Monday, October 20, 2014

             No Longer Brothers

young refuse to watch the news
old folk watch and fear
what will become of all of us?
death lurks
far and near

has it always been like this?
were we just too busy to see?
now that we’ve gone global
we don’t feel free to be

worry serves no purpose
power in too many hands
we used to focus on family
now there are so many lands

people kill to claim their right
to worship as they please
how could any god or God
condone death and disease?

yesterday’s horrific news 
is today on page eleven
one more tragic story told
we see it 24/7

how not to panic, live in terror
of heinous acts unimaginable
how can we focus on our joy
when hate is so unfathomable

stay in the moment, so we’re told
easier said than done
when respect is gone and conscience lost
it’s all about the gun

so sad it’s come to this these days
sons cry out for mothers
battlefields in hazmat suits
what happened to "We are brothers."












Sunday, October 19, 2014

                        



                                                      Praise Propofol


     Based on my recent comments about modesty, a concept that disappeared with VCRs and landlines, I must relate my experience at the endoscopy center last week.

      Let me first say, I will never again, that’s n - e - v - e - r drink a drop of Gatorade. Secondly, I will be sure not to make eye contact with any health care workers in a health care facility. Finally, I will take my I-pod along so I cannot hear the conversations of other patients waiting in their half-draped cubicles.

     “Shall I take off my drawers?” I hear the 20-something guy say across the aisle. I look away visualizing what I could have seen for myself, Lord forbid. Who was I to talk? I jumped out from under my baked blanket and over the raised metal railing of my operating cart, grabbing the glucose bag in one hand and holding my gown shut with the other. I kept my eyes floor-ward as I raced to the facility. Whew.

     In the operating room, a nice tech assistant cuddles up to my cart and says, “So what do you do, Miss?” omg. I do not want to discuss my personal life while I am in this compromised position. Praying that the propofol kicks in quickly, I mutter, “I’m a humorist.” A confused look on his big round face, he says, “What’s that?” “Come on drugs,” I think. “Kick in. Kick in.” Short story, long--he will buy my books on Amazon.
Good night, world.

     The following day, I wake up with an orange-carbonated-propofol hangover. Bonus:  a runny nose. I never blow my nose. I rarely sneeze, and if I do, it’s a minimum of 15 times. So a runny nose is a new phenomenon for me. wtf. How can I be perfectly healthy one day, and after a simple procedure wake up bloated like the Goodyear blimp, wiping my chin?  I resisted the temptation to call the doctor. “Wait until tomorrow. Tough it out.” 

     In the meantime, I make the mistake of going online to check out the post-op symptoms. Seventy-four people wrote in that they had runny noses that lasted at least four to six months. Joy. Others commented that their digestive tracks did not recover for at least six weeks. omg. Shoot me now.

    Three days post-op, I am just fine, tyvm. My doctor is a saint, and I have sent a thank you to Puffs for getting me through another life crisis.


Saturday, October 18, 2014

                                             
MODESTY - Passé?

     I was brought up in a generation in which we never discussed certain topics. Such things as bathroom habits and hygiene, private body parts, sexual habits, family financial business, religious attitudes, political views---all of these were private and not for discussion beyond the dining room table. 

     In my generation, many mothers didn’t explain the birds and bees to their children because they were too embarrassed. We were left to discover bits and pieces from our enlightened friends whose parents actually talked about such things. 

     We didn’t run around the house naked. Our naked bodies were not to be seen by anyone until we were married, and I learned that you could get pregnant by sitting on the wrong toilet.  My father told me that if I got pregnant before marriage, he would disown me. 

     Imagine, therefore, people of my generation watching commercials for ED, bladder leakage and “bum” habits. Have you seen the latter? This morning while I was watching the news, a commercial appeared with a woman in a nail salon interviewing clients about their private business. The proper-English-speaking lady holds a roll of toilet paper in one hand and some “matching” wipes in the other and asks each client, “What do you do about your bum?” Are you effen kiddin’ me? One client says, “If you don’t have a clean bum, where are you?” omg. 

     My mother was appalled when people kissed on the big screen. What would she have said about this? I cannot imagine what five years will bring us. Will we be seeing polyps dancing into the horizon after viewing someone’s colonoscopy? Will we see witness a ten-year study of dog “crottes” to determine the health of our pets? Will “porn” be just ho-hum programming? 

     The whole thing makes me want to . . . never mind.


Friday, October 17, 2014

                               
poem


It was Thursday, she sat in in a fog
no ideas emerged for her blog
she scratched her blond head
and got in her bed
and dreamed of a blog-writing dog.

It was Friday,  she opened her eyes
the sun was aglow in the skies
no topics jumped out 
she started to pout
but decided to jot down some lies.

“My grandpa was Swedish, his wife was on drugs
they both went to prison for kicking some pugs
they got out on bail
set fire to the jail
and flew back to Sweden with thugs.”

I could write about golfers, how boring is that?
I could write about models who think they are fat.
I could write about baseball, but that’s in the news
I could write about flu shots or hummus or shoes
It’s all overwhelming, this creative juice freeze
I’ve gone back to bed, don’t bother me please.

I purposely changed the meter because I can.



Wednesday, October 15, 2014






                                                          LABELS


I know it’s not politically correct to “label,” but I think labels could really serve a valuable purpose. Consider the following:

Male:  Incapable of multi-tasking or out-analyzing female counterparts.

Female: Incapable of understanding the simplicity of male counterparts.

Pet:  Will love unconditionally and poop anywhere.

Child:  Will test all those taller and wider.

Technological Device:  Will only malfunction when user is in desperate need.

Automobile: Exciting for approximately 46 hours.

Light bulb:  Will only malfunction when on last chapter of thriller novel.

Wine bottle: Liquid happy with possible delirium. 


Viagra:  Probable delirium.

Tuesday, October 14, 2014

     




      We frequently refer to things we do 24/7. Our minister challenged us recently to doing things 24/6. What? What’s really incredible is that she wants us to be “tech free” on the Sabbath. Tech free? She must be living under a rock. No one can go tech free for twenty four hours no matter what day. Jesus forced me to do some soul searching, however, as now I feel guilty texting during the Prelude.  

     Why would it be difficult to give up my devices one day a week? I can’t give up my vices, much less my DEvices.  And would Sunday be harder than other days? I don’t have a full-time job, so my answer might be different than a lawyer’s or a bus driver’s. Being “tech free” means all tech, not just our phones. This means no reading on the Kindle, no e-mails on the “Air” and no streaming, tweeting or downloading of any kind. omg. This is a challenging request. I forgot to ask her after the service if I’d get a prize for complying.

     “Jesus loves me, this I know.” Would He want me to sacrifice my communication with my grandchildren, the writing of the climactic chapter of my great American novel, my texts to Mr. Wonderful to let him know I’m done in the shower? 

     We go out for dinner every week-end, and it is rare not to see people texting while tasting, tweeting while eating, gaming while gorging. It’s a national epidemic; we’re cell-phobic. We dial with our thumbs and our bums. We stand in lines for hours to buy the newest device so we’re cool or considered mainstream. We are certainly a pathetic culture, and I am 100% guilty. 

     I have decided, therefore, to take the challenge. I will attempt the unimaginable: endure an entire day without any device. I’ve chosen Thursday, October 30, 2017. Join me? 


Monday, October 13, 2014

                    JUST A SMALL BUMP IN THE ROAD      

     Jennifer Garner announced the other day that she has a “baby bump.” No, she’s not pregnant. She had three pregnancies, and now she is left with a “bump.” I think it is absolutely awesome that she announced this on national TV. Maybe if Elizabeth Taylor had made a similar announcement fifty years ago, the rest of womanhood wouldn’t have had to walk around with sucked-in syndrome.. After all she had four, count ‘em four kids, so what happened to her “bump?” 

     “I have a dream.” My dream is that I could wake up one day and never ever have to suck it in again. It doesn’t matter how much I diet, exercise, eat the right things, drink four gallons of water, take diuretics, the “bump” still sticks its ugly head out there right through linen, wool or polyester. You would think that a size 0-2 would have no signs of a bump. Wrong. The worst part is that the beauty standards are getting bumped up as we speak, and unless your naval hits your spine, you are labeled “thick.”

     I am proud of my “bump.” I have two beautiful daughters who are successful and comfortable in their skin. They have produced seven precious offspring three of whom won’t have to worry about any bumps. Just because I’m proud, however, doesn’t mean that I choose to flaunt the bump or allow it to interfere with my cinch belts or bikinis:)

     I like this Jennifer woman, and I think she should continue her crusade in the interest of women’s breathing.