A Guy Walks into a Bar...

A few years back I told you that all jokes are derived from only two opening lines.  One of those lines is...."A guy walks into a bar."  I love these silly jokes.

Commander Coconut, a long time columnist for the Orlando Sentinel, shared a couple in the Commander's column this morning.  (Can't use a pronoun here because nobody knows for sure if the Commander is male or female.) I love these silly jokes.

A guys walks into a bar with a slab of asphalt under his arm and says, "I'll have a beer please, and one for the road."


A termite walks into a bar and goes, "Is the bar tender here?"

OK, here's a really smart one.

Three intransitive verbs walk into a bar - they sit, they drink, they leave.

Hahahahahahahaha.


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Harry Crews

Harry Crews died on Wednesday.  He was a prolific writer (17 novels) with a cult following, and, for many years a professor at the University of Florida.

 Years ago I read several of his books and I was moved by them.    Crews wrote mostly about freakish characters in the South.  Some of what he wrote was disgusting, books like "A Feast of Snakes."   He believed, more than anything, that writers should be real.  They should tell the truth.

Here are a few Harry Crews quotes:

A writer's job is to get naked, to hide nothing, to look away from nothing, to look at it.


There is something beautiful about scars of whatever nature.  A scar means the hurt is over, the wound is closed and healed, done with. 

If you wait until you got time to write a novel, or time to write a story, or time to read the hundred thousands of books you should have already read - if you wait for the time, you will never do it. ‘Cause there ain’t no time; world don’t want you to do that. World wants you to go to the zoo and eat cotton candy, preferably seven days a week. 

Men to whom God is dead worship one another. 

Alcohol whipped me. Alcohol and I had many, many marvelous times together. We laughed, we talked, we danced at the party together; then one day I woke up and the band had gone home and I was lying in the broken glass with a shirt full of puke and I said, 'Hey, man, the ball game's up'.

Survival is triumph enough. 

Goodbye Harry Crews.

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Whoever I Am...

Who am I?  This or the other?
Am I one person today, and tomorrow another?
Am I both at once?  A hypocrite before others,
And before myself a contemptibly woebegone weakling?"
- Dietrich Bonhoeffer

A couple of weeks ago Dave came home from a meeting and asked me and our house guest, his old friend who is also a psychologist, if we knew anything about Dietrich Bonhoeffer.  I Said, "Yeah, we both know everything you might want to know about Bonhoeffer, so shoot!"

Dietrich Bonhoeffer was a great German theologian who was imprisoned and executed by the Nazis during World War II.  He was very outspoken about his struggles with his perceived  inadequacies with his faith, despite the fact that he was sacrificing his life for others.

Writers like Bonhoeffer and Henri Nouwen help me come to gripes with my own inadequacies.  I've had a very hard day.  Who am I this evening?  Among other things, I'm an older woman and the matriarch of a large family.  When my children suffer, middle aged though they be, I suffer.  I wish I could fix things and people but I cannot. Knowing that makes me feel weak, when, yesterday, I felt strong.

Bonhoeffer says at the end of the above prayer:

Who am I?  They mock me, these lonely questions of mine. 
Whoever I am, thou knowest, oh God, I am thine.

He helps me say, at the end of this long day, to the God whom, on most days, I find quite mysterious:

Whoever I am, I am yours. 




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Memory Care

As you know, my Oldie, Haddy, moved to Colorado to live in a memory care facility close to her children.  She moved last November with her husband of 67 years, Harry.  But Harry died shortly after they got there.  Most of us figured that if one went, the other would soon follow.  Especially since they were joined at the hip. And especially since my dear, funny, smart friend Harry ruled the roost!


But Haddy is flourishing - well - as much as a person with severe memory issues can flourish.  She's always been a snappy dresser.  Several years ago I bought a St. John's suit at a designer seconds shop, thinking it would be a good thing to wear at Haddy's funeral - because she's known for wearing them to Starbucks, among other places.


But Haddy's flourishing.  Maybe I'll wear the St. John's suit to my own funeral.  That would be a hoot!


Apparently, Haddy's new home is giving her a new lease on life.  Below is part of a note we received from her son.  It tells us something we all need to know.  


Everybody has a story - even if they can't remember it.


Tonight the (Memory Care) community and family members had a special Granny Awards Ceremony and my mother received the best dressed (no surprise).  I was amazed at the backgrounds of all the other residents: dancers, public speakers, singers, one guy who was the disc jockey on American Band Stand, a famous jewelry maker, several artists, a one woman who just turned ninety nine, and a wonderful doctor.


 I have seen all these people moving slowly and quietly over the last three months and had no idea. They all are very special people with incredible stories. The people who work at the (Memory Care Center) had everyone dress up and personally presented each award with a sound system, music, and red carpet.




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Wear Your Hoodie

As you know, the shooting of Trayvon Martin by George Zimmerman in Sanford, Florida (a couple of towns up from mine) has gone viral.

A rally is scheduled for tonight that will probably attract thousands.  I hope that good will come from all of this tragedy, including a closer look at the "Stand Your Ground" law which, since it was passed a few years ago, has caused several tragedies.

One of the things that disturbed me, before this case went international, were the suggestions by locals regarding what Trayvon Martin could have done to prevent being shot.

We already know about the dangers of "Driving While Black" and "Walking While Black" but now we're hearing that "some people" look menacing when wearing a hoodie.

I wear hoodies.  I don't think there's a chance in the world that I look, or ever looked,  menacing in one (although I it would have been useful a couple of times when I was younger.)

I'm wearing one right now.  It's white linen.

A friend wrote me this morning asking if I wanted to go to the rally with her.  I declined but I did suggest she wear her hoodie.  Don't worry, she's not menacing either.


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All of Life is Relationships

I truly believe that all of life is about relationships.  After our survival issues are taken care of  (food, shelter, etc.) relationships are paramount - even if some of us don't realize it till we've lost all of ours.

Have you ever heard of this guy Dwight Howard, who plays basketball for The Magic?  He's been wrestling with a tough choice.  First he wanted to be traded which would mean he'd make tons and tons more money and possibly win a championship - even though he already makes tons and tons of money.

In the end he chose to stay in Orlando.  I think it's mainly, because of his relationships here.  Fans love him, Rich DeVos loves him, charities love him, his mom loves him, friends and teammates love him, sports writers love him.

Congratulations, Dwight.  You made the right choice. All these folks love you and now they know you love them back.  What could be better than that?


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Good News From the Airport

I have something new to look forward to.  At my local airport, that's Orlando International Airport (OIA,) elderly folks (I do so love that word) that is to say, folks over age 75, will no longer have to take off their shoes or jackets while going through security.  By the way, I have a few years before I'll be eligible for this perk.

It seems the Transportation Security Administration (TSA) is starting a test program at OIA and three other U.S. airports to allow the elderly easier passage through security.

I don't know whether to be grateful or insulted.  Don't we look as scary as younger folks?  The other issue, for me is, how important is it anyway?  We all want to be safe and the vast majority of the flying public has been pretty darn patient - but what have the results been for our massive shift in passenger security?

Newsweek Magazine has just put out some stats regarding TSA.  Since 2001 they've spent 57 billion dollars.   Their staff has grown by 400%.

Here are some good news/bad news results from the the last 10 years of pat downs and purse searches.  TSA has confiscated 1,200 guns. That's good.  But the number of terrorists apprehended by the TSA??

That would be none.


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Was It Pie Day or Was It Pi Day?

Yesterday afternoon my daughter and grandson called to say they'd baked a dozen pies because it was "Pie Day."  They baked strawberry, double chocolate, chess and butterscotch.  They took pies to his math class and delivered pies to other lucky folks.

I didn't think much about it.  They're always doing something fun and sharing it.  But after we hung up I thought; was I missing something?

OK, I learned later what I'm sure you already know.  Yesterday, March 14th, was Pi Day.  It's the day when mathematicians and folks who regularly watch "The Big Bang Theory"  celebrate Pi (one of the world's most mysterious and awe inspiring infinite mathematical constraints.)    

It's specifically celebrated on 3/14 at 1:59:26 p.m.  That date and time correspond to the first eight digits of Pi (3.1415926)

Since these folks celebrate all things circular, serious Pi followers celebrate with Pie eating.   So next year I want to get in on this.  I will become an honorary one-day-only pie eating math geek.  

By the way, I love geeks but I wouldn't describe my grandson as one.  He's smart but plays several sports and loves music.  He's more of a renaissance man. 

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Bus Stop

The other evening our house guest and I looked out the front door to see this long, black bus going by.  We don't have buses in our little condo community.  Nor do we have RVs.  But here this bus was; big and sleek and shiny.

The windows were black and there wasn't a word on it.  Of course we were curious.  Just as it turned the corner I saw a small sign on the back that said "Party Bus."

Party Bus?  What's that?  OK, it turns out there's not just one.  There are several companies in our little international entertainment community called Orlando that will provide party buses.

So, if you have need of the following, we're got several varieties!

• 40 Ft. Tour Coach
• Custom design interior
• Multimedia big screen TVs
• Ice cold A/C
• "Incredible" light and sound
• Wet bars
• Stripper poles

I wonder which one of my neighbors the party bus was here to pick up.

In related news, it seems Lindsay Lohan had another mishap a day or two ago.  She accidentally hit a man in his kneecap with her car.

Lindsay needs one of these buses.

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Do You Want to be Happy?

I recently led several classes using the book "The Happiness Project" as one of my references. In a previous posting, I shared with you how much I enjoyed this little book.

In the classes I asked the group:  Do you want to be happy?   This seems like a no brainer with an obvious answer - but I don't think so.  The question might be more clear if we asked:  Do you want to be happy......enough to do something about it?

Gretchen Rubin, in her Happiness book, gives tons of ideas for helping us get and stay happy.

One is to embrace the concept that, at times, in order to be happy, we must be accommodating.  She quotes Jerry Seinfeld who said, "There's no such thing as 'Fun for the whole family.'"  Being with  family - and even friends - requires accommodation.  Some people, even though we love them, tend to get on our nerves.  But the truth is, making other folks happy makes us happy.

Another concept is that happy, positive people get on other folks nerves.  I could see myself on both sides of the truth Rubin tells below.

We nonjoyous types suck energy and cheer from the joyous ones; we rely on them to buoy us with their good spirit and to cushion our agitation and anxiety.  At the same time, we're sometimes  provoked to try to shake the enthusiastic, cherry folk out the their fog of illusion - to make them see that the play was stupid, the money was wasted, the meeting was pointless.  Instead of sharing their joy, we blast it. 


She shares this prayer attributed to Saint Augustine.  He must have known the sting of trying to be joyous in a negative world.

Tend your sick ones, O Lord Jesus Christ;
rest your weary ones, bless your dying ones,
sooth your suffering ones; pity your afflicted ones;
shield your joyous ones.
And all for your love's sake. 


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My Hands Won't Open

What do Ronald Reagan, Margaret Thatcher, Frank Sinatra, Bob Dole, Jesus and I have in common?

We all have a condition called Duputren's Conracture.  This is when the hand contracts with fingers pulling in toward the palm.  It's more common than you think.  The cause isn't known but it is hereditary and affects mostly men.  My dad had it, my brother has it and my son has it.

Some folks like to say that Jesus had it because, many times, he's depicted with his hands in the D.C. position.  But we don't know for sure because no actual photos were taken when he was here.


Some folks think Frank Sinatra had it because a woman tried to sue his estate several years ago alleging she was his love child because they shared the same hand condition.  (I shared in a postings a few years ago that, if that's the proof, then maybe I'm his love child as well..)

I had surgery a decade ago.  It was messy and my hand looked like a Honey Baked ham, both in size and color for about six weeks.  So no more surgery for me.

But this week I went to our locally famous hand doctor, George White, to get some options because I now have D.C.it in both hands.  Actually I couldn't get in to see Dr. White but instead saw his young protegee who's also highly skilled in the hand business and, by the way, cute as the dickens.

He wants me to try a  new procedure that will be ready in a couple of months.  I'll keep you posted.


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For Males Only

My husband, Ken, went to this small, prestigious college in Indiana.  Wabash College, founded in 1853 and located in Crawfordsville, Indiana has around 900 students.

It's one of the finest liberal arts colleges in the nation. It's also one of the last all male colleges in the nation. No girls allowed.

They do have female faculty but I remember when the first woman professor was hired in the 70s.  You would have thought the end of the world was near, there was so much gloom and doom conversation.

It it wasn't for Wabash's need to  pursue excellence at all costs, they'd never have hired these exceptional girl profs.

For 40 years every mailing ever sent  from Wabash to our house was addressed to Ken.  Period.  Until the day he died. Then the mailings immediately started coming to me. Prior to that time I affectionately called Wabash "The Woman Haters Club." But when I saw my name on the envelope I melted and thought "They like me, they really like me."

About a month ago Dave and I went to a Wabash alumni get together here in our area.  Dave's such a good sport about these things.  The photo above was taken that evening. We had a lovely time.

But, as a result, I've lost my status.  The Wabash mailing that came a couple of days ago was addressed to Dave.  They don't seem to even care that he's a Kansas University alumni.

Testosterone has won out again.


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Trees vs. Grass

I once had an environmentalist friend who used to say - Grass is the rich man's ground cover.

As you know, we live in a condo. This condo community was started in the 1970s in the middle of a Live Oak forest.  The developers left as many Live Oaks as possible.  In addition we have loads of other trees, shrubs and flowers.  Quite a nice park like atmosphere.

When folks first move here -and I'll have to say this applies mostly to older folks and transplanted northerners - they tend to complain about the leaves and the lack of grass in some areas.

The grass won't grow.  The yard guys blow the leaves into our personal flowerbeds (which we're not supposed to have) etc., etc.


This morning we saw a nice neighbor at the farmer's market.  He was complaining about the leaves. When we got home our next door neighbor was blowing the leaves off his car - and complaining.

Three basic truths are being dealt with here.  First, you can't have Live Oaks and golf course worthy lawns.  They don't coexist.  Second, the leaves fall constantly, 24 hours a day, seven days a week.  And, third, we live in a condo community.  You can't make your own rules.

 Condo boards are notorious for making all the rules.  We can't chop down the trees, climb up on the roof to blow the leaves or plant grass seed in common areas.

And isn't that a blessing?

The photo above is of our front yard.  Actually, it's a common area with 16 majestic Live Oaks.  Those are my flowers but they're in pots.  In case somebody complains I'll take them inside.

When I've had a choice, even prior to moving to a condo, I've always preferred trees to grass.


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