Scribblings

When I worked outside the home, I hated Mondays because it meant the weekend was over and I had to go back to work. Now I dread then because, if I don’t have an idea for my weekly newspaper column by now, it becomes panic time. And given that I’m writing this instead of a column, I think we know what kind of a Monday this will be.

I accidentally saw some of the superbowl and it’s aftermath. It’s something I’ve never seen before as I’ve never actually watched the superbowl or any of its pre and post hysteria. I know this is foolish of me but I don’t find over-drugged, over-large men giving each other concussions entertaining. The friend watching the game at my house also watched what happened after the game ended when some sort of trophy is transferred to the new winners. I looked up from what I was doing to see a man carrying a large silver trophy down a row of clearly crazed

So I’m stooping down to look under my sink and see if the leak has been fixed. I’m shinning my flashlight at the approximate location of where the leak had been and hear a periodic drip but can’t see it. Then I realize the sound isn’t a drip but is coming from my knees and ankles. It has nothing to do with the drip and everything to do with me being old and creaking more than ever.

I think it’s a telling sign when a car dealership in Alaska advertises a big sale on four by four vehicles because the lack of snow has left then with a big backlog of vehicles. Gosh darn, maybe those scientists are on to something with their blathering and bleating about climate change.

I’ve finally figured out so much of life that puzzled me in the past. But now I’m too old to be able to enjoy half of what I’ve finally figured out. 

My poor cousin Joe. He doesn’t stand a chance against these cuties. Add that darling little Ivy Ma, who was not available for this photo session, to the mix and he might as well just get out the checkbook and give them all his money. They have him right where they want him. Some of us could not be happier about it… or laughing harder.

See that control at the bottom of the picture. That’s the heating pad. And that is BuddhaBubba’s bed under which it is placed. Carm decided to get in on the action. Climbed in over Bubba and stuck his head behind her butt so she couldn’t see him there. She sat up and refused to lay down again until he moved. He didn’t move. So for the next five minutes I listened to BuddhaBubba doing her best imitation of a growl to scare her brother out of her bed. It didn’t work. She eventually forgot what she was growling about and

If Bruce Springsteen had any sense at all, he’d want Jimmy as his best friend. Oh yeah, that’s the house Bruce grew up in. Way to celebrate!

Every once in a while I wonder what it would be like to be rich enough to actually buy a politician. It’s been so long since there has been anyone in DC who represents me and not their moneyed overlords that I really do forget what it feels like to actually be part of representative government.