Smiling pictures? I’d like to say it’s a specialty, but to be fair, birds, dogs, and squirrels aren’t big smilers. Since they constitute the majority of my pictures, I have to resort to (gasp!) pictures of people. In this case, my husband Garry — who smiles only slightly more often than the dogs.
Actually, Duke is a pretty good smiler — for a dog!
Is it better to suspect something (bad or hurtful) and not know or to have your worst fears confirmed by sure knowledge?
I’m happy in my ignorance on a personal level. I don’t want to know who is gossiping or talking behind my back. If I know more, I might have to do something about it and I prefer not to do anything about it. Gossips and backbiters always get taken down eventually. It always catches up with them.
I also think that people who confess their sins and destroy a relationship are selfish. Whose ends are they serving? Sometimes, please — shut up.
Politically and for most other things, I want accurate information.
What makes you laugh aloud? Crack up? Laugh until your sides split? When was the last time you had a great big belly laugh?
Things that are funny. “A Mighty Wind,” anything made by the Monty Python group. Marx brothers. And my friends.
Do you suppose Noah had woodpeckers in the ark? If he did, where did he keep them? Apologies to the Darwinians in the crowd…this is merely for fun, okay?
Presumably, there were two of everything and woodpeckers are part of everything.
Why is “Charlie” short for “Charles when they are the same number of letters?
It’s a nickname. Now short would be calling Garry “Gar” or me “Mar.” Or Jeff for Jeffrey, Gene for Eugene. I like nicknames better.
What happened in your world this past week that made you feel thankful, joyful or grateful?
My granddaughter is finally starting college. Joy to the world!
And my son turned 50 (ouch on MY side … it’s hard to pretend to be young when your kid turns 50!).
Isn’t it odd how the language of love is all about burning and fire?
This song, “Kiss of Fire” (Georgia Gibbs – 1952) was on the flip side of “Red Sails In the Sunset.” Even as a little kid, I found this song hilarious. Totally over the top. Every time I hear it, I laugh. It’s so … intense. Kind of the way I felt about love when I was 14. You know. All consuming? Soul mates forever?
Former relationships are “old flames.”
If you love someone but have not (yet) declared yourself? You are “carrying a torch.”
When a relationship gets tired, the chemistry is gone and “the fire has gone out.”
A powerful yearning for someone is a “burning passion.”
I had this song on a 45 rpm vinyl record. I was five. I memorized the words and have been singing it ever since. If I’m in the right mood, I will still sing it to Garry. He begs me to stop, but I persist.
I particularly love this line:
“If I’m a slave, then it’s a slave I want to be.
DON’T PITY ME. DON’T PITY ME!”
KISS OF FIRE
I touch your lips and all at once the sparks go flying Those devil lips that know so well the art of lying And though I see the danger, still the flame grows higher I know I must surrender to your kiss of fire
Just like a torch, you set the soul within me burning I must go on along this road of no returning And though it burns me and it turns me into ashes My whole world crashes without your kiss of fire
I can’t resist you, what good is there in trying What good is there denying you’re all that I desire Since first I kissed you my heart was yours completely If I’m a slave, then it’s a slave I want to be Don’t pity me, don’t pity me
Give me your lips, the lips you only let me borrow Love me tonight and let the devil take tomorrow I know that I must have your kiss although it dooms me Though it consumes me, your kiss of fire Since first I kissed you my heart was yours completely If I’m a slave, then it’s a slave I want to be Don’t pity me, don’t pity me
Give me your lips, the lips you only let me borrow Love me tonight and let the devil take tomorrow I know that I must have your kiss although it dooms me Though it consumes me, your kiss of FIRE.
What’s the most important room in the house for men?
Many would say it’s the living room. It’s got the television and the important remotes to find the “game.”
That’s not true for all guys. One of the first things I look for when visiting is the bathroom. How quickly can it be accessed? This is probably what Wolf Blitzer checks first in his “Situation Room.” Breaking news waits until Wolf is sure the bathroom is near and everything is working.
It’s not for nothing that for men, the bathroom is known as “The Throne Room.” Many of our most important decisions are made in that room as we conduct “business.” We practice speeches, mentally edit stories, and dig into our brains for new ideas.
Time flies by quickly while seated on the throne. As we are making life-altering decisions, seconds, minutes and hours fly by like rogue asteroids in outer space.
As a kid, my Dad would frequently yell, “What the hell are you doing in there? Are you rediscovering America?”
Actually, what Dad said wasn’t so out-of-line. We had one bathroom for five people: mom, dad, and the three boys. The first one in the bathroom ruled the world through the hot water fogged environment. I recall stepping out of the bathroom and fog with my Dad curtly observing, “Well what do we have, the new King of the World?” I’m taking dramatic license, but I’m not that far off, either.
My bachelor pad in Boston’s East End was perfect, for a bachelor. One bathroom. One person. No one yelling at me, no one banging on the door shouting profanities. Top of the World, Ma!
Early in our marriage, Marilyn and I occupied a Beacon Hill apartment. Swanky, right? But we only had one bathroom. I called dibs when we settled in. I was the glamorous TV reporter who had to look perfect before heading to work. Marilyn somehow staved off crises as I primped in front of the foggy mirror.
Fast forward to 2000 and we moved into our present digs. A one family house with 2 and a half baths. I quickly called dibs on the big bathroom as Marilyn shot me a look that could’ve killed.
(Note: If it could have killed with one look, how come I still only get to use the room when The Man is finished, huh?)
19 years later, in retirement and the throne room is still a subject of conjecture. It’s still “How long are you gonna be in the bathroom, Garry?” I scowl. You can’t put a clock on throne room stuff.
The Throne room is about to undergo a facelift. It’s old. It needs help.
We’re not exactly in a financial position to glamorize the bathroom but it’s not pretty we’re looking for. We aren’t getting any younger or sprier and hiking over the tub is tricky for me, scary for Marilyn.
The tub is hazardous for both of us. As senior citizens, we have to be careful about getting in and out without slipping and doing serious damage to our fragile bodies. I’ve already done a tumble and fall into the tub. It wasn’t pretty.
I was trying to get into my jeans without support. It never was a problem before. Now, I was reminded that I’m an old fart who needs to prop against a wall or sit down while doing something as simple as putting on your pants. I vividly recall my head banging on the tub as I fell. There was nothing to grab. I saw more stars than there are in heaven.
In our “meet and greet” session with a bathroom designer/consultant, we discussed our needs, our very slim budget — and the upgrades we needed. We carefully looked at the ancient toilet, the grimy and faded floor, the additions needed for the tub. It would include hand grips, up-to-date shower fixtures plus a glass door to replace the curtains that reek of mold despite our diligent efforts to keep things clean.
We looked at different models with money the major concern. This is something we needed. Clean, simple, easy to get in and out of.
After some tense moments to learn whether we could seal the payment deal, we were told “YES.” We could move ahead with plans to give the Throne Room the look and respect it deserves.
Smiles all around.
There will be “before and after” pics to share. Meantime, plans for our new look throne room have us smiling – almost as happy as our celebration of the Patriots’ latest Superbowl win.
Hey, maybe Tom Brady may visit us now.
There’s more to this story, but we are still waiting for more pictures. You might say this is the surprise part of the story. Somehow, no matter how bad things get, something good happens. And something good really happened!
It looked a lot like it does around here. A bit hilly. Lots of trees. There was a movie star living in the house. She was supposed to be young, but her skin looked like the bottom of an old leather suitcase and was a trifle orange. She was going back to California where she believed she would be better off.
That left me with 200 chickens. The fowl were arriving (shortly) by truck. Healthy, young, hens and roosters. Enough to start a nice little chicken farm.
Except I didn’t want to be a chicken farmer and I was pretty sure, neither did Garry. I couldn’t just leave the chickens to die of hunger, thirst, and cold. I’m a responsible person and I love animals. Even chickens.
I was still baffled over the whole chicken conundrum when I finally gave up, opened my eyes, and began my day. Coffee would banish chickens. Garry said it was from a movie we’d seen and I was caught in an old movie loop.
Sometimes, the absolutely best storyteller in the world has got to be my subconscious. I would never consider creating a story involving me and chickens.
Not counting authors since this prompt doesn’t concern that … who tells great stories?
Garry tells wonderful stories. He makes us laugh. I don’t know if the story is true or maybe just a little true, but whatever, it is great entertainment. Tom tells great stories too and he usually has a good closing line, which is probably my biggest story-telling issue. I can tell a good story but I run on too long and am not good at wrapping it up. I’m good for the yarn’s first three-quarters.
Story-telling is the glue that makes friends want to hang out with each other. If you can keep the crowd laughing, you’ll never be alone.
It’s not booze, movies, or video games. Certainly not texting. It’s stories. The tales of our experiences, things we remember, times and places and people we’ve known.
I keep wondering what people will do when they realize you can’t live forever with just a cell phone? They don’t seem to have a clue about having conversations or telling stories. From whence will their stories emerge?
Our stories are our personal mythology. Will our children and grandchildren have stories? Or anyone to tell them?
I love to laugh. I love wit. I adore cleverness and am particularly enamored of very smart people, which is probably one of the many, many reasons I am so deeply disappointed by our government. Not only are they completely wrong about pretty much everything, but they are also utterly lacking in humor. If they are going to be this awful, can’t they even be funny? Each of them has undergone a humorectomy or maybe they were born that way.
Is not having a sense of humor a genetic abnormality?
I love cartoons. Political, literary, or just goofy. Love them all. Love the artwork, love the little jokes within the jokes. Of course, some of these were originally published years ago, but this is the year I discovered them.
This has been a year of political cartoons. Not surprising being as this country has become a political cartoon.
Didn’t you hear? The NRA is also taking Russian money.
Back when we used to get newspapers, Bizarro and Doonesbury were the two comics I followed. Both are still around, by the way. They did an interview with Gary Trudeau — who is married to Jane Pauley, so she interviewed him herself. I never knew he was married to a news anchor.
And finally, a happy New Year from Gary Trudeau and all the great cartoonists in what is still a sort of free-ish country!
Here’s to a better year. To quote Jim Jefferies, “We can all do better!”
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