Musings #301 4/5/2016

Sometimes, the bad things that happen in our lives put us directly on the path to the best things that will ever happen to us.

Drivel Over Coffee, the blog; memories, musings and what the… infused with the earthy aroma of French Roast Coffee. Welcome everyone. Today we are starting our second 300 blogs. Seems like only 20 years ago that I started this thing. Actually, I started it in 2010. A lot of words have come tumbling out of these fingers during that time. Sometimes the words even made some sense but more often than not it was just Drivel.

Musings – So let me get this straight… If you cross the North Korean border illegally, you get 12 year’s hard labor. If you cross the Afghanistan border illegally. You get shot. Two Americans just got eight years for crossing the Iranian border. If you cross the U.S> border illegally you get a job, a driver’s license, food stamps, a place to live, health care, housing & child benefits, education, & a tax free business for 7 years… No wonder we are a country in debt.

There was a man and woman living here on Hysteria Lane who were married for many years. They would often argue. Whenever there was a confrontation, yelling would ensue lasting deep into the night. The old man would shout, “When I die, I will dig my way up and out of the grave. I will come back and haunt you for the rest of your life! Neighbors feared him and the old man liked that fact. Suddenly one evening, he died. He was 98. After the burial, her neighbors, concerned for her safety, asked, “Aren’t you afraid that he may indeed be able to dig his way out of the grave and haunt you for the rest of your life? The newly widowed 97 year-old said, “Let him dig. I had him buried upside down… and I know he won’t ask for directions.

I went to church on Easter with Sue, my current wife, and daughter Debby. Halfway through the service, I leaned over and whispers in Sue’s ear, “I’ve just let out a silent fart. What do you think I should do?” Sue angrily replies, “Put a new battery in your hearing aid.”

Just the other day I had to go to our nearby CVS Pharmacy. When I got there, I went straight to the back of the store where the Pharmacists’ Counter is located. I took out my little brown bottle along with a teaspoon and laid them both onto the counter.

The pharmacist came over, smiled, and asked if he could help me. I said, “Yes! Could you please taste this for me?” Seeing as how I’m a senior citizen… the Pharmacist just went along with me, picked up the spoon, put a tiny bit of the liquid on his tongue and swilled it around. Then with a stomach-churning look on his face he spits it out on the floor and began coughing. When he finally was finished, I looked him right in the eye and asked, “Now, does that taste sweet to you?” The pharmacist, shaking his head back and forth with a venomous look in his eye yelled, “HELL, No!” So I said, “Oh thank God! That’s a real relief! My doctor told me to get a pharmacist to test my urine for sugar!” Well as you might surmise, I can never go back to that CVS, but I really don’t care though, because; they aren’t very friendly there anyway. I’ll just go to Walgreen’s from now on.

Then there was a man who had worked his whole life in a pickle factory. One day he came home and told his wife that it was time to retire because he had been fired from his job. She began to scream and yell, “You have given them twenty years of devoted service. Why did they fire you?” “For twenty years I’ve wanted to stick my pecker in the pickle slicer,” he explained, “and today I finally did it!”

The wife ran over and pulled his pants down to see what damage had been done. “You look okay,” she said with a sigh of relief. “So what happened to the pickle slicer?” “Well,” he said with hesitation, “they fired her, too and she’s going to retire.”

Memories – Surely our tool shed on the farm was unique -. it was “L” shaped. It wasn’t so much a tool shed as it was the personal laboratory for my Grandfather. I grew up on a farm in central Iowa. He lived with us. He was a tinkerer, a practical jokester, agitator and just plain ornery. There was only room for 3 or 4 people at a time if you stood elbow to elbow. His projects were many and varied. He constructed a heater to keep warm in the cold Iowa winters for instance. It worked more or less. That was the usual modus operandi of his projects. He took perfectly fine valuable objects, sprayed them in either gold or silver paint. Instantly, changing the object into a worthless door stop. Such was his talent. Seems his friend, Rube Goldberg, attended the same school. Grandpa, given enough time, pipe, elbows, joints, spray paint could put together a 200 lb. galvanized coat rack. I still have a couple of his gems. One is the old fashioned wall phone circa 1940’s made from black Bakelite material. The other was a metal race car with a gas powered motor in it. Both, somewhat valuable had they not been painted silver. It was a Grandpa thing which I understand now that I am 70 myself.

What the… – Harvard University and MTA receive grant for Dead Crow Research. Researchers for the Massachusetts Turnpike Authority found over 200 dead crows near greater Boston recently, and there was concern that they might have died from Avian Flu. A Bird Pathologist examined the remains of all the crows, and, to everyone’s relief, confirmed the problem was definitely NOT Avian Flu. The cause of death appeared to be vehicular impacts. However, during the detailed analysis it was noted that varying colors of paints appeared on the bird’s beaks and claws. By analyzing these paint residues, it was determined that 98% of the crows had been killed by impact with trucks, while only 2% were killed by an impact with a car. MTA then hired an Ornithological Behaviorist to determine if there was a cause for the disproportionate percentages of truck kills versus car kills. He very quickly concluded the cause” When crows eat road kill, they always have a look out crow in a nearby tree to warn of impending danger. They discovered that while all the lookout crows could shout “Cah”, not a single one could shout “Truck”.

Not everyone who lost his life in Vietnam died there. Not everyone who came home from Vietnam ever left there. If I can make at least one-person smile, or laugh till they leak, then my day was not wasted. Until we meet again -TA!