My 1957 survival kit

It sure was the best of times.

Ahhh!! The bittersweet passage of time.

Recently my sister notified me that the house I grew up in had been sold. It had been the family home for over 50 years. She said she had found some interesting stuff in the attic, basement, and storage shed. She had also found a trunk in what used to be my bedroom.

I had forgotten about the junk trunk. My mother had saved some mementos of my youth and I had thrown some stuff in there myself.

Could my long lost baseball card collection from my youth be in that chest? I will tell my sister to send it to me, all of it.

I waited with great anticipation for the arrival of the goodies.

My New York Yankees cards, my Mickey Mantle baseball cards were probably on their way back to me. Dollar signs danced in my head. Mickey Mantle rookie cards. It would be a financial bonanza. Our family "Ponderosa" had been sold.

The package had finally arrived and it did have plenty of stuff from the 50's. My Mickey Mantle road to riches bonanza was not in the package.

I had some baseball cards. I had Ray Jablonski, Rip Repulski, Ted Kluszuski, Moe Drabowski, and Bill Mazerowski. Nobody named Yogi, Mickey, Casey, Babe, or Honus. No "Stosh" either.

Apparently I was putting together a polish baseball team.

I am a record keeper so I got out my pen and paper and itemized my find.

I had some newspapers. The Albany Times-Union. Hmmm! What happen in 1957 in Albany and the World.

• Francois "Poppa Doc" Duvalier became dictator of Haiti. That name seems to ring a bell. He sees no reason why Haiti can not be a vibrant and lively country.
• Hamilton watch company introduces the first electric watch. The watch cost only $29, but the cord cost $142 and it was unruly.
• A kid named Elvis Presley appeared on the "Ed Sullivan Show". A really big shoo that night. The kid is a flash in the pan. He won't last critics are reporting. Religious groups are calling him a messenger of the devil.
• Wham-O toy company came out with a plastic disc called a "Frisbee" named after the aluminum pie plate from the Frisbee Pie Company of Bridgeport, Ct.
• The Brooklyn Dodgers are moving west next year. Baseball starts playing musical chairs. Giant's are moving to San Fransisco. Yankees stay in New York.
• July 6, 1957* Paul McCartney and John Lennon meet for the first time.
• Leave it to Beaver premieres on TV. These stories are about a sulky youth named Beaver Cleaver, making the Nelson family seem like saints. Beaver was always in trouble of some sort. Ricky Nelson, on the other hand, always had a gig and appeared be the bread winner in the family. His father, Ozzie, seemed to be unemployed. He just would walk into the closet and stay there awhile. He would wander into the kitchen and ask Harriet a stupid question, laugh at his own folly then head next door to see "Thorny". It seems to me like he should be filling out applications or making some phone calls. Find a job, Oz!!!

• Vanna White is born in North Myrtle Beach, SC. Her parents go to store and buy her a vowel.
• I look at the comic strips. We have Dick Tracy. I tried to read that comic strip but it was just too crazy. A two way wrist radio? Come on, get real, not going to happen. A fantasy world. I must enjoy comics that are much more realistic, so I read "Henry", which is about a bald-headed kid. His head is large compared to his body. Bigger Brain? Nope!!! I also read Nancy and Sluggo, Little Lulu, Buzz Sawyer and Ozark Ike. Ozark Ike was about a slow witted but talented athlete. I could relate to him.
• On TV during this era was programs like Dragnet, where Jack Webb could showcase his acting ability. I never knew that "just the facts, ma'am" could be said so many different ways.
• Steve Allen does his last "Tonight Show". He is replaced by Jack Lescoulie. Jack Lescoulie!!!!...????..really? Wow!!! Roy Rogers goes off the air after he accidentally runs over his dog, Bullet. The dog recovers, the program doesn't.
• Gas cost 24 cents a gallon, eggs are 28 cents a dozen.

Moving on, I go to the sports page and I see that our local catholic schools had a baseball game.

Final Score: Our Lady of Perpetual Persnicketiness: 2, Our Mother of Perpetual Motion: 0.

Rumors abound. Monsignor O'Malley got in a fist fight with the umpire. His star pitcher, Mary Margaret McManus was a girl. A rather boyish girl who threw a Brylcream ball which is very much like a spit ball or a wildroot cream oil ball. Illegal.

I notice my secret stash of Annette Funicello pictures. She is in a provocative pose. She is wearing funny ears and is developing. She is a babe.

Hmmm! I have found my high school notebook. It has the initials MM written everywhere. Melita Mongooze, my big crush from 3rd grade to 10th grade. I always tried to get a desk very close to her, but not in front of her. I always wanted a good view of Melita. I just figured early on that if I was in close proximity to her that she would eventually notice me and then turn to me and ask, "Would you like to have sex with me?" I thought this could happen until 10th grade. Then one day a Senior walked up to her and queried, "Would you like to have sex with me?" and off she went as my world disintegrated like a sandcastle at high tide. 7 or 8 years of planning down the drain. Since that day I have never had long range goals. It just doesn't pay.

Hey, there is my report card. Hmmm! I had better burn this before my wife gets her hand on it. I did get an "A" in Physical Education, I might add.

What is that? Oh....Ok...I have sketched out some plans for building a fallout shelter. Yes, that was a brilliant idea. After the bomb falls you sit in your shelter for 6 months. Then you run out of food and water. Then you go outside, your head swells up, your hair falls out, you end up looking like a comic book character that I seem to remember, then you mutate and die.

Yes, it was the best of times. no worries. I have this little story in my head. Everything was just wonderful.

I wonder what ever happened to Melita Mongooze? It's all coming back to me now. I think she ruined my life. I wonder if it is too late to ruin hers? I haven't been right since 10th grade. That's a long time.

My head now feels like Henry's head.

I can't look at this stuff any more. Very painful. (sniff!...sniff)

Burn it.

The writers (bloggers) block

Writer's corner.....30 seconds after I stood up.

This has been a busy Christmas season for the little French lady and me. She takes a two week vacation during this time of year. We do things that will entertain both of us during the holidays.

I have been doing a little bit of geocaching in the previous months. At first, I didn't think she was interested. I was wrong. She had been sneaking a peak at my preparations for my adventure. One day she decided to follow.

Hmmm! I will bring her into the woods, walk her through mud, make her slither on the ground like a slug, I will make sure it is hell for her.

Well....That's not exactly what happened. We arrived near the geocache location and entered "the jungle" I had chosen. I had my little GPS in hand.

My wife said "Where are we going? How far is it? Let me see that GPS." That was the last time I touched the GPS that day.

I was looking under termite infested tree trunks, climbing trees, moving rocks that weigh more than I do, kneeling in drainage ditches, poking at animal scatology, rolling in ant hills and walking through a leaking cesspool. It was hell for me.

My wife loved it. She purchased her own GPS the next day. I am the official crawler of the team. My wife will touch no geocache that requires that her knees touch the ground.

During this vacation we have discovered 36 caches within 4 miles of our house. It kept us busy. There was not much time for writing a blog.

When we weren't geocaching we were playing Qwirkle. This is a simple game for anyone but to be good at it takes concentration. If your mind wanders, you're beat.

My wife beat me 10 times in a row. My mind tends to wan....what was I talking about?

I think I have DAD (deficit attention disorder). I may be dyslexic also. As I like to say, "Dyslexic untie" , our battle cry. This has also blocked me from writing my blog.

The biggest obstacle to writing my blog is losing my creative writing nook. That would be my Milan Puff chair w/Ottoman. I am not quite sure which day I lost it, but it's gone.

Wilson and I had a tacit agreement that the chair would be exclusively mine but he could use the ottoman at any time.

He respected this agreement for many months. Then, one morning he breached the contract. I removed him from my chair and put him on the ottoman. He kept going back to the chair. Before going to bed, I would put the ottoman on the chair. This prevented him from using the chair while we were sleeping.

One morning I came downstairs for breakfast. I looked in the chair. He was scrunched up in the chair behind the ottoman. He had the look of defiance, the attitude of Houdini after a miraculous escape. His demeanor said it all, like "nice try, Bucko!!!"

I had seen that cattitude many times.

well, I guess I am going to have to share.

Didn't happen!!!

If I get to the chair first and I am blogging on my laptop, he gets on the side of the chair, pushes his head under the laptop and lifts and he keeps lifting until I dispose of the laptop.

If he sees me walking toward the chair, he will run to chair and hop in it and glare at me.

If I stand up to look out the window, which only takes 5 seconds, when I turn to sit down again, he is in my spot in the chair.

I think it's Wilson's favorite game.

One day I whined to my wife, "He is ruining my creative flow. He has taken over my chair, he has ruined my life. I am done as a writer, a blogger. I am sure Hemingway didn't have to put up with this problem."

My wife started laughing.

" Now your comparing yourself to Hemingway? If you're Hemingway, I'm Bill Gates.

Do You mean Ralph Hemingway? Incidentally, Ernest was a big fan of cats and he probably did have this problem. Stop your whining. Fight for your chair. Work it out among yourselves."

We did.

After much bickering, threats and cajoling we came to some sort of agreement.

As I write this from the kitchen table Wilson sits in my? chair. I am blocked from my writer's nook.

Writer's block indeed!!!!

Where did all my friends go? To the farm?

Could you run that by me again?

I have been invited once again to become a farmer on Facebook. Which brings me to the question: Why am I on Facebook and where is Farmville? I don't want to help you with your crops. Leave me alone.

I may join Farmville just so I can let loose a plague of locust followed by an invasion by an army of ants. Is that a possible option?

Why Facebook at all? Some people just have too much free time. They tell you more than you really need to know. I didn't know my Uncle Percy had thirteen bowel movements in an eight hour period. Wow! This is special.

I don't have many Facebook friends. Eighteen, I believe. My wife and I communicate regularly on Facebook. She is one of my friends.

My friend Matt has about eight hundred Facebook friends. I don't even know that many people. Wow! That is a lot of stamps for Christmas cards.

I don't know why Matt has so many friends. He doesn't even have a Farmville farm.

Perhaps it is because he is a tall, tanned, intelligent MB lifeguard who smiles a lot. My wife says he is kinda good looking also. That can't hurt.

There are some causes or clubs on Facebook that I might be interested in. Here's a list of a few that others might be interested in joining.

• Squirrels against frozen nuts.
• Reefer sadness. (Glaucoma sufferers of South Carolina)
• Bad Yearbook pictures. (That is a blog in itself.)
• 101 uses for a human carcass.

Well, at least it's not My Space. My Space is really lovely if you're a 9 year old rap singer.

I've taken steps to clean up my email. This has been a thorny issue for quite a while.

I blocked certain emails. I set up rules. I explained to my friends about viruses. It will block any email that is a forward: I will miss my relatives and friends. I told them that a forward is like having sex with everyone on the list. Some of the guys wanted to know where they could sign up.

A couple said they had herpes so they didn't care. One girl sprayed her computer with Lysol after I told her.

Ah well, I tried. Sadly I haven't gotten an email in three weeks. Not even from Barrister Michael Okubu in Nigeria. He is handling my Nigerian financial affairs.

I expect to come into some money very soon. I hope I live long enough to spend it.

One of my recent emails told me to forward it to twenty four of my closest friends or my teeth would fall out and I would die on January first of next year.

Nice friend!!!

I lost all my friends now that I made some rules. I checked my spam folder, and there seem to be a lot of people who want to be my friends and help me with certain issues. There are so many to choose from, really. Should I go for the breast enlargment or the dates with Russian girls? My wife keeps receiving offers to enlarge her penis.

Oh wait, I can get a free credit score for $29.95.

I guess I can delete a few things.

Apple wants to know if I want to buy an Ipad. (too late) delete.

Amazon wants to know if I want a kindle. Nope! see above. delete.

Amazon wants to know if I want twenty other things. They are making suggestions. delete, delete, delete.

Classmates is offering a premium membership. Already happened. (note to myself.. why am I a member of classmates? Oh, it is called social networking.) delete.

Apple wants to know if I wish to keep my membership for mobileme. Right! basically $99 for email and 5 other things I don't use. delete

Reader's Digest wants me to subscribe to their booklet. I am already subscribed up to the year 2034. Do I want to subscribe to a magazine that is now officially crap and is 50% advertisement? delete

Wow!!! My inbox is totally empty.

I think I will go get the mail....

I'm back.

Let's see what we have today. It is getting close to Christmas. Let's shuffle through all the nice Christmas cards we received:

• the Honda dealership in Vermont wishes us a Merry Christmas and tells us our maintenaince is due. We sold the Honda 6 months ago
• some company in Florida is informing us that it is our last chance to renew our Kia maintenance service contract. We sold that car three years ago
• Bank of America wants to sell us some life insurance
• Visa is telling us what a great deal they have for a credit card

Mastercard is telling me how lucky I am because they raised my credit line by a few grands

I will pin these on the fireplace. I feel so into the season now.

That is my mail for today.

Back to my computer. Oh, some one nudged me on Facebook. It was my wife.

My wife suggested that if I wanted to have her as a Facebook friend I should empty my trash folder or (and I quote) " I will kick your butt so hard and so long that it will end up in Russia and will be so large you will go to a plastic surgeon for a butt reshaping and reduction."

I believe I will keep her as a Facebook friend. Perhaps we can have a little farm together.

Is that any way to treat a hero?

ESSENTIALLY OILED

It all started innocently enough. In fact, I kinda looked upon myself as a hero. Heroes need to be rewarded but that's not what happened.

My wife and I are people who like our home to smell nice. We have many things that have a wonderful aroma. We have numerous essential oils, scented candles, a variety of incense sticks and numerous diffusers. We have something aromatic in every room. We don't count the utility room where Wilson has his litter box.

One day I turned on one of the candle wax warmers, put some oil in it and let it do its job. When I went to turn it off, it gave me a wonderful light show, it started sparking and smoke was coming from the switch. I crawled under the dresser the best I could and I pulled the plug.(I am now a hero. I saved our house, perhaps the whole street, perhaps the whole north end.)

That warmer was finished. Some parts were salvageable such as the glass area where the wax sits in while it is heating up. I didn't throw that away. I will clean it up.

This morning I decided to clean it up. That is when things started getting a little strange. I cleaned off the wax and the essential oil. The essential oil was called "Pussy".

It was recommended by our friend Samantha who has a large booth at the flea market. She had hundreds of different essences to choose from and she said this one was currently a hot seller and it had a nice aroma. We had purchased a few other oils there such as Egyptian Musk, French Lavender, Patchouli, and several others.

Some of the other oils had strange or provocative names. We all had a few good laugh about the one we had just purchased. None of us were prudish about it.

So...while I am cleaning up the essential oil of the day, the doorbell rings. It's my neighbor, Prudence Goodbody, neighborhood snoop and troublemaker.

I open the door and invite her in. What trouble can I get into? My wife is upstairs working.

"Hi, remember me? I'm Prudence....your neighbor? I live a few houses away. Listen, I have this petition for you to sign. It's about our other neighbor's dog. There is dog poop all over the place. I told him we are getting up a petition to get this resolved by County animal control."

Note: This is a strict area for curbing your dog. The city doesn't like dog poop all over the place, especially this close to the beach.

"I'll sign, but I have already resolved it in my own mind. I'm going to scoop up the poop, put it in a bag, put it on his doorstep and set it on fire." I stated proudly.

While I was signing the petition she said, "It smells wonderful in here, certainly better than it does outdoors. What is that aroma?"

In a moment of madness or truthful folly, I am not sure which, I said, "Pussy."

which it was!!!!!

A long silence, then,..... "EXCUSE ME!!!!

Oops!...try to save yourself, son!...try to save yourself.

"Pussy you said?"

"Ummm!..yeah...they were selling it at the flea market. " (somehow I don't think that is exactly what I wanted to say.)

"What!!!!!!!"

Maybe I can still salvage this. "Samantha sells a lot of it, she has a booth."

Nope! Do not resuscitate. no salvage possibilities. This would not be a good time to invite her to the donkey barbecue.

Just go with the flow.

"They're selling it openly in a public place? Oh....my...god!!!!"

"Yes...Yes, a lot of it. People are even asking for "Sex on the Beach" and a lot of other stuff too." I asked her if she would like some.

She slapped me and then fainted. I revived her by throwing a glass of water on her face. I had seen it done in the movies many times. She got to her feet, slapped my face again. Then she called me a perverted pig. She ran away screaming for the police.

When the police arrived, I explained the situation. She over reacted to the name of some of the essential oils. Did I mention that to Prudence? That the aroma was essential oils?..I thought I did. Perhaps I got caught up in the moment.

The police are going to explain that I really didn't want to have "Sex on the Beach" with her......eventually. For now I will just be a hero in my own mind.

sniff! sniff!! It sure does smell purdy in here!!!!!

What is that scent? It's...either Patchouli, sandalwood or.....Is that the doorbell ringing again?

Merry Christmas

Merry Christmas Everyone!

Well, My wife is watching her 14th straight Christmas movie, the fake fire is going in the fireplace,  I am listening to the "Phil Spector Christmas album".   I am sure I am enjoying it more than Phil this year.  I am listening to Darlene Love sing "Marshmallow World". They sure don't write Christmas songs like that anymore.  Perhaps we could get a petition together to make sure he doesn't get out of prison and write more songs like that. Whew!

Perhaps when it gets a little closer to Christmas I will bring out the big guns in Christmas music.  Maybe I can get Mariah Carey to screech out something Christmasy.  Then my wife will want to listen to Perry Como, Bing Crosby and maybe some French Canadian guy.

I will have to stuff some goodies in his little sock over the fireplace for our boy "Wilson".
He is tough to get to bed on Christmas Eve and an hour after we go to bed, he is on the bed, nudging, head butting, walking on my head, knocking stuff on the floor. He is trying to get us up.
He's hungry.  This has nothing to do with Christmas.  He just gets a little confused.  He is not as young as he used to be.  Who is?  I am an hour older than I was an hour ago.  That's kinda like saying; No matter where I go, there I am.
But I digress.
I Would like to wish all the people who inspired me to have fun with my blog.
First in line will be the little French lady, Chantal.  She encourages me, she would proofread my stuff when I first started out.  She also does some strange things, just like me. I write about them sometimes.
I like it when I write something and I get feedback and sometimes ideas.  For this I thank Bev the bitter hack, Guvanator Jensconsin, Indigo the winelush, Kwizgiver the(fill in the blank), L'empress, Rachael the thesis writer and many other.

There are others I haven't heard from in a while and I wonder how they are doing, like Becca, Judy P in Elliot Lake, Mamakerr in UK, Jo in UK. Larry, Where did you go? Kolliope, where are you? Sunny?
There are others I wonder about.  Well, I wish everybody happiness.  I will try to make you smile. FROM: Wilson, The funny French Lady and the squirrelly one. (me)

An appropriate gift to you all from a squirrel.  "Nuts to You!!!!"
Hmmm! somehow that didn't come out right.

How to be an annoying senior citizen

AND PROACTIVE TOO!!!

It is officially the holiday season. I am at wit's end trying to think of something useful to contribute to society in general.

My experience at the doctor's office a few weeks ago gave me an idea. On the entrance door to the office there is a large sign with large lettering that clearly says "Do not use cell phones in office". I thought that was pretty clear.

Within five minutes of my usual half hour wait somebody is calling or receiving calls on their phone. This is not a huge waiting room. Perhaps it is 12 by 12. But it has about 30 chairs. There are no magazines to speak of. A couple perhaps. I am not really interested in reading "Breastfeeder's Monthly" or the "Knitter's handbook".

I did scan through Breastfeeders Monthly. Mostly looking at pictures. Umm, but I digress.

The point is that it is a very confined space for people. Sick people! I was sick. When there are 6 or 7 people ignoring the sign in the door and start calling all over the world, I start getting annoyed.

My wife was having her yearly physical in about a week. I told her I would go with her.

I told her I would bring my GPS because there was a geocache very close to the doctor's office. I had a plan. Instead of being the "annoyee" I will henceforth be the "annoyer".

Be proactive, I say. It is a senior citizen right....actually it a duty to be annoying.

We get to the office and within 5 minutes someone cellphone rings. I leaped to my feet, grab my GPS (a Garmin, I might add), put it to my ear and said, "Hello, Hemlock here!".....Hello....Helllllooooooo!....Your going to have to speak louder. I can't hear you."

I turn to my wife and say, "wrong number." I sit back down.

A phone rings again.

I jump to my feet. I grab my GPS and say loudly, "Hemlock here!!!! Hello! Hello?....I can't hear you." I turn to my wife, shake my GPS a little and say. " It must be a dead zone in here....Oops, bad choice of words, a very sick zone, for sure." I sit back down.

Now people are looking at me. One woman is biting on her finger nails. Her phone is ringing and she doesn't know what to do. Others are putting their phones on vibrate. The room has a nice hum to it. I am looking wild eyed at my GPS.

The man sitting next to me says, " That's a GPS, Mister. That is not a phone."

I slowly turned to him and said, "I know. Phones aren't allowed in here. It says so..right there on the door. It doesn't say anything about GPS's."

I slowly put my GPS to my ear and say, "call me later."

After that everything went just fine at the doctor's office.

I get to my home and someone has let their pony (or St. Bernard) loose in the common area again. Their is nothing quite like the scent of dog feces or pony feces on your sneaker soles. Everyone knows how smooth sneaker soles are. I clean it up the poop, put it in a bag and start walking it towards the dumpster... yet again.

Wait a minute.....proactive. I get a nice bag. Something Christmasy.

I write the guilty party a note:

Dear Sir,

I noticed that your pony or St. Bernard has left us another gift in front of our "curb your dog" sign. I suspect you are doing this because you heard that in Ireland they have used cow chips as fuel. How very thoughtful.

I must tell you; I do not use the fireplace and I will not use your gift to barbecue and that is not cow chips. I have also gotten away from my Irish heritage So I rewrapped it and regifted it for you. I left you a book of matches so you could get it cooking in your fireplace.

Happy Holiday

Your neighbor.

I will be more proactive the next time. That is the key. It is the season. Give...don't take.

I can sleep tonight knowing I have done something for humanity.

Truffles, Trifles and Truth

Recently, a series of events has occurred that has profoundly affected my normal day to day life. Since this all happened in a period of two weeks, it took over my life.

First, I put off getting my flu shot. This gave me plenty of "down" time. I caught the flu.

The thing about the flu is; at first you are afraid you are going to die, after a couple days of it, you are afraid your not going to die.

The second week of the flu is not so bad. You have adjusted your life to being waited on for your every need. The fact is, you start to expect it.

The second event happen when I was lying on the couch with my laptop and my favorite blanket. (The faux fur throw). I had a message from someone on "Classmates" who remembered me from high school. I remembered this lady that we will call "Betty" since that was her name. She was a studious girl who wore the hoop skirts w/poodle and the frilly blouses. She was a very quiet girl and did not seem to be part of any clique.

The third event occurred while I was reading Ann Rule's book, "Heart Full of Lies."

It was about this woman who had numerous talents but her best talent seemed to be deceiving people. If she told her friends that she could fly, they would believe her. They would just take her word for it.

This got me thinking.

The fourth event was when I got a notification by email that my blog had been picked as a "Top Blog Award", which is pretty nifty. I actually got a gift certificate with it. I guess that makes me a "Professional" now.

The convergence of these events at the intersection of Happy Highway and Arrogance Avenue sent my down a strange and winding road until I got to that Cul de sac known as reality.

As I started to feel better I decided I would answer "Betty" using what I had learned about life in the last couple weeks.

The letter went something like this:

Hello Betty,

It was good to hear from you. (I barely remember you)

Much has changed in my life.

(Yeah, I got a lot older over the last fifty years.)

After graduation from high school I went to Connecticut and entered Yale.

(Every day I worked in the university billing department for 14 years, but you don't have to know that.)

After I left Yale, I headed to Germany, a lovely country.

(yes, The base the Army sent me wasn't all the gorgeous, I might add.) When I came back to the states, I came into some money.

(I won my lawsuit).

In recent years I have been writing, mostly fiction.

(In fact, this very minute I am writing fiction)

I am also an award winning writer.

(I have the $20 gift certificate to prove it.)

I have been interrupted, Betty. My manservant, Parker, has asked me if you iron the back of american money first, or the front. We don't want to burn Salmon P. Chase's whiskers, so I told him to google it.

(Hah!....should I mention my Red Mercedes convertible?...Naw. I don't want to be pretentious).

I have to go now, Betty. So cherish this because you will never hear from me again.

(I think she will buy into this!!!!)

Since I sent this to Betty, I have been a difficult person. I started to believe it myself.

The other day at the hardware I asked the clerk if she knew who I was? At that very moment my wife gave me a dirty look and a shot to the ribs with her elbow.

The clerk said, " You're the man with the broken ribs."

The other afternoon at a local restaurant I demanded truffles from France. The waitperson said they cost about $1500 a pound. "That's expensive chocolate." I said.

French Truffles are not chocolate, I was told. It is a fungus that certain pigs can smell.

Wow! A few years back I paid that much to get rid of a fungus. I cancelled my truffles order. I settled for a twinkie.

Well, fame is fleeting. This morning life was back to normal. me too! The first thing I did....which will ground you pretty quickly is...to clean up some type of feces on the common area front lawn. Everybody in the area was just kind of staring at it. almost everyone has pets but they are all very small. This thing was huge. We took a vote.

Everyone finally agreed with me. It had to be a pony or a Saint Bernard that did it.

Funny thing is no one saw either a pony or a Saint Bernard in the area.

Oh! Wait a minute. Fame may not be fleeting. The phone is ringing. It may be my publisher....Do I have a publisher?