Hope all of you had a splendid Christmas, or whatever you may celebrate during this time of year. I say that because, of course, not everyone celebrates Christmas. Reminds me of a nice conversation I had a few years ago with a very good friend of mine who happens to be a Muslim. We were together during one of those Holiday Dinners our employer set up for us each year. I was fortunate to be able to sit next to him, which was great because he lives in Canada; and although we talked on the phone regularly we rarely saw each other live and in color.

“Does Santa come to your house?” I asked whimsically.

He chuckled and said, “I’ll be getting a few gifts while I’m here.”

Hey, last I checked, Santa was nondenominational! I’m grateful for the tolerance I was given when I was very young. My parents were very adamant that we treat people of all colors and creeds with respect. This attitude later brought me into contact with a beautiful, like-minded young woman when each of us were the ripe old age of 17. She allowed me to marry her two years later!! As we look back on our 50 years of wedded bliss, we find ourselves grateful that we raised “colorblind” kids who are keenly aware that we have absolutely no right to judge a person based on what color their skin is, who they choose to love, or how (or whether) they pray.

We’re grateful for a lot of things, and believe it or not we verbalize it pretty much every day. Sometimes we say it mockingly by uttering, “we are spoiled Americans.” But it’s true you know. Most of the time we’ll say “we are so fortunate,” or “thank you God for everything.” I dare say that anyone who is reading this is also spoiled to some degree. God bless those who are suffering from poverty, hunger, war, etc. Our family has been pretty much insulated from all these. We are blessed.

So here comes 2024, for cryin’ out loud!! Where did the time go?? Over the past few weeks my beautiful girlfriend and I have been reminiscing about days past…

“Honey, do you realize that this Christmas is our 50^th?” I mentioned recently. “Oh my!!” she replied. “Well, you know what frogs say… time’s fun when you’re having flies!!” I quipped. And fly it does; and the older we get the faster it seems to zip along. That’s why we’re both trying to make as many pleasant memories as we can these days. Negativity often plagued in our early years… that’s just not the case with us anymore. In spite of some rather significant health challenges, negativity rarely rears its ugly head now. And I can’t remember the last time we pissed each other off!! We pretty much literally grew up together; and we’ve learned that negativity is rather poisonous for the spirit.

We don’t like poison.

Do we get sad sometimes? Maybe even annoyed? Of course!! But we do our best not to wallow in the muck. Compared to oh so many, we are immeasurably blessed. However, it also takes conscious effort to “accentuate the positive and eliminate the negative,” as the old song goes. As we stumble along on this journey we call life; we try to replace negative thoughts with positive or at least neutral ones. We try to seek out activities that feed the spirit. We go to therapy. And we have a host of like-minded friends whom we can contact for support. All these tools give us a better chance or connecting to The Great Spirit and receiving some peace; and sometimes we even get some guidance!

So I think that’s my New Years’ resolution for 2024. For several years, I’ve stuck to the same resolution: “Try to do better.” I’ll still keep that in the mix, but I really want to ring in the new year (and subsequent new years) on a positive note. I need to do my best to keep the negative nasties out of my head. Negativity is painful, and I don’t like pain. As the famous philosopher, Henny Youngman said, “I went to the doctor, (lifts up his arm) and I said, ‘Doctor, it hurts when I do this!!’ So the doctor says, ‘Don’t do that!!’” I love using that as a funny analogy, but It really has become that simple for me. When my serenity alarm goes off, I try to quickly figure out what’s wrong and do my best to moderate my reaction so I can stay on an even keel. Didn’t happen over night, believe me.

If I can succeed at all this mood management; I’m pretty sure I’ll really have a Happy New Year. Well pretty much anyway. Friends and family who know the health challenges we face often ask us, “How are you doing?” I usually respond tersely with “Doing OK.” Lately I’ve been adding, “Well let’s put it this way: most of the time we are content.” And we are.

My hope for all of you is that you are at least as blessed as we are. And May Our Creators (whoever they may be) bless all of you, and please; have a Happy New Year.

I’m sure gonna try.

Speaking of Henny Youngman…

So… we’ll be getting visitors soon. Friends and relatives will be in town, and many will want to come visit our little piece of Heaven in Beautiful Bear Swamp. We’ve had several months to prepare for their arrival, but there are still some last minute things to do of course. Things like painting the shed. Weeding the garden. Getting the carpets cleaned. Making sentence fragments. You know, all that cool stuff that should have been done months or at least weeks ago, but we have lives and important things to do like enjoy time with grandchildren and visit with friends that live nearby oh and cooking and cleaning and all the other life stuff that, if enumerated completely and in great detail, would make for a much longer run-on sentence; so maybe I’ll just stop pretty soon but maybe not right now, oh well yes I think that’s enough.

Don’t you agree?

We’re putting on a bit of a shindig to celebrate our 50^th wedding anniversary. Fifty years!! How did that happen?? Well it happened just like they say in those recovery places: one day at a time. Sure doesn’t feel like it’s been that long. On the other hand, it really does feel like my Beautiful Girlfriend and I have been sweethearts / best friends / lovers for basically all our lives. Childhood memories are but a flash in the pan these days. Of course, we became best friends when we were children (we were both 17), so practically speaking we really have been together all our lives.

We grew up together!

Thankfully, the chores we’d like to get done before our visitors arrive will not even remotely resemble the absolute chaos that often ensued while preparing for something like our kids’ high school graduation open houses. Those were The Before Times. One of my “favorite” memories was the last minute disposal of a very large pile of lumber. Well, OK, it sat outside and exposed to the elements so long that much of it became a very large pile of rotten wood. They’d toss boards and planks into the dumpster at work, and Kenny would go pick “the nice ones” out and take them home. Into the carefully stacked lumber pile they’d go; waiting for that Kenny guy to do something with them. Surprisingly, some of it actually got used! And of course much of the pile was ignited a few days before graduation as a hefty onslaught of carbon molecules ejected into the atmosphere.

Ya, we burned it up. Holy Carbon Footprint, Batman!

Then we looked inside the garage where the food tables were to be placed. “OH HOLY CARP!!” we exclaimed in unison. “HOW ARE WE GONNA CLEAN THIS MESS UP IN TIME?!?!?!” Not sure who did it (it was me), but some noodle-headed wombat very gradually touched off a clutter bomb in my garage. Shelves somehow got (very gradually but effectively) filled with boxes of nails, tools, extension cords, drain snake thingies, air filters, spray paint… the list could go on and on. Not in any special order mind you. Well let’s hear it for my brother-in-law. He gave us a marvelous solution: “Run a rope between the studs and hang a big new tarp across!!” It’s a truly amazing way to make a mess invisible. Those were very stressful events, those graduation open houses from 1996 and 2001.

Is the mess from the aforementioned clutter bomb still there? Yes. Yes it is.

We’ll need to rent a refrigerator to house all the leftovers from the shindig. And yes, you really can rent a refrigerator!! So it’s gonna go in the garage… in front of a new tarp. There will be “restricted areas” where visitors are not welcome to tread. They won’t know it, but we sure will. Thankfully, there’s no pile of rotten lumber. The house is pretty presentable inside. The shed needs some paint, and there are other jobs to be done; but we’ll be OK. We’ve gotten better at just realizing that this is just part of who we are. We’re not slobs, we’re Americans, and we have too doggone much stuff. We are better at not shaming ourselves for any woulda – shoulda – coulda nonsense. All that does is spoil an otherwise great day. So we’ll tidy up where we can, and hide the rest (hee hee).

I’d really love to work on this procrastination disease I’ve worked so hard to acquire over the years. But that will have to wait till tomorrow or the next day.

Oh, and if any of you visitors are reading this, please erase the preceding text from your brains.

Thank you.

Maybe we could get Grampy to come help!!

I am really enjoying retirement.  I am so comfortable, I can wear my “Sunday Go To Meetin'” garden grubs to the grocery store and not give a flying mahookey who sees me running around in dirty rags.  In fact, just yesterday I had to make a quick grocery run after I got done crawling around in the garden.  While I was grabbing a few necessities, I had something of a fashion flashback that happened back in the old days when I was still working.

So there I was, in a Hard Day’s Night, working like a dog, with no barking, walking around the factory after walking between the Work Buildings and having enjoyed the cool air of West Michigan spring while in my denim jacket, when suddenly I stopped to talk to some fellow associates; but not all that suddenly because I left no skid marks on the concrete floor or nothing, and long before I wrote this run-on sentence (because I was at work, not writing like I am now) a friend walked up to me with a large grin on his face and said, “Hey Ken, don’t you know that denim jackets have been out of style for 20 years?”

Being the good natured fellow I am, I smiled while shaking his hand and quickly replied, “I really don’t give a ship (or something like that…)!!” Then one of the other associates said, “You’re one of the good guys, you can wear whatever you want and it would be just fine.”  Well being thought of as a “good guy” was nice to hear, but being the silly fellow I am, I smiled again and said, “How about I put on a pink tutu and some OSHA approved safety ballet slippers?? Would that be OK??” One of the associates eyebrows kinda came together as he looked at the ground; but the one who called me “one of the good guys” chuckled and said, “Yeah sure!!”

Again at work, I had yet another instance of fashion consciousness. A friend of mine came up to me and said, “Nice shirt!!” Took a little pointing on his part for me to notice that he and I were wearing shirts with nearly identical fabric. “Oh!!” I said, finally getting the point. “Yeah, I’m guessing mine is a thrift store special.” He gave me a puzzled look. I thought about that much later, wondering if I insulted him. But we are good friends so I’m pretty sure he didn’t take it too seriously. Besides, he found it amusing when I said, “Yeah my wife buys all my shirts at the thrift stores. This one was probably 99 cents. Well OK it’s kinda nice, maybe she paid $2 for this one.”

As you may have gathered by now, I’m not exactly in tune with GQ or whatever that hoidy toidy men’s magazine is called. I just don’t give a hoot about fashion. Some proof of that is:

1) I just had to google “GQ” to make sure it still was what I thought it was; and

R) I still like having very long hair, even though it’s only growing well on the sides of my head (I plan to till the top under and try to grow a new crop); so that’s like 40 years out of style, and finally

&) I rarely paid attention to what the work shirt looked like in the morning. My fashion combo consisted of a pair of blue jeans and a “business casual” shirt.

And yes, Virginia (or Vern), I stuffed my shirt pocket with my smell phone, my eye glasses case, a pen, and maybe a small screwdriver. Oh and not to forget that’s where my badge hung.

People see me from miles away and say, “NERD ALERT!! OLD HIPPIE NERD ALERT!!!”

Guilty as charged.

I did, however, try to make sure all the buttons were buttoned, my fly was zipped up, and my “gig line” was straight. For those who were never in the military, a “gig line” is correct when the seam of your shirt, your belt buckle, and your fly are all in a straight line from top to bottom. If you didn’t have that just so in basic training, you got gigged. Nobody likes to get gigged. Funny how old habits stick with you.

So the oldest habit of mine that sticks with me is I just don’t care about fashion. Fortunately my Beautiful Girlfriend keeps my garments acceptably coordinated when we have to play dress up for a wedding or whatever. Fun to see the new fashion stuff sometimes though, kind of like going to the carnival!!

I’m just not hip, folks. I’m an old hippie who doesn’t care about hip. Not even sure what the current expression for “hip” might be!! And I don’t give a flying mahookey!! So there!!

As the folks from the Tower of Power said so eloquently all those years ago (1973 in the video that follows), “what is hip? Tell me, tell me if you think you know.” Then later in the song is my favorite line: “What’s hip today might become passe.”

So I’m just not in style and that’s very OK with me. My Beautiful Girlfriend, on the other hand, is “Just My Style.”

So kids, two videos today. Tower of Power with “What Is Hip?” is first but isn’t displayed like other videos I’ve linked to in the past.  That’s because I usually embed them here, but this time Youtube said “embedding disabled by request.”  So just click the link to get the Tower of Power.  Nice performance by them on Soul Train.

The second one is in honor of my Beautiful Girlfriend, who will always be “Just My Style” like this song from Gary Lewis and the Playboys.

Peace!! (Now that’s ALWAYS in style!!)

Click below for “Just My Style.”

Well it happened. I just had my 69^th birthday, and I’m rather astonished that I’ll soon be the same age as old people. Maybe I already am!! This reminds me of a poem that I never wrote before, so I will attempt to plop it in front of your reading eyeballs at this time.

I Feel Fine

by Me, A Name I Call Myself

I’m sixty nine and I feel pretty fine, if I must say so myself.

I’m grateful to be alive and well and not in an urn on a shelf.

No more angries, or ickies, no orneries or pickies,

All those nasty emotions just gave me the sickies.

I’ve worked hard to grow up… not much raises my hackles.

But when trying to move, something inside me crackles.

“Oh ouchy! Oh crap!” I’ve been heard to exclaim.

But I’d rather have ouch than be totally lame.

So I’ll just keep on truckin’, as the freaks used to say.

And look forward to what comes with the following day.

Thank you.

Yes, I guess maybe someday I’ll have to face the possibility that I’m getting old. How can this be, though?? My brain still thinks I’m in my 30s… maybe younger. Oh but I’m starkly reminded of change when looking in the mirror for example. I bring my young brain around with me and then I step into the bathroom to pee (again), and I catch the image of some old fart looking back at me. “What the heck happened to you??” I think… sometimes out loud. Yeah, I’m starting to get old.

I had hair once, right on top my head and everything!! I’m convinced that there is some sort of follicle migration occurring while I sleep. I mean, I have more hair on my belly than I’ve ever had. And it grows well in my ears too!! And my chest!! Never had hair on my chest before. And as all these hair villages pop up on previously bald parts of my body, the hair on top of me head diminishes. Not sure this is fair treatment for a gentle person like me.

And remember the crackles I mentioned in the poem from earlier up there above these other words where there’s a poem that I never wrote before but I did just a few minutes ago that was not part of this run-on sentence but it is now?? Well sheesh, I can hardly move any part of my body without some sort of Snap, Crackle, or Pop Rice Crispies, part of this nutritious breakfast!! Actually I don’t know how anyone can fool themselves into thinking that Rice Crispies have ever really provided much nutrition. But the commercials were fun now weren’t they?

I can’t complain really, even though I do. That’s a privilege of getting older, right? Old people complain about everything. Jeez I don’t wanna get old like that. But seriously folks, life is very good and I’m truly grateful. You’ve probably heard the old saying, or some version of it: “Getting old is not for cowards.” Well even though I’m a wuss I’ll do my best to age gracefully. I really am lucky… I can do most anything I could do when I was younger. Just takes longer sometimes… and sometimes it hurts.

But really… I feel fine!!

When the grandsons are here, I often ask them to give me ideas on what to write for “Happy Friday!!!” installments. Well today I got some rather interesting (albeit random) suggestions. So as is the custom when they are here for a visit, I will try to incorporate their silliness into some of my silliness so the silliness is as silly as possible.

Please to endure the bold italics that will be used to highlight their contributions, of which this sentence is not one, nor even part of one, it’s just a random sentence I decided to compose to annoy anyone who is not fond of run-on sentences that just seem to go on and on without any particular reason; with liberty and justice for all.

OK. Time for the real silliness.

When I first asked for a story idea, Gabe told me, “I have ketchup plants growing out of my ears. The ketchup plants in my ears have giraffes biting them, I mean munching them.” So I may (or may not) have answered thusly: “Oh really?? Is this the only way you can try to reach for that imitation toothpaste dispenser?? I’m not sure you understand how purple all those invisible milk molecules can be during a pancake storm. I’ll check back with you in a few weeks to see if you’ve invented any new cheese boppers.”

Gabe left me no choice but to ask his older brother Ollie for some “Happy Friday!!!” fodder. “Ollie,” I said calmly, “do you have any story ideas?” Ollie smirked and then he began to fribble and vossilate while he chortled, “The clan of cats called The Geraldines were on the hunt for mosquitoes the size of a house; so they could cook them over a fire and yell at them for no reason.” “Well alrighty then,” I shrugged, wondering if either of these two grandsons of mine had ever really understood the meaning of using Twinkies for a spare tire.

In very short order their interest shifted back to their video games. “The villagers just keep mining,” Ollie told Gabe. “Yeah, they’re not the smartest aliens in the book,” Gabe replied. Upon asking for more input, a flurry of activity ensued…

Ollie: “My dog just ate all the bread in the house.”

Gabe: “My nose is filled with ketchup.”

Ollie: “The wall is bleeding burger grease.“

Gabe: “It can be anything random it doesn’t have to be funny? Sniggly boo!!”

Ollie: “Here we observe the bear and its natural habitat bathing with fried fish and soup. The moldy chicken nuggets that live in the pantry are raiding the village of onions.”

Gabe: “Turtle.”

At this point, I said, “thank you, and good night.”

A lost document (which should have remained lost)

by Hyram C. Gilmore

     With the wisdom available to us at the present time, it
has been suggested to me that an explanation for our
existence on the planet is in order.  After spending the last
37 years researching this, I have made some true and amazing
conclusions; which I would now like to force each living
being to believe.

     For example, I recently became aware that if you leave
your underpants on long enough, they change color.
Additionally, continued wearing of underpants after this
color change occurs may allow the garment to harbor
unpleasant odors and crusty stuff.  The only way to alleviate
this condition is to place the garment on a flat surface and
cover it with birdseed.  Take this outdoors.  Laugh at the
birds for eating the kaka and weewee particles.

     I am also convinced that yellow things are really
stupid.  Every yellow thing I have spoken to just sits there
with that idiotic yellow way they have.  Yesterday I told a
balloon about how to change an alternator.  The stupid thing
just sat there, sitting there, being right there remaining at
the place where it was!  O obscurity and pickled desk tops!
It's like they don't even WANT to communicate.

     As many of you know, we have been joined together at the
elbows.  Put one in your mouth and the other in your
carbon paper and rotate, as if anyone really cares.  That
should give the neighbors something to sell shoes about.  Of
course, I knew all along that they would choose the wrong
toothbrush if left alone in a crowd.  
     Documentation has proven that Hawaii has been included
in the universe.  You can find it under "H" in the new
edition of Fronkle's Universal Inventory.  Mr. Loofa Noodle
is there, and has been named official Captain of the Battle
Destroyer Flotation Device Cruise Ship Thing:  "Ono-Ahma-
Liki"; which regularly patrols the coast of Oopa-Oopa.  He
and his crew have been on the lookout for fiddler crabs and
their pet hair dryers.  It seems that when the local
fishermen go out on the town, they catch crabs while
fiddling; and the hair dryers cry for chicken pot pies.

     Perhaps the most interesting characteristic about the
Hawaiian Toe Jams is the unique geological constipation.
Large clouds of black dust hover over the natural beauty of
the native insecticide.  Tourists from all over the world
flock around with their chins in a little dress; and sing
about the time I puked all over the dog and he kicked my
rosy red piano.  Palm trees sway in the bathroom when pigs
climb to the top. It is truly a remarkable sight to be dismayed!

     Tropical customs are in full view of retarded garden
tools.  Hula dancers wear the traditional grass shirts which
come in plaid or velvet.  They burn well and are organized
according to battery or solar powder.  Each dance tells a
story just exactly like this:
------------------------------------------------------------
     Long ago in Grandfather's beard, a small squid died and
stunk for days.  All the village Elders offered him fire to
drink and hid his remote control.  Little children crawled up
to see him and chewed off his toes.  His own family sent for
the Magic Bowl.  They filled it with bird runch and mixed in
pork, crayon shavings and geek fat.  The ceremony began with
the first three episodes of "Gilligan's Island"; and when
Grandfather started lusting for Mrs. Howell they fed him the
Modongo.  Very soon Grandfather blortled and fipped.  He
asked "What kind of bird runch are you feeding me today?
Anyhow?"  His family laughed at the snackwonder: "OH! AH!
HOO!", they bribbled.  And that is how this Island got its
name.  
------------------------------------------------------------

     Now, I'm sure you are wondering about the food one
encounters in this area of the planet.  Well, being the
expert you are, let's hear about it!  Don't tell me I have to
eat those dirt things again!  You served those last time, and
they made my cats run for president!  I'll never be ashamed
of my feelings about the time I stuck my hand in that bag of
jello and chicken lips you gave me!

     Last time I was never there, I'm sure I ordered shrimp
on the halfshell.  The cook was in the garage, busily peeling
the breadsticks; when suddenly an overwhelming radio cracked
his head three feet long.  The waiter took photographs of
dead bugs in the air conditioner; but we all knew he sang
great songs of urination.  You see, when you finally learn to
accept that the world is merely a fig in a bucket of lard;
everything else shines dimly through rose colored sandbags.
This can surely cause religious brethren to noisily teach their
children "The Great Spoon Dance."  A glazed look falls upon
the fat silver necklace camouflage device.  With little or no
warning, little pajama people excrete a slimy trail of
really neat toys which are easy to squeeze and maintain.

     Many people have been sticking pens up their noses and
telling me stories.  At first, I thought they were all uncles
of mine; but some of them were not women.  A common bind
between all these folks is that they each have had some sort
of crazy requirement in their past.  The majority of them
used fish for volleyballs; especially when Duane the Root
Seller was nearby.  Others simply wanted their name in print
so they could ring in the New Year with giant fleas.  Jumbo
shrimp.  Military intelligence.  Government efficiency.
OOOOOOO!   TELL THAT OXY-MORON TO GET THE HECK AWAY FROM ME!

     So as you all can see, the truth in this description of
life, the universe, and everything is all that it should be.
If you ever find yourself groping for answers for one of
life's weird stinking disgusting ridiculous and maybe unknown
something of what I just said; it probably was the wrong
number.  Refer to this document often, and you should begin
to hallucinate gladly.  The Universal Truth Fairy will reveal
itself to you; and teach you how to make the best doggoned
macaroni and cheese in the whole world.

     Always remember to worship the little rocks in your
driveway.  This will change nothing in your spiritual life;
but it will make you feel better about squishing their little
faces every time you go for a drive.  Remember that
everything has feelings.  If you have neglected to wish your
toilet "Happy Birthday", now would be a good time to begin.
You'll also begin to discover who your real friends are.

     Many who have discovered the "Righteous Path of Really
True Enlightment Obtained Only From This Here Doo-Dad" are
selling their nose hairs.  They have finally come to realize
that our solar system is really a small pile of dried flies
waiting for a ride on the bus.  Never would I suggest that
the reader adopt this as the only truth known.  However, if
youse jerks doubt anything that has been written here, I will
hire professional laughter addicts to come to your spider's
funeral.

     After all, EVERYONE knows that wiggling a blue car seat
in front of surgical instruments causes trees to vomit!  My
fingernails are actually flashlights which send encrypted
messages to Wognord of the Skoldern Galaxy, Sector 23vx!  You
can pick green radishes and they will still be red.  Snails
invented rock 'n roll.  Cantaloupes will replace ball
bearings in the New World order.  ALL THESE THINGS ARE IN
PRINT RIGHT HERE, SO THEY MUST BE TRUE!!

     If you don't believe, shame yourself daily and call me
in the morning.  I'll be right here, waiting for those purple
cornstalks to sing me another song.  Until then, Peace, Love,
Dove and Harry Kirshner.  May cat barf cling to your enemies.
Tell Mom I forgot to wipe by accident again.  Slip sideways
through the deep canyons of Life; and remember that it's
better to be you than for you to be me, and although you can 
count to it, eight is a word. Finally, I leave you a small yodel
that only Randall the Moisture Merchant can abbreviate:

GIVE TRUTH AND HAPPINESS TO ALL YOU MEET, THEY MIGHT LIKE IT.