Maybe 2019 will be the year that…

 

Impeachment will occur and we will be rid of that disgrace that occupies the Oval Office chair.

Congress and the Senate will pass sensible guns laws that will protect the people of this once great Nation.

People will realize that the NRA is doing far worse than protecting an amendment.  They are destroying a country.

Someone in television will bring back The West Wing.  They’ve resurrected Will and Grace, Murphy Brown, Hawaii 5-O, Magnum, P.I., even Lost in Space.  Surely there’s room for the best drama in television history to make a return?

I can go to the movies without seeing something being blown up or shot at, or someone being hit in the groin with anything.  Maybe this is the year someone writes a smart comedy (remember those?).

This is the years my grand kids start growing younger and not older.

The neighbors next door chop down the two huge trees in their backyard that drop leaves and debris into my pool all summer long.

I will get back into shape and STAY in shape.

The world of men will realize that killing one another and taking over one another’s land is not the answer to life.  And by comparison that taking advantage of a woman, any woman, will no longer be accepted.

I can finally start my new career…as primary taste tester for Hershey’s Chocolates.

Consumers will realize that driver less cars are not the answer.  You no longer have to move your seat, or open and close your window or pull out a map.  Is it too much to ask to just…drive?  Let’s, for once, reject new technology and get back into the driver’s seat…literally.

People will accept that global warming is real.  And that they will stop being selfish and realize that the world their precious grand children will be occupying will be a great deal worse, especially if we do not start making radical changes, right now.  It’s like people who say they believe in heaven and hell, but don’t really believe it…and won’t, until their pants are on fire.

This is the year I get my first hole in one.  Or, at the minimum, that I go an entire season without snapping one club into two pieces.

That we extinguish the word, ‘like” from the English language…or at the minimum, prohibit anyone under the age of 25 from using it.  Close behind, the word “awesome”.

A technical virus causes all cell phones to become inoperable for a period of one full week.  And that people, especially children, learn once again how to interact with each other.

That the Shed Fairy pays a visit to Wentworth Lane.

My mother stops watching the Hallmark Channel, and telling me all of those Christmas movies are based on fact.

Television viewers will understand that, “Reality TV” does not represent anyone’s reality and that if they stop watching, they will all quickly disappear.

Bob Mueller receives the Nobel Prize…for Peace.

 

I’m not going to wish anyone a prosperous New Year.  If that happens, good for you.  Everyone, have a year fulled of health.  Full of safety and happiness.  Full of friends, family and warm memories.  I hope to see a lot more of the people we love and a lot less of the people who annoy me.  And that list, unfortunately, is growing larger by the year.

 

Twas the night before indictment on Wentworth Lane.

Not a creature was stirring, except the nine squirrels eating Duffy’s birdseed out front.

 

The TV was on, CNN, of course my dear.

In hopes that Bob Mueller soon would appear.

 

Both pets were nestled all snug in their beds.

Actually, Murphy sleeps on the sofa, we don’t quite know why.

 

And Sweetie in her PJ’s and I in my…actually, I usually sleep naked.

Had just settled to bed…at 9:15…hoping not to be…awake-ed.

 

When out in the driveway there arose such a clatter.

Madeline sprang to the window to see what was the matter.

 

Away to the window she flew in a flash.

Threw open the window and yelled, “Duffy, you never fixed this sash!”

 

The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow…huh?

Since when did snow grow breasts?

Gave the luster of midday to objects below.

(For you nitwits out there that means they were easier to see).

 

When what to our wandering eyes did appear?

But a bulletproof Cadillac Escalade sleigh and eight human reindeer.

 

With a creepy fat driver not lively nor quick.

I was horrified to see it was President Dick!

 

Less rapid that eagles his coursers they came.

And he burped, then he farted, and called them by name.

 

Now Spicer, now Pence, now Huckabee-Sanders…

On Cohen, on Rudy…

“Wait…why have so many of my minions deserted my team?”

 

To the top of the porch…wait, there’s no porch?

No porch?…This can’t be a red state!

 

To the top of the wall…

I have cash for you, cash for you, cash for you all!

 

So up to the rooftop the rejects they flew.

With a sleigh full of subpoenas and St. Dickalous too.

 

As I drew in my head and was turning around,

Down the chimney Santa Tanghead came with a bound.

 

His clothes were all tarnished with Ring Dings and chips.

He cracked a wry smile with his anus-like lips.

 

His eyes they were bloodshot, his breath how revolting!

His hair was askew, my goodness, he’s molting!

 

The stump of a cellphone he had clenched in his teeth.

And to my shock he pulled off a full dental tweet.

 

He had a large head and a huge flabby belly.

That was held in with Spanx, and talk about smelly!

 

He was gross and disgusting, not quite an elf.

He required no fatsuit, he was simply himself.

 

He spoke not a word (if you can believe that)

But went straight to his work.

Filling every stocking with coal, coal, coal.

Not that we were naughty, just to satisfy his base.

 

He ate the milk and cookies and then turned with a jerk.

He headed to the kitchen and finished our pot roast…

What a jerk!

 

Then placing some fingers down into his pants…

He scratched himself quickly, and did a small dance.

 

He sprang to his sleigh with the help of his minions.

But not before dropping a business card that read…

“No papers, no presents”  Santa Dick, INC.

 

They flew off to the south and I could clearly hear his call.

“You’ll never get me, Mueller”…then…splat!  Right into the border wall!

 

 

High hopes that this will lift your Christmas Spirits and may your New Year be filled with hearings and indictments and impeachments too!

 

 

 

 

 

Sorry to get so confrontational at this “holy” time of the year, but they ask for it.  And by, “They”, I mean the bible-thumpers.

They are the nitwits that scream, whenever there is an issue they’re strongly in favor of, or against, such as, homosexuality, “It’s in the bible”.  They know their 6 word passages, that’s for sure.  They quote Jesus like he’s Ben Franklin.  Or Shakespeare.

It makes me wonder how many of these people have actually read the bible.  Or like a newspaper, do they just skim the headlines and move on?

Now I’m not saying the bible is not an entertaining book.  It certainly is.  It’s no Lord of the Rings mind you, but it has its moments of terror, catastrophes and miracles.  I’ve spent many a long night in a hotel room catching up on my Enos and my Esther and my Seth…

Look, people can choose to believe whatever they want.  If it makes them happy and better able to live their daily lives, I’m all for it.  But when ignorant people hold up this book, or worse, swear on it, that’s where you lose me.  This was not a publication written by the hand of any god.  It was written…by men.  The same men, who if you actually read the bible…did some pretty nasty shit.  Imagine this book being out out today in the midst of the MeToo movement?  Well, let me just say that I’d love to see that.

I’m sure the original writers of the bible had some decent things in mind, much like the people who wrote our Declaration of Independence and our Constitution.  But remember a lot of the men who wrote those historical documents owned slaves.  Talk about taking something with a grain of salt.  Men with good intentions, but with faults.  Some with real issues.  REAL issues.

The bible was written to help keep order.  To keep people from running amok and to instill a sense of direction and purpose in life, especially to the young and misguided.  A noble concept to say the least.  People will tell you, “It is about having faith”, when asking you to believe what is in the bible as fact.  Let me say that again…as fact.

I realize it sounds like I am mocking anyone who believes in the bible.  That is not the case.  Again if it helps you in your daily struggles to be a better person, I’m all for it.  Just don’t press your judgment unto me or others and hold up that book as the know all and end all.

Do people really believe that all mankind originated from two people?  If so, wouldn’t that mean we are all inbred?  John DuPont must be having a good laugh six feet under over that one.

People who rely on the bible as a means of daily existence should be forced to take an annual exam on the contents of the bible, and if they pass, they get the right to waive the book in your face to express an opinion.  The person who wrote, “A man shall not lay down with another man”  probably didn’t like the fact that he once had a good friend who chose to lay down with another man.

Noah’s Ark?  A novel idea.  In fact, when you think of it, the bible…would have made a great novel.  Perhaps it was the first great novel.  I mean, imagine what the bottom level of that ark looked like…or smelled like, after 35 days?  I know how bad it is when we don’t change the cat’s litter box for a few days.  And to think they may have dumped everything out into the rising seas…well, where was Green Peace when you needed them?

I get it, I’m headed straight to H E double hockey sticks for mocking the “BIBLE”.  If I’m going to any hell, it will be for a lot of stuff much worse than that.  I still see the billboards on the turnpike, which ask the question of our lifetime, “Are you going to HEAVEN or HELL?”  When I see these ads I always respond, “I’m going to Harrisburg, I have to take a statement at 11 am”.   And 300 feet down the road the next billboard mentions the Hollywood Casino, followed by Max’s Gentlemen’s Club.

Why don’t we all concentrate on the portions of the bible that people seem to ignore 99% of the time.  Love one another as I have loved you.  Give up your wealth, your possessions and help those in need.  I missed the part in the bible where it mentions that you should, “Acquire as much money and shit as you can in your life and ignore those less fortunate than yourself because in the next life you will be rewarded with more wealth for all of your wealth”.

The fact that there are still places that make you place your hand atop the bible and swear to something is astounding.  And the people who do it are the same that have no trouble uttering, “On my children’s life, I swear it”.  Poor children…

Let’s keep the bible for what it is and what it should be.  A guide to try and be a better human being.  Beyond that, your guess is as good as mine.  Let’s not use it as a defense or as a weapon of hate.  Every religious book has it merits.  And its problematic preachings.  Try and remember the common concept.  Be good to one another.  Not exclusive.  Be understanding.  Not judgmental.  Lend a hand, don’t slap a hand.

We will all find out one day who was right and who was wrong.  Or none of us may ever find anything.  We might all die and turn to dust and that’s it.  Pretty grim concept?  In my opinion, that’s what those who wrote the bible had in mind, too.  Let’s give them hope.  Let’s give them great stories and instill some decency and faith in them.  Give them something to live for.  Again, a great idea.  Taken by some as gospel.  By others as a tool of hate.

Let’s exclude.  Let’s oppress.  Let’s injure.  Let’s take advantage.  Again, I missed the passages that spoke about living our life in that manner.

 

Okay, don’t panic, nothing is terribly amiss.  And for the other two of you laughing and jumping for joy, stop it.

Yes, I’m feeling fine and no, I haven’t received any bad news.  I’ve just decided that whenever it is my time to pass from this enchanted world, I’d like to have a reading of my will.

I fully anticipate that my darling wife will outlive me.  Even though I have dodged a few close calls with the grim reaper the odds are totally on her side for that.  And she of course will inherit all of the fruits of my intensive labor.  But I’m setting aside a few particular items for an event.  An event that nowadays we see far too infrequently.  The official reading of the will.

No, I don’t consider it morose at all.  It’s a concept we rarely get to experience in real life.  We see it often in movies and on television.  Remember on “The Honeymooners” when Ralph was asked to attend the reading of the will of an old woman who rode his bus and thought he was inheriting, “Her fortune”?  Only to come to realize that her “Fortune” was the name of her parrot that she had left him?  Classic.

The reading of my will, as it should be, will be quite official.  Customized invitations, hand delivered (who will be the lucky person to inherit that job)?  Those selected to be bestowed with one (or more) of my possessions will gather in a large room.  Proper attire will be required, however, I haven’t yet decided if it will be Hawaiian shirts and grass skirts or pajama pants and “Life is Good” tee shirts.  Behind a curtain will be the, “stash”, and as the lucky names are read their keepsakes will be presented to them.

I don’t quite know what will be the cause of my ultimate demise.  But if it isn’t something quick or sudden I hope to have the time to make a final video that the inheritors will be forced to watch.  Again, classic TV and movie scenes whenever the deceased appears before his loved ones for one final creepy message.  A message, which, by the way, ninety-nine percent of the people disregard the moment they walk out the door.  Such are the ingrates that we call humans.

But we don’t want to turn this into a memorial service.  That will be another matter all together and by invitation only.  That will be somewhere outdoors, sometime when its warm, where there will be plenty of good food, good music, and oh, NO ME.

For the reading, it hopefully will be raining, and if we’re lucky, windy (my least favorite weather after snow and sleet).  I mean, really, once you outgrow kites and assuming you’re not wealthy enough to sail the seven seas, what is the purpose of wind anyway?  And please don’t give me the wind turbine argument.  Do they have to paint those things white?  Why the hell don’t they tie-dye them and give those poor birds a chance?

Okay, so back to the reading.  When a lucky person’s name is called, they will be forced to answer a trivia question.  Probably related to entertainment.  If they answer correctly, they take their prize and go.  If not…well, then they will be forced to perform for their inheritance.  Perhaps sing a song, or tell a joke, or recite a movie line.  But they won’t be told what they’ve won until after they perform.  I’m making this up as I go along at 5:08 am so this isn’t too bad actually.  Videos will be made, You Tube releases if they’re really humiliating, will follow.

So, I’m sure you’re wondering what are some of the items that will be up for grabs, assuming we don’t have an IRS-induced liquidation between now and then.  Well, not to give too much away, but THE SHIRT…you know, the black and gold one that I appeared in for about five years straight, during every summer function, circa 2012 -2017.  How about my Dude Bobble head doll?  Or my miniature-sized chariot from the Lost in Space TV series?  Or the “Simplify” plate over my desk?

Shall I go on?  Okay.  My collection of Peanuts Holiday decorations, my fifteen year old Bolens lawnmower, or the holy of holys, the glass-framed version of my book, “Trapped in a Happy Life”.  And you know what they say about things becoming more valuable after someone dies??? The value there sky rockets from $14.00 to $17.50 in an instant.

Mainly I suppose the fun of holding a reading of the will is to dispense little tidbits of advice one final time from beyond the grave (I have always hated that saying…what the heck does it mean, anyway?  You’re not, “beyond the grave”, you’re IN the grave, or in my case, your spread among the wildflowers on top of Whiteface Mountain in the Adirondacks).  There will be some final insults for a chosen few so decide carefully if you really want to show up and suffer a public humiliation.

But mainly, it’s because most people live their entire lives and never get to attend a, “Reading of the will”.  I think, in getting back to basics, this is a time-honored tradition we need to restore to make this country grea… oh, brother, please don’t get me started.  In fact, if you’re an up and coming politician today you could run and win on that platform alone.  “My fellow citizens…if elected, I intend to resurrect (sorry, bad choice of words) the Reading of The Will to every household in America!”  Running on that, as well as, “A Yodel in every cupboard” should be enough to win 45 states at least.

I like this idea so much that it’s given me another idea.  To start to purchase specific will-related items to bestow upon some of my family or friends, who, let’s say, need a good laugh.  Or someone to remove that giant stick from their rectum.

And I hope to leave a little doubt in everyone’s mind, when the time comes, as to whether or not I’m really gone.  Except for my wonderful wife, no one will be able to view the final remains once I’m expired (again, who substituted that word for dead?  Might as well send me down to the DMV for a renewal and four more years).  She gets one quick peek, gets to identify me by checking that ass pimple I’ve had for 42 years to make sure it’s really me, before I’m off to the oven, set at 12500 for 15 minutes.  And by the way, if I do outlive my wife, the whole thing is off.  It would not be nearly enough fun without her at the helm.

So start clearing out spaces on your mantles, in your china closets and on top of the television cabinets (wait, does anyone still have one of those?), and for some others, clear a space in your garage or attic for more unwanted crap to come your way.  Yes, that’s right, your inheritance comes with specific instructions as to where you need to display your cherished new possession.  Duffy’s former athletic supporter, hanging from the dining room chandelier…priceless.

Now Madeline would just prefer we do the reading at our house so people can come and take their possessions and it saves her the task of having to clean the house out herself.  Wait…I have a great idea.  Instead of answering a trivia question or telling a joke, Sweetie could get rid of all my crap and get her house cleaned at the same time.  For example, it could be, “Jim…Duffy wanted you to have his old putter.  Please clean the out the gutters, pick up your putter on the way out and it’s been nice seeing you.  I’ll write from Vermont”.  Or, “Lisa…Mike loved you so much that he wanted you to have his still unfinished book titled, She was bread in old Kentucky, but she’s just a crumb up here.  Please paint the shed on the way out before picking up your manuscript.”  And for anyone who did not recognize the Three Stooges reference in the last line, shame on you.

By the way, I’m actually having all of my old golf clubs incinerated with me, along with the bag and my tees.  And as for my old balls…shut up!

Isn’t it tragic, that it’s nearly 2019 and we still need to talk about the benefits of being an organ donor?

Maybe it’s the phrasing…”Organ Donation”…kind of rubs people the wrong way.  Freaks people out as they say.

First, it’s the cheapest gift you can give, not only at this time of year, but at any time.  And you’ll never give a nicer gift to anyone…ever.  And the easiest too.  Just check a little box the next time you renew your license.

Please, please get past the gloomy thoughts of your eventual deaths.  You are not going to be the first person who doesn’t die.  Billions of people wiser and tougher and smarter than you have died, and so, one day, shall we all.  Aristotle…Edison…Hercules…even Jesus.  Aren’t we all entitled to live the longest life that we can?

Argument Number One against organ donation:  “If I end up in the hospital sick, doctors will not make an effort to really save me if they realize I’m an organ donor and a patient they know needs a liver, or a heart.”  Really?  Really?  Wake the hell up, people!  This isn’t a movie.  This is real life, not reel life…and real death.

Argument Number Two: “Why should I give up my liver so someone who drank whiskey their entire life can continue on drinking with my liver inside them?”  First of all, you’re not giving up anything.  YOU ARE DEAD at this point.  Under what delusion do you think you’re floating into some sort of afterlife with all of your eternal organs intact?

Argument Number Three:  “If my body is not intact, I’ll never be accepted into heaven”.  My personal favorite.  Don’t you think, for a moment, that if you gave the ultimate gift of life to another human being, God would, you know, reward you somehow?  Can you really imagine passing by St. Peter at the pearly gates and he’s waving you up and down with one of those airports wands…”Oh, sorry, only one kidney…Hey, hold that down elevator for this guy”.

Failing to sign up as an organ donor is just another way to show to the world that you are too selfish to do something truly life-changing for your fellow humans that you leave behind.

It costs you nothing.  NOTHING.  What else nowadays can you get for nothing, that gives someone else EVERYTHING.  And for people who are being cremated, well, what is the point of burning up your organs when you go?  They’re not doing any good sitting on someone’s mantle!  Wouldn’t you rather your wife or your daughter receive a photo and a card thanking you for the gift of life?

Whatever your faith or lack thereof, organ donation exemplifies what being human is truly about.  Do you know anyone who is on dialysis?  Do you understand the pain of that process?  How about someone who is blind?  Someone whose heart is failing?  Another whose liver is so bad they can’t get out of bed?  All because they chose to donate blood 15 years ago and developed an infection.

If you’re an organ donor, thank you for participating in the human race.  If you’re not, you have no excuse.  None.  It’s that simple.  Donate your organs.  Or better yet, donate your entire body to science.  Or in my case, to science fiction.  Give blood.  Isn’t it a good thought to know part of you will live on in someone else after you’re gone?

Still can’t accept the fact that one day you will be gone?  That’s your problem.  Once you come to that conclusion, organ donation becomes not only sensible, it becomes mandatory.  Speaking of which, if I ruled the world, organ donation would be mandatory.

You don’t have to wait to lose a family member or friend to have this become a, “cause” for you.  Do me a favor.  Do yourself a favor.  Check that little box.  Do it before you check into your permanent box.

And personally, I hope that when all my Democrat friends go, they insist their organs be transplanted only into Republicans.  We’ll start working on them from the inside out.

Assuming they have decent health care.

Before I get started, if you’ve never seen the film, “Home for the Holidays”, starring Holly Hunter, watch it tonight, after you’ve eaten and family and friends have departed.  It is for Thanksgiving, what, “A Christmas Story” has become for Christmas.

Directed by Jodie Foster and coming out in the 1990’s it has a wonderful cast including Robert Downey Jr., Anne Bancroft and Charles Durning, not to mention Dylan McDermott, Claine Danes and Steve Guttenberg.  There’s nothing about the movie not to like.  My wife and I have a tradition of watching it every Thanksgiving’s eve.  It is funny and touching and well acted.

So, what I have to say about Thanksgiving is this.  Hopefully, like St. Valentine’s Day for lovers, we shouldn’t need a, “day” to remind us how thankful we are and should always be.  And even though the modern era of Thanksgiving has morphed into a feeding frenzy with football overtures, we must start and end each day remembering how fortunate we are, no matter what we have to complain about.

There are so many people much worse off than we are.  Let’s remember to each dedicate ourselves to a cause this year to help those less fortunate than us.  If each of us does just one thing to help one person, we’ve made the world a better place.  I realize that sounds corny, but true and good things usually are.

This is the first Thanksgiving in memory that we’re not spending the day in the kitchen all day, either preparing or eating or cleaning up.  We’ve opted to spend the day at Longwood Gardens followed by dinner at a nice restaurant, sans family and friends.  They can have us the other 364 days of the year.

Here’s hoping your turkey day is memorable, free of arguments and burnt carcasses, and please, please wait at least until 8 am on Friday to venture out shopping.  And make the world a better place by venturing out into the world to purchase a gift or two, instead of sitting at a desk and clicking a button.  Interact with the world and don’t use the self-checkout aisle.

Even though many of our fellow men and women can sometimes be irritating, it’s important, especially at this time of the year, that we interact with them.

Be safe, be full and be warm, and give thanks that you can be all three of those things.  And let’s help a few others achieve that as well.

 

We’ve all heard that in many situations, a positive attitude in a given situation is, “half the battle”.  While there may certainly be a sliver of truth to that statement, it can’t hold a candle to skill, experience, training, medical expertise and above all, dumb luck.

How else do we explain that ten people are diagnosed with the same affliction.  They all receive identical courses of treatment.  Five of them get better, two of them stay the same, and three of them, well, die.  Regardless of how positive they are.

Others present the power of positive thinking and thrust it upon us whether we like it or not…

“Oh Annie, we discovered a small lump on Harry’s right testicle last week.  He’s getting it checked out tomorrow”.

“Oh Madge, try not to worry.  I’m sure it’s nothing to be alarmed about”.

Three months later, Annie is in the viewing line at Harry’s memorial service.  Shouldn’t Madge have some right to exact retribution?

“So, Doctor Annie, another accurate diagnosis I see…just like the time you diagnosed Fluffy two weeks before we had to put him down…you’re a regular Ben Casey”.  Now see, that line works much better if you’re not using a medical reference from 1960’s television.  I suppose I should have said Doctor Oz, but, well, that just sounds stupid.

Okay, I get it.  people say things to try and make you feel better, but really, they want to try and make themselves feel better.  Like after they come to visit a friend who’s going through her second divorce.  Of course they just want to say, “It’s such a shame that you’ll probably be alone for the rest of your life dear…chin up”.  Instead they spew out the rhetoric…”You know, Connie, this wasn’t meant to be…it only means the right person is still out there, waiting for you”.  And as she walks away, Connie is muttering beneath her breath, “I hope you contract some sort of irritating anal rash”.

Are we better off providing comfort in reasonable doses?  Like at the receiving line at the wedding?  “Well you two, I certainly hope this thing lasts, or I’ve just dropped $250 down the drain.  What’s my time period for a refund if the groom runs off with the Maid of Honor?”

Is it any wonder, in the day and age that we live in, that the Power of Positive Thinking has taken a bit of a hit?  President Tang-Head, Wild Fires, Mass Shootings, The Catholic Church Crisis, the list goes on and on.  Do you suppose nowadays, when someone walks into the confessional at the Catholic Church, it should be that the dark screen is turned the other way around and the priest should be the ones making the confession?  Or at the least, after hearing the confession of the congregation, the priest should respond with, “Don’t worry, I’m sure everything will be okay”.  And close with, “You didn’t see my name in the paper, did you?”

When I was little, and I was having a particularly bad day, my Mom would always tell me, just before she tucked me in, ” Get a good night’s sleep darling; things will look better in the morning”.  And you know what, eight out of ten mornings, she was right.  But I clearly remember on two of those mornings I walked off to school, and on one occasion came home beaten and bloodied and on the other Mary Jane Orfanelli broke my heart.  Mom just as well may have said, “Well, go to sleep my darling, things could be better in the morning…or, maybe not, we’ll see…by the way, we’re out of Frankenberries and Eggos”.

That’s the real problem here.  Well wishes and good intentions do not come with any sort of guarantee.  It’s just a temporary stay of execution for the well wisher to make them feel a little more comfortable.  Until the boom gets lowered…upon YOU.

I’ve always thought that’s why a lot of people go into the funeral business.  They don’t have to peddle any well wishing.  The worst has already happened.  There’s no false hope left to dispense.  The best they have to offer is, “Ma’am, I hope his life insurance policy didn’t expire”.

As tomorrow is Thanksgiving and today is grandson Milo’s 6th birthday, I should say we have very much to be thankful for.  And let’s not forget Matt’s Grandpa Mark turns 103 today.  I’m sure he has benefited from years and years of positive thinking and well wishing.  Or just good genes.

To the four of you out there reading this, no matter what issue is troubling you today, I’m sure it will be alright.  Try not to worry.  Tomorrow will be a much brighter day filled with hope.

There…now I feel much better.

 

When I was younger, it was with great anticipation that I would welcome the first snow of the season.  The heat and the humidity was over for a while.  The holidays were fast approaching.  And there was a nip in the air ( I’m not sure if anyone has used that phrase in this country since December of 1941).

But then something changed.  Right about the time my biological clock turned fifty.  Suddenly I began to view snowflakes as if they were germ spores, coughed up in my face by a four year old boy with a runny nose.  How did I get here?

As they say upon your arrival in hell, it doesn’t matter how you got here, you’re here now.  Dress accordingly.

What’s the worst part about feeling this way?  It’s not the slipping and the falling.  Or the inevitable breaking of the hips.  It’s not the shoveling.  I still enjoy a good workout from time to time.  It definitely is not the cleaning off of the cars or the awful driving conditions.

It isn’t even the cold.  The bitter, bitter cold.  I think, for me, it’s simply the lack of color.  I think that’s why the Trump administration loves the snow so much.  All they see is white.

Looking out the window and seeing everything blanketed in white is about the worst image I can imagine.  No green.  No brown, either.  Forget that white is supposed to be associated with purity.  As a human species we have long since given up on that myth.  If heaven exists and I was fortunate enough to ever make it there I wouldn’t want a white robe.  I’d ask for a tie-dyed one.

For years we have considered Lake Placid as a possible retirement destination.  We vacation there every summer and simply love it.  But this week, the start of the third week in November, it’s snowing there 6 out of 7 days, with temps dipping to 0.  That’s zero.  As in there’s zero chance that we’ll ever be moving there.

And of course, getting snow and cold weather this early in the season we have to endure the double digit IQ citizens of this, “Great” nation who remind us, “I told you global warming was a myth, it’s so cold”.

Or even worse, those still as yet optimistic individuals who jump out of bed every day with a spring in their step, “Don’t you love the change of seasons?”  Yes, actually, I do.  It’s what happens right after the change that annoys me.

So why not just move, maybe to Florida, or Texas, or even California?

Well, my double digit IQ fellow citizens notwithstanding, in ten years half of Florida will be underwater.  Texas does have the added bonus of granddaughter Olivia.  But nothing else.  Literally.  Except wide open space, scorching heat, tornados and, oh, yeah, these morons walking around with guns strapped to their hips and still wearing large hats on their heads, who politely call you, “Ma’am”, just before they shoot you.  And as for California, well, just bad timing there.

What about Wisconsin?  Well, a business there in Hortonville, one which produces glassware embedded with…bullets…recently decided to give each of their company employees handguns as Christmas presents.  Ho, Ho, Boom!  I wonder if their worker’s compensation insurance covers accidentally shooting yourself in the groin?

Maybe, Kentucky?  Their illustrious state leader, Matt Bevin, recently announced that stronger gun regulation is not the answer to eliminating mass shootings.  No, he knows the real issue is, “America’s culture of death, including our obsession with zombie television shows” is really to blame.  Matt, it’s time to realize that you and your fellow lawmakers are part of the real, “Walking Dead” in this country.

So I’m considering every November 30th being placed into a medically induced coma and being woken up every April first.  And if I live, optimistically, another twenty years, that would mean sacrificing about 2400 days of my life.  I’m good with that (and I’m not blinking while I’m typing this).

But, I’m stuck here, for now…you might say, trapped.  In an otherwise happy life.  Hey, wasn’t that the title of a recently forgotten book?  Available on Dorrance Publishing for $14.00?

It is unfortunately true that once you reach 55 weather begins to play a significant role in your life.  Third only to food and a regular bathroom routine.  The recent weather, the current weather and most importantly, the projected forecast begins to dominate your life.  When we were kids it seemed they only projected the weather about 2 or 3 days ahead.  Now, we get the 15 day forecast, or even worse the seasonal forecast.  You know those people, the ones you really wish they’d bring back public stonings for…in August you’re hearing, “They say it’s going to be a really bad winter…unusual amounts of snow, they’re saying”.  Let me be the one to cast the first stone.

Don’t get me wrong.  I love my life.  And I love where we live.  But for four months of the years it’s a bit of a struggle.  My darling wife constantly reminds me, “Dress warmly and accordingly and you’ll be fine”.  Despite this advice we’re still happily married.  It seems that I need my winter hate.  I need to embrace it.  Much like the Trumps embrace ignorance and stupidity.

I realize it’s not good, or healthy to waste precious days.  Milo is turning 6 next week, my goodness.  And 60 is lurking close behind me, making up ground with each passing snowstorm.  And eventually, I’ll be sleeping for 12 months a year.  Speaking of which I read recently a posting in the obituary section of the paper where a family announced their dear departed father was happily celebrating his, “Fifth birthday in heaven”.  It scares me to think that some of these people are responsible for transportation safety or medical treatment here in the real world.  But it doesn’t scare me as much as what I’m about to face in the next hour.

So out I go, at 6 am, to clean off the cars, and clear the driveway, then to make that cold, cold trek 300 yards up to the office.  Into the heat with my thermals on under my clothes and my hot chocolate on my desk.

Okay, life isn’t really all that bad.

Standing in line for 30 minutes to vote this morning was an honor.  That there was a line of nearly 100 people before 7:30 was very, very encouraging.

I couldn’t help noticing people griping about having to stand in line to vote or that the line was moving so slowly.  Like they would prefer to roll out of bed, walk over to their computer, press a button and vote.

One rather irate gentleman ahead of me, after waiting for about 15 minutes, stormed out of line and left.  I couldn’t help myself and had to mutter, “Hope you’re a Republican”.

 I couldn’t help but think…it’s happening right now.  Within 12 hours we could really see some serious changes in this once great nation of ours.  We can only hope.  But we have to do more than hope.

If you’re Republican and you haven’t yet voted..it’s damp out there, cold and rainy with long lines.  Stay at home where it’s nice and warm, cook and prepare something on your granite counter tops, and check your stock account status for the 140th time (today).

If you’re a Democrat, pack a hot beverage and some lunch, grab a good book and a sturdy umbrella, and get out there, get in line and vote.  Pitch a tent if you have to.

In all seriousness…well, I am serious.

For everyone who thinks they cannot affect change and that they are powerless, get up today, get dressed, and go out and…

 

                                  VOTE

 

For those of you who think the world is just fine the way it is and doesn’t need any changing…

 

                    PLEASE STAY HOME