Humor – Page 3 – 50 Shades of Gray Hair

12 Days of Christmas (2 days late)

(Yes, you have to sing it!)

On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me

A bill that was way oh-ver due

On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me

Two fucking chances

To eh-splain why the bill was oh-ver due

On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me

Three dirty looks

Two fucking chances

To eh-splain why that bill was oh-ver due

On the fourth day of Christmas my true love said to me

“Four bill collectors

Three rotten voice mails

Two fu-cking chances

Now eh-splain about that fri-hi-ggin bill”

On the fifth day of Christmas my true love went to work

Missing fiiiiiiiiiiiiive of his teeeeeeeeeeth

Fo-hor missing buttons

Three rips and tears

Two-hooo franctured toes

And a mouth full of oh-ver due bill

On the sixth day of Christmas my true love asked of me

Please call the dentist

Foooor my mis-sing teeeeeth

“Fo-hor days ago

I lost my mind

Please do not kill me

And from now on you ge-he-het the mail”

On the seventh day of Christmas my true love brought to me

Seven wrapped up presents

Six pounds of chocolate

Fiiiiiiiiiiive din-ner coupons

Fo-hor smelly candles

Three movie tickets

Two-hoo spa-ah days

And a day for our dog at Pup’s R Us

On the eighth day of Christmas my true love asked of me

Please stop obsessing

Let me say “I’m sorry”

We can have a re-do

IIIIIIIIIIIII was a shiiiiit

I promise not to question

What you do or don’t do

Because I don’t know shit

When it comes to making it ah-all work

On the ninth day of Christmas my true love hid from me

Fear of what would happen

D’nial that was his mantra

Refusal to believe that

The fact his Mother was right

His wiiiiiiife wazzzz such a biiiiiiiiiiiitch

Oh-ho-ho who does care

That he had invested

More than you may know

And that his partridge left long-ong-ong-ago

On the tenth day of Christmas my true love said to me

1 thru 9 are awesome

10 thru 12 are missing

This is so distracting

I only wanted quiet

Is that too much to ask for

Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiive Golden Rules

Fo-hor pleading men

Three spanish prayers

Two birds in a bush

And I won’t tell the partridge he is di-hi-hi-in-er

No I won’t tell the bird that he is toast

T’was the Year Before This One

T’was the year before this one, exactly this day

They had dealings with elves Satan had sent their way

Cleverly disguised as movers, those elves

Had completely and thoroughly, distinguished themselves

As minions of evil, true thugs, nincompoops

Whose Coup de Grace was an utter Grace de Poop

Pa on the phone with Satan’s head guy

Ma was outside screaming her battle cry

When all of a sudden, there rose such a clatter

Pa sprung from the house to see what’s the matter

He saw flashes of fire coming out of her eyes

And heard “I. Am. Leaving. Before someone DIES“

Little did she know that was only the beginning

Of the Battle O’ the Bunglers (Satan ended up winning)

But through all the breakage of glass, wood, and legs

They stopped trying to fill their round hole with square pegs

Try though they did, there was no talking to Boss Putz

They had no control over Dumb, Dumber, and Numb NutZ

So they did what they could to get through that last year

Now damn it all, damn it all, there’ll be Christmas this year!

What a difference a year makes!

An Age-Old Question…

For An Old-Age Mind…

What is it about later in life birthdays?

They often find one
sitting alone in a room
4 hours past the witching hour
with naught but
the eerily compelling
softly alluring glow
of artificial light
and mechanical heat
for company?

Whether alone by choice
or by insomnia
is beside the point
it’s the kind of alone
that’s not lonely.

It’s that kind of…

Alone in the dark
snugged in a corner of the couch
covered chin to toes but for the exposed
elbow that bends
the hand that holds
the wine that fuels
the brain to ask

So…

She gives in to the pull
sets down the glass
throws off the throw
unfurls the limbs
settles in front
and kisses the lips
of her secret keeping
story telling
question asking but
answer withholding
companion

Hoping that somewhere
out there

She’s met or
has yet to meet
at least one or
even better
a good number of you
older and wiser
new friends

And may it please you and to
whomever
whatever
wherever
you pray…

Can one of you?
Any of you?
By all that you hold dear?

Please?

Tell me?

Which came first?

The Chicken OR The Fucking EGG?

This, my friends, is what it
looks like
sounds like
feels like
to get old

Sitting alone in the dark, blahddy fucking blah, at what is now 3am, trying to celebrate another year, ONE HELL OF A YEAR AT THAT, of getting fatter, wrinklier, forgettier, and grayer.

I’m up to 54 shades and I haven’t found the answer yet!

Maybe that’s the point…

To keep on looking?

Still…

I Want to know!
I Have to know!
I Need to know!

Boggles the mind….

Troublemaker Tuesday

Oh Sadie, Sadie, Sadie…instigate much?

PONDERING

As I was lying around, pondering the problems of the world…

I realized a few things…

At my age I don’t really give

a rat’s ass anymore.

If walking is good for your health,

the postman would be immortal.

A whale swims all day, mainly eat fish, drinks water,

but is still fat.

A rabbit runs and hops

and only lives 15 years

Meanwhile…

A tortoise doesn’t run, does mostly nothing,

yet lives for 150 years.

Exercise you say?

Pfffft….it’s Nap Time!

♥

Can We Get Married In Heaven?

Was hoping for inspiration to share my first attempt (sad though it is) at catching lightning.
I think I found it… 🙂

On their way to get married, a young Catholic couple is involved in a fatal car accident. The couple find themselves sitting outside the Pearly Gates waiting for St. Peter to process them into Heaven. While waiting, they begin to wonder: Could they possibly get married in Heaven?

**When St. Peter showed up, they asked him. St. Peter said, ‘I don’t know. This is the first time anyone has asked. Let me go find out,’ and he leaves.**

The couple sat and waited, and waited. Two months passed and the couple are still waiting. As they waited, they discussed that if they were allowed to get married in Heaven, what was the eternal aspect of it all. ‘What if it doesn’t work?’ they wondered, ‘Are we stuck together forever?’

After yet another month, St. Peter finally returns, looking somewhat bedraggled. ‘Yes,’ he informs the couple, ‘you can get married in Heaven.’ ‘Great!’ said the couple, ‘but we were just wondering, what if things don’t work out? Could we also get a divorce in Heaven?’

St. Peter, red-faced with anger, slammed his clipboard onto the ground. ‘What’s wrong?’ asked the frightened couple.

‘OH, COME ON!’, St. Peter shouted, ‘It took me three months to find a priest up here! Do you have any idea how long it’ll take me to find a Lawyer?!’

Laboriously Laboring and Languidly Lingering this Loathingly Liquid Labor Day

Labor Day.

The last holiday before the official end of summer.

And this is a steamy one for sure.

Humidity levels are through the roof so if you venture into the sun, you’ll braise…not bake 🙄

It is a day to celebrate the working person.

A day to ‘not’ work [as long as you don’t work in retail, then it’s a day to go Christmas shopping].

I know, right?

Anyway, since I don’t work outside the home, it is just another laundry day, with the added bonus of baking turtle brownies. (turtle brownies: nuts and caramel in the brownies, um yeah mama)

Baking? Today? In this heat?

Ummm, my indoor thermostat says 68, and as he knows me well…he knows that should his digits read below 68, I shall haul off and punch him in the face!

So yeah, it’s a baking day 🙂

brownies

As happens in the summer, more bloggers are out living life rather than inside writing about it, hence, less blogging more jogging. At least it seems so to me.

And while I wasn’t out there jogging (God forbid!) I was ‘out there’.

So Labor Day does tend to remind me that it’s time to come in once in a while and ease back into the fall yarns (get it?) so when winter comes, I’ll be knitting stories with the best of ya!

I don’t have any particular “What I did on my summer vacation” tales to weave, but I do have a snap or two that do paint (crafty eh?) a pretty picture of some of the fun we had.

Like…the time Matty spent back in the lower 48. Three weeks of sun and disc golf and beachin and boozin (ahem) and cousins and Grandfolks and…well, you get the idea

labor day collage

For myself…most of my time was spent in the same places as the boys…I just had my hands on something other than a beer bottle.

[Ah shit, that’s a lie. I had one hand on a bottle and the other on the camera.]

Okay? Geesh! Can’t get away with crap around here!

So my time was spent catching mountains and moonlight…

labor day collage 2

then rivers, lakes, and lilly pads, roads and bridges too.

labor day collage 3

I had a couple days where the pickens were slim; a tree and some deer, and an old car pullin in. A whirlygiggly butterfly and dead people’s ground; a downpour and a pond sign for an absconded pond.

labor day collage 4

But you all know what I’m like, always a barn or two; then Supe with his sidekick, and a damsel lunching, eew eew…

labor day w Collage 5

This is a glimpse of what I’ve been laboring with. And if I do say…
Life is Good!

Hope you all had an enjoyable, relaxing, family and fun filled summer.
I look forward to seeing more regular attendance now that Blog U is back in session.

🙂 R

If it ain’t broke…

land mines
Barbara Walters, of 20/20, did a story on gender roles in Kabul, Afghanistan, several years before the Afghan conflict.

She noted that women customarily walked five paces behind their husbands.

She recently returned to Kabul and observed that women still walk behind their husbands.

Despite the overthrow of the oppressive Taliban regime, the women now seem happy to maintain the old custom.

Ms Walters approached one of the Afghani women and asked,

‘Why do you now seem happy with an old custom that you once tried so desperately to change?’
The woman looked Ms Walters straight in the eyes, and without hesitation said,

“Land mines.”

The Fickle Pickle

fick·le ˈfikəl/ adjective:

“changing frequently, especially as regards one’s loyalties, interests, or affection.”

I’m in a pickle ’cause I love slap and tickle but taken alone I hate a slap but love a tickle am I fickle?

No…not quite like that.

Here’s the thing…I was sitting on the porch this morning, as is usual, with my coffee and smokes, thinking…

“I love this” followed immediately by “I hate this”.

That thought alone, occupied my brain for the next 2 hours. Through my second cuppa, my third smoke, changing the sheets, checking my mail, taking my shower, love/hate, love/hate, love/hate…

Enough with the fickle pickle already!

So…to clear my head of this love/hate dialogue that was making my head spin, I thought I could put it down on paper and try to figure out if I am, in fact, ficklish. (That’s like being ticklish only not as much fun)

Or, am I just someone who can NOT make a damned decision and stick with it.

I found it was much easier said than done. Mostly because there are waaaaay too many; way, way, too many; did I say way to many?

However, not to be deterred, and despite the shear number…I’m giving it another go.

Only this time, I’m limiting myself to one fickle per letter of the alphabet. I don’t know yet if I’ll have one for every letter, just as I already know I will have to choose between more than one for some others.

But…if a letter is empty, then I’ve got nothing.

Yet!

I know…it’s a bit ridickle!

And I also know, limiting some of the letters to one thing is going to be near impossibickle!

But, I shall try. Because, my hope is, by the time I’m done, I can look at the list objectively and do one of two things:

Decide which side of the coin I’m on.
or
Embrace the pickle and be tickled that I’m fickle.

No…seriously. I need to do this.

I need to challenge myself to be more/do more/try more/embrace more…things that I love.
To a greater degree than not doing more/trying more/being more/embracing more…of the things I can change.

Because…the ‘hate side’ is…simply put…FEAR

Here goes ~ The Fickle Pickle of Love/Hate Relationships A to Z

Aging
I love that I’ve earned my stripes.
I hate that that they are on my body, so I undress in the dark.

Beaches
I love when the beach is empty and the waves are crashing.
I hate the bikini strewn, human oil slick, so I beach in winter.

Crowds
I love the excitement that creates a crowd.
I hate feeling alone in one, so I avoid them.

Dreams
I love hearing about dreams.
I hate having them, so I don’t (at least I don’t remember them).

Equality
I love the idea of it, in all things.
I hate that sometimes, I am part of the problem in remaining silent.

Flying
I love the journey,
I hate the hassle, so I don’t (very often).

Google
I love that you can have an answer in a flash.
I hate that it has replaced looking things up in the encyclopedia and the dictionary, but I’m guilty too.

Humidity
I love what it does for my skin.
I hate what it does to my hair, I’m a chia pet!

Immigration
I love that American means Everyonecan.
I hate that it has become counting pennies vs. counting kids, but that’s the reality we live in.

Jingles
I love knowing them, singing them, and recognizing the product by the tune.
I hate knowing them, singing them, and recognizing that I just might be a couch potato!

Kayaking
I love the idea of being ‘one with the water’, especially in the quiet, early morning mist, just as the sun rises.
I hate the spidery hidey hole where I can’t see my feet, so I don’t.

Love
I love love, being in love, being loved, giving love.
I hate what happens to me when love doesn’t feel safe.
I hate losing a single second to that most of all.
Shying away from love for fear of pain may be a form of self defense.
But it’s the worst offense against yourself there could ever be.

Motherhood
I love being a mother, for there is no love like it in the world.
I hate being a mother, at times, for there is no fear like it in the world.
(Though this, I would NEVER change)

Nakedness
I love the rare times I’ve allowed myself the freedom, wishing it always felt that way.
I hate the majority of my adult life has been spent trying to avoid it.

Obsession
I love the passion it takes to have one.
I hate the control I lose when I do, which is often.

Porches
I love being a porch dweller; morning coffee, afternoon wine, thunderstorms…
I hate being a porch dweller; going out to smoke, checking the spi-dar for spiders, being spied upon by the people driving or walking by, an oddi-tee in a nigh-tee!

Rainbows
I love the spontaneous way they pop up hither and thither and yon, alone or in pairs, nature at it’s best.
I hate the feeling of ‘somewhere’ I get when I see one.

Smoking
I love smoking
I hate everything about it, but here I am

Technology
I love how the human mind works, developing new technology to solve the world’s problems
I hate that technology has replaced some sadly lacking human qualities…like kindness, empathy, compassion, and common sense. Definitely one of those ‘double edged swords’

Vermont
I love Vermont, you know I do. I am as Green Mountain blooded as I am red blooded.
I hate Vermont, and I’ll leave it there.

Wine
I love what it does for me
I hate what it does to me.
Let’s face it, beer drinkers go deaf and shout and have their beer-bellies.
Wine drinkers go soft and fuzzy and have wine-wattles!

Xray
I love xray technology for finding broken bones and cancerous tumors.
I hate xray for finding things we cannot fix.
I do wonder if I’d rather not know if that’s the case.

Yoda
I love Yoda for his wisdom, manner, sense of humor, and common sense 🙂
I hate Yoda because to look at him reminds me that Superman is mortal 😦
As are we all…but still.

Zoos
I love the zoo for obvious reasons.
I hate the zoo for even more obvious reasons.

So…the challenge to me is to address the love/hates and see which are hurting me or preventing me from growing as a person. Granted, some will remain as they are…we can’t love everything, but nor can we hate everything…and we can certainly have a bit of both now and then.

As a shield…hate sucks.

As a tool…hate sucks.

As a rule…hate sucks.

As a reminder to do better…hate can work.

Challenge yourselves…and if anyone has a love/hate they’d like to share, I’d like to hear.

It’s all in a name

Ah…the good ol’ summertime.

A time for beaches and bicycles and picnics and bbqs and vacations and staycations and more likely than not… family.

Whether you’re a nut from a towering oak, have a touch of sweetness like the magnificent sugar maple, are tart and tangy like the bounty that falls from the fruit trees, or run more to the quiet strength of the whispering pine…we are all branches of our family trees.

As it will, nature steps in to prune our branches. Our leaves fall through the natural process of age and death, or in times of storm and disease, we sadly lose precious limbs way before their time.

Nature will…have its way.

But because our roots are so deep, we continue on…new saplings sprout from new seeds and new blood.
Often, we are stronger and more resilient for it. Having richer hues and sweeter fruit.

Or, as is common enough in my family to be the rule and not the exception, (leaves fall too close or too far, whichever the case may be) we end up with nuttier nuts and fruitier fruits.

Which leads me to:

“The Family Reunion”

For the good folk up here in the extreme north, the best thing to be said about summer is …NO SHOVELING!
Next to that…there is reunion season, which in my case, consists of the following:

Mother’s Mother’s side
Mother’s Father’s side
Two distinct and unique trunks of my maternal grandparent’s tree.
Let’s say it’s where the Spruce meets the Elm.

Now, the Spruce and the Elm don’t share the same patch of ground. Perhaps because the Spruce is pretty rigid and doesn’t change much, and the Elm, while close when push comes to shove, has a history of infection and being hard to find (much loved all the same).
But…two distinct and separate genus with two distinct and separate reunions.

Which brings me to the other half of my tree:

Father’s Mother’s side
Father’s Father’s side
Or, as is our case…
ONE trunk for my paternal grandparent’s tree
(It’s a damned big tree!)

This is where the mighty Oak meets the Sugar Maple and rather than remaining as such…they became a whole new tree.

The Maple Nut Tree (Don’t Google it…no sucha thang)

Here’s the roots…
The George boys had a thing for the Smith girls…
Brothers marrying sisters…
(No, not their own sisters…we may be hilly people, but we don’t all play the banjo!)

Anyway…because more than one George married more than one Smith, the reunions are Smith/George amalgamations rather than just Smith or just George.
We even have Smiths who married other Smiths and those Smiths married Morrisons who in turn married other Morrisons…

EEE GAD, it’s enough to make you dizzy!

Anyway, the reason I started this, besides having just attended above mentioned gathering of Maple Nuts, is to do with names.
😆
It really is about names.
But not just any names.
Old names.

One would think, with sir names like Smith and George, the given names would be rather vanilla, wouldn’t you?
Tom, Dick, and Harry kind of names. But no.
And it just tickles the shit out of me to sit around listening to the older folk talk about their parents and grandparents, aunts and uncles, bandying around some names not heard 100 years from here.

Kids my age, and those after, hear these names and think
“What the hell were they thinking?”
But I disagree. I think there is something strong, and connective in these old names.
It speaks of family more than the color of our eyes or the shape of our nose.
Names that are passed down in an obvious attempt to keep a loved one alive are beautiful names.

Shall I?
Okay, I shall.
Just a tiny sample.
Promise.

Great Grandfather Smith (ok…the next part is a sing along)

M.U.R.D.O. M.U.R.D.O. M.U.R.D.O. and M U R D O was his nameo!

Now, farmer Murdo Angus Smith married the lovely Rose La Brecque. They had 11 children (that’s Family #1).

Norman George, Mary Ethel, Eva Maude, Christie Rose, Margaret Leona, Clara Esther, Gladys Irene, Pauline Mae, Paul Angus, Walter Robert, and Baby Girl.

These names that don’t quite rrrrrrrrrrrroll off the tongue like names do today, but, it was all about continuity.

The lovely Rose died at the tender age of 36 (she needed a rest I think), whereby farmer Murdo married Marion who had another 5 children (that’s Family #2).

Murdo Harold, Joyce Ann, Fred Donald, Gerald Lloyd, and Virginia Maggie.

Again, these names don’t effortlessly fall off the tongue, but suggest a ‘reason’ behind them.
Nothing trendy here.

Great Grandfather George
Elmer Eugene George
(The only other Elmer I know lives in Cartoonland!)
Now, Elmer married Sophi (pronounced so-feye) Laundry and they had two sons
Raleigh Royal Eugene George and Morton Guy George
(So much packed into two little boys right? Oh, and a side note on Sophi~she had sisters…Mary, Maude, and Mert. LOL. Great huh?)

Both these George boys married Smith sisters:

Raleigh Royal Eugene George married Mary Ethel Smith (my grandparents) and had two children
Roy Eugene and Betty Rose

Morton Guy George married Christie Rose and had four children
Stanley Morton, Philip Dale, Beverly Ruth, and Harvey Elmer

Sadly, after my parents’ generation, the names became more normal(?)
Gone are the Murdos, Elmers, Mortons, and Raleighs.
No more Claras, Maudes, and Gladyses (Gladi?)

I’m as guilty as the next gal. I named my kids rather trendy names, but I think if I’d spent more time sitting under that big ol’ Maple Nut tree, I’d have found the courage to be different in the pride I feel when I’m sitting in that big pile of leaves.

Had that been the case, perhaps I would be the proud mother of Raleigh Murdo Elmer Roy?
Or if I’d had a girl…Mary Clara Maggie Rose?
Perhaps…

And the groaning you hear in the background is my husband who has NO room to talk…he is the son of ELBO.
But THAT is another mango tree altogether!

I hope you’re enjoying the summer, and hoping too, that you’re gathering round the base of your own magnificent family trees. There’s nothing quite like it.

And for those nuts that are part of my Maple Nut Tree…here’s a reminder of the beautiful day spent reminiscing about the old times and creating new ones. (Thanks Debbie and Henry)

-Click on a circle to bring up the full size photos-