—especially after the warm April we knew  from last year.”

“Yeah…tell me about it,” May muttered.

“But, she relented a bit the last week and a half, especially after I kind of baited her with that whole ‘Sprinter’ stuff.”

“I saw that!” May said, with more than a degree of delight in his tone. “That was an excellent piece of writing…really, really clever!”

(What…that’s what he said. You think I’m making this up?)

“Thanks,” I replied.  “You know, that just sort of came to me, in the bathroom, where most of my ideas come from, so I—”

May cut me off, which I found rude, because I hate missing any opportunity to talk about my creative technique and masterful application of such…even if I do say so myself.

“She’s good at that, you know.  Teasing with, what might have been, just as she’s getting ready to walk. That’s what April does best…tease.”

I didn’t like the look I was detecting in May’s shadowed eyes, so I quickly changed the subject.

“Well, you’re here now, so what do you have up your sleeve for us, this year?  Believe me we’re ready for anything…you know, especially after April.”

I thought disparaging April would make May feel a little better, which I think worked, but only to a point since I noticed his eyes were still scanning the distance beyond me, hoping to catch a glimpse of his star crossed, former soul month.

“Oh, you know, the usual,” May said, fixing his distracted gaze back onto mine. “Of course, there’ll be May Day—my personal favorite—and then we’ll slide right into Cinco de Mayo, The Derby, Mom’s Day, Indy 500…yada yada yada…you know, until we top it off with the big daddy of them all….”

“The American Idol Finale!” I blurted out.

“No…Memorial Day weekend, dum dum.”

“Oh right, Memorial Day. Sorry….”

  American Idol Finale?  You did have a bad April, didn’t you?”

“Well, there were a lot of reruns….”

Just then, there was a rustling from the back corner of the yard, over by the holly bush. 

May, not missing a beat, quickly picked up his shoulder bag and said, “There’s something out there, I’d better go check it out. My shifts about to start anyway.”

“Be careful,” I said. “It might be a raccoon or muskrat.  We’ve been seeing a lot of them around here, lately.”

May turned back just as he was about to step out of the spotlight’s reach and nodded, but we both knew…it was April, slipping out of town, as quietly as she had arrived—could it be—just a month ago.

“What about the weather?” I shouted after May, now, barely discernible, swallowed in the darkness of night. “Is it going to warm up…anytime soon?”

The rustling from the bushes began again and I could hear the smile in May’s voice.

“Oh, I’d say things are going to get pretty hot around here, pretty quickly.”

“So I should put my air conditioners in, now?” I shouted back…but received no response, other than a slight brush of humid air slipping deliberately across the porch.

With that, I smiled; bid farewell to April, and looked forward to my time with May.

Back inside, I fixed myself a glass of lemonade and returned to Letterman.

He was just beginning the “Top Ten”.

TweetFollow @FreelanceRetort

Dandelion Discourse - Redux

It’s that time of year again, so I thought it would be a good idea to repeat this "almost" old gem.  Plus it gives me another day to goof off….

__________________________________________

Original Post 5/18/12

There’re a lot of Dandelions this year…a lot.

Those little yellow headed critters that dot our lawns all spring and summer.

Well, not mine…at least not for long. Let’s just say, they know better than to make a stop on my lawn.

My grandmother used to eat dandelions, which embarrassed the rest of us. I mean she could have put them on a plate …or at least picked them out of the grass first.

No…I’m kidding. It’s not like she was some kind of granny goat. She would trudge around the yard, in the dress she always wore instead of pants, and cut them down with a knife. Then she’d clean them up and make a salad out of them. I was the only other person in the family that actually liked them. A little bitter, if I recall, but hey, so am I, so it suited me.

I actually saw my first dandelion pop up as early as February, this year. They’re resilient little guys and you have to admire that. They just don’t get their due, at least as far as flowers go. In fact, I bet most of you just call them weeds.

Yeah…me too, until I found out the hard way; there’s a lot more to them than that.

I was out the other day; let’s say “dealing” with said dandelions, when one of them starts to chat me up.

I hate that.

Especially when…you know…I have plans for them.

I mean do I really need to assign a face to my dandelions?

Anyway, this dandelion tells me that being a dandelion in this century blows.

That once they were held in very high regard; even given the name of “Lion’s Tooth” to distinguish them from all the other pedestrian vegetation out there.

Now, everyone just sees them as weeds, which they find so insulting. No one sees them for what they are, which, as I said, is really just a flower…a flower like any other kind of flower.

“Well,” I said to the dandelion, “these days folks like to keep their lawns nice and green. In fact they spend a lot of money on it. You guys sort of muck that all up with all that yellow.”

“So what’s wrong with yellow? There’re yellow tulips, carnations, daisies…and what about that obnoxious yellow rose of Texas, who thinks so highly of himself just because someone wrote a song about him? No one complains about any of them!”

Things were starting to get a little heated now, at least from the dandelions perspective, so I thought I’d better try to smooth things over a bit. You don’t want to get a dandelion all worked up. It can take hours to calm them down, once you do.

“Listen, ah…Dan…can I call you Dan?”

“Why would you call me Dan? My name’s Greg…”

“Oh…sorry…I just assumed—”

“Of course you just assumed….EVERYBODY just assumes, when it comes to the dopey dandelions!”

“Okay calm down….”

“Calm down? Why should I calm down? Don’t you think I know what you’re up to with that little spray bottle you’re hiding behind your back?”

“Well, no. I—”

“I bet you don’t know about our medicinal properties? Or all the nutrients we put back into the soil to make your precious little graminoids flourish.

“My what?”

‘You’re lawn, idiot!”

“Oh….”

“We’re good for all kinds of things…we even make a tasty salad…just ask your grandmother.”

“You knew my grandmother? But how…?”

“What…you think this measly little week is all I get? Hey buddy, wise up. You know all those little puffy seeds you used to blow on when you were a kid?

“Yeah….”

“Well, just more of me, cloning myself over and over again, year after year, decade after decade. But one little squirt from your bottle of poison there and that’s the end of that”

“But that’s the problem”, I said, now armed with a salient point. “You just scatter to the wind and spread your seed everywhere…there’s no end to where you’ll pop up.”

“Hey, what do you expect…I’m French,” he replied with a wink.

“Alright,” I said. “You make some good points. I was really just coming out here to deal with the clover.”

“Good idea…they never were lucky, anyway. And take care of that Chickweed and Creeping Charlie, while you’re at it. They’re nothing but a bunch of hooligans that give us all a bad name.”

And so I did.

When I returned a few days later, Greg had already transformed into a little, white puff ball of seed.

Gently, I picked him up from his little patch of earth and recalled our conversation.

Then, I proceeded to blow, gently…all over my neighbor’s lawn.

I don’t need any more obnoxious little know it all dandelions on mine….

TweetFollow @FreelanceRetort

Penguin Popularity

Have you noticed all the Penguins, lately?

They’re everywhere….

Commercials, movies, TV, the NHL…even popular music.

There was that movie a while back, “March of the Penguins” about that down on its luck Marching Band from the Galapagos that couldn’t get booked for any of the BIG parades, mostly because they kept bumping into one another with their instruments; not to mention the drummers couldn’t reach over the top of their drums. Plus, their Penguin Marching Band hats basically swallowed them up from head to toe…or what passes for a Penguin’s toe.

I didn’t actually see it but I think that’s what it was about, and I think it was a big hit…for some reason.

I guess because of its appeal to the aquatic flightless bird set, which is a lot bigger than you would imagine.

Then there are all those commercials for hotels and beer, which are apparently a big part of a Penguin’s lifestyle.

And I think Bieber’s doing a new pop version of that old Glenn Miller favorite, “Penguine the Beguine”.

Or something like that.

They’re becoming almost as ubiquitous as the Zombies.

In fact, a young Penguin family just bought the house around the corner.

Nice couple too.

Z and I ran into them the other day as we were heading out for our evening stroll.

I mean we literally ran into them because, to be honest, they’re a little on the short side, and we didn’t really notice them at first…at least until we heard the quacking.

And if you’ve ever heard a Penguin quack before…well, you know.

Actually it was just the dad Penguin that was doing all the quaking, and you can’t blame him.

I’d probably do the same if someone was stepping on my flippers, too.

The mom Penguin was actually very sweet…apologetic, actually, for waddling without looking.

At least I think she was apologetic…I mean, it’s just an assumption on my part. But she kept patting my calf with her little wing, so I took that in the only way I could.

Wouldn’t you?

And of course, there were those cute, twin little furball chicks, who I think were named…well, let’s face it; I have no idea what they were named. And I wasn’t about to repeat what I thought I heard, because who knows how my interpretation would be perceived by a Penguin.

I mean, why start off on even more of a wrong, foot, webbed or not, with new neighbors, aquatic or not?

That never ends well.

It took me months to smooth things over with the Zombies when they first shuffled over to say hello.

Really, who can tell when a Zombie is smiling…am I right?

But you can tell from the way dad Penguin took care of his lawn that these were going to be very conscientious Penguin neighbors.

Which, to be honest, we could use a little more of around here, if you know what I mean.

Not mentioning any names or particular species, but if I were you, I’d walk with my eyes forward and my nose held when I pass by the Werewolves’ place.

Just saying….

So it’s good to see the Penguins moving up in the world and buying in the neighborhood.

It should be great for the swim team.

And I’m sure they’ll put a pool of their own in pretty soon.

Can you say POOL PARTY!

Or however the Penguins actually say it…again, not really sure.

But I expect to pick up on their Penguin customs and ways, let alone unique dialect, sooner rather than later.

Z invited them over for a BBQ, as soon as it warms up a little.

Which, to be honest, I’m not sure was exactly the thing they were looking for since they literally shuddered and ruffled their feathers a bit at the mention of warm weather.

And of course, later it hit me....What were we thinking? 

Penguins have never been fans of warm weather or BBQ’s.

Everyone expects them to bring the beer….

TweetFollow @FreelanceRetort

The Season Formerly Known as Spring

Welcome to Sprinter.

Not bad, huh?

I just made it up.

Cuz it certainly looks like spring, but it certainly does not feel like spring.

It still feels like winter, at least around here.

So Sprinter….

Get it?

Our friends, “They”, say all this cold air is sliding down from Canada, which is what’s keeping the temperature down.

Thanks, Canada!

But could you save your generosity for August, when we can really appreciate it.

Canada….

Still, all in all, despite the wintry chill, the tree buds are right on the edge of bloom.

Almost as if they’re just hanging there, waiting for a wave of warmth from the south to arrive.

I don’t blame them.  I mean if I were a leaf I wouldn’t come out in this either.

And the grass seed?  Forget it…they just look up at you and say…“Yeah, right okay…see you in May”.

That’s just how it’s been.

But it’s still pretty to look at, this sprinter season.

And it still promises of a warm summer season to come….

Soon?

Of course the daffodils, and now tulips, haven’t been deterred by the cold.

They know they only have a small window to take the spotlight on center stage and aren't about to let that pass them by.

It’s bad enough they have to deal with some impertinent crocuses that don’t know when to say goodbye.

It’s even worse that they have to deal with some of the more reprobate Iris breeds that seem to show up earlier and earlier every year.

Irises….

So pretentious.

I've also been able to pick up some chit chat from the more forthcoming maple buds, up on the big tree in front, and I’m happy to say it sounds like a lot of the old timers are coming back, along with a lot of new growth on the outer limbs.

Of course the hurricane or non-hurricane, super storm—whatever you call it for insurance purposes—took its toll, last fall, so the canopy crew might be a little sparser than in years past.

But from what I could pick up from the conversation—and it’s not easy eavesdropping on deciduous gossip, buds or not— it sounds like this younger group of foliage, is eager to get started and actually bolstering the resolve of the older folks up top to get blooming.

So I’m looking forward to a good year from the Maple.

Even the little Japanese Maple that took such a bit hit from—ahem—one of the big maple’s weaker appendages, is on its way back.

Whew…we were optimistic, but weren’t really sure what to expect from that little fellow.

Or at least I wasn’t sure…Z had no doubts…at least that’s what I’ve discerned after hearing about how she was right and I was wrong…32 times…33…34…35.

Sure, the little guy’s not the same, and probably never will be again, but what he’s lost in stature, he’s gained in character. 

And what can I say about our old faithful dogwood, as always leading the charge.

“Canada…what do I care about Canada”…she says. 

At least I think she’s a she.

Who can tell from trees?

Not that I would judge her…or him…or whatever.

As long as it’s out there flowering for us in sprinter, leafing in summer and blazing with color in fall, it can be whatever it feels comfortable being.

Nuff said.

Okay…my eyes are getting itchy from all the pollen in the air.

Another sure sign of sprinter…the season formerly known as spring.

And if you think I have an ulterior motive in writing about sprinter, you would be right.

Because the way things go, if I write to complain about something, it’s sure to change, and become the opposite of whatever it is.

So I’m expecting by the time you read this, the Canadian air will find out we don’t take their funny quarters here and head back across the border, where it belongs.

Then, the likelihood is it will actually warm back up to normal spring temperatures.

Just to screw up my story.

So let the blooming begin!

No need to thank me…again….

TweetFollow @FreelanceRetort