Every morning it was the same thing.

Stanley and Eugene headed for their daily collision…. neither one willing to give way.  Yes, today was no different from the rest.   They would surely cannon in to one another….. yet again.

For the past 28 years, six days a week, they met at the same corner of Broad and East Bay Streets.  Yes, every morning at exactly 7:43,  the impact occurred.  It was no longer an accident waiting to happen, but clearly a planned event, and a dag-nabbing waste of steaming hot coffee.  Not to mention the dry cleaning bills that would ensue.  And the embarrassing coffee stain, in the lap of their pants, each and every work day.  Besides all of that, it hurt like holy heck.

It made no difference.  They stayed on their respective paths of destruction… set in their ways, unable to yield.

Over and over, they seemed to take pride in the fact that they coined the phrase… “So we meet again.”

“The only reason for time is so that everything doesn’t happen at once.”
– Albert Einstein

Well, that’s a good thing, I’ll tell you.  Because on your birthday, all sorts of things happen.  If it all converged at once… holy smacker-ollies….

There were gargantuan biscuits, sock monkey games and puzzles, a surprise fly-in visitor from the North (and we are NOT talking Sarah Palin, or Santa Claus…), the best dang Flounder I’ve ever eaten, and a birthday cake and candle… without the cake.  It was a…..Dog-walking, honeysuckle-sniffing,  movie-watching, sun-shining,  kind of day.  And of course, a Royal-pain-in-the-butt Wedding….

I’m another year older.  Another year wiser?  Well, I wouldn’t go THAT far….. but I’m older.  Count on it.   Einstein was a good counter.  Good at math too.  I like that guy.

Which reminds me, of another thing…when it comes to counting years……

There are three kinds of people in this world:  Those who are good at math, and those who aren’t.

😀  Thanks for all the well wishes today.  You all are great pals.  I can count on that too…..

I’m not even going to mention a certain wedding.  I am SO sick of hearing about the whole fiasco… I can’t believe I even mentioned the word today.  So never mind that.  Put it out of your head…… instead, think about this big cha-chinking  deal.  If there’s no place to park out front of the cathedral, will the gilded carriage have to find a meter?

The parking meter was invented in 1935 by Carl C. Magee  in Oklahoma City, OK.  The first working model went on public display on this date, in 1935, inspiring immediate debate over the pros and cons of coin-regulated parking.   It was a heated, heated, heated topic, I’ll tell you.  Punches were thrown.  Hair was pulled.  There was name-calling.  The first meter wasn’t installed until July 16, as a result.  The brainiac was a guy named Carlton Cole “Carl” Magee.  He was, of all things….. an American lawyer, and a publisher.

By the time Magee went to Oklahoma City to start a newspaper, the Oklahoma News, his new hometown shared a common problem with many of America’s urban areas — a lack of sufficient parking space.  You see, there was a rapidly increasingly number of automobiles crowding into the downtown business district each day.  Not only in OK City, but….. as mentioned….. all freakin’ over the place.   Asked to find a solution to the problem, Magee came up with the Park-o-Meter.   Ta-Da.  Pretty smack dabbin’ really.  Put a coin in to park HERE, otherwise, be on your merry way.  Don’t do it and you get a tickey-tickey.

Inventions go like that.   A need and demand forces a solution.

It brings about change……….

Arrrrrrgggghhhhhhhhhhhhh.  Again, WHAT is wrong with me?  WHAT?

Oh, how I loved Kindergarten.  From my writings here, I’ve come to find out that many people did not “have” Kindergarten when they were small.  I am sorry for that sad, sad, fact about your 5th or 6th year here on this planet.   From German to English, it literally means Children’s Garden….  what could be snap-happier than that?

There was a little boy in my class…. Tommy Trick.  I thought Tommy was as cute as could be.  He had really long eyelashes and he didn’t know bunny-ear over bunny-ear….  so I often got the high-sign to help him tie his shoes.  He smelled good and always had squeaky-clean matching clothes.  I wonder what ever happened to Tommy and his impeccable style….

My Kindergarten teacher was Mrs. Eckert.  She was the most wonderful lady.  As sweet and gentle as dew drops on the morning grass, I’ll tell you.  She was very soft spoken and moved about the classroom with purpose.  She smelled good too. Like cookies.  I was fond of Mrs. Eckert…  I wonder what ever became of her.  My guess is, by now, she has passed.  She seemed really, really old when I had her for a teacher…. she was probably 38, or something….

Then there was nap time.  I think I loved it, most of all.  We had to bring in beach towels.  When it was time to nap, Mrs. Eckert would pull down all the shades in the classroom.  We’d roll out our little towels on the floor and had to be still and quiet.  I think I fell asleep more often than not.  At the end of the nap, one person would come around and tap our shoulders to rouse us.  This person was the Waking Prince (or Princess).  After we woke and rolled up our mats, we’d each get a cookie.  Again, one person got to hand them out….. the Cookie Fairy.  I liked being the Waking Princess and the Cookie Fairy.

We had other little treats throughout the half-day.  It seems like there were always fresh cut flowers in the classroom….. seems like it.   There was Story time.  Drawing.  Games.  I’m telling you, this should have carried over to other grades…. like all the way through college if you ask me.

The world might be a nice place if we took naps, and ate cookies right after.  And helped each other with bunny ear over bunny ear….

Hubert didn’t realize the importance of being ernest.  The joke he had played on Simon was all in good fun, he thought.  Filling Simon’s Lube Can with Olive Oil was supposed to be a harmless piece of mischief.

But now it seems that Simon had an insatiable appetite for Sugo alla Bolognese with Fettucini.  He wanted to change his name to Simone’, for crying out loud.  The little robot even went out and bought a black beret, and a red and white striped shirt.  Horizontal stripes.

Hubert felt just awful.  Try as he may, he couldn’t figure out how to make this up to his little buddy Simon.

Simon just keeps saying, “Ciao, Ciao.  Ciao, Ciao.” over and over again….

Oh, what a tangled web we weave…..when first we practice to deceive…..

There’s an awful lot to be said for a good cliche’….  in a pinch…. they always come through.

Make no bones about it.  I normally keep my nose to the grindstone.   But cliche’s can make you as happy as a clam.

Yes, it is probably because every dog has his day.  But there could be a change of heart.   To make a long story short….
if you feel you are at wit’s end, get a hold of yourself. You don’t want to lose your marbles. Otherwise, you may find you are between a rock and a hard place.

As they say… the wheel is turning but the hamster is dead.

But don’t be as thick as a brick. We all know….there’s more than one way to kill a cat than to drown it in cream.

Oh…. what do I know. Foolish me.
I’ve always got my head in the clouds…..

“But the fool on the hill,
Sees the sun going down,
And the eyes in his head,
See the world spinning ’round.

Well on the way,
Head in a cloud,
The man of a thousand voices talking perfectly loud
But nobody ever hears him,
or the sound he appears to make,
and he never seems to notice…

But the fool on the hill……”

-Beatles

Today is Shirley MacLaine’s Birthday.  She’s 77. (1934)  But is she really?  She believes in reincarnation.  If fact, I think she’s talked about several of her past lives in some of her books.  I’ve seen her on TV, over the years, talking about some of those lives.  So, I guess this birthday is for her current body.  But does she keep the same birth date… that is… April 24th… from life to life?  I wonder about these things.

If this is so…. she could be  St. Vincent De Paul (1581) or Robert Bailey Thomas (1766), the publisher of the Old Farmer’s Almanac.  Or really, a myriad of others.  She says that three quarters of the Earth’s people believe they have lived before and will live again……thereby enabling their Soul’s journey a continuous learning experience.  I think it is mostly a belief in Hinduism, Buddhism, and  Taoism.  It is a very interesting postulation.

All of this may totally explain Deja Vu.

She can’t be Barbra Streisand (1942).  Not Kelly Clarkson either (1982).  Both still alive.  But back to how it all works.

Today I had a ham sandwich with mustard on it.  I swear I had tasted that same exact mustard before………………
.
.
Dijon Vu.

“In your Easter Bonnet, with all the Frills upon it……”

Now there’s a good movie for you.  The Easter Parade.  Judy Garland.  Fred Astaire. Dancing. Love.  (HUGE Spoiler………….. Happiness Abounding in the End. )

But wait…. there’s more…….  The Easter Parade is quite the American Cultural Event.  Mostly associated with the BIG affair in NYC…. it started in the late 1800s.  By 1947 it had over one million participants.  Honest to Solid Chocolate Bunnies, I’m telling the truth.  These days, it isn’t quite as popular.  But the parades still abound all over the country.  In fact, we have us one, right here, in little ol’ Charleston, South Carolina.  Spiffers, I’ll tell you.  Spiffers.   I tried to enter this year.  I showed up early….. in my sock monkey hat, t-shirt, shorts, and flip flops.  Ready to go, because Heaven knows…. I LOVE a PARADE.

Very few words to describe it, but I’ll try.  Banned.  Shunned.  Rejected.  Ejected.  Not up to Bonnet-Snuff.  When it comes right down to the bottom of the Easter Basket…..I think I needed more Frills Upon IT.

I went home and colored eggs.  Thinking back…. I probably should have worn my Bunny Hat.  The one with the big pink floppy ears.     Next Year!

Easter Parade

by Irving Berlin

Never saw you look quite so pretty before
Never saw you dressed quite so lovely what’s more
I could hardly wait to keep our date this lovely Easter morning
And my heart beat fast as I came through the door

In your Easter bonnet, with all the frills upon it
You’ll be the grandest lady in the Easter parade

I’ll be all in clover and when they look you over
I’ll be the proudest fellow in the Easter parade

On the Avenue
Fifth Avenue
The photographers will snap us
And you’ll find that you’re
In the rotogravure

Oh, I could write a sonnet about your Easter bonnet
And of the girl I’m taking to the Easter parade

A Dog Tale:  Frances at work… or more like…. play.

Well, you all surely know how much I love my dogs. They are always doing things that warm my heart, or make me laugh, or just make me glad to be in their company.

So, tonight, a dog story…. a true one… that happened today.

We recently had some sod put down in our yard. Since the greenishness occurred, we’ve had a little bit of a squirrel party going on back there. It’s nuts.   This morning I looked out and there were five… all just sorta’ standing around the water cooler, drinking squirrel coffee and snacking on sticky pastries…. sorta’. At any rate, they were back there.

A little later, Frances went outside. She LIVES to chase a squirrel.  Any squirrel.   Honestly, it is one of her biggest joys in dog life… stalking Skippy and his pals. Well, she was out in the yard for a pretty long time this morning and I popped out on the back porch to observe her activities.   I inquired:   “France, what are you doing girl?”

She whips around, looks right at me, and spits a big nut out of her mouth. It looked like some kind of walnut… with the green covering still on it. Then, she almost flashed a doggy grin my way. I swear it looked like she was smirking.

So here’s my guess. She flounced at one of those squirrels…. scared the bejeezus right out of it, and that nut right out of its mouth. Skippy made a successful getaway up the trunk of a Palmetto tree…. but Frances recovered the nut. THEN, she taunted the squirrel for the rest of the morning. Carrying that nut around in her mouth, spitting it out just far enough to tease the squirrel…. even tempt it….

…. and that was her game.  Another day at the office for my little trickster…..  such a great girl.

I went to Joke Writing School when I was in my 20s. I think it was a bit of a scam.  Our instructor was a real clown. We paid a lot in tuition. And the book fees… were huge.  My favorite textbook was “Blonde Joke Essentials:  The Theory, Practice, and Origins of Ditz Humor.”   At any rate, I don’t think they did such a great job of developing our wit.  On the upswing:  I did get a free whoopie cushion at graduation. And one of those nifty little buzzers that you wear on the inside of your hand…..

Some of my failed attempts at Joke Writing 101. (Don’t laugh…. although, I don’t see that as being a problem.)

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Three blind mice walk into a pub. They are all unaware of their surroundings, so to derive humor from it would be exploitative.

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What’s brown and sticky? A stick.

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An Irishman walks out of a bar.

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Knock knock.

Who’s there?

To.

To who?

To whom.

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A man walks into a bar. Except it was a metal bar, like a pole. So he got hurt.

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A visibly exhausted and distressed man walks into a bar and orders a strong drink.

“Long day?” the bartender asks.

“No, all days are 24 hours long” the man replies, amazed at how uneducated the bartender is.

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While riding down a busy street, a Jew gets a flat tire on his bike.   What does he do?
He fixes the tire.

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The Republican Party many nominate Donald Trump for their Presidential Candidate. Sarah Palin is pissed.

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