Old and Alone

The old man stormed
into his bedroom,
cursing, searching
for his glasses.

His glasses
watched curiously
from the dresser
as he circled the room.

His hearing aids
on the bathroom vanity
listened intently
through the doorway.

Though he was alone,
his every move,
his every word
was observed.

So sayeth
the dentures
in the jar
on the nightstand.

R.L. Johnson, 2018

The Kitchen Utensil's Christmas

The other day I found a spatula in the wrong drawer:

Chapter I - The Meeting:

May I have your attention please? Excuse me. Listen up everybody! Excuse me! Salad tongs, you can save your conversation for later. Thank you. Can everybody hear me? ~~~~~~~. Okay, good. Now I’ve opened up your drawers and called this meeting for a reason. Knife Block! This concerns you too, so listen up. ~~~~. Alright, thank you.

Utensils of Johnson House: It has come to my attention that many of you have allowed yourselves to become rather disorganized lately - a Spoon in the Fork Tray, a Whisk in Drawer Two… Stuff like that. So I think it’s time for a little coaching session on the basics. I know this stuff is old hat for most of us, but it’s a good chance for you veterans to help out the newbies. I also realize it’s the holiday season and things are a bit chaotic in the kitchen right now, but that’s just all the more reason for you guys to really focus on proper storage habits.

Now, if during this meeting you learn that you’re in the wrong storage area, don’t worry. There will be a break-out session after the meeting where you’ll have an opportunity to move to your assigned area. If you learn that you belong outside of the main complex however, please speak up and you will be excused immediately. Utensils who reside outside of general housing will be addressed separately at a later date.

~~~~~~~. ~~~~? Yes, Tea Strainer, you may be excused. Anybody else?

Okay then, I’ve placed a stack of hand-outs in each drawer. Please pass them around. Share if you need to. You guys in the Knife Block can see all the information on the chart up front here. Okay now, as the chart shows, our main utensil housing complex consists of this main column of drawers by the range, plus the Silverware Drawer over here and the Knife Block on top of the counter.

The top drawer of the main column, colloquially called “the Knife Drawer”, is properly called “Drawer One”, so naturally the next drawer down is called “Drawer Two”, and the one under that is referred to as “Drawer Three”. The Silverware Drawer back over… ~~~~~~~~? What? Drawer Four? Well Drawer Four is for Measuring Cups, Cookie Cutters, the Juicer, and some Pampered Chef things that frankly, I don’t understand. So I think we’re better off just calling those things… er I mean, those members of our kitchen community “Implements” rather than “Utensils”. They kind of have their own thing going on down there in Drawer Four, so they won’t be at our meeting today. Now where was I? Oh yeah… The Silverware Drawer. That's over here. Now these four drawers plus the Knife Block are your domain. It’s your community, so it’s up to you to keep it neat.

Okay next, umm.. this can be a touchy area, but it’s important. I want everyone here to know that all Utensils are created equal. However, groups of you do have different purposes and abilities, and those traits determine where you get assigned to live. Now when we’re all cooking together and serving up meals I want everyone to have fun and get along. Just because you sleep in different drawers doesn’t mean you can’t socialize in the common areas; like on the countertop, at the table, or in the dishwasher. Never forget though, there are some very strict rules of conduct that apply to all of you when you’re in the dishwasher. These were covered during your individual orientations, but if you’re unclear on any of the dishwasher guidelines please see me after the meeting. We don’t want any more incidents like what happened over Thanksgiving with Cork Screw and Turkey Baster. ~~~~~~. Yes, I know, it’s sad about Turkey Baster, but that’s why we have rules.

Now let’s discuss our drawer assignments. Drawer One is for storage of sharp edged Knives, including Kitchen Shears, the Steel, the sharp-edged Pastry Server, Apple Peeler, and Meat Fork. ~~~~~~? Oh yes, and flat Cheese Grater. That was a recent change, but I think it made sense, and I think we can all get used to it. ~~~~~~~~? Why is Meat Fork in Drawer One? Well because I never use him without a Knife, and I don’t see any sense in… ~~~~~~~~? Okay then, because I said so. That’s why! Now of course the exception to this arrangement is that the Knives of our Chicago Cutlery Regiment are housed in the Knife Block. ~~~~~~~! Sorry, life isn’t always fair Faberware. ~~~~~~~. Yeah, the Knife Block might seem like an elitist tradition, but it was a gift, so put on your big boy scabbard and deal with it. ~~~~$#@&~~!! That’s enough Faberware. [At this point let the record show that Faberware was removed from the meeting.] Okay, I think that covers Drawer One, so if there are no other questions I’ll move on to Drawer Two.

Drawer Two is home for all of you Serving Utensils who are not Silverware. Oh! I should have made that clarification about the Knives too. Silverware Knives, including Steak Knives and our funny little friend Butter Knife are to reside in the Silverware Drawer, and not in Drawer One. ~~~~~. Oops, sorry Butter Knife. Yes, I know that was insensitive. You’re just as important around here as Meat Cleaver. ~~~~~!! Put a sock in it Cleaver. It’s almost 2017. The world is changing. Hey! Let’s keep it quiet in the Knife Block. Now as I was saying, Drawer Two is for Serving Utensils, like Salad Tongs, Ice Cream Scoop, Big Spoon, Spaghetti Fork, Ladles - stuff like that. Basically, if your job is to transport food from point A. to point B. you are a Serving Utensil. Everybody got that? It’s pretty basic stuff.

Okay then, Drawer Three can be a little tricky, so please pay attention everyone. Drawer Three is where some of our hardest working and most skilled Utensils live - like Potato Masher, and Whisk, and the Spatula Team, and Meat Hammer, and Garlic Press, and Wooden Spoon and the whole Bamboo Stir Squad, and Turkey Baster, God rest his soul. ~~~~~? Yes, I’ll try to remember to pick up a new one tomorrow. Anyway, you guys know who you are. You’re the backbone of this whole operation. I know you don’t get shined and sharpened like some of the others, but you guys got moxie, and I like moxie. ~~~~? What? Pancake Flippers? Yeah, that was a tough call. I know Pancake Flippers flip, but they also serve. That’s why they got moved up to Drawer Two last year, and I think it’s working. Besides, Drawer Three was getting overcrowded, so that was a factor too. ~~~~~? Yes, we review these things annually. If you think you’ve been categorized unfairly there is an appeal process. ~~~~~. ~~~~~~? ~~~? Yes I have a form in my briefcase. See me after the meeting.

If there are no more questions about that we’ll move on to…. ~~~~~? No Potato Masher, you belong in Drawer Three. Drawer Two is for serving Utensils. We just covered this. ~~~~~. No, you don’t serve. ~~~~~~~. Yes, you “serve the common good” but you’re really overthinking this. You don’t serve food. You mash it. You’re a masher. Heck, The Monster Mash is your favorite song! Remember making pumpkin pie in October? We listened to that song like three times while you mashed pumpkin meat. ~~~~~! Yeah, that was fun. Mashing is fun, and you’re good at it. So be proud of your station. There’s no shame in being stored in Drawer Three.

Okay, well I think that covers the main column, and the Knife Block, so let’s quickly cover the Silverware Drawer. Now I know you guys get tired of hearing me brag about our Silverware Team, but everybody in the Silverware Drawer is a member of a tight knit squad. These guys are professionals. They all came home in the same box together. They sleep in organized little rows, and they all know their place at a dinner setting. They’re really the A-Team when it comes to organization. ~~~~~. I know Salad Fork, you guys don’t really need to be at this meeting, but this is a team building thing, so I think it’s important. Anyway, to all of you other Utensils - I hear the way you talk about Silverware sometimes, but you all need to realize that they work just as hard as you do. Maybe not physically, but the stress of precision and keeping your shine takes a toll on a Utensil. And remember, this Christmas when you guys are all laying around in the sink, or in the dishwasher after dinner is served, Silverware will be stuck sitting on the table listening to Uncle Frank prattle on until God knows when. So when you’re feeling down, don’t forget what I said earlier, we’re all equal… different, but equal.

In closing I just want to say that we all have a job to do, and we do it best when we’re organized. So let’s get organized and stay organized. Any questions? …Okay then, please pass your handouts up to the front of the drawer. Good meeting guys! Now before I shut your drawers, if any of you think you’re in the wrong place, do not attempt to climb into another drawer by yourself. Position yourself sideways in the drawer that you’re in and wait for assistance. I’ll be around to help you in a minute.

Chapter II - The Post Meeting Report:

As a result of the meeting four Utensils were found to be in the wrong place and were returned to their proper drawers.

After a successful appeal, Apple Corer was upgraded to Knife status and was moved from Drawer Three to Drawer One.

The Turkey Baster position has been filled. New Turkey Baster is fitting in well, and everyone is being careful not to talk about old Turkey Baster in front of him.

During a routine counseling session it was revealed that even though Potato Masher can mash like nobody’s business, the big oaf still dreams of being a server someday. We’re currently exploring his limited options.

Chapter III - Christmas Dinner:

Well Let me just say that I will never think of Big Spoon as a selfish Utensil again. Today at dinner she let Potato Masher serve the mashed potatoes. He did a horrible job, but he had fun. We all had fun. The Silverware reflected smiles from all around the table, and just like at the end of most Christmas stories, we all came to realize that we’re a community. All different, but all important.

[Fade out on Uncle Frank’s audio - Pan camera to dishwasher]

From My Kitchen to Yours,

Merry Christmas

R.L.J. 2016

The Night Before Christmas

(A visit from the Gray Mouse)

'Twas the night before Christmas at the cat lady’s house.

Every creature was purring, except for a mouse.

The stockings were hung by the cat post with care,

in hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.

The kittens were nestled all snug in their beds,

while visions of parakeets perched in their heads.

And Mama in her chair with three cats on her lap,

had just settled her brain for a long winter's nap.

When in the next room there arose such a clatter,

she sprang from her chair to see what was the matter.

Away to the kitchen she flew like a flash,

where a cat was attacking a mouse in the trash.

She picked up the mess, “Oh that mouse had to go!”

right after a nerve calming glass of Merlot.

Then what to her wondering eyes should appear,

but twenty-two cats hauling ass in high gear,

pursuing a mouse so lively and quick,

he could turn on a dime, though the floor was quite slick.

More rapid than cheetahs the felines they came,

chasing after that mouse as she called them by name:

"Stop Fluffy! Stop Missy! Stop Simon and Mittens!

"Stop Patches! Stop Muffin! You’ll wake up the kittens!”

The mouse took a left at the end of the hall.

Hid your eyes now ‘cause fur’s heading straight for that wall!

As dry leaves before the wild hurricane fly,

when they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;

so into the baseboard the felines they flew,

each under the other; yes all twenty-two!

They created a pile of tails, and paws,

and noses, and whiskers, and ears, and claws.

Mama refilled her wine, and was turning around,

when back up the hall ran that mouse, kitchen-bound.

He was just a gray blur as he ran underfoot,

and she yelled at her cats once again to “Stay put!”

But her bundles of joy had begun to un-stack,

and were already planning their second attack.

Their eyes, how they darkened! Their claws, oh how scary!

It looked like a scene from an old Tom and Jerry.

Then Mama’s droll mouth, it drew up like a bow,

and then the Merlot, really started to flow.

With the stem of her wine glass held tight in her grip,

Mama finished her drink in four gulps and a sip.

Her face it turned red, she had air in her belly.

She hiccupped and burped, and it tasted like jelly.

She giggled a bit, then she pardoned herself,

and she reached for some catnip she kept on the shelf.

Then a wink of her eye to a peering gray head,

let the little mouse know he had nothing to dread.

Mama sprinkled the catnip. It went straight to work.

Cats pulled in their claws, and they started to smirk.

The effect of that stuff on a kitty-cat’s nose,

is the same as a couple Merlots, I suppose.

She went back to her chair, to her cats gave a whistle,

and they all climbed upon her, like the down on a thistle.

And I heard her exclaim, as she sank out of sight…

Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

R.L.J. 2016

Pulling Beets

My garden has no rhythm,
‘cause I pulled up all the beets.
I put ‘em in a basket
to hand out as trick-or-treats.

Yeah, I’m the old man that
at Halloween most kids avoid.
They tried me once.
They tried me twice,
Then some got real annoyed.

So now they pelt my house with eggs
and I throw beets at them.
Last year I won. Oh it was fun.
My last shot was a gem.

It hit that Tommy Perkins kid
upside his big ol’ head.
His mask flew off,
and he went down.
Thought sure that he was dead.

But don’t you worry none,
‘cause every time I tell this tale.
I make it sound a little worse.
Next time I’m goin’ to jail.

And that’s the beauty don’t ya know,
of Halloween and fiction.
You can kill off half the neighbor kids,
and never face conviction.

Just make it gruesome, make it gory,
You can even make it mean.
Then slap your thigh and laugh,
and tell ‘em “Happy Halloween!”
 
The only thing that’s true is
that I picked some beets today.
And if you must know,
then I vacuumed rugs,
and stacked some hay.

Authors Note: The first two lines popped into my head while I was pulling the beets… The rest crept in while cleaning the harvest, vacuuming, and stacking the donkey's winter hay ;)

Broccoli

I ate a piece of moldy bread.
It’s been four days, I’m still not dead.
My pie was walked on by a fly.
I ate it, and I did not die.
Some bug spray got upon my plum.
But still, to death, I don’t succumb.

My spud with sour cream and chive
was tainted, yet I’m still alive.
I drank a beer with funky yeast,
and look at me, I’m not deceased.
I’m not deceased, not in the least.
But now I fear I need a priest…

for there’s broccoli in my soup du jour.
This time I’m gonna croak for sure.

Musings while Mowing

If you say “Thank you” to an apple tree, the tree will assume that it’s being thanked for its apples because producing and sharing apples is what’s expected of an apple tree. But if you thank it for something unexpected… like if you say, “Thank you Mr. Apple Tree for this fine patch of shade. It’s powerful hot out today, and I’m much obliged to you for offering me this cool place of respite from my labors,” the tree will not only be pleasantly surprised, but it will likely produce better apples in the future… better than it would if it were only thanked for its apples.

Now of course if you have a particularly suspicious apple tree, it might assume you’re playing mind games with it, in which case it may drop an apple on your head rather than improve its fruit quality. If this occurs, DO NOT attempt to humor your way out of the situation by yelling “Eureka! I’ve discovered gravity!” A.) because Newton didn’t yell “Eureka!” when the apple fell on his head. Archimedes yelled that when his bathtub overflowed, and B.) because this tree is clearly in no mood for your bullshit. Trees that have been toyed with in this manner have been known to drop entire branches onto their victims.

By the way… Our apple tree is producing its best fruit ever this year, but the plum tree is scattering immature plums all over the lawn. Jeannie even found a plum branch on the ground the other day. Clearly somebody besides me has been talking to the plum tree. Jeannie denies making any insensitive remarks. The tree is remaining mum on the subject.

Oh, the title?! Yes, these things occurred to me while I was riding around on the lawn mower today. And no, my mower doesn’t have a fuel leak, but thank you for your concern. Anyway, since this is, “Musings while Mowing” I thought I’d end today’s episode by giving you a couple of my lawn mowing tips:

1.) If you have a large onion in the pantry that’s beginning to turn, don’t put it in the compost pile. Toss it in the yard instead, because nothing smells better that an onion being mulched by a Briggs and Stratton on a hot August afternoon. .. A smell so nice, you’ll run over it thrice!

2.) This next tip is more of an operational tip, but it’s an important one. If you have a riding mower with a cruise control switch, use it. I know, we men think we can do it all and we love to press that gas pedal. But when you’re mowing the lawn you’re multi-tasking, and the more things you try to do at once the less you can focus on any one thing. So, take advantage of the cruise control function if your machine has it. This will result in less spilled beer while you mow.

Well I hope you’ve found these suggestions useful. Happy mowing, and don’t forget to pass out those unexpected compliments.

Arthur P. Dale

(While walking the dogs this afternoon my mind wandered and voilà, a poem was born.)

Arthur P. Dale was hunting for whale,
out in the open sea.
Said Arthur P. Dale as he looked o’er the rail,
“Now where do you think they be?”
Then up from the bottom, the jaws of one got him.
No man was more flummoxed than he.
And he woulda fought ‘em, yes he woulda taught ‘em
a lesson or two… or three!

But Arthur was bested, it was uncontested; 
Hors d'oeuvre a la abductee.
And though he protested while being ingested,
t'was nary a chance to flee.
Now Arthur P. Dale resides in a whale, 
out in the open sea.
Tonight he lay pale, somewhere near the tail,
a victim of hyperbole.

Houdini’s greatest trick recently rediscovered:

Lost to history for nearly a century, a written eyewitness account of Harry Houdini’s greatest trick is now being reviewed by scholars. According to a just-released document: On August 3, 1921, Houdini was dressed before a live audience in soaking wet clothes. Each article of clothing, from underwear to outerwear, was pulled from a barrel of ice cold water on stage. His outermost layer consisted of a pair of high laced leather boots, a peacoat jacket, and wool gloves, all drenched. Houdini was then hand-cuffed and put into a large wet gunnysack.

The dripping sack containing Harry was then shoved into a large tumble dryer. The powerful clothes dryer (a precursor of today’s modern home version) caused the audience to gasp when it was turned on. George Sampson, inventor of the metal drum tumble dryer, and two of his assistants stood by in case of emergency. Harry was tumbled on medium heat until dry.

Approximately 90 minutes after being shoved into the dryer, the door was opened and Harry tumbled out. He was still in the gunnysack. He was still in the boots, jacket, and gloves, and he had not escaped the handcuffs. But upon closer inspection it was discovered that one sock was missing... ta-da!

Superman - The Later Years

Chapter One (Which begins with a very long sentence)

As a lethargic Lois Lane, now likely late for the luau, was laying languidly in the leaves of the landscape on Lower Lena Loop Lane behind the lanai of the library with a lacerated leg and a lost left loafer, but otherwise looking lovely (Despite being in her sixties now, Lois always looked lovely); Clark Kent was cavorting at a cautious cadence (as a man who was once very spry and adept at cavorting would tend to do after reaching the age of seventy) carrying a container of caramel creamers across the carpet of his cozy cabin in search of a cup of coffee last seen on the kitchen counter. Lamenting her lousy luck Lois labored to locate her lost loafer. Little did she know, it had landed on the lawn of the librarian Lill, just up the hill, where she took her spill.

The clock struck seven.

Chapter Two (Where Superman is called into action)

Clark, craving caffeine, was completely unaware of Lois’ location, or situation, and in his frustration he had forgotten all about the luau he was supposed to attend that evening. His memory was failing and his alliteration was slipping badly, but a couple recent rhymes seemed to buoy his spirits.

Suddenly Clark thought he heard a familiar cry coming from outside. Through the double doors and onto the deck he dashed deliberately, followed by a dubious dachshund dubbed Dagmar. The fresh air felt exhilarating, and even seemed to perk up his alliteration a bit. Dagmar remained dubious.

Clark’s cabin, on the crest of Cooper Canyon, was within earshot of Lower Lena Loop Lane which ran along the Cooper Canyon Creek directly below. He heard the cry again. Having dashed enough for one evening, Clark hurriedly dawdled back inside to the closet where he found his old cape and tights. “This is a job for Superman!” he announced to Dagmar.

The last phone booth in Cooper County had been removed several years ago, so Supe slipped into the bathroom and squeezed into the now iconic red and blue outfit. Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror Clark noticed the outfit needed to be let out a little in the seat. He made a mental note to stop by the cleaners in the morning.

A few minutes later back on the deck Clark was trying to remember why he went out there. Then Superman thought he heard a familiar cry. To the railing he rushed, and with one hand cupped behind his ear he leaned out and listened. Hearing nothing but ear hair rustling in the wind, he leaned out a little farther.

Chapter Three: (The rescue)

Lois pulled Superman out of the hedge. “That was quite a fall you took,” she said, helping him to his feet.

“I flew,” he corrected her.

“Yes, maybe, but all the same it was quite a crash.”

“I’m a little out of practice,” Superman answered. Then as he brushed himself off he added, “I’m here to rescue you. Oh, and I saw a brown ladies loafer on my way down the hill. Is that yours?”

“Yes. Thank you it is,” she said, wiping the injured leg with her kerchief.

As they walked up the hill together Lois began explaining what had happened. “I was just stopping to pick up Lilith,” she said, “and I slipped on the wet grass and fell over the bank. Oh goodness, I’ve made us late! We were supposed to meet Clark at the luau.”

“Oh crap!” blurted Superman, “I mean…”

“Hello!” called Lilith, waving from her porch. “What happened?”

Chapter 4 (The Conclusion)

After assuring Lois that he’d explain the whole situation to Clark, Superman began the long trudge up the hill. “Don’t rush!” he called back, “and take care of that knee. That could get infected!”

“What was that all about?” asked Lilith, “and why is Clark wearing that ridiculous costume?”

“It’s a long story,” answered Lois.

   

Happymerry Christmakkah

Here’s a touching little holiday story so new that I haven’t even had time to add exaggerations to it yet…

It all began last Saturday at a little shop in Winslow, Washington, where I bought a combination Hanukkah-Christmas card to send to a Jewish friend of mine who lives out of the country with a nice non-Jewish woman. Yes, I realized when I bought it that Hanukkah is just around the corner, so I planned to get it in the mail right away…

Well last night (four days later) my wife reminded me that I need to get that card in the mail right away. “Oh crap!” I said, “I’ll send it out first thing in the morning!”

So this morning I sat down at the dining room table and began preparing the card. My handwriting has deteriorated over the years, so instead of scrawling with a pen and possibly ruining the card, I went to the computer and typed up a message to insert into the card… Well actually I typed, edited, and printed the message several times before I got it just right; and then with tedious care, I inserted it into the card. The original card was blank on the inside, so with just a touch of glue the insert looked like it came right from the Hallmark factory.

On the outside of the card was a drawing of a reindeer with lit Hanukkah candles on its antlers, and the greeting “happymerry christmakkah” printed next to it.

The message I typed in the insert went like this:

“Dear _____ and ______: I know it may seem cruel to place lit candles on the antlers of reindeer, but as long as you arrange them so they don’t drip hot wax into their eyes or onto the tips of their noses the deer don’t really seem to mind; plus there’s snow on the ground and the fire danger is very low at the present time (I checked). So please accept this reindedelabra as a sign that goyim and Jews can light up the season together... And goodness knows the world needs all the enlightening it can get!” The note continues with personal memories and holiday wishes, blah, blah, blah.

Anyway, with the finished card in one hand, and a couple rejected copies of the insert in the other hand I went back to the table to get the envelope. Along the way I stuffed the rejected inserts into the paper shredder.

When I sat down to put the card in the envelope… Now wait a minute, don’t get ahead of me here… When I sat down to put the card in the envelope I… I couldn’t find the card. All I had in my hand were a couple drafts of the insert. “Now where did that card go?” I thought to myself. I spent the next several minutes retracing my steps. After thoroughly searching the area around the computer and around the table, and along the pathway in between, I finally started thinking what you’re probably thinking already…

The shredder! No, I couldn’t have. I just couldn’t have. I lifted the lid… Yes I did.

The nice folks at the shop in Winslow (89 miles away) are mailing me a new card… And yes, I know, Hanukkah is just around the corner, so I plan to get it in the mail right away! With a little luck, it should get there by Christmas.

Cooking with Moody - St. Patrick’s Day Edition:

Well it’s that time of year again... Tis the season when a bunch of non-Irish people are about to try their hands at some traditional Irish cooking. If you’re one of them my friend, this article is for you. Now whether your plan is to create an entire St. Patty’s Day feast, or you just need to show up at the Thompson’s potluck with a respectable dish, here are a few tips you’ll need to know. First of all: Corned beef and cabbage is not a traditional Irish dish. Sorry. I realize that just eliminated 90% of your ideas, but if you’re goal is to serve authentic Irish fare, you’ll need to dig a little deeper.

Well you’re in luck, because I’ve done the digging for you. I found my great-grandmother O’Malley’s cookbook in the attic just last week, and the stained dog-eared pages revealed a wealth of information. This is stuff you won’t find in your Betty Crocker Cookbook, or even on Pinterest. Now I can’t possibly share all of its Irish cooking secrets here, but I can tell you this: If you’re ready to step up your game this year… If you want your dish to be the hit of the potluck, try the Boiled Leprechaun.

The recipe is simple

Ingredients:

• 2 gallons water
• 1 cup coarse kosher salt
• 4 large heads of garlic, halved crosswise
• 2 tablespoons whole black peppercorns
• 2 large heads of green cabbage, cut into wedges
• 2 pound carrots, peeled, and quartered lengthwise
• 1 medium sized leprechaun (cleaned - see page 6.)

Combine all ingredients in large pot. Boil 1 hour.
Simmer until tender. Serve with spiced mustard.

Mmm-mmm! Doesn’t that sound delicious? Now I know what you’re probably thinking. “Where am I going to find a leprechaun this close to St. Patrick’s Day?” Well, you’re right. Most butchers have been sold out for weeks, and if you haven’t already ordered one, you’re probably sunk.

But don’t despair. I found a handy conversion chart in the back of great-grandma’s cookbook. It says you can substitute one elf for two leprechauns in any recipe. I know that means making a double batch, but who wouldn’t want leftovers of a dish like this? Also, the book says if you’re in a bind you can substitute a gnome for an elf, but you’ll need to marinate the gnome in a gallon of sweet white wine for 24-36 hours before cooking. Otherwise it will taste like troll.

Lastly, and the book says this is very important: Do not, unless you want your guests to have gas for a week, do not serve troll!

Well I hope this helps with your holiday meal planning. Happy St. Patrick’s Day everyone!

Free Calendar Offer

If you buy a calendar from one of those kiosks at the mall, or from your local office supply store, or even from a plaid suited door to door calendar salesman it’s a pretty safe bet that you’ll be able to start using your new calendar right away, or at least very soon. But if instead of acquiring your calendar the tried and true old fashioned way you dare to print up your next calendar from one of those new-fangled printable calendar websites, well let me warn you right here and now that that might not be the case.

“Why?” you may ask, “might that not be the case?”

“What?” you may ponder, “could possibly keep me from using my shiny new calendar festooned with improbably posed adorable kittens (or similarly posed scantily clad women) in a timely manner?”

Well, to cut to the chase as they say, I’ll tell you about my experience, and explain exactly why I’m typing this warning (and free calendar offer) instead of circling birthdates and putting stars on anniversaries on my new calendar from printiblecalendarsgalore.com. The reason I’m not drawing circles and stars is because the stupid 3 key on my computer is right next to the darn 2 key! …Wait, I hate to interrupt here right in the middle of cutting to the chase, but thank goodness they didn’t make that same mistake with the letter keys. Can you imagine all the things that could go wrong if the A key was right next to the B key?!  But I digress.

Because the stupid 3 key on my computer is right next to the darn 2 key, I’m now sitting here with a 3013 calendar on my desk. Yes, you read that right “3013,” and considering my age I’m probably not going to need it.  Even if I do, a millennium from now I won’t be able to remember where the hell I put it, and extending my file system out that far just doesn’t seem very practical, or affordable (even with my Staples discount card) so if anyone wants this thing, it’s yours… FREE!

On the other hand, you could just print one up yourself. But be careful not to mix up the 2 and the 3 key, or you’ll just end up with another 2013 calendar that you probably have no use for!!

Oh look! ...missing 3013 won’t be such a big deal anyway. My birthday falls on a Monday.

   

Burning Season

The wood stove needs a cleaning,
And the stove pipe needs it too.
I got a big wire brush on a long thin pole
That I shove right down the flue.

And the soot gets on the rooftop,
And the soot gets in the air,
And the soot gets all over both o’ my hands.
There are fingerprints everywhere!

And the wood pile needs refilling,
And the kindling bin does too,
And the chain saw needs a brand new chain,
But the old one will have to do.

So I head out to the back lot,
With my saw and a pickaroon,
To cut down a tree, that between you and me,
I shoulda cut down last June.

And the sawdust gets in my eyeballs,
And the sawdust gets in my hair,
And the sawdust goes right down the back of my shirt,
And from there it goes God knows where!

And my boots are filled with wood chips,
And my hands are smeared with pitch,
And I’ll shout hallelujah when the springtime comes!
"Cause burning season is such a, ...drag!
 

The Next Big Idea

It seems like the world is always looking for the next big idea: the internet, cloning, Viagra, facebook, smart phones, iPads, and other exciting stuff to be announced soon. Yes, the big ideas list that begins with fire, followed closely by something to put fire out with, and continues with the pointy stick, the handle, prostitution, the wheel, and other innovations from the dawn of man to modern times seems almost endless. “What’s next?” you might ask. I sure wish I knew. I can’t tell you how many times when I was growing up someone would yell at me “Hey kid! What’s the big idea?” or “What the hell’s the big idea?” or something to that effect. Well for crying out loud, it’s kinda hard to think with that kind of pressure, so I usually just stood there looking stupid.

Now looking back on it, I realize that for a good part of my youth the world was looking to me to come up with the next big idea, and I can’t help but think that I let the world down. If just once when some older person had queried “Hey you! What's the the big idea?” I had thought a little quicker on my feet. If just once I had studied the clues around me and thought “okay - slingshot, rock, broken window” and yelled out “laser pointer!” or “global positioning system!” or anything other than “gulp!” Yes just once. Maybe I could have changed the world.

But now that I’m well into the second half of my life I’ll have to… “Viagra!” Oh, that one’s already on the list? Damn! Where was I? …Oh yeah, second half of my life I’ll have to resign myself to the fact that it’s up to the next generation to change the world. I’m afraid I’ve used up all my chances. Nobody ever asks me anymore “Hey! What’s the big idea?”… Well except when I’m drinking, but I’m sure not gonna come up with it then.

I guess all I can do now is walk out on my front lawn and yell at neighbor kids as they go by. “HEY!! WHAT’S THE BIG IDEA?” Who knows, maybe I’ll discover the next Steve Jobs.
  

End of Days

A friend reminded me today that the end is near, so I thought I'd better write this poem while I still have time:

The ends of days is almost here
I heard it from a Mayan
Their calendar makes it quite clear
That soon we’ll all be dyin’

Long ago they carved it down
In stone with ancient tools
That December 21st this year
Is Mayan April Fools!

When it comes to someone with enough patience to pull off a good practical joke, ya can’t beat a Mayan!
  

Desperate Times

I knew I was in trouble the moment that cop looked inside my truck. There I was, caught red-handed with a back seat full of empty whisky bottles. I had no choice but to confess: “Yes officer, all those are mine. Gas prices are so high I’ve been pouring Jack Daniel's into my gas tank to save money.” I was immediately escorted to nearest Emission Inspection Station where my truck blew a .19.  I feel sorry for the cop. He has no idea what to do next.

Roses are Red 2012

My updated version of the classic American poem Roses are Red:
The first and last line remain unchanged. Only the middle has been altered slightly

Roses Are Red (2012)

Roses are red.
This much is true,
But the rest of the poem
They just didn’t think through.
Violets are violet,
But that wouldn’t do
‘cause that rhymes with pilot.
It don’t rhyme with you.

You can’t fly a plane
So why would I express
My love for a pilot
And cause you distress?
A poem that did that
Would not be a success,
So I need something blue
If I want to impress.

A hydrangea maybe,
But that’s a difficult rhyme,
Besides they aren’t even blue
Half of the time.
And they’re not very vivid
Except in their prime,
So hydrangea’s out
I need something sublime.

Like the sky or the ocean
But that’s so overused,
And of such overuse
I shall not be accused.
I will think up a word
That will leave you enthused,
And failing at that
I will shoot for amused.

And when that is done
I will fix the next part.
That “sugar is sweet” line
Is no work of art.
I need something sweeter
To get to your heart,
But high fructose corn syrup
Just isn’t smart.

How ‘bout syrup or Splenda?
Perhaps Sweet ‘n Low.
Do any of those choices
Make your cheeks glow?
Would one make you want to be
My steady beau?
Or should I just uncork
A sweet red Bordeaux?

Oh wait… It just came to me!
Now the whole poem is true,
And it comes from the heart
So I hope this will do:
Roses are red.
The fifth color from the top of a rainbow is blue.
Those little nectar pouches on honey bee legs are sweet,
And so are you!
  

The Ant Farm Incident

It was during the summer of 1989 when my stepson Steven first took an interest in ant farming. Ah yes, that innocent August when hot days were as long as licorice ropes, and a six-year-old's dreams were limited only by the curb at each end of the block.

When I heard the news I remembered how I once asked for an ant farm too. I guess I didn’t play my cards right though because I ended up with a neurotic hand-me-down squirrel instead; a squirrel that bit me all summer long, and hibernated during the winter. Lousy gatherer, that’s all he was. He couldn’t farm a lick. Well I wasn’t about to let this kid’s dream be crushed like mine was, so we sat down... you know, man to man like, and we had a little chat.

“So" I said "ya want to be an ant farmer eh?”

“Umm... yes.”

“It’s a big responsibility ya know.”

“Umm... it’s only four dollars.”

“Sea Monkey’s were only four dollars, but do you remember what the food cost?”

“But ants eat crumbs, and junk.”

Well, that was good enough for me. The Acme Deluxe Ponderosa Ant Farm arrived in the mail three weeks later.

“The ant farm’s here!” I announced.

“The what?” said Steven.

“The ant farm we wanted, I mean you wanted… it came today.”

“Can I watch TV?”

“Don’t you want to put your farm together?”

“Are there ants?”

“They should be in the box. Let’s open it up.”

We spilled the contents of the Acme Deluxe Ponderosa Ant Farm out on the table and took a quick inventory. Green plastic parts, clear plastic parts, bag of sand, tube of live ants, and one instruction manual/accessories order form.

“Well it looks like it’s all here,” I said.

“Can I take the ants out?”

“No, no wait. We have to set up the farm first.”

I've never followed the directions to assemble anything in my life, and I have a drawer full of spare parts to prove it, but I thought this would be the perfect time to set a good step-fatherly example and do this thing by the book.

STEP 1. Assemble the base. See fig. 1

“Can I take the ants out?” Steven repeated.

“Hang on, I’m reading the instructions. Here, snap these two pieces together.”

Before getting to STEP 2. I spied a note on the side of the instruction sheet that said “HINT: Placing ants in freezer before introduction to ant farm will calm ants for easier transfer.”

“Hey, Steven it says here we should put the ants in the freezer.”

“Won’t that hurt ‘em?”

“No, no, it’ll just slow ‘em down a bit so they don’t escape when you put ‘em in the farm.”

So into the freezer went the crew of Ant Station Zebra... Future inhabitants of the Ponderosa Dunes Agricultural Community.

STEP 2. Snap feet to base. See fig. 2... and so on it went as we reviewed each instruction carefully, ate some dinner, and talked about farming... ant farming, and farming in general. Eventually it was time to pour in the sand, so in it went. Well mostly in, a little out.

“We can sweep that up later," I said, "Look, we’re almost done!”

“But where are the tunnels?”

“Oh that’s the fun part. You get to watch the ants dig the tunnels.”

STEP 9. Assemble ant farm lid. See fig. 9

“Snap, click," and the farm was ready
"Can I take the ants out now?” Steven asked.

“Sure, go get ‘em. It’s time to start farmin’."

STEP 10. To calm ants for easy transfer into their new environment place ant vial in freezer for 2 minutes. IMPORTANT: Do not leave ants in freezer longer than 5 minutes!

“Wholly shit!!” I let slip.

“What?”

“Oh nothing… Hurry up, get the ants!”

The ants poured into their new home like a teaspoon of Rice Krispies.

“When are they gonna start digging?” the new farm boss asked.

“Well they need to thaw out first” I said, wondering where I could find a replacement ant colony at this hour.

We watched, and we waited. Then we watched, and waited a little longer. It was like waiting for that first kernel of popcorn to pop, except in this case there would be no second or third, let alone any forth or fifth kernels popping. Five minutes passed, and then... very un-suddenly there was movement in the pile. A lone limping ant emerged from the heap of assorted legs, antennae, and thoraxes. It looked like it had just climbed Mt. Everest barefoot with no oxygen. In other words it was very calm. Slowly it ambled half way across the Ponderosa before stopping to rest.

“What about the rest of ‘em?” Steven inquired.

“I think we got a bad batch.”

The next hour confirmed that yes, we did indeed get a bad batch.

"Well, it's gettin' late," I said.
"They're dead huh?"
"Yeah, but maybe we can find some more outside tomorrow.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

And so we placed the ant farm up on the dresser...
right next to the dried up Sea Monkey aquarium.

“Good night.” I told Steven

“Good night.”

The Curmudgeon’s Holiday Poem

My knees are feeling older

And the toilet seat is colder

But there’s paper in the holder

So I guess it could be worse

Oh the joys of late November

With a turkey to dismember

These are times I will remember

Future stuff to tell my nurse

We all gather at the table

And give thanks that we are able

To watch football on the cable

So we don’t have to converse

Now the Firewood needs chopping

But we’re going Christmas shopping

And the mall is really hopping

No, I will not hold your purse!

In a beard too tightly fitting

Poor ol’ Santa’s head is splitting

On his lap the kids are sitting

Kringle looks a little terse

Little drummer boys are drumming

And the Christmas cards are coming

Now we have some frozen plumbing

This is when I start to curse

Oh the joys of mid December

With a faucet to dismember

These are times I will remember

I feel sorry for that nurse

Oh they say they are delighted

To their party I’m invited

Such delight is unrequited

In their wine glass I immerse

Oh the joys of January

I don’t mean to sound contrary

I’ll say “have a very merry…

Holiday” and I’ll disperse


Yes that was the final verse

Nurse!

Beef Jerky

I’ve been living as a quasi-vegetarian for almost a year now, eating primarily vegetable, fungus, and fish matter with feigned enthusiasm to support my wife’s new “let’s see how old we can grow” healthy lifestyle strategy. Well today I was searching the kitchen cabinet's snack selection of sweet-potato chips, dried fruit chunks, bulk granola, raw almonds, yogurt raisins, etc. when way in the back, behind the natural sea salt chips I spotted a bag of beef jerky ...beef jerky? Wholly smokes! My head went on a swivel to make sure I was alone. My heart started pounding. I suddenly felt flush. "Beef jerky, how long have you been back there little guy?”

Okay, I knew I had to act fast. Luckily we men are always in touch with our lizard brain, and though dormant for much of my adult life I found out today that my primal instincts have remained razor sharp! I immediately remembered being in a similar situation at one other time in my life, and just like that day long ago when I was only twelve years old, I grabbed the dirty magazine, er I mean the beef jerky, and ran to hide it in a place where only I would have access to it, and I’m sure I’ll be going back there often to retrieve it in the coming days. In fact I feel like going back there right now just to look at it.

Umm, let’s just keep this our little secret …okay?