So there I was, minding my own business, picking black raspberries with my new girlfriend, at her place way down south in the Berrien Springs Universe, when I was told “There are lots of good ones back there but it might be hard to get to them;” so I replied, “No worries, I know how to blaze a trail!” and I proceeded to do a very interesting walk through the brambles with my short pants on and I really think this run-on sentence is more than long enough.
Don’t you agree??
Yes, of course you do.
About a month before, my new girlfriend, her son, her doggie and I were traipsing through the network of trails she carved into the woods with her Monster Big John Deere Mowing Machine. Along the way I was warned that an uninvited crop of poison ivy was thriving rather nicely… and they pointed them out so I wouldn’t mistakenly try to eat the leaves or rub them on my ears and into my nostrils. I successfully avoided catastrophe! I mean, hey, I’m not as dumb as I look.
Or am I??
Fast foward to the aforementioned berry picking time which was something like two weeks ago. I was very focused on picking a really good batch of black raspberries… you know, more in the bucket than what went into my mouth. I’ve picked raspberries and blackberries numerous times in short pants, the result of which would be what resembled a wildcat trying to remove the skin off my legs. But I didn’t care… I was after berries!!
Yeah well I plum ignored the possibility that maybe during my trail blazing in pursuit of those outlying berries, some poison ivy might be lurking in the thickets. Took several days, but my ignorance produced a pretty good size rash on the front of my left leg and a smaller one on the back of my right leg. Also I noticed that both of these rashes were really uncomfortable!! What a surprise!!
No. No surprise at all. The discomfort I mean. But fooey… I’ve gone berry picking in shorts many, many times but never ever had any encounters with this poison named Ivy. Just color me grateful after hearing horror stories about people getting poison ivy all over their faces, hineys, or much worse.
So Ivy and I are not friends. I waited 71 years to have this experience, and it would have been very OK with me to wait at least 190 years more. The rash seems to be subsiding now… but it still looks like I have a pretty severe radiation burn on that left leg. I think maybe I should wear long pants next time I go trail blazing in the woods around my girlfriend’s house. Or perhaps I could just stick to the trail her Monster Big John Deere Mowing Machine makes. I’ll just try not to be as dumb as I look next time.
I wonder if these guys wrote this song special for me…
A year ago today, my Beautiful Girlfriend’s spirit left for The Great Beyond. I remember the day very well… and how I didn’t “lose my shit” until after her body was removed from the house. As you may have guessed, the phrase “lose my shit” refers to crying. BIG crying. Loud crying. Many big and loud periods of crying… usually while I was alone, but not always.
Our parents didn’t like to hear us crying. More than once Dad would say, “Quit crying or I’ll give you something to cry about.” That wasn’t very nurturing; and the approach was put on my list of childhood resentments that helped me break away from home at the ripe old age of 18. I was later able to let go of those resentments, realizing that our parents simply did the best they could.
My Beautiful Girlfriend and I entered early adulthood together… so certain were we of being in control of our lives that we married when we were 19. Looking back at some of the naysayers, it was a bit early in life to embark on such a commitment. The likelihood of two kids who were madly in love but also monstrously stubborn to pull off a marriage successfully seemed dim to some. The stubbornness of youth made each of dig our heels in from time to time. But after much weeping and gnashing of teeth, we knew that we needed to be together much more than we wanted to be apart. We literally grew up together. We recovered from addiction together. In the last part of her Earth life, we reviewed our times together. In spite of some of the pains of growing up, we concluded that most of our time together was really quite good. We pulled off the marriage gig with some pretty magnificent finesse; if I must say so myself.
Just short of 51 years. Pretty damn good, wouldn’t you say?
Back in 2019 we learned that My Lovely Wife had IIPF; which translates to Idiopathic Interstitial Pulmonary Fibrosis. That’s a big mouthful of words that placed a death sentence on My Dear Honey Pie. I looked on the interwebs and got the distressing news: death comes 3 to 5 years after diagnosis. And sure enough, she left this Earth in 2024. Five years.
Wow.
We worked hard to prepare ourselves for the inevitable. We stuck close to our biological and extended family. We had very deep discussions about Life, The Universe, and Everything. Believe it or not, throughout the course of her illness we remained grateful and content most of the time. Thanks to our 12 step program and our Higher Power, neither of us had any propensity toward intoxicants to distract us from reality. Oh but we sure did enjoy lots of chocolate and other sweets!!
Gratitude manifested itself in many ways. I retired shortly after her diagnosis, so I was able to care for her and help her die at home with dignity and peace. We had a truly amazing 50 year anniversary shindig in 2023; with a huge turnout of family, extended family, and friends. We were always very conscious of that fact that in spite of what was coming, we were blessed beyond measure compared to all too many of the poor and marginalized people that endure terrific hardships all over the planet.
Immediately after her passing, of course, came the commotion of many visits by family and friends. Then her Celebration of Life also brought so many of us together. Once all that subsided; I immersed myself in grief groups, individual counseling, and many, many 12 step meetings. I also jumped headlong into my favorite “heretical” book: The Book Of James by Susy Smith. The book gives details about The Afterlife, and it was sent to Susy in the form of automatic writing from a man who identified himself as James. I’m currently on my 6th reading since my Lovely Bride left us.
One might ask, “Why would you read such a book 6 times in a row?” I have a couple of answers: 1) I believe it to be true, and 2) the book is brimming with what I consider to be important guidelines for living. You know, weird stuff like all of us being children of God. I put all of us in bold italics because I’m convinced that it’s really important for me to remember that. Whenever I become judgemental of a person; I need to step back and realize that we all really are children of God. So my job is to love everyone, even those whose behavior I despise.
That ain’t always easy.
Even after 6 readings, The Book Of James continues to serve as a good reminder of how I need to behave and think during my Earth portion of this journey called life.
One of my favorite analogies about God is an anonymous quote I’ve latched onto for many years: “Nature is God’s reflection.” To me, that’s everything we can’t see with a microscope to everything that can’t be seen with the most sophisticated telescope… and everything in between. A few years ago one of my friends heard me utter that quote at a 12-step meeting and he confronted me after the meeting was done. “So Ken, that means that we are all part of that reflection, right??” I certainly could not disagree.
Thanks to all the help from family, friends, and counseling, this past year’s journey has gifted me with some important epiphanies. One such epiphany is that every thought is a prayer. Huh?? Yes. It’s become quite important for me to remember. I’m convinced that prayers can be both positive and negative. If I think positive thoughts, I’m sending positive energy into the Universe. If I think negative thoughts, I’m increasing the darkness that’s all too prevalent.
When I read or hear the news, there are all too many opportunities to be angry and disgusted; and of course I could easily slip into the all too human habit of name calling or other actions of extreme displeasure. Instead, I try to remember that we indeed are all children of God; and those who seek to destroy or are blinded by greed and / or power are, in my opinion, suffering from a terrible form of spiritual sickiness. I ask The Creator (whoever They are) to help them see the error of their ways, and of course I pray for those who are suffering.
So yeah, I’ve been mourning. A lot. But I’ve also been very thankful. So long as I keep gratitude forefront in my mind, life is good. Of course I miss my Lovely Wife, but I’ve felt her hugging me all day long. We talked about what life would be after she left… her exact words were, “I don’t want you to be alone for the rest of your life.” I replied, “I don’t really want that either but I don’t know what that means.” Well, God brought a magnificent new relationship into my life a few months ago. I can’t help but think that My Beautiful Bride and her posse (those amazing, strong women we know and love who have gone before her) petitioned The Creator to pull some strings for me.
At this point I really need to say Thank You to all who have supported me and my family in the past and present. I’ve learned so much in these last few years. And I’m especially grateful to be aware that I have much more to learn. As Alistair Sim said in my favorite Scrooge movie, “I don’t know anything. I never did know anything. But now I know I don’t know anything!” As a person who was afflicted with Mr. Know It All disease, repeating that statement helps me keep my ego in remission. Going forward, I’ll be “wearing out” the following prayer:
God, grant me the serenity
To accept the things I cannot change,
Courage to change the things I can,
And the wisdom to know the difference.
So… remember those “heretical documents” to which I’ve been referring? Well here are some testimonials that illustrate the talking points of what I’ve been reading. Hope you’ll take the time to check them out.
Hello my friends. I must confess that it’s rather difficult for me to watch the news these days. So rather than exponkulate (which is not a word) on the terrible sloshing noises of icky events and behaviors; I’ve decided to inject some random silliness into this week’s Happy Friday!!! thingy bopper.
So what follows is not something I just invented with my brain thing. No! These are reprints of very silly notes I actually sent to work friends via instant messaging office-type electronic hello.
Yes.
You see, I retired from the rather high-stress world of IT, where computers were both our livelihood but also the bane of our existence. To lighten up the mood, I’d send random notes to my friends. Then one day someone told me, “I hope you are saving these, they’d make a great book some day.” Well, I don’t know about that, but after looking over them again I did give myself some smiles. Is that the mark of a sick mind??
I hope not!
Anyway, after my friend told me about saving my silly notes, well by golly that’s just what I started doing. I made a text file and would add to it as I went along, and before I retired I sent them to my home e-mail. And now I’d like to share some of them with you. I gave each note a little title, That I Will Put In Bold, which didn’t appear to my friends… only the text that followed. OK, enough introduction, here goes the sharing.
Weather Have you seen the weather lately?? What are these tiny white flakes falling from the sky?? Little tiny airborne ice crystals!!! Kinda pretty… I’d love to snow what they’re really called.
Nozzles I’ve installed Nostril Nozzles to increase my snorking efficiency. Hopefully this will enhance my ability to sort snot snorkenwibbles.
Snacks Some Of The Most Delicious Snacks Are Capitalized To Enhance Their Complete Lack Of Nutritional Value.
Enjoyments Many of my enjoyments have wriggled right out of Mars and other parts of the Aurora Borealis. I hope my cat learns to speak German soon.
Mizzlepop Some of the best Yo Vonkeny can be found under the Mizzlepop Trees.
Acorns I’d like to know who planted the acorns in my knees. Now that they’ve sprouted, people are starting to talk… I hear whispers of a new nickname: “Oak Knees.”
Chowder This coming Sagnerday I will illegally change my name to Frapzak Mizzlepop, which of course was never a Native American name meaning “Slumbers With Chowder.” Used donuts and apple chowder vinegar will be served in celebration.
Science In the interest of Science, I will be formulating experiments involving TV viewing habits of small reptiles. Also, I hope to learn whether they can smell their favorite color of the alphabet. Feel free to send large cash donations in support of these efforts.
Thank you.
Turkeys I’ve been trying to get the neighborhood turkeys to speak English, but when I talk to them their replies are unintelligible. All I hear from them is “Garble!! Garble!! Garble!!”
Foods During my retirement I’ll be inventing foods like Peanut Butter & Garlic Sandwiches (PBGS), and perhaps Eggs On The Half Shell (EOTHS). Then I’ll invite all my friends over for a snack and we’ll wash it down with Banana Peel Surprise (BPS).
Fuzz I don’t understand all this purple fuzz growing out of my molars. I’ve tried to style it with a small comb, but it gets messed up every time I eat.
Dust Here comes the Dust Monkey. His name is Maroo. He’s got plenty of dustings for me and for you. I offered him candy to eat on his break. He told me, “No thank you, I prefer cake.” “I don’t want your dust now!!” I started to whine. “Well just go and put it where the sun doesn’t shine.”
And finally…
Muffins Clang! Clang! Clang! go the muffins as they are squeezed by the opening door. Feathers slam to the ground with a loud thud. My ears are filled with taco sauce!! These are some ways Happy Friday can be enjoyed.
So there you go. Now you have seen some of the random thoughts that fell out of my brain thing while I was being exceedingly productive at work.
And now how about some old fashioned nonsense from my favorite silly but long gone favorites.
Good afternoon, ladies and germs. I’ve been thinking of what a horrible time I had getting to this point in my life, but then my legs fell off when I climbed down the drain to rescue the noodles which were trying to escape my chewing machine. I know I am a lazy green tomato shaver, but every time I have an urge to yell “No Twinkies for YOU!” at Brobe, the local shredded wheat policeman person, a large and ugly nail collector jumps on my belly like a trampoline.
Now as you all well know, I have been impersonating a sofa for many years. New people have been looking under me for the long lost Legos, but when they lift me up I jingle too loudly so they cry for assistance. Fortunately, I wear a red raspberry raincoat to protect me from the flying squid. Those things make me really scared. Have you ever seen an angry squid show its wings? Ooooo, they don’t have any. But if they did it wouldn’t be my fault. I was never there and you can’t prove anything I say is real or smelly.
Oh, I forgot to tell you that smartphones are all programmed to barf large amounts of blue slimy cake-waste on the 29th of August. Don’t pay any attention to that man behind the curtain! Can anyone hear me? I made jelly with lint yesterday, and it’s difficult to play the harmonica now. In fact, I think I put too much duck breath in the pie today. I have been a mess like this lately, and it’s probably due to the large pile of rotten tongue depressors I found in the middle of the road. I mean, you can tell that the trees are just happy to be here. They’ve been singing those same stupid tree songs ever since I can remember. Then they wrap dirt in fancy paper and present it to each other during that “Dumb Dirt Festival” they have everyday on the Breadhouse lawn.
Ah yes. The Beautiful Breadhouse. The only thing wrong with such a house is that it’s really a mess when it rains. Mold comes and they have to get out the lawn molders to chop it down to less than knee-high by the fourth of July. But the stupid trees keep going to the bread store to build a new house; then they have nightmares about french toast and butter knives. I tried to convince them to use Elmer’s glue and rice, but they sniggled at that idea. Now look at them, they can’t get a job and they won’t eat their house. I just don’t know. I could mail them some weeds! But then I would be getting close to another paragraph page, and I don’t think I can talk about this kind of thing for more than eleven sixty two.
So there, I have bared my soul to you. You are now fully aware that I am not the guy you have come to know, I am merely a small piece of the space shuttle looking for a nice garage sale. Can you please guide me to the nearest litter box? I have something special in mind for the creeps who turned my car into a hammer handle.
Well, my dearest friends, I can’t for the life of me remember your names. But if we ever meet again, please give me a lot of money. I know that’s a big request from a
stranger, but you know as well as I do that the best things in life are free… So give me your money darn it!!! Do you really want to trap your soulds in useless material possessions?? Give me all you have and let me bear the burden for you!
I promise I won’t sell your most beloved things until I get around the corner. If your pets are selling watches on the street, what business is it of yours? They can’t work at McDonald’s all my life. I mean hey, we gotta get something from somewhere and find out what the heck it is! Otherwise, we won’t know what we have, and then we’ll be at the end of this letter! And it’s about doggoned time!!
Money. I hate money, especially when it isn’t plentiful. Like right now, at my house. I’m so broke, I can’t afford to pay attention. My wallet has been converted from a billfold to a card library.
Wait! I found a whole dollar in there!
Mind you, when I say I’m broke, it certainly does not mean I’m poor. Not by a longshot. But since my wife’s passing, income is less; so I’ve been trying to cut corners a bit. Yesterday I made an elegant meal of Stouffer’s macaroni & cheese mixed with Swiss chard from the garden, some slided up hot dogs, onions, and green peppers. Came out OK… hey it was nourishing (I think). When I described the managerie to my son he said, “You mean like that mung you used to feed us?” “Ha ha, yeah, I guess!!” I chucked. “I forgot about mung!! Sounds like a good ‘Happy Friday!!!’ topic!!”
More about mung later…
My Mom knew how to save bucks by being creative in the kitchen, a feat I never fully appreciated until we were blessed with children. Poor Mom tried her best to make a silk casserole out of a sow’s rib cage, but my brother Eric and I would taunt her when something was less than delectable.
Take Chicken Fricassee, for example. No, really. Take it. That stuff was nasty. Chicken molecules in a creamy white sauce with carrots, celery, onions, potatoes and stuff all cooked to death and plopped in our bowls. This was the end of the road for the chicken carcass and bones essentially. It was OK I guess, but we had it once too often one month. When my bro and I learned it was on the menu AGAIN, we went outside to march to and fro while chanting:
“Chicken fricasee is blech! Chicken fricasee is BLECH! Chicken fricasee is BLaaeeCH!”
Mom would come out and sigh, “Awright youse guys…,” and go back inside and put more stuff in the pot. Seemed to work for a while, we didn’t have chicken fricasee for a few months afteward.
I have since renamed the dish Fricken Chickasee. It’s not allowed at our house.
Other days brought predictable staples: macaroni & cheese with hotdogs and spinach; potato hotdog soup; spaghetti with God Knows What (whatever meat happened to be around); and macaroni & cheese with tomato sardines and spinach. Anybody see a pattern here?
Eric and I were the older kids, and with sis and another brother we numbered four. God bless Mom, she always managed to keep our bellies full. She got her frugal kitchen skills from growing up during the Great Depression, and used her knowledge to stretch Dad’s paycheck. We always asked, “What’s for supper, Ma?” Usually cheerful even when she had to scrimp, she’d answer, “Leftover Delight!!” We’d groan and go back outside. If we asked about the menu when she was bummed by life, the universe, and everything; she would scowl at the pots and mutter, “Slum Gullion.”
When I became a Dad (and a Mom, when my lovely wife was working nights), I really appreciated this culinary legacy. Especially when our cash supply was running in phantom mode. I went a step further and became creative when naming my impromptu dishes. I stole one such name from Saturday Night Live, when Mike Meyers and Dana Carvey were doing a “Wayne’s World” skit and uttered the word, “Mung.” Garth asked Wayne what that meant, and Wayne confessed that he didn’t know, but he liked the sound of it. There are such things as mung beans, which are often found in Asian dishes in the form of sprouts; but that’s not what Wayne was talking about. Needless to say, I really liked the way mung rung.
Hee hee!
So, when asked what’s for dinner, and I had to improvise, I’d tell the kids, “We’re having mung;” and they’d reply, “Oh jeez.” Mung could be anything from Hamburger Helper with extra pasta and a vegetable, to spaghetti with GodKnowsWhat. One of my personal favorites was Chicken Cockamamie: leftover chicken (and hey Mom, I actually DEBONED it first!) heated up with a couple cans of cream of celery soup, and veggies plopped in there. Served over those crunchy Chinese noodles. If the flavor passed the test, the kids would warm my heart by saying, “Good mung, Dad!!”
Of course, I got leftover mung for lunch the next day at work. That was always wonderful. I’d plaster it with garlic powder the night before, and when I’d nuke it at work, inquisitive noses came a-sniffing:
“Hey, whatcha got there? Smells pretty good!”
“Mung. Leftover mung from last night.”
“What’s mung?”
“Well, today it’s Chicken Cockamamie.”
“Right. Oookay. What the heck is that?”
Then I’d explain. Many ran away screaming. But others listened intently, mulled the recipe about, and would often modify it out loud…
“Oooo. Maybe some peas would go nicely in there too.”
“Bet that would be good on mashed potatoes.”
“Sure,” I’d nod with a smile.
Payday would finally arrive and there’d be no need to make any mung for two, maybe three days. Then I could daydream about such delightful entrees like… oh I dunno, how about Bread Helper. Or Mashed Mung with gravy.
I knew one thing for sure… it wasn’t gonna be no Fricken Chicasee.
OK kids, pardon the slapstick, but this is still a funny one. Nor sure if they’re making mung or what…
What does it mean to be a man? Biologically speaking, I guess a man simply means being male and past the age of puberty. But of course, it’s much more than that. Right?? Well, I hope you’re not going to try to pin me down on what a man is, because I’m still learning that one. While I was growing up, movie stars like John Wayne, Glenn Ford, Gary Cooper and the like were considered male role models. Real men! Gun toting, sports loving, woman dominating guys that made this country great!! Right??
I don’t think so!!
And because I don’t think so, according to some males there must be something wrong with me. I don’t give a rip about sports. I don’t own a gun. In regard to women, I have nothing but the highest respect for them. Admit it guys, you really have to give a huge amount of credit to women. They brought us into this world, and in spite of the way all too many men have mistreated and abused females over the years, we still have women who are willing to put up with us.
Is that dedication or what??
Well, one of the things I’ve learned along the way is that fire and water don’t mix. Even more importantly, firewater and family life definitely don’t mix. At least not in my case, where one serving of firewater was too many and a thousand wasn’t enough. And that is also the case for most of the men I consider friends these days. We all have a common bond: firewater make man crazy, stop drinking firewater and get into recovery, recovery make man better. We’ve embraced a rather strange concept called “surrender to win.” There is a bunch of us, and for those in this neck of the woods who get their application turned in by the deadline there is the annual “spiritual retreat.”
In case any of you man-boys out there are thinking of attending one of these events, here’s a little sample of what you might find, which may or may not be a completely silly joke (well OK, it’s a joke) that I’m in dire need of writing because of the horribly brain draining universe I’ve been living in these days…
Day 1: (Friday evening)
Check in. I was handed a packet of welcome materials, including a schedule, from a nice man who smiled at me and said with a twinkle in his eye, “Go find a place in the dirt for sleeping.” So, I humbly took my tent to the mosquito infested river bank and set up my “room” for the weekend. Some friends saw me fumbling with the poles and walked over to mock me and pretend to help. They all had a good laugh as I battled the blood sucking bugs, smacking the ones on my head with my hand until I was speaking in tongues. Then they led me to the camp fire where a very old man with three teeth and big, bulging eyes was telling a story:
“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, and said, “This is a very joyful time for us. We must remove our Flingel shirts and dance wildly around the Popsicle stick.” As he finished the last sentence, everyone received a Popsicle.
After this rather strange ritual, all the guys got dressed again and “Little Louie” shouted, “Meeting Time!! C’mon, everybody grab a stump!!” Then we started off with a topic, “using macramé to kill cravings.” Silly me, I thought macramé was a forgotten art, but each man was handed some twine and when it was his turn to share about some issue with which he was struggling, he was to add his twine to the weave. The finished product resembled a large duck with a sledgehammer on its head… and it was announced that, “Some lucky person will be taking this home after the retreat is done.”
Midnight rolled around and none of us had eaten dinner. But we were assured we wouldn’t go to bed hungry; and that we should line up and a “fine feast” would be waiting for us in the lodge kitchen. By this time I had already made a few friends and boy, I’m telling you, that bowl of Rice Crispies was just plain awesome. After eating I flopped into my tent and slept like a baby until reveille.
Day 2: (Saturday)
At about 5:30 in the stinkin’ morning I hear some kakahead near the lodge yelling, “Breakfast for Kings!! Breakfast for Ki-i-n-ngs!” I’m thinking manly thoughts of running over and choking this guy. But then my serenity kicked in, and I put on an happy face and dragged my sleepy hiney over to see what this “Breakfast for Kings” was all about. Turns out they had invented a new way to cook eggs the previous year, and “Old Herman” was dropping a dozen or two straight into the coals of the camp fire. Shells and all! We were each given a wooden spoon that had been soaked in castor oil and told, “Just get them eggs outta there when they’re done the way you like ’em.” I excused myself and went to my car, where I had carefully stashed a Snickers bar and a RC cola.
After the “King’s Breakfast,” there was a long line for the port-a-john. Once the fumes cleared, the activities coordinator jumped up on a stump and spoke loudly. “We’re gonna have some fun today… now we know you’re here for your spirit, but we gotta play a little too. So, we’ve arranged for golf and tree-bowling. Just tell Arliss over here if you wanna golf, and tell Rufert over there if you wanna go tree-bowling.” Most of the guys hooked up with Arliss, and my good friend Dick asked me if I was going to golf. I told him that I don’t really golf, but thanks anyway. In the spirit of the retreat, he promptly told me, “Well, I guess you’re just a stupid wuss and I won’t be talking to you anymore after today.” So, remembering that tolerance is the key to spiritual wisdom, I prayed for him to hop into his car and run over his clubs while I walked over to Rufert to find out about this tree-bowling.
“Hi Rufert, I’m Ken,” I announced as I shook his hand. I looked around for any evidence of equipment and asked, “What’s this tree-bowling about, anyway?” “Well,” he said sheepishly, “we didn’t have enough money to rent a lane at the bowling alley, and nobody had any pins at home. So….” I waited eagerly as he paused and looked at the ground and tightened his lips. “So,” he continued, “we found some trees that are in a formation like bowling pins. We’re gonna use this big beach ball over there and pretend we’re knocking them down.” Then I responded, “Ohhh… ok…. well, ummm… how are you gonna keep score?” “Oh FINE!! So you don’t want to play, huh?? What are you, some kind of wussy?? You better go before I lose my patience here,” Rufert snorted.
I decided to relax by the river and read my meditation books while the rest of the men played their very important games. I don’t know about any other men out there, but one of the most helpful books for me is, “Daily Meditations for Men Who Have No Self-Esteem and Are Not Likely to Get Any.” I believe it’s one of those Hazelnut publications. Interesting, because in light of what was going on around me that day, the reading fit it to a tee: “You are surrounded by dogs. Remember that you are also a dog, and if you step in dog dirt your Higher Power will help you clean your shoes.” How profound!
Well, when the men came back from their fun, it was time to eat again. We were all amazed that we were eating so early… 10:47 p.m. and we were all famished. “Old Herman” had outdone himself this time: marshmallow pudding with peas, and deep fried salami sandwiches. I was totally unaware that you could deep fry a whole sandwich, but “Old Herman” pulled it off. I asked him later how he managed this feat, and he very humbly shrugged and pointed to the minnow trap in the corner. When I turned my head to look, I saw that the wire trap glistened with oil droplets. Then I turned my head back toward “Old Herman” and he gave me a wistful wink and nodded his head. Then he abruptly excused himself and made a bee line for the port-a-john.
After dinner I scraped the grease off my face and slid back into my tent and enjoyed indigestion rumblings and numerous trips to the port-a-john for the entire night. Maybe part of my inability to sleep was anticipation of the next morning, which was the wrap up session for the retreat.
Day 3: (Sunday morning)
No “King’s Breakfast” this morning. Ah well. Instead, we got instructions on what wild fruits and edible plants were available in the area, and also a hand-drawn map on where to find them. As we all set out to forage, I made a loop through the woods and got back into my car where I had some Little Debbie snack cakes tucked under the seat. “Old Herman” spotted me and invited himself in, and the two of us shoved snack cakes into our faces until the rest of the poor souls returned with thorns on their lips and burrs in their clothing. We were all invited to circle around the camp fire to say a last group prayer before departing. “Old Herman” and I gleefully burped often and blew the scent of Little Debbie snack cakes into the nostrils of our famished neighbors. Then we all did the secret handshake and called each other vile names, hopped in our cars, and gunned our engines to get the heck out of there. Each of us abused our transmissions and kicked up globs of dirt with our tires until there was nothing visible but a huge cloud of dust over the lodge. And I think I saw that poor macramé duck thing along the road as I drove home.
So as you call can see, this story about the men’s retreat was completely fabricated. But hey, I can hardly wait till next year!! I’m sure I’ll be going, but I’ll make sure to tell “Old Herman” I’ll be a little late.
I try to do my best to eat a healthy diet. But sometimes… just sometimes mind you, I veer far away from such self discipline and just go for the gusto.
Well guess what?? During a recent grocery store excursion, I was determined to find some low fat stuff that was fun to eat. Like maybe liverwurst or hot dogs or something. Don’t ask me why, but about every six months or so I get a craving for that stuff. Yes, I know there are lips and noses and all sorts of weird stuff in hot dogs. And God only knows what all they put in liverwurst. Sure, they both have ingredient lists on the package, but you just can’t help but think they put something in there that they aren’t talking about. Although both have sodium nitrite in them (not a good thing for your body), I don’t eat them often enough to get any nitrite nastiness. I hope… Anyway, I figured once in awhile won’t hurt. Anyway, on my latest munchies mission I was looking around for some foods that wouldn’t put the lard in my booty, and guess what I found? Low fat liverwurst (known in these parts as braunschweiger) and fat free hot dogs! I grabbed a package of each, and very soon enjoyed the decadent pleasure of processed meat. A liverwurst sandwich with low fat mayo and a dab of mustard for lunch, and a couple fat free hot dogs with my stir steamed veggies for dinner. I was in hog heaven. Pun intended (there’s really no such thing as “low fat liverwurst”).
I suffered no ill effect, and got my processed meat craving out of the way for awhile. Well, OK, there was one effect, but I don’t really consider it a bad one. I got a free “movie” out of the deal. It’s like this, OK: I don’t eat processed meat very often. When I get that urge I mentioned earlier, I usually go in like gangbusters and have lots of yummies with chemicals that are not normally in my body. And I’ve noticed that whenever I stuff my face with things that have sodium nitrite in them, well, I have very interesting dreams…
There I was, minding my own business, on a pontoon boat with no side rails or canopy. I was one of several people on a fishing trip, and we had just sighted some huge bluegills when the guide started complaining aloud, “Well, we can’t fish here. The grocery store doesn’t want us fishing in their parking lot.” I was pretty disappointed, but when I looked over the side and saw the parking lot markers on the asphalt (about 6 feet underwater) I knew that this was just the way things had to be. We motored off into the middle of the lake (or whatever it was) and slowed down while we passed a strange wooden dwelling that jutted out of the water. The structure was not painted, and had obviously been there for a very long time. Inside, people with very long noses were speaking a strange language and drawing pictographs on each other’s backs. Then suddenly, the scene changed…
I found myself in a college lecture hall, and my sixth grade teacher was having everyone stand up and do recitals that were due that morning. I got the sudden sense that my turn was quite awhile off, so I decided to take Bishop the Wonderdog for a walk. We walked through a nearby neighborhood which was bordered by some woods, and stumbled upon a very large cat. My first instinct was that we had met up with a mountain lion, but the coloring was that of a domestic feline. However, this kitty was very large, probably in the neighborhood of eighty pounds or so. I expected the cat to get all poofy at the sight of my doggie, but quite the opposite happened. I heard a thrashing noise, and turned to see Bishop’s fur getting all poofed up. He was visibly trembling and excited, and his ears were flapping about and looked like small horse tails flying every which way. At this point I went back into the lecture hall, only to learn that my turn to recite had long since passed and everyone had gone home.
Now how does one analyze that dream?!? It was just plain fun!! That’s my analysis. Recreational dreaming. Before retirement, I told stories of hot dog dreams to friends at work, and I remember a guy was envious a few days later, because he had eaten several hot dogs and had no dreams. He thought maybe he might shoot up some hot dogs before bed time, but I am pretty sure that HOT DOGSMUST NEVER BE TAKEN INTRAVENOUSLY. And really, with all the chemicals and whatnot; I wouldn’t even advise eating them at all, except for the fact that sometimes they just plain taste good. So the next time I go to the store, I’ll try to help my non-dreaming friends out and see what kind of cool dream foods they have…
Probably start in the frozen camera section. I’ve heard that deep-fried watch batteries are very delirious and full of norg oxides, which strengthen your screaming bones. While urging the ceiling tiles to quit sniffing crayons, Clamp Store Managers often shout at squid as they have cart races through the small table mazes. Ink-flavored baggage has been found to prevent shoe decay, so when the Amazing Puckered Jelly Mixer begins to twinkle in the closets, all the new employees will be happy to learn of their celery. As we move now to the chain-operated video spray, thick woolen camouflage breadsticks push other bagels out of the paper fudge racks. Now, we are sure, no foods in this whole universe are better than freeze dried pajamas.
I think I should maybe stop eating braunhotschweigerdogs for awhile now…
So… my Beautiful Girlfriend left for The Great Beyond a week ago. OK a week and one day to be precise. Lots of people figured I’d be a complete mess without her… and I admit that my heart aches terribly. Lots of people have said “I’m sorry.” Lots of people have sent their love. And one friend in particular said, “I’m so sad for you.” Well I’m pretty sad too folks, but as I told my friend, I’m immeasurably grateful for the life we built together. Yes, I’ve cried my eyes out several times. One time in particular I cried very loudly and hard. My throat is still a bit sore. And yes, I was home alone so the only people who were affected by my outburst were Ivy Anne and Luna, our two kitties.
It’s OK, they still love me.
Grief mixed with gratitude has brought me a pretty decent helping of peace that surprises even me. I’ve even been able to be a bit silly and make friends laugh. I’m convinced my Honey Pie would want this for me. I know if the situation was reversed, I would be doing everything I could from The Other Side to lift as much sadness from her as I could.
Before she left, we actually focused on gratitude somewhat regularly. It’s a tool we acquired during our recovery from addiction that enabled us to enjoy each day, and especially the last of our time together. As her mobility waned, a successful evening often meant watching our favorite TV shows while stuffing our faces with chocolate goodies. As the end approached, one of my important jobs was to ensure there was a box of Good N Plenty available at all times. And when evening came, I’d prepare a dish of miniature chocolate bars, some peanut M&Ms and maybe some whoppers or some other chocolate remarkableness. I sometimes silently scolded myself for chocolating (Not a word? I don’t care!!) along with her, knowing that my britches would probably tighten a bit. But that never stopped me. I made the mistake of getting on the scale a few times during the many weeks of chocolate holy mackerel; but it was a small price to pay for keeping My Sweet Love’s sweet tooth satisfied.
“We are blessed,” was a common refrain. Because we are.
“Can you imagine trying to do all this horrible disease stuff while being homeless?” I asked her some months ago. I’m guessing the length of suffering might have been much shorter, as our ability to get medical care would have been challenging at best. I cannot bear to think about how homeless people suffer each and every day. I mean, my Lovely Bride and I had no debt, a nice home, plenty to eat, cars that work, and an amazing collection of family and friends with whom we share the joy of living. What more can you ask for?
Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
What came to mind for this week’s video was the song by Barenaked Ladies. My Beautiful Girlfriend and I loved their music when it first came around, even though the members of the group are neither bare, nor naked, nor ladies.
So there I was, 650 feet above sea level (I looked it up), getting ready to head off to a meeting and see some friends, and I took my phone out of my pocket because it needed to charge a bit so I was gonna plug it in to the car charger thingy and off I went but when I got a few miles down the road I didn’t see my phone but I thought I heard it ring and then I realized that HOLY COW this sentences is way too long; I better stop it right now!!
So I did.
I stopped the sentence I mean.
Because it was too long.
The sentence.
So now I’m making sentence fragments.
Oh wait, that was a sentence…
Anyway so yeah, I hear my phone ring. But I’m looking around the car and it’s nowhere. Between the seats?? Nope. Under the seats?? Nope. HEY LOOK OUT FOR THAT CAR!! OK.. quit hunting and resume driving. But what the heck?? Anyhow?? “I know,” I says to myself, “I’ll use the bluetooth to make a call to see if it’s OK.” And yes, the bluetooth worked fine, so the phone should be fine. But I’d really like to know where it is though, ya know??
“I hate computers.” That’s my refrain when anything goes awry in my universe. Why do I use this encrypted phrase for everything? Well during my many years as a technology guy, it became a kind of vocal therapy on the fly. For example: a software update is applied to some important software everybody uses. Then the system goes kerblooey, and nobody can do their job. I am the service guy. My phone rings off the hook. So I tell them, “Not to worry, we are working on it. And just so you know, I hate computers.” My friends would then tell me, “Well maybe you[‘re in the wrong job!!” And I’d reply, “It’s a good living, but the computers are not my friends; unless they play nice.” So now it’s almost automatic for me to blurt out “I hate computers,” even when I drop an egg on the floor.
So where the heck is my stinkin’ phone?? I hate computers!! It really is a computer you know. OK… I drive the 11 miles and arrive at the meeting place. I look again. On the seat… under my book maybe?? Nope. Between the seats?? Nope. Under the seats?? Nope. I see a friend in the parking lot. “Hey man, will you call my phone?? I can’t find the damn thing.” “Sure,” he says. I hear my ring tone. I follow the sound… and… HOLY CARP!! IT’S ON TOP OF THE CAR!! SHEESH!!! Let’s hear it for the old Otterbox Defender phone case with the rubber jacket that apparently likes to grab the roof of my car when it’s going 60 MPH!! Did I mention that I hate computers?? Oy yoy yoy!! But I’m glad I found my phone. I mean hey, it wasn’t the phone’s fault, so we can still be friends.
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 50th?” 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.
